The Holsum Saffola building stood silent in the night. Ramero landed on the roof corner unceremoniously. It was one of the few factories that continued to function in this decrepit part of Los Angeles, which resided next to a portion of the L.A. River. He pulled the wings to himself as he watched several security guards patrol around. This was not the right place; he knew that, but the roofs on some of these warehouses creaked like old doors in haunted houses. One hundred and seventy pounds of muscle and wings make a lot of noise on flimsy steel.
He drew a card from his sleeve and knelt down on the corner of the factory building. The guards were still milling around and had not noticed him, in spite of how exposed he felt. He glanced at the card he had drawn. It depicted a woman in black with her eyes closed, but seemed to scream to the sky. A pair of fangs was visible in her mouth and bat-like wings spread out behind her. The familiar banner displayed a single word: AMPLIFY. With the card between his palms now, he murmured the word and the blackened pentagrams glowed red once again.
Sounds from all directions began to flood his ears. He focused hard and built the noises up slowly. The first time he tried it, he almost blew out his eardrums. But he was in command of his power as he continued to focus, letting his mind filter out the cries of little babies, dogs barking and howling, the numerous sirens of the fire and police departments, various gunfire, the screams of women being raped or beaten, and one voice, louder than the rest, spoke of an upcoming drug deal.
“So dese Columbian spics are supplyin’ the goods, dat’s fine. How do ya know you can trust ‘em?”
“I’ve known José for a long time. We went to high school together. He was in some international transfer student program or some shit like that. We pulled a couple jobs on some convenience stores. He’s very focused and driven. Trust me, with don Vicente doing hard time at Club Fed, he’s in position to supply us with what we need.”
“I dunno, Stark.” The previous voice was so closely familiar when he had spoken, but now, confirmed with a name, Ramero could feel his blood run cold. “Dose spics can be pretty vicious.”
“And I suppose,” the tone in Starkin’s voice became more tense, “some nice white folk would cut you in for a better deal?”
“Aw, no, Stark—“
The sound of the first voice’s body being slammed against something solid coupled with an audible grunt of pain reached his ears.
“I hope…we’re not having a problem with my international business contacts.”
“No no no! Not at all! Eh, mi casa is su casa. All da way, man!”
There was a pause, then a different, much louder voice shook Ramero from his focus and the spell was disrupted.
“What’s that up there?”
The security guards were alerted to his presence. He swiftly put away the card he had and pulled out another one. He could barely make out their guns being drawn as he focused again and muttered “Shroud.” He quickly faded from view to the astonishment of the security guards. Ramero jumped from the roof corner and flapped his wings hard to get airborne. The guards puzzled over this for a few moments, then put their minds together to call the police.
Meanwhile, Ramero made his way over to the warehouse that had a dim light coming from it. The temperature around him seemed to drop ten degrees as he gently landed outside the deserted looking warehouse.
The cold produced a chill through his body as he dispelled his wings. He pulled out the Ghosting card and incanted its power. Within a few moments, he was walking through the warehouse wall and the crates contained therein.
The warehouse was dimly lit as he approached the voices he heard earlier. Soon, he reached a concrete clearing of sorts. Completely surrounded by stacks of large crates, there were three men standing around, one armed with an Uzi. A fourth man was seated at a small, square folding table. He looked like he was going over a map; no doubt planning his drug meeting with José. All the men were black, expect for the man with the Uzi. He appeared to be Latino, but the dim light made it hard to be sure. They were all dressed casually, be it jeans, shirt and jacket or sweat gear of pants and jacket. One of the men spoke up.
”Did you find dat park?” Ramero recognized the voice as the one that got smacked around by Starkin.
”Yeah, I did,” replied the man at the desk, which the vigilante immediately recognized as Starkin himself. “It’s called Oak Grove. It’s right across the street from La Cañada High School. I’ve been there a few times. There’s like a Sheriff’s helicopter pad or some shit like that right in the park or next to it, but they never search the grounds. A lot of kids go there to drink beer or get laid. It’s very quiet and secluded, especially past the baseball diamond. It’s perfect for meeting with José.”
”Dat’s great, Stark. What time’s da meetin’?”
”One A M,” Starkin replied. “It’ll take about an hour to get there, so we’ll leave in a half hour.”
The vigilante had other plans for Starkin and his men, as he quietly dispelled the Ghosting and Shroud powers. He deftly pulled out the Deflection and Warrior Strength cards and incanted them. As Ramero’s power increased and a shield appeared, Starkin’s second-hand man immediately recognized who he was.
