The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Landing Platform Terminal, Floor 75

Tyrant Scarman ripped the blade away from the bounty hunter’s throat, reveling in the spout of deep red that followed. Kurt Manning slumped to the ground, the final ebbs of life fading from him. Scarman licked his lips, tasting the iron tang of blood in the air. A red curtain had descended over his conscious mind, silencing any remaining rational cognition occurring within. He remembered the bump and clatter of the chair that had previously struck him in the lower back and his tortured instincts produced only one word: threat. The mad Tyrant whirled around, blade in hand. Victoria Wade cowered behind him, still lying prone. She desperately tried to drag herself away with her elbows and the flats of her boots. However, she could barely move. The sudden, horrifying death of Kurt had drained the last of the fight from her, leaving her stunned and weak. The Tyrant emitted a guttural, high-pitched screeching sound as he lunged for her; the sound of devouring rage mixed with an almost joyous glee.

He leaped through the air, a terrifying predator animal. Time seemed to slow as he sprung toward her. Victoria heard gunshots from somewhere behind, thick and heavy; the thunk of a high caliber projectile. Several tracer rounds punched through the air past the Tyrant, each one a sharp whipcrack of energy. Two struck him: one in the shoulder, and one just above his right breast. The shot to the chest would have killed any normal man, but Tyrant Scarman didn’t seem to notice. He fell through the air, descending on Victoria with murderous intent. There was no escape this time. The predator had caught his prey, and the spectacle was devastating.

Still sprinting as hard as he could, tears welled in the corners of Scarecrow’s eyes as he watched the Tyrant land on top of Victoria. The madman started to hammer down a storm of blows on the already broken redheaded soldier, bludgeoning strikes and devastating, penetrating stabs. Marcus emptied the rest of his clip as he ran, screaming at the top of his lungs. But no more of his shots hit their mark. His emotional state had rendered his accuracy low, and he was far, far too late to save her. It took a few precious seconds for him to cover the last of the distance between them. He then charged shoulder first into his parallel self, wiping the Tyrant clear of Victoria’s shattered form.

The two men sprawled away, their weapons clattering to the deck. Scarecrow came to rest flat on his face. The tiled flooring was slick with an expanding pool of dark red blood. Marcus pulled his cheek out of the mire and quickly realised he had fallen close to Kurt’s still warm body. He looked up, catching the bounty hunter’s sightless eyes as they gazed back at him. His heart sank into the very pit of his stomach, but the despair was quickly replaced by vengeful rage. Using it, he pushed himself up on both hands and spun his legs underneath his body into a neat crouch. He almost slipped on the seemingly infinite slick of blood, but he managed to hold his composure. He then trained his focus on the Tyrant and clenched his fists. His alternate self was approximately the same size, with a slightly larger frame and more muscular build. Since Marcus had last seen the mad Tyrant aboard the Danaan, the man seemed to have changed. Not only had he fully lost his mind, but he seemed to have undergone a metaphysical change. His arms and legs seemed longer, and his strained eyes were bulging with an insanity that rocked Scarecrow to his core. The Tyrant’s long hair and stubbling beard were slick with crimson ochre. Barely any of the skin on his face was still visible behind the stains of violence.
It was Kurt’s blood.
And Victoria’s.

Scarecrow’s discarded M9 lay not far from him, resting where it had fallen in the middle of the open. Close by it lay the Tyrant’s bloodied combat knife. In a flash of reflexes, Marcus made for the weapons, but he was too slow. Tyrant Scarman closed in on him with an unnatural speed and his right fist connected with Scarecrow’s jaw. Marcus staggered off to the left, completely stunned by the strike. A second blow came in from underneath, snapping upward into Scarecrow’s chin. Marcus’ jaw was forced outward into a painful underbite, and his bottom teeth sank into his upper lip. Spitting blood, he reeled backwards. He slewed and skidded on Kurt’s blood beneath his feet, but he once again held steady. With purpose, he slowly lowered his head, bringing his eyes level with the mad Tyrant’s. Wiping blood from beneath his nose, Marcus’ curled his torn upper lip into a snarl, and launched himself at his enemy.

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."