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one-deranged-son · 4 years ago

Text

For Wickedness Burn

Written by Gossamere as John and Froggy as Ian Nashton.

Warning:

This plot is rated explicit for language and description of violence. Read at your own risk.

Original story was posted in Twitter but due to it’s obtuse cleaning policy, some parts are unable to be saved.

John

Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh.

It's not the predictable pain that strikes the worst, it's the random shits you know is coming, but never when. The anticipation always managed to bring the worst of people. The work on random torture elevates everyone’s primal fear, decreasing logic, and degenerating self-control, and at last, they start to beg.

"End this! End this!"

Because death is kind. Death is better.

"So, Dick," even the Revelator couldn't contain his laugh at the stupid name, "is it Dick as in Dickon, or Dick as in, y'know—you. Get it? 'Cause you're a dick."

His humor didn't reach his eyes, 'cause the muffled scream and the dreadful atmosphere was never a good place to start a stand up comedy. Not that it was funny to begin with, it was straight off stupid.

"Aight, I love to stay a bit longer, but I'm running out of time," he said, "and honestly, talking with foolish fuckers ain't really my thing. Yea, you were children of fools, yea, children of base men, y'know? Y'all viler than the earth.”

"But don't worry, I'll make sure your brothers get the message, and you, mon ami, just happen to be the lucky one 'cause you get the chance to help me out!"

The muffled scream was the last thing he heard when the Semtex ignited in a fiery ball of flame. Roaring fire bleeds upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings which float as gentle in the dull, black sky.

The noise reverberated through the busy streets like a yawning lion, and by now, the police department would be on their way, siren's blazing.

The other police department, of course, because this one is fucked to the ground.

The Revelator marched towards his home.

He got some laundry to do.

Ian Nashton

"What's with the balloons, Cole?" Ian's nose scrunched up. It wasn't that he was a party pooper, but he didn't expect to be greeted with a dozen of balloons when he entered the station. Officer Cole grabbed one of the balloons and bonked Ian on the head with it, the action earning a stern glare from the detective.

"It's Jeffrey's birthday today, he insisted on having some balloons, even when I told him you would protest. Anyway, I'm going to collect my wager from him now. Thank you for proving me right, man."

The detective could only stand in confusion, he wasn't sure what just happened. Officers Jeffrey Hwang and Thomas Cole were the two officers that often helped the homicide department. Those two are great at their job and were fantastic people, but a lot of the times, Ian felt like he was babysitting two overgrown children whenever they were around him.

"Why not bring in a set of—"

Fireworks. He was going to say fireworks. But his sentence was cut short when he heard what sounded like an explosion from a distance. He wasn't the only one who heard it, either. His partner, Sam, immediately stood up and headed outside. Chief Margaret Kennedy also got out of her office with an alarmed look.

Before anyone could ask what had happened, Sam barged in with the answer, "Heads up! I think there was an explosion near that new station in the west. I saw smoke from there."

It could have been just a result of construction errors, but the fact that it was a newer building made everyone present at the time scramble out to the patrol cars to head to the location.

What they saw at the scene was devastating.

The building was engulfed in flames and reduced to almost nothing but rubble. There was a cacophony of screams and cries from the panicked onlookers; while the combined sirens of the fire department, ambulance and police wailed in the distance.

Despite his own shock and the chaotic atmosphere surrounding him, the detective began to analyze the situation at hand.

Fact number one: the destruction was far too large to have been an accident, therefore, someone must have been responsible.

Fact number two: the scale of the destruction and the effectiveness hinted at the experience of the culprit. Whoever they were, they must have been a seasoned terrorist.

Fact number three: the culprit is certainly intelligent. They chose to attack one of the newly built stations, knowing that there would be less people in it.

"Is... is it just me... or...?" Thomas started, he pointed at a mass of... something in the middle of the rubble.

Sam squinted his eyes so he could see it better, and when his eyes finally adjusted, the blonde man's blood ran cold, "That's… an officer."

"Was an officer." Ian chimed in grimly, "I doubt anyone could have survived that."

With that said, Ian reached fact number four: the culprit specifically targeted the police rather than the government directly. Which meant that they didn't want a negotiation; they only wanted to see the world burn. Perhaps it was someone with a vendetta.

Jeffrey and Thomas went their way to help other officers secure the area while Ian scribbled down his thoughts and mental notes in a physical notebook, just to better retain the facts. Sam and Margaret were doing their best to talk to terrified bystanders to calm them down and urge them to go home.

Ian only hoped that at least one useful camera footage would survive the blast. Otherwise, they may not be able to solve this case and more people may get hurt.

John

It's straight-up depressin'.

When some people come home with neatly laid dinner and a clean house after working their ass off, John has to put up with the bullshit that they run out of food, there are two baskets of laundries needed to be clean, and the ceiling in the kitchen was leaking.

Fuck.

He had been careful and responsible, fortunately. After he finished his last step of burning the evidence, he safely stored his gear on a scattered place so that nobody won't find out about where he was heading next. He even picks up Chinese leftovers given by the owner who shoots up with him because he knew they don't have any meals at home! So much for the Revelator.

He made sure his presence goes unnoticed. It's late already and he had made sure that all of the other tenants are sleeping. John made his way upstairs to his floor, leaning close to the wall to avoid the unnecessary creaking from the old planks. He checked his surroundings, and after making sure nobody is following him, he slipped into his room and proceed to bolt his door using four different kinds of locks.

The TV is turned on, and coupla damned kids were tangled across the sofa with drolls rolling over their opened mouth. He found himself smiling at the sight, that, of course, until the voice of a reporter rolling through his ears.

"Three nearby public service catches on fire after an explosion blast off at the Chicago Police Station. Officials told the press that at least 3 people were injured and an officer named Dick Foster died by the heat exposure."

"The explosion is being blamed on a vigilante who called themselves as the Revelator. The police had found some evidence to support the proof, including a message written in red reciting the book of Job, Chapter 15, Verse 34, which said: ‘For the congregation of hypocrites shall be desolate, and fire shall consume the tabernacles of bribery.’"

John almost burst out loud laughter at the way she spoke, but soon covered his mouth 'cause they found his message. Aye, that's a good start! God knows if they actually get it or no, not that it matters.

"Officials said they also managed to retrieve the security camera footage revealing a man wearing a mask and heavily armed."

They started to replay the file, and John’s heart sunk.

Whatever the reporter said afterward, he doesn't recall. Because now he was staring wide-eyed, mouth partly gaping.

"Fuck."

What the fuck.

Alright, that was shitty.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

It's been a couple of days since the attack, and just as Ian thought, the motive behind it was not to negotiate a deal. It was to send a message.

When he first saw the message painted in crimson, he thought it was the work of some bible-thumping cult. Despite not being a man of religion himself, Ian got the gist of what the message was trying to say. It didn't help that the footage they recovered from the ruins showed a masked man whose hair resembled Jesus. With the help of the message and the security footage they recovered, they now at least knew who they were dealing with and what they looked like (kind of, as far as the mask goes).

The Revelator. By definition, it was a person who makes a divine revelation.

Whoever THIS Revelator really was, he must think he's doing the world a favor by cleansing it of people he deemed sinful, therefore acting as judge, jury and executioner. Ian deduced that that was what happened to Dick Foster. Because Foster wasn't just some unfortunate officer caught in the explosion and blazing fires. No, he was tied to a chair to be tortured and murdered by the Revelator without a shred of mercy.

In this instance, the 'revelations' were anything but 'divine'.

It wasn't the first time the detective had heard of this character. Across the country, the name has been mentioned in the news a couple of times, but never did Ian think the infamous Revelator would come to his city; and as the self-titled representative of Chicago (this being a reference to a Green Day song and his Twitter biography), he wasn't having it.

They know who was behind the attack, but the question now was: where and how could they find him? The detective worked tirelessly to find any clues that could lead him and his colleagues to where the Revelator was hiding. He was actually surprised the FBI hadn't gotten themselves involved by this point.

A number of shop owners have come forward with tips that they had caught glimpses of the masked and deranged Jesus look-alike on their security cameras. Ian marked these locations on a map, intending to use them as breadcrumbs to follow. Unfortunately, as he got more and more tips, the points became more and more scattered.

The detective was willing to admit it, the Revelator WAS as intelligent as he thought; he chose to walk home the long way around to confuse the police. But Ian was certain that—like in a game of chess—the Revelator will make a blunder.

Well, being careless about security cameras could be considered the first blunder, perhaps Jesus' deranged look-alike had gotten careless. It would make sense if he did. In the past, no one has ever gotten good video footage of the man, and even if there was, there definitely has never this many. Ian figured the Revelator must have felt a false sense of security because of that and thought all law enforcement were mindless meatheads who couldn't solve even the simplest of crimes.

It would be fair for the Revelator to think that; but he hadn't met some of the finest members of Chicago's Police Department yet.

The big break came when Jeffrey Hwang came in to work with a few boxes of Chinese takeout. Jeffrey—bless his heart—decided to treat the team for lunch. He would have done that on his birthday if the attack hadn't happened. But the (delicious) Chinese food wasn't the big break. The big break came in the form of a number.

