Cyrusbales
Avenger
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JOHN CONSTATINE (HELLBLAZER) AND THE SHADOW
BY CYRUS BALES
JOHN CONSTANTINE (HELLBLAZER)-CYRUSBALES ISSUE #1
Step into the room, silent, silent except the scratching. There's always scratching with this one. Walk over to the other side of the room, the body's stuffed behind the bed, still twitching. Still scratching at the wooden boards.
I slide out my pack, only two left. Pull one out. The lighter fires, breathe in. Lungs fill with that tarry bliss. Breathe out.
The smell of suplhur follows, same as two others this week. Someone's trying to get noticed. The family look at me as if I'm a healer, their eyes brim with some kind of hope, hope I can't offer them. It's too late for this one, too late for their son.
I emerge out the building, rain wrapping itself around me. It doesn't bother me, too much to worry about right now. That kid, third like it this week, something likes them young, something different, something that's gonna have to go back down below. It's not like I haven't seen a demon rip out a kids heart from the inside before, it's just I've never seen them left twitching for days afterwards, this is big.
I stop at the gas station, might as well get two packets, it could be a long night, then again, it's always a long night. Sling the cashier some change, I don't even care if it's enough, got other things on my mind.
Lighter fires, breathe in, pause, breathe out. Carry on walking through the rain.
Along the street i see the church. Every day people leave smiling faced, pleased with themselves. Most of them are begging for a sign to know it's all real, but if they knew... If you know there's a heaven, you know there's a hell, and trust me, that's not something you wanna know.
The puddles seem to collect around my feet as I travel down the road. The rain aint gonna let up, it never does, not whilst I'm here anyway. They don't bother me, all I can think about is the demon. the demon that's ahead of me every step of the way. At least if I can't do anything about it now, there's plenty to keep me busy.
STOP, rest against a wall briefly, catch my breath, let the lungs stop aching. Breathe slowly John. Gone, well as gone as my pain gets at least. All that pain...time for another ciggy.
I slide the key in the door, the grating metal welcomes me back, along with the musty smell I've come to call home. Close the door, grab drink, a nice whisky should round the day off. Sit down, light up. Pick up the paper. Let's see if there's anything that seems like my sorta gig, something supernatural, something bad, something with a bodycount, something...like this. "2 backpackers dissapear in Fenwick swamp". Backpackers, don't these guys learn?
"This is the latest in a series of mysterious dissapearances in the area..." Mysterious? definately my sorta thing. Glass is looking a little on the empty side, quick top up. Then read on. There's always something else, you see the devil makes work for idle thumbs, he told me himself.
Page 13, how ominous. "3 known hitmen found, 2 dead one injured. The survivor claims they were stalked by a shadow that laughed as it slayed his companions." A shadow, how illusive indeed. "Police are making no official statements, rumours that Frank Castle has re-emerged have not been clarified, perhaps we have a new vigilante, or perhaps, as specialists claim, that the description is a result of severe trauma and should be dismissed...".
Shadows, swamps, never anywhere nice. Never 'Brutal slaying on hawai coast', it's always a swamp or alley. Anyway, John constantine doesn't beleive in easy, there's always a catch. Glass is empty, it's getting late, leave this for tomorrow.
As the last ember burns out, I creep into my deshevelled bed. Smoking before a sleep always helps, relaxes you, takes your mind off what's out there. Closing your eyes can be the most dangerous thing a man can do, especially when your John Constantine. I pull up the covers and close my eyes, try not to think about what's out there.
Good night world, I hope your gone when I wake up.
THE SHADOW - CYRUSBALES ISSUE #1
The screeching of wheels in a dark neighborhood of town. Out of the black and chrome vehicle step two men, the first is a short stocky man, well built, his face showing the scars of a few past victorys. The other is a taller man, also well built, a bowler hat perches atop of his balding head. As the door slams, the two walk towards a large warehouse type building. The kind youd expect to find people being fitted with concrete shoes.
So whats the deal with this Shadow character? I hear hes got Nick the nose pretty shaken up? The shorter of the men asks.
Nothing, its just something made up by the media, to keep us from doing what we do best. After all, what exactly can a Shadow do anyway! he retorts without hesitation. Lets just do what we came to do.
As the pair push their way through the side entrance door they slip their hands inside their long overcoats, the taller man reveals a revolver, the shorter, a sawn off shotgun. Lets stick to the plan, right? The taller man whispers.
Their footsteps on the cold hard floor echo through the darkness of the warehouse, until the sound changes to a wet and sticky sound. They stop. Flick yer light on the small man begs. CLICK, as the light illuminates the darkened floor, it passes over a man. Their man. Their contact. Although hes not alone, hes being kept company by a couple of bullets, one in the head, one in the chest. The blood is long since fresh, semi-coagulated its tacky congealed presence is felt underfoot. No shi .
Before either man can let out his utterances of fear, a loud booming laugh overpowers the warehouse. Shifting the light all about them, a shadow settles on a wall. A shadow of a man in a coat, a man with a large brimmed hat, a shadow without a man.
Within seconds the revolver hammers several bullets into the wall, all the shadow does is mock them with a laugh, a fiendish and chilling laugh, the last laugh for them. The pair scramble towards the exit which closes in their path. Leaving them trapped, in the darkness, with a shadow, but what can a shadow do they think? Not a lot. But a bullet, a bullet can do a whole lot, especially when its traveling through your taller companions face.
The taller man now lays at the other's feet. The feeling of dread consumes him completely. The reports were all real, there was a shadow out there hunting people down. But hed never get the chance to tell anyone. Firing off a few desperate shots in all direction, the man falls to his knees in acceptance of his fate. Then he hears it, the slow clicking of a gun barrel being cocked. The sound that rings through his ear which tells of something worse. Before he can even utter a prayer for himself, his head lies on the cold warehouse floor, lies there empty, forever.
The darkened tomb of the three now lies still, the door creeks open, out steps a shadow, nothing more than a shadow, one last laugh then the door is closed.
After all, what can a shadow do anyway?
JOHN CONSTANTINE (HELLBLAZER)-CYRUSBALES ISSUE#2
Creek open heavy eyes. Time to shine John. I grab a quick drink, then grab my coat and out the door, lighting up on the way. Its time to have a look at the nights activities, see what I missed whilst having my nightmares.
Dump a handful of pocket change in the paperboys hand and grab the newspaper. Three mobsters found dead in downtown warehouse. This sounds promising. Aching eyes scan down the column, all gunshot victims. But I have a feeling, and Ive learnt to follow those, I whistle a cab and head downtown.
Step out the cab, fling him a few notes and make my way to the crime scene. Cops are long gone, so I just slide past the yellow tape with ease. No-one really comes up here without a damn good reason, so I aint gonna be spotted.
Push the door open. As soon as my hand grasps the metal handle I feel something, the left-overs of a presence. Could be demon, a little too faint to tell. Something with more upstairs than your average soldier demon anyways.
The bodies are long since removed, the dried blood is still smeared across the warehouse, some looks fresher than the other, two crime scenes maybe? The smell, just decomposition, no sulphur. This aint the thing Ive been chasing for a while, but he seems like a big player. No normal guys gonna be taking out three hitmen like this. No evidence left, no leads.
Stroll outside, spark another up. This place is pretty close to the recent Shadow slayings as theyve dubbed them. Possible link? I clutch the handle again, trying to feel anything at all. Theres something shady, sinister, stealthy. Nothing else. Head away from the scene, cmon John, you got eight left, you should be able to get somewhere before you need to buy more.
Ten minutes walk down the road and its down to seven. Heading over to the other Shadow crime scene. Maybe some kinda stalker demon, something illusive, Ill know better when I get to the other place.
This scene is much darker than the warehouse. A dark back alley deep in downtown. The smell of cheap booze and sick is a regular occupant here. Enough dog ends litter the floor for this place to be my ashtray. It just about lifts the corner of my mouth to a half smile. Then I see the blood pattern, swathes of blood cast across the wall like one of those pathetic modern art paintings. This guys a piece of work. Starting to like his style, its not as if hes doing some great injustice to the world, these guys are better off this way. But still, whats gonna stop this guy from spreading his sights? Me I guess.
I stroke the dried blood, trying to get a feel for the killer, instead I see some weedy little guy take one look at me and then bolt like a greyhound on the track. Despite my lungs, I run after him, just about grab him before my lungs collapse. Pin him down whilst I get my breath back.
Twenty mins later Ive got a lead, the guy seemed pretty scared to tell me anything, but I got this ring off of his hand. He seemed to think it was kinda important. He told me that his master is planning something for tonight, so all I got to do is keep a track of all the mobsters in the area and I should get a result.
Lean up against a wall, cough up the blood, spit it all out. I leave the black and red pile behind, spattered all over the crime scene. Nice touch I thought.
Down to number 5 now, time to get some more, and get prepared for a long night.
JOHN CONSTANTINE (HELLBLAZER)-CYRUSBALES ISSUE #1
Step into the room, silent, silent except the scratching. There's always scratching with this one. Walk over to the other side of the room, the body's stuffed behind the bed, still twitching. Still scratching at the wooden boards.
I slide out my pack, only two left. Pull one out. The lighter fires, breathe in. Lungs fill with that tarry bliss. Breathe out.
The smell of suplhur follows, same as two others this week. Someone's trying to get noticed. The family look at me as if I'm a healer, their eyes brim with some kind of hope, hope I can't offer them. It's too late for this one, too late for their son.
I emerge out the building, rain wrapping itself around me. It doesn't bother me, too much to worry about right now. That kid, third like it this week, something likes them young, something different, something that's gonna have to go back down below. It's not like I haven't seen a demon rip out a kids heart from the inside before, it's just I've never seen them left twitching for days afterwards, this is big.
I stop at the gas station, might as well get two packets, it could be a long night, then again, it's always a long night. Sling the cashier some change, I don't even care if it's enough, got other things on my mind.
Lighter fires, breathe in, pause, breathe out. Carry on walking through the rain.
Along the street i see the church. Every day people leave smiling faced, pleased with themselves. Most of them are begging for a sign to know it's all real, but if they knew... If you know there's a heaven, you know there's a hell, and trust me, that's not something you wanna know.
The puddles seem to collect around my feet as I travel down the road. The rain aint gonna let up, it never does, not whilst I'm here anyway. They don't bother me, all I can think about is the demon. the demon that's ahead of me every step of the way. At least if I can't do anything about it now, there's plenty to keep me busy.
STOP, rest against a wall briefly, catch my breath, let the lungs stop aching. Breathe slowly John. Gone, well as gone as my pain gets at least. All that pain...time for another ciggy.
I slide the key in the door, the grating metal welcomes me back, along with the musty smell I've come to call home. Close the door, grab drink, a nice whisky should round the day off. Sit down, light up. Pick up the paper. Let's see if there's anything that seems like my sorta gig, something supernatural, something bad, something with a bodycount, something...like this. "2 backpackers dissapear in Fenwick swamp". Backpackers, don't these guys learn?
"This is the latest in a series of mysterious dissapearances in the area..." Mysterious? definately my sorta thing. Glass is looking a little on the empty side, quick top up. Then read on. There's always something else, you see the devil makes work for idle thumbs, he told me himself.
Page 13, how ominous. "3 known hitmen found, 2 dead one injured. The survivor claims they were stalked by a shadow that laughed as it slayed his companions." A shadow, how illusive indeed. "Police are making no official statements, rumours that Frank Castle has re-emerged have not been clarified, perhaps we have a new vigilante, or perhaps, as specialists claim, that the description is a result of severe trauma and should be dismissed...".
Shadows, swamps, never anywhere nice. Never 'Brutal slaying on hawai coast', it's always a swamp or alley. Anyway, John constantine doesn't beleive in easy, there's always a catch. Glass is empty, it's getting late, leave this for tomorrow.
As the last ember burns out, I creep into my deshevelled bed. Smoking before a sleep always helps, relaxes you, takes your mind off what's out there. Closing your eyes can be the most dangerous thing a man can do, especially when your John Constantine. I pull up the covers and close my eyes, try not to think about what's out there.
Good night world, I hope your gone when I wake up.
THE SHADOW - CYRUSBALES ISSUE #1
The screeching of wheels in a dark neighborhood of town. Out of the black and chrome vehicle step two men, the first is a short stocky man, well built, his face showing the scars of a few past victorys. The other is a taller man, also well built, a bowler hat perches atop of his balding head. As the door slams, the two walk towards a large warehouse type building. The kind youd expect to find people being fitted with concrete shoes.
So whats the deal with this Shadow character? I hear hes got Nick the nose pretty shaken up? The shorter of the men asks.
Nothing, its just something made up by the media, to keep us from doing what we do best. After all, what exactly can a Shadow do anyway! he retorts without hesitation. Lets just do what we came to do.
As the pair push their way through the side entrance door they slip their hands inside their long overcoats, the taller man reveals a revolver, the shorter, a sawn off shotgun. Lets stick to the plan, right? The taller man whispers.
Their footsteps on the cold hard floor echo through the darkness of the warehouse, until the sound changes to a wet and sticky sound. They stop. Flick yer light on the small man begs. CLICK, as the light illuminates the darkened floor, it passes over a man. Their man. Their contact. Although hes not alone, hes being kept company by a couple of bullets, one in the head, one in the chest. The blood is long since fresh, semi-coagulated its tacky congealed presence is felt underfoot. No shi .
Before either man can let out his utterances of fear, a loud booming laugh overpowers the warehouse. Shifting the light all about them, a shadow settles on a wall. A shadow of a man in a coat, a man with a large brimmed hat, a shadow without a man.
Within seconds the revolver hammers several bullets into the wall, all the shadow does is mock them with a laugh, a fiendish and chilling laugh, the last laugh for them. The pair scramble towards the exit which closes in their path. Leaving them trapped, in the darkness, with a shadow, but what can a shadow do they think? Not a lot. But a bullet, a bullet can do a whole lot, especially when its traveling through your taller companions face.
The taller man now lays at the other's feet. The feeling of dread consumes him completely. The reports were all real, there was a shadow out there hunting people down. But hed never get the chance to tell anyone. Firing off a few desperate shots in all direction, the man falls to his knees in acceptance of his fate. Then he hears it, the slow clicking of a gun barrel being cocked. The sound that rings through his ear which tells of something worse. Before he can even utter a prayer for himself, his head lies on the cold warehouse floor, lies there empty, forever.
The darkened tomb of the three now lies still, the door creeks open, out steps a shadow, nothing more than a shadow, one last laugh then the door is closed.
After all, what can a shadow do anyway?
JOHN CONSTANTINE (HELLBLAZER)-CYRUSBALES ISSUE#2
Creek open heavy eyes. Time to shine John. I grab a quick drink, then grab my coat and out the door, lighting up on the way. Its time to have a look at the nights activities, see what I missed whilst having my nightmares.
Dump a handful of pocket change in the paperboys hand and grab the newspaper. Three mobsters found dead in downtown warehouse. This sounds promising. Aching eyes scan down the column, all gunshot victims. But I have a feeling, and Ive learnt to follow those, I whistle a cab and head downtown.
Step out the cab, fling him a few notes and make my way to the crime scene. Cops are long gone, so I just slide past the yellow tape with ease. No-one really comes up here without a damn good reason, so I aint gonna be spotted.
Push the door open. As soon as my hand grasps the metal handle I feel something, the left-overs of a presence. Could be demon, a little too faint to tell. Something with more upstairs than your average soldier demon anyways.
The bodies are long since removed, the dried blood is still smeared across the warehouse, some looks fresher than the other, two crime scenes maybe? The smell, just decomposition, no sulphur. This aint the thing Ive been chasing for a while, but he seems like a big player. No normal guys gonna be taking out three hitmen like this. No evidence left, no leads.
Stroll outside, spark another up. This place is pretty close to the recent Shadow slayings as theyve dubbed them. Possible link? I clutch the handle again, trying to feel anything at all. Theres something shady, sinister, stealthy. Nothing else. Head away from the scene, cmon John, you got eight left, you should be able to get somewhere before you need to buy more.
Ten minutes walk down the road and its down to seven. Heading over to the other Shadow crime scene. Maybe some kinda stalker demon, something illusive, Ill know better when I get to the other place.
This scene is much darker than the warehouse. A dark back alley deep in downtown. The smell of cheap booze and sick is a regular occupant here. Enough dog ends litter the floor for this place to be my ashtray. It just about lifts the corner of my mouth to a half smile. Then I see the blood pattern, swathes of blood cast across the wall like one of those pathetic modern art paintings. This guys a piece of work. Starting to like his style, its not as if hes doing some great injustice to the world, these guys are better off this way. But still, whats gonna stop this guy from spreading his sights? Me I guess.
I stroke the dried blood, trying to get a feel for the killer, instead I see some weedy little guy take one look at me and then bolt like a greyhound on the track. Despite my lungs, I run after him, just about grab him before my lungs collapse. Pin him down whilst I get my breath back.
Twenty mins later Ive got a lead, the guy seemed pretty scared to tell me anything, but I got this ring off of his hand. He seemed to think it was kinda important. He told me that his master is planning something for tonight, so all I got to do is keep a track of all the mobsters in the area and I should get a result.
Lean up against a wall, cough up the blood, spit it all out. I leave the black and red pile behind, spattered all over the crime scene. Nice touch I thought.
Down to number 5 now, time to get some more, and get prepared for a long night.
