Gamaliil Rabota, skilled linguist in Spanish, Russian, Mandarin, French, and Vietnamese. A masterful interrogator, tracker, hunter, mutant. Practiced in the deadlier forms of Kung Fu and stealth. A self proclaimed advocate of God’s work, and a rogue KGB super assassin – Death Blossom. Flying over the upper end of the Zuni Mountains in southern New Mexico, he was tracking a splinter cell of FBI agents who had detained a group of “illegals” and were now hauling them to a processing center.
Knowing full well of his planted “immigrant” agent Death Blossom soars high in the sky, unnoticed. He was waiting for the right moment, a cue – gunshots perhaps. He watched as their headlights winded around peaks and shimmied down mountains. Soon they would reveal a hidden location, probably in the side of a mountain somewhere. Probably a hidden American Death Camp used to kill off unwanteds, rando-muties, gangsters, dealers, prostitutes, and anything else that the evil gestapo border patrols came across.
The interesting thing about the situation was the fact that Death Blossom had barely begun to distinguish the scene from up high when a wild wind whipped by, knocking him around in the air like he was a doll. Suddenly to his South, which he admittedly was not paying any attention to, there were thunderheads climbing across the sky. Taking notice of the rather rude and interruptive passing of clouds he was forced to land on the side of a mountain, losing track of his quarry.
The clouds were so sudden as to seem unnatural. The rains swiftly erupted into hail, and then his Luck kicked and he was standing at the mouth of a cave. The icy stones fell in an elaborate orchestra as he shivered at the entrance for a brief moment, drenched in cold water. Thunder boomed and lightning arced across the dark sky – the cracklings of the tiniest tappings echoed from the cave mouth.
Rabota entered the cave while producing a flashlight to light the way and was surprised to find the walls and the floors of the cave to be layered in geometric rock formations. Chunky, pointy, blocky crystal formations jutted out all around him melting colors together that was hard to fully take in. It seemed that this was a pathway that led down deeper into the dark of a crystal labyrinth. How far I wonder?
He walked for a good minute, noticing that the sounds of thunder and hail weren’t getting any quieter. The main corridor branched into several different dead ends, each with roofless ceilings that looked straight up into the sky. The rain at the floor of each room drained into naturally flowing unseen cracks with never the hint of a puddle – icy melted bits crunched underfoot at each passing.
The center most path ran the deepest and reached an elongated room revealing a perch which looked over the whole Southern side of the mountain. As Death Blossom stood there he noticed a few sets of headlights off in the distance coming to a stop in the belly of the gulch where a huge flooded area prevented their crossing. The hail had passed and the wind had died so he lifted from the perch into the sky and flew over the area, leaving the gem-cave behind.
As Gamaliil takes flight into the sky his body grows ever smaller, but the perch he left behind doesn’t lose sight of him. The mouth of the cave, facing out onto the mountain side takes a yawn. The very rock of the earth stretches out as if it were terribly burdened by the deficiency of something. Long steady breathes of Earth reverberates from the mouth of the supposedly still mountain side.
A crunching clash of rocks and gems being mashed echoes through the hallways off the lips of the perch. Rocks and gems ground out the form of a man curled up into a ball in one of the skylit dead-end rooms. It’s limbs were wrapped around itself and its legs were tucked under its arms. The figure was a blob gem of a statue at first, but with the hum of a small vibration and the output of a thought – which can only describe the summoning of such force – what was left of the cloud overcast suddenly came together in one large clash above the mountain sending a brilliant strike of lightning down into the roofless chamber, setting it abuzz with a seemingly alien energy.
The crystalline figure was transformed by the circuitry of the geometric prisms that cascaded shockwaves of electric current onto the pad of the sleeping crystal man. A blank template of perfect energy in the shape of a man, cradling its legs. Then it rolled onto its side when its mass adjusted to the new sketch of it’s human form. Lacking a singular component the cave waited, as it does when it takes the normal striated form of a cave.
Down the hillside Gamaliil had waited long enough. All of the men were being lined along the waters edge with their hoods on. The ICE and FBI personnel began to cock guns and load ammunition. Death Blossom came to a point above the scene, silently observing from above trying to make out which of the prisoners was his friendly plant. A commander of sorts gave the order to open fire with a chopping motion to the air, and then Death descended.
There were eight ICE and two FBI agents present. All of their identities eluded Death Blossom, but FBI dealing with border problems couldn’t be a good sign for locals. Death Blossom wondered at which of the hooded men was Silen, his undercover. For now he would have to save them all, and so he landed in between the border agents and the hostages, transmitting through the air an invisible force of magnetic energy that centered all weapons on him.
The squad opened fire at the sight of the sudden and instantaneous arrival of a person from the sky. Their concentrated gunfire would make short work of almost anything, especially a bare human; Stupid. They each shot until their clips ran out, smoke blotted their sight and when a slight breeze came through to lift the veil a ball of collected bullet shard had collapsed in on itself, into a large ball of metal, being furiously moulded at the center of Death Blossom’s chest. With a brief exhalation Death Blossom threw out his arm as if to toss a stone and the glob of heated and compressed metal exploded into shards. Five of the men before him were reduced to shrapnel-ed corpses, their dying breathes barely audible on the night air.
