Spirit Breaker Read Online Free Page B

bone-chilling screams of the human torch echoed.  
    Part of Talon wanted nothing more in the world than to kill the video. But he forced himself to endure it to the bitter end. Casca had sent him the link for a reason. He needed to know who his new enemy was.
    The next video showed variations on the same barbaric theme. A group of ratty skater punks circled two terrified men dressed in expensive suits. They projected an air of wealth and power, and Talon thought they looked like they might be bankers or lawyers. The hoodies destroyed their cell phones, Rolex watches, and tablets before turning their attention toward the well-heeled professionals themselves. The video spared no details as aluminum bats connected with the hapless victims. Pitiful pleas for mercy alternated with grunts of pain.
    Talon was a battle-hardened killer, but torture and cruelty sickened him. His greatest fear, while serving as an Operator, had been to be captured by an enemy intent on making his exit from this world as unpleasant as possible. In his mind, war should be a life and death battle between two professional soldiers; torture was the domain of psychopaths and cowards. Too bad the world rarely lived up to his ideals.
    In the final video, hoodies had invaded a lush property. An attractive couple was dragged toward a luxury pool that glittered in their home’s lights. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs, and Talon knew with a growing sense of dread where this was headed. The man was shouting, rage twisting his features, while the woman was crying and shaking with terror. No one heard their pleas as the home invaders tossed the couple into the deep end of the pool. Splashing water gave way to desperate gasps for air, foam erupting from lips unwilling to accept death. Talon’s phone suddenly chirped with an incoming text, mercifully providing an excuse to turn off the horror show.  
    Did you check out the links?
    Instead of answering the text, Talon called Casca on Skype. The billionaire appeared on his laptop. Somehow his benefactor managed to exude wealth and sophistication even through his webcam. His classically handsome features and sense of style seemed more suited for a male model than an occult expert. Like himself, Simon Casca had been marked by the dark forces at an early age when a cult invaded his home and murdered his sister. Before the cultists could finish him off, the FBI had arrived on the scene and saved his life. Who knew how Casca would’ve turned out if not for his past tragedy? He probably would be living the high life, dating models without a care in the world. To be fair, Casca did maintain a front as a rich playboy, but there was a gravity behind the mask, a sense of mission that they shared in common.
    Both Talon and Casca had declared war on the forces of darkness. So far they’d won their battles, but the war was still young.
    “What the hell did you just make me look at?” Talon asked.  
    “I’m sorry, Sergeant. But you need to know what you might be up against.”
    “These videos weren’t taken recently. Looks like they were uploaded a few years back,” Talon pointed out.  
    “That’s correct,” Casca confirmed. “During the recession of 2008, a group of skaters, runaways, and anarchists committed acts of terror across the Midwest, which soon turned violent. The barcode skull became the identifying symbol of this satanic death cult, which mostly targeted members of the one-percent. Psychologists and sociologists deemed it a social manifestation of economic inequality.”
    “I call it a freak show. Making a boatload of cash is bad, but killing people is okay?” Talon shook his head. Another example of fanatics leading willing sheep to the slaughter , he thought grimly. Would mankind ever learn to tune out the dark siren call of extremist ideology?
    “Did the cops catch these monsters?” Talon asked.
    “Fortunately, yes. It all came to a head when their leader, Robert Schiller, nicknamed