Project: The ‘Feel Good’ Revolution: VIII. Angra Mainyu
One. 'Obscurity'

“And he’s lying all the lies - of the lies in exile.
While she’s dying of grief, he’s defending his brief.
And justice would seem to be cheap.”

This place is so dead. It’s lights and sounds don’t add to the nothingness that it truly is. It may have once been that enchanting, bustling place it was meant to be, but now it was long gone. The people blame it on a criminal. With eyes as sharp as razorblades, he mercilessly slaughtered all in his path. The people lived in fear, and the stench of death was pungent.

He seemed to be your ordinary criminal from his record, a rebellious youth with a deep hate for the government. A boy who is shunned by his family and all he knew. His crimes are simple, clean, and to the point: Rapes and murders, one after another. But what was it about him? How did he manage to stay hidden? What was it that provoked fear in people in even hearing his name?

How had a nineteen-year-old boy with a gun scared away police and authorities all across the country?

A hail of bullets shot down upon me. Coat flaring behind me, I leapt across a building. These chases just got more and more exciting. But no matter how far I ran, no matter how much they shot, and no matter how much the people screamed and cried, it no longer did a thing for me.

I could commit crimes…but where was the rush? Where did the energy in the atmosphere go? Why did I continue this? It was leading me nowhere.

About a year ago, I had seemed to lose all meaning. What was my purpose? I was such a monster…to give her no choice but to…I can’t say it. She has consumed me. Even as I keep a cool, lifeless look upon my face, I know that she has changed me. I need something. I need a miracle…a miracle to change my life.

I stopped running, feet abruptly coming to a stop. Feeling despondent, all I could do was lay. All I could manage to do was lay there on the cold concrete of the building’s roof. “I need a new job,” I croaked.

The helicopters surrounded me slowly, cautiously. I wondered what they thought I was planning. I was unpredictable, and they hated it. And how petty could this awful country get? With them, were of course, newscasters and video cameras. What could possibly be more important than getting footage of me being captured let alone capturing me in the first place?

I stretched and yawned. Let them take me this time, what did I care? Maybe it would give my life a new flavor.

My pitiful look must have confused them. Was this the right kid? A decoy, perhaps? It was quite amusing.

A man held his weapon at gunpoint and commanded I put my hands out. I obeyed quietly. They cuffed me and told me to get into the helicopter, guns pointing at me wildly.

This, I refused, telling them I couldn’t move. It was true. Was this depression? My body felt glued to the cold floor.

Anyways, this forced them into carrying my somewhat lifeless body into the helicopter. Here, I was guarded thoroughly, as if they believed I would jump out. This thought was mildly humorous – knowing me, I might do it.

The men in the helicopter stayed silent.

I spoke up, feeling it necessary. “Where is it that you’re taking me?” I said, pleasantly.

I could see sweat trickling down the man’s neck. “We’re taking you to jail…of course, after we properly identify you.”

I grinned, “You really don’t know who I am yet? I had taken you for smarter. Though, I suppose that would explain the nickname of ‘Obscurity.’”

The man did not reply – he was nervous.

I sighed. “My bones ache…it really is time for a rest.”

I had been looking at my handcuffs during the interrogation. My wrists could probably slip out, I thought, amused. Were my wrists really that thin now? I thought of how my mother would worry if she were here to see this.

“So, are you going to use the Reid technique on me?” I asked the interrogator, trying to keep a chuckle down.

“This isn’t Guantanamo Bay, kid,” he replied, dryly.

I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“There is overwhelming evidence of your guilt, sir,” spoke up a policeman guarding the door.

I laughed loudly, “That is the Reid technique, you bastard! What next, Soviet interrogation strategies?!”

The middle-aged interrogator sighed, “Sir, please, don’t make this difficult. We only want to ask you a few questions.”

I leaned back in my chair, “Fine then. Do your worst.”

The interrogator cracked his knuckles, loudly and began. “Are you willing to reveal your name? If not, you will be forced to be subjugated to many humiliating tests of sorts.”

I grinned, “What if I refuse your tests? I doubt you can force them on me.”

The man rubbed his temples in exasperation, “We have already obtained evidence from the crime scene, sir. Please, make this easy on the both of us.”

I almost snorted, it was so ridiculous.

“You expect me to believe that bull? You have DNA evidence, yet you don’t have my name? What kind of fool do you take me for?”

The man shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. “Would you provide us with your name, please?”

I cleared my throat and spoke, sounding far too easy going for an almost convicted criminal.

“St. Pierre. Jeremiah St. Pierre. Got it?”

Adella De Wilde worked for Eyewitness Channel 7 News. She had worked there for exactly three years and four days now.

A coworker of hers, Jeanine Balfour, and she had been following the story of the criminal ‘Obscurity.’

Today, August 15, 6685, marked the end of their conquests. He had been captured.

Their follow up story would most likely be on as breaking news. Adella was nervous. She couldn’t stop running her fingers through her tied up copper hair, couldn’t stop smoothing her skirt.

Jeanine rushed excitedly into the studio, late as always, coffee in hand, donut in mouth. “Ahdura!” she exclaimed, mouth full with the chocolate sprinkled pastry.

