The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Landing Platform Terminal, Floor 75

Despite the chaos of the fight, the world drew to a calm around Robert Merlow. Time slowed, and with every breath, Merlow’s perception expanded. The red sighting lasers of the approaching LACPD lit up dust motes and fragmented particles as they swept through the air, but they were too far away. The battleground now consisted of only two. The Fleet Admiral and the mad Tyrant.

The katana scythed out of its sheath, flicking up and down in a fluid motion that exposed Robert’s expertise. He stepped slowly backward, towards the shattered windows. Behind him, the shrieking winds of the high skyscrapers buffeted his hair and coat. But he remained solid; an unmoving pillar of strength and determination against the forces of nature. The mad Tyrant’s charge was a mass of strained and tangled muscle. The weight and power of the man rippled beneath his torn and blood-soaked clothing, but Merlow could see he only had enough energy left for one strike. Deep red ochre flowed freely from the Tyrant’s open wounds as his lifeblood left him. He had devoted everything to this final push; to finally destroy his sworn enemy. The look in his eyes gave it all away; there was hardly anything left of the man, only a wild monster, incandescent with rage and torment. Merlow placed his free hand on the hilt of the katana, swung the blade of the weapon downward, and gently bent his knees into a semi-crouch.
He timed his strike to perfection.

Reaching the end of his sprint, Tyrant Scarman launched himself forward, arching his arm up and stabbing down with the knife. Merlow sidestepped and brought the blade up in one motion. The strike was neat and swift. Tyrant Scarman’s weight and speed carried him forward into the upturned edge, and the final blow landed with deadly precision. The katana sunk into the mad Tyrant at the groin and cut upward into his torso. Merlow twisted backwards and whipped the blade free. A river of blood flicked from the edge of the deadly weapon, spattering the floor with globes of deep crimson.

Tyrant Scarman’s powerful sprint turned into a weakened stagger as he toppled past the Fleet Admiral. He turned as he stumbled, his eyes meeting Merlows. He knew he was beaten. The last of his strength faded, and Merlow saw fear take hold. The Tyrant twisted around, blood pouring from the fatal wound that had been carved up the length of his body. He dropped his combat knife, the weapon clattering to the floor. The blood flowed free from his grievous injury, flicking and coiling as the howling winds from the open window tore at the mad Tyrant’s body. With one last desperate look at the Fleet Admiral, Tyrant Marcus Scarman toppled backward and out of sight. He plunged from the seventy-fifth floor, a streaking comet of anger and confusion. His final thoughts were of his beloved Victoria as the ground rushed up to meet him.

Merlow produced an oiled cloth and wiped his blade clean. He turned around just in time to see the LACPD squad draw up, their weapons trained on him. He had nowhere to run. He sheathed his katana and unbuckled his belt, slowly kneeling to lay his weapons on the floor.
“No sudden movements, you’re under arrest.” One of the men stepped forwards, producing a pair of electronic binders from his waist.
“You have my unconditional surrender,” Merlow spoke evenly as he looked past them.
Behind the squad of armed police, further back into the terminal, Merlow could see Thomas Serov knelt beside the prone forms of Victoria Wade and Kurt Manning.
“But please, my friends need urgent medical attention.”

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."