The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Wolf

darkoutcast @ 2009-07-22T15:45:00

2009-07-22T19:46:15Z

Attention: I have a house. I repeat, I have a house. Boo yah.

darkoutcast @ 2008-07-11T03:25:00

2008-07-11T07:25:18Z

For those of you that may be interested, I'm running an Exalted tabletop game with a few friends and have extensively rewritten a bunch of the fluff for it as well as new rules and the like. Eight years of having two books and never using them created this monster in me. If you're interested, what I've got posted is here at The Exalted Wiki: EwindaleMoss. It's some good stuff that I'm moderately proud of. Have a look if you like. I'll be posting the sessions in story format eventually so just post if you want on the filter that I'll post them under.

The Pallbearer #42: Part 2 of House Call

2008-05-30T06:47:06Z

Few things piss me off quite like my wife being stolen out from beneath my nose. I suppose that goes without saying, sort of like saying that most people don't like pain because it hurts them. This though, I felt, deserved special attention seeing as it was an almost cheerful thing.

It meant that I was feeling murderous all over again.

I turned my human body to look for the voice that belonged to a certain doctor. I was looking for the face (if you could call it that) of Dr. Phinneas Roanoke. It was no more his real name, I'm sure, than Mobius' name was his. It was another egotist's fantasy. It was another demon's dream.

Dr. Roanoke had been the one to look me over after social services picked me up, gibbering about my grandfather being a monster. He had been terribly upset that I wasn't the one who had died. After all, he was the one that what I thought was my Papa had promised my soul to. He and his grubbers.

He had a nurse help him strap me down on the examining table before he had peeled off his face to reveal the patch of nothing underneath. He had a single hole in his too smooth milk skin where green and black teeth twisted together as the white caps concealing them fell off. For the next six hours, he had goaded me with electric shocks into going with him. It was my duty, he said. I was payment for something that had already been accomplished and it wasn't nice to try and skip out on a debt.

I told him to screw off. Eventually, he ran out of time and had to hand me over to youth shelter. From there, I was moved to an orphanage. I made it a point to get adopted quickly, trying my damndest to be the kid everyone would want. Then to Chrysalis, my new parents came. And now to here, where I was standing, looking at the same eyeless face and the same rotten mouth.

I still saw his pets sometimes though. His grubbers. They liked to lurk about at the corners of your eyes and wave at you from the darkness.

“What do you want Doc?”

“You, Neil. I want the same thing I've always wanted.”

“You still don't get to have me, you old fruit.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say. Particularly when I have so much of yours.”

“So much of mine? You have my wife, you piece of shit. The rest are all dead. I can smell that much.”

“My my my, how you've grown Neil. I guess I can't keep up with the same old schtick then, can I? I'll just have to threaten to give her to my pets if you don't want to come with me.”

“You and your fucking grubbers. Why don't you go play with them and leave me the hell alone.”

“I can't do that Neil. You're an important part to all of this. See, I knew you'd make a fine killer back then. That's why I was the one that took Mobius' deal, as opposed to someone like Gruush or Veldra. I'm not looking for someone to eat or a sex toy to play with. I'm looking for a killer. And that killer is you.”

“For what?”

“How do you think I come by the grubbers in the first place Neil? Do you think I just wave my hand and they appear? Of course not. They're all the good little children of the world that has a particularly nasty predisposition and a propensity for violence. Tell me I'd be wrong in picking you. Go ahead, tell me. And as you think about how you want to word what you're saying, think about what Mobius looked like as you threw the dirt in around him.”

“I know the words Doc.”

“Go ahead then. Say them.”

“Fuck off.”

“You think it's going to be that easy? Do you really Neil? Do you think you can just be a flippant ass and get your way? I'm not Mobius, you prick. I'm not some doddering old wannabe. I've been at this game for years taking what's been promised to me. Do you really want to let your lovely bride become one of my playthings Neil?”

“You don't frighten me a bit. Neither do your grubbers.”

“That's just because you haven't seen them yet.”

“Sure I have.”

“Trying to see them from the corner of your eyes isn't the same. You haven't seen their teeth or their claws yet. You haven't seen the hunger that wracks their bodies.”

“Sure I have.”

“Bullshit. Prove it.”

And with that, I dropped my Brute's right foot and stomped three of his dog-sized creatures into paste. For years I had been terrified of them. That was before I had nerves had merged with my suit. I'd been watching them from the moment Cassie disappeared.

They had curved backs as they sprinted about, their claws nearly dragging the ground. Their skin was leathery gray and they were completely lacking in body heat. They eye sockets had been filled in with some sort of black ooze that gurgled and bubbled out of their skulls.

I was grinning broadly and I hoped that bastard Roanoke could see me do it. Fuck him and his grubbers. My Brute's eyes were still tracking the pair that had fled with Cassie and relayed the message to St. George. St. George barked twice and sent them armor piercing presents that were almost as big as they were.

Either one burst apart and Cassie fell to her knees as the high speed monsters came to a sudden gooey stop. A dozen others descended upon her as she fell. It was too late for them though. My beautiful wife already had something else in mind.

Yes. Mind. With the bits that like to crush and twist. The grubbers screeched as they burst into flames and had their heads spun backwards on their shoulders. More burst up from the ground, revealing the hidey holes they had stuffed the villagers into. As the nasty little bastards poured out from their secret places, they brought with them the arms and legs, half-eaten.

I was just about to slap in an incendiary round when I saw a fur covered arm shoot out after a grubber, seize it around the throat, and jerk it back into the hole.

Some of them were still alive.

I backhanded Roanoke's rotten mouth and the demon thing fell to its knees. As St. George howled his disapproval; Cassie's mind raged against the tiny creatures around her.

“Used to easy pickings, aren't you Doc? Getting soft in your old age. I debated having my Brute crush the life out of you but I thought, you know, what the hell. Why bother? I'll just beat the piss out of you myself.”

Roanoke stood, his doctor's coat flapping in the breeze, his boring slacks and polo shirt weeping yellow pus. He twisted his wrists and a rusty scalpel burst through either of his palms.

“You'll want to get that looked at. I think it might be infected.”

“Be quiet Neil. You've gone and spoiled it now. You're going to make me put you under the knife before I was ready. I'll have to cut you down and make you into one of them right here and now.”

“I disagree.”

“With what? That I'm going to salvage what's left of the killer inside of you and leave the rests for the rats?”

“Good god. Do you ever shut up about yourself? Everything to do with you and want you want to do. I swear. And here I was just starting to have fun. For that, I have to thank you Doc. I really do. I think I'm cured.”

As the eyeless worm lunged for me, slashing wildly with his wretched blades and maggot-stink breath, I could still see his lips moving. I wasn't paying enough attention to hear him as I drove a fist into his stomach and smiled wide, but I knew what he was saying anyway.

“You cured my apathy Doc. I was starting to worry things might get boring. But I doubt that'll happen any time soon. After all, there's still so many bones in you that aren't broken yet.”

The Boy Named Nod #38: Part 2 of Hatfields and McCoys

2008-05-29T08:11:34Z

Stop. Think to yourself for a minute. Why in the world would teddy bears be jumping off of a plant shelf with baseball bats in their furry little paws? I'm not talking about the logistics of it. That's easy. My hair takes care of that, so that isn't the question I'm intending to ask.

What I'm asking is the why? Teddy bears aren't usually the most ruthless killers on the playground. That's mainly because they're stuffed and stuffed means that they're tender around the middle. Seems kind of silly then that they'd choose a place like that to launch their attack.

So many things were strange, I had to admit. The plastic soldiers were arriving by the pickup load. They had raided a toy store down the way and were bed mounting mini-BARs onto the beds of plastic 1/8 scale low riders. Meanwhile, the teddy bears' bats were colliding with snake-fingers that bit, hissed, and spat.

I decided that the snake woman's name would stay Erica. Snake woman made no sense and I refused to believe that someone could change their name just because they changed shape. If one could, every dispossessed teenager would be named after a bodily function or a vegetable.

My mind came back around to the fight at hand as the teddy bears were flung to the side, fluff poking out from their bellies, their bats dissolving as yellow venom dripped down the length of the bats. However, the hail of bullets from the infantry continued unabated as Erica hissed and thrashed. Her gyrations aided her only slightly, buying only moments of peace from the relentless pinpricks.

A thin strand of my hair crept along the wall, pressing tightly against it as it slid up to the ceiling. It knew what the only way to end this particular skirmish was. It knew what it was supposed to be doing. I just wondered how it had come down to this.

It had started with me supporting the mercenary lifestyle. Why? Michael had insisted. Maybe I should have fought with him over it, but it didn't seem right. He may been the younger brother but he had been surviving on his own just fine before they found me. It didn't seem right for me to tell him what to do. Then, after fighting... Adam... it looked like we wouldn't have to do this anymore. However, Michael felt it necessary. It sounded too much like what had happened to our family.

Even so, here I was, fighting with the mother we were supposed to be saving. She too had been changed by their father, another father who thought himself improved. Another father who thought himself above his family. Another father who wanted to edit everyone to become just as broken as he was.

The strand of hair that had been creeping along the ceiling started to drop, tying itself into a noose as it fell. Erica turned to look at me in her writhing and bared her fangs. Blood was her warpaint as it dripping from countless tiny holes in her scaly hide. Just as the noose of hair was no more than a foot above her head, she sprang for me.

I tried to step backwards, tried to get out of the way, and tripped over my own two feet. My tail bone hit the ground first, only to be followed shortly by my back. I blinked and Erica's eyes were meeting mine, blood dripping all over the nice dress Jonathan had found for me. That made me terribly, terribly cross.

“You must die, for the glory of our father.”

“Everyone dies Erica. It doesn't have a single thing to do with glory; it deals exclusively with survival.”

“Do not use that name. I am changed now. Although, I would expect a worm as low as you to speak such things.”

I smiled as my newly repositioned noose dropped from the ceiling ever so slowly as to keep from alerting her. The plastic men had ceased firing. They knew how important this was, just like I did.

“Nothing has changed. Everyone talks about how much moving to Chrysalis Falls changed things. They talk about how much The Second Salvo changed things. They talk about how much that snow storm and The Judges and The Sleepers and Mayor Morelli and the Disciples of Adam and everything else changed things. Do you know what though? Absolutely nothing has changed. Not really. People still find excuses to hate and to kill and to fight. Like I already said, I'm alright with that. You aren't going to take me away from my brother and my Jonathan.”

“You don't have a choice.”

“Sure I do.”

One of the half gutted teddy bears landed on the small of Erica's back and grabbed hold of her hair, pulling back. The noose free fell down around the ragged bear as it fell backwards. The strands raced forward, writing hurriedly, seeking Erica's throat. I rolled out from under her as she flailed with her snapping snake fingers for strand of hair but was too late.

My heart beat twice and she was hoisted into the ceiling by a wild hair. Her tail tenderized the air around her, seeking a target, as her furious snake fingers snapped at her neck, trying to free her.

“I'm sorry. I really am. We were sent to rescue you, and here I am capturing you. It doesn't make me feel good if that's going through your mind at all. Don't worry though, I don't intend to kill you. That wouldn't be right. We just need to figure out what your husband has done to you.”

“He's made... us... into.... gods...”

“The world doesn't need any more gods. It never did. It needs more people to be responsible adults. A responsible adult you aren't.”

Erica gagged angrily at me as her breathing slowed. The snakes on her fingers started to dull, to peel like an ugly sunburn as they shed themselves. Her tail broke off and a pair of legs unfolded from beneath her, stretching and filling out. As the last of her scales flaked off, the stars in her eyes started to die out. As her eyes closed, I had a porcelain smile.

I sent several strands of hair along the length of the noose, down to her body and wrapped her up tightly. As she was secured, the strands that made the noose lowered her to the floor and unwound.

“Good work everyone. One down, just a couple more to go.”

A small meteor crashed into the earth. Or maybe the Bastion burst. Or maybe it was just a god striking his anvil. Everything shook but me. Possibly I was the only thing shaking. It was hard to say for certain. What I knew was that Corsair had done something unpleasant.

Then, in the moment of silence after world shook like a wet dog, I heard a wolf scream.

I heard my wolf scream.

My Jonathan.

I bolted out the door, my diminutive army following close behind. If he had dared to harm my Jonathan, there would not be blood enough in the world to repay it; not f all the waters of the earth turned red, not if every cloud became crimson, not even if I were to drown in a tide of it, it would not be enough.

Some slights deserve deaths; some grudges deserve misery. Daniel Corsair would know no end to either if Jonathan had been harmed.

Sometimes, hatred is exactly the right emotion.

Speechless #20: Part 3 of Execution on the Wholesale

2008-05-24T19:43:38Z

There are certain times in your life when things will seem to just slow down. There are times in your life when things won't move as fast as they could. There are times in your life when you think about all that you could have been if you hadn't been such a screw up all the way along.

