Hyeonverse: Kissed By Darkness

Author's Notes:

This story runs alongsideThe Vulture of Minsk.

A big thank you to Decal_Last, Ravenna933 and MrBadKitty357 for your help trying to mold this letter soup of mine into readable form.

InA Game For Six, Cormac mentions he hasn't seen his children in 40 years. This story changes that number to 10-15 years. Retcon whiplash, sorry.

GEMINI FALLEN

There will be no tears when I'm gone.

My life isn't a redemption story of heroic sacrifice, it's a cautionary tale.

I'm the bad guy.

I have no illusions on this subject, I'm an evil prick who's tasted it all: pussy, pleasure, power, and prestige.

In the end, you know what I've learned and whatreallymatters?Truefriends.

Hold onto them, andcherishthem because nothing is as important.

The world is just too unkind on your own.

I never knew how good I had it til I lost mine.

<<<<<>>>>>

Paris, 1985.

Her long white legs wrapped around his colossal black frame, pulling him to her.

Their rhythm was relentless,ferocious. These weren't lovers mating, these weregodsfucking.

"Vicky!Oh,fuck! You'reamazing!"

"Miam Miam, je sais," she chuckled with mischief, biting Cormac's lower lip. Their greedy eyes devoured each other, refusing to blink and miss one iota.

"Oh! Hmm,oui! Cormac,je... putain..."her voice cracked under a cresting climax.

"Vicky, I'm cumming too! I'm cumming too! Ooh, Vicky!"He raced her toward bliss, straining the bed springs to the limit.

"C-Cormac! Oh, I'm... Cormac, I'm... cyka bl--"she writhed as multiple orgasms rippled across her body.

Their ravenous mouths swallowed each other as the gods peaked, and for one moment, everything in the world was perfect. Panting, their sated bodies merged in a snug embrace.

Amid the sweat-soaked mess of her red hair, Vicky's piercing green eyes glared at me. Cormac followed her fiery gaze to find me gawking at them.

"Cassiel?!" He snapped. "Dude, do youmind?"

"Sorry," I whispered. "I forgot my coat."

"This isn't a spectator sport, man!" He threw a pillow at my silver head, slamming the hostel room door shut.

Wham!

That was the last time I saw Vicky.

To say that my friend fell madly in love with her would have been an understatement.

Cormac wasmesmerizedby those stern green eyes manning thekioskoutsideChez Morgause, the bashful inn we usually stayed at when visiting Paris in between missions.

Their voracious sexcapade didn't last a week.

Zodiac Team Onewas a special operations force responsible for paramilitary operations and clandestine or covert political actions the U.S. government does not wish to be associated with. We scrambled the very next Monday to assistTeam Fourin capturing the terrorist cell behind the Frankfurt Airport bomb attack.

Upon our return, Cormac scoured Paris searching for her, but it was as if Vicky had never existed. Nobody knew or even remembered her. Despair drove him mad, and it broke my heart seeing him this lost, staring at the blank walls for days on end.

"Come on, it's beer o'clock!" I latched onto his arm, dragging the big guy from one bar to another.

The ladies couldn't stop checking my perfect white hair and my splendid shoes. Inviting glances were offered, but I was there for my grieving friend. With my busted vocal cords, I can't talk too much or too loud, so I sat listening to Cormac reminisce about women, embarrassing boot camp memories, the geopolitics of cocoa prices, and the decline of New Wave music. I laughed until my throat ached.

In a way, Cormac Peters was the brother Ishouldhave had.

We hit it off right away at Basic Training, he blabbered a lot and I said little. We were the perfect duo.

Cormac was this lanky black kid with the lightest fingers I had ever seen. After spending his youth lifting tourists' wallets at the Detroit Riverfront, his luck eventually ran out and he got into a fight. Abadone, his cop sister Ama had to move Heaven and Earth to save her baby brother from jail. It cost her her job in the force.

Filled with guilt, Cormac enlisted. This was his one chance to clean up his act and it worked. Cormac bulked up, focused on his education and fast tracked his way to theTier One Special Mission Unitswhere he was handpicked to join, and later lead aZodiac Team.

His contagious laughter and upbeat personality changed me, his crazy attitude toward life rubbed onto the whole crew. I was just some backwater hick who could handle himself in a knife fight. This magnificent bastard taught meeverythingI know.

