Spirit Breaker
wanted to change the world we live in. A man who was brave enough to hold up a mirror to society and show them what this country had become. He told the truth, and it cost him the ultimate price. This man you see before you was the one who pulled the trigger. This is the pig who shot the Reaper.”  
    “Schiller was scum,” Benson hissed under his breath. ”Just like the rest of you.”
    Benson’s words reverberated in the cavernous plaza, adding to the impression that he was standing at the center of an ancient temple. And I’m about to be the sacrifice, he thought.
    “ You think you won that day, but Schiller never left you, did he? He stayed with you, haunting your every moment. Cursing you.”
    It was as if the bastard could read his mind. Knew all his secrets. Who the fuck was this guy?
    The cult leader took another step toward him.  
    Come on, just a little closer…  
    “Not everything that dies disappears from our world. Sometimes the dead linger, unwilling to pass into the light because their life’s work remains undone.”
    What the hell was this asshole jabbering about?
    “Can’t you feel it? Our master is here with you right now. Schiller’s flesh succumbed to your bullets, but his spirit remains right here. Watching. Waiting to punish you for what you did that day.” The cult leader paused dramatically and added, “Death is only the beginning.”
    The crowd of hoodies echoed his words, the chorus of their voices bouncing off the walls like an unholy prayer. “ Death is only the beginning.”
    “Master, take his life the way he took yours,” the leader said.
    Terror gripped Benson. He could feel the atmosphere change, a chill falling over the plaza. The burst of frigid air made him want to wrap his arms around his torso, but he couldn’t allow himself to show any weakness. For a crazed beat he wondered if Schiller’s spirit could truly linger. Benson’s rational mind tried to discard the notion, but the superstitious part of his soul knew the cult leader was telling the truth. The realization made his body turn rigid with atavistic fear.  
    The Reaper is here.
    Shaking off his growing terror, Benson willed his thoughts to focus on his predicament. Three hoodies were closing in, sickles out. The wheels of their skateboards crunched over the trash-covered plaza. Perhaps Schiller’s spirit still lingered, but these knife-wielding gutter rats were flesh and blood. And that meant he could fight back.  
    Willing himself to remain patient, Benson waited until they were almost upon him. The first hoodie rolled forward on his skateboard, moonlight dancing over the knife in one hand, and the canister of spray paint in the other.  
    Benson pretended to be paralyzed with fear—which wasn’t all that far from the truth.  
    He waited…and waited.  
    The knife slid into his field of his vision, and that’s when he made his move. Without warning, his right leg swept out, catching the incoming hoodie off guard. He’d clearly expected the middle-aged cop to offer little resistance. An instant later, the punk was on the ground with Benson pinning him down. The knife clattered to the floor, and was lost in the encroaching shadows.
    Benson experienced an undeniable rush as his fist shot out and whipped the punk’s head back. Before the hoodie or his friends quite knew what was happening, Benson snatched the can of spraypaint the skater had dropped when he hit the floor. Lightning fast, he unloaded it at a second skater's face. There was a hiss of aerosol as a stream of blinding paint engulfed the cultist’s face.  
    Stunned by the counter-attack, the skater reeled backward, giving Benson a chance to stagger to his feet. The skater let out a howl of rage and charged, his face streaked red—a demon from hell.  
    Benson sidestepped the punk and brought up the hoodie’s skateboard. Tapping into all his strength, he drove the deck down on the cultist’s scarlet face. The head and board connected with

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