AR’ BACK YARD

It was nearly four by the time we got ready to leave Applejacks. As we all clambered back up towards the exit I was slightly ahead of everybody else. I was feeling the effects of the champagne we’d drank earlier that evening. Not to mention the Martell brandy that both Prey and I had consumed. It was a nice, pleasant buzz that I was feeling and I looked forward to the bugle (that's cocaine to you guys) that we had back at the flat.

I was in a very good mood and looking forward to the remainder of the night. Just as the door began to open to the main entrance, I suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, found myself doubling over in pain from a blow to my stomach. What the hell…

As my ears began to ring out with the pain, the wind was knocked violently from me. Everything around me became indistinct. My arms were wrapped around my stomach over where I’d been struck so hard. As I lifted my head and tried my utmost to focus, I saw the blurred image of something large, straight and long – and whatever the hell it was it was heading for me once again.

Only this time, I managed to duck. My senses came back to me momentarily and I found myself focusing on the baseball bat crashing into the wall behind me. All of this had happened in literally seconds, and I don’t think anybody else had quite realised until this point that there was a problem.

Without hesitation, I grabbed onto the bat, holding it against the wall. My mind was still a little clouded and I was trying my best to buy myself and the others some time. My attacker was struggling to break the bat free but I kept hold of it for as long as I possibly could under the circumstances. I could feel that he was using all of his strength to release it though, and was beginning to succeed.

So as he yanked it free with a surge of strength, I suddenly used it against him and pushed it back towards him with all the vigour I could manage. In one devastating, crushing motion the left side of his cheek bone and nose cartilage caved in like wet paper-mache. He screamed out in agony as I yanked the bat free of his grip, climbing quickly to my feet, bringing the bat straight back down onto his head with all the force that I could muster. I now saw that it was the doorman from earlier in the evening. All of these events seemed to have lasted an eternity. Yet in reality, it was probably no more than few seconds at most.

Just then, from behind the door a large group of lads he’d obviously brought down here with him came rushing past the two of us and straight through the open doorway. All of them were armed with an assortment of bats, sticks, metal poles and I swore that I even saw the flash of a blade.

They swiftly ran down the stairway, heading straight for our crew, who by now were also charging up the stairs, having witnessed first-hand the fracas between the doorman and me. The whole place erupted into what can only be described a mass of violence, mayhem and chaos.

I turned my attention and anger back towards my attacker and swiped violently back at him with the bat once again. The second strike I’d made had split a large gash into his forehead. His face and forehead was beginning to open up severely now as all I could think about was the relentless damage I had yet to inflict upon him.

What the hell did he think he was doing, bringing his lads down here like this? He thought he’d get his revenge on not only me but all of us, so he’d been waiting, shrewdly, in order to ambush us on the way out. I found that this enraged me even more. Glancing back down the stairs, our crew had begun fighting with all of his lads; a real battle had commenced.

Then I noticed something that would stick in my mind for a very long time as I glanced at the bedlam taking place. There was Sleeper moving through the mass of bodies in the midst of battle. He moved with the grace of a floating spirit. He went utterly disregarded to either side. The long blade he carried appeared to have a hand carved wooden or was it a bone handle?

He kept momentarily flashing the blade as each of his victims fell prey to the cold steel as he meticulously took each one of them apart like an old Samurai warrior or a Ronin might have. He no longer resembled the Sleeper that I knew – his transformation reflected what really possessed his soul. It had risen from its depths to the surface. He resembled a slaughtered soul that had returned to seek vengeance upon all those who had wronged him in a past life. His lethal elegance sent a cold shiver through me.