From El Salvador to Lebanon, from Grenada to Chad, he saved my butt more times than I could count and my life in more ways than I could imagine.

I was half drunk,marvelingat how screwed up my life could have been if I had never met him when they ambushed us stumbling downRue Dancourt.

"Vicky!Comeback, Vicky! We miss youuuh!" We sang to the moon, laughing like two goofballs.

"Ey-ey-ey, Cormac, I'm sorry she's gone, man, I really am," I sputtered. "The way you two looked at each other, nowthatwas love."

"No, my silver-haired friend, it was justwildsex," he lied. "WildFrenchredheadsex, a trifecta! A-a quadfecta."

"No-no-no, mantrust meon this, this-this is myentireexpertise. That was true!Love!Ask me how I know."

A steroid mountain of a beast of a man materialized in front of us, shoving Cormac.

"Watchit, buddy!" Cormac grunted.

"Who'sthisjackass?" I closed in, fists clenched. Shithead, you don't put your paws on my brother,ever.

""Cassiel,behindyou!"--Cormac turned to me, shouting:"Knife!"

Fear sobered me up on the spot.

I spun on my heels, the switchblade stabbed air.

A prostitute in a fur coat creeping up on my six, silent as a ghost. My combat training kicked in on cue, a jab to the chest sent her reeling a step back.

Her massive pimp swung two brass knuckles at Cormac. None connected.

The cocksucker towered over my humongous friend. They traded feints and hooks, sizing each other. It was a stalemate.

"Wro... wrong package, we-we asked the moon for aVicky"--My tipsy hands reached for my knife,pig on a stick!I had left it at base.

I grabbed and swung a derelict monobloc chair instead: "Ha... have a seat."

Our eyes met and realization struck hers, the element of surprise was lost.

Twice still, her steel stung thermoplastic, pointlessly.

Dismayed, she tilted her head at the pimp and both beat a retreat.

What a way to wrap a perfectly fine drunken evening.

"Boss man, you have eyes on the back of your head!" I grinned, the adrenaline rush pushing my busted voice above a whisper. "Howthehelldid you see that knife coming?"

"That wasSystema." He picked his hat off the ground, dusting it. Fun Cormac was gone, this wasseriousCormac now. Mr. Team Leader. I could picture the gears in his head spinning. "That fighting style. They wereSpetsnaz."

"Womenin the Soviet Special Forces? No way, man no how. Ask me how I know."

"Cassiel." Cormac glared at me. "Do you wanna tell mewhythe Russians just tried to kill you, Cassiel?"

One, two. A cold shiver crawled down my spine, Cormac only used my name this many times when he was bullshitting orreallyupset.

"Killus, you mean," I lied. He was right, theBratva(Russian Mob) was after my neck.

"No, Cassiel. The big guy was just a distraction,youwere the real target." His hulking 6'5 loomed over me. "Cassiel, are yousmuggling drugsagain?"

"W... why would you say something like that? Cormac, it'smeman. Your brother from another Mot--"

The little black book I carried in my breast pocket was in his hands. Those bloody pickpocket fingers of his! Cormac flipped through my handwriting, trying to crack the code to my contacts list and records of transactions and shipments.

He finally gave up, handing it back: "We're done here."

"Cormac, come on..."

"I've told you,repeatedly: Three strikes and you're out. Three strikes and you'reout. I amdoneprotecting you, start packing. I'm briefing the Colonel first thing when we get back to Base. You'reoff Team One."

An abyss opened before me, I wasfinished.For a moment I was ten years old again, locked up in that basement screaming until I broke my voice.

"Cormac, please... this is all I have. You're my only friend, give me another chance. You used to lift wallets down at the Riverfront and Ama forgave you."

"Thatis why I gave you more chances thananyone! Itrustedyou, man I went to bat for you. Brokeregulationsfor you.Threetimes."

"Don't do this to me, man." My knees hit pavement. "Pleasedon'tdothis."

"Getup!" He gritted his teeth. The disappointment in his tone hurt more than my imminent Court-Martial. "Stopembarrassingyourself."

It was a gloomy train ride back to Chièvres.

"I can change," I mumbled all the way. "IswearI can change."

"Cassiel, go to sleep," Cormac moved on the seat, covering his face with his hat.

JAG fell on me with the full weight of the judicial system, I was lucky to get off on a dishonorable discharge. No, not luck. Cormac must have cashed in every favor he was owed to lighten my sentence. Dirty or not, I was still one of his boys.

