Beware The Red Shadow - The Most Dangerous Game

[SecretSociety]

This is the follow-up to my previous story "Beware the Red Shadow - Cat and Mouse" (Found here: viewtopic.php?f=9&t=29089)

Its recommended that you read the first story, but I've provided a recap of the setting and the first story's events below.

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On 28th October 1919, the United States Congress passed the Volstead Act, prohibiting the production, sale and transport of alcohol. What they didn't take into account was public opinion on this frankly boneheaded decision. The problem with trying to deny one of man's oldest vices (third only to sex and murder, of course), was that if people couldn't get it legitimately, they'd resort to illegal methods. That's where the bootleggers and rumrunners come in. They saw a lucrative business opportunity and they took to it like a fish to water. Of course, these cartoon characters didn't exactly get along too well, as expected from men of their personality types, causing a lot of bloodshed over territory and control of the supply. With all this juicy news, you'd need somebody to report it, right?

That's where I come in; ace reporter Jack Cooper. When I was just a young, bright-eyed cub reporter, I only dreamed of scoops like these. A good thirty years later, and I was covering one of the biggest domestic crises of the country. Of course, the government assured everyone about the effectiveness of the Volstead Act, but anyone with half a brain could tell that it was a disaster from day one.

Thanks to the government's gross incompetence, I pushed out some of the biggest headlines The Town Crier ever saw. It seemed that a week couldn't go by with some goon getting his brains blown out in a back alley, but the editor-in-chief only saw the dollars. I'll admit it was a tad morbid, taking advantage of the violence to make a buck, but business was business.

One particular organisation of bootleggers managed to eliminate all competition in the city, mostly through violence, becoming the number one supplier of alcohol. To keep their operations running smoothly, the organisation bribed politicians and even got the police in their pocket. They were untouchable.

Then came the turning point. Mob toughs, guys who killed more people than we could keep count, were found beaten to a pulp in the streets. Breweries and booze deliveries were targeted, disrupting the organisation's cash flow. One of the "victims" I came across kept on muttering the same thing over and over again: L'ombra Rossa, which was Dago-speak for "the Red Shadow".

And with that, a legend was born. Most were hesitant to believe that only one person was doing this, but by all accounts, it appeared to be the case. The once-invincible organisation was fighting a war of attrition that they were gradually losing. The newspapers, on the other hand, sold like hotcakes, and the Red Shadow practically became a household name in the city, with a little help from your's truly, of course.

I got an anonymous tip one day, telling me to go to the outskirts of the city. There, they told me, I would find the remains of the Red Shadow. Feeling rather skeptical, but not one to refuse a story with potential, I made my way there lickety-split.

Much to my initial disappointment, all I found was a dug-out grave and a broken coffin. Now it was easy to assume that someone had dug it up and broke the lid, but there was just one thing going against that theory: the lid was blasted open from the inside. Either Harry fucking Houdini had graced us with his presence or I was dealing with something else entirely.

Now imagine my surprise when I got news that somebody landed Rick Gigante, the organisation's enforcer, in hospital. The guy was a freak of nature, probably seven foot-tall and with a mean-streak a mile wide. I paid him a visit, and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. His right knee was snapped, his left arm was fractured in three places, his right arm in two, all his ribs were shattered and his jaw was broken, forcing the doctors to wire it shut and flushing any chance of an interview down the shitter. No doubt that this was the work of the Red Shadow. His attacks were always vicious, but never like this. Gigante must have made it personal. Still, he could have at least kept his jaw intact.

But there was a silver-lining. The story of the Red Shadow springing out of his own grave and exacting revenge on the man who buried them alive sold more newspapers than ever. It was like we were living in a dime novel, and it made the people feel safer thinking they had a bonafide ghost with voodoo powers watching over them. Not that I ever believed it.

You'd be hopelessly naive to think that this humiliation wasn't going to go unanswered. A reliable source of mine informed me that the boss was stepping up his security. He was hiring guys from all over Europe, real hardened killers. There were ex-military guys from Germany, former members of the defeated Russian White Army and even Irish freedom fighters. There were even rumours of the boss getting some help from "abnormal" sources, but my informant didn't have much information beyond that. Too low on the totem pole, I guess. Damn shame. Wherever Red Shadow is, he better be ready for the fight of his life.