The piranha in front of me started to fire. They had cheap automatic weapons. Not quite as shit as old AKs but almost as bad. They flung the bullets at me without concern as to accuracy. Their arms jerked and bucked like pissed off horses with unwanted riders.

You'll want to ask yourself questions about the things you do, about why you do them, about why they're important. You won't ever come up with a suitable response. You know why? Because they're isn't one. There is no way that you can tell yourself that these people are worth more than your own life. There is no way that you can tell yourself that you really, REALLY, want to die. No organic mess of bacteria wants to die. It goes against everything that nature bred into us. We just try to choose wisely as to when the best contribution of our mish mash of biological information can be put to use. We want to see a glistening moment in the sun when a sacrifice would be worthwhile. Wanting to die is usually because you've figured out that you aren't of any use to any one for any reason, not even yourself.

Two bullets danced past either side of my leg, leaving little furrows in the meat. They, like their brother and sister bullets screaming towards me, howled with unfulfilled need. They were desperate for warmth to sink themselves into. Too bad they were all scattered. Too bad they were dandelion seeds blown on an eight year old's breath.

Just like so many others concerns. Just like so many other wants. Just like the silly little desire with killing myself. How many times had I had the chance? How many times had I had the opportunity? Plenty. Here I stood though, charging certain death once again. Was being a void going to help anything? Of course not.

Buck up Rascal Jack. You're a hero. You've already started acting like it. Might as well just kick your feet up and go along for the ride.

I was spinning as I heard each wailing bullet and the path it would take. Three more struck me, breaking down walls of bone in my left arm and the third rib up on that side. It wasn't enough to stop me from moving forward, from swinging the sweet singing pipe in my hand and putting out a piranha's gaping eye with it.

The other two weren't sure what to do. I guess I can relate. They started to turn, to keep firing, as I pushed their dying friend on top of them. He absorbed the bullets nicely as I yanked the eye gore and blood covered pipe from his head. Around to the right I went, my hollow weapon cheerily whistling in the wind as it bit into the next one's neck. Vertebrae snapped and the piranha sank to the ground with all its precious motor skills halted.

The final one was thinking about what he could have been if he hadn't been such a screw up. The final one was thinking about his mother's sweet voice and how she used to sing to him. The final one was thinking about how much having a splintered skull hurt and how he was going to have a nice lie down now.

At least, that's what I would've been thinking had I been him.

I turned around and the killer whale man was unfolding his arms.

I had to wonder some times, how the Judges were formed. They were people once, according to their proclamation. They were the pacifists, the free-love junkies, the anti-war righteous that fled to domes beneath the sea. When the Second Salvo fell, the sea monsters came and offered them deliverance. To those who hadn't assaulted the earth and each other, salvation would be granted.

They would become the new standard that all others would be judged by. They would become the Judges themselves.

Self-righteous pricks.

As the killer whale swam through the air with his columnar legs and chiseled arms in onyx and opal, I imagined a whale with its tail splitting apart and becoming feet. I saw fins sprouting into arms and a head rotating ninety degrees to look forward like the rest of us land-dwellers.

If the man came first, how did he become a fish?

I stopped wondering when the wrecking ball fist drove itself through the air next to my head and I felt myself almost get blown over. It was the same feeling you get when a semi drives past you on the expressway and you wonder if you'll be flipped over with all the effort it would take to kick over an ant.

The killer whale swung again and I was still not where his fist had planned as I brought my pipe down on his elbow. He snorted and backhanded me into the wall. I heard the roots break on three of my teeth and a fracture form in my jaw. I slid down the wall, wondering where my brain should be, what it should be thinking. The killer whale stomped forward and raised a foot.

For some reason, I was disinterested in regarding myself as a screw at this very moment. As the whale's foot came down, I rolled to the side, holding my pipe against the wall until the very last second.

I head the bones in my two tone opponent's foot shatter and the tendons on the bottom side of his foot start to tear. The killer whale bellowed angrily and stumbled backwards. I grabbed its foot as it went and flipped him onto his back.

Then, I was there, pouncing onto his chest, raising the pipe I had just torn back out of his foot over my head. A black and slippery fist met my stomach and I gagged up the bile I had left in my stomach. I spit it into his eyes as I brought the pipe down and staked it into the middle of the whale's throat.

As killer whale gagged, its hands reaching for my throat, I twisted. He fell silent and I fell over.

The freedom fighters were standing there, guns drawn, mouths open, unable to move. They had seen what nobody but Nagumo had seen and lived. They had seen me kill. They had seen how my work was done firsthand.

I rose slightly on the floor and grinned a little, waving at them weakly before falling over into a heap of blood and puss and infectious sores. I fell into unconsciousness after that and it was nice. It would allow for the time to ask myself the kinds of questions I was really curious about. Questions about things like my life and my goals and whether or not they'd have to amputate my arm.

But most importantly, I was thinking about where to start once I got back to Pier 451. I think I'd start with Mr. Heat, The Baron's acquisitions man. Yes, he would do nicely. And be able to provide all sorts of goodies for my new friends too.

Maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up.

Penitent #9: Part 4 of This Prison

2008-05-23T21:06:36Z

Whew. After work and life and other projects and shit, we finally have a Chrysalis Falls update. Let's see if I can get back on a semblance of schedule again.

“My heart falls from the sky and shatters on the frozen ground for this my daughters.”

I have a little secret to confess to everyone here. I don’t like being strangled. I know, it may seem like a bit of a shock, but it isn’t pleasant at all. Particularly not when the whip is saying nasty things about you and making the blood in your veins freeze over. It really is much worse than being scolded by your creator… the bitch.

I gargled in anger, the liquid in my throat turning to frost as I tried to speak. Rupert Rupert pulled tighter on his frigid whip and I gagged into silence.

“I will speak to you in a minute but first I will deal with your older sister.”

My eyes spun wildly in their frostbitten sockets. They finally found Usagi sobbing in the corner, her bunny ladies frozen in place around her. Both her kimono and her hair were black. The butterflies on her kimono had all fallen to the bottom. Occasionally, one would move its wings futilely before giving up.

“What did you do to them? What did you do to my precious bunnies? I thought you were going to help us Yuki-Onne. I thought you were…”

“You thought selfishly and that is the problem. Before I ever led the bunnies to you, before I ever spoke to you of Tabitha, I told you what we had to do. Our goal is to find the parasites gnawing at this city’s heart and to correct them. If we kill every problematic human, there won’t be enough humans left to matter. Your bunnies are resting now because they didn't know any better than what you told them. You, however, have to prove yourself a competent leader before I will reawaken them.”

“But…”

I heard Rupert Rupert start talking from behind me, his thick Eastern European accent dripping from between his blue lips.

“If a child misbehaves, maybe you spank. Maybe you send to their room. Consequences for bad behavior. They grow up knowing right from wrong. Maybe teach their children the same. But if a child writes on the wall in crayon and you kill them for it, you are left with a dead body that is good for nothing but fertilizer and baiting wolves.”

I gasped for air and felt the ice in my throat break enough that I could squeeze out words.

“Clones. Monsters.”

Yuki-Onne turned away from where Usagi was kneeling on the floor, and faced me. She was radiant in her white and crystal blue robes. Her eyes were unyielding glaciers that were intent on crushing me as they met my gaze.

“I hadn’t been quite ready to speak with you yet, but if you insist… I am less than concerned about the abominations that you, Usagi, and her bunnies slaughtered in the sewers. I am less than concerned about the clones you killed in the West Worthington labs. These things are not humans. Some of them may have been at one time, but their claim to humanity has ended. No, I am concerned with the tens of thousands that would have died had Rupert Rupert and I not been watching you. I am concerned with the fact that immediately after confining the abomination that had been Steven Whiteknight in the stabilization system beneath the arcology, you enact a plan that will release him almost as quickly.”

“His pain…”

“Silence. Listen to what I have to say before your splintered self thinks to speak again.”

I bit my tongue and felt the blood drip back down my throat. Arrogant bitch. Her or me? Me. Her. Her. Me. Who was me again?

Tabitha!

The whip around my throat loosened slightly but I didn't speak. I knew better than that. Yuki-Onne's unbreakable black eyes dripped ice water for me and the droplets cascaded down her cheeks.

“I had such high hopes for you Tabitha. Now though, it looks as if you still haven't understood what is required of you.”

“Are you telling me that I am to let the filth that infested that tower live? They are not penitent. They do not seek forgiveness.”

“It is your place to make them seek forgiveness. It is not your place to murder them all. Let me ask you a question. Do you still fancy yourself The Revolver Saint? Or did you lose that name when you put a bullet through your skull?”

“The Revolver Saint is dead.”

“Is she? I don't think she is in your mind. She's just changed her name, hasn't she? I noticed you keep biting your tongue. Is that to keep Tabitha from speaking? She's the one that I'm interested in speaking to, you realize.”

“She has nothing important to say.”

The hell I don't!

“Let Rupert Rupert and I make this easy for you. I can see you could use some counseling inside your disfigured mind. However, I've never been a therapist and am not about to start. Instead, I'm going to let you sort this out yourself. Once you've gotten things settled in your skull, we'll talk about your future or lack thereof.”

The whip tightened around my throat again, the cold sinking its teeth deep into my neck this time. My mouth froze open and little icicles formed as the spit on my tongue turned to ice. Yuki-Onne knelt down and kissed my forehead as a thin layer of ice formed over my eyes.

“Sleep daughter, and when you awaken, you will be whole again. Be that for the better or the worse, you will be whole.”

As the ice over my eyes thickened, I felt the whip release me. I clattered to the floor, the cold infecting every part of my body. They were all talking, voices rattling down the glacial tunnels that had once been my ears. I could only make out what Usagi said as I felt my body shutting down.

“What are you doing to her?”

“She could die if you did that!”

“No... No... She's stronger than that. You'll see.”

See. That would be nice. Too bad my vision had gone black. My memory still had one image it could paint in front of my eyes. Usagi and the bunnies smiling as we piled out of the escape pod. We had done it, we had taken down an arcology. And now it would still be standing. Now it would live on to infect other people. Now I wasn't a hero, I was a criminal.

I let go of the image and dove into unconsciousness. I would find you Tabitha. I would find you and kill you for making me a criminal. I was Penitent. I was the Revolver Saint. I was the force of justice this world needed.

Was!

darkoutcast @ 2008-04-27T01:20:00

2008-04-27T05:20:59Z

Bleargh.

Just got done ranting at Warren Ellis' Whitechapel page. Pretty standard stuff. I know this is supposed to be online journal and all but I generally try and keep to myself if I'm getting all angsty and pissed off about things. But I'm finally needing to vent. The writing's been derailed a bit due to (as is always the real cause) my lack of freaking discipline. I'm regaining the weight I worked so hard to lose, I despise my job working for Domino's and since it's summer, the money is going to get tighter, the house market is completely screwed so I'm stuck living with the in-laws a little longer, and the bills are enough to keep freaking me out into to buying ANYTHING including things that I really need to get the books profitable or truck functional or anything like that. I'm just pissed because my situation is shit and I'm the one that let it get that way. Thankfully, E is able to keep me fairly sane and moving in a direction other than down. It's just been so unbearably shit lately. The books are selling worth a damn, the couple of magazine interviews have been postponed, and I'm just moping about the entire creative process in general.

As said before

Bleargh.

Wither The Vain #33: Part 4 of The Tower

2008-04-11T17:32:34Z

War is a funny word. Sometimes it’s a noun meaning a prolonged conflict. Sometimes it’s the base of a verb meaning to engage in said conflict. War has been used to describe political platforms, social reforms, and internalized emotional struggles. Hell, sometimes it’s my name.

Do you know what it really means though? The word, itself that is. Do you know where it came from? First it was wers. Then werre, warre, guerre, and even wurst. Mixtures, confusion, chaos, disruption. That is what war means. It isn’t the bloodshed. It isn’t just the fighting. It’s watching a conflict splinter into pieces as every single person involved moves in their own direction. The ripples are what breeds further fighting. It is why war is eternal. It is why I’m doomed to always return.

I could still hear Wither fighting with Black Shuck as we ran up the stairs. We were only a couple floors away from the top now. I was too busy being jealous and not busy enough paying attention to my surroundings. I got busy though. It’s hard not to when your brother’s head goes bouncing past you.

I had barely noticed Christoph get ahead of me. It hardly mattered after all. Nothing had been too horrible a dilemma as yet. That was barring of course the great black hound that drags us back to hell every so often that Wither was handling. Still, even with that issue raising its head, I hadn’t expected one of us to die.

Maybe it was because it wasn’t unprecedented. No one other than Thane or Black Shuck and his pack had killed us previous. Arrogance? Naiveté? It doesn’t matter now, does it?

Christoph’s body fell backwards only a moment after his head had vacated his shoulders. The great tree trunk collapsed directly on top of me. I braced myself and planted my hands between its shoulder blades, struggling to keep from being pinned beneath it.