"Go to the authorities and cut a deal before a sniper paints your silver hair red." He gave me his last words of advice.

Team Onewas reassigned to the USAG Army Base in Yongsan, Korea shortly thereafter.

Chaptered out from the military, I found myself miserable and alone overnight.

How could I have fucked everything up so badly? I had losteverything. I missed my friend. I missed the laughter, the good times and even the bad.

My brother Caspian started haunting me in my sleep shortly after. Figures...

I had lost the brother I chose for myself, only to get back that backstabbing bitch I got boned with. I resorted to alcohol to suppress those nightmares, and soon I was drinking myself into a stupor as I sank into the Parisian underbelly. The days melted into weeks as I burnt through my savings.

Fucking Bratva, this was alltheirfault! They had taken the best thing to ever happen in my life.

Grabbing my little black book of contacts, I assembled local talent with the last of my money and we hit themhardatL'Impertinentbistro onRue Jouye-Rouve.

AK-47s at sunset, Russian Mob brains splattered all over the Summer Risotto; it wasglorious!

I made it a point to personally behead theirPakhan(Grand Poobah) after the asshole bled all over my calfskin moccasins.

The waitress gawked at me in my ski mask, knees shaking when I dropped 100 Francs on her tray. It must have been a shock to the poor girl, the French don't usually tip, let alone this much.

"Calme-toi, ma petite." I booped her little nose with a bloodsoaked index finger, whispering: "D´ou je viens, on fait ça toujours(Where I'm from, we do thisallthe time)."

Jackpot!

Their turf, their hookers,allof their business was mine overnight. The exhilaration didn't last. The City of Love no longer held my interest, my eyes were now glued to Yongsan, Korea.

TheBratvaretaliated three weeks later.

<<<<<>>>>>

We had finished our outdoor lunch atSaveurs du Matin, a quaint little café bar restaurant on the far end ofRue Riquet, by the water.

The Russian accountant with the profit numbers from the new Bulgarian hookers was running late and I was entertaining introducing my knife to his neck. These Eastern Bloc douchebags clearly didn't like me in charge and it was about time I started making someexamples. Terror is good,horroris better.

"No, she hadthickereyebrows. What's the word...épais! Plus épais." I whispered to the washed-up artist sitting by my side and he pressed his pencil harder on the sketchbook.

His lineart was a squiggly mess, probably from cocaine withdrawal or the stress of being surrounded by violent criminals, but the man's talent was unquestionable.

One graphite stroke at a time, Vicky's likeness took shape, emerging from the canvas in all her stern beauty.

'It'sher!' I smiled, ready to shout from the rooftops.

"Urk,this coffee is puremerde," Rémi, a disgraced French Foreign Legion vet cussed, breaking the drawing's enchantment. "This is no way to wrap up lunch. I know a place inAubervilliersthat makes homemademkhabez,have you ever tasted them, Cassiel? Your whole mouth willexplodein an orgasm."

"Get thefuckoutta my face with that crap, Rémi, JesusChrist!" My throat stung. The artist flinched with my eruption and his pencil jumped on the paper, carving a scar across Vicky's face.Fuck.

"Hey, it's okay," My arm surrounded his bony shoulders. "It's okay."

"Please," Rémi pleaded. "I promise you, they're todiefor!"

"Just humor the little wanker," his older brother Hercule shrugged, lost in hisSpiroucomic mag. "They're actually quite good."

Hercule was a competent lieutenant, we had worked together many times before. Reliable. He was the one who had introduced me to the artist, 'a fallen star of theMarcinelle School'. You can tell alotfrom a person by the shoes they wear and how they treat them. Hercule cared for his combat boots like old friends, polishing them with quiet devotion.

"Fine!" I groaned, throwing Rémi the keys to my sports coupe. "Onepaint scratch and I'll cut your throat."

The silly git frolicked toward my car, giddy as a goat.

"I swear to you," Rémi grinned, starting it. "They're todiefor!"

A metallic click underneath its chassis.

BOOM!

My car exploded in a fireball.

Parasols, plates and cutlery flew in a storm of glass, metal, and plastic stabbing at us. The shockwave knocked me out cold.

<<<<<>>>>>

I woke up on the pavement, lightheaded. No injuries, no pain. How was this possible, was I dead? Vicky crouched by my side, her sharp green eyes studying me.

