| Midnight Ace and the Fang of Quetzalcotal |
[Jun. 3rd, 2008|08:38 am] |
She moved with the cool grace of a woman in complete control. Around her, chaos reigned. The crowd of scholars, patrons and press had gathered to see the unveiling of the latest exhibit at San Caballero's Museum of Natural History - "Aztecs: The Lost Civilization." This was her exhibit and these were her artifacts. Dr. Scarlet Solferino had spent the past seven years in the wilderness of Peru. She'd given blood, sweat and tears for these treasures of the past and now she was entitled to all the glory about to be showered upon her.
On the marble steps of the Museum she surveyed the crowd of nearly a thousand one last time before offering everyone a tight smile and stepping up to the podium. "Welcome, my fellow citizens. I am pleased to offer the City of San Caballero this glimpse into the mysterious and bloody civilization of the past."
The crowd replied with a hail of applause and cheers, while the local reporters exploded with questions and photographs. Scarlet replied by raising a single hand a simple, elegant request for silence. Within a few seconds only the distant sounds of the city could be heard. "Let me begin by saying that the legacy of the Aztecs be felt here in San Caballero, thousands of years after the fall of their civilization..."
Amidst the collection of reporters and shutterbugs near the rear of the crowd Clayton Baxter fiddled clumsily with the camera. He accidentally dropped the flash bulb onto the concrete with a sharp crashing noise. His partner, the ace reporter Clara Conway, scowled. "For Pete's Sake," she whispered harshly, "They never should've taken you out of layout, Clay. You're all thumbs!"
His face flushed red as he reassembled the camera. "Sorry, Clara." He turned away from her and knelt onto one knee as he prepared new film for the camera. At least this way he didn't see her blue eyes looking down on him as if he were some kind of child. He was surrounded on all sides by men in trench coats with pens and cameras.
A distinct and singular click caused him to look up. The two men behind him in fedoras and gray coats whom he'd presumed to be reporters each produced a Thompson from the folds of their jackets. Clayton's reaction was instant.
"Gun!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he leapt at Clara. She collapsed as Clay grabbed her knees and the two of them tumbled to the asphalt. An instant later the only thing that could be heard were screams and gunfire. |
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