Protocols of Cause and Effect

When I think of Sarah. I remember she had an arm. I had to actually shag it somewhat in order to catch the ragged yellow frisbee. She had thrown a long lazy arc. She was laughing, for the first time since I’d met her.

Grandmother had put me up to it. She said, “Go to the park. There’s a little girl you should meet.”  She knows me too well.  So I go...I find her sitting near the edge of the park. She’s sobbing. So I approach.  I put on my big dumb puppy face and lope over to her with my frisbee in my mouth.I even have a collar that proclaims that my name is Butch.

You know it’s amazing what a young girl will tell a lone wolf who acts likes a big dumb puppy. She told me about Dale.  Well. First, she told me about her mom and how her mom just didn’t believe her about Dale. And then she told me about Dale, and what she said about him painted a pretty decent picture about her mom too. I’m picturing an older woman, who’s maybe lowered her standards more than she should have and attracted a good time Charlie and brought him into her home where he developed a taste for veal. I dunno, maybe he’s watched a little too much stepfamily porn on Pornhub or something.  She told her mom of course, which killed her to do because her mom seemed happy for the first time in a long time. but Mommy didn’t believe her and smacked her hard in the face and now she doesn’t know what to do. Because Dale knows she told her mom and now Dale is just getting more and more brazen.

I make upset noises in my throat, because I am actually upset and then I drop the frisbee into her lap. “oh sure.” She says with a pained grin.” I pour my heart out to you and all you wanna do is play. Ain’t that just like a boy.”  But she stands up and she tosses it and I catch it, and she smiles. And we spend the rest of the afternoon throwing and returning.  Until finally she hears her mother calling from down the street. So follow her at a distance.  I don’t really need to. By this point, I could find her on the other side of the moon. I get a look at the mom, not terrible looking for her age and then having seen the house, fade back into the woods

I watch. I keep an eye on the place from the wooded spaces in our subdivision that is close to our pack territory. Dale is a real piece of work, one of those poster boys for toxic masculinity. Got a Hawaiian shirt for every occasion. I see him casually fondle her butt as she passes him in the kitchen. it’s about all I can do to keep from frenzying right there. But I wait.

he’s out on the back porch one evening in his bathrobe and boxers drinking a heinie. I allow him to see me before I speak. I choose tonight because the bedroom lights upstairs are off. he keeps scratching his nuts, Or maybe he’s nerving himself to try something with Sarah with his woman actually in the house. Don’t know. Don’t care. I step into the light and as I do I pour my strength into my muscles.

“nice family you got.”
He starts and spills beer on his crotch. ‘What the? Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m a neighbor. Hi. I’m butch.”
I don’t give two shits if you’re the fucking Dalai Lama. What are you doing on my porch?”
“Making friendly conversation. As I said. Nice family you got.”
“Not my family. just my girlfriend and her daughter.”
“Daughters are a gift I used to have two.”
“Oh yeah?”
“They died.”
“Oh.....Kay?”  Dale, I can tell is not really sure where to go with this.

“it’s a terrible thing to ruin a gift like that.”
His brow furrows, he’s wondering what I know. he stands up, drawing himself up to his full height.
“I suppose so. What’s it to you?”
“ I dunno. I just wouldn’t be able to trust myself not to kill someone who did something like that. If I knew about it.”

He throws a punch at me, but he might as well be moving in molasses because I am expecting his punch. the key here is to not look like I’m surprised when I catch his fist in mine with a meaty smack. I have to admit though I want to laugh from the look on his face when I catch his fist and he is completely incapable of removing my hand from his fist.  I reach out and take a good handful of his bathrobe in my hand and lift Dale off his feet.

I continue while I show him just a tiny sliver of my true face. “Why lord only knows what I might do if someone were to touch an underage girl and I found out about it.”
“Put me down you fucker!”
“See what I want you to understand is that there’s no decision making going into it.  It’s like a protocol of cause and effect. Like gravity. If I was to hear about such a thing. I would make it my mission in life to come down on that “Man” like the wrath of an injured god.
And then I set his feet back down on the porch, perhaps a bit more roughly than I intended to.
“...Like gravity.”
He falls down onto the wicker chair and breaks it. Looks up at me and I think, sees me for the first time. realizes that I might be actively dangerous...and he smiles an ingratiating smile.
“Hey, mister.”
“Butch.” For some reason, I want this scumbag to know my name.
“Nothing like that is going on here.”
“Good.” and I smile. It is not a pleasant smile. It is a smile meant to convey the message that I don’t believe him.
“Good night neighbor.” and then I step out of the light

Sadly, Sarah bears the brunt of this visit. He yells at her the next night about talking about family matters with strangers, and he describes me. but she’s never seen “me” so she doesn’t know what he’s on about. I see him out the window raise his hand as if he means to smack her and then thinks better of it.
there’s a lot of storm and stress about it. But the next weekend at the park, she and I throw the frisbee around and she seems much happier. Dale seems to be keeping it in his pants.

I don’t forget things. Ever. In this case, I Stupidly deprioritize her situation in the face of other things going on in town. I’d made a mental note to have Sam Cain put some spirit on her for babysitting. but it got lost in the shuffle. and besides the problem was handled wasn’t it?

So as you can imagine, When I read about her suicide in the newspaper, it’s more than a rude shock.

I go around there like a shot but he’s not there and neither is his car.
I roll the dice and knock on the front door. her mother answers.

“Hello ma’am”
“Hi there, and who are you?”
“My name is Butch. I’m looking for Dale.”
“Oh, YOU’RE Butch.” She looks up at me with eyes shrink-wrapped in tears already. “He told me about you. I hope you find him.  he said he was going up to Clearlake. He’s camping.
“Oh, I will ma’am. I will find him.”
She shuts the door in my face. There doesn’t seem to be much more to say.

I go get into my RV and drive about 45 minutes to Clearlake Campgrounds When I get there, there seems to some kind of bizarre weekend warrior convention going on up there. Dudes dressed up like military. some dudes dressed up like Ninjas and a whole spectrum of survivalist mooks.

The problem here is that I put out a pretty strong alpha signal so, many of these mooks, will sense that, and attempt to pick a fight with me in order to broadcast their own alpha signal. They see some dude dressed like a biker and it just gets them all worked up for no reasons. Just wandering around I am forced to have 3 fistfights before I even clap eyes on Dale, dressed up in some camo get-up.
He takes one look at me and dashes off into the woods. Obviously, I can’t change to urhan and go after him. But I do attempt to give chase across the campsite and end up losing sight of him immediately. Mainly because it seems like everyone is trying to get into my way and up into my very alpha Grille.

Lucky, I’m a goddamn werewolf, right? I pick up the sweet stench of Dale’s fear and start tracking him further into the woods. it isn’t hard. he’s left a trail that an Air Force Officer could follow. I see a large natural rock turned on one of its corners and slightly balancing. You see these every once in a while It’s balanced but it probably has been here longer than white men.. His trail leads around the side of the rock, and I can smell him close.