“Seth! It’s Nandin and Azrael! They…”

Arturo’s voice cut off into a gurgled squawk. I knew that sound. It was the sound of a man screaming through a throat full of blood. I slipped out from beneath Christoph’s body and lunged up the steps.

Not Arturo too. Christoph’s a plant. Maybe he can regrow himself. Arturo’s a human. Humans bleed.

It was Arturo too. Nandin was grinning, both sets of arms folded across his chest, each one clutching a small stone axe. Two of them had the sticky gleam of sap across their blades. Azrael was standing over Arturo, his seven-notched blade in my brother’s belly. Azrael looked up and smiled at me over his new pair of shades.

“I wondered when you’d finally let go of Christoph. I hope you’ll be more amusing than these two were. It’s a wonder they ever survived in the old days. To call you amateurs is an understatement. You’re pathetic. We should’ve done this ages ago.”

No words. Just movement. I leapt for Azrael, arms extended. He jerked the blade from Arturo and I flapped my wings away from him. The extra second in the air let me rock backwards. My talons came up and raked Azrael’s arms as his sword looked for where my head had been.

The Angel of Death dropped his blade and shook his arms, the gaping canyons of opened flesh in his arms filling in as blood rained out from them. I landed on my back, grabbing Azrael’s blade from the floor and rolling back just as Nandin slammed a pair of axes into concrete I had been laying on.

“Don’t bother Sssseth. You sssshould know that thissss issss going to end with your death.”

“He’s right brother.”

I looked down to see Arturo playing in his blood, head hanging sadly.

“Don’t speak Arturo. We’ll get Wither and get you fixed.”

“No fixing this. Azrael’s another death. I’m done. So are you.”

Nandin kept grinning as Arturo talked. Azrael was too busy inspecting the blood on his designer slacks and silk shirt disgustedly.

“Arturo, you can stop with the negativity any time here. It isn’t helping.”

“No no. You don’t get it Seth. You’re already dead. You have to be. That’s what I’m saying. There isn’t any Seth. Everything’s alright. I’ve got it figured out.”

Azrael sighed.

“They’re boring me Nandin. Finish killing them so we can deal with Wither when he gets here.”

Nandin strode forward, swinging the axes slowly but deliberately. That was the trick with axes. With one or even two you could find a hole in someone’s defense and stick him. With four, it became exponentially harder to penetrate an axe man’s flesh. I darted forward twice, trying to slip Azrael’s seven-notched blade into Nandin’s defense and twice had the blade deflected and an axe pass within an inch of my skull.

“Silly birdie. You still aren’t listening to your brother.”

“Arturo, I’m busy. I can’t play now.”

“That’s all you’re doing is playing. That ends now though. See this? This is a sentence. And on my finger is its period.”

Arturo extended a bloody finger and jammed it onto the floor. Azrael and Nandin both looked away from me towards my brother. They looked to see what he had written in blood on the floor as they gloated. They looked to see what Victory had scribed, what trick he was playing to make them lose.

They should have been watching me.

As Nandin’s gaze turned, his upper left arm slowed by a quarter and left a three-inch gap in his defense that would stay open far too long. I slid Azrael’s blade in amidst the flurry of axes and drew up. Nandin’s clawed hand came off at the wrist and landed on the floor. His axe was in my hand before his severed appendage hit the floor.

He was howling as he spun to look at me. Swinging both right hand axes at me at once. I stepped back two steps and to my left once. His axes missed by less than a quarter of an inch. As they traveled past, I saw fear in Nandin’s eyes. It was a look I would have to savor. I brought my newly acquired axe down and its perfect edge severed Nandin’s arms at the elbow.

Blood spurted out across my feathers as his arms dropped off of his torso. He was swinging back with his lower left arm desperately. The lizard had done well to not scream so far. He didn’t want me to have that much, I don’t think. It was a shame though.

I intended to claim his pain regardless.

I slid inside his arm’s swing and ran the seven-notched blade up into his belly and jerked it back out, letting each notch pop across an unopened section of flesh. Nandin released the last axe in his hand and fell to his knees, clenching his jaws together. I leaned down and whispered softly to him.

“I told you I would break you slowly. And I shall. You won’t get to die until I tell you to. You are mine god-killer. You belong to War now.”

Nandin screamed. It was the scream a man makes when you butcher his children in front of him. It was the scream of a woman at her husband’s execution. It was the scream of a child forced to watch his parents burn to death. It was the scream all war begs for.

Azrael had his hands around Victory’s throat. He was yelling at him, demanding to know what he had done. Victory was smiling at him. As Azrael shouted and shook him, Victory’s hand jerked up. Azrael fell silent as an Exacaliber brand redwood pencil was driven up through his lower jaw. It dove through the meat of Azrael’s skull, through his tongue, through the roof of his mouth. It punctured his skull with practiced ease and the lead tip stuck in the center of Azrael’s brain.

The fire went out of Azrael’s eyes and he toppled over.

“Victory, what have you done?”

“I’ve started the timer War. I forced you to become the vicious beast you used to be. You see, don’t you? Famine and I are done. We’re out of play. That leaves you and Death left. I don’t want to come back again brother. I want this to be the last time. You can feel it, can’t you? Even without Death’s hands, we know it to be true. Take my blood and Famine’s head and get to The Bastion. We’ll see to it that this gets finished.”

I knelt down and closed his eyes as the light left them. There were footsteps on the stairs. I turned to look at their maker and saw Death. He had Famine’s head in his hands. He was shaking, his knuckles white even as his hands cradled our brother’s head.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“They killed our brothers. It is time Death. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He cracked his neck and slowly passed Famine’s head to me.

“Do whatever Victory instructed brother. Try not to die. I have a feeling you’ll be needed until the end. And drop the titles. I know you’re finally come into your own but you’re still Seth as far as I’m concerned. Understood?”

I nodded in silent agreement.

“Good. Now I’ve got some people to kill. No one screws with our family.”

darkoutcast @ 2008-04-03T16:51:00

2008-04-03T20:52:01Z

Something new just because I needed a change of pace...

They executed another one of us today. I don’t know what the big deal is anymore. They’ve been up to this every day for the last two months. I’ve never been one for listening to sermons or for taking part in rituals. This seems too much like both.

Our snipers keep bitching that they can’t puncture that sphere they keep appearing out of every morning. The shots just ricochet off and another trooper gets barbecued for our amusement. Y’know, I didn’t see anybody giving a damn about the bodies we marched over to get here. So why should I give a damn about hostages getting killed. It’s one a day. We’ve lost eighty thousand in the first two weeks we’ve been on this piece of shit planet. Why should I care about one guy a day?

Personally, I still think we ought to bomb the planet. A good orbital bombardment would do wonders for cleaning up the filth here. Viral agents, oxygen igniters, or plain old high thermal charges would work. Turn this goddamn desert into one shiny sheet of glass and THEN go hunting for mineral deposits. But no, instead, they want these Burners conquered. They’d be perfect on Telgar VI against the snow peoples there. Yeah, so would napalm from space.

Maybe I’m just bitter that I’m not on leave. Or that I haven’t had leave since Delgra II. I keep being told that I’m lucky that I go to be part of the withdrawl force on Delgra. They tell me that if I’d have been given leave for Lukich instead of being one of fifty guys out of the 772 to live through that withdrawl, I’d probably have been one of the guys to find out about the fungus on Lukich that thinks lungs are great places for putting down roots.

Still, the chance to get laid makes me wonder just how bad lungroot could be. I mean, the planet’s one huge whorehouse. Surely someone’s got some standards. Oh oh, looks like we’re going back into the tunnels after The Burners again. Close quarters fighting with indigenous people that look like goddamn morlocks and specialize in flamethrowers sounds like a BRILLIANT idea to me. Let’s go.

For the glory of the EverReach, they cry.

For not getting cooked is mine.

-Drearily yours,
Jasper Bleek

Rue #23: Part 6 of Perdido

2008-04-01T16:31:53Z

For being a god, Jackal’s coffee sure tasted terrible.

“I know you’re going to be curious about what I was able to discern about Mr. Hatter. However, if you don’t mind, I have a few questions of my own for you.”

I poured myself another cup of the brown sludge he was claiming to be coffee. I downed it and poured a second. It was an acquired taste I suppose. The more of it I drank, the less my tastebuds protested. Apparently, it was either tasting better or just killing my tongue.

“Go ahead.”

“How did you get rid of that dream demon?”

“Mind games. He’s not the first I’ve had inside my head. Even demons can be fooled into thinking a dream is real.”

“You imagined a dream eater?”

“Yup.”

He leaned back in his chair and thought about that for a moment.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Once I saw the ofuda in your pocket, I had an inkling as to what you were capable of. What did the demon want?”

“He was on retainer to investigate the disappearance of the greed demon, Donyoku.”

“So they know he’s missing as well.”

“You knew him?”

“He’s caused a considerable amount of trouble in the past. I’ve been trying to plan an appropriate time for William or Hugh to storm his museum, but it burnt to the ground before we could move in. We were concerned that he fled with some of his collection.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“Being a God isn’t anything like most humans think. There’s no omnipotence, no all-powerful abilities. It isn’t much different from being a doctor. You know everything that you don’t need to know and have the innate ability to never finish a job you start.”

“Don’t worry. I finish jobs. Don is inside the sapphire on my wife’s ring. He’s most likely still fat on tortured souls.”

“Everyone didn’t escape from the museum?”

“No, everyone escaped. A dragon named Stryx and I saw to that. The souls he’s so happily munching on ad infinitum are disciples of Jack of the Lantern.”

Jackal was across his desk and in full dog soldier form, glaring at me, eye to eye.

“Do not toy with me Mr. Chadwick. Do not even make such a jest. Dragons may have somehow slipped in. Ra knows they are tactful enough to come and go as they see fit. However, I don’t know how you’d know that he was even real, but Jack is the last entity we need wandering around this charnel house of a city you humans threw together.”

“You have dog breath.”

“Mr. Chadwick…”

I sighed and rubbed my temples.

“He’s here. He killed East Fredricksburg’s little champion too, The Revolver Saint. Well, she killed herself, but one of his pets drove her to it.”

Jackal slumped back into his chair, the middle-aged physician suddenly back. It was amusing. Unlike William or The Fiddlers, Jackal simply was something different when the emotion took him.

“You’re a curious man Morgan Chadwick. You have no latent powers that I can discern; nothing about you is truly out of the ordinary. You are simply observant and thoughtful and… well… damn it all, you don’t seem to be shaken by much of anything.”

“Things get to me. Not many do, but some. Rick’s inability to know who killed his family. The Saint’s death. You.”

“Me?”

“Yep. The werewolves and vampires outside this room don’t bother me much. That might sound strange but they aren’t really monsters, now are they? They were all men at some point or another. They move like men, think like men, act like men. They can be stopped like men. The Fiddlers were the same. So was Don Yoku. You’re different though. For all the façade and the pleasantries, you aren’t a human. You never have been. You’re the god Anubis. So what if the Egyptians didn’t get it entirely right. Or maybe they had it right for back in the day. You aren’t human though. When you change, it isn’t biological. It’s mental. So, whatever you have to tell me about Rick, you’re going to tell me because you damn well feel like it. You’ll let my wife and I leave because you feel like it. I don’t like that one bit but I can’t change it either.”

I drank the rest of the coffee straight from the pot and set it down next to my chair before standing up.

“You are a wise man Mr. Chadwick. Let me tell you what I know so that you and your wife can leave. He doesn’t have any idea who killed his family. It isn’t in his memory at all. Their deaths were directly because of his actions though. It wasn’t his mayoral bid either. That is why he has come back. He is a Revenant, Mr. Chadwick. He is here with a direct purpose and once that purpose has been fulfilled he will take up a new cause.”

“Any clues as to whom the killers were then?”

“That is what I’m trying to say. He killed them after Sergeant Johnson killed him. They happily broke his already fragile mind. The Rick Hatter you know is bright side. Whomever broke him poured all of his aggression and hunger for power into a separate personality. It is named Mr. Madd. While it doesn’t have any memory of the murder either, it isn’t particularly bothered by that either. It just likes taking and killing.”

“Is there any way to help him?”

“I’m in the process of putting him to rest now. His angrier personality keeps surfacing and interrupting my work. I can’t put the rebellious to rest until they decide to behave. His process is only half finished. I still need to extract his heart and his brain. They are both terribly delicate procedures.”

“Just finish fixing him and we’ll be on our way. I thank you for your time.”

Mr. Jackal nodded in return and started to rise as Amy’s head popped through the door.

“Sorry to interrupt you boys but we have a problem. Rick just sliced open William’s throat and bolted for the roof, canopic jars in hand. William’s healing and a group of the vampires just headed after them.”

I flung open the door and ran through Amy, charging after them.

“Morgan, where are you going? They’ll be able to handle this.”

“Not likely. He’s been in my home, in my car. He’s potentially come into contact with whatever he’ll need to push them back. If nothing else, he’ll shatter the jars and then where will you be?”

“If he does that, he’ll be eternally damned Morgan. There will be no rest for him.”

“That’s why I’m going.”

Damn Hatter. I should’ve known better than to trust a politician.

The Pallbearer #41: Part 1 of Repossesion

2008-03-22T19:07:09Z

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to kill someone? I’m not just talking about a specific person. Anyone would do. Be it the guy in cross town traffic, weaving in and out of your lane, throwing burger wrappers out the window as his dog barks at you or an overly brain damaged, goofball co-worker with an unpronounceable yet inexplicably not quite yet lethal disease. Just so long as they have a head you can imagine smashing, a car you could run off the road, or a bad habit you can use to slay them in some ironic manner.

As a little kid, I wondered these things. I read the shitty mystery stories they had for us in the school library and instead of seeing a watermelon with a pearl handled knife sticking out of it; I was imagining some thirteen year-old wannabe gang kid with a bloody axe next to the stump of his neck. I wondered if I could do in a way that wouldn’t get me caught. The victim, of course, was some kid whose name I can’t remember. I hated him for, what three days, after he had pissed on my shoes.

I wanted him dead.

I had not wanted to kill my not-really-mine grandfather. It had just been a way to survive. Now though, the body count was rising, and there wasn’t any wonder to it. As Cassie and I wandered down the long tunnel back under the wall, hearing the echo of The Sleepers exodus behind us, I looked at my hands.

An awful lot of dead bodies to count on just ten fingers. That wasn’t too bad. Not really. Not considering who most of them had been. I’m sure they had their own stories. I just didn’t care about much but my own. What really bothered me was settling into the doldrums. Here I was, coming back from my honeymoon, having specifically stomped off in search of something to kill, and I was getting bored.

Just not feeling it, I think I had said.

Well shit, if I wasn’t feeling it, what was the point? To run a district? There were countries a quarter the size of Jeng. How in the hell was I supposed to handle that? Running off at the mouth again, lining up the bodies again, expecting to die and be gone in the wind again. Real clever. Real clever indeed Neil. Always playing the goddamn hero.

This time though, it looked like I might just live. Not a single kamikaze angel had taken me down, West Worthington’s best attempts were laughable.

I think Cassie finally realized what I was thinking about when I started to sigh.

“Point Heston again?”

“Yeah. We just had… so much… I dunno.”

“Fun?”

“Not really fun. It’s not fun to almost die. It’s not fun to find a slaughterhouse whose meat is little kids and their clones. It just… It gave me something to do.”

Cassie smiled and winked.

“I’ll give you something to do.”

“Oh knock it off Cass, you know what I’m getting at.”

She sighed and looked at the ground.

“I know. Can’t say as I know what to suggest. You’re the de facto leader of the new Phoenix District, standing in direct opposition to everyone else in the city. I can’t imagine Morelli’s terribly thrilled but as long as taxes get paid, I don’t think he’ll fight back too hard. I know what you want Neil, but I don’t know what cause you can actually fight for right now. I think most of the big stuff’s over with for awhile. Most anything new will come from Sleepers or West Worthington.”

She stopped talking when I started jogging.

“What’s up?”

“There’s no noise from the entrance. There was a new little town village type thing under construction when we came through. Now, there’s no noise. No hustle, no bustle, no nothing.”

We both started running when we sniffed the air.

Bodily fluids do funny things under heat. Just about everyone has had the misfortune of smelling shit left out in the sun, be you on a pig farm or a city dweller driving past the hobos’ cardboard capitol. Fewer people have smelled the over ripe marijuana, cat piss on the stove, infuriated skunk stink that urine gives you. I think even fewer people have smelled burnt blood. Blood smells like it tastes, like rusty metal that’s gotten too hot too many times.

The air carried all these things and more. It carried them for over a half mile.

There was something else there too but the noodley bits at the back of my skull were whimpering not to think to hard about that just yet.

About a hundred yards from the entrance of the tunnel, the stink coagulated. It hung in the air, scraping out the inside of your nostrils with its filth encrusted stench. There was no blood. I had no doubt that none would be found. No blood, no piss, no shit. Nothing would be found even though all had been expelled within hours of our arrival.

“What the hell is this stink Neil?”

I kept moving forward, running. As I cleared the entrance, my mind knew what it was seeing but didn’t believe it. The little settlement was empty. Vacant. No one, no where, not at all. Little cobbled together streets, dozens of homes, a half-assed fountain. Christ, they had even tried to get some landscaping done.

I pushed past the already mostly open wooden door on the nearest rubbish built dome home. Food was still set out on the table, sitting on plates recently scavenged from the layers of garbage all around us.

“Neil, there’s no one over here either. What the hell’s going on?”

“They’re here.”

“Who’s here?”

I knew what the smell was. Rotting beach, hot sun eggshells, maggot bloom. The lingering stink hiding below all the others was waving at me. It was waving at a little boy from the bottom of a pit.

“My grandfather’s friends. The things that he made his deal with.”

“West Worthington?”

“No. Dr. Roanoke and the things that follow him, the grubbers.”

St. George reloaded as I backed out of the little house and pulled the door closed.

“Neil, what are you doing?”

“When I say run, you run, and don’t stop.”

“What is this, Gravesite all over again? Don’t do this to me Neil.”

“I can’t watch you Cassie. They move too fast. You’ll only see movement out of the corner of your eye before they’re on you.”

“Cassie?”

“Cassie?”

“It’s time for your checkup little Neil. Let’s see if you’re still in the same shape you were when your grandfather promised you to us.”

The Boy Named Nod #37: Part One of Hatfields and McCoys

2008-03-14T18:25:37Z

I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve wanted children. I’m not sure because I don’t know how long I’ve even existed, let alone how long I’ve actually wanted anything. Supposedly, I’ve been around for a few years but most of that memory I can’t get to. I remember things rather than events. I remember Jonathan’s scent, Michael’s laugh, and Gregor’s rumbling voice.

I don’t remember much of my time with fa… Maizner. What I do remember, I try to forget. It’s been long enough that most of my hair has grown in. It doesn’t look too terrible these days. At the very least, it looks a great deal better than it did when we first got home. I think Jonathan wishes he could have been the one to kill him, rather than the puppet.

I almost wish it had been too. Not because I want Jonathan to be a killer. I wish he didn’t have to. I just wanted Michael as far removed from death as possible. He’s so young, so sweet. Something in the corner of my mind remembers that mother did love him best for that very reason. From the moment he was born, he was… soft, sweet. If he were a cat, he would’ve curled up on your lap as a baby.

I think it was then that I decided I wanted children.

Mob’s mother leaned on my shoulder as we fled down the alleys after Trevor. He was securing a sturdy tenement building half a block ahead. Jonathan was beside me, Gregor behind. Mob’s mother was weeping. I started talking. I don’t know why. Michael would have probably been embarrassed but even if we were trying to prepare for the worst, it only seemed polite.

“What’s your name?”

“Erika.”

“Well Erika, we’re going to get you somewhere safe. Then, we’re going to do what we can to rescue your children.”

“They’re his now. They’re his. Help them. Please help them. They won’t listen to me. He’s done something to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“My Joey and Samantha, they say that’s not their name. They say that they’re someone else instead. Their eyes aren’t right either. I think he…”

She was interrupted by a rolling crack of thunder and burning burst of lightning striking the wall next to us. It exploded in a shower of molten brick. Gregor was there, a living umbrella.

“Run Rebecca. We’ll slow them down.”

“We’ll talk more later Erika. Right now we need to keep running. Quickly now. We’ll do what we can to rescue your children but for right now, we need to get you to somewhere we can defend.”

She nodded and kept running with me. We ducked inside a squealing steel door as Trevor watched from the nearest window. Lightning crashed down around us like electric hailstones.

“Where’s Gregor and my brother?”

“They’re still back there, trying to hold off Corsair.”

“Can you keep her safe here?”

I nodded, my hair unreeling, finding the toys we had hidden here earlier. Two teddy bears turned to each other and smiled as they hefted spiked baseball bats.

“I’ll be alright.”

“Then I’m going to go help them.”

And he was gone, out through the steel door. I slammed it shut and locked it behind him. As the metal latch squealed down into place, I heard Erika laughing behind me.

“I’m not the same anymore either, you know. It’s in me too now.”

“What is?”

“His stars. We’re not real anymore are we? Joey and Samantha are Jacob and Pepper now. I’m Christina. I used to be Erika but I changed. We all changed. Danny was right. New names for new people. I just had to believe in him like he told me.”

She made a noise in her throat that usually means someone’s crying. She wasn’t crying. She was laughing.

“You know, I tried to turn them in. They took Pepper but Jacob and his little friends carried me off. They brought me here to teach me. I’m starting to learn. I’m starting to learn what it means to be like them.”

“Are you sure you want to be like them? They wanted to kill you.”

“Only because I was still inferior. I’m learning though. See?”

Erika or Christina or the nice lady I had asked her name raised a pale hand whose fingers split in half to become snakes instead of bones. Her smile started to split her face sideways, her tongue sliding out and splitting at the tip. Her eyes sparkled with a shine that hadn’t been there before. They were filled with crushed stars, that was the only way to describe them.

“My husband is the King of Lightning; my daughter is his right hand; my son is his left. And me? I’m his assassin, the one who will devour all threats to our family.”

How long had I wanted children?

“I commend your loyalty. However, I am loyal too. I am loyal to my brother Nod, The Maker of Dreams, as is every member of our family. That means that I won’t allow your family to escape.”

Long enough to know what I had to do.

Erika hissed at me as her skin turned to scales and her clothes fell away. Her auburn hair ignited. Her legs melted together and extended into a tail as she started to slither towards me.

I thought of my Jonathan outside fighting a god-killer as the first pair of teddy bears leap off of plant shelf above the thing that had been a nice lady, brandishing their bats.

No one would take my family away from me, not even if it cost them theirs.

Speechless #19: Part 2 of Execution on the Wholesale

2008-03-09T19:15:59Z

If you’ve ever wondered what a legend looks like, apparently they have only one eye and are covered in raw sewage. That’s what I was told at very least, once I found the nearest safe house. They were just inside the line that The Judges had drawn between the rest of the city and the docks. The idea that I had been running through the sewers surviving on rats and the less putrid reservoirs seemed to amaze them.

Usually, I have to explain myself. Usually, they see me; I have to make sign language at them first; they get bored and give me something to write with. This time, I hadn’t finished staggering down the sewer towards their manhole before they were cheering for me.

Two guards were positioned next to the ladder, either one holding a shotgun. When I came into view, their eyes went wide and they started flapping their lips.

“It’s him. Go tell the others. Oh my god, The Rascal’s still alive.”

The Rascal now? Not even Rascal Jack? Let alone Jack Lorenz? Christ, that’s just what I needed. What would I become next?

I sighed and kept moving forward, expecting some sort of shout asking me about how I was doing. There was no shout. There was no hailing cry. There was a rush of people to the manhole. Ten feet, five people, were all whispering “the rascal, the rascal, the rascal,” and rushing to my side. I’m certain they were all frowning and concerned. I continued my stagger forward.

The one guard who had stayed finally remembered what walking looked like and started down the sewer tunnel towards me. He offered a shoulder to lean on and I took it. The last couple weeks were catching up with me.

The other five were falling all over themselves to get to the manhole. Two of them dropped down, both women. They appeared to be twins, either frowning as they saw me.

“Jesus, what’s happened to him?”

I put a hand on either of their shoulders.

“Many bad things that need disinfecting. However, I could really use something to eat and drink. Rats aren’t terribly tasty.”

Their mouths opened and closed as I let go of their shoulders and grabbed hold of the ladder up to the manhole and started climbing. The whispers were whipping through the atmosphere, wrinkling the air.

“He spoke. Did you hear him? I heard him.”

“I didn’t hear anything. I thought he couldn’t speak. No one ever said he could talk.”

“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe… God, I don’t know. We need to get him food and water though. I know that much.”

They just couldn’t wrap their brains around it could they? I sighed and continued up the ladder. Hands were offered by two big guys at the top. I didn’t take them. Wasn’t trying to offend but I didn’t want to lean on anyone. I never had wanted to.

I pulled myself up and onto the floor on my hands and knees. My body was awake. It had taken long enough, but I wasn’t going to shut it off now. My arm was on fire, popping and sizzling as bacteria crept in and oozed out. Where my eye had been didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel. It was just a large chunk of my head missing. What was there to miss?

One of the big guys slid a notebook and pen over to me.

“What do you need?”

The twins were coming up the ladder behind me. Their mouths were opening as I wrote four words.

Food.
Drink.
Disinfectant.
Please?

Then, I fell over. I didn’t pass out or anything; I just couldn’t keep myself up in the air.

They were saying something. My ears weren’t understanding what they were saying. That was odd. They usually were able to figure out what was being said. How strange then that I couldn’t hear their words. I laid my head on the floor and closed my eye.

Maybe I would rest a bit.

I heard their fingers strumming my hair as they reached down to me. I did hear someone whisper “My God” when they pulled off the rag Nagumo had wrapped around my head to hide my eye socket.

Someone puked in the corner.

They picked me up and carried me to a bed where I heard running water. Words like “infected” and “how he survived” spun round and round in circles as they drained into my ears. The sound of cables snapping echoed in my head.

They were cutting Nagumo’s stitches in my arm. My arm started weeping. I felt its tears drip down my arm. Least it wasn’t puffy now.

Somebody else puked.

I opened my eye and motioned for the notebook. One of the twins brought it over as she wiped the corner of her mouth. One of the big guys followed her, wiping his the same way.

It may have been raging at me earlier but now my arm was numb. That was fine. It meant more quiet. I started scribbling with the hand they weren’t poking at and cutting on.

“How bad?”

“We have a doctor coming. They should be able to save it. Who did the stitching? You?”

“Magistrate Nagumo.”

The girl fainted into the big guy’s arms. He caught her and lowered her to the floor before reading what I had written.

“That’s not possible.”

“He did. He killed Sturm. Fish released murderers. We killed some. Split apart. He’s still a fish after all. I have a promise to kill him still but he needs parts of the Council dead. I need others dead.”

“Who do you need dead? Wait… You said murderers? Like who?”

“Curtis Eye. Two freaks named Anne and Tobias. He liked to wear people’s skins. They’re all dead. They let Corsair out too.”

“Can I tell the others?”

I nodded and closed my eye again as he started talking. They were so careful of my ears with their whispers. They were so kind to not yell. Even when they were freaking out about Corsair, they still kept their voices low.

I smiled a little. A nap would be nice right about now. The biggest part of the hell was over, wasn’t it?

“Turn him over or you will all be summarily executed!”

A fish. Barracuda voice. My eye opened and I sat up.

“Never. We’ll before we let you have him.”

I sat up and put my hand on the still conscious twin’s shoulder. There was a barracuda with three piranhas and a killer whale for a bodyguard standing in the door.

I got to my feet and pushed my way through the rebels clustering around me. They were more ragged than I remembered when they came to help me up. All dirty and grungy with beat up blue jeans and holey shirts. I laughed under my breath and kept walking forward.

The barracuda was laughing.

“How sweet. Giving yourself up to save their lives. Rascal Jack truly has a heart of gold.”

That’s when I swung my pipe out from behind my back and stove in the side of the barracuda’s head with it. Angela’s voice was singing loud and strong for blood in my ears.

I pointed at the piranhas with my pipe and grinned. The rebels were scattering, diving for cover. The piranhas were raising their weapons, little machine pistols from the looks of them. The killer whale was still just watching with his arms folded across his chest. Time to have some fun.

Summary executions all around.

darkoutcast @ 2008-03-09T13:37:00

2008-03-09T17:37:27Z

Amazon!

Yep, the Amazon link is live and the shipping she is affordable for everybody overseas (at least more so now.)

Penitent #8: Part 3 of This Prison

2008-03-06T20:55:33Z

I was still alive, in a way. I guess that should count for something. However, as I rode the elevator into the basement, my stomach starting squirming. Why should I be nervous? So what if Steven had been brought back from the dead. I had been too. We were even that way.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a little boy anymore. Just because he had a mouth that would terrify a shark shouldn’t be enough to bother me.

And it wasn’t, was it? That wasn’t what was bothering me. What was bothering me was that he had already beaten me twice. Three times, if you counted the fact that he had been the one to scare me into… into…

No. Don’t think about that right now Tabitha. Penitent. My name’s Penitent. Tabitha died when you shot her under the chin and splattered her brains all over the inside of your helmet.

God damn, this elevator music was grating. I punched the control panel and the noise finally cut off to the speakers.

My nose itched and I scratched it with the tip of one of the knives Usagi had given me. The basement was a long way down and I was already tired of the trip. Why did I care? I was a tool with debts to repay.

Debts. With interest.

Too bad this payment wasn’t going to count for as much as I had hoped. It was a West Worthington Arco coming down, not an East Fredricksburg one. I wanted my job to be over and done with.

Now now Bright Penny, impatience is what left you with holes in your head. No. Flaming eye sockets and boy made into a lamphrey did that.

No. You did it. In the courtyard. With the pistol.

Shut up you. I’ve heard just about enough sass out of you for one day. What would Usagi think if she heard you babbling on like this? How disappointed she would be.

Would she have bony prostitues with sharp teeth gnaw at my spine then? Would she have her precious bunnies flail at me with their sliced tendons and overwhelm me with numbers?

Whiteknight’s captors had tried numbers. They didn’t win.

No, but you shot their hostage and let him be turned into a monster. Just like you. I’m a monster?

Yes, you’re a monster. You were a monster before you died, what the hell do you think that makes you now?

My robes were getting bloody again. So what? Coming undone like a little sissy? Sounds about right.

I shook my head and wished I had hair to fling about my face. That always looked soothing. At least when it was fake hair, I could fool myself into thinking it made me feel better.

Just another sugar pill.

I grabbed the handle of my whip and let it unfurl. The doors were about to open and I’d see the bastard. Oh sure, the basement was larger the town my dad had been born in but he’d still be at the door, waiting for me. My favorite nightmare.

The doors did open and Steven was standing there, his eye sockets on fire. He jumped through the air for me, his mouth hinging open. Those goddamned teeth were staring at me as flew through the air.

I skittered to the side and slipped out the doors as he landed in the elevator. My feet found the concrete in front of me and I kept running.

Why was I doing that? Oh yeah, I was going to bring down the arco. That’s it. Just run right past little Steven. Don’t let him see that you’re terrified of him. Don’t let him see the blood dripping down your sleeves. That’s right. Just like in the air ducts. Run until you piss yourself. Run until you fall over and pass out. Let him do whatever he wants just so I don’t have to look at that maggot ridden corpse of a boy.

The lights laughed at me as I ran, flickering on and off. The generators hummed and growled as they powered the presses feeding molten steel down into the pipes beneath my feet. The cool water from beyond The Bastion burst up against it, hardening the steel, extending the roots of the city ever deeper. Other generators buzzed as filters strained fragments of the iron from the water as erosion ripped apart the steel. Furnaces boomed over me with amusement as they melted the iron and fed it to the generators to shove back down.

It was all a trap. That’s all it was. Another trap. Just like the clones had been. Just like the circus freaks. It was a trap.

I tripped and slammed face first into whirring generator, blood trickling down my face. I feel to my knees and as I looked into the blood pooling on the floor… I saw my eyes.

Two knives came out of my bandolier as I stood up, still alive. Or still dead. Whatever. Didn’t matter. I was still. Steven smiled and bounded for me, an insane jackrabbit with a bear trap in its mouth. I put a knife into either one of his eye holes and stepped out of the way. He collided with the generator in the same spot that I had. I grabbed him by the back of the neck before he could do anything else and held him against the ground.

“You’re still just a child, aren’t you? Demon or ghost or ghoul or whatever. You’re still a boy. Doubt you’re even the same boy I shot. That’s alright. Better than alright. See, I know that right now, you aren’t wanting to be forgiven. No one in this arcology is. But that’s okay. You see, I’m starting to get it. My job is to make you want to be forgiven by whatever means necessary. And I take my job very seriously.”

He snapped and bit and snarled as I held him at arm’s length away from me. So unbecoming a young man. It just wouldn’t do. I carried him just like that down about a hundred yards to the nearest steel pressing machine.

“Now, I’m quite certain that if you are like me Steven, you’re not going to finish dying ever. That doesn’t seem very fair to you, does it? It’s hard to repent when you’re stuck in damnation. Don’t worry though, this ought to help you repent. And when the arcology falls, what’s left of you might get free. Come back to me when that happens and I’ll let everyone know that it’s okay, that you’ve confessed and can die absolved.”

He was hissing at me. It was almost cute. I smiled and shoved him down the chute that the molten scrap metal poured down and listened as he burst into flames. The liquid metal stuck to him and pulled the toothy little monster into the belly of the press. He screamed and crunched and gurgled nicely. Like I said, he would make a wonderful cornerstone.

There were no living guards between myself and the central control station a quarter of a mile away. I walked through the rows of machines smiling to myself, happy that Steven was finally getting to learn about the joys of penitence. The control room was nice and compact but I was sure it would have room for Usagi and all of her bunnies. I called them over the intercom as I sat with my finger on the emergency off button.

It’s hard not to grin when you see bunnies and Usagi’s were no exception. The ladies bounded behind her as they approached the plexiglass control cage. Usagi’s beautiful hair was raven black and her butterflies were obviously doing their best impression of a tornado when they arrived. Oh, goodness, those bunnies were cute with their flopping wrists and their red red teeth.

“Yes, Penitent?”

“Come inside, come inside. Once I push this button, the door will seal and we’ll be disconnected from the main building. We’ll be ejected down a set path into the sewers where we can then escape from. Once we’re clear of the building, all the machinery down here will stop. About ten minutes from that time, the high pressure water will tear apart the foundation of this arcology and parts of it will start to sink. Enough instability and over it goes.”

Usagi smiled. I pressed the button.

Tens of thousands would die in just a few moments. I hoped they would confess before the physical trauma killed them. I hoped they would die absolved.

No! What the hell are you doing? We’re Tabitha! We’re TABITHA!

But then again, I was just the little optimist, wasn’t I?

Wither The Vain #32: Part 3 of The Tower

2008-03-05T06:41:03Z

Hate isn’t something you can rush. It has to stew proportionate to the amount of seething disgust you have built up. It has to fester and boil deep under the flesh; never being lanced; never being released. All of this is demanded in order to ensure the potency of the hate.

Most people don’t do it right. I normally don’t bother. There was one grudge though that I was harboring. Oh yes, one bubbling pit of hate was just about ready to boil over.

And lo, here was the object of my hatred at the top of the stairs on floor fourteen.

“Hallo Hound.”

His smile was a polished opal bear trap. His eye was a blazing, alcoholic sun. His fur was a well of oil.

“You know, you boys know just how to get yourselves into trouble. I thought I straightened everything out when I visited you last. I thought I established that The Council wasn’t to be trusted.”

“Neither are many of these people, Black Shuck. Samedi, Pox, Anubis… They can’t be allowed to tip the balance in their own favor either.”

“Oh, Anubis isn’t part of this. He’s just too busy to really have time for your little council. This goes beyond any of you. It isn’t that surprising I suppose, that you made it this far. I see you’re dripping in the blood of the Stitches.”

“If it isn’t Anubis then who?”

“Isn’t that simple? It’s us. The Fae Court. We’ve been building golems for years. Is it really that big a news to you? We are North Covington. Samedi’s forces at Pier 451 will be recognized as a new Special Interest Group, specifically as the Chrysalis Falls Customs Division. Josef gets his own religion with The Cult of The Ashen Rose. And, with this extra hold on the city, we’ll be releasing The Eater soon.”

“What in the hell are you thinking Shuck? You had us destroy The Scavenger for what? So that you could have exclusivity over the enormous world-ending beasts? The end of the world is OUR job.”

“A job you won’t be needed for. We aren’t aiming to end the world Wither. We’re aiming to remake it. We’re not as helter skelter as that ridiculous collection of minor league tramps you call a Council. We’re the Princes of this planet Wither. We’ve existed here in tandem with the rest of reality since there was a reality. You think the humans are going to run us out? I don’t think so.”

I felt something pop and then I was smiling. I’m not sure exactly why I was smiling. I was smiling though.

“Everybody, wait for about five minutes and keep heading up the stairs. I trust you’ll be able to find Morelli without any difficulty. Just continue with the floor by floor genocide and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid. I’m going to have some fun.”

I cracked my fingers and drew myself into a crouch. Black Shuck laughed.

“What? A little figment of death against The Hound of The Hunt. Looking to have your limbs ripped free again? Take off the gloves and let’s have at it then.”

“No. The gloves aren’t coming off this time.”

Everyone recoiled away from me in surprise, their faces contorted. I smiled and launched myself at Black Shuck, driving my fists into his ribs. He gasped for air beneath his ebony shag carpeting and stumbled backwards. My hair whipped about my face as I spun on my right heel and let my left foot kiss Shuck’s chin.

The Hound that had haunted my nightmares flew across the ugly blue and beige room and crashed through a flimsy cubicle wall. He rose quickly, dusting the office supplies from his coat, snarling at me from across the room.

“You’re trying my patience Wither. Since when did you think you could honestly beat me?”

I smiled wide and felt Nazca lines blooming across my face. Beautiful bird’s eye drawings by the natives intended for the god of birds. I felt every muscle grow taut and sucked in a breath of air. Oh yes, this was what had finally bloomed. The hatred was ready. Come and get it everyone.

Shuck’s face twisted into a question as I tackled the great black beast and sat on his chest, smashing my fists into his skull.

“Not getting it yet doggie? It was brilliant of you to have me kill the big birdie for you. Only one problem I can see.”

I leaned down nice and close, showing my teeth, showing my eyes flicker, showing the map drawing itself on my face. I put my face right down next to his futile, snapping jaws and whispered into his ear.

“You let me consume The Scavenger you fool. No one but God was to kill The Scavenger.”

Black Shuck jerked his legs underneath me and drove his knees into my back, trying to pry me off of him.

“I hate to tell you, but you aren’t God Wither.”

“I’m the closest you’ll ever meet Shuck. I can promise you that.”

I leaned back and grabbed his legs by the knees. I rolled forward, bending him in two, hearing his bones splinter and crack. His fur grew white as I tugged harder and harder.

“How does it feel to get old dog? Do you know the torment that it’s been for me? You will. Oh, I promise you, you’ll know agony.”

I got to my feet, hauling Black Shuck into the air as I stood. With one hand I flung him across the room. He crashed through three cubicles, desks included before coming to a rest. I cleared the distance between us in two heartbeats and broke a foot into his sternum.

Black Shuck whimpered in pain as the air was sucked out of him. I grabbed him by an arm and spun him in a circle, letting the skin at his lips flap wildly before releasing him. He flew through the air and slammed into a section of wall precariously located between two plate glass windows.

“Wither… stop… You don’t know… How much… planning…”

“I don’t particularly care. Obviously, none of you are trustworthy. I may as well do as I damn well please.”

“Wither…”

“Enough talk. Just say hello for me.”

“To… who?”

“Holly.”

I put my foot in his ribs and felt them splinter. Then, the wall splintered. I kicked again and the wall gave way, the great Black Shuck, Hound of the Great Hunt went with it.

Sixteen stories. Approximately two hundred and eight feet. If it didn’t kill him outright, he’d continue to be lame for a long time after this. I wondered if he’d have to deal with cataracts.

Didn’t matter. Not really.

I adjusted the collar on my jean jacket and started up the stairwell after my brothers. I wondered if I should bother telling them that I was the new great beast.

Not that that was all that new. I was already pretty kickass, wasn’t I?

Rue #22: Part 5 of Perdido

2008-03-04T19:19:19Z

I was floating in soggy chartreuse. I hated chartreuse. Reminded me too much of puke to look at. It felt the same way when you hung embedded in it too, like a sponge filled with hangover juice.

My hat and coat were gone. I think I was naked. I couldn’t be certain though. My eyes had been sewn shut by a little spider named Morris who had come by earlier singing old Beatles songs. I hated to tell him but he had a horrible singing voice. It was okay he had told me; he didn’t have to sing for his supper, he just had to keep my eyes closed.

I was still wondering why my eyes needed to be closed but I figured it was to keep the chartreuse out. The stuff would doubtless burn pretty badly if it touched something as delicate as an eye. Or a carrot.

“You’ve done it now Morgan.”

It was Captain Pieprzak’s voice. How odd. I had pegged him as a maroon rather than a chartreuse.

“Done what?”

“Done screwed it all up. You just had to stick your nose into this didn’t you? You’re on vacation. Shoulda stayed that way. Look at you now, hanging there helpless, your eyes sealed just by spider shit. Bet you wish you’d listened to me now Morgan.”

“You aren’t Pieprzak.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope. You’re calling me Morgan. Pieprzak calls me Rue. How long you want to play this game is up to you. Like you said, I’m hanging here helpless. Doesn’t really matter to me if you want to play pretend. Just letting you know I’m onto you.”

I smelled claws and shivered. It was getting annoyed.

“You think you’re so damn smart don’t you? I’m not here because I feel like it you know. I have far more interesting things I could be doing, far more interesting people I could be turning into coma victims.”

A coma? That made sense. That’s why everything was chartreuse. They both began with a C.

Yuk yuk yuk.

“So you’re here to make me a coma victim. That’s pretty boring if I do say so myself. You have a little spider close up my eyes, wrap me up in pukey chartreuse sponges, and taunt me with my boss’ voice? I thought you’d be able to do something better than that. What are you anyway? Incubus? A Wendigo come for me in dream form? What?”

“Are you trying to irritate me?”

“I figure I might as well. Can’t do much else.”

It sighed and I had the distinct feeling it was sitting down.

“You know, most people are just tickled when they fall into one of these things. They’re traipsing about blissfully, I come along, seal them in, everything’s peachy. You’ve got to be hanging there being a pest though. Do you have any idea how much work this is?”

“Not a clue. It doesn’t sound like they’re paying you enough though. Why’d you take this gig?”

“Cause I love the hours. What do you think? I don’t have any choice. It’s the entire bureaucracy of things. Someone up the ladder says jump, I gotta jump.”

“Who gave the order?”

“Don Yoku. I’m on retainer. He goes missing, I eat the person who saw him last, figure things out. You've been miserable to try and track down. Those damn pills keep you out of REM sleep. Just had to wait for you to finally fall over from fatigue.”

“Wait, youou’re just looking for Yoku?”

“Yeah.”

“I know where he is.”

“Where?”

“I imprisoned him in a sapphire. He’s probably still gorging on all of the demon congregants I fed him a few days back.”

“You’re kidding. That’s it? You caught him?”

“Yup. What happens now?”

“I eat this dream and seal you up.”

“What if I just wake up?”

“You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

“You underestimate me. If you’re working for Don, you’re some form of Japanese or Chinese dream demon. If that’s the case, you aren’t going to like my friend.”

“What friend?”

I whistled low and heard a trumpet sound in the distance. I strained to hear the soft furry pads racing across the spongy chartreuse.

“That’s… that’s impossible… Humans don’t keep Baku on call!”

“Hideki-sama, I have a tasty demon for you.”

“Hai! Itta-deki-mas!”

And then I was looking into the eyes of a jackal.

“Hello there.”

“Mr. Chadwick, you’ve been unconscious for two days.”

“That long? That demon sure took his time.”

“What demon?”

“The one that was planning on putting me in a coma.”

Mr. Jackal blinked twice and leaned in closer.

“Most people don’t get out of situations like those without the aid of a fairly potent dream eater or Baku. You have no Baku around you.”

“I know, but I’ve got a vivid imagination. I just hope Morris is alright.”

“Who’s Morris?”

The Pallbearer #40: Part 2 of The Barter System

2008-03-04T07:49:24Z

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t really want to pull the trigger. Killing angels was starting to bore me. Particularly when they weren’t that angelic to begin with. This one was all quivering and shaking beneath the couple layers of bravado topsoil he had planted. Too bad I’d had plenty of time sifting through bullshit.

“Cassie, could you just, I don’t know, break his legs or something?”

“I’m better at pushing stuff and bursting internal organs.”

The Conduit-clone boy frowned and started sparking.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Internal organs you say Cass?”

“Ah-yup.”

“Pop one of his lungs for me will ya? I want to ask him a couple questions and really, I’m just not feeling this today.”

“A bit shell-shocked?”

“You know, I’m just…. Eh. Y’know? Just not feeling it. The tigers were alright but this ass is just completely unnecessary.”

There was a lightning bolt shooting past my face, splitting the air between us.

“You will pay attention when an agent of West Worthington speaks! I demand your atten…”

His voice turned into a squawk as Cassie burst his right lung. I watched it swell and pop within his chest. The clone’s electricity failed and he plummeted to the dirt with a flat thud. I sauntered over to his prone body and kicked him in the ribs with the toe of my boot.

“Hey, you still alive?”

There was a whimper and a creak that I took for a yes. He wasn’t bubbling blood just yet so he had a couple minutes left at least.

“You should tell me what you guys have been up to with The Sleepers. I might just feed you to them if you don’t behave yourself.”

“We… West Worthington… needs supplies. They have old tech. T-t-tanks and stuff. Missles. S-s-stuff we can use. Can’t use the j-j-junkyard… anymore… now that you… have it. Oh Christ, p-p-lease… let me die… It hurts bad.”

“One more question and I’ll let you go off to whatever hell you feel is appropriate. How many more of you are there? How many clones of Ol’ Sparky?”

He shook his head.

“I’m… only one that was… approved. Professor Arlee…”

“Arlee?”

He nodded.

“Yeah… Arlee made me… First success… The rest… kinks… ironing… P-p-lease…”

“Oh fine. Cry baby.”

I pulled out my boot knife and drew the blade across his throat with a flick of my wrist. The clone thing seemed relieved. Didn’t even have a name he wanted to bother sharing. How typical of West Worthington. When you can’t get anybody to lose any more of them selves for the company, just create a person from the ground up. Bunch of cheating losers.

The tiger Sleepers were fairly quiet behind me. Too quiet. That lack of noise needed to be fixed.

“Alright, which one of your is next?”

The six that had been guarding us each stepped back and the couple dozen coming out of the woods stopped in their tracks. Cassie was smirking at my side.

“Now now Neil, don’t go scaring the natives too badly.”

“Alright you lot, what was West Worthington trading you for? The little loser here just spilled that you’re getting them old military gear. What are they providing you?”

“They make sure a certain number of us make it over the wall a day.” It was the tiger that had been sitting on my chest talking. At least somebody was taking responsibility around here.

“How?”

“Overworked guards, gaps in shifts, misfiring ammo, you name it. Supposedly they have a price bracket for each item. They have it broken down to how many of us can make it over due to certain faults.”

“And this sounded like a good deal?”

“It’s better than nothing isn’t it? Enough good trading got us this chunk of wall shut down so the tunnel could be dug for The Grey Pack. They aren’t the only exiles you know? Plenty of us don’t agree with what The Somnubi are doing. We just want somewhere to hide. We don’t care if the humans live. The Judges and The Somnubi and everyone else is struggling to take over or kill the humans. We just want to live.”

“That wall won’t help you do it.”

“What?”

“They’re going to turn that wall back on soon. They used The Grey Pack as bait to weaken my forces so they could take back their junkyard. You all are welcome in Phoenix District but if you’re coming, I suggest you hurry up. Like I say, this wall won’t stay down forever. They want you dead too badly. Why don't you come with us? In exchange for all the stuff you've got lying around, you can have a home. Deal?”

For a moment, I felt bad. I really did. I think I about made the small pack of tiger people cry. The thought that they were about to be betrayed again just broke their little hearts.

“There are hundreds of us. If it’s like you say and this wall is only off so they could make today’s trade then they’ll have the wall operational too soon for us to make it down the tunnel.”

I sighed and my Brute body pulled a full high explosive clip from its belt and slammed it into St. George. It had been awhile since I had bothered with a full clip but it seemed most sensible. St. George looked up at the wall and started shouting.

Each shell rotated perfectly as it burst through the air, puncturing the atmosphere, leaving small sonic booms in their wake. They slammed into the wall, each one erupting in a brilliant volcano of super-heated gas and corrosive chemicals. Great weeping wounds opened in the gleaming wall. Smaller explosions shivered through the nerve-endings and gunnery rooms embedded within, leaving beautiful black smoke seeping out of the horrid scars left behind.

As I fired, I was talking.

“Get moving then. Bring your people, bring your stuff. Get your asses down that tunnel. If it’s off, it won’t be going on again real soon anyway. Now though, they’ll have problems routing power or people to the trouble spots. You should be good for…. oh… about a mile up. They can still launch missiles at you from here but that’s unlikely. They don’t want to damage their goodies.”

As St. George kept singing the gospel, I turned and kissed Cassie. It was a delicious tasting kiss, dripping with passion sauce and just the right amount of grilled newlywed heat.

“Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I will be going home. Come join us when you feel like living a little.”

Cassie and I headed down the path into the tunnel; my suit marching behind me, St. George slung over its shoulder. The tiger man was still standing there, shaking. I think he was asking what I had done but I didn’t bother answering him. I mean, if he hadn’t been listening to St. George preach, I wasn’t about to summarize such a classy sermon. That would just be heretical.

And we couldn’t have that with an angel lying in the grass now could we?

The Boy Named Nod #36: Part 3 of Milk Carton

2008-03-02T03:05:42Z

Even as the Wrecking Crew lined up in front of me to face the onrushing tide of imps, I was looking at the three bullet holes I had made. They were in the chest of a lifeless imp whose tongue was lolling out. He was the first dead thing I had ever made. It felt different when it was you that did it, rather than infecting someone’s mind and letting a dream kill them.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling. To tell the truth, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. It just was. I had killed something and it was lying on the floor and would not be getting back up again.

I had seen too many corpses to get riled up about another one lying at my feet. Particularly seeing as it wanted to kill me.

Oh, time to look alive. They’re stampeding through the door. How about that? They’re all the same sea green color with nasty teeth. I wonder if the holes will look the same in their chests. Chests with hearts and lungs. Important organs whose purpose is to be pierced by bullets so that their owners die.

Moving on. Yes, moving. Pulling in fact. On a trigger. The trigger causes the action on my revolver to strike the bullet. The powder ignites and flings the lump of metal. The metal does a swan dive into the eye of one of the lagoony colored imps and digs until it reaches its brain.

I bet that really hurts. No. I know it hurts. My body remembers Trevor being shot. It DID definitely hurt.

The boy continues to scream. I wonder if he’s trying to heal the dead too. I pull the trigger again and give him something else to do.

The Wrecking Crew isn’t having fun either. They’re killing cousins and lots of them. For the first time ever, James is already out of knives. The heap of pincushions in front of me tells me where they went. He’s plucking the knives from the dead and throwing them as more and more imps clear the mound of dead in front of him.

They have to. If they don’t keep moving, Manfred and Whitfields’ presents will find them. The two are lobbing little packages the size of kiwi fruit into the room beyond. I keep hearing spray hitting the walls just like someone’s painting.

I wonder what color they chose for the kitchen.

Charles is nowhere to be seen. I’m too busy throwing lumps of lead at internal organs to really see where he is but I have a feeling. My feeling becomes a certainly when the horde of imps all start wailing at once. What was a packed house is starting to slow. The eyes that my metal is doing somersaults into has something new in it.

What was that thing again? It’s sitting in the back of my brain wanting to talk but my finger on the trigger doesn’t care enough to stop and listen.

It’s as I’m reloading that I remember that look.

It’s called fear.

That’s right, fear. I’ve seen it a lot. I saw it on Jefferson Blank, I mean, Martin Windham’s face. I saw it on my brother’s face. I saw it on my father’s face. I knew what it felt like to wear it in my own eyes. This time though, this time, it didn’t bother me. Why was that?

These things weren’t things. They had names. Like James or Charles, like Manfred or Whitfield. I never liked killing. It’s one of the reasons I always missed. I couldn’t bear to shoot straight. Why now?

As I kept shooting and reloading and shooting and reloading, I heard the question and the answer repeated. Not to save your life. Click. Blam. Not to save your friends. Click. Blam. To rewrite history. To stop a son from being motherless because of a lunatic father. That’s why.

The tide turned into a trickle turned into a rout as the nasty, rot-toothed imps turned and fled backwards. They were met by a living flamethrower who was shouting at them.

“No, you beasties. You not play fair. You not ask permission. You burn!”

They didn’t ask permission to burn? That was okay. We’d burn them anyway. I reached into my coat pocket and realized I was out of bullets. That was new.

One of the blue-green imps leapt at me and I cracked it across the face with the butt of my pistol. It hit the ground, snarling and I stepped on its throat. As I ground my heel I felt its windpipe collapse. That’s why it was making a gurgling noise now. That’s why it wasn’t moving now.

Good.

James blinked at me for a moment before sliding in front of me; Manfred and Whitfield moving in front of him.

“Kill them all boys. Get me to that boy.”

Manfred and Whitfield moved double time; pegging the nasties with explosives and watching them explode into bits. James stayed in front of me, stabbing things that got too close.

Oh look, they’re all dead. La la la. Every one.

“Boss, boss! Come here!”

I pushed James aside at the sound of Charles’ voice and staggered into the room at the other side of what may have been a living room before it was painted with guts. There was a small boy, smaller even than me, with pitch black hair and shocking blue eyes strapped to a table. The small boy was screaming as more imps tried to climb out his mouth and his ears, growing exponentially as they hit fresh air.

“I keep killing them but they won’t stop!”

I looked into the boy’s eyes as the Wrecking Crew caught and crushed each new imp between their fingers. There was no fear in Mob’s eyes. There was only pain.

“Stop them.”

The boy whimpered as the imps kept forcing their way out his throat. I put my hands on either side of his face.

“Stop them or I will keep killing them. They will keep killing you in order to escape. If you can’t stop them, I will kill you and end it for you. Do you understand?”

The Wrecking Crew recoiled in horror as I loomed over Mob. Tears streamed down the boy’s face as the little bastards kept coming.

“Do it or die.”

The boy whimpered again, his jaw slamming shut, the imps coming out his ears, screeching in pain. Twice his jaw started to move and I started to open my mouth. Twice he slammed it back shut and shook his head. The imps in his ears were sucked back within, dragging their claws harmlessly over his lobes.

In another minute, there were no imps. Just a little black-haired boy crying on a table.

“Good. Have they stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Did you want them to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They hurt too much.”

“When they died or when they came out?”

“Both.”

“Do you want to kill me?”

He shook his head violently. No.

“James, let him up. Let him go see his mother before his father gets here.”

“Daddy’s coming? Oh no. He’ll be angry. I was supposed to kill Mom. I was supposed to kill her before he got back with Pepper.”

“Is Pepper your sister’s name?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to kill your mother?”

“No.”

“Then follow these guys out. We’ll talk after you and your mother are safe.”

The boy nodded and staggered to the door.

“Wait.”

He stopped and turned, wincing a little.

“What’s your name?”

“Jacob.”

“Keep your Mom safe for me, alright?”

He nodded and disappeared through the doorway. I rubbed my eyes and sat on the table he’d be strapped to.

“Nod?”

It was Charles.

“Yes?”

“They was nasty nasties but he had to let them out first. Once they got out, they went out whenever they wanted. They took as much as they wanted.”

“I know.”

“Nod.”

“What?”

“He let them. So he could make his daddy happy.”

I blinked.

“Watch him. If he does anything that looks like he’ll let them back out, kill him.”

“Kill?”

“Kill. He’s not the boy I thought he was.”

“Neither are you.”

“I know. I’ll have a good cry about that later.”

Charles nodded and headed out. I sat and looked at the bloody imp corpses around me. It seemed Michael Tarcynski was just a figment as well. I was Nod, with all that came with it.

Sorry Mom.

darkoutcast @ 2008-02-29T14:27:00

2008-02-29T19:27:21Z

Heck yes! The Sons of Adam, the first Nod collection has officially been released to-day! Featuring 154 pages of dream-calling goodness, it collects the first 24 issues of Nod into one handsomely bound book. It's currently available at the Chrysalis Falls Gift Shop hosted by Createspace. You can either head there via The Vigilant's Gift Shop or straight through CreateSpace's Store.

Thank you to everybody that's kept reading over the years. I appreciate it more than you know.

Speechless #18: Part 1 of Execution on the Wholesale

2008-02-28T06:17:20Z

I suppose it wasn’t the smartest thing to do but it seemed most honorable to tell Jack to his face that it was time to take his head. He didn’t seem surprised at all, either. He was just… thoughtful as we walked down the sewer tunnel. It had only been hours since dealing with Anne and Tobias but I’d been brooding about it ever since. Jack was the first to speak.

“You don’t want to wait until after the others are dealt with?”

“It doesn’t seem fair to each other. You, from what I gather, want to deal with the management on Pier 451. You wouldn’t mind pursuing the prisoners that were released but it isn’t what you’re really after. I want them captured above and beyond anything else. Should I still be breathing after confronting Daniel Corsair, I’ll be returning home to try and eliminate the corruption among The Consulate. Our paths are diverging in directions that will end us, likely as not. It seems rude to not allow each other to choose our manner of death.”

Jack touched my shoulder, meeting my two eyes with his single good one.

“I suppose you’re right Nagumo. I don’t have anyone to wish well or anything. Did you want to let your fish know what’s about to happen, on the off chance that I win? I mean, you’ve been carrying those letters in your waist sash for days now without opening them.”

I blinked. I had hadn’t I? There was the letter to Sturm from Lord Kraken and the two from The Consulate. I nodded wordlessly in agreement and opened each letter; pulling out the paper inside and stacking them in order to read.

The first two from The Consulate only served to enrage me further. The first was asking for confirmation from Sturm that the prisoners had been released and that I had been placated in my hunt for Jack. The second was even worse. It sought to determine Sturm’s opinion on their plan to have me removed via a trap to be laid by Anne and Tobias. It seemed that they hadn’t even needed to follow through on their orders without me being captured anyway.

The letter from Lord Kraken, however, had me reconsidering my position. It began quietly and simply.

“Dear Magistrate Nagumo,

You are reading only just reading this letter after taking it from Arbiter Sturm’s floor. I always knew you were a lawful one; even when you leave the normal channels to deal with those needing to be judged. How do I know these things? I don’t. The ink has been instilled with a high enough percentage of water to adapt to the circumstances that you read this under.

I expect that at this point you are curious as to why this letter is to you. I wasn’t sure that you would be the one to receive it or if Sturm would. If you found it, it meant that you had stumbled across the monstrous release that The Consulate has planned, objected, and survived. This is highly important.

We’ve known for some time that you are a water speaker young Nagumo. We allowed you to lead the life of a magistrate in order to deter the corruption at street level. However, at this time, we cannot allow this to continue any longer. Now can we allow you to kill “Rascal” Jack Lorenz. He may strike at our operations but he has his reasons. He is not the greatest threat facing us. In fact, Arbiter Moon has intelligence that leads us to believe that our survival depends on Mr. Lorenz’. So please, do not draw your blades today.

Return to us at the greatest rate of speed you can muster. Do not head for The Consulate. Come straight into the bay. Our agents will find you and bring you to see us personally. We must speak about how to handle The Consulate.

We recognize your vendetta and will honor such. However, the timing is simply incorrect. Our apologies for your lost, loyal son.

Return home quickly,
Lord Kraken (by way of) Scribe Felwyn”

I looked up from the last letter, frowning deeply. Jack extended his lead pipe to touch my arm.

“Not the conspiracy letter you expected?”

“The Divine are well aware of the corruption I seek to end. They instruct me to let you live.”

Jack raised an eyebrow curiously.

“How generous. Any length on this reprieve or is it a full pardon?”

“Just a reprieve. I am promised a chance for your head eventually. However, they seem to believe that you will help them survive.”

We both had a good laugh at that. It bubbled up from the bottoms of our stomachs and took hold. Laughing about the usefulness of a terrorist that I had been preparing to duel to the death. How odd.

“Whatever floats their boat, I suppose. You plan to listen to them and run along home, or are we going to finish this here.”

“As much as I want to Jack, I’m afraid it is against everything I believe in to disobey this order. I am a Judge in order to enact the will of The Divine.”

“Riiiight. So then, we’re off on our separate paths for now?”

“It would seem so.”

Jack reached down and pulled The Darkening from its sheath, wrapped his hand around its blade, and squeezed.

“A deal in blood then; that you won’t have the audacity to die early.”

I nodded and sliced my palm open as well, extending my hand to shake his.

“Agreed.”

He grinned and laughed a soft, sad laugh.

“You sure aren’t going to go dying on me now?”

“I can’t. I’ve given you my word.”

“It’s a date then. Catch you later fishface.”

“I’ll be seeing you bait.”

And in that moment that we turned our backs, I felt better for the first time since I had taken Tobias’ head.

I didn’t have to fear having Jack behind me. It was a good feeling.

Penitent #8: Part 2 of This Prison

2008-02-27T20:28:14Z

My nerves laughed nervously as I hit the wall, 50,000 volts propelling me backwards. All right. So charging the humanoid lightning rod had been a bad idea. The smoke billowed from my robes as I tried to make my muscles work again.

Come on. Up. No one else has control. Only you. Only you.

My right arm flopped to the side as I tried to make it behave. The electrical men were walking towards me, followed by the bestial Grendel things. Can’t just lay around all day. Then I felt what my hand had landed on.

The whip I’d been given.

My fingers wrapped around its handle. The cool, white leather kissed my nerves better as I found my feet.

“You might as well stay down. I’m going to put you there again anyway.”

I smiled and tightened my grip on the whip. The charred wool and ash on my robes flaked off as they mended themselves. The first clone in front of me curled its lip in annoyance. I sashayed forward and cracked my whip around his throat.

A bolt of lightning burst from his fingertips and I was thrown backwards again. This time was different though. I flipped through the air and planted my feet against the wall. I pushed off and leapt through the air. The whip tightened around the clone’s neck as he was dragged behind me, his eyes puffing and bulging.

I landed on the shoulders of one of the massive green Grendel copies. I wrapped my legs around its head and spun. Its neck snapped and I fell off of its back onto all fours. The Conduit clone appeared to be sufficiently suffocated so I flipped my wrist and let the whip go slack.

Only a couple dozen of either left to go.

The nearest bare-assed lightning boy raised a hand at me. I caught him around the wrist with my whip and jerked. His hand wrenched free and flew back towards me. I caught it and waved at him with it.

He started screaming as a Grendel pushed him aside, crushing him up against one of the tube control panels. The muscle-bound monstrosity swung for where I was standing. I slipped around his bowling ball fist and hopped atop his arm. As his fist punched through the side of his birthing tube, I was plunging the Conduit’s severed fingers into its eyes.

The big monster tumbled backwards, falling onto another of the Conduit clones as I lashed my whip around one of the light bars in the ceiling. I swung to the opposite side of the room, pulling myself up onto one of the tubes.

“You can’t kill all of us. We will overwhelm you.”

“I won’t have to kill all of you. You’ll kill each other.”

“Doubtful.”

One of the Conduit clones raised his hand and I could smell the ozone in the air. I flicked my wrist and my whip caught the end of a sprinkler. As the lightning arced for me, a cloud burst overhead. The pulse of electricity met the water and the two lovers embraced, entwining around each other as the clones below were saturated with water.

