[Mock-Fiction] III - In Amore et Bellum

Note: Please read the Formal Notice movella. It should be on the list on the right hand side.

Protest piece. Third in the series after 'I - Requiescat in Pace' & 'II - Memento Mori'. Enjoy x

Cover by Secrets Unfold

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15. Thirteen - 1SHOT4ZaynMalik

Zayn Malik couldn’t have been happier. He’d not been bothered in the last 48 hours, and he was glad. The Queen scared him, and now that she was gone for good, it made him feel more secure that Smith would not hunt him down because of Malik’s connection to her. He walked out of the shower in a white bathrobe, patting down his wet hair with a towel, singing: “…You don’t know-o-o! You don’t know you’re beautiful!”

 

“You give new meaning to the phrase ‘loving the sound of your own voice’, Mr. Malik.”

 

Malik froze, and turned his head slowly. He jumped back in fright, “How did you get in here? How did you find me? Why aren’t you dead?”

The Midnight Rogue stared at him; her face masked once more and was garbed in white robes held by a thick belt. The heavy Damascus held in one hand, the other hand pressed to her chest, Rogue’s head bowed in a mocking gesture.

 

“Are you kidding, Malik?” said Rogue, amused, “Have you seen the line of giggling girls outside your building? What could possibly be a bigger pointer, eh? They’re all bitching about me for climbing through your open window.”

“Get… Get out, or I’ll call the guards!” said Malik, inching his fingers towards a red button on the wall.

“You mean the guards that Emperor Lodovico Smith hired for the Queen? Surely you know what happened to them after this morning?”

“I have my own personal guards.”

“Ah, do you? Then perhaps you’re over-looking the fact that they are all asleep,” Rogue pointed outside the window.

 

Malik stretched his neck to see, and his eyes widened in horror as he saw two dozen guards lying sprawled over the pavement, “I… I knew it! All this righteous cause rubbish! Just a façade for what you really are! Murderers and cut-throats!”

“I’m hurt, Mr. Malik,” said Rogue, “They are merely knocked out. I only have space for one kill left,” she pointed her Damascus at him.

Malik narrowed his eyes, “Smith sent you…”

“Well, yes and no,” said Rogue, “The Emperor did me a favor, getting rid of that Queen. So, I thought I ought to return the favor to him and get rid of you. And, of course, let you have a taste of your own medicine when you’re stuck in a corner with nothing but a torturer looking at you.”

 

Malik shuddered, and punched the red button; “You can’t get to me!” a thin transparent wall appeared between Malik and Rogue, “The force-field won’t let you!”

Rogue shook her head, “Will you never learn, Malik?” she pressed her sword into the force-field, “Everything has its threshold.”

The force-field quavered as it was unable to throw the disallowed object away. Rogue’s arm shook wildly, but she didn’t let go of the sword. Visible cracks began to appear on the field and it shattered like glass. The blade – reaching its own threshold – crumbled to shards. Rogue dropped the hilt.

 

“You have no weapon!” spat Malik.

Rogue laughed, “You think I need a weapon to kill you?”

Malik tapped the button again, and bullets spat out of the walls. Rogue fell on her knees, shielding her masked face with her arms.

Smoke and dust rose, and Malik breathed heavily feeling it was all over. Rogue was still on her knees when the smoke cleared, bullets ripped through her robes. She staggered a little, rising slowly. She removed her robes, and revealed the fleece she taken from the guard on the night of her escape.

Kevlar.

Malik backed up against the wall.

 

“Why won’t you die?” he asked, looking around wildly for an escape.

Rogue reached behind her head, breathing unevenly from the shock and impact of the bullets. She must have broken a few ribs, but no matter. Zayn Malik was no challenge. She began unbuckling her mask, “Behind this mask, Mr. Malik, is an idea. And Ideas are bulletproof,” Rogue smiled with her mangled mouth as the mask fell away into the debris, “I’ve been meaning to use that line from V for Vendetta for ages,” she laughed a little and drew the bayonet knife.

 

“Do you know what day it is, Malik?”

Malik’s lip quivered, “Fourteenth of February. Valentine’s Day.”

“And the time?”

“5:30 p.m.”

“Do these ring any bells?”

Zayn’s eyes narrowed, “You were meant to be executed now. This minute.”

Rogue nodded, “You made a date with Death. You promised him a life. He’s come to take it.”

“It was you that meant to die.”

Rogue shrugged, “Well, I’m not ready to die yet; so we’ll have to compro–”

 

Malik leapt at her, clawing at her eyes in madness. Rogue slashed once through his middle. Malik staggered, bent over, a hand to his abdomen, holding a chair to support himself, blood leaking through his fingers and dotting the white fur rug.

He smiled, despite his wound, “You had children in my dimension,” he said, “You want to know what happened to them?”

Rogue kicked his face, her eyes wide in anger, “Shut up.”

He fell on his back, “Torn, limb from limb, by Smith’s forces. One by one. You were hung from a ceiling, watching it happen,” he laughed, “How you wailed and screamed!”

She sat on his chest, and raised her fist, “I said: Shut u-p!”

Malik continued as Rogue pounded his face with her fists, “He fed them to the dogs after that,” he laughed, “Nothing left of them. And you’re doing him a ‘favor’ here.”

“Do yourself a favor, Malik,” said Rogue, bringing up the bayonet knife, “Die and stay dead this time.”

She stabbed the knife through his face. His eyes rolled up in his head, and she closed them, rising and taking the liberty to kick his head. Rogue clutched her ribs, and climbed out of the building – tears in her eyes, a gory image blazing in her mind.

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