May 21, 1980

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Salem, Massachusetts

"The CBS Evening News with Dan Rather substituting in for Walter Cronkite..."

They all stared at the television with grave expressions, save David, and Karen who played in the den.

"Good evening. Three days after the eruption of Mount Saint Helens in Southwest Washington State, imponderables dust the air like volcanic ash. Ten persons are known dead, seventy-one are missing, and one estimate is that it will take more than one-hundred-fifty-million dollars just for road and bridge repair. Is is an event that defies superlatives. One geologist..."

Clayton stood and hurried to the television, shutting it off. He turned, and stared his father in the eyes. "Coven."

"They're retaliating against The Order. They believe Bane is one of ours."

"One of - how can they believes he's one of ours?"

"...because we hunt them. He hunts them. We kill them. He kills them. Just more efficiently. No bargains, no last rights. A monster fighting monsters. No point in bargaining now. Damage is done, they've declared war on The Order."

"...and they've won." Randall Grifford strode into the living room with Samael Grifford in tow. "We need to leave, now, all of us. Get the kids, get anything you can carry, liquidate your assets. We're going to Driftwood."

Bartholomew stood up, and bowed his head. "Your eminence, I don't understand."

"...we are no longer backed by the church. We've been ordered to withdraw from all our strongholds, and dissolve The Order immediately."

"...but why are we leaving?" Emily stood, and wrapped her arms around Clayton.

"Simple. I killed the Arch Diocese, and had his traitorous head delivered to his driver. We are officially enemies of The Church."

Silence filled the room, and Bartholomew was the first to speak. "You've fucked us all."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You've fucked us all, your eminence." He balled his fists tightly. "All of my assets are tied up in the bank."

"Relax, Bartholomew Walker. Your assets are fine. The Church has not officially condoned The Order since eighteen-thirty-four. They have no access to our assets. Everything here can be replaced. Take anything you need. Everything else... burn it to the ground."

Bartholomew frowned, and cast his eyes down. "Very well."

Randall Grifford walked carefully up to Bartholomew, and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. "I know these are hard times, but they're not going to come to Driftwood. They're as much targets there as we are, and they want no part of this war."

"Maybe it is time the war is over."

"Blasphemy, Bartholomew. The war is over when there are none of them left. When monsters like Jonath - like Bane - no longer dwell among us. It is over when every last monster is put to the lake of fire. Then it's over. Gather your belongings, take only what you need, and get your finances in order. We go to Driftwood. The flight leaves in three hours."

✟ ☧ ✟

Driftwood, California

1:00 AM

Bane walked brazenly through the front doors of the substation. Police were on him immediately, weapons drawn. He searched the recesses of Jonathan's memories, through words that made little sense; cops'n'robbers, Starsky and Hutch, Dirty Harry ('go ahead, make my day'); he raced through the memories until he found what he wanted.

Slowly, Bane raised his hands up into the air.

"Don't move! Danesko, get Detective Polovatski here, now!"

"Already on it!" The man at the front desk called Danesko clambered for the phone, dialing, cursing himself under his breath, hanging up, and dialing again.

"Turn around. Lie face down on the ground, and put your hands behind your back."

Bane did not comply.

"Get down on the floor, now! Put your hands behind your back!"

Bane stared down at the (they're called police men) police men. He glanced upward to his upraised hands, massive hands, and slowly back down to the police men. "Make me."

"I will shoot you dead if you do not comply, now!"

"No you will not."

"Do it now!" The scream came shrill, echoing through the substation, which otherwise was silent.

"No."

The police man cocked his weapon, and Bane smiled. He turned, and knelt down on one knee first, and then another. Pulling his hands behind his head, and interlocking his fingers. "Come and get me."

"Danesko! Polovatski!"

"He's not answering!"

"Curtis! Fuller! Take him!"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Cross?" Curtis took a step toward Cross. "He's almost as tall as I am. He's on his knees. You cuff'em."

"Cover me." Cross held weapon out, and advanced on Bane slowly. "Don't move. Don't fucking breathe. You move, I paint the wall with your fucking Brains."

"Idiot boy." Bane drew in a deep breath, and held it.

Cross held his pistol in one hand, Curtis, and Fuller's guns trained on Bane as they moved to flank his either side. Bane waited until Cross was on him, putting the metal shackle on his wrist when he lashed out, grasping the police man by his uniform shirt. He pulled Cross into the line of fire, and ducked in obedience to the nagging warning of danger in his head; the police men Curtis, and Fuller were already firing by the time Cross was where Bane should have been, filling their comrade full of lead. Bane threw the gasping Cross at the police man called Fuller, knocking him onto his back. He spun around on a knee, and swept Curtis' feet out from underneath him, and the police man landed flat on his back, his head making a satisfying crack on the ceramic tiled floor. Bane leapt over Curtis, grasped his head in one hand, planted his palm on Curtis' chest with the other, and twisted his wrist with a sharp motion which rewarded him with a wet pop, and police man Curtis was gone. Bane marveled at the weapon in Curtis' hand, and pried it from his fingers. He stared at the alien weapon. Bane held it in his hand the way he saw Polovatski hold his, placing the tip of his finger over the trigger. He pointed the weapon at Danesko, who immediately dropped the phone, and put his hands up.

