Geist sat quietly in his hiding place, as a cold drizzling rain fell onto the city streets. He glanced at the heads-up time display on the inside of his power helmet. His shift was nearly over, and he hadn't engaged a single target. A siren suddenly penetrated the night air, bringing his focus back to the streets. The whine of the siren drew closer , its volume swelling to a deafening level. Geist listened intently for the tell-tale downshift which helped him peg the approaching vehicle as a fire engine. Probably Engine 163 out of Station 26, he wagered himself. There was little doubt in his mind that he was right. As the passed through the intersection, where he sat concealed in his light-benders, smiled at his uncanny accuracy. To the layman, it might seem as if the veteran police officer had a sixth sense. In truth , it was nothing quite so spectacular. It was but one of the many skills a Tagger Hunter developed over his years on the beat which allowed him to survive the savage concrete jungle he worked in every day and night.

Geist surveyed his surroundings - broken windows and barbed wire. Chicago's inner-city had been surrendered to the gangs years ago, These days, not only were the streets unsafe for law-abiding citizens but for the police themselves. Even the gang-bangers were reluctant to show their faces, and moved from building to building in a scamper, praying they didn't draw fire. It was a war zone.

Recently, Chicago's new mayor renewed the battle and vowed to take the streets back. They were strong words for a suit-and-tie type who had never faced the wrong end of a gun in his life. For Geist and his compadres, such political showmanship translated into putting his ass on the line. He didn't like it, but it was his job.

It was the quiet shifts, like the one tonight, that unsettled him the most. It was usually during the slow, uneventful early morning hours that the radio would begin to crackle with, "Officer Down!" These were the words a Tagger Hunter dreaded the most.

Geist reminded himself to stay alert and conducted a well rehearsed systems check on his X-Blaster The rain could reek hell with the power modules - he couldn't chance a misfire in the heat of the battle.

It had been nearly three hours, and not a single Tagger had made a move to mark the wall. He was confident that at least one would show up. Geist had spent several weeks plotting the pattern of this particular Tagger Spell. In order for the spell to be completed, the Taggers would have to mark this section of wall. That was the one nice thing about Tagger Magick; there was a concise pattern and method to their madness. In order for the Tagger Spell to be effective, it needed certain vital components. Displace one element, and the whole spell was useless. Over the past few weeks, Geist had been plotting the current spell as it took shape. He watched as the elements went up on walls and structures all over the inner-city. It didn't take him long to recognize the spell that was in the making, and identify the Tagger Crew responsible. FTC Crew was making its final push to gain control of the 7th District.

To the untrained eye, the tags that covered buildings, bridges and walls throughout the city were randomly strewn about with no reason or order. For years, law-abiding citizens saw the strange marks and symbols as little more than graffiti; an eyesore to be sure, but of little concern. How could they have known that the tags represented powerful spells being cast by competing gangs? Spell that instilled fear in the causal onlooker and bestowed power upon the gang that created them.

Geist had been a Tagger Hunter for five years since he pushed for a transfer. He had little compassion for Taggers. Tonight, when the Tagger showed up to complete the Tagger Spell, Geist would blow the sucker away in the middle of his work. The result would cause the Tagger Spell to fail and release a powerful backlash on the entire crew. "They better have some protections in place on this one," Geist thought, even though he knew they probably wouldn't. Tagger Crews rarely took such precaution. They were lazy opportunists with the kind of live-for-today mentality common among the streetloons. They knew and understood just enough Tagger Magick to cast their spells, but the fools had no idea of the full potential and power they were dealing with.

"Thank God," thought Geist, "that the City Sentinels found a way to use the Tagger's own magick against them." He reflected on the consequences of the backlash he would create. He'd seen the results all too often. Most of the crew would die in their sleep - they were the lucky ones. The others would writhe in agony and die slow, painful deaths. He had followed the meat-wagons into an area after a backlash to recover the bodies. He dared not consider the notion that he was responsible for the aftermath. The blame could only be placed on them. "Better them than us," Geist whispered under his breath, suddenly focusing on the wall again.

Geist instinctively threw the safety catch to his X-Blaster as the motion detector in his helmet began to ping its warning. He kicked in his night-vision and smiled.

Crouching along the wall was a small figure in baggy pants. The Tagger appeared to be very confident, undoubtedly operating under the guise of a weak invisibility spell. Such minor magick was no match for technology.

Geist raised his weapon and took aim. He tried not to think of the flesh and bone that comprised the target at the end of his scope. Instead, he allowed hatred to flood his senses. He thought back to the neighborhood he had once called home; back before the Taggers had arrived and begun scrawlling their magick. He fingered the trigger and watched as the Tagger removed three cans of spray paint from his backpack and placed them on the ground. Geist knew this one. This spray jockey had quickly obtained his Mastery, he had little respect for the powers he was tampering with. Geist tried to be patient. He would let the Tagger paint just long enough to cause a blacklash when he took him out. He smiled a deep sullen smile. It was obvious the Tagger wasn't aware of his presence.

"I'll be in bed by 0700," he thought. He Pulled the trigger and felt the recoil of the weapon. The dark intersection was suddenly illuminated in the after-burn of the explosion. It was going to be a good day for the poltergeist of the Fifth Precinct!

Taggers, Part 2