The owner of the shop saw Jeffrey in his uniform and pulled the Korean aside, at first he spoke in broken English, but fortunately, Jeffrey was able to communicate with the owner in Mandarin. Officer Hwang wasn't perfectly fluent yet, but his skill was enough to learn that the Revelator frequented the shop to get food. Foolishly, he also had used a delivery service for his food which explained the phone number.

"Okay, so... if we track this number, we could find our man?" Thomas asked. After finishing his question, the man immediately groaned in frustration as his chopsticks lost grip on a piece of meat for the umpteenth time.

"Hopefully. I mean, the man was quite frightful when he told me about this number. Either he was telling the truth, or he was a really good actor who worked with the Revelator. If that was the case, he probably gave me this to lead us all astray." Jeffrey shook his head in disappointment when he aw Thomas' failure. He proceeded to hold a fork in front of his colleague's face. "Man, you suck. Use a fork, loser."

The way Thomas bitterly snatched the fork out of Jeffrey's hand was so comical it made Ian smile a little. "I think it's worth a shot. I sent the number to the forensic team. Hopefully we can check out the general area after lunch and get a warrant by tomorrow. Well... that is if your man was telling the truth."

"I suggest using an unmarked car when going there. If he really is there, we don't want him to know how close we've gotten." Margaret said. "Good work, Hwang, and thank you for the food. Keep it up and you may earn yourself a promotion. Now if you all will excuse me, gentlemen, I need to speak with the superintendent. Again."

Officer Hwang beamed with delight at the mention of promotion. He bid the chief goodbye with a two finger salute and a wide grin.

Later, the forensic team delivered. A little later than Ian had predicted, but they delivered nonetheless. The number pointed to a location in the Motor Row District. This guy must have walked two hours on foot, or even more if he was trying to avoid police.

Sam volunteered to go check out the location accompanied by Thomas. The two drove around the area in an unmarked car as the chief had suggested. Part of them hoped to catch a glimpse of the Revelator, but another part hoped that they don't, they just hoped to find his place of residence.

Ian and Jeffrey on the other hand, worked to obtain a warrant. None of the four men wanted to imagine what would happen if and when they confront the Revelator.

All they know is that they'd do so with extreme caution.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

Alright, that was shitty.

It's been exactly 25 hours, 13 minutes, and 8 seconds after the news about the Revelator getting foolishly caught on cam aired throughout the fucking States. And if that didn't make John all giddy and frustrated, then God fucking knows what will.

He had been hoping that nobody will find out about his place, God, he had other people around he obviously doesn't wish to harm, but it seems like the odds are against him right now.

Just after he finished on shoving the damned kids towards his good ol' neighbor's place, somehow, a car managed to park near his cheap apartment complex.

Now, John would probably just slip the damn thing away if it's a normal day, but it was never a normal day with his brain going full alert mode and the fucking fact that he's an open fugitive now. Best luck is he could distract whoever wishes to get near his family away so Pete and El won't have to suffer through the same bullshit.

Fuck, fucking hell.

They can't get to any more trouble.

He won't let 'em.

Just when John was about to get his hands on anything that could help him get a better view of the seemingly unmarked car, his phone rang, and 'twas really embarrassing, but he actually jolted at the sudden notification.

Three new messages from Wang Wei, the Chinese restaurant owner who speaks little to no English, but was always kind to him—well, partly because they're shootin' meth together, but not that it matters now.

Text Message from Wang Wei

Police ask question. Sorry.

"Fuck."

John hissed under his breath, his eyes darting across the space of his living room as he made his way towards where the plank is loose. He tore it in haste and doesn't even bother on closing the goddamn board back as he pulled his emergency backpack and just enough combination of light guns, more fucking guns, and shit tons of dagger that he could manage to strap into himself.

And really, though he's a goddamn arsonist who doesn't give a damn fuck about anythin', John still cringes inwardly.

'Cause he doesn't want to do any more damage than necessary, but he can't get caught now.

Not now, not ever. Not when he had come so far. Not when he had people to protect.

"Domine Iesu, dimitte nobis debita nostra, salva nos ab igne inferiori, perduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim eas, quae misericordiae tuae maxime indigent."

With a Škorpion held tightly in his grip, he pulled his mask all the way up; covering half of his face.

"Amen."

Then he jumped out of the window, and run.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"I really was expecting a run down shack with biblical messages written in blood." Thomas commented, "That would be terrifying."

"Tom, this is also terrifying if you think about it. If the guy really lives here, it'd mean he'd just be like an ordinary guy on the outside. Makes you think about your neighbours differently, doesn't it?"

Their mellow conversation was cut short when they heard the sound of glass breaking. And just like in movies, out pops the Revelator, who jumped out of the window with a weapon in hand. Fortunately, he seemed to pay no attention to the two men (it was a good thing they came in an unmarked car).

"Jesus!" Thomas exclaimed, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared at that very moment.

"You're not exactly wrong. Holy shit. We'll surely get a search warrant for his apartment now." Luckily, Sam had snapped some photos of the apartment complex and sent it to his partner's number with a message that reads 'Found his place of residence. He's now running. We'll try following him'.

The two men watched as the Revelator mounted a bike and rode off to who knows where. Neither Sam nor Thomas were as observant as Ian, but even they knew deranged Jesus seemed paranoid.

Sam's quick finger managed to snap one decent photo of the fugitive and sent that to Ian as well. Detective Hooper puts his phone away and waited for a while before he started the car. He hadn't let the Revelator out of his sight, don't you worry; he was giving himself enough distance to be able to follow the arsonist without drawing too much suspicions.

Sam knew all shortcuts in existence when it comes to Chicago; his knowledge of the streets rivalled that of a cab driver.

Back at the court, Ian and Jeffrey were about to leave, after all, they had already obtained what they wanted from the magistrate: an arrest warrant. But just as Ian reached the doorway, a message from Sam came in.

Attached to the message was a photo of an apartment complex, one of the windows have been broken, the glass shards outside indicated that it was broken from the inside. Another photo showed the Revelator on a bicycle, probably stolen.

The crazy bastard must have known the police were on to him and made a run for it. Ian wasn't sure how he knew, but one thing was for sure: the Revelator made yet another blunder.

"Jeffrey, we got him. Shit, we got him. Quickly, start the car." Officer Hwang did as he was told, he ran outside and started the squad car. Before he left himself, Ian quickly turned his phone around and showed the images to the magistrate. "Sir, we'd need a search warrant for his house, we found him."

Ian apologized to the magistrate because he couldn't stay any longer, but he knew he'd get that search warrant later. He met with Jeffrey in the squad car and immediately contacted Thomas through the radio.

"Tom, talk to me. Where is he headed?"

"Sam said he just left the Chinatown area, we don't know specifically where he's headed yet. But he hasn't noticed us following him."

"Damn. You two be careful. Jeffrey and I are coming. Keep us updated."

It's been more than half an hour of tailing, but finally, it seems that the Revelator chose a church to serve as the location of his last stand. It didn't take long for Ian, Sam, Jeffrey and Thomas to regroup. Other officers have also arrived, effectively surrounding the area. Any civilians present in the area has also been told to evacuate for their own safety.

Ian spoke through a loudspeaker to address the Revelator.

"You're surrounded. Give yourself up, this doesn't have to be harder than it already is."

Of course, he and the other officers knew that a man like that wouldn't give up easily, so they all positioned themselves in such a way that it would be easy to get behind cover should a shoot out begin.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John sat on the ground of the abandoned church, his eyes shut tightly as his lips begin to chant incoherent mumbles of old rosary. By the sound he managed to hear, it was already obvious that he was surrounded from all sides.

He didn’t know if he should feel shitty or grateful, 'cause he was trying to run away and failed miserably, but at the same time, he had managed to buy time and distracted 'em all from his home.

He just needed to look at the bright side, eh?

When he managed to open his lids, he eyed the sprawled weapon in front of him with bleak, gray eyes. All perfect combination from the Heckler & Koch MG4 to an M203 grenade launcher placed neatly on top of a cheap tarp.

In other situations, he might feel proud of himself by how neatly arranged and well kept his gears are, but it wasn't the ‘other situation’.

It was the situation.

"You're surrounded. Give yourself up, this doesn't have to be harder than it already is."

John wished he could laugh at the warning. It was already hard from the beginning and he bet his path will never, never, never, ever get easier after this. The only choice left was to either fight or give in, and the latter was never a goddamn option.

Better to die on the field than rot in a fucking cell.

The Revelator stood up, his body blocked by the high walls of the church as he secured his firearm in his hand. A soft sigh exhaled from his lips as he positioned himself near the tinted glass.

His ears weren't lying about it. Dozens of officers were surrounding the area with their muzzle aimed towards his position. Their faces stiff with fear and anticipation, but he can't blame them, though. He just killed their buddy and blown a whole station up, it's only natural that the Revelator had a special throne in their mind as the first person they wish to kill.

He laughed.

Mostly, he preferred not to think of his target, but when he did, it was as if they were already dead; sprawled on the road after an explosion with bleeding guts or simply because a bullet through their head.

So it's only natural for him to pay attention to their faces one by one, inhaling every expression and noticeable distress he could manage to pick up because that's his only opening. A distracted mind is always the weakest mind, so he can't help but cringe whenever someone looks as if they could beat him.

Like that goddamn officer whom he recognized as the voice behind the prior warning. That fucking face. The Revelator ain't giving him the satisfaction.