Death Blossom turned to the hooded men to begin removing their blinds and bindings.
“Not so fast mutant. Over here.”
Gamaliil turned over his shoulder to witness a new horror: a man armed with a sort of strange looking science cannon. It sparked on the end, a brief light in the dying night, creating many shadows. It torched on and with the speed of a synaptic connection an arc of lightning traveled from the gun to Death Blossom. The metal disks covering Gamaliil’s body surged with energy as they helped conduct electricity. The body of Death Blossom fell as a smoking corpse into an ashy puddle on the ground.
“Bastard. Killed all those loyal men. Gibbs make sure he’s dead,” the lead ICE said over the comm.
One of the ICE agents moved in.
“Got it boss,” with the clicking of a button and the scuffle of steel against leather.
The Agent with the canon was checking his weapon. The other FBI agent was quickly and silently instructing the larger man with the cannon. Confusion reigned for a brief moment as most of the prisoners removed their hoods to bear witness to what was going to happen next. A few managed to pick up guns that the dead agents no longer had use for. They turned to their comrades speaking in Espanol.
“Ha llegado nuestra hora mis amigos! Le permite matar a estos madre puta!”
The Agent with the cannon turned to the men now confronting him with firearms and fired another arc that traveled from the first victim to the two other men standing directly behind him. The smell of their fried remains was enough to frighten everyone in the vicinity. The hostages began to flee. All but one. A blank slated “illegal” stepped forward from out of sight. The grumbling FBI agents turned the cannon towards him.
“You want some punk!?” roared the cannon-bearing suit.
The smaller FBI man was checking what can only be described as knobs and levers on the large, highly technical looking, backpack at the rear of the larger man. Occasionally the nerd would relay a string of numbers to the grunt, and the cannoneer would go, “Yup. Ahuh,” whilst looking down at his hands and readjusting a lever here and there.
The strange mexican did not respond but he looked clammy and sweaty in the night air. The agent took one last look as the man obviously bore no notion to the scene and squeezed the trigger. The small mexican took a huge bolt of electricity to the chest, the energy poured over and around him and simply dissipated into the night air, the ending effect being that his eyes were now glowing. The mexican shuffled towards the FBI agents. The smaller FBI man was fiddling with a crank on the backpack end, whimpering with sudden fear.
“Uhh,” the grunt said for a second as the sweaty mexican slouched by.
The clammy man that took the shockwave of electricity marched over to where the ICE agent was about to slit the throat of the already dying Death Blossom. The mexican merely put his hands over the mouth of the ICE agent and the man fell to the floor, dead. Gamaliil was sure to go, how soon could not be said.
Stepping over the smoking ashes of Gamaliil the mystery mexican picked up Death Blossom’s body, who was barely breathing. The agents were now arguing over the next step as the man shuffled off into the dark of night, up the hill away from danger with Death Blossom in tow. The other ICE agents came out from behind cars, scared to death to do anything they looked to the FBI men for guidance.
Gamaliil’s luck kicked one last time and the man carried him straight to the gem cave. Awed in silence they took shelter there for the time. The man carried Gamaliil into the cave system later where he found a room in which Death Blossom issued his fond farewell. With a wave the strange mutant with no voice left. Death Blossom was alone now and specks of rain began to patter down on his head. Barely able to look up the roofless view allowed for a brief glimpse of a tumultuous storm that had just brewed.
With a sigh the Earth drew in breath and muttered a magical phrase that only the tiny atoms of substantial reality could fathom, and a bolt of lightning was sucked from the clouds in the sky into the chambers with the block of rock-energy-statue and that of the curiously gazing Gamaliil Rabota. Clean slated and reseated through a fluke of magic that is only replicated in nature through a supernatural cleansing act; the consciousness of what was once that man was harvested in a reverse extraction effort to reproduce another being, a new being.
Out of rock he came, but of pure energy was he born. Opening his eyes to the world for the first time the sight was electrifying, with every grainy spec bouncing and refracting some sort of light off its surface. The glare of every element was glimmering sands in the night. Standing was strange as he didn’t know where his legs were at first – then they appeared. His skin was rough then translucent, but with such electric glare. His breathe was ionized and he’d never breathed anything cleaner before. Around him the colors of the chamber played with his imagination, flowing into monstrous things and small friendly things. He looked to the gems around him closer and closer, feeling their magnetic auras and playing upon their frequencies like keys on a piano. The pull was mesmerizing and they sang long illustrious beautiful notes, they chimed enchanting lulling magical incantations, and they hummed the deepest darkest Earthy melodies.
“But who am I?” he thought then he said it, “My hands they are real. I am real. But. How do I not have any knowledge of me. Why cant I remember who I am? Who am I?”