Free Web NovelChapter 20: Ch 20: The Confession Train On Bridge II
A/n:
Hi! This is your bonus Chapter! The regular Chapter will get published in a few hours!
By the way, if you’re worried then no, neither this nor any future Chapter will contain hate or useless lecture about any religion. I and Luke respect all the religions and do not intend to offend anyone.
mild spoiler: This setting is only for him to dramatically expose an evil man’s wicked deeds. Nothing else. I was going for an evil pope trope kinda thing. Hope you don’t hate it. Thanks!
As for questions on Luke killing innocents? No, Luke won’t kill innocent people. Killing bad guys? Wait for future Chapters.
Welp, enough rant, enjoy your Chapter!
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"And yes, this is entirely my doing."
"As you see, from this moment on, you are all my hostages. The nuns, the deacons, and you, Father. Every last one of you has to obey my words like they’re inscribed in your Bible."
Deacon Paul’s face had gone pale. His eyes widened, not just with fear, but with a creeping, horrified recognition.
His finger rose shakily, pointing at the masked figure.
"You’re... you’re him." Paul stammered, his voice cracking with fear. "The one from the news. Veritas, aren’t you?"
Perhaps, due to a different mask it took him a bit of time to realise that fact.
Father Patrick’s eyes also widened, he’d also heard of this Veritas. A very dangerous terrorist.
Silence.
Then the mask moved. The frozen black lips curled wider, stretching into a grin that was pure, unholy delight.
"A gold star for Deacon Paul! What a wonderful guess," Luke cheered, "And as your reward for being so smart... I’m going to give you some homework. Do exactly what I say, or I’ll turn this carriage into a very expensive toaster with everyone still inside. You’re aware of my capabilities, aren’t you?"
Deacon Paul looked at Father Patrick, his face pale as a sheet. The Father gave a stiff, solemn nod. He knew they had no choice.
"I-I’ll do it," Paul stammered. "Just don’t hurt us."
Luke tossed the backpack that was hanging on his shoulder at Paul’s feet.
"There are three nice, strong, and long ropes in that bag. Tie the hands of all the nuns and deacons to their seats. But—" he held up a finger, "—leave two nuns and one deacon... tie them up separately using the other rope, leave the last rope untouched. Your choice who gets to go on which group. You have four minutes. Clock’s ticking."
When the four minutes were up, the only people left untied were Paul himself and Father Patrick.
"Good job, Paul," Luke said, inspecting the knots, "Nice and tight. You’d make a decent sailor."
"We don’t know what you want," Father Patrick said, his voice steady despite the situation. "But in the name of the God, do not harm these people. Let us go, and whatever you seek—"
"Father Patrick." Luke turned to face him fully. The mask’s grin softened a little. "You have honestly impressed me. The way you’ve kept your composure, the way you’ve never once backed down—it’s admirable. Truly."
He gestured toward the seats where the bound hostages sat trembling. "But why don’t you sit down with the others for now? Rest those old knees. I promise, I’ll give you a chance to talk later. You have my word, for whatever that’s worth."
Father Patrick hesitated, but a sharp crackle of sparks from Luke’s palm convinced him to slowly take a seat.
Luke turned his attention outward. Through the windows, the distant noise of helicopter blades was growing louder. Sirens wailed from somewhere on the shore. The NYPD was mobilizing.
Showtime for real now.
The floating phone drifted in front of his face. Luke tapped the screen. The stream for patrons was already on; now was the time for people of Marvel.
[Broadcast Stream To All Devices | Specified Broadcast Radius: 20Km]
He pressed it.
Across twenty kilometers, screens flickered.
Every screen in Astoria, Harlem, and other locations went black for a heartbeat, then lit up with a single image. Every billboard, every laptop, every phone, every tablet within the radius buzzed and switched displays.
In coffee shops, offices, street corners, and subway stations, people stopped and stared.
There he was. The Jester in a white mask. The smudged, black, dried tear marks. The frozen black smile. The pristine suit.
The same figure who had terrorized the Daily Bugle building just eleven days ago.
He was back. Just with a different mask...
"Greetings, New York."
His voice was calm. Pleasant. Almost warm. The black lips of the mask stayed frozen in that wide, eerie smile as he addressed the city.
But the people watching knew better. They knew what this meant.
The chat exploded.
Public Comments:
[aviprince: First! ]
[Lina: Oh, no! ]
[CJ: spider-woman please see this!! ]
[Jack: @aviprince son T_T this is a terrorist...]
[NightOwl47: HES BACK ALREADY ]
[CaffeineWitch: i cant believe im watching this in starbucks rn ] fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
[BlankProfile99: holy crap don’t tell me the ongoing commotion on that bridge is due to him ?!?!?! ]
Luke didn’t spare a glance at the comments.
"I heard you’ve given me a moniker," he said, "Veritas. The Devil Jester of Terror and Truth."
"And I am..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "What do I say? Very... very... very sad you think of me this way. A Devil? Me??"
The frozen smile curved downward. The black lips, once stretched in glee, now drooped into a frown. And impossibly, the dried black tear marks on the mask seemed to glisten, as if fresh tears were actually flowing.
"But what can I say?" He wiped at the tears with a gloved hand. The wetness vanished, but the smudged black stains remained, as permanent as his crimes. "Reflecting upon my own actions... I have done some really serious sins!"
He raised both arms in a gesture of acceptance, of confession...
"But you know a thing about sins? They can be washed away! Forgiven..."
"Ahem." Luke cleared his throat, "In my desperate search for a way to wash away my sins, I came across a very noble figure. A guide of lost the souls." He gestured grandly toward the seated priest. "Father Patrick Sein. Look at him. Dignified. Righteous. A man worthy to listen to my sins and declare forgiveness. He will absolve me of all sins. Then I won’t be a devil anymore."
He paused, letting the words hang.
"That’s why we are here, people of New York! On this very Confession train on the Bridge!"
Luke pulled the camera back to his masked face, bringing it close. Too close.
"But I wonder..." His voice dropped, quieter now. Intimate. "Do you think the same, Spider-Woman? After all I did for you last time, do you also think I’m a devil?"
He let the question breathe.
"Spider-Woman, I want to hear your answer in person. " The mask’s grin vanished. The black lips flattened into something cold and serious. "And if you aren’t here in 10 minutes, I will blow up this bridge. And all these people along with it."
Gasps rippled through the carriage. Sister Mary started crying softly. Robbert looked ready to faint.
Luke tilted his head, as if hearing something distant. His eyes shifted toward the windows where the thumping of helicopter blades had grown annoyingly loud.
"Oh, NYPD..." His voice changed instantly, gaining a hint of irritation. "You troublesome people." ƒгeewёbnovel.com
"I will not say it again. Remove those annoying buzzing choppers from my bridge. Right. This. Instant."
The mask’s smile returned, but it wasn’t friendly anymore.
Patrick Sein sat in his seat, hands folded neatly on his lap, his face looked calm on the outside... But inside? His heart was a war drum.
’Veritas. They say he knows everything about his victims. Their entire lives. Their secrets. Does he know about mine?’
’Does he know about those kids? About Hydra?’
His stomach churned. His fingers, calmly folded in his lap, were ice cold.
’If he knows... if this madman speaks it on this live broadcast...’
It wouldn’t matter if he survived the bridge. Sein’s life would be over anyway.
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