It all came naturally to him. His senses sharpened with adrenaline. The cool air whispered through the church ventilation as he positioned his gun.

He drew his first shot with a loud bang.

The first bullet was perfectly nested into an officer's head; effortlessly piercing through the soft tissue, allowing the arteries to split.

And so his body went limp before tumbling to the ground like a broken cartwheel. Then it was all it takes for all of the remaining forces to switch into a full berserk mode, and though, John was clearly outnumbered, he ain't having that shit today.

He ain't gonna die tonight.

Each gunshot rent the still, damp air. Each one of it wasn’t simply loud, it cracked into the air and echoes around the empty street. In every bullet shot, there were times when one person behind the trigger might have felt something; remorse, guilt, or compassion, perhaps, but the Revelator ain't feeling it today.

He wishes to see 'em fall.

Every tin projectile comes thick like a winter hail. Each one of it ripped into something, be it inanimate or living, spilling tree sap or blood, crashing through the glasses or bones with equal emptiness.

It felt like it lasted for days when in reality, it was barely one hour until his side ain't shooting no more. The Revelator dropped his last piece of weapons down to the hard concrete. He's almost out of bullet and his skin was scratched by the impact of shattered glasses. His body was all sore from the rapid shooting.

The other ain't stopping, and he knows for sure that it only needs a split second for the goddamn cops to realize he was utterly defenseless at this point in time.

"Fucking hell."

Desperate times call for desperate measurements, so he let his instinct kicks in. He lets his lingering desire he wished he could actually forget to take over his sanity.

The Revelator stares at his hand, a heavy sigh escaped through his lips. He knew that the grenade had one purpose. Killing. Every aspect of it was designed for this goal, from it's exterior to gunpowder inside.

Yet he can't help but frown.

He doesn't want to kill anyone, but he wants to watch them burn. And that is wrong, 'cause it was the same as killing.

So when he threw the first projectile with the last stretch of his power towards the commotion, he quickly slammed his back against the cold walls and listened closely.

"Take cover! Take cover!"

Screams and shout of pain fade away in the background as he stared down towards the other pieces of hand grenade he had. He throws it out, aiming towards whatever he could get.

And it came to the last one. However, this time he didn't throw it outside.

He throws it to the far corner of the church, just enough to 'cause himself harm, but not enough to kill himself.

Then it blew.

It was as though a fist of orange flame had decided to punch it's way out. Windows shattered. Smoke and fire rushed out. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel showered down on him. The building was crumbling on the side and the remained stature was set on fire. Every pillar fiery with smoke and dust, boiling and roaring out loud.

"Is he out of his goddamn mind?!" A voice rose from outside the church.

The Revelator made his way outside the burning church. He stood in semi-blindness and ringing ears, eyeing what's left amidst the chaos he had caused.

Some officers are laying on the ground, some in a fetal position trying to protect their ears and organs, others splayed like dead dogs on their pools of blood. The remaining standing officer was gifted with a sucker punch and some he found disturbing gets a bullet to their chest. Everyone was screaming, shouting, bellowing, and he loves it.

John stormed through the crowds and get himself in whatever vehicle he could get. He stopped dead track before starting the engine. Cold gray eyes locked towards a pair of dark orbs. That fucking face.

Nashton.

John batted his eyes. Starting the engine without hesitation this time.

Then runs away, once again, from the chaos he had caused.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Ian watched as that first officer fell. That officer stood not too far from he was. Really, it could have been him. The detective gritted his teeth and tightened the grip on his Glock 9mm issued by the department. Compared to what the Revelator had, it may seem laughable, but Ian knew that sooner or later, the bastard would run out of bullets.

The last time he recalled a situation with this much chaos and bloodshed was when he had to deal with a shooter at a hospital; and even then, the body count wasn't as high.

With every seconds that passed, the body count seemed to increase exponentially. These fallen officers would have their stars displayed in a case back at headquarters. Nashton wouldn't lie. The thought of his friends' or his own name being displayed there did scare him. But he always put that thought aside to focus on the situation at hand.

So far, it has kept him alive.

Pane after pane, each stained glass window burst into thousands of little fragments, thus making it easier for the officers to see their target. As much as they'd like to kill him (just as he'd like to kill them), the officers also wanted to see who it was behind the mask. They wanted to know specifically WHY the bastard chose to blow up one of their stations. Hence, they aimed for non-vital areas. The intention was to incapacitate. But if he succumbed to his wounds afterwards... well, they can't do anything about that. If he survived, he will most likely face life imprisonment.

The state of Illinois abolished the death penalty in 2011.

From the west side of the church, someone shouted that a grenade had just been thrown. The officers frantically tried their best to avoid each one. The body count rose yet again, but more were seriously injured than dead.

And as if they could not catch a break, another explosion occurred, it caused the small abandoned church to burst into a deadly debris combination of glass, steel and stone particles. Ian took cover behind a car, but the shock wave knocked him down until he was flat on his back. He instinctively covered his head to avoid any debris that may still shower down on them.

It didn't take long for the detective to get back up on his feet. His once neatly combed hair was no more; it was disheveled and slightly dampened from his sweat. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, just in time for the detective to lock eyes with him.

The Revelator. His gaze was as cold as Ian expected them to be. Now the bastard was in a car, obviously trying to make a run for it.

Detective Nashton stood his ground. He was a distance away from the vehicle, but right in front of it. He shot at the windshield, then the front wheels. He was trying to do whatever he could to stop the car.

Once the car came close, Ian dived out of the way and quickly scrambled to his feet and entered another vehicle. Officer Cole joined him in the passenger's seat.

"Shoot his tires." Ian's order was given through gritted teeth, he stepped on the gas and chased after the arsonist. As the best sharpshooter Ian has ever known in the department, it didn't take long for Officer Cole to shoot the back tires of the runaway police car.

It skidded to a stop accompanied by an unpleasant screech. Without hesitation, Ian left the vehicle, either it was the adrenaline surging through him or brave stupidity, he decided that he'd go after the Revelator himself, despite Thomas' protest.

"Are you out of your mind, Nashton?! What if he—"

"It's either me, or you. Your children need you alive, Cole." Ian didn't look back. He slowly approached the eerily still police car with his pistol drawn. It was silent. Aside from the soft police radio chatter and the murmurs of his colleagues and his own heartbeat, thumping loudly in his rib cage, there really was nothing else.

Now, Sam wasn't about to let his friend—no, his best friend walk into the jaws of danger alone. So he trailed not too far behind, also with his weapon drawn.

He hoped that Ian wouldn't be another casualty.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

The crash seemed to take for ever before it finally settled with the bumpers intensely making out with a tree. John’s body jerked to the dashboard, his forehead almost colliding with the window. Steam rose from the back, the smell too intense for words, stinging into his nose and ruining all of his senses.

He groaned loud at the sudden intrusion. John made his way outside, legs going limp and trembling out of pain. Then he saw him again.

Nashton.

Nashton was wearing different clothes than the rest of the officers. The muzzle of his Glock 9mm aimed towards the Revelator's head.

"Detective," he says; less than talking, more of a whisper. The fabric of his mask covered half of his face, making it harder for anyone to actually know what he said.

John threw his gun away from him, the metal surface clanked against the concrete road. He raised his hands above his head in full submission, walking in limp yet steady steps towards the Detective.

His gray eyes remained fixed towards the other man with the intensity of ten thousand burning suns. The Revelator didn't even flinch when they're only foot apart with a gun still aimed towards his head and his life inches away to be taken away from him.

But the Revelator ain't backing away just now. He ain't going down without a fight.

So he leaped towards the man, avoiding the bullet at all cost and disarming the man as quickly as he could. Never for a second, he tore his gaze away from the eyes behind the spectacle, even after he landed a harsh punch across his cheeks, John eyes still followed the movement of Nashton's head.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Take the shot. The tiny voice in the back of his head said to him. Take the shot and end it now.

But he didn't.

The Revelator, how he still managed to stand and walk after the shoot out and the crash, no one knows. Maybe it was some sort of twisted miracle, if Ian believed in miracles, that is.

He has met face to face with serial killers and mass shooters in the past. But none of them had a gaze as intense as the Revelator. Perhaps the mask made it even more so, as it only left the man's eyes visible.

Despite the arsonist throwing his weapon away in an act of surrender, Ian refused to let his guard down. Because he knew that even if the Revelator wasn't holding any weapons now, he might have some more on his person.

"Get on the ground! Hands behind your head!"

Yet the Revelator doesn't comply. No, the man kept walking. Closer, and closer.

Ian should have taken the shot earlier.

Nothing could prepare the detective for what happened next. The crazy bastard lunged forward towards him, and expertly disarmed him; his own weapon dropped to the ground. The split second where he froze caused the detective to miss his shot, and now his face paid for it. The force of the punch was so great that it sent his glasses flying a few meters away.

Ian never liked wearing contacts.

Instinctively, Ian withdrew his police baton and used that as both a blunt weapon and a shield to protect himself. He aimed his strikes on the other's extremities.

If they weren't moving around so much, Sam would have taken a shot, but he knew that if he did so, he might accidentally shoot Ian instead, and he doesn't want to take hat risk. Not yet.