The Grendels began to dance, thrashing wildly as lightning coursed through their veins. The behemoths lost control of their great sinews and in their anarchistic dance, began smashing the Conduit clones.

It was now a matter of just trying to survive for the electrical clones as the Grendels spasms thinned out their numbers. Numerous bolts of lightning burst across the room, only further maddening the issue. Even the Grendels that had already died were temporarily reanimated by new bursts of juice.

In moments, all that was left were charred and beaten corpses bathing in inch deep water. On the far side of the room, the door slid open.

“Usagi.”

“You’ve been busy. Were they penitent?”

“They were not. They weren’t even people. Only clones.”

“A shame. Most haven’t been forgivable. We’ve been slowly heading higher and higher, sorting through those we find. Any suggestions?”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I landed in the death water.

“This entire arcology stinks of sin. It all needs to come down.”

“That’s why we came. To clean it out.”

I shook my head.

“No. I mean, it needs to come down.”

Usagi blinked, her butterflies a tornado across her kimono.

“How?”

“There will be supports and generators in the basement. The explosions will make the complex unstable. You have no idea how much effort is put into simply keeping these buildings upright. The ground is too soft in most places. They use pressurized water from the dam to help stabilize the structure in places that there is no bedrock.”

“The little one with many teeth is in the basement.”

My lip curled and cuts started to open across my arms, staining my robes red. I shook my head and they pulled back closed.

“He will make an appropriate cornerstone for a fallen tower. Continue cleaning if you would. I will go see to see to Steven. It’s time his lantern light was extinguished.”

Usagi put a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re remembering more and more aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Killing myself. The Church of The Hallowed Light. I still owe Morgan for trying to help me. But first; I have to pay the debt I made when I let that boy become a monster.”

Usagi pulled a bandolier out from within her kimono, gleaming razor sharp knives rested in little sheathes all along its length. I accepted the gift into my hands and slipped it over my shoulder.

“We saw how we you liked the little blades, so Rupert Rupert brought you these as a gift. Do us proud Penitent.”

I nodded and stepped through the door past dear Usagi. Her bunnies were all assembled in the following room, twitching limbs and bloodied mouths revealing how much fighting they had been through. They watched me as I passed them to the elevator and stepped inside.

I pushed the button for the basement and felt the doors slide closed. It didn’t matter if the entire arcology had to be brought down. If they weren’t penitent, they didn’t matter. I was though. I was penitent. And soon enough, another debt would be paid.

darkoutcast @ 2008-02-27T12:25:00

2008-02-27T17:25:13Z

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Wither The Vain #31: Part 2 of The Tower

2008-02-26T07:31:49Z

Some people must request before they’re born to have their balls dipped in liquid steel. Because that’s the only way I can really see someone being stupid enough to get in our way after seeing the thrashing I give someone. He was still standing there on the sixth floor though, smiling with all the beaming audacity of the sun at us.

“Glad to see you made it father. Wither, Seth, Christoph, hello to you as well.”

“Hello Pox. Guessed you’d be here. Why?”

“Why? You mean, other than to legitimize my work and gain a modicum of protection against you barbarians? How about the fact that father threatened my children when last we met. Still so smug now Victory?”

I snorted.

“Do you really think you rebelling against him is going to make him care one way or the other? Good god you’re dense. The only regret he’s probably having right now is that he didn’t kill you after getting the disease to infect The Scavenger. You’re disposable. It’s time you were gotten rid of.”

Pox frowned angrily at that and touched a finger to either eye. Long, snotty tendrils extended from either eye and he twirled them together.

“I’m not limited to the bacterium I was intended for. I can create far more interesting things. I’m not about to let you spoil our plans. My Society of Ashes will take its place at the forefront of a new age.”

“Arturo, can you shut him up. Please.”

The little Spaniard was already scribbling away as his creation’s vile bodily fluids combined in his hands. I put a foot forward to clear the distance between myself and Pox and propelled myself forward.

I never was good at waiting.

Pox finished drawing the goop from his eyes and slapped it down on the floor in front of me as I took a swing for him. He ducked backwards, narrowly avoiding me. I was moving forward again when the snotball on the ground grew an arm and grabbed me with it.

“Have fun with him Uncle Wither. I can’t imagine you’ve seen one in awhile. Should be some fun, eh?”

Seth and Christoph were both finally moving across the room while Arturo continued to scribble in his notepad. Pox wrapped his arms around himself and leapt through the window. A child with wings swooped down and caught him, carrying him away.

“What the hell was that Wither?”

“How should I know? Help me with the ooze you moron!”

By this point, the bubbling puddle of goo had grown another three arms, all ending in nasty claws. It seemed determined to pull the rest of its torso out of the snot bubble on the floor. All it was doing to me was shredding my ankle something fierce.

I grabbed Christoph’s hand and we both pulled back as he slashed the arm across its green wrist with a vine whip. The clawed hand let me go and started to twist around as green scales grew over top of it.

“What the hell is this thing Arturo?”

“Silence while I’m working!”

“I won’t be silent while I’m kicking its ass. What is it?”

“Hydra. Now be quiet.”

A hydra. Oh good. The first two heads pushed free of the widening puddle; their necks like noodles extruding from the muck. Seth pulled a chunk of broken glass from the window Pox had gone through. He threw it like a discus, the glass embedding itself halfway into one of the creature’s necks. Christoph reached out and grabbed ahold of the injured neck and wrenched. It screamed as he pried the hydra’s head from its neck, lobbing the torn off head out the window.

The second head snapped for me as I pulled my lighter from my pocket. Seth caught it in mid-air and wrestled with the angry head as I poured the lighter’s reserve fluid all over the already healing stump. Flick, flick, flick, whoosh. The lighter caught and the fluid lit with it.

The bloody stump started to sizzle and pop as it burned closed.

“One down, two to go. What the hell are you doing over their Arturo?”

“It’s composed of diseases and virii. It isn’t going to behave like a “normal” hydra. It’s a play on words. Hydras are types of virii; computer and otherwise. You three are already immune to its effects. You’d be bleeding from the ears right now if I hadn’t fixed that first.”

The burned through stump caved in and showed rows of nasty teeth, its mouth becoming like a lamphrey.

“Can you do something about the unkillable thing now?”

“Working on it. You’re talking too much.”

The first neck that Seth had leapt onto smashed him into a wall before growing arms of its own to claw at him with.

“Arturo!”

“Now! Stab it with a stick!”

“What?!”

“Stick! Stab it! Now!”

Christoph jabbed his fist into the gasping mouth where the one neck’s stump had been. The entire creature seemed to vibrate, squealing wildly, before collapsing into a puddle of sea-green oil.

“You couldn’t just write “It died” could you?”

“No. There are rules that I have to bend. Particularly with someone of his caliber creating this thing. I had to reverse the way certain mitochondria process…”

“Shut up. Just shut the hell up and get up those steps. We’ve got a long way to go before we get to Morelli and if you keep talking you’ll be laying here on the ground in your boy’s eye juice.”

Arturo was quiet, another floor was clear, and we were on our way. I couldn’t help but grin.

The kid hadn’t done a bad job on the hydra. I’d have to get him to make a more accurate version sometime. Those things were great to toy with when you got bored.

And suddenly I understood why he was so damn cocky. He may be Victory’s son, but he took after his uncle damn well.

Rue #21: Part 4 of Perdido

2008-02-26T02:50:01Z

I hadn’t really expected the visitor’s center to look normal when we reached it. I just wasn’t really expecting it to have become a stepped pyramid either. They hadn’t fooled around with the color; they hadn’t mucked about with the size of the first floor.

However, there were now second, third, and fourth floors. Each one was an equally rectangular, boring little building stacked atop the other. Stairs ascended the side of the building, giving access to each layer of the still under construction pyramid.

The workers, unsurprisingly, appeared to be dead. They hustled tirelessly up and down ladders; nailing boards into place, welding in chunks steel. Among their number were a handful of werewolves like William and a handful of pale figures with too taut skin.

“Vampires?”

“My brother is quite proud of them. They work well but are better suited to detail. My boys are the heavy lifters.”

Two of William’s “boys” stood on either side of the center’s doors, arms folded across their chests, either one wearing a security guard uniform.

“Who’re these three boss?”

“I’m taking them to see Mr. Jackal. They have some information on the Stitches that might be useful.”

“Easier ways to pull them apart?”

“Doubtful but you never know.”

They nodded and held open the doors for us as I slogged forward with Rick on my shoulder and Amy at my side. He was certainly not getting any lighter.

The light inside made me wince as my eyes adjusted away from the dank dark outside. Even with as few changes as they had made to the outside, the interior was a vast improvement. Instead of the cold, brushed aluminum that pervaded most of the cemeteries everything had been giving a gleaming, golden sheen. A cloaked figure with paper white skin was painting hieroglyphics on wall with spidery fingers.

“Who’s that?”

“My brother, Hugh.”

“I don’t see the family resemblance.”

“Adopted family. Went through a lot of shit together.”

I nodded and continued to follow William through a second set of double doors covered in cracking yellow paint. Sixteen stone tables with sixteen stone dead corpses were arranged in the rectangular room. An angular man with a black jackal head was bent over one of them, a dark-skinned woman, frowning intently. An individual that appeared to be as dead as the one on the table dabbed at his forehead. Another tended a cart with ceramic jars atop it.

Canopic jars. He was embalming them.

Suddenly, the body on the table started to shake, rustling noises coming out its throat. It was crying.

“Don’t worry Erin, it’ll be alright. We’ll finish putting you to rest soon. I promise.”

And in that moment, he looked up and saw me. And saw Amy. And saw Rick.

“William, can you please escort our guests to my office? I’ll be along shortly.”

William bowed his furred head silently and aimed our little parade through a non-descript black door. Inside, the little Egypt feel had been replaced by that of a doctor’s office. Beige walls, cherry wood desk, cushioned leather chairs.

I sat Rick down in one; careful to keep his hat perched on his head.

“Amy?”

“I’ll stand Morgan. It doesn’t ever make a difference to me; you know that honey.”

I nodded and sank into one of the chairs to wait. My eyes flickered as I sat there and I reached into my pocket for more ProTabs.

“Those are terrible for your health, you know?”

Mr. Jackal slipped in through the door, wiping off his hands, slipping a white lab coat back over his shoulders. His head was no longer an animals’; it was that of a young Middle Eastern man with thick black stubble and meticulous hair.

I opened and swallowed a pair of packages anyway.

“I know. I’m just not worth much without them.”

He sat down in the rolling, leather chair on the opposite side of the desk and waved off William. William nodded silently once again and slipped away.

“I wouldn’t say that Mr. Chadwick. You got Mr. Hatter here safely.”

“You already know who we are. I suppose I shouldn’t suspect any less from a god.”

He smiled toothily.

“See there, I knew you were a quick one. Now, how can I help you?”

“Rick here woke up in this cemetery. We’re trying to figure out why. More important, I want to know who killed his family.”

“Well, to figure that out, I’ll need to examine Mr. Hatter more thoroughly. Will he be needing to go back to bed afterwards?”

“That’ll be up to him. When you’re family’s murdered, most likely to keep you from dethroning the current mayor, it might make you a bit… restless.”

Anubis’ lip twitched, his mouth flashing to a jackal’s for a moment. Then, he was back to being the quiet Mr. Jackal again.

“I hadn’t realized the situation. Do you have any leads?”

“The Sergeant that at least took responsibility for the kill was what William referred to as a Stitch.”

“How… detestable. Abusing the corpses of the fallen to keep multiple copies of a single individual alive. Worse than cloning personally. At least someone can earn a soul. These people are allowing fragments of souls to be brutally subjugated. I wouldn’t be surprised if The Society paid off Morelli by doing the deed for him. What happened to the Stitch?”

“Bodily? Cremated. Spiritually? Imprisoned by the pissed off souls in the Green Gates crematorium.”

The god sat there quietly, pursing his lips.

“Well deserved, I’m sure.”

I opened my mouth to agree when Rick started to stir.

“Good morning sleepyhead.”

“Where are we?”

“Talking to one of the Egyptian gods of the dead. How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.”

“He’s a doctor too. Care for a checkup?”

“Whatever you say Morgan.”

I nodded to Anubis and he stood reverently.

“Mr. Chadwick has alerted me to what happened to your family. I’m going to help you get to the bottom of this.”

“Why?”

“It’s what I do. I am the Master of Embalmers. Our job is to make sure the dead stay restful. That’s why we’re here in Perdido; in order to help everyone get back to sleep.”

That was the last bit I saw as my eyes slid shut. I didn’t need anyone’s help getting to sleep. I was doing just fine on my own.

“Morgan, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Gonna sleep now.”

“You just had your ProTabs.”

“I know, still sleepy.”

“Morgan! Morgan!”

The pills in my pocket pulled me down into the pillow of sand that had been left for me and I slept. Night night.