The Warrior of Chaos (Constantine)

[Deleted]

Warehouse 12 on the edge of somerset in Gotham
12:44 AM

Salvatore Maroni and the criminal organization built by his forefathers took advantage of seedy warehouses on the edge of town. They always appeared to be rundown, broken windows, and side paneling that was falling off of the building. The outside was shabby with a fading coat of brown paint, and it didn't look particularly special or any sort of location that anyone had any interest in whatsoever. That was just the outside, on the inside was a completely different story. It wasn't luxurious, but there was a full entertainment area and a kitchen. The main loading bay is where trucks would come in and be unloaded. These trucks contained crates of merchandise that were sometimes stolen, but not always. The merchandise could also come from wholesalers or pawnshops owned by Maroni. This warehouse also happened to be a particular hotspot for not so legal goods. A few weapon sales here, a few weapons sales there. Some stolen jewelry and other lifted items that didn't particularly need to be in the public view. 

The warehouse was usually occupied by fifteen of Maroni's hard-working employees and trucks would come in all the time. They didn't just guard the place, they sorted through incoming merchandise, and once they were done they shipped it off somewhere else. To buyers, private and public. They also kept a logbook of all transactions and proof of the item coming to and from the warehouse. It was pretty much the amazon, but in all honesty, it had better working conditions than Jeff Beszos liked to give his workers. Maroni cared for his people, he took care of them. 

This warehouse has been running for years, and the items that came and went were normal for the most part. There was that one time where they received a crate of signed copies of the "50 Shades of Grey" novel and another where they managed to get their mitts on a complete collection of Topps 1952 Baseball cards. (Mickey Mantle rookie). Those were good finds, and the goods received tonight seemed to be normal too. Some weird looking voodoo junk, but it looked valuable if you had the right sucker. Among this stuff was an amulet though, funky looking. No one in the warehouse knew its true nature. 

One Maroni's men that worked the warehouse was going through the box and held the amulet up. "What in the goddamn is this?" It looked old, it was a pair of wings and had some strange symbols on it. One of the other workers would take a step closer to take a look.

"Looks Egyptian, hieroglyphs, or some shit. Didn't you pay attention in high school, Vito?"

"What do you think? Since when are you some kind of scholarly gentlemen, Eddie? I thought you chased tail as much as Vito here."

"Sure I did, what the fuck you think? But maybe I liked history okay? Coulda went to college too... School loans are worse than murder, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Look!" Vito would place the amulet around his neck and point at it with both of his thumbs. "Look! I'm a Kaiser or whatever! Those were Egyptian right?" No one was able to answer his question before Vito was transformed into a man wearing fully Egyptian style armor. It had embroidered jackals all over its surface, he was also now holding what appeared to be a flaming sword.

The warehouse erupted with various swears of all shapes and sizes as all the men inside drew their guns.

"What the hell? What the fu-" The man couldn't finish his sentence before the Vito that was now clad in armor chopped his head clean off.

The men now opened fire on the man that was now seemingly taller and bulkier.

"ستدفعون جميعاً ثمن تجاوزاتكم ضد الآلهة" He hurled towards one man, lopping off his arm before slamming him against a wall, killing another. He'd leap to another in seconds, and after a full minute and a half has passed ten of the men in the warehouse were dead.

The remaining five tried to flee, three were intercepted and killed all at the same time by a spear that simply manifested from thin air.

"Oh HELL no!" Alfonso and Jacko were the only two to escape, luckily they managed to lock the warehouse behind them. They blocked both exits with heavy trucks, hopefully this monster would stay trapped.

---

Forty-five minutes later, Maroni's Restaurante.

"Excuse me... What happened? A magical Egyptian warrior killed 13 of my guys? Are you both on drugs?"

The two men nodded, and Sal shook his head in response.

"Why in the lord's name would I believe such a story, huh? Were you attacked? Was it Falcone? Copplepot, who was it huh? Why can't you boys come clean with me? I understand, you look like hell you must have been through a lot. But why the ghost stories huh?"

Alfonso didn't reply, he merely took out his phone and showed part of the attack he had recorded, it showed the armored up Vito slashing and tearing through Maroni's guys like they were nothing.

"Oh."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose for a minute before standing up and walking to the minibar in his office. He grabbed four shot glasses, one for himself, one for Alsonso, one for Jacko, and one for Trianti.

He poured the shots and took his instantly without hesitating. After he put down his shot glass he shot a brief look towards his underboss, Alberto Trianti.