Ian himself wasn't a fan of using deadly force. Even in this instance, he felt like he still had it under control. He didn't want to get used to the ease and convenience of using deadly force. He didn't want to be like those cops they often talk about in the news.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

The Revelator wouldn't lie, it hurts like a bitch. God knows what happened, but he felt like he's going to collapse at any moment. His movement was all nothing but rigid and random punches, unlike his usual quick and lethal blows.

The police baton wasn't even his main concern, it's his stamina. Fuck. All those chasing and waiting made his muscles all tense, even the goddamn cop could get the upper hand if this keeps happening.

"You should've fucking shot me dead."

The Revelator held Nashton's wrist in a tight grip and landed another blow to the man's guts, his jaw, kicked him solidly in the midsection, struggled to knock the man down because he ain't killing the man. He ain't doing it when all Nashton did was pissing himself with that glare full of determination.

Fucking, fucking Nashton.

"Shit!" he barked, landing another punch to the man's face. Then he stopped his fingers at the detective's neck, hand tightening around the flesh with the last energy he had.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Now, Ian wasn't useless in hand-to-hand combat, but he was no expert. If this is what the Revelator was like when he was worn out, he wouldn't even want to imagine what the bastard was like at full capacity.

There was no time for him to shoot back a witty remark. It happened so fast. One moment he was standing and striking the Revelator with his baton; he next moment, his baton-wielding hand was gripped so tightly that it caused him to drop the baton. Ian was certain he'd find bruises later.

In a rapid succession, he was punched and kicked down. He wasn't even given any time to react or reach for the baton again, because the Revelator had climbed on top of him with fingers wrapped around the detective's throat.

With all his might, Ian tried to pry those fingers off of himself, but to no avail. His legs kicked frantically as he struggled. But the Revelator was intent on crushing his windpipe; Ian could see it in those cold eyes.

Maybe going after the Revelator alone wasn't a great idea after all. Fortunately, he wasn't really alone.

"Sam—" he rasped, the words struggled to come out of the detective's mouth, "—take the shot!"

Detective Hooper didn't hesitate anymore. For one, while this position was dire for Ian, there was less chance of his partner getting hit. So, Sam fired the shot.

The shot landed on the Revelator's shoulder. Horrifyingly, it didn't stop the arsonist from trying to choke the life out of his partner, but it did direct his attention away for a short moment.

But it was more than enough for Ian.

Ian frantically reached for his taser and held it against the arsonist's side, he didn't waste any time and shocked the other man. Not enough to kill, obviously, but enough to incapacitate him.

Detective Nashton breathed a sigh of relief once he felt his airways have opened again. He pushed the Revelator off of his body and allowed himself to lie on the ground for a couple of moments, just to catch his breath and recover from what had just happened.

Sam, on the other hand quickly handcuffed the Revelator and checked to make sure that he had no other weapons on his person. Once that was taken care of, he helped his partner up with a concerned look on his face.

"Looks like he hurt you bad..." Sam muttered softly as his eyes darted across Ian's face.

"Yeah, I... he did. I'm lucky my windpipes hadn't been crushed yet. Thank you, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Their (tender) conversation was cut short when Jeffrey approached with Ian's glasses. Luckily, they weren't broken. He put them back on and glanced at the Revelator. His own breaths were still ragged from the struggle, but he knew he could manage.

"Search him again, get him patched up. And then we can question him. Fuck. Can you imagine the news headline when this guy goes on trial?"

"Easy, big man. Let's get YOU patched up first." Sam said, still worried, but Ian being Ian, he waved a hand dismissively and said that he was fine and that he only needed some ice and painkillers.

The others present knew well that Ian was a stubborn man, so they didn't argue with him any further.

Other officers had come to the area and they loaded the Revelator into a car, first to treat the gaping gunshot wound on the latter's shoulder. But many felt he was undeserving of such a treatment, especially after what he has done that day, but they kept those opinions to themselves.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

He remembered everything about the fight. His hands were on his throat, then there was a gunshot from across the field. He remembered the bullet which hit him right on his shoulder blades, then he remembered the stinging pain, then he remembered nothing but blackness.

His consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a static. Throughout the emptiness, his heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in his ears.

John jerked upright, vision hazy as the bright light snapped him back into full consciousness, but his wrists refused to budge. Something cold digs into his skin, rattling and sharp, resulting in a faint whine from his lips.

As he peered his eyesight downwards towards the table, he wasn't even surprised that there were handcuffs holding down his hand.

John tore his gaze away. His eyes were still blurry and his body was screaming for rest, but all of his five senses were still working. Yeah, his head hurts, the fucking throbbing headache will be the death of him, but at least he was alive.

For now.

He noticed the stature in front of him calling out his name, perhaps. He didn't know. Everything was still too blurry.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Whilst the Revelator was being treated at the hospital, the magistrate issued that search warrant. It seems the entire city of Chicago (and possibly the state of Illinois itself) was keen to see this arsonist put to trial. Bruises had formed on the detective's face and neck, but he was no stranger to them. He had accepted that it just comes with the job.

Ian actually waited a day before he searched the apartment; as much as he'd like to start right away, he knew his body needed rest, especially after nearly losing his life like that. It took him a while to fall asleep, but having Monty (his cat) by his side sure helped.

The next day, he drove to the apartment complex along with Officer Cole. Just as they all expected, the apartment complex were littered with weapons of all sorts. He left Cole to take photographs of the place to be used as evidence.

Ian, however, had noticed a couple of things.

One: there were a couple of cups of instant ramen in the kitchen. But a man of the Revelator's strength and stamina couldn't possibly live on a diet consisting mostly of instant ramen, so he must be sharing these with someone.

Two: there were a few pairs of socks scattered on the ground. The designs and size of the socks indicated that they could not have belonged to the Revelator.

Three: there was a box of monopoly in the living room. Someone like the Revelator was likely to be a lone wolf, but you cannot play monopoly by yourself. So whoever else lives here must be someone that the Revelator trusted.

Based on these observations, Ian had come to the conclusion that the Revelator must have a child or even children living with him. How old they were, he wasn't sure. One thing is certain, though: the detective wasn't sure how he felt about that. The idea a terrorist like the Revelator having some semblance of family life with a child or even more somehow bothered him.

Do they know about what he does as the Revelator? Have they been told that it was for the greater good, thus they saw nothing wrong with it? Did they help him in his activities somehow? Where are they now?

So many questions. Boy, the interrogation would be something.

When Thomas and Ian had finished their search of the apartment, they returned to the police station. Thomas handed the camera he used to a technician for the photos to be developed.

Ian specifically said that he wanted to do the interrogation, but before he could enter, he heard Jeffrey’s distinct voice which stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait. Let me go in first.”

It wasn’t the fact that Jeffrey wanted to get in the interrogation room that baffled Ian; it was the fact that the officer had with him a goddamned guitar.

"I'll give you twenty seconds to explain to me, just exactly what the hell you're going to do with that guitar." Ian tried his absolute best to sound unamused, but he was actually intrigued by his colleague and whatever it was he had planned.

"I'm not going to beat him up with the guitar, don't you worry. But I will make sure that, after I'm done, he will want to speak truthfully to you."

Ian gestured towards the door, thus allowing Jeffrey to enter the interrogation room. The overjoyed officer carefully patted Ian on the cheeks as his way of giving thanks. Their small social circle had gotten used to Jeffrey's antics now, even Ian, but the bespectacled man still frowned.

Mostly because his face still hurt.

Jeffrey sat himself in front of the Revelator. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared, even with the mask off, this guy still somehow managed to strike fear into his heart. Nonetheless, he smiled politely, though it looked more like a grimace.

"Hello, I'm Jeffrey Hwang. I'm not the one conducting your interview, but I will be helping him."

Ian, joined by his faithful partner, Sam, watched from the other side of the one way mirror. Both were still confused as to what it is Jeffrey was intending to do, but their question was answered when through the intercom, they heard the guitar being strummed randomly and Officer Hwang began to make screeches resembling a pterodactyl.

Ian and Sam exchanged glances for a few seconds, before the two men burst into a fit of laughter. Apparently, Jeffrey's plan was to be as annoying as possible towards the Revelator, possibly so that Ian could use the act as a threat.

Ian won't lie, he thought it was a brilliant idea.

After about five minutes of... whatever that was, Jeffrey left the interrogation room with a proud smile on his face and took a dramatic bow in front of the room.

"He's all yours, Nashton."

"Let's hope you hadn't ruptured the bastard's eardrums, Jeff."

Ian took a moment to calm himself down and return to his normal resting expression. Then he entered.

"Good afternoon. I'm here to conduct your interrogation." Despite what the Revelator had done to him, Ian somehow still managed to hold an air of politeness in his tone. He sat across the other man and began observing him.

Slightly blackened fingertips and dirty fingernails. Probably from soot or gunpowder. Slight yellow stain on the nails themselves indicated that the Revelator often smoked; Ian wouldn't say he was a chronic smoker, but he probably did so more often than the average person. It wouldn't surprise the detective if the man in front of him used drugs as well, judging by how pale he looked. However, Ian wasn't entirely sure about that, the paleness could possibly be due to exhaustion.