"Hey - hey! Put the weapon down, and let's talk about this..."

"Talk about what?" Bane squeezed the trigger and the shot went wide. He drew the weapon back and stared at it a moment.

"Look guy, backup is on the way. Killing me isn't going to get you out of this."

"Out of what?" He pointed the weapon steadied on Danesko's head. He squeezed the trigger, and Danesko collapsed into his own mess of skull fragments and brain.

Bane stared at the weapon in awe. His once jagged teeth, his once clawed hands, the daggers he kept; nothing compared to the handheld thunder he had now. Nothing in his true form had such power.

Bane stripped Curtis' body of its duty belt, and wrapped it around his hand. He stared at the vest beneath Curtis' torn uniform shirt. A number of bullets were lodged in the vest, those that did not find purchase in the unarmored parts of Curtis' unprotected parts.

Armor.

Bane turned slowly, rising up to his feet, and carefully crept past the desk to see the dead police man Danesko dead on his back, still in his chair, still seated - but on his back. Still sitting.

Bane laughed. The sound startled him, and he loosed the remaining rounds at the sound.

He sat there in the silence. "Don't do that again." He removed Danesko's uniform shirt, pulling at the kevlar vest. Bane sighed and drew his short dagger. He would have to remove the police man from the vest.

✟ ☧ ✟

"Goddamnit." Detective Polovatski, the recently christened "Loose Cannon", strode into the police substation, with Officer Alexander Fallon in tow.
The substation was torn apart, desks upended, four bodies stripped and strewn, and blood everywhere. Polovatski grimaced at the gore what was once Officer Danesko.

"What happened here?"

Polovatski ignored him. "Officer Fallon, you've been here. Is there an armory?"

"There's some gun lockers in the back..."

"Call it in."

Fallon nodded, struggling against the urge to vomit.

Polovatski stepped carefully around the blood, and made his way to the gun lockers. The doors to the lockers were torn open, the guns were gone. "Shit."

Fallon was in the doorway looking a little green when Polovatski returned. "I don't think you're supposed to do that..."

"Do what?"

Fallon pointed at the trail of bloodied shoe prints on the ceramic tiled floor, "That."

Polovatski shrugged. "Take a look around, Textbook. You learn anything about this in the academy?"

Fallon shook his head.

"You ever see anything like this?"

Fallon's voice cracked. "No."

"You don't know this asshole. He's got weapons, and armor now. What did they have in the lockers?"

"Uh, they uh..." Fallon swallowed. "I'm not sure. Long arms, service pistols..."

"How many?"

"It's been a long time since I was assigned to this substation.. I don't know."

"Well he has them now. The guns, and whatever else he's taken."

"Coroner's on his way..."

"Glad to hear it, bookie. You okay?"

Fallon nodded. "Uh yeah, I think so, L.C..."

"L.C?"

Fallon went pale. "They've, uh... They're calling you Loose Cannon..."

"They?"

"You know... people."

Polovatski gritted his teeth. "What people?"

"...people. At work. You know. Staff."

"Staff?"

"...and the captain..."

"Alright, Textbook. L.C. it is. I'm going to give you a nickel's worth of free advice. The guy who did this?"

Fallon nodded, and waited for Polovatski to continue.

"If you see him, you don't waste time calling it in. You run. Or drive. Call it in when you're on the other side of town."

"That's not procedure."

Polovatski raised an arm, and gestured to the carnage in the substation. "This isn't something you're going to win, 'Book."

"It's not about winning."

"Clearly. Take a good, hard look. Grunt police procedure. Dead men, posthumous medals all around, and crying families. Heroes die, 'Bookie. Heroes die, and the bad guy gets away."

"That's the exception."

"Argumentative little shit, aren't you? No, kid. With this guy, the exception's become the rule. You see anyone as big as this one, you run."

Fallon tried to swallow, and failed. His voice croaked. "How big?"

"Last time I saw him, he was big as me. Maybe bigger. Six-foot-fucking-infinity. Green eyes, like you've never seen. Dark brown hair... almost black. It's going to be greasy looking. He's big, he's strong, and he's a lot faster than he looks. You see anyone looks like that, you run."


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