And that’s when I get nailed.
He’s got one of those combination several thousand candlepower xenon flashlight/stun gun deals that you can get via mail order. I come around the side of the rock and I’m totally blinded and then he lights me up pretty good. and then he’s stabbing me, Like Guillermo del Toro in “The Hunted” 
Seems like Dale figured he was GOING to fondle Sarah no matter what I did, and so he was going to have to have a plan in place to deal with me. And I guess he just waited until he felt like he was ready to deal with me. I piece this all together as I am falling languidly to the ground

I’m on the ground and I have to admit, bleeding from a half dozen wounds. But I’m fairly hard to kill even in my human form. What’s really rattled my cage is the stun gun and being totally blind. Dale, thinking he’s certainly killed me climbs down to finish me off and that’s when I knock the wheels out from under him. I change shape into my Gauru. form Which heals most of the problems immediately.
And before he has actually processed what is happening. I have grabbed him in my powerful paws and I shake him like a rag doll. he weighs virtually nothing in my hands. I can barely form human words in this form so I over-enunciate in this form. I get my shiny werewolf eyes down to his level. I cannot stay in this form too long because I’m liable to head back up the path and kill everyone at the campsite in my death rage. So I look him in the eye and say, “Like protocols of cause and effect. Didn’t I tell you?”
And then I fold him up small in my giant Gauru hands and throw him.
I honestly didn’t know he go that far but he went over a middling distant cliffside and all the way down to the rocks below. I shift back to hishu form and look down at his broken lifeless body.
“Like gravity,” I say as I survey my handiwork.

Sorry, Sarah... You deserved better looking out from your mom and from me. All I can do is avenge you and the real bummer is, I can only do it once.

Holding company Merit (Any)

Holding Company (Merit: 1-5 Prerequisite: Resources 3+)

Many people over the years have looked to various bits of chicanery in order to prevent other people from knowing exactly who's spending the money and HOW the money is being spent.

Holding Company is essentially a means to obfuscate a persons personal business dealings. Each Dot of Holding Company subtracts 2 successes from investigation rolls directed at trying to find out anything about a company or a person's personal finances. Since this usually is a contested roll and may involve collecting successes, It may not HALT such investigations completely, but it will definitely slow them down and in almost all cases, allow the target to know he or she is being investigated.  It involves things like shell corporations, stock and bond manipulations, false identities, and other forms of corporate subterfuge and can take a bewildering number of forms.

This may not seem like much to be spending points on until you realize that it will protect your finances from attack and make it impossible to connect you to ownership of your Haven.

* Paper thin: Cursory net research won't turn up much, but anything beyond that will probably punch a hole in your front companies.

** Open Secret: Your money is fairly safe from internet snooping, but the right sort of influence might still flush you out.

*** Closed Secret: "Oh look. I think they're trying to indict me. How adorable!"

**** Under the rose: The barest minimum is on paper and that's usually locked up tight in the lawyers safe. It's also written in Sanskrit. You may not even be aware of who actually owns your properties "On Paper". It's safer for them really.

***** The clouded mind sees nothing: It would take a dedicated team of highly trained and motivated forensic accountants years to untangle your shadowy empire. And that only if the had an unlimited supply of Pepto Bismoll…And even then it's a crap shoot.

Painted corners undercity elements

Every undercity is different.
Topography changes from place to place and there are many element of the local undercity that exist simply because of businesses in the area. (My home city is Lexington Kentucky and there are multiple universities with underground areas near downtown as well as a mining operation that has been a going concern longer than I have been alive.

Many times the lay of the land is manipulable by various factions of supernatural creatures that prefer to lair underground. (I am thinking mostly of Nosferatu vampires and certain types of Beast characters.) But just because this is where the monster hang their hats, is no reason to suspect that regular people can't or won't stumble across these sorts of areas in the course of their lives. 

So, With that in mind I have put together a number of common elements that one is likely to see in underground urban areas.

The Tangles:

Undercities can be dangerous places to live. Cranky fellow nosferatus are usually the least of your worries. Some underground denizens take exception to an invasion of their territory and there is the slight possibility that an aboveground assailant will give chase to a nosferatu into his home ground. That's why Nosferatu build Tangles.

    A tangle is an area within a Nosferatu undercity that has been turned into a deliberate labyrinth. Often a Tangle requires a certain amount of 3-dimensional traverse. Moving about up and down, and from side to side. (Many tangles also have small holes enabling small animals and kindred who can assume animal form to move across them more directly.) The center of a Tangle is often a form of Panic Room with bulkhead doors. Inside, one can find the following:

1) A selection of mauls and fire-axes

2) A phone with a hard line and a Cat 5 cable jack. The phones direct dial buttons are to other places in the undercity.

3) 1 shotgun and a box of ammo. The shotgun has the words "Watch out for Methane Dumbass!" painted on it's barrel.

4) A selection of levers that can cause a number of problems for attackers. Places having a lot water to work with use that to it's advantage, often causing a passage to lock off and then flood.  Other levers might unleash a dead-fall or drop a manhole cover down on a climbing assailant. Pit traps dropping a kindred onto wooden stakes are another favorite. A handy key is painted on the wall above the control box.

5) CCTV for keeping an eye on the attackers outside and seeing if your rescuers have come.

The Howling Gallery

Engineered by a Nosferatu named Linus Janisek, a German national who emigrated to America to be part of the arts community here, The Gallery is blessed with unusually warm acoustics.  Linus, seeking to exploit that unusual aspect of the place, asked for help with routing pipes through the top end of the cavern.  As a result of numerous, water, sewage,and HVAC pipes being routed through here, there is a low continuous moan through the gallery at all times.  It has been speculated that the gallery has the potential to be a Geomantic Nexus of some sort, but nobody seems to know what sort.

       The Gallery has stolen power and light provided by a number of stolen stage lighting devices, (There is a closet full of backup equipment, gobos and gells, but much of that stuff hasn't been monkeyed with in ages.   The pipes and the ceiling of the room are kept scrupulously patched and dry, so that the room stays that way as well.  The lights can be moved around on the pipes a bit offering some variety.   The floor of Gallery is usually home to artworks by and for Nosferatu.   Adding to the atmosphere here in the gallery is a Theremin which stands in the center of the cavern.  Certain of the lower frequencies have been known to make the paintings and sculpture vibrate. (And on at least one memorable occasion cause a frenzy)   

      Linus's Sepulcher is nearby, and it's said that when he was in residence, he could hear anything that is said in the gallery itself.  It's unknown whether Linus was a victim of the Revenant Princes purge or whether he's just away or in torpor somewhere.He has been known to travel to purchase new artworks for the gallery.   It is rumored that he's Invictus and a member of the Angels besides.  