"I have so many questions, I'm sure you know this. But first, your name. You know mine, yet I don't know yours. In fact, we've only put you in our system as 'John Smith'. It's as if you were a ghost; no name, no data... nothing. That could, of course, be changed. So, what do you say, hm?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

Everything was blurry, yes, and for once, John wished it would get better soon, but now he wished he was in a coma—or anything. Fuck, anything except for listening to the awful screeches which pierce through his goddamn auditory organs.

Oh my fucking God, perhaps he was in hell? Yeah, that would be the correct explanation why everything was happening so quickly and torturing the life outta him.

John exhaled a content sigh when the man he recognizes as Jeffrey Hwang exited the interrogation room, but his peaceful solitude doesn't last long. Someone else came.

Someone will familiar face with familiar bruises.

That fucking face.

Detective Nashton sat in front of him, still with a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. His voice was calm and polite, contrasting the sharp gaze of his eyes as he scanned through the Revelator, itching to know everything or anything about him.

John wished he could enjoy the attention, but obviously, he didn't.

"What can I say, detective?" John said, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. His lips curled upwards, but it didn't reach his eyes. Heck, it wasn't even a sincere smile to begin with.

He was just making it hard for both parties.

He shrugged, head titling sideways but his gaze remained locked towards the other's. God, how he wished he could tie his hair or brush it away from his sight.

"Smith is such a boring last name. It's only John."

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"Fine. John, it is." Ian uttered flatly. That wasn't really what he was interested in; it's just that he didn't want to address the other as 'Revelator' all the time.

"Where do I even begin?" His eyes were narrowed and fixated upon the other. "In just the course of this week, you've caused dozens of casualties, destroyed two buildings and attempted to murder me with your bare hands. And that's just this week! what about your other doings in the past? You know, you have made quite the name for yourself."

The detective leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. There was a puzzled look on his face. "Really, I wonder what goes on in that head of yours whilst you were doing all of that." Ian paused and heaved a sigh, "I—these people had families, John. Really, I thought you'd have some sort of understanding with regards to 'family'. Then again, you could just be selective with it, isn't that right?"

All of Ian's questions and thoughts were swimming through his mind, but he had to hold himself back from blurting them all out. He wanted to be as thorough as possible.

"Why? Why murder Dick Foster?”

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John wasn't even paying attention to the man's word until he mentioned anything about family. All of those daydreaming session crumbles away when Detective Nashton begins to blurt out the trigger words.

Does Nashton find out about Pete and El?

Is his neighbor alright?

John squinted his eyes. He, again, wished he wouldn't give a damn fuck about it, hell, he was supposed to not give a fuck about anything. To work effectively is by not have anything to lose, now look at him now, worrying about people—worrying in general.

As the Revelator, this surely is a goddamn personality flaw.

Nashton probably noticed the sudden distress across his face, but John didn't mention anything about it. He will let the detective guess with that super deductive skill he only ever saw on TV thinks about it. Who the fuck cares. Instead, he flashed another smile. Leaning away from the detective in a rather mischievous demeanor.

"Huh. Let's see," he begins. The corner of his lips rose even higher as his gray eyes intently stare at the other's figure.

"Perhaps we could get some coffee before I start?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

He may be avoiding the topic, but John's sudden discomfort only confirmed Ian's earlier conclusions. Truth be told, the detective was satisfied to know that he was right.

"I can tell you're trying to avoid my questions, John. Are you worried?" Ian didn't need an answer to that, he could observe it on the other man's face.

"Not about yourself, I figured that out when you chose to blow up that church; when you walked towards me without a care in the world despite having a gun aimed at your head." There was a pause, Ian glanced at the one-way mirror and gestured towards John, he knew his colleagues on the other side are hearing this conversation, Ian didn't need to leave the room for John's coffee. He then turned to face the other man and locked gazes with him once again. "You're worried for them. You're worried about what would happen to them. You live a double life, don't you, John?"

Ian was no psychologist, but the more questions he asked, the more he realized how intrigued and fascinated he was with John's psyche. When the detective saw him on the news for the first time, and when that station blew up, he thought that the man in front of him was an emotionless killing machine. But that gesture, that one little gesture that someone else would have looked over told the detective that there was so much more.

"Who would have thought, right? This... family of yours isn't involved with your... activities, is it? Answer this truthfully, John."

The door to the room suddenly opened and in came Jeffrey. Just in time. The man had with him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he placed that on the table in front of John.

"Don't make me screech at you again, man. Because I'd love to do it again."

Hwang didn't need to be told to leave, because he was already out the door by the time he finished that sentence.

"Now you have your coffee. You might keep avoiding my questions and make other requests, but you know something, John? I can do this all day."

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

He never thought he would feel this way, but John felt his heart sunk. Hell yeah, he's worried, he's worried sick. God knows what will happen to the damned kids if they get involved in this. Shit, his boy already get suspended for setting the school pool on fire, what will happen next?

John drank the coffee in a very non-fashionable way. He was struggling to keep his hair out of the way and his cuffs were making it harder for him to actually do anything. There goes his reputation as the goddamn Revelator, but it's not like he minds.

Hell, he doesn't even care about anything. Except for his family, of course. Yeah, right. The goddamn detective really hits the spot.

He groans internally.

"Y'know what, detective?" John was smiling, 'cause damn right he's going to avoid all of the goddamn questions.

Sure, his kids never actually get involved in any of his Revelator jobs, but if Nashton wants to know shit about him, then he better hustles harder than this. 'Cause nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, even death, could make the Revelator speak.

"You sounded like Captain America."

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

He chuckled at the comment, it wasn't his intention, but he supposed it works.

"I am right, though. Aren't I? About your family?"

There was a ghost of a smile on the detective's face, the smile he often had when he knew he was right. He stood up from his seat and began to walk slowly, circling the other man.

"You won't tell me, but that's fine. I'm sure my colleagues can find them and question them ourselves. But tell me this, John. How long until you will consider them a liability? What will you do then?"

The detective stopped behind John's chair, and he stood there for a few moments, observing the other man yet again. Even if the detective had no morals and was easily corruptible by power, he knew that using physical means of interrogation would NOT work. John simply had little to nothing to lose.

If only he could peer into the mind of the infamous Revelator.

Who knows what horrors he would see.

"Did you know that Illinois abolished the death penalty in 2011?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

He chuckled back, and he didn't even bother with eyeing the man's figure as he disappeared from his line of sight. John took a sip of his coffee that's no longer warm. He's grown far accustomed to the detective accusation to the point he didn't even flinch anymore. All he did was stare blankly at the wall before tearing his gaze it away, his eyes traveling from the boring white to the one-way mirror.

John couldn't see anything from it, and he didn't know if he was actually staring at something, someone, or anything at all.

Still, he stared. Not paying attention to the detective behind him. Then he smiled.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"What is it that motivates you? Can't be money, I doubt that. Power? Self-righteousness?" It felt as if he was talking to a brick wall.

Other criminals may have been dishonest or outright ridiculous in the interrogation room. But at the very least, they all said something. John? John just smiled and avoided questions.

And it was starting to get on his nerves. With every question asked and the hours that passed, Ian began to slowly lose his patience.

Nashton rant in 3, 2, 1.

"It's funny, actually. We don't need this interrogation. Really, we didn't. We have more than enough evidence and eye witness accounts to charge you. I am a patient man, John, I really am; but even I have my limits, and you know what? I HAVE HAD IT. You obviously showed no interest to even acknowledge that I am here. You—you really are just a misanthrope. A misanthrope and terrorist beyond redemption. Really, I shouldn't have bothered!"

The detective wasn't flat out yelling, but his voice was raised, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out his patience was running thin. Ian figured that he might as well unload whatever thoughts he had, it wasn't like John would respond in any meaningful way, anyway.

"I don't know what happened to you growing up, and somehow I doubt you even know or care yourself. You may think family is some sort of a second chance, a salvation, perhaps, that's a word in your vocabulary, isn't it? But, no. No, they're not. And they won't ever be. Now the world knows what you are, they've seen what happened over the past few days. History has its eyes on all of us, John."

Now the detective was in front of the man again, but he doesn't sit down. Instead, he gripped the edge of the table so tightly to the point where his knuckles became white. His brows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed, a clear sign of the detective's irritation.

"You might think you're justified in killing some of those people that you've killed. Your... 'revelations' or whatever it is. What about the collateral damage that you caused? Innocents have been killed. Do you really think that you, a single, lone man, can prove guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt? To be judge, jury and executioner? If even courts can make mistakes, then what about you?"

In the back of his mind, Ian knew he shouldn't waste his breath, but he wasn't quite finished with his tirade yet. All those pent up frustration were just eager to bubble up. But he caught himself and took in a deep breath which he released slowly. Now somewhat calmer, he started again, with the same calm tone he spoke with at the very beginning of the interrogation.

"You're just using this all as an excuse to satisfy your pyromania. Almost, if not all your victims have had their homes blown up or set on fire. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Not only would doing so get rid of evidence, but it does something to you."

Throughout his rant, his glasses had slipped down his nose, so he fixed its position and headed towards the door.

"Have fun rotting in a cell, John. I doubt even your 'God' would have mercy on you. Let us hope your family would do well in your absence." Ian doesn't actually believe in God, but really, the detective was running out of things to say.

"Oh, and your little cult of supporters? They're just as messed up as you are."