”Shit! It’s him! Kill ‘im! Kill ‘im!”
The Latino immediately turned and fired at the vigilante. The Angel crouched low while the bullets dropped to the floor in front of him from striking the shield. The Uzi soon ran out of bullets and now, it was his turn to attack. He wanted this to be quick, so he could take his time with Starkin.
The dark hero charged viciously at the first of Starkin’s henchmen. He was pretty fast and blocked a couple of Ramero’s attacks. But years of training won out when the vigilante caught the crook’s wrist, then used his other hand to grab him near the elbow. With a forceful yell and brute strength, he broke the man’s forearm, causing the sharp bone to rip through the skin. The man screamed in pain and shock, but it was short-lived. Ramero shifted both hands to his wrists and flung him across the concrete clearing into a tall stack of crates. He loudly crashed and became buried under an avalanche of crates.
The gunman finished reloading his Uzi and immediately opened fire on the dark hero. Bullets whistled past his head as he put the shield up to protect himself. He ran near the middle of the clearing, putting the second-hand man between them.
The criminal barely felt the bullets enter his skull. He fell to the floor in complete surprise that his life was over.
The gunman stopped firing, realizing what he had done. The Angel dispelled the shield and drew the Arrow of Light card. The last thing the Uzi-toting Latino saw was a fast sphere of light cave in his chest. The man crashed into a stack of crates about twenty feet behind him. The coroner later determined that the cause of death was internal bleeding and asphyxiation due to a collapsed rib cage caused by a shattered sternum.
The vigilante recalled the Arrow of Light and dispelled it. He had finally defeated Starkin’s henchmen and was breathless for the last man that stood before him. The one he had been seeking for years. The man who had murdered his parents and had set him on this dark path of protector and destroyer, in the names of justice and vengeance.
There he was. Matt Starkin. The years had not been kind to him. He had grayed, put on some weight, and even seemed smaller.
No. The vigilante was older and taller. But one thing was sure; the evil within Starkin had thrived and saturated his soul. It had served as guardian and best friend; keeping him alive when things got ugly in his criminal dealings and comforted him when he had the upper hand over the cops or his enemies.
The icons of good and evil faced each other. Evil chuckled lightly.
”That’s quite a hard-on you have for me. I feel special,” Starkin scoffed.
Ramero’s breathing had started to slow as he glared at Starkin. For nights on end, he had pictured what he would do to him if he found him.
And there he was. It was finally going to end.
”It’s about time you got to me,” Starkin said. “I’d heard a lot about you, but I wasn’t sure if you were real or not.” The criminal almost sounded happy he found him, as though he just found out that leprechauns existed. The vigilante refused to be psyched out by him.
“Funny you mention about being real, Starkin,” Ramero started, as he pulled off his mask. “You see…you created me. Our destinies are intertwined. It was inevitable that you and I would meet again. And that means you will not see the next dawn.”
Starkin looked puzzled for a moment as he stared hard at his opponent.
”Wait a sec here…you never kill anyone. Not even that rapist you fried a few years ago. So why the fuck are you threatening to kill me?! Why am I—“ Starkin blinked and recognition crossed his face, just as it had for Temple.
”You’re that guy I beat up in that home robbery. You’re…no…no.” He grinned evilly. “You’re the kid that Temple stopped me from beating.”
”You mean killing, Starkin. You killed my parents and you had meant to kill me.”
The evil look on Starkin’s face faded a bit, but the mirth remained. Now it was more of a sneer.
”Ah, I get it. I killed your parents, so now you’re gonna kill me. But you know something? That’s not gonna happen.”
”You’re right,” he replied simply.
Starkin was about to reach for the gun under his jacket, but his odd comment made him pause. That was all Ramero needed as he lunged forward and struck him across the jaw. Miraculously, his jaw did not break, but the force of the blow sent him flying into the large crates behind him. The dark hero moved quickly, grabbing another heavy crate and pinning Starkin with it. As he cried out in pain, Ramero darted forward, removed the pistol from inside Starkin’s jacket, and tossed it aside. The vigilante had him now and his prey could not free himself.
”And now, Starkin, it is time for The Final Judgment.”
Starkin was still too dazed to pay heed to his words as Ramero reached deep into his left sleeve and pulled out a card. He got down on both knees and focused his power. The card depicted a beautiful woman dressed in light blue flowing robes, with her hands outstretched to the left and right. In her right hand, the card’s left side, she had an exceptionally bright white sphere. In the other hand, an intensely dark black sphere. She gazed down impassively at the man whose back was to the cardholder and stood about one-fourth her size. The man was being judged by a deity to determine his place in the afterlife. The familiar banner read: THE FINAL JUDGMENT
The dark hero focused out Starkin’s moans of pain as he loudly incanted the card’s power.
