I have seen the Purple Eye. I have seen the Vulture. Now I have no purpose in life. Now I am free and without strife.
The lone gunman looked over his shoulder with pride. He looked at the mere mortals, standing a few feet behind him and pointing their guns straight at him, and he screamed, ‘I am the Pariah. I am the Vulture.’
‘This is your final warning. Put down your weapon. Throw the gun away and…’
The lone gunman smirked. He looked at the Vulture for one last time and then he clasped his eyes shut. Immediately, without any warning, he jolted and opened fire. The bullets hissed like a seething sea, hitting ever object in sight.
This is my offering, my dear Lord. This is my price, now I lay down my sword.
His love letters fluently gushed out of the keg and in fourteen seconds, the submachine was out of fuel. The thunderous noise seized for just over a second and then, the sweet melody of the bullets spurting off the barrel floated across the gloomy skies.
The lone gunman lifted his hands high up in the air and began laughing, as bullets from three different sides pierced his body and sent him crashing on the hard ground.
I die in His presence. I am now complete…
‘Duncan!’ yelled Sir Conall and caught his son, shocked and abhorred. At that very instant, another metallic pellet rocketed through the blanket of air and scraped Sir Conall’s ear.
‘Dad!’ screamed Samantha and hugged her father. The police officers shot out commands to the control room, as they hurried towards Sir Conall. The officers brought their shields out and they convoyed the Conall Couple inside the Cigar Club.
Meanwhile, the lone gunman threw the Heckler and Koch down the terrace of the Golden Heights and sprinted down the fire escape.
‘The shooter is armed, I repeat, he is armed and he is on the loose. I want every block sealed. Pull out every beat and patrol cop. Top priority to the Lone Gunman. You hear me? I want this man caught, alive!’ yelled the inspector through his radio, as he ran towards Sir Edmure Ray Conall.
I must reach master. I much see the Eye.
‘Samantha…wh-what – ’ said Mrs. Conall, her voice breaking. She put her hand on her precious daughter, with shock and disbelief clouting her sense and judgment.
‘Mom, no. I-I’m sorry. I…’ replied Samantha softly and pushed her hands off her slender shoulder.
Mrs. Conall dejectedly pulled her phone out of her purse, Whisper’s purse, and she shot a video of her daughter…crying. She gulped and turned to look at her son, bathed in blood and left abandoned on the street. She stared at his dead body for a minute and then she turned back to look at her daughter who was still crying.
Is this it? She can’t be a Vul – all that training! Thought Mrs. Conall painfully and sent the video clip to Dr. Richard Schaefer before sliding her phone back inside her purse.
Meanwhile, the lone gunman ran through the nooks and crannies, the sirens screaming in the distance, and he dashed out on Alan Bosch Street.
The Vulture is waiting. Oh, yes he is. I’ll be rid of this bondage. Oh, yes I will.
‘Sir Conall, I’m detective Welsh. I-I’m sorry to…’
‘No! I don’t want to hear it! No!’ cried Sir Conall and covered his face, as the paramedics worked his ears. ‘Duncan isn’t…’
‘This is all your fault!’ jerked Mrs. Conall and stared at her husband, her purple eyes cutting through his very soul. ‘You killed our son. You murdered him!’
‘Grace! What are you – ’
‘ – I know everything! You and that…vendetta of yours – ’
‘ – Mom! Would you please shut up!’ yelled Samantha and looked at her mother with demonic exasperation. ‘Enough!’
The lone gunman, with a dozen officers chasing after him, reached #13, Alan Bosch Street and knocked on the door of Dr. Richard Schaefer.
Three seconds hence the door flung open and Duncan, the lone gunman, said with tears in his eyes, ‘Your Grace, I killed Duncan.’
Dr. Schaefer looked at his apprentice, straight in the eye and said, ‘Not yet.’