He stormed out of the interrogation room and slammed the door behind him. He wasn't sure how long he had been in there, but it was long enough that Sam had gone home and Jeffrey had fallen asleep on his desk.

Ian Nashton decided that he'd go home as well.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John wished he could ask for another cup of coffee before the detective stormed out of the room, 'cause he was tired, fuck, very. His tiredness was similar to wet jeans, clinging into the skin after a pouring thunderstorm. His body felt like it was torn apart, his muscles all sore and tense, and he wished, oh God, he goddamn wished, that he's home.

He needed some sleep, but did he?

He didn't.

John was, frankly, afraid.

He's afraid of his dreams. He's afraid if anyone knowing about the nightmares he had and he's even, for sure, more afraid that the goddamn detective received any report about his fucking episode. What if he scream in his sleep?

John knew he shouldn't show any weakness. Moreover, he can't.

He can't leak a single information.

Thus John sat still. Bleary-eyes locked towards the wall as if it was the most interesting thing across the whole universe.

"How long has he been staring?"

He heard the guard asked, he knew they were secretly scared shit about tonight's shift.

"Dunno, this dude is fucked up in the head."

Every minute felt as if it lasted for an hour when you're doing nothing, even John didn't know how the fuck was he able to go through the night without shifting a single inch.

Only then, when he heard the cell getting opened and an officer—never mind, there was a lot of 'em—shuffling into the already cramped space with guns pointing at his head, John stood up. His bones popping and his muscles screamed in relief.

He wonders what the kids are doing now as they cuff him up. The muzzle of their AK-74 still pointed at him as if he was a fucking dog ready to be shot dead whenever he made any simple mistake. He wondered if they did their homework, if his neighbor feed 'em well, if they're happy or at least worried about him.

He wondered if they're safe.

John bit his bottom lips until he was able to taste a hint of copper in his tongue. Without the detective and his super observation skill, he figured out he could at least express his frustration without anyone pointing about it.

They said they were taking him for a trial and really, John almost laughed forreal this time.

Even Nashton already said that it was useless to interrogate him. John was being a good boy by not talking back, not barking back, and obviously not flexing his amazing memory about the content of the Bible in front of the man. Nashton should be grateful and everyone should learn from him.

A trial will be useless.

The ride was quiet and the tension between 'em was so heavy, he thought it will crush ‘em dead. John was about to say 'boo' just for shit and giggles. Even the thought of the officer's startled face was amusing enough to bring a smile into his face.

"Don't smile, goddamit. We already have a lot of situations because you blow the station and now your followers are raging because you're going to rot in jail. Seriously, are you Jesus?" said the cop, his voice was slightly trembling and his chin was sweating.

John couldn't blame him. Everyone would be scared if they're in a car with the Revelator.

He stared outside the window and witnessed a lot of people across the street. Some holding up signs with profanities directed towards the officials, some screaming his name as if he was some kind of hero, and some even trashing the public facilities around, spraying empty threats or just straight-up ruining everything.

Everything was chaotic, and he caused that.

He did that.

"I don't know, officer," he said, a smile creeping out across his visage, "who am I to play God?"

It shouldn't feel so good.

Then it all happened without him noticing it.

A moment ago it was just a simple crowd. Sure, there was probably someone passed out due to suffocation or whatever, but there wasn't anywhere coming near them. Nobody is harming them.

Then everything was burning.

The sound of molotov cocktail startled him at first, yet it didn't stop. The Dodge Charger swerved out of control. The two on-coming cars tried to avoid it, but failed. Both of them hit in a three-way head-on collision.

The explosion didn't stop. Tires burning throughout the street. The mass coming towards the other police car with bat and eyes filled with rage. Their faces covered in mask, similar to what he used to wear whenever he went out doing his job. There was another explosion, a ball of flame and a fist of gray smoke. A moment later there was another explosion. And there were more. More, even more. The sound traveling too fast, the glasses and steel rained afterward.

There was a third car which had been traveling too fast. It plowed into the burning wrecks, flipped over and continued, screeching along the runway on its back before it too burst into flames.

John watched in slight horror as his car was burning. His eyes hazy due to the crash and he feels blood in his lips. His consciousness fading away.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

Even in the comfort of his own bed with his cat by his side, Ian struggled to fall asleep. He couldn't seem to shake off the thought of the Revelator from his mind. Ian tossed and turned restlessly, to the point where Monty let out a meow, as if the feline was annoyed with his owner.

At the very least, he did manage to catch a few blinks of sleep, though he didn't feel well rested. He hasn't felt that at all ever since this case began.

He couldn't get a break yet, no. As one of the primary investigators in the case AND the victim of an attempted murder, Ian had to be present in court.

Already, the media had spread news of the Revelator's arrest and subsequent trial at the speed of wildfire. Ian had mixed feelings about this (as he does towards mainstream journalists) as he felt that the case was getting an uncomfortable amount of coverage. Knowing that the Revelator had garnered a large amount of supporters, he felt that this wasn't the best idea.

Surely, the news would have been spread all over the country. He wondered if his brother was aware of what's been happening.

Ian Nashton dressed himself one of his best suits for the court appearance. He even decided to wear contacts, just for today.

Despite nearly all of the residents of Chicago witnessing the Revelator's disturbing and destructive acts, despite it being obvious what it is he had done; due process still had to be followed. This particular trial felt more symbolic than functional.

Getting to the courthouse itself was a challenge, as a crowd of rioters blocked the streets or made it difficult to get there, but in the end, he made it. It was a good thing he decided to go by car rather than public transport. It still baffled him how a terrorist can have such a large following. It concerned him, actually; to know that some citizens of the city he loved so much actually agreed with the Revelator's ideologies. Were they that desperate to find a place of belonging?

Ian rushed past the hungry reporters and journalists and went straight in the building. It's not that Ian hated them, it's just... he'd rather not deal with them right now, he already had so much on his mind.

It's odd to not see his closest colleagues nearby. It felt as if this case brought them closer than ever. He figured they might be helping with riot control or back at the police station, or better yet, at home. Maybe they were watching the live news coverage.

Ian wasn't sure why, but he felt restless still. Something wasn't right. Despite the courtroom being a place he was familiar with, this particular moment felt suffocating for the detective. He excused himself out of the courtroom with the reason being that he wanted some fresh air.

And that's when he saw it. The officers who were controlling the riot crowd outside broke into a frenzy. No, not just the officers, but the crowd as well.

Oh no.

No.

Ian doesn't have his equipment on him. Suddenly the situation turned from unnerving to straight up dangerous. Ian overheard from a nearby officer's radio that a crash had occurred on the street not too far from the courthouse. And of all the cars involved...

It just had to be the one carrying the goddamned Revelator. He couldn't find out EXACTLY what had happened, at least not now.

Ian knew he needed to get out of here. He'd be surprised if one of these rioters didn't make an attempt at his life. After all, John wasn't the only one who had his face in the news lately. Speaking of news, the reporters turned their camera towards the fight that had broke out between the police and the rioters. At the same time, they tried to stay out of the way.

The atmosphere was almost as chaotic as when the station blew up. The only difference? THIS was more chaotic. Seeing some kind of path to the car he came with, Ian made a run for it. You know, before the rioters realized who he was. Once inside, Ian locked the doors and hastily drove out of there.

Not an easy feat considering the crowd seemed to get larger and larger like a swarm of bees.

He probably ran over some toes. Who knows?

Before he even got far, he heard an explosion behind him. It only took a glance on his rear view mirror to know that a molotov cocktail had been thrown by one of the rioters. The Revelator did this. Ian's grip on the steering wheel was so tight, it felt as if he would break it. He needed to get back to the station. Now that the arsonist was (presumably) free, he'd likely try to target HIS station.

When he arrived, Ian nearly leapt out of the car and stumbled his way into the station, in his haste, he bumped right into an older officer, who (somehow) managed to catch him.

"Hey, hey, son. Easy. Why dont you—"

"Detective—detective Hooper? Is he—?" Ian struggled to catch his breath, but he thanked the stars when he saw the familiar face emerge from the chief's office. Ian left the confused officer's arms and grabbed his partner's shoulders.

"He got away! He's—out there! People are hurt. Shit. How could this happen?"

"Ian, Ian, buddy. Breathe. You'd think clearer, come on." Sam knew Ian best for his calm and cool composure in a lot of situations, but today, the dark haired man seemed to be uncharacteristically on edge, and to be honest? It concerned him.

Ian closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep breath, and already he regained most of his composure.

"Were you here, the whole time?"

Sam shook his head, "I just arrived recently."

"Shit, Sam. He'd be coming for us, probably." Ian muttered, seeming like he would go into a pessimistic monologue, but he followed with, "I hope not."

It had been a couple of hours later, but the riot was finally taken control of. There were at least four casualties and a dozen more critically injured. Many people were arrested that day, but thankfully, it won't be his department that dealt with them.

Jeffrey came back to the station with a bloody nose and bruise on his jaw. Thomas was mostly unscathed, but he did complain of a sore spot on his arm, It was great to regroup.

They were alright, that's all Ian needed to know.

ㅤㅤㅤ John

The Revelator woke up not long after the crash. His body, once again, feels like it was getting torn apart. Pain surged through his body. His head, his limbs; everything hurts.