O powers that be
Lend me your ear and hear my plea
Balance a man’s soul
With your orbs of might
Always seeking justice, always seeking truth
And always judging right
It is to this, my soul is bent
This night, I summon – The Final Judgment!
The warehouse began to shake violently. Stacks of large crates crashed to the ground. The vigilante’s pentagrams glowed their fiercest red as he continued to focus his power. Starkin was now greatly alarmed and was convinced that one of the falling crates would kill him. A bright disc of white appeared five feet in front of Ramero and continued to grow in size, becoming more oblong in the process. Soon, it was a long oval portal, seven feet in height and four feet wide. A small, bare, womanly foot stepped through the shimmering disc of light.
*** *** *** ***Werden, Harrison and Striker screeched to a halt about thirty feet from the main entrance of the warehouse Temple told them about. They were the first officers on the scene and it was very quiet. The din of the main city could be faintly heard in the distance.
”I think we’re too late,” Werden said grimly.
”Maybe,” replied Harrison. “Dispatch reported that shots were fired, but most likely that was in self-defense. Ramero has never used a gun.”
”True, but if he’s here to kill Starkin, he may use whatever means he has available to him.”
Harrison nodded and then stepped out of the car. He opened the door for Striker, then checked his 9mm to make sure it was loaded. The spare clips were set under his side holster.
”Striker and I will go in. I’ll keep my walkie-talkie open to continuously transmit what’s happening.”
”We should all go in, Harrison.”
”And I’d love your company,” he replied. “But someone needs to tell SWAT what’s going on and what to expect. Besides…Striker’s better looking than you.”
Werden unamusedly looked at Harrison who, by contrast, sported a small smirk. The detective finally gave a little chuckle.
”Again with the comedy,” Werden said, shaking his head a bit. “Alright smartass, I can take a hint. Be careful and stay sharp.”
”You bet. Let’s go, Striker.”
The pokémon immediately perked up and put on a professional demeanor. The two cops quickly made their way to the main entrance. Harrison paused and listened. It was still too quiet. He touched a spot opposite of the door, just as he had done at Ramero’s apartment. Striker readied himself for the signal to blow the door. Harrison stepped to the side then tried the knob. It turned quietly and the door opened silently.
He puzzled over the well-oiled hinges on the dilapidated door and matching warehouse. He nudged the puzzle aside and entered while giving his partner a hushed audio signal to follow him. Striker entered swiftly and without a sound. The door shut noiselessly behind them.
They only took a few steps when the earthquake hit. Crates fell around them as Harrison looked up to watch for anything that might fall on them. He used his free hand to hold Striker still, so he would not bolt, as he was prone to do during a major tremor. A bright whiteness began to fill the warehouse causing silhouettes to form from the other crates. Within a few moments, the shaking stopped and the whiteness faded back to the normal illumination of the fluorescent lights.
”That can’t be good,” muttered Harrison. He glanced at his partner who was looking as apprehensive as he was. Harrison gave a quiet command to follow and they proceeded cautiously to where the whiteness originated, listening intently for any noises. He whispered quietly, so Werden could hear him.
”I hear other voices. We are proceeding forward.”
*** *** *** ***A petite woman stood before the vigilante. Her appearance exactly matched what the picture depicted on the Clow Card.
”I am honored by your presence, Mistress of Judgment. Your humble servant awaits to serve your needs,” Ramero said, his head bowed.
”Arise CardCaptor and request your judgment,” replied the Mistress, looking down upon him. Her voice was soft, but authoritative, with a strong reverb to it. She seemed to be creating her own subtle echo.
”Thank you, Mistress,” he replied. Ramero stood up and bowed his head politely to her. In doing so, he was able to look at her. She was very beautiful, looking no older than nineteen, and stood no taller than five feet. But he knew she was not a being to be trifled with. He stood at attention like a soldier, putting out an arm like he was presenting her with a large gift.
”Mistress of Judgment, I have called you forth to my world to pass judgment on this man: Matt Starkin. It is because of him that my magic’s purity has been destroyed. He killed my parents and I wish to regain the magic’s purity; to no longer carry these blackened pentagrams. I humbly ask for you to judge him.”