The Artworks Include:

1) A series of framed photographs of child kindred entitled "Predators"

2) A medieval style tapestry like those found in Bayeaux, This one seemingly depicts some long drawn out conflict between kindred factions in the south of France. The conflict seems to culminate in a mass diablerie.

3) A large marble nude male wearing a closed face roman style helmet and carrying a spear. Possibly stolen from a Ventrue descendant.  Nobody's talking about it. 

4) A large wooden totem of an owl stolen from a burial mound museum in Wickliffe Kentucky. Rumor is that the Indian tribe that worshipped this totem exterminated themselves in a mass ritual suicide. Kindred who look upon the statue often report a feeling of being both fascinated and uneasy.

5) a modern art piece which is a flat pane of glass enclosing some red liquid which undulates ceaselessly. It's essentially a lava lamp, and while not supernatural at all, tends to make kindred viewers hungry.

6) An open exhibition block that apparently was home to a permanent exhibit that has, since Linus's departure, been stolen. The area above the block remains a constant 17 degrees colder than the rest of the room and there is a strange scent of lilacs.

7) A portrait of the toreador Primogen reclining nude upon a chaise lounge. Painted by Linus himself.

The Devil's Door(s)

Sometimes covering entries into the undercity is a tricky situation.  Most kindred can enter the Main Hall and venture outwards from there.  Others know they can usually get in via an outflow pipe near the river or bay, or pop open a manhole and dodge the utility worker guys.   But some doors to the outside world are too convenient to leave unguarded.  And while guard duty is a good way to work off debts, it's not fun and no good during the day anyway.   As a result, some Dracul types have devised a means of using spoiling to treat certain doors in the sub-sub basement of buildings.  Such doors are often hard to perceive in the first place. Some being hidden by powerful obfuscate,   But should a mortal manage to see them or blunder into them, they are subjected to the second line of defense, this being distilled essence of spoiling coupled with nightmare.  Filled with an irrational fear of the door in question, many go running in the opposite direction. There have even been instances of humans falling over dead from heart failure.

The Garden

A long oval cavern, the Garden has only two entries, both are solid iron doors with a time lock on them. The room has a series of cunningly crafted pipes stretching into the city over head, all of them stretching high into the roof tops of the buildings overhead.  Each is a form of periscope that links below to a cunning series of mirrors and lenses below that manage to give a full daily sunlight bath to the botanical garden below. Water is provided by various water pipes and a storm drain pipe or two. A makeshift aqueduct makes certain that the water is evenly distributed.  The Garden was created by a Nosferatu named Green Jean, who has long since met her death. Her childer tend the place now in her memory.  The plants are ghoul plants, and produce lacrima in copious amounts.  Additionally, there are carnivorous plants being grown here in such size that one of the Pitcher Plants requires a house cat to feed it, about once a month. Grean Jean's childer still keep an eye on the area and grow extremely potent poisons, hallucinogenic mushrooms, peyote, ayahuasca, and marijuana. The Garden is also considered neutral territory, mainly by dint of the fact that violence tends to agitate the plants and they MIGHT attack.  As a result, when a sit-down between factions or kingdoms is called for, this is the spot for those sorts of meetings.

The Torture Suite

The first one was built by a Mekhet named Bardolph. It features a dentists chair, with welded on manacles. A pipe stretches into the over city and collects light from the sun directing it downward via long stands of lucite. (Bardolph is said to have designed the lighting system of the Garden as well.) The lucite strands are coiled and then covered all the way down to the tip.  The questioner often dons a welders mask, gloves and other protective gear, and then pulls down the tool from a reel overhead.  He is then able to uncap the end and in effect write on the kindred flesh with a needle of sunlight. naturally, the gauges of lucite go up, to cause more pain.    There is a cannibalized firehose connected to an outflow pipe of freezing cold water to put out the kindred, should he begin to burn freely.  Other more pedestrian torture devices line the walls here as well. A car battery with alligator clips also sits on a dolly. (Although by this point it's long dead.  

Dodson's Flush:

It's unclear as to whether Dodson was the Nosferatu who built it, or was the first Nosferatu executed by it.

The Flush is essentially a larger than man-sized outflow pipe for storm-drain pressure release.  It is situated at a high point in the City's topography and terminates down by the riverside somewhere.  When a Nosferatu, or any other intruder in the community has transgressed,  That transgressor is usually bound in  anchor chain, dumped into the outflow tub and then the release lever is pulled. The outflow is at least a mile long and the transgressor is usually going over 45 miles an hour when he or she is ejected, usually into full daylight.  Even if, it's not daytime outside when you land, it's usually a pretty good idea not to go back to the undercity until you've mended your fences.

Phlegethon

While most of the various necropoli sport Caldarium of their own, This one is the largest and most popular, resembling nothing so much as a Plato's Retreat for Nosferatu.  The Caldera are large and warmed by number of routed hot water pipes, Legend has it that the disco ball was stolen from Studio 54 one night, and that it seems to have a sort of disinhibiting effect on those who enter the club and partake of the waters.  While no one is sure if there is something unusual going on, like some sort of spiritual mojo, it is well known that the Necropoli where it is located is one of the most friendly and close knit in the undercity.  It may be something on par with the weird sex club found in the movie "Eyes Wide Shut"  Seems like there might be an unseemly amount of blood sharing going on between kindred down there.  Ew.

      The vast corpulent owner of the place is rumored to be one of the rare Crones in the undercity and a devotee of the Second Descent. He may also be older than he lets on, but rarely presses any sort of political issue as long as it doesn't crab his personal decadent pleasures.

Dis-Mart

Named for the Iron City of Dis, this area is considered to be a large scale persian bazarr style market.  The fact that it's split up between 6 city blocks worth of underground area means that one can go there and not find the same wares on sale each time. It's rumored if one knows the rights words to say, one can find a slave auction or a blood market. Trucks get hijacked all the time, and a percentage of those jackings are the work of Nos, who sell off the wares here. It's also rumored that Green Jean's childer sell off some of the more hallucinatory mushrooms that grow in the garden here.If it's illicit, odds are good you can get it here. Dis-mart is even fairly accessible to kindred of the surface as it is near the Capital,  and is near the surface as well. It's even rumored that a certain manhole on North Dansky street leads straight down to it,  But the rumors differ on which one it might be. Not to mention how it's never been seen by mortals working for the utility company. The one thing that is kind of a drag about the Dis-mart is that it is so split up in the catacombs it inhabits, that one can get turned around if one is not careful.  This is of course the one thing that prevents open warfare from breaking out here as well.