He thought he was done for, no, he was sure he was done for. The explosion was so big and everything was fucking burning, how the hell does someone actually managed to live through that?

But he wasn't. He was alive. Breathing.

His legs are trembling, but he managed to stand up. His eyes were bleary, but he was able to see everything.

Then came flashes of anger, jeers, shouts. The mob was mindless and dangerous. Throwing explosives, burning tires, burning cars. Everyone is looting, smashing, destroying property with no thought to whom it belonged to. Anyone who tried to stop them was beaten severely.

And the next thing John was conscious of was the sound of his name. People, like a swarm of bees chanting the word 'Revelator' as if he was the goddamn President of United States. Police in black uniform with their transparent shields and full face visors marched towards them in rigid formation, but if anyone think they would just back off, like a typical rioters, they didn't.

John thought he was in hell, but he wasn't. He was alive. Breathing.

And he caused this.

Instructions were given through loud speakers and then the tear gas was unleashed. Everyone was running, screaming, throwing counter attacks with explosive and marching like dogs. They marched with the anger, joy, emotion of themselves and a thousand others.

John the Revelator stands still with his heart thumping furiously against its cage. He could feel a tightening of his throat and a short intake of breath, and there was a moment where he couldn't get his feet to move, but in an instant he was running. Running away from the crowds.

He choked back his whine, forcing himself not to groan or moan as he drags his limbs outside the raging mass. Whereas some people were kind enough to shove away from his line, the rest was far too overwhelmed by the police until he feels like they're going to step on him.

At last, when he felt like he's about to collapse, a hand scooped his shoulder, some even push through his back. John was far too tired to protest. He didn't know if they're on his side or if they're going to lock him in jail. But then everything makes sense when he was outside the crowds, 'cause that's where he sees it.

Kerosine, old school matches, hand grenades, firecrackers for the Fourth of July, and oh.

Semtex.

John stared in the direction he's about to head.

His mind wandered to that fucking face.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

"Remind me to never be a part of riot control again... it hurts, man." Jeffrey whined as he held an ice pack to his bruised jaw. Despite being the same age as Ian, sometimes officer Hwang's actions made him seem younger than he really is—this was one of them.

"Damn it. All our hard work. It's all gone down the drain." Ian held his head in his hands and let out a groan of frustration. "If it hadn't been so heavily televised, maybe this wouldn't have happened. And I thought serial killers having fans were bad. This is a whole new level. That being said, we still have his fingerprints and photos, getting around the country would probably be a hell lot harder for him."

Some of the breaking news footage showed the rioters chanting the Revelator's name as if he was a celebrity figure. It made Ian's stomach turn to see his fellow Chicagoans support a literal terrorist. As if he doesn't trust people enough already.

The Revelator appeared again on the footage, but only for a moment. He seemed to just... dissolve into the crowds. Who knows where he'd go.

No, Ian knows. He knew that, sooner or later, the bastard would come for him. The whole station was on high alert, Ian even more so. He hoped that there would be no more casualties today.

The detective traded his contacts for his glasses (good thing he carried the lens case). The contacts tended to make his eyes all watery and dry, and he liked the look of his glasses better, anyway.

Thinking the police station would be guarded enough to be safe was a mistake.

BIG mistake.

The relative silence of the station was broken when a loud crash was heard at the front end. Someone had thrown something through the windows.

But...

It wasn't a rock or brick they threw.

It was a grenade. A live grenade. That older officer from earlier was the first to notice it, he warned the others to take cover and attempted to take cover himself, but he wasn't fast enough. He took most of the blast's shockwave.

The unmistakable, deafening sound of an explosion, the shattering of windows and the ripping of doors from its hinges—those were just some of the sounds Ian registered. Add on to that the same cacophony of panicked screams and shouts from his colleagues combined with the angry shouts from an incoming mob. How big the mob was or if it could even be called a mob at all, he wasn't sure, but he knew that there were more than one person attacking. It wasn't long before shots were fired from his side. Aiming for the legs or shoulders was more than enough to bring down these stray rioters. Behind their anger and masks, they were still just your average Joe.

Another crash from the far left side of the building. The closest officers dived behind whatever cover they could find and hoped for the best. Hoped that they would at least survive this. As he had his head down and covered, Ian only saw the flash from the corner of his eyes, even then, he knew what had happened.

Not even a full minute later, a terrible, thunder-like clap ripped through the air. A fiery ball of orange and yellow flames invaded the building and smoke began to rise. Pieces of metal became like darts, the glass cut through the air as if they were like throwing knives, wood and shattered brick dangerously rained down on the officers. Many of them lay on the ground in a fetal position, whilst others were splayed out lifelessly like forgotten rag dolls.

Through the smoke and his irritated eyes; through the gaping hole that had formed in the back of the building, Ian swore on his life that he saw HIM. Just for a brief moment.

The next moment, however, he was gone. As if he disappeared with the smoke.

All sorts of emergency vehicles wailed in the distance, but none of the officers were able to hear it clearly. Their auditory senses were assaulted by the horrible screams of their comrade and the roar of the flame from the back of the building.

The group of rioters that ambushed them were all on the ground, writhing in pain from the gunshot wounds that have been inflicted on their arms or legs, but some lay motionless on the ground. It seems, in a twisted version of poetic justice, they had became victim of their own chaos.

The whole building had been engulfed in a ferocious flame. Suffocating smoke slowly began to replace the oxygen in the room.

They needed to get out.

Ian struggled on to his feet, but his eyes landed on a sight he WISHED he hadn't seen. His partner, Sam, was on the ground. He was alive, but with his leg trapped under a wooden support beam, he might not be for long. Without thinking, Ian leapt through the raging fire; he didn't give a damn if he got burnt.

"Ian! Ian, please—" Sam hissed in pain, he kept averting his gaze away from the block of wood trapping his leg.

To avoid burning his palms, Ian took off his suit jacket and used it as a makeshift glove. He grunted as he lifted the wood. It wasn't much, but Sam managed to drag himself from under there. When he was sure his partner's legs were out of harm's way, Ian dropped the support beam and his jacket, which became trapped under the beam.

That's fine, he can always get new jackets.

Ian rushed to his partner's side and grimaced when he saw the pained look on the other man's features.

"Can you stand? Shit, I'm—I'll help you up."

Sam knew that the answer was probably no, but either he forced himself or burn alive. Ian pulled him up by the arm and bit his lower lip when his partner groaned in pain. It must have hurt him terribly. But they both knew they would rather go through the pain than burning alive. So the pair slowly made their way towards the nearest exit.

The main entrance wasn't an option, the front of the building had collapsed and thus blocked their path, the same goes for the back. Their only option was a shattered window.

Detective Hooper knew that that option meant even more pain for his injured leg, but it was his and Ian's only option.

Sam was the first to climb out, fortunately, the fire department had arrived and they helped to pull him out.

Unfortunately, however, the ceiling above them crumbled, thus blocking Ian's path to escape and fresh air.

"Ian! No!" Sam could only watch helplessly in horror as his mind began to think of the worst.

Inside, Ian was just as horrified, but he refused to give up just like that. The whole building could collapse any moment, and if that happened before he got out, it'd mean his star would be displayed alongside all the other deceased officers'.

He wasn't going to let that happen today.

The bespectacled man once again ran through the inferno to reach the opposite side of the building. His once crisp white shirt was now a crinkly mess of ashy gray.

He reached a door, and in his state of urgency went straight for the hot handle. His hand recoiled from the heat and he shouted in pain. He frantically kicked the door down and was grateful when he saw the sky once again. The detective stumbled out and found himself face down on the concrete. He was coughing profusely, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs.

At least he was out, now.

But what about his friends? Where are they? Are they alive?

Detective Nashton struggled to stay conscious. He was put on a stretcher by the paramedics and was given an oxygen tank to aid with his breathing. Though his vision was blurry and out of focus, he could see Sam's figure, also on a stretcher.

Officer Hwang had escaped the building with a few mild burns and a broken arm, which was now wrapped in a makeshift sling. He (foolishly) leapt away from the paramedics that were attending to him and approached the ones that were carrying Ian on the stretcher.

"Hey, is he going to be okay? Are you going to be okay?"

This idiot, Ian thought. Running away from the paramedic while they were treating his broken arm. But Hwang's concern for his teammates was always admirable, so Ian nodded and weakly formed a 'thumbs up' to answer Jeffrey's question.

"Thank goodness. Hey, uh... Cole's already being taken to hospital right now. I hope he's—"

Before Jeffrey could finish, a strong hand slapped him (gently) on his good shoulder. It was one of the paramedics that were treating him.

"Kid, you're a crazy bastard. Just because your legs are fine, doesn't mean you can just run off from me like that. I'm not done treating your arm."

"Sorry, I was just—"

"Concerned about your friend? I know. But... from the looks of it, he'll be fine. Now, come on, you're also injured." The paramedic's tone softened as he led Jeffrey away.

So it seems that his friends had survived. He hoped they could recover nicely without any problems or disfigurement.

The oxygen tank had been removed, but still, he felt lightheaded and faint. It must have been the heat exposure.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the detective passed out.

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

Three days after the riot started, everything went well again. There were no sightings of the Revelator and everyone who supported him doesn't even know where he went.