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Ace knew that Red was capable of performing borderline impossible feats, but her one-woman assault on Gigante took the cake. Taking out Gigante and his crew of men armed with fully automatic weapons in a head-on attack was impressive on enough, but throwing a goddamn car through the front door . . . Ace would have been lying if he said it didn't excite him.

Now one may have asked how exactly you took on someone like that in a fair fight. The answer was that you didn't. Ace's trick with the bomb certainly gave him the upper-hand in their second encounter, but that gambit would only work once, and Ace wasn't a one-trick pony. He needed to prepare and plan out his next move.

First on the agenda was getting some gear. His equipment during their fight, and all he had on him was a spare M1911 pistol that was about as good against her as a dick in a nunnery. Fortunately, he knew someone from his Army days that could acquire arms through less-than legal means.

Ace made his way to the meeting point through a poorly-lit alleyway, with the sound of his shoes making impact with puddles of water echoing softly through off the walls. His trench coat flowed behind him, and his hat kept his eyes hidden from sight. Ace had the aura of a dangerous man, one that not even the most foolhardy of thugs would dare provoke.

He stopped at a metal door that almost seamlessly blended in with the rest of the alley, before knocking on it three times. The slit on the door opened up, revealing only a pair of piercing blue eyes.

"What's the password?", demanded a hoarse voice.
"Cut the shit, Kowalski. You know who it is."

There were the muffled noises of locks turning before the door swung open, revealing the blonde, grizzled man who owned those blue eyes. He was slightly shorter than Ace, but stockier, and his face was battle-worn and scarred. He motioned for Ace to enter and turned around to walk down the stairs with a rather noticeable limp.

"Can never be too secure. It could've been any Boston Mick for all I knew."
"Any other Boston Mick would've tried kicking the door down."

They eventually reached the basement at the end of the stairs, with a single table in the middle. On that table was a set of weapons that Kowalski had prepared for their meeting, including the M1897 shotgun, one of Ace's favourites.

"Got your Trench Gun just the way you like it, Sean, but the Mauser was a no-go. Would've been a pain in the ass to import."

It was disappointing, but understandable.

"Lucky for you, I've got something special to make up for it."

Kowalski disappeared into another room in the basement, leaving Ace alone for a brief moment. He re-emerged holding a rather large weapon that he slammed dramatically down onto the table.

"The M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle. Issued near the end of the war, but our unit wasn't able to get its hands on this little beauty. Semi and fully automatic, as the name suggests. Each box magazine holds twenty .03-06 Springfield rounds, a higher caliber than the Thompson, and it can lay down suppressing fire better than anything short of a fucking machine gun."

Ace pondered as he scanned the rest of the arms Kowalski had laid out on the table. What particularly caught his eye was the scoped M1903 Springfield rifle.

"I'll take them. All of them."
"You sure you can afford it? That bomb cost you a pretty penny. I'd give you a friend's discount if I could, but business is pretty tight right now."

Silently reaching into his trench coat, Ace pulled out a sizeable wad of cash and slammed it down onto the table. Kowalski took the cash and carefully counted before a satisfied grin crept onto his grizzled face.

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Eva Clarke resided in a rather modest apartment in the city, but had inherited the admittedly opulent family mansion in the outskirts of the city along with the rest of the family fortune. Eva didn't spend much time there during a childhood, even prior to her mother's death, and had no real attachment to it. However, it did come useful for special gatherings that were often necessary for the young business owner, and this was such an occasion. She had to rub shoulders with a lot of the city's key figures, and as much as the festivities bored her, it was a necessity.

The mansion was absolutely packed with sharply dressed politicians and businessmen, generally of the old and greying variety, with their significantly younger wives wearing the latest fashions. Waiters roamed the great marble floor of the great hall of the mansion, serving hors d'oeuvre and drinks. Indistinct conversations filled the air in a controlled cacophony, mixing in with the music of the live band.