St Judes

A gathering place for the faithful of the undercity, Crones, not being common here, tend to go aboveground to revere their goddess, but some of the undercity faithful haven't been above ground in a long time,  Father Vitus is that rarest of creatures in the sanctified, an elder AND a true ecumenist.  He is a biblical scholar and probably would be an archbishop anywhere else, but he is proud to offer spiritual guidance and comfort here.  His church is a somewhat cramped affair, but for all of that, offers the sort of squalid opulence that one would expect in a kindred house of worship. Most of the mouldy furnishings have been scavenged or stolen from churches all over town. The place smells of mouldy wood, and velvet, and candle wax.  In addition, St. Judes also offers outreach to homeless humans in terms of medical care, food banks, and occasional shelter, usually in exchange for just a little blood. It doesn't even have to be yours.

The Nerve Center

Nosferatu in the undercity take the whole idea of keeping an eye and a camera on things deadly seriously. While the Nerve center rarely sports bleeding edge technology, it does have a tiny army of technologically adept Nosferatu, Mekhet, and ghouls of the same, that work very hard to piggy-back as many signals as they can manage into the screens and mainframes. Screens are often cued to flip every few seconds or so, allow the watchers to "Gloss" footage and take in vast amounts of material in a short amount of time. Not surprisingly, the Mekhet are best at it, but some ghouls can do it too.   Meanwhile, the network of hackers both here and above ground hack and install backdoors into nearly every system in the municipal networks. Attempts to track these hacks back to the source inevitably run into the fact that the hackers are directly patched into a trunk line which services half of the city.  By design, the Center is actually segregated from all of the undercity around it, and is only accessible via the freight elevator of an office building in alphabet city.  The long corridor leading to the nerve center is covered in multiple claymores. It can also be flooded with nitrous oxide at the flick of a switch.  Most of the kingdoms in the undercity need information from the Nerve Center, so they generally offer people to staff the place to pay off debts, but since many of the Undercity kingdoms are in some sort of low level struggle with one another, things can get tense in the Nerve Center Situation room.

The Arena:
A large open space with second level that goes all the way around and offers a prime place to witness any  sort of duel that is going on down on the floor below. The doors into the Arena Floor have a magnetic lock that has a controller that is in the hands of a proctor for the challenge. (By tradition, someone chosen by the seconds of the duelers in question.)
When the arena is not in use for its intended purpose, it usually home to a massive half-pipe and an area of obstacles for practicing parkour.

Double Dip

So, as many people can tell you I’m not typical for a biker. I have certain liberal attitudes. I got no kick against anyone with a different racial background. I am ok with people being whatever orientation or gender they want to be. Many of my fellow riders are hardcore conservatives despite the rich comfortable people being scared shitless of them and driven to apoplexy by their antics.

I feel at home in Portland which is a vast island of liberalism surrounded by a sea of rednecks. Having a black wife and children will make you see things in your life that you might not have seen otherwise. I do still hold SOME conservative attitudes. To me, Gun control is 2 in the head and 2 in the center mass. I don’t think we need more school shootings though and maybe some registration and more vigorous background checking wouldn’t be a bad idea. Hope that happens before some loon walks into a maternity ward with an AK and opens it up.

I’m also firmly of the belief that you ought to know how to do certain things by a certain age. I may never ever know how Escrow works but by god, by the time you own a vehicle, you ought to know how to change the oil on it fruit cup. Can’t count the number of lumbersexuals I’ve assisted on the side of the road with SIMPLE fucking repairs. Sorry, pal. Your flannel had me fooled.

So if there is something about me that is kind of different, it is that I don’t really cotton to the Neo-nazi movement types in this part of the world. And I look for opportunities to jack them up whenever possible. I think Kayla would approve. Although I’m fairly sure she wouldn’t enjoy me putting myself at risk. She never could stand to watch me fight. Even though, I’m pretty fucking brilliant at it.

So when Marty Collette turns up on my to-do list. It feels a bit like a twofer.
Marty is a weasel little fuck who cooks meth for a living. I don’t judge him for that. I’ve done that myself back in the day. But he cooks in bulk and he’s got White power connections to help him move the product. Word on the street is that he got popped buying fixings in bulk on the internet because the Nazi’s set him up in a lab. So they hauled him in and gave him a court date and he bailed out using my service and didn’t turn up to court today, so now I’ve got to go round and collect him. I’m betting he’s met some wheels in the white power movement and they want their names kept out of things, so they’re hiding him someplace.

So I kiss Frankie and tell her not to wait up, I call my daughter and let her know I’m going looking and I hit the streets.  I don’t exactly have a network of informants or anything like that but if you go enough places and buy enough drinks you’ll find someone willing to talk.  The trick is always trying to sieve gold out of a pan full of shit.  You might get a bit closer to your target and then be stuck listening to some water-head pouring out his tragic life story. I try to stay polite because you never know when THAT guy might have something useful and call you up. It takes me some time. this sort of looking. The only other way of going about it would be to have access to the sort of bulk chemical supplies that you’d need in order to produce meth in the amounts that would be worthwhile. but I don’t have access to that sort of intel. Nor am I much of a computer user, much less a hacker. 

The bartenders are cool for the most part, mainly because they know I’m not a cop and I tip. I make the rounds. I buy a drink for any dude with bad skin and jacked up teeth. I get a lot of non-specific answers about where the stuff is coming from. until finally, I lose patience with some dude who’s grinning at me like “hey fuck you copper I ain’t said shit...” And I am forced to lift the shithead off the ground.
Suddenly, the dude gets much more respectful, especially since I’m not letting him breathe much and he tells me what I want to know. I am able to extricate myself from the affair without the local constables being summoned and I account myself blessed in this regard.

The dude, tells me that the Meth suppliers are up in Elliot, which puts them in my backyard and they’ve got a patch inside the Parkhurst apartments  Which is NOT good news.

The Parkhurst is a complex block that is kind of ingrown like a toenail. cops don’t go in there in groups of less than 5. They don’t bother canvassing that neighborhood for information about nearby crimes. It’s a white trash ghetto.  Cartman singing “In the ghetto” pipes up in the back of my head and won’t stop. using my expense account, I get myself an apartment there. just so that I have an excuse to tool around the place. I go and meet with the apartment manager, a lovely young woman named Rachel, who shows me the place and tries to make it sound like it’s a good decent neighborhood filled with God-fearing people. I note as we’re looking around that no one in the apartment complex hallways seems to have an inside voice. also, and this ought to be a great big flag, but my unit does not have a fire extinguisher. Which means others are in a similar boat too. great. I could burn to death in my sleep because some stoner nods off with a roach still burning.  I walk by one door and the smell of skunk weed practically smacks me in the face.  As we are returning to my cycle, I find a guy attempting to jimmy my bike’s ignition system. Motioning to Rachel to stay back, I sneak up on the poor dumb unlucky bastard and before he knows exactly what's happening, I have broken his wrist and I have one knee on his ribcage and I seem to weigh as much as a goddamn anvil. I show him the merest edge of what I am. My eyes turn silver and he sees the predator under my placid zen-like exterior. I look down at him and say, “If I see you near my bike again, I will eat your fucking heart.”  I’m pretty sure I mean it. he’d scratched Lulu’s paint some with his screwdriver. He is certain that I mean it and when I let him up he runs away at top speed cradling his wrecked wrist.  rachel apologizes profusely, thinking she’s lost the sale, but I simply say. I’m fine Rachel. Sketchy neighborhoods don’t frighten me. never have and I ain’t rich enough for anything else really. She sighs. In relief, I suspect, and hands me a set of keys.