The Mistress looked at him for a long moment. Despite her youthful appearance, her eyes spoke of eons of wisdom. She knew he was lying.
”I will grant your request for judgment, CardCaptor.”
A smile almost appeared on Ramero’s lips, but he stopped it as she walked over to the trapped man and studied him carefully. He appeared no different to her than any other man or woman she had judged over the millenniums. She held out her hands, palms up. Two spheres formed, one white and one black, both were about the size of softballs.
“These spheres,” she started, her voice maintaining the reverb quality, “will weigh your soul. The white sphere will pull the goodness your soul contains, no matter how great or small, and will float when released. There is no pain in this. The black sphere is the opposite. The evil it absorbs will sink like an anchor on a ship. It is very painful. The two spheres will be joined together. If they float, you will be judged good and will live. If the spheres sink, you will be judged evil and will die.” She paused and looked at him straight in the eye.
”Matthew Roger Starkin. Is your soul prepared?”
Starkin gazed back in absolute fear. He tried one last time to free himself, but was still unable to do so. His mind raced for solutions, but there were none. The evil within him, the evil that had kept him alive all these years, had abandoned him. He was done for and he knew it.
Not getting a response, she went ahead and thrust the two spheres into his chest. Immediately, Starkin screamed out in pain. The spheres changed color. The white one became brighter, like a twinkling star; the black one became even darker, first taking on a glossy texture, then fading to a blackness as null and void as space itself. Starkin soon stopped his screaming, as there was no more pain. The Mistress took the spheres away. Starkin’s appearance now was that of a very old man with ashen skin and hair. He was lethargic and gazed around with empty eyes. He was just a shell of a man. She looked at him and stated:
”Prepare for judgment.”
She quickly brought the two spheres together. There was an electric crackling as she held them together. When it stopped, she turned it upright with the white sphere pointing to the ceiling. It looked like a pair of attached soap bubbles. With that, she released the joined spheres.
The black sphere won easily, dropping like a stone.
The ashen Starkin blinked a few times, not seeming to understand what had happened, but something in the back of his mind screamed danger. She spoke again with the same tone as before.
”Your sentence will now be carried out.”
*** *** *** ***”I can’t believe we haven’t found them yet. This warehouse must be huge.”
The two cops continued to walk between the stacks of crates. He was trying to move as urgently as possible without endangering themselves or being discovered. Suddenly, a terrified scream pierced the air and chilled Harrison to the bone. Striker whimpered quietly.
”Oh God, no. No no no no!” he said quickly, the fear of failure flushing through his body. Harrison bolted to the scream; no longer was safety an issue. Another horrified scream filled the air. The next fifteen seconds felt like an eternity as he and Striker darted between the crates. The screaming stopped and a moment later, they reached the concrete clearing and found its source.
Harrison looked on in horror at what lay before him. Stuck between a couple of crates was a heavily decayed corpse. The eye sockets were sunken and black. The jaw wide open, like it was still screaming. The flesh was dry and devoid of fluids, giving the body a very gaunt appearance. Harrison barely recognized the body as Starkin’s.
In the next instant, whatever remained of the dried flesh, rotted away and the bones turned to dust. With a loud clatter, the skull fell, bounced off the crate, and onto the floor. Apart from the clothes, that was all that remained of Starkin.
”Dear God,” Harrison said in shock. “What the hell did you do to him?”
Ramero whirled around, wide-eyed and furious at the lawman’s intrusion. The Mistress turned slowly.
”I judged him,” replied the petite woman. “And he paid for his evil with his life.”
Harrison blinked as the tone of her voice threw him off-guard, thinking it was just the warehouse echoing, but then realized that it was not. With that, he pointed his gun at her. Striker tensed for action as he awaited his partner’s command. The cop narrowed his eyes a bit.
”Then you’re under arrest for murder,” he said. Harrison quickly turned his gun on the vigilante. “You’re under arrest too, Ramero.”
Ramero tensed up to reach for a Clow Card, but Harrison pulled back the hammer of his pistol.
”If you try anything funny, I’ll drop you like a bad habit.”
”Who are you to be judging us?” the woman asked.
”I’m not a judge. I’m a cop. A member of law enforcement,” Harrison replied. His eyes darted between Ramero and the short woman. “I want both of you on the ground – NOW!”
”I will do no such thing,” the Mistress replied.