Eva Clarke herself stood in the corner of the hall, dressed in a glittering black dress that touched the floor and highlighted her lean figure, and her chin-length, raven hair was adorned with a fashionable headband. In her hand was a glass of champagne. An observant person would have noticed that not even a single drop had left the glass. Eva also wore her least stolid and dour facial expression for the occasion, though most people wouldn't have been able to tell she was making the effort. She hid her discomfort remarkably well, especially when considering her footwear; a pair of silver high-heeled shoes. They were uncomfortable and impractical to walk in. Eva couldn't comprehend why anyone would even wear them in the first place.

Her musings were interrupted when a man approached her. He was tall and broad, but had a noticeable belly. Still, his build indicated that he was once muscular and athletic in his youth. The man had a neatly trimmed beard, slicked black grey hair that used to be black and a contented smile that displayed his wrinkles. He was like a lion, not only in appearance, but through his presence as well. This was no doubt Preston Ainsley, real estate tycoon and owner of Paradise, one of the city's biggest clubs for the upper crust of society.

"Good evening, Miss Clarke. Lovely party, with an even lovelier host", Preston said, his deep baritone giving him a sense of authority.
"If you're extending an offer of marriage, Mr. Ainsley, I'm afraid I will have to respectfully decline", Eva responded, in a bored tone that suggested the phrase had been said many times in the past.

Preston Ainsley chuckled heartily at the comment before continuing.

"I'm happily married, Miss Clarke. Thirty three years and counting. I do believe I'm quite old for you."
"An age gap hasn't stopped older from trying."
"You are one of the most eligible women in the city, though I feel I must warn you that it may not last long."
"That's a relief."
"I am of the opinion that it is imperative to strike the iron while it's hot. I don't mean to be rude, but time is a woman's worst enemy."
"Oh, please be rude, Mr. Ainsley. It would certainly be refreshing."

Preston Ainsley laughed once again, this time more loudly than before. He was about to speak when a woman closer to his age beckoned him. Ainsley turned to Eva and respectfully nodded.

"This conversation has been interesting, Miss Clarke, but I am afraid that my duties as a husband take priority. I bid you adieu."

While Ainsley disappeared into the crowd, Eva lamented the fact that the most tolerable moment of the party had just ended.

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Eva arrived at her apartment at midnight, completely drained from the absolutely tedious experience. She would even dare to say that being buried alive was a more pleasant experience. As she pulled off her high-heels, Eva looked forward to a long night's sleep.

It had been quiet since her assault on Rick Gigante and his crew, which was a given, considering that she had incapacitated the organisation's enforcer. With him gone, the people would have felt a lot safer, and the organisation's hold over the city was significantly weakened. Taking him out was all part of her mission, but what she did to him that night was very much personal. She could still vividly remember the way he violated and beat her. His screams were like music to her ears. Shame that the police had to interrupt it.

What you did to him was unnecessary cruelty. The battle was won.

It was the entity residing in Eva, always nagging her about her night life like a scolding parent. It was never exactly pleased with her decision to take up the mantle of L'ombra Rossa, but Rick Gigante's brutal punishment certainly pushed it's tolerance to the limit.

The battle isn't won until I've eradicate his kind from the city. I didn't know you had sympathy for murderers and rapists, Eva telepathically responded as she pulled off her headband.
I am merely concerned on your behalf, considering that you neglect your own wellbeing. If you continue to walk this path, you will either perish or become like the ones you claim to stand against.

Eva felt a wave of anger come over her at the comparison. But perhaps it had a point. Worst of all, perhaps Ace had a point. Perhaps she enjoyed her torture of Gigante to a worrying extent. Pushing those concerns to the back of her mind, Eva slipped out of her dress and put on her white nightgown. She went around her apartment and made sure to turn off all the lights before closing the curtains. Entering the bedroom, Eva was ready to collapse until morning came.

That was when she heard it. It was a subtle, faint noise that ordinary people would have easily missed. But Eva wasn't an ordinary person. Far from it. Her senses were honed to a razor's edge, a testament to her training in the Far East. She cautiously entered the living room, her instincts already having taken over.

The first thing she noticed was that the curtains were blowing. She remembered that the windows were closed last time she saw them. As if through supernatural means, Eva sensed something, or rather someone, coming up behind her. Snapping around, she saw a deadly blade headed straight for her throat. Intercepting the arm holding the blade, she threw the assailant across the room, towards the window.

To her surprise, the invader had managed to recover in mid-air and land on their feet before throwing another blade at Eva. With a subtle movement, the blade embedded itself into the wall behind Eva instead of her chest, which the invader had aimed at. The two combatants stood their ground, battle-ready, while Eva's night gown flowed with the wind from the open window.

The attacker was dressed in completely black garb that hugged their unmistakably feminine figure. Concealing her face was a porcelain mask with the vaguely feline features, not unlike those worn in the Chinese opera. But most striking of all was the all-too familiar flowing white hair. The attacker then spoke softly with a slight-accent, the venom clear in her tone.

"Hello, friend."

[DrDominator9]

I like! Nice touch having everyone think L'ombra Rossa is a guy. And you're keeping the readers on the hook about this entity within. A slow reveal, how coy. I can't believe that Ace will actually end up using those weapons on our heroine, be it by her own ability to deter them or his own admiration of her. Of course if she corners him, that might spur him to actually get nasty back, he does have that capability. Enjoying the flow of this. Keep it up...please!

[Doctor Outcome]

Yo, that recap was awesome!

'Trying to deny man one of their oldest vices (third to murder and sex). LOL! That sounds almost like something they'd put in 'the Purge' movies. Secret Society, this is hands down impressive. I look forward to what you create next for this.

[SecretSociety]

The assassin who had invaded Eva's home was a familiar face. Or the mask was, at least.

"It's been a long time. Have you come to collect the contract on me? I never took you for a simple hired killer.", said Eva, as if she was having a friendly conversation with an old acquaintance.
"I have no interest in your petty squabble with these halfwits. Your activities have simply drawn the attention of the White Dragon. I was sent to confirm his suspicions."

Eva scoffed in disbelief.

"Impossible. I took his head."
"Fool! The White Dragon is immortal!"

With that, the assassin charged at Eva with speed matching her adversaries. The blade she held became impossible to follow with the naked eye, as she slashed at Eva, who was able to keep up with the assassin's inhuman speed and evade the strikes. But the onslaught was too much, and the blade slipped through Eva's defences, causing her to yelp in pain when it slid across her side, tearing at her nightgown in the process. The strike gave Eva an opening, who ignored the pain and countered with a solid kick to the assassin's chest. While the assassin stumbled back, Eva checked the severity of her injury. Only a flesh wound.

"You have improved. Tell me, does the spirit still speak to you?", the assassin said, nursing what would certainly become a bruise.
"Of course it does."
"Good. The White Dragon will be pleased."

The assassin made a stab at Eva, who was prepared this for the attack Once Eva kicked her advancing opponent's leg, the assassin was unbalanced. Taking advantage of her opponent's momentum, she locked the assassin's blade arm and quickly struck her across the face with a series of punches with her free arm before throwing her towards the wall behind her. The assassin's back slammed hard onto the wall, and her eyes visibly widened underneath the mask as Eva jumped into the air and sent her knee straight into her masked face.

As the assassin struggled to stay on her feet, the porcelain mask cracked open, with the two broken halves falling to the ground. The assassin was revealed to be a woman of Asian descent, with almond eyes and a round face that was slightly marred by the blood pouring from her nose. Grabbing the blade embedded in the wall, the assassin pulled it out and slashed at Eva, who jumped back.

In a fit of rage, the assassin spun and attempted to slam her heel into Eva's ribs, who simply grabbed the leg and easily threw her opponent onto the coffee table of the living room, causing it to crash onto the ground. The assassin rolled back onto her feet, taking a few moments to decide her next move. Rather than continue the fight, the assassin rushed to the window, but not before getting a few words in.

"The White Dragon will be impressed with your progress. If you survive the coming storm, seek him out. He will look forward to facing you."

And with that, the mysterious intruder had vanished, leaving Eva with a bleeding cut and a broken coffee table. She wondered what exactly was meant by the "coming storm".

Will you answer the challenge?

Eva contemplated the question before answering.

No. At least not yet. There's still much to do here.

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Dante Moretti, the supposed head of the criminal organisation of that ruled the city's underworld, impatiently paced around his dimly-lit office, smoke permeating the air from the cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. He was a man in his late 40s, of rather average build and distinctly Italian features. One might have even called them stereotypical. As a man of purely Italian breed (which he bragged about constantly), Moretti had jet black hair with signs of greying at the temple, which could be partially attributed to stress.

Once he heard the phone ring, Moretti immediately rushed to his desk and picked it up.

"About fuckin' time! You think it's funny to leave me here with my thumb up my ass?"

The caller responded in a calm tone, ignoring the abuse hurled towards him.

"I had other matters to attend to. As much as you would like to think it, the universe doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Moretti."

While Moretti was tempted to fire right back, he much preferred to get business rolling, especially when the call was far too late for his liking.

"Alright, I'm gonna cut the shit right here and now. This situation is fucked. Gigante's in hospital and my own guys are scared shitless of this L'ombra Rossa dickhead. They got no balls!"
"I would have hoped that you were capable of dealing with the problem yourself. I also feel the need to note that productivity has been dropping at an alarming rate, no doubt due to this L'ombra Rossa figure that has been troubling you so. My own "slice of the pie", so to speak, is diminishing. Do I need to remind you of how much funding your organisation has received? I saw a lucrative business opportunity with this venture, and you are not delivering, Mr. Moretti."
"The operations and deliveries are being fucked with. A man can't make a decent buck with that asshole running around."
"I've already arranged the employment of foreign assets - "
"Who'll do fuck all! If Gigante couldn't handle him, what makes you think some commie fucks from Russia and a bunch of sauerkraut eating assholes could do the job?"

The caller considered correcting him on the point about the Russians, but decided against it. It wasn't worth the trouble.

"What happened to your hired assassin? The soldier."
"Ace? Went dark after Gigante was hit."
"Then he's either suffered a worse fate than him or has gone into hiding out of fear. I thought those men would have been made of sturdier stuff."
"You and me both."

Moretti sighed and exasperatedly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Listen, you're not the only one with concerns. The guys in New York are up my ass about where their cut is, and I gotta deliver soon. I don't think I need to tell you what happens if I don't."
"No worries, Mr. Moretti. I have managed to acquire the services of someone with particular talents. He will take care of your problem, I'm sure of it."
"So where the fuck is this man of the hour?"
"Closer than you think, Mr. Moretti."

There was a click, and Moretti was left alone with more questions than answers. Angrily slamming the phone down, the mob boss then heard the faint noise of breathing behind him. He felt a shiver run down his spine. Slowly turning, Moretti was greeted with the horrific sight of two yellow lights glaring at him from the shadows. Reaching for the revolver on his desk, Moretti pointed it at the one who possessed those eyes, but was only met with a click.

"I removed the rounds from your firearm before you even entered the room. Do not be alarmed, if I wished any harm, you would be already dead."
"What . . . what the fuck are you?"

Stepping out of the shadows, the figure, a deformed creature that resembled both a beast and a man, towered above Moretti as he grinned evilly, displaying rows of razor sharp fangs.

"Call me Grendel."

[DrDominator9]

Nice move forward with plot thickening nicely. Good cooking, Secret Society.

[Void]

More good stuff. You're doing a great job of bringing the setting to life, particularly with really on-point word choice from the characters. I appreciated the use of the reporter as a storyteller to clue us in, and look forward to seeing more from him. All the encounters and events here were played out and presented perfectly - the tone of this story is so much my cup of tea.

The series of things unfolding here is very intriguing... I look forward to seeing how you weave these different aspects of the story together. You've taken a big bite here, with three very distinct antagonists. It's ambitious, and I like it!

There's lovely depth and texture to all this. I look forward to you returning to it.