"Alberto... We have a guy for this?"

Trianti nodded, downing his own drink. "Maybe. Heard some rumors on my second tour, about a guy who makes a career dealing with this sort of thing."

"Good. Find him, offer him whatever he wants. We've got thirteen men to avenge, and whatever that monstrosity is, can't be allowed to stay."

"Understood." Trianti answered firmly before walking off to make some calls.

[Deleted]

As far as backs of vans went this wasn’t the worst Constantine had been thrown into. There were seats, blacked out windows, a few friendly faces for introductions to be made to. The hangover however, now that he wasn’t so sure about. Of course he’d been partaking in a light bit of day drinking prior, enough to warrant a visit to the local corner shop for a replenishment by the time night had settled over the City. Business had been slow, slow enough that he’d worried the stories of Gotham’s penchant for weirdness were merely phantoms from its sordid history. That and the days without an alcohol induced blur seemed to drag and reminded him of thoughts best left ignored.


The vehicle rocked through a bump in the road, shaking him back into the moment. There was something that held his hands together behind his back, a zip tie most likely, an easy and cheap guarantee of someone’s undivided focus. John tried to speak but with a wrap of quickly placed fabric held in his mouth the best he could manage was a gagged flutter of vowels. One of the men leaned forward, pulling the binding free from his teeth. He wore a cheap suit, washed in a cheap cologne to match. “Jesus, I hope you wash that thing after you use it.”


There were three of them in the back, another up front behind the wheel. They looked like they could be brothers or cousins, they were definitely all in some form of ‘family’. “Excuse the pick-up but we saw you coming back with your shopping and we’re not the kind of people who like to have to knock twice. We’d just like to have a chat and offer you some work, we hear you’re the guy who deals with weird crap and we’ve got need of a guy like that.” Even though they’d hugely under-assessed the work Constantine involves himself in, in a sense they weren’t wrong. Demon in your mirror? Call John. The fridge is talking? Call John. All the jobs that would send most cops mad in an hour found their way to his door eventually.


The mention to his shopping reminded him that he couldn’t see his bottle of spirit anywhere on the back seat. “God damn it I knew I heard something smash! Alright, what can I help you wise guys with today? Help you get a Ouija board out so you can kiss Don Balabla’s hand from beyond the grave?” Constantine had been hired by one or two strangers in his time but the Mafia was a first, were they even a thing anymore?


“Not quite, Mr. Constantine.” While speaking he removed a phone from his suit’s breast pocket, holding it out for the Detective to see. It was a recording, blurred footage probably lifted from a security camera, maybe something from one of those when animals go wrong videos, or so he guessed until the heads started rolling and the screaming faded. It wasn’t what he expected and the heavy in front of him smirked while placing the phone away, knowing he’d hooked the man to deal with their problem. Leaning back in his chair it might have looked like John had entered a realm of deep thinking and reflection, when in reality he just needed to rest his eyes. After a few moments, long enough for them to wonder if he’d actually fallen asleep, he replied.


“Alright,’ John moved forward, pulling his now free hands from behind his back to give his eyes a quick and much needed rub, ‘looks like you do have a problem and I’m probably the only guy around here who can do something about it. I’ll discuss payment with your Boss.” He’d yet to meet a bind he couldn’t wriggle himself free from. By this point they’d been driving for long enough that the bright swirl of the City had faded into a quiet distant glimmer, fewer yellow cabs lined the streets and most of the citizenry were in bed rather than partying away their evenings in the Iceberg Lounge. The vehicle turned from the main stretch of road with a slight bend down into a row of dishevelled warehouses, monuments to a more prosperous and industrial bygone age. Vehicles stood waiting by one of them, a few men flanked them lit by ugly yellow lamps from the side of the building. Their van rolled to a stop alongside them and the door found its way open from help on the outside. A wave of fresh air, the first he’d tasted in days strangled his senses, clearing the urban stink from his mind. Wedging a fresh cigarette between his teeth helped ease the transition, the cheap lighter burning its tip as he took a step into the night.

[Deleted]

The man that supposedly dealt with this kind of thing on a regular basis was brought to the Warehouse on the edge of Sommerset. When he arrived, Salvatore Maroni and an entourage of his men were waiting. There was Frankie Carbone, an underboss and Alberto Trianti, an underboss and Sal Maroni's button man. They never dealt with this kind of thing before, so they brought the muscle. For whatever was in that warehouse and just in case this man was more trouble than he was worth. They'd offer him a very handsome amount of money to take care of this if he took it? Good, if he tried to fleece Sal and his men? Then a bullet in the head and the whole warehouse would be written off. However, some of Maroni's men believed that if they really wanted to get rid of this man, it'd take a lot more than a simple bullet to the skull. That was the final solution though, hopefully, it was a course of action that wouldn't be taken.  

When the man approached Sal Maroni and his men that were out in front of several black SUVs and convertibles Sal would take a step forward. "They get you with the canvas sack again? I tell them they gotta stop doing that, however, this ain't exactly a conventional meeting. Luckily for us, you were surprisingly easy to find." Sal was broad-shouldered and intimidating. Though he wasn't trying to lord his size over the man. "Look, all you need to know is that we have a problem. This warehouse... deals with goods. One of those products turned one of my men into some sorta Egyptian warrior. What's your going rate for an incident like this?"

Before Sal could continue, loud banging from the warehouse could be heard with multiple phrases repeated in a foreign language. There were heavy trucks blocking all of the exits, but the gnashing of metal could be heard. Whatever was in there was trying to get out.

"Yo boss can't we just charge the thing? We've got the men, we've got the guns." One of Maroni's lieutenants spoke up, not entirely sure that they should pay some stranger to take care of whatever it was.

"You saw the video. We don't know what it is, we don't even know if it can die from conventional methods. This guy? Our best shot." Alberto Trianti commented, standing with his arms crossed. Out of everyone there, Trianti seemed to be the calmest.

Sal nodded in agreement with what his underboss had said. "Alberto is right. We'll defer to you... I'm told your name is Constantine, is that right? So before we start... What is your price? We can haggle later, it sounds like we're running out of time." Maroni would finish his thought as more ungodly sounds emanated from the warehouse.

[Deleted]

Smoke trailed from the edges of Constantine’s perched lips, illuminating the creases of his worn features. For a man of his age there was an apparent yet unfounded weariness which marked him, a weight that lay down upon his lapels stooping him slightly forward in stature while giving his cheeks a gaunt and even sickly appearance. Holding the cigarette with his tobacco stained free hand, the other folded into the vastness of his jacket, he looked at each of the men who stood waiting before settling on the figure who’d began to speak. For all the presumed frailness of Constantine, who could be described to have the physique of a recovering addict, the Mafioso before him possessed an impressive stature that made up for the both of them. Their Boss was a wall of slick fabric and concealed muscle by the looks of him, as big as any of the bodyguards that were positioned around the empty courtyard space. “Yeah, the sack messed up my hair.”

Constantine paused at the mention of payment, drawing another breath of nicotine while listening to the distant crashes and movements that emanated from beyond the group in the vast warehouse that lay waiting. “Usually I’m not above taking some money from a stranger’s pocket but I think in this case something a bit more unique might be in order. I haven’t been in Gotham long but I’m seeing that who you know is just as important as what you know so for helping you with this all I ask in return is a favour at some point, that’s something that you wise guys do right?”


“Alright enough chit chat, let’s go take a look then, probably best you come with a few guys just in case.” Just in case things got hairy and the only thing between him and safety was how fast he was compared to some aging Gangster. Flicking the cigarette from his fingers, he moved forward towards the entrance of the warehouse, giving a curt nod to the two men who stood guard waiting to remove the quickly thrown together barricade used to protect the outside world from the horrors unleashed within. By the time he’d reached the door the Soldatos had cleared the way, angling their sub machine guns into the darkness of the now open entrance, flashlights drifting through the darkness. Neither made any telling gesture that they’d be the first willing to enter, to which John shook his head and stepped forward, pushing through until he stood within the main shipping floor of the Warehouse. A large space lined with numerous walkways on the ceiling, the floor of the Warehouse was littered with dozens of wooden crates and shipping containers likely moved from the neighbouring dock. The boxes were lined into various corridors, each towering high from the stacked materials obscuring the far end of the room. A single van stood in the depot area.


For a few moments a silence filled the space, inviting John to step further into one of the routes through the consolidated maze. The two men that had followed directly behind him now stood lingering at the entrance until their employer followed up the rear, forcing Constantine to lightly scout ahead for the moment. Lifting a hand forward into the darkness, he clicked a thumb and finger together as if snapping for attention only rather than procuring a waiter a sprout of flame burst forth drenching his hand in embers. The light from the burning torch illuminated the space around him, guiding John deeper into the web of containers towards a distant step and shuffle that rang from the far edge of the space.