If this didn't work, he could always thrust a quick finger strike to separate Barry's floating ribs. Though not fatal, it was excrutiating and debilitating, which would be both practical and satisfying. Gordon pushed as much concern in to his face as he could.
'Sir! I'm glad you're here. There's two men making graffiti on the station wall.' Gordon nodded as he spoke. 'Some kind of cult I think. There's red paint everywhere.'
Barry only frowned, a branch of veins in his temple fattening with a throbbing pulse. Gordon made no visible move, but readied himself to strike at the slightest refusal, rebuttal or rebuke. The green clad public servant trembled slightly and spat. 'Defilers!' He waved his hand behind the turnstile. It opened and he moved through and past Gordan, storming up the platform. 'Public transport is safe and clean, and should remain so...'
Gordon let out a breath and exited the platform.
The flow of people moved freely up and down the long underground corridor, though as Gordon approached the stairs that surfaced to the street, more and more people seemed to be flowing back in towards the station. Gordon soon had to force his way through the press of bodies. Shouts and screams came from the street above. Gordon moved faster. As he topped the stairs, he had to rein in his shock. Before him, a dozen bodies littered the station court yard. People cowered or ran in a frenzy, keeping well clear of the four grey clad figures. Two of them were crouched over a fallen woman.
They had killed, they had fed... in public. It didn't make any sense. Gordon had to think quickly. He thought he could take two of them, three if he was lucky, but four... fuck, four!
The two that were standing turned to face him. Their eyes fixed on him, then the other two stood in unison and also faced him. Apart from the blood stains, they all looked alike, they could have all spawned from the same mother. One had a white scar that ran the length of his jaw line. He spoke. 'Is this it? Was I sent here for this bug?'
The grey man to the scarred one's right, shorter than the others, but no less terrifying to any who saw them for what they were, glanced at his partner. His face twitched in a half smile. 'A bug, you think? Prove it.'
And with that, the scarred one stepped forward.
Gordon forced himself to calm. He gave little thought to the contradiction – the intense self control it took to do this - to let go. He withdrew inside himself, concentrating on that one pin point at his centre. He looked down at his hands as they clenched in to fists. The air around his skin rippled, shimmered as if he emanated a fierce heat, then all he felt was… rage.
The grey man paused for an almost imperceptible moment, as if he just noticed that Gordon may be more than just a fly to squash. He loosed a long thin blade, but he was an almost imperceptible moment too late as Gordon’s blade sang free. Grey coat, flesh and bone parted in crimson ribbons as Gordon slashed, stabbed and carved. The grey man’s blade clattered to the ground as he slumped to a bloody heap on the ground at Gordon’s feet.
If the gods were with him, the others would flee before such a slaughter. He could already feel his control slipping, his muscles tightening as the adrenalin turned to acid in his veins.
The three remaining grey men stepped forward…