Harrison glanced at her, a little surprised. Ramero saw an opportunity. He quickly reached for a Clow Card. Harrison’s eyes darted back to Ramero and he pulled the trigger. The woman made a small motion with her hand and the clockwise spinning bullet stopped about a foot away from Ramero’s shoulder. With a flick of her fingers, the Clow Card that the vigilante pulled was cast aside. The bullet also dropped to the floor. In spite of the shock of what just happened, Harrison was able to react.
”Striker! Flame blast! Flame blast!”
The stench of brimstone pervaded the air and Striker launched his attack. The Mistress put up her other hand and the fireball exploded before it could even come close to her. She then pushed that same hand out forcefully. Both Harrison and Striker slid across the floor and crashed into the crates behind them.
Miraculously, Harrison held onto his gun. In spite of the light daze he was in, he sat up quickly and fired another round at the woman. This time the bullet seemed to hit an invisible wall of force and fell to the floor. She smiled at him.
”I admire your determination, Officer John Harrison.”
”And I’d love to have you admire some more bullets,” he replied, shaking his head a bit to clear the dizziness. “But I can see that would be useless.” Striker had slowly padded over to his partner. Harrison scratched him behind the ears. The pokémon was looking a little worse for wear. He wondered briefly how she knew his name.
”I am able to read minds, as well as read souls,” she said.
”Ah. That explains it,” the cop said as he painfully stood up. “So now what happens? You flutter away, so I can at least arrest Ramero? Perhaps you’ll take him too, even though he’s a wanted criminal.”
”I had intended to return to my domain, as I believed my work was finished.” She turned to face Ramero, her tone became more stern. “Apparently, that was a lie.”
Ramero blinked once, but his expression did not change.
”Perhaps you need to be judged as well.”
”NO!” Harrison and Striker ran quickly at them, but were stopped by the wall of force. He pounded on it with both fists. “No! You can’t judge him! He subject to our laws!”
”He is a CardCaptor,” she said, not taking her eyes off the vigilante, “and therefore, subject to my ruling.”
She produced the light and dark spheres again. Ramero made no effort to run or fight, but stood there like an obedient soldier. In spite of the Harrison’s pleas, she thrust the two spheres into Ramero’s chest.
He did not cry out, in spite of the intense pain he felt. Soon, the pain gave way to numbness. The spheres were removed and Ramero was barely able to stand. His body had aged and his skin had taken on a gray pallor. He was in a lethargic daze.
”Prepare for judgment,” the Mistress said.
Harrison could now only watch in horror as she combined the light and dark spheres as she had done with Starkin’s spheres. She let go of the combined spheres.
They stayed exactly where she had released them.
This seemed to puzzle the Mistress. She gave it a little push to the floor, but it floated back up to the same spot. She pushed it up toward the ceiling, but it came back down. With that, she took the spheres apart and pushed them back into Ramero’s chest. Immediately, his youth and vigor returned. Ramero staggered-stepped once then righted himself. He looked a little surprised. Harrison was relieved.
”Thank God, he’s still alive,” he said for Werden’s benefit.
”Well, CardCaptor,” she started, “I am surprised. Your soul is in perfect balance. I can only presume that for all the hunting you have done over the past four years, you have done nothing to benefit yourself. You have saved lives, but destroyed others. Therefore, I will let you decide your fate.”
Ramero sighed, looking a bit dejected now. Harrison did not like the looks of this.
”I’m tired of all this,” the tired vigilante started. “Ever since my parents died, I’ve wanted them back. I’ve even tracked down their killers and taken my vengeance upon them, but I still feel empty inside. Day after day, there is no joy, no happiness, and no delight for me. There is only pain.”
Ramero stopped as a tear fell from his eye, then another one fell from his other eye. His voice softened to barely above a whisper.
”I just want to be with my parents…I miss them so much.”
The Mistress nodded in understanding and took a step back before she spoke.
”I will grant your request.”
”What?!” Harrison yelled, his eyes wide with shock. “No…no no no! Esteban, you can’t do this! What about your aunt and uncle?”
”Tell them I’m sorry. They’ll understand.” Ramero smiled softly as the tears rolled freely down his face. He was happy. The pain was finally going to stop.
Harrison could not think of a response. He was completely helpless to stop her from carrying out his request. All he could do was watch in horror.
The Mistress of Judgment clapped her hands together, then pulled them apart slowly. A sphere of pulsing white light appeared and grew between her hands as she spread them further apart. Ramero gazed upon the sphere and smiled contentedly. He was ready to see his parents again.
She quickly pulled her arms apart at full length. The sphere engulfed both of them. In the next instant, the sphere collapsed with a thunderous boom. Windows shattered and other crates fell in the violent aftermath.
There was nothing left. They were gone.
Werden appeared a couple moments later with several SWAT teams swarming the warehouse. Werden looked around and instructed several them to mark off the skull and clothing as a crime scene. He came over to Harrison, who was holding a large playing card. It was the Arrow Of Light card.
”Harrison, you okay?”
Harrison pursed his lips as he looked at the card, then sighed with defeat.
”It’s over. He’s gone…I couldn’t save him.”
”He didn’t want to be saved. You couldn’t have anything that would’ve saved him.”
Harrison nodded after a moment. He was right. He knew that, but defeat on this scale was always hard to accept; especially the loss of life. But it was over. The Angel of Vengeance had been vanquished.
Epilogue:
”Good morning, Los Angeles. This is Steve Edwards for Good Day L.A. on Fox 11. We have a breaking story this morning about the Angel of Vengeance. We have unconfirmed reports that the Angel of Vengeance was killed in a fight with police, late last night. The LAPD have flatly denied any news coverage regarding this. We will provide further details as we get them. So stay tuned –“
Captain Mark Patakas turned off the TV and sat down at his desk. Harrison sat opposite of him with Striker dozing quietly on the floor. The tired cop wished he could follow his partner’s example and get some sleep.
”Well John,” started the captain, “you’ve managed to get yourself in the news twice this week. But that’s not why you and I talking this morning.”
Harrison looked puzzled now, but the captain did not take notice. Patakas pulled out a small tape player and pressed a button.
”I want you to hear something, John. I’m sure you’ll recognize it.”
Harrison could hear last night’s events being played out. He listened intently as he heard himself speak.
There was a short pause.
There was a longer pause this time. Only the hiss of the tape could be heard. Harrison furrowed his brows. What the hell is going on? he thought. Then he heard himself again.
Patakas stopped the tape. Harrison was very confused, but managed to ask one question.
”Captain…who edited the woman’s voice out?”
”The tape is straight from the reel,” replied the captain. “Nothing was changed or altered.”
Harrison was floored by this, but the surprises were just starting.
”I’ve read your preliminary report about this short mystery woman. The upper brass did too.” Patakas stopped for a moment, not relishing what was going to happen next. “They’ve decided to bury it.”
Harrison felt his face go numb, paling at what he just heard his supervisor say. His stomach sank like a rock.
“The brass, in their infinite wisdom, felt that the public just isn’t ready for ‘other worldly beings’ that can judge others. It would be like discovering that the pantheon of Greek gods were actually real.”
Harrison shook his head a bit and came to his senses.
”What?!” he shouted, waking up Striker. “Fire breathing dogs were thought to be a myth, Cap.” He pointed at Striker. “He doesn’t look like a mystical creature to me!”
”Look, I don’t like this any more than you. I’m just following their orders. But so you know, if you do say anything,” Patakas stood up and leaned over his desk, “you’ll get fired and never work in law enforcement again.”
Harrison was speechless. He felt like he had been kicked and beaten by an angry mob. He stared intently at Patakas, then stood up. He was ready to give him his gun and his badge and just end his career with the LAPD.
But he could not unball his fists to do it.
”Fine,” he said finally, his voice was low and curt. “But tell brass for me that they can fuck themselves and their ‘infinite wisdom.’”
Harrison stood up, turned and left Patakas’ office. He slammed the door shut with a loud bang. He made his way through the maze of desks, cops and criminals and eventually reached his own desk. Werden was seated there.
”Good morning,” Werden said sarcastically.
”Yeah…it’s been a real gem of a morning. God, I just can’t believe they’re just gonna bury it.”
Harrison just stood there, fuming and cussing harshly. His livelihood had been threatened and there was nothing he could do about it. Worse yet, all the time and work he put into this case had been for nothing.
”Just let it go, Harrison,” said Werden. “There’s nothing we can do about it. And if we do, we get fired and neither of us wants that.” Werden stood up and straightened his jacket. “C’mon, the taco truck is here. They make some killer breakfast burritos. It’ll be my treat.”
”I wanna go to bed,” replied Harrison, his tone matching his fatigued body.
”Well, hey, you’re a cheap date.” Werden grinned at him now. Harrison looked at him, then eventually broke into a tired laugh.
The three cops walked together toward the taco truck. The humans shared the misery of their forced silence. They would keep the secret world of the CardCaptors to themselves. Someday, the world would know, but that was a long way into the future. For now, the Angel of Vengeance would live on in spirit and Esteban Ramero was finally at peace.
THE END
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