"They're trying to blow you up now?" She smiled. "You're REALLY not a people's person, are you?"

"Vicky!" I sat up, hugging her. "Where did you go? Cormac searched EVERYWHERE for you."

"I flew away." She pushed me away, then twisted her hands, joining the thumbs to form a dove. "Flap, flap, flap..."

"I'm SO happy I found you! Cormac is gonna be ECSTATIC, I found his girl!"

"I could as easily have been YOUR girl." Her smile grew cold. "With the flip of a coin."

"What do you mean?"

Mists surrounded us, this couldn't possibly be happening. Was I in a dream?

"You will never know." Her smile rekindled. "Why are you still here? I've already left and so has Cormac."

"I thought if I found you, maybe he would take me back..."

"You never will, Cormac searched and searched, and you KNOW how thorough he is. Wake up, I am long gone."

"But what if--"

"No, seriously! it's time to wake up!" She slapped me. "RÉVEILLE-TOI!"

<<<<<>>>>>

A piercing headache brought me back.

The acrid smell of ash filled the air. Burning gas, melted plastic and charred meat.

I was ushered into a silent world by an excruciating ring in my ears.

One of my French legionnaires crept over me, trying to remove my blazing jacket.

To my right, the artist trembled on the ground, pressing Vicky's drawing to his chest. To my left, the other Legionnaire guarded the perimeter with his Uzi at the ready, a sympathetic hand on Hercule's shoulder as my lieutenant sat on the debris weeping his brother's death.

I too had lost a brother to an explosion, once. Caspian, that piece ofshit!

I pushed the memory away, I wasn't that terrified little boy screaming in that dark basement anymore.

My hearing returned with the engine of a Renault 4 rolling by, a blue-haired punk girl at the wheel. Those angry Slavic eyes, where had I seen them before?

The ambush!She was the Russian prostitute in the fur coat.

The steroid giant on the back seat flashed a shotgun.

"Icethem!" I snapped, turning to my legionnaires. "Vas-y, tirez sur ces cochons!"

Twin Uzis shouted in vain at the fleeing vehicle:

Trrrat-tat-trrrat!

"Fuck!Fuck!Fuckingfuck!" I cursed, anger suppressing the fountain of pain in my larynx: "This sorta crap wouldneverhave happened when I had Cormac covering my back!"

He was not only my best friend, but also my lucky charm, my rabbit's foot. My Guardian angel.

The Russian accountant's head was mailed to the Soviet embassy that same day.

Two Mobbrigadiers' joined it the next morning, and four more enforcers the day after. Alarmed by the bodycount, theBratvascrambled a delegation from Little Odessa to negotiate terms.

'Why are you still here? I've already left and so has Cormac,'my dream had told me. My friend was inKorea, why thefuckwas I still in Paris? Tired of their crap, I agreed to turn over their territories for a small fortune.

I paid my legionaries handsomely and, with Russian Mob money falling out of my pockets, I waved goodbye to the City of Lights, booking the first flight headed east.

Wearing a finely tailored Lanvin suit, with my sleek white hair combed to the back, I oozed through the Orly airport leaving the fragrance of Jean Paul Gaultier's Le Male behind as I headed for my new life. And the shoes, man, you'vegottainvest in your monk straps. It's the first thing the ladies notice.

Aboard, a petite blabbermouth from Merna, inNebraskaclaimed the window seat.

First time abroad, she was aCollege of Saint Marygraduate touring Europe. Freckled pixies aren't my thing, but shewaspainfully cute and her flaming red hair reminded me of Vicky.

It's as if the fucking stars had winked at me.Shecould be my olive branch, a peace offering to my friend! My smile grew into a grin.

"First time in Istanbul?"

"Yeah," she beamed. "My friends told me not to miss the Hagia Sophia."

"Oh, you're gonna miss it alright," I peered into her soul, watching her big brown eyes widen. "Ask me how I know."

Her name was Amber Clark, my future wife.

She was blushing like an adolescent when I led her by the hand to a hostel inHarem Iskelesi street. As we waited for the consièrge to hand us our key, I surrounded her in my arms and my lips took hers. Her inexperience was touching, don't kids have sex in college anymore?

Lazy as a Sunday morning, my tongue taught hers how to dance and her whole body melted. Had... had she just bloodyfaintedon me? My middle finger entered her and the little minx gasped in delight and fake outrage: