Utterly Mad

Time: 1928 A.D.  120 years before the cataclysm
Characters: Salazar
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Salazar walked through the hallways of the building in a slight panic. If he planned to go through with the plan he had to be quick about this next part. The two guards at the end of the hallway patted him down before letting him through. After passing the threshold into the next room he excused himself to the bathroom.

Pushing through the door he let out a nervous sigh. Searching the room quickly he found the revolver he’d been left by his Order. Checking the cylinder to find it fully loaded he slid the weapon into the hidden holster in his vest before stepping back out. If it hadn’t been for his training he was certain he’d have vomited.

Stepping through another doorway he took a breath to steady himself. As he did so he cracked a smile at the oddity of his situation, breaking one Omerta as he kept another. He heard the violins coming from the Don’s record player as he stepped in front of the desk.

He doubted he would have made it this far into the mafia if his Order hadn’t pulled some strings. As the chair began to turn he reached a hand into his vest. And felt a pang of shock as he saw the Don’s son sitting in the chair. The kid smiled as he said “Forse questo potrebbe essere andato diversamente. Hai avuto una tale promessa, un peccato che devi morire per questo tradimento.“ (Perhaps this could have gone differently. You had such a promise, a pity that you must die for this betrayal.)

 The ferocious smile on his face caused Salazar to pull his revolver and fire a round through the man’s throat. But...he swore he had heard two gunshots in that moment, and a gun sat in the man’s hand. Shaking it off he turned towards the door as he heard the commotion of men coming for him.

The guards that had checked him for a weapon rushed in to receive a pair of shots that put them down. Tossing a look at the dead son of the Don Salazar felt his heart drop. His wife, his two children. If they knew that he was an enemy, worse if they knew he had broken the Omerta…

Picking up the Chicago typewriter that one of the gangsters had dropped he started for the door before catching himself. If he was known now he may as well die bearing the mark of his order. The symbol was a cross of some kind painted in orange with silver trimming. In his case the mark was a templars cross as was the standard of those in the Order that worked in the US.

Attaching the pin to his collar Salazar began walking for the exit. The two vehicles outside had unloaded their men all of whom assumed that he had been taken care of. As he walked towards them leveling his weapon several of them let out a cry of panicked fear. Before any had the thought to scramble for cover he had killed half their number. A round tore through his chest as he walked forward undaunted, the wound having no effect.
The screams of the men sounded like a symphony to him as he slaughtered them. The last few had made an attempt to run away but had received a spray of gunfire for the trouble. Stepping into one of the cars he started for his home.

When he got there he saw the door kicked open. Running into the house he saw two men searching it. Enforcers as he had been, as he was. Firing a pair of shots from the revolver he still carried the men were sent to the reaper as he went to through the house shouting. When he did find them they screamed until he ran.

A few hours later he had caught sight of himself in the reflection of a puddle. A gunshot wound through the right eye. He’d checked his pulse to find nothing. Sliding down the wall he had been leaning against he sat on the ground and stared at his hands. Reaching a hand into his vest he found his revolver and opened the cylinder. One round left.

Tucking the weapon under his chin he sighed. He was already dead, but this seemed oddly appropriate. The police reports indicated that he had comitted suicide, no apparent reason and the only wound a round fired from a gun tucked underneath his chin.

Of course he woke up in a dark room sitting across from a man dressed as a plague doctor. Closing the folder in his hands the doctor looked at him “I have an offer for you. One I doubt you could refuse given your principles.”

A few minutes later and Salazar was a name none would hear in relation to himself for some time. Shrouded in magic and carrying an unsettling presence he was something else. A man of principle, one whose circumstances were quite odd, was now a spirit of Death. The deal that he had been offered was one that he found he had to accept after all.