Duh, of course, since John has been hiding outside the area for a while. Blending with the civilians after he finished shaving away his beards, wearing dark contacts every now and then that contrasted his bright colored wigs and makes him look like a clown. And considering everything he had done, it can be concluded that he's, indeed, a goddamn clown.

Three days after the riot started, John knew that the Revelator will always be on the government radar. Best luck is, he could still get a job with his covers, but then again, the main problem was never the government or job to begin with.

It was his kids.

Will they be cool with him after all he had done? Holy fuck, he's having a headache just because of this.

John took a deep breath and decided to shrugs it off. He had another important schedule to attend to.

So imagine a blond man walking into the hospital with a complete suit. Everything from head to toe screaming prince-like aura. His smile never for a second left his face as he greeted the eldery woman with sparkling blue eyes.

John is being that figure right now.

"Visiting a friend, sir?" the nurse asked, perhaps shaving his beard off was doing the job.

"A colleague of mine, actually," he replies, still with his ever-loving smile. A bouquet of tulip in his hands. He's going all out to meet the man he wishes to kill the most.

John peered over the room 714 quietly, his eyes grazing over to see if there's any other visitor at this hour. When he finally decided that the coast is clear, he didn't even bother on knocking., deciding that they will eventually let him in, and that they don't have any power to actually resists his visit. He placed the flower at an empty vase, not bothering on greeting the patients and sat down across the room with his legs crossed.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

What are the odds that he and his partners would be put in the same hospital ward? Maybe someone told the doctors that they were a team, maybe it was by chance. Either way, Ian was grateful for it. He'd rather see their faces than any other officers.

Sam had his leg in a cast, the doctors told him that he had nothing to worry about and that the leg will heal eventually. He'd be able to walk again.

Jeffrey, aside from a broken arm, had suffered some mild burns on his leg, but it wasn't anything major.

Both Ian and Thomas had inhaled some of the smoke, but out of the four, those two were relatively unscathed. The doctors said that, if their lungs don't become infected, they would be permitted to leave the hospital within a week.

Even if Ian had a burn on his palm and Thomas some minor cuts caused by glass shrapnels on his face.

Ian's parents had called just an hour earlier, turns out they've been watching the news religiously ever since the first attack happened. His mother was in tears when she first spoke to him, despite Ian telling her that he would be fine.

Can't blame a mother for worrying.

The days at the hospital was a stark contrast to the fast paced life he was used to. But aside from the bland food, it wasn't that bad. It felt nice to have a break, somewhat.

But Ian couldn't keep his mind off of the goddamned Revelator. Where is he now? What's his next move? Will they meet again?

Ian had his back turned towards the door, the poor man was trying to catch up on some sleep. When he heard the door open, he thought it'd be one of the nurses. And yet... the footsteps sounded different.

It's not hard to tell people apart just by hearing their footsteps. So he turned in his bed. Ian wasn't wearing his glasses at the time, but he could make out the man's figure. How odd, none of his teammates were expecting any guests, nor do they knew anyone with that shade of blonde hair.

When Ian put his glasses on, he nearly jumped off his hospital bed. The wig and the contacts and the clean shaven face may have fooled other people, but they didn't fool him.

"You! What the hell are you doing here?!"

Sam, who had been asleep, jolted awake due to his partner's sudden raise in tone.

"Ian, what is it? What's the matter?" Sam asked, his voice was still a little groggy. It seems that he hadn't noticed who this visitor was.

"It's him, Sam. The fucking Revelator!" Ian frantically searched through his belongings for something, anything that he could use as a weapon. But the sad reality is, he had nothing.

(No, don't panic, Nashton. Think.)

Hearing the name 'Revelator' made Jeffrey spring up in an upright position, he must've thought: to hell with the arm, the Revelator is here!

"I-I'm gonna call a nurse!" It WAS meant to be a threat, but being defenseless like this, Jeffrey's voice came out small.

"No! Jeff, don't."

Both Sam and Jeffrey looked at their bespectacled comrade as if he had just gone insane, but Ian held a finger up, trying to get himself time to allow him to explain his reasoning.

"If he wanted to murder us, he'd have done it by now. And I don't think he would have bothered with the shitty disguise either. Look at him, he's almost perfectly blending in like a normal civillian. There is no way that he would have gotten past hospital security if he had any weapons on him. And even if he were to try murdering one of us with his bare hands, three of us are able to use our legs to go and get help; this is the seventh floor, he couldn'tjust simply jump out the window to escape, unless he wants to splatter on the concrete below." Detective Nashton sucked air through his teeth before he continued, "John is here for a reason, and that reason ISN'T to finish us off. At least not here, a hospital is too risky for you, isn't it, John?"

Ian peered over his glasses, there was a look of hatred and disgust in his dark eyes as he locked gazes with their 'visitor'.

"Talk, damn you."

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John smiled, this time it reached his eyes. He was truly amused by the fact the man had spare energy to actually say that. If it were John, he would just say fuck off and went back asleep.

"You're truly bright, detective," he said, "although, you might be wrong on that part. I am willing to jump off the seventh floor. I have nothing to lose, remember?"

John smiled brighter, wider. Interlacing his fingers as his eyes remain fixed to the detective's face. It didn't take long until he was leaning to the chair, comfortably observing the whole room with his sight.

He said, "I was just going to drop by and say sorry for, well, blowing up the building and almost killing y'all," and though, John did say he was sorry, the words were truly unbelievable as his expression didn't hint any single regret.

"And I figured out you might appreciate flowers," he continues, his fingers flicked towards the vase of tulip.

John didn't wait for a single reply before he eventually stands up. Flashing another brief smile to the quartet and head towards the door.

"Good day, officers."

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

How the fuck is Thomas still asleep through all this? The man straight up sleeps like a log.

Ian accepted that he was wrong with one of his deductions, he's aware that it could happen. Ian scoffed at the apology. Even a naïve person wouldn't buy it.

Although... the tulips WERE nice. There's no way that John would have known this was his favourite, right? It must be by chance.

"You? Being sorry? Having guilt? Since when do you feel guilt?! That's gold, John. I didn't know you were such a comedian." Yet Ian Nashton didn't laugh. After all, how could he? The one time John actually answered his question, the man intended to leave again.

"Should have called security..." Jeffrey muttered. The man was terrified, Ian could tell.

"Cut the crap, John. Why are you here? What has that sick little mind of yours planned now, hm? Are you going to blow up this hospital, too? Kill more people? Women, children, the elderly?"

Ian stood up from his bed, but he didn't walk any closer. He supposed if things go bad, an IV stand could be used as a weapon.

"What goes on in that twisted head of yours?"

ㅤㅤㅤ

John

John stopped midtrack before he managed to get out of the room, his eyes darting from the knob towards the raging detective. He could see how mad he is now, he got himself on his feet and IV stand near him. John was super impressed with the man's staying power.

"If you're so curious about it, detective..." John paused.

Then he walked closer, not minding the glare which has probably been shot at his stature. Only when he was inches away from the man he stopped, smiling at Nashton with what it seems to be a mischievous look across his mien.

He stared at the man for a moment before bringing his hands to the other's cheeks, again, not minding the completely fumed look thrown at him from all sides as he leans his head closer, until their foreheads rest against each others. His thumb running along the curve of Nashton's cheekbone down to his jaw, before he pressed his lips against the other's.

And there wasn't anything passionate about it. It was soft and slow, and it wasn't a kiss filled with hunger or primal instinct. It was just a platonic, almost like how a mother kisses her child.

John pulled back, his fingers haven't left the man's cheeks as he said, "I've been thinking how cute you look whenever you're mad."

He turned his heels away, smirking at himself over the things he had done, and the thing he just did.

Then he left.

ㅤㅤㅤ

Ian Nashton

When John started to walk closer, Ian took an instinctive step back. Was he going to be strangled again?

They were right in front of each other. And even though John was wearing coloured contacts, there still was that fierceness in his his eyes.

No observation or deductive skill could have prepared Ian for the contact. Ian couldn't stop the small gasp when he felt the other's hand on his face.

Hey, they felt cold.

But it was different from the first time. It was uncharacteristically gentle, yet firm; as opposed to rough and brutal. It sent a shiver down the detective's spine.

"Let go, you crazy—"

Before the detective could finish his sentence, the crazy bastard had pressed their lips together. Right then and there, his mind went into a panic, yet his body froze, and his eyes were wide open.

What. The. Fuck.

When John finally pulled away, the detective was still so confused that he couldn't push the other man away or retaliate in any way. All he did was sit back down on the edge of his bed with the same dumbfounded expression as he watched John walk away.

When the door closed, Ian exchanged glances with Jeffrey and Sam, who looked surprised and horrified, respectively.

After what felt like an eternity of silent glances, Jeffrey finally cleared his throat and broke the silence. He was probably trying to lighten up the situation as well, as he usually did. "Well... uh... god's joke went a bit too far."

"Shut up, Jeffrey. Oh, fuck. Let's... let's pretend that never happened. Let's pretend, that we all had the same nightmare."

Ian slowly laid back down on his bed and stared up at the white ceiling.

But he knew, no matter how many times he'll tell himself, what just happened, actually happened.

He can't forget it.

Detectives rarely forget.

#deus det nobis suam pacem #4 #tw: blood #tw: gun #tw: graphic content #tw: violence

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