This gives me a seed of a plan. I go to the local rent-a-center and max my Expenses card filling the apartment with a futon, a leather couch, and a large tv. I am conspicuous about carrying that stuff in. Sure enough, about 2 night later some “person” shows up and picks open my door lock. fortunately, my “enormous fucking dog” is asleep in there and bites that guy. And because I’ve tasted his blood I can track him right back to his door which I break down and then beat the shit out of him in front of his neighbors. I then tell them that he’s a thieving motherfucker and maybe they ought to look for their missing stuff in his place.
I probably wouldn’t have to do this in a black neighborhood. White people get ugliest when they are desperate. Mainly because it’s such a shock to them. I mean, they’re the MASTER RACE, right?

I catch the dude who is jimmying open the mailboxes to steal welfare and unemployment checks and send him to the hospital too.

Eventually, they send some guy around. I come into my apartment after being at the office and immediately note a muscular white man sitting on my futon. He is holding a shotgun trained on my crotch.  Since I like my crotch, I don’t immediately rush him.
“You're a big one”
“Sorry pal, I’m only prison gay. Lower the gun.
“Why should I?”
“because you’ll make me nervous. I don’t like to be nervous. and you definitely won’t like me nervous.
“Now we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“interesting means of doing it. get the fuck off my couch.”
“Dude. you may be pretty tough, but I’m holding the gun, so you’re going to listen to what I have to say.”
“Look in my eyes. Do I appear scared of your gun?”
“Maybe you’re crazy.”
He might have a point there.
I’m looking him over at this point, he’s got prison ink and I’ve memorized his scent. I notice that our conversation has rumbled to a stop.
“Okay. You’ve got approximately 20 seconds to speak your peace before I take that gun away from you and feed it to you.”
“We just wanted you to know we’ve noticed you and we think maybe you should calm down some. You’ve hurt a couple of our people and we can’t really have that. Obviously, we know where you live and all...So.”
“Okay. that was fairly straightforward and now I’ll return the favor. Keep your fucking people away from me and we won't have a problem.
“that’s not really how this works. but you’ve shown yourself to be willing to take steps to protect yourself. maybe we could use a man like you.”
“Not interested.”
“There’s money. serious money.”
“5 seconds”
He lowers the shotgun.
“my boss is not going to like this. he doesn’t like loose ends.”
“I don’t give a tap-dancing fuck what your boss does or does not like. Get out of my apartment while you can still walk.”
He raises the shotgun again and shuffles out awkwardly.

Only a matter of time now.
For the next few nights, I get this feeling like I’m being watched every time I come and go. I am patient. I wait. I expect that the watcher is waiting for me to lower my guard. I’m not going to do this.I’ve been in prison.
 After a couple of days of this, I go wandering around the complex. I locate the meth production area by the smell in a matter of minutes before some Mook with a nickel-plated 9 turns up and barks at me. I resist the urge to feed it to him despite the fact that he’s holding it sideways like some dumb kid in a gangsta movie. I move along, noting the pinch points, and where the sentries and snipers are likely to be. they’re pretty well dug in. I am admittedly flummoxed as to how to proceed.

The next night as I am rolling into the parking lot a group of muscly looking types gets off the curb and starts rolling towards me with intent. Some of them have chains and a couple of pipes. I imagine they’re looking to tune me up by the time they reach me I am in Dalu form but with my motorcycle helmet still on so they can’t exactly see my face. I reach into my well of essence and activate my killer instinct and butchery. Someone strikes me in the helmet and ends up prone for his trouble. I wade into them with a great big smile on my face.  By the end of the fight, I am the only one left standing. I pick one up and shake him a bit until he’s relatively conscious. “Tell your douchebag boss that I’m here for his cook. And if he gives me the cook, I’ll stop making trouble.”

I might even mean it. These guys got a load of Nazi ink on them so when the ambulance comes around to collect them, I feel a positively warm afterglow.  It doesn’t last. as I am walking back to my apartment, someone right next to me clears their throat. I turn, to see who the fuck got this close to me without me noticing and now the silencer/muzzle of the gun is resting on my eyelid. I hear, “You so much as twitch I’m going to fill your brain-case with lead. I don’t imagine it will kill you, but it will very likely jack you up pretty badly.”

He’s not wrong. I’ve seen a Rahu or two take a shot in the head with conventional bullets and yes, they usually are able to get back up afterward. Our skulls tend to be thick. But I’ve also seen an uratha or two take a full-on brain injury and yes. it can put you on the deck, if not permanently.
I prize my brain. It’s where I keep my thoughts and stuff. So I’m unwilling to have it scrambled. I look over my assailant. Tall white dude. unnaturally pale. blond insolent hair. AB Ink in various spots. Dressed all in black. One earring. And my nose tells me, entirely deceased.

Great. Now it’s an embassy problem. I can’t whack him and he can’t whack me without our various groups getting into it and promises that things will get handled “In-House” are about as trustworthy as a fart after Taco Bell.

“Ah. I see you’re doing the math. Good. It means you’re not stupid. Who the fuck ARE you?
“Name is Butch McCullough”
“The Bounty hunter?”
“The same.”
“Oh. This is about Marty isn’t it?”
“ Yes. He’s coming with me.”
“I don’t think so.” And then he shoots me in the eye.

I fall down of course. There are very few things in the whole world that can ring your chimes like a shot in the eye. I bleed. Quite a lot. As my lights go out, I see the blond guy leave and shut the door behind him.

When I wake up. Frankie is standing over me and MAN is she pissed. She’s had to extract a bullet from my braincase while listening to Julia cry and carry on about it. Andrew and Jax are there too it appears from my vantage on the now ruined leather couch, that someone needed to break down my door.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR LINT PICKING MIND? “
I remember how to swallow, and croak out, “Possibly. Look under the bed and see if it’s under there.”
She can’t help herself. She smiles despite how upset she is with me. and then turns to Jax.
“You keep an eye on him. do you hear me? You’re responsible for him from this point until this is all resolved. If he goes to take a piss, Your leg gets wet. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Jax knows better than to be flip simply nods and hands her her bag. She and Andrew depart.

Later, I apologize to Jax for getting him involved even if indirectly. he looks at me as If I’m talking gibberish. Which, at this point, I may be doing. I wouldn’t even know. I explain the gig to him and he’s all like, “Well shit brother if you needed back-up you could have called.”
“Didn’t know I needed it until I was in over my head.”
“Ain’t that always the way?”
“Seems like. I’ve got to get better about spotting traps. It’s starting to be a running gag. A painful one.”
“So. Can you get me a line on Date bait Hitler?”
“I can ask around.”

Turns out that Hitler Youth Ken Doll is some vampire aristocrat called an Invictus or some shit. I don’t know vampire political stuff. A lot of that shit is like walking into the middle of a long-running ongoing soap opera and expecting to know who’s doing what to who. It just isn’t likely without a LOT of context. Apparently, he’s already raised some kind of stink at the embassy and they really would like me to come and answer a number of questions that essentially add up to what Frankie asked me when I first came to. I’m not exactly one hundred percent. I have weird tremors and my motor skills have taken a serious hit. They’re coming back, but not as fast as I’d like and If it weren’t for Jax.I’d be a sitting duck. If Ken returns with silver ammo we’re both toast. and at this point, he can claim self-defense.
I roll off the couch.  It needs to happen tonight.

I wait. until late. If I do this right, it’ll be late enough that the vampire will need to go to ground while the main assault is happening. Jax and I go to Wal-mart and purchase 2 20 pound sledgehammers. We make our way back to the area where I could smell the meth cooking and this time I spot the camera I hadn’t seen before. Which cued the sentry. I smash the camera, the sentry pops out of a nearby apartment and before he can do much. Jax has him in a choke hold that takes him to the floor for a nice long sleep.

I take a moment. steady myself and breath in. I use some essence to heal the last bits of nerve damage and I shift to Gauru form before ripping my way through the wall. I find a sleep-deprived Marty on the other side of the wall and scare the living fuck out of him. I snatch him up like an errant puppy and carry him out of the room. 
Jax and I have kicked the hornet's nest. Laying about ourselves with the sledgehammers keeps everyone at a nice respectful distance. All the gunfire has set something in the lab ablaze and I am shouting myself hoarse telling people as we exit that there is a fire. Jax carries passed out Marty while I clear our path. Marty is no good to me dead so Jax has to be more careful than he wants to be.  Then, Jax catches a clip of automatic fire in the back and falls down. I look up and see Ken fade into view holding his Luger. The one he shot me with.

One of the things that tend to set me off is when one of my pack mates is hurt badly in battle. Mostly I tend to worry for Frankie or Kurt. Normally the wolves can take care of themselves. But this special little nuisance just set me right the fuck off. All of my gifts flow into my rage suffused mind. and before I know what’s happening. I am ripping the vampire to pieces. Don’t even know how I got up on this landing exactly. think I jumped. it clears off long enough for me to toss his ripped carcass into the lab fire and then get back to business. Jax is fine. and we carry Marty out of the fire and into the arms of the local police who have been looking for him. 

I cut Jax a nice check for his efforts.  I cut another for Frankie which she promptly tears up and throws in my face. and then I go back to relaxing.  But now I have to wait and see if the other shoe is going to drop about the Ken doll. Maybe I’ll be lucky and no one really likes him and no one will go full court press on finding out how he was destroyed. But there’s nothing for it but to wait.

The readiness is all.

Foiling Time Magick

Foiling time Magick

By Rev.K.

Often times, it seems like it's impossible to build up any mystery in a Mage game what with having Mages who can read the future and the past. It has occurred to me that there are ways that this ability can be co-opted or subverted.

Arcane: Subtracts dice from ALL perception rolls. Mages with high arcane are hard to learn about and impossible to predict.(there's a reason why they haven't been able to find Secret Agent John Courage.This guy is so arcane he can't even find his socks.) Even if the Mage in question is scrying an area that the Mage wandered into he might find himself confounded by the problem that no matter where he is sensing the area from, for some reason he can't seem to get a close look at the other Mage's face. Some clues might be gained while the overall identity is still obscured.

Warding: In Mage 2nd Ed. it is now possible to ward an area against temporal scrying.Middling to high-level Mages can do this.All the Mage has to do is to think of doing it before committing whatever act he wants hidden.Powerful Mages can immunize themselves from scrying altogether. This form of "locking out" has a fairly distinctive feel to it. Most Mages can feel the background prime running through the time ward. It's usually not a mystery to any Mage who encounters it more than once.

Sensory obscurement: While this applies to Kithain and obfuscated Vampires, it also applies to trying to listen to two Mages screaming at one another while a semi-truck passes by.Just because you can cast your sensorium backward or forwards in time doesn't mean you can actually sense anything.

Disturbances: Large amounts of released prime, such as a large battle, a paradox storm, the awakening of a node, or a large Time effect going off can have a sort of blurring effect on scrying.

Metaphorical visions: Not all traditions view time in the same way. Most techno-magickal versions of temporal scrying involve probability models and simulations designed to virtually re-create the event. this then is stored and replayed at leisure.often changing the angles of viewing. Some simply cast their minds back or forward into time and see what they see. But some paradigms are difficult insofar as they might not give a literal translation of future or past events. Dreamspeakers, for example, must often petition the spirits for their time-sight. They might ask the rock to share his sight (thus filtering the events through the rock perceptual filter.) or he might ask the fates or maybe a time elemental to show him the events to come. Even this might be unclear or cryptic. and in all cases, there is the question of Chiminage. Cultists sometimes have problems with needing to reach an altered state in order to see the timelines and then having difficulties with interpreting the outcome.("Well...All I saw was this big flounder eating Bob's soul...I'm not sure what to make of that.")

Divinatory methods: Often whenever I can I try to work real-world divinatory methods into a story.some can tell you much more than others and can occasionally send you in a new direction. but they never ever give you a completely straight answer.

Too much information: Scrying the past is fairly straightforward. The past has become concrete, whereas the future still remains abstract. Thus when looking ahead Time Mages often speak of Paths, or Threads, or Frames. (" in six out ten frames I see you getting killed if you break from cover.") The further that a Mage looks, the more branches in the timeline are seen until he inevitably suffers information overload.(I.E. a blinding headache and possibly a bout of quiet.) In some cases, depending on the individual or destiny in question, scanning an area of time ahead one hour is sufficient for this kind of breakdown.(just try it on a Marauder if you're feeling froggy) Even a simple reading for 10 minutes ahead can be misleading. Just because you see something happening in 6 out of ten frames doesn't mean that's what's going to happen. Likely?yes. Probable? Sure. Written in stone? Not on your life. Those Mages with a Destiny score are often harder to read than others.sometimes there are so many threads tied up in one period of time it becomes a veritable Gordian knot.

Personal transformations: Often, Time Mages have some difficulty reading themselves. Often the Avatar intentionally keeps information from the Mage. Especially in the case of some types of learning experiences. There might be clues and hints but your avatar refuses to spoon feed the future to you.

Use a few of these tips and you can put the Mystery back into your game and add a bit of flavor at the same time.

All Part of the Service (Werewolf: The Forsaken)

I got a call from a fella who calls himself “Dirty Ed”.  
I don’t know. Maybe he thinks it’s cool or something.

Dirty Ed is a Bail Bondsman. What he does, is put up 10 percent of a criminals bond, allowing that fellow to be released on parole until his court date. It’s a decent gig because many criminals, especially professionals will keep a bail bondsman on retainer like they might do for a lawyer. it’s like insurance in a way.

Of course, if a guy has his bail bondsman put up his percentage and then the guy decides maybe he’s allergic to court...Well, then the Bondsman is on the hook for the entire Bail.  Which is likely considerable.  Which is where I come in.

Bail Bondsman services either have their own bounty hunters, or they’ll sub-contract out. Technically. I’m a bail bondsman too.  I have a business license. I’ve got an investor and seed capital.  I just don’t have a storefront yet.   No Storefront means no clientele of your own.

I like the bounty hunting though. You could say it’s in my blood. That is if you don’t mind being a bit on the nose.

I was working on Francesca’s car. I’d told her that I was souping it up a bit. But I had been waiting for a part, that didn’t turn up in the mail until after Christmas. It was kind of embarrassing. But now I was working on installing the blower and putting a new exhaust package on her wheels. When I’m done, no one will believe it will go this fast. I also put on fresh brake pads.

“I got a tough one. Only you can do it, Butch.” Ed huffled into the phone. Ed had a reputation for somehow not being able to pay hunters who had saved his considerable bacon. He was perhaps one of those few individuals that you literally cannot intimidate. I know a number of guys threatened his life in some very creative ways.  He was 400+ pounds and maybe that had something to do with it.

The first time I had done some work for him, he tried to give me some song and dance about “Expenses” until I lifted him off the ground.

He looked surprised. Which is as close to scared as anyone has ever seen him.  I had my check in an hour.

Consequently, of course, he stopped calling me for work he could farm out to anyone he could actually screw. It occurred to me that he might actually be desperate.

“Stop rubbing my ego, Ed. It’s going to get all swole and then my pants won’t fit. What’s the gig?”

He huffed a bit as if I was being rude for not being flattered. “Aw don’t be like that. You’re getting a rep on the street for being able to dig out some of Oregon’s most dug in scumbags.”

“So I’m guessing this guy is like that?”

“Does the name John Freeland mean anything to you.”

Oh yes.

John was suspected to be one of the big wheels in the Aryan Brotherhood. I’d heard that Oregon State police had finally caught him and his merry pranksters transporting long arms and had jumped up and down on them until they were almost a fine red paste. If they could get any of the charges to stick, then John was looking at gumming his food before breathing free air again...That is unless he could roll over on his higher-ups.

“How in the FUCK did he end up getting bailed out.”

“Aryan Brotherhood pulled some strings and got him a serious lawyer. Prosecutor didn’t know what hit him.”

“And you put up his bond. Are you mental?  Dude like that isn’t going to roll and he isn’t going to swing either.  He’ll go to ground.”

“Which is just what I thought...But then his lawyer got me to change my mind.”

Either John’s lawyer is supernatural or just THAT good. I’ll ask Rusty to go round and look at him later.

“So let me guess. His court date is coming and you’re fucked.”

“I’m offering 1,500”

That gave me pause. Usually, a Bounty Hunter’s take on a job is a tiny percentage of the original bail.  This was double the take of any gig I’d done so far.

“ Wow. Ed, you must be seriously fucked. I’m kind of enjoying it over here. Karma isn’t a bitch, but she always remembers...”

“Look. I need him back in custody before end of business on Friday or my whole store is shut.”

“ Aw. Couldn’t happen to a more delightful fellow.”

“I’ll give you half down!”

I had to stop. I don’t like Ed much. But half down for a con not in custody yet, was seriously unheard of. I could practically see his upper lip sweating in my mind’s eye.

“I am going to regret this. I just know it.”

Within an hour, I was already regretting it. Ed had given me a check (Post-dated, and probably as bouncy as Tigger.) and his lean intelligence file on John Freeland. (Due diligence mother-fucker. Do you speak it?)

I went home, got myself a thorough shower, put on my one and only suit. (Yes sir, your honor.) and drove to the mailing address listed. I was greeted at the front door by a near-toothless woman in a shapeless kaftan and the smell of meth cooking somewhere inside.

“Wat?”

“Hello miss.” She could be anywhere between 17 and 45 with Meth mileage on her. I was just being safe.

“If you come to take the car, I don’ got it no mo.”

“No Ma’am. I’m with Holmes, Baker, Savage, Gillis, North, and Dean.”

“Huh?” 

“It’s a law firm.”

“I knowd THAT! What you want? I done got a continuance on my...

“No Miss. I’m not interested in you I’m looking for John Freeland.”

Her twitchy eyes stopped moving and locked in on me and then she tried to shut the door. I’m not terribly fast, but I was faster than that.

“Fuck you! Get off my door! I’ma get my gun!

“Miss! It’s about his inheritance!”

She stopped trying to close the door on my hand. She put one gimlet eye to the door crack.

“What’re you talking about?”

“His uncle passed away recently. Our firm represents the executor. The assets were liquidated and split among the living relatives at the executor’s direction. His bequest comes to almost 9,000 dollars.”

Fun Fact: When peddling a premise like this, It's tempting to make the uncle super-rich. Don't. I was going with the idea that the Uncle's main asset was a palatial double-wide trailer.

“Bullshit!”

“I assure you, Miss. No Bullshit. I have a cashier’s check in this briefcase for him. “

“Give it to me then!”

“Miss. My instructions are very precise.I must put it in his hands directly. Once he has it, my interest is at an end.”

I stopped talking and put on that face that Rusty does when he invites you to keep talking yourself right into the noose.

‘You some kind of Jew lawyer?”

“No Miss. I am a Quaker.”

Either she was chewing that over or didn’t know what that was. I knew which way I was betting.

“He don’ tell me where he goes alla time.”

I sigh. 

“That’s too bad, I could imagine that if someone WAS to help me locate him and give him this money, he might have enough gratitude to cut them a slice.”

...You got a pencil?

The address I am given is down-country from Mt Hood. Lots of little creeks and tiny lakes all through that area. Ritzy-titzy boat owners cheek by jowl with dudes who live in trailer parks and yet somehow still have a bass boat. Overwhelmingly white and deeply conservative.  The kind of place where I and the rest of the Gallowsbait MC would roll into and drive to apoplexy. 

This would not be a good job for colors nor my trusty bike, Lulu.  I gave the RV a good wash, checked over the regular bags that I kept stowed in there. And then went for a drive.  

One of the things that you learn over a few years of wandering is that Wal-mart LOVES live-in customers.  It’s not unusual to find RV’s parked in Wal-Mart parking lots anywhere.  You can connect up to the really large lamp-posts for power and there are cameras in the parking lot too. So if you skive off for a bit, there is the expectation that you’ll come back and you’ll still have all your stuff. This really only applies to the 24 hour Wal-marts. But most actual cities have at least one open all night. 

I park.

I snack on peanut butter and crackers and the occasional bottle of Watermelon “Juice” from Minute Maid. I cat nap. Dick around on my iPad and wait for it to be past 2 am.  I put on sneakers, sweats, and a sock hat. I put a pack of smokes and a lighter that I gave up almost a decade ago in my pocket. In case someone might see me. (“What’re YEW doing out in THIS weather?”) ... I say a short prayer to the higher powers for a distinct lack of sleet. I lock up the RV and head off across the parking lot toward a small patch of wood in between the Wal-mart and another section of the strip mall. I shift to Urhan and I am already warmer.  I move through a tiny section of suburbs like a ghost and then into fuller woods. I spend some of my carefully hoarded Essence for one of my gifts and I pick up speed beyond what an ordinary wolf could manage.

I had plotted my course with Google maps, Google earth, and the US topographical survey website.

And because I am eidetic. I have this map in my head.

About a mile before I make it to the trailer park. I am crushed by a deadfall.

Or at least I would have been, were I not already very very tough. A change of form enables me to shift the stupid thing off me and a few minutes of lying there catching my breath enables me to knit some of my bones back together. 
I seem to have this thing with traps.  When I can walk again without pain, I set a slower pace. Open my senses more and avoid a few more booby traps. Pit traps with Pungi spikes. The occasional home-made mine.  An antique claymore, which could probably still detonate.  I don’t take a chance with that guy. That shit is NOT what they pay me for.  I do turn him around just in case I have to cover a hasty retreat.

I crest the rise and get a good look at the place. I can see why none of the other bounty hunters got farther than this.  The trailer park itself is nestled in a natural valley. It’s like a figure 8. Plenty of trees and so on. Some industrious soul had brought in some kind of back-hoe and enhanced the already natural structure with some additional material making it into a full-on palisade. The back side of the park butts up against the lowest parts of Mt. Hood. Looks like there are septic tanks all the way around the park. Naturally, there isn't going to be much more than electric service out this way.

The front of the Trailer park looks like a great big concrete arch that blocks off the entry. You drive right in the front.  I think I can see a tiny lit sign on the left half of the arch proclaiming that it is the office and the emergency maintenance guy’s number.

This place is seriously fortified. Like they’re expecting a siege. Not at some point down the road, like Tuesday... I start paying attention to the details.  I mean, it’s not like they’ve got Wehrmacht bumper stickers or anything like that. But they’ve ALL got pick-up trucks.  You won’t find a Prius up here.  A lot of Dish up here.  This place is self-contained to the point, where I suspect that there’s an actual working well and a stockpile of Mail Order Meals-Ready-To Eat. I count 14 trailers I suspect one or more men per trailer. Then I see the thing that makes my blood run cold.

I see the tricycle.

I roll over onto my back and shut my poor angry eyes. I want to howl in frustration.

I had been looking at this like some military operation designed to stomp John Freeland and anybody who cut eyes at me while I was doing it.  I’m expecting him and his cronies. I’m not expecting their women. I’m not expecting their kids.  Leave aside any possibility that they aren’t also infected with that Aryan Brotherhood madness. It’s not likely. But I don’t kill families.

Not only that but I couldn’t see how I could wade in their without going full Gauru. And the herd can’t know. I’d have to kill them ALL.

There might be some Uratha that might consider that a small price to pay. I’m not one of them.

I look up at Mother. Fulsome and bright like a Mercury dime.  Nearly my auspice moon... I can’t infiltrate. Everybody would know everybody in that little enclosure. I can’t hit it head on without it becoming an utter bloodbath. I don’t have TIME for anything else really. I’m not the sort of Blood Talon who has that knack for looking at things and seeing all the weaknesses.  What am I going to do?

And then Mother smiles at me... And I see a way. 

I make my way back to my RV and I bed down.  Tomorrow will be a big day and the weather is calling for sleet again.

The next day, I walk into the Wal-mart. I cash my stupid post-dated check. Which fortunately for Ed, does NOT bounce, and I go shopping.

I buy a case of unlubricated condoms and a case of crystal Drano. The old school granular kind. I buy a crate of bottled water.  I also go over to the sportswear section and get myself a set of ear plugs and nose plugs. I buy a wetsuit.

I begin making my preparations, and then when I’ve got a moment. I call my daughter and ask her if she’s having a good day.  I then call Celene, (Straight to voice-mail, she may be trying to sleep, poor thing.)  and then I text Frankie (Who may be trying to doctor.) I let them know what I’m up to. Just in case this thing goes completely off the rails and I need doctoring, bailing out, or full on pack rescue.

It starts to rain then I can hear little peck-peck-peck sounds on the roof of the RV. Yesterday, I would have cursed this weather. Tonight it will work to my advantage.

I haul out a tiny black ruck-sack and put most of my materials into it. I wait until it’s almost 2 am again, and then I make my way back. I fill my body with my speed and my unnatural strength. And then before I am in sight of the compound, I sharpen my ability to do harm. It’s weird. It reminds me of those scenes in the Sherlock Holmes movies where Robert Downey Junior is mentally rattling off how he’s going to take some dude out.  Where Frankie might see ways to heal...I see ways to hurt.

It’s late. Few lights are on. Most folks are buttoned up for the night. With my gifts that I have working, It is relatively easy to leap over the palisades and land inside the ring. I choose to enter at the center of the figure eight.  

Each of the water bottles has been half filled with Gasoline. I have taken the crystal Drano and dumped it into the unlubricated condoms. and tied them off. Three layers of condoms on each.  See, gasoline will eat through a single layer of condom in about 45 seconds to a minute. This is an educated guess, but three layers ought to give me enough to place these. 

I move about in Urhan form to stay low and move fast. I come upon my first target. One of the septic tanks that collect the wastewater from the park.  I reach over and using my strength, start undoing a bolt on the top that would ordinarily require an enormous monkey wrench for torque.

I pop open the top, the smell of the effluent would normally have me on my knees and dry heaving, but that’s what the nose plugs are for. I drop the condom into the water bottle, cap it, drop it into the septic tank pop the lid back on and re-tighten the bolt. Total elapsed time. 24 seconds.

This might be tight.

I nearly get seen by a sentry, but thankfully I’m already in motion and he’s not sure what he saw. Maybe a neighbor’s dog out