Adella nodded to her, she had always been the quieter of the two broadcasters. Jeanine had loved to gossip – especially when she could ridicule the cranky, old weatherman with comments of, “Your fly is open,” or “Your wig is lopsided.”

Jeanine took a big bite out of the donut, washed it down with espresso, and patted Adella on the back. “I’m proud of you!”

Adella rose an eyebrow in confusion, “Whatever for? I’m a broadcaster, not a policewoman.”

Jeanine nodded and replied, “Yeah, but all the research you put into this! All the hours of mindless work! I would have died!”

Adella smoothed her skirt yet again and answered her coworker, dryly, “Yes, well, it might not have been so bad if I had received some help once in a while.”

Jeanine, now visibly nervous, replied with a loud, “Go get ‘em girl!”

She promptly ran off to get her makeup done leaving Adella to groan in annoyance on her own.

Once Jeanine had gotten the makeup artist to frame her hazel eyes with mascara and paint her lips with a coral-colored lip gloss, she headed back over to bother Adella some more.

Adella was busy indulging herself in Jeanine’s abandoned espresso. When Jeanine reappeared in front of her, she practically jumped, spilling the coffee across the table.

Jeanine laughed loudly and Adella glared at her, quietly murmuring, “Shut up.”

After the coffee was cleaned up and Jeanine had bothered Adella enough for the morning, they began their emergency broadcast. Jeanine’s hyper and bubbly personality was switched off the moment the cameras turned on – she became solemn and sophisticated like Adella.

“Hello, this is Adella De Wilde from Eyewitness Channel 7 News. Joining me here is Jeanine Balfour. We have breaking news tonight regarding the murder and rape cases of the criminal everyone is talking about – the unidentified mysterious man, nicknamed ‘Obscurity’,” Adella began.

“The Los Angeles Police Department has confirmed the capture of notorious criminal, ‘Obscurity.’ He was captured tonight at 11:15 P.M. after a grueling chase over building tops.”

Jeanine spoke up, “The unknown identity of the criminal was finally confirmed tonight as well. He willingly produced his name during interrogation and was noted to have appeared proud. After several sarcastic statements and references to police brutality on his part, the suspect identified himself as Jeremiah St. Pierre.”

It was Adella’s turn to speak once again – it seemed she was annoyed with Jeanine that she had spoken enough. This was her broadcast, she pouted.

“This is the candid photo that was taken of Mr. St. Pierre after he was arrested.” An image was shown on the TV screen. It was a photo of a blonde, young man, around the age of twenty. He was extremely thin and had a thin, devious grin on his face.

“The LAPD were able to speak with him on various occasions, but he refused to leak any information besides his name. With this, new information is being researched.”

Jeanine piped in again, “Curiously enough, the same name was seen in a rape case file of eleven years ago. The report stated that an eight-year-old boy living in Pima County, Arizona was raped by a local minister in a gas station in downtown Tucson. The boy does, in fact, resemble St. Pierre greatly and the year stated in the older report would match the age of St. Pierre eleven years ago.”

Adella cleared her throat and said, “The LAPD continues to investigate on this case. We will report with further updates later this week.”

Jeanine smiled, trying to lighten up the mood. “This was Jeanine Balfour and Adella De Wilde from Eyewitness News. Now back to your regularly scheduled program.”

Adella sighed audibly and removed her earpiece. “What a day,” she groaned.

Jeanine grinned and followed her, “Tell me about it! Isn’t it exciting?”

The copper-haired woman took the blonde by the wrist and led her to a table set up in the studio. Her serious expression cracked ever-so-slightly and she whispered, “Yes!”

Even Adella couldn’t help feel a little giddy. She had been “chasing” this criminal for months. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that he was going to prison, or so she assumed. What did she have to do now? Crime broadcasts were her specialty, and he had been her biggest lead.

She smiled in spite of herself – she had faith she would hear from Jeremiah St. Pierre again.

Jeremiah slipped out of his handcuffs, cackling. What could hold him down, honestly?

The police officer watching him noticed and called in for reinforcements, urgently. Jeremiah approached the officer, face lit up with pure cruelty. The officer shook in his boots as Jeremiah grabbed him by the shirt collar, threw him to the ground and crushed his ribcage with one powerful blow.

Jeremiah was thin, but he wasn’t weak. In fact, he was six foot two – had he weighed his proper amount, Jeremiah would be not only a formidable opponent, but he would be an unstoppable one.

The officer choked due to various broken ribs protruding into his lungs. Jeremiah laughed and retrieved the man’s gun as he writhed on the ground. Reinforcements rushed into the room, nightsticks ready. Jeremiah began to fire at will – he had no concern for their lives.

It was they or he, he reasoned.

There were screams, gunshots, and alarms. It was music to Jeremiah’s ears. He had caused this chaos – he was capable of this destruction. Never again would he be a victim…never.

He took a final shot – blew a man’s brains to the wall with ease.

The screams stopped. The only sound left was the ongoing siren – no one was left to turn it off.

Jeremiah removed an officer’s clothing and replaced his own bloodstained ones with the man’s uniform. He briskly left the station, humming the tune of “Glory, Glory, Hallelujah,” kicking a pebble down the walkway.

His thoughts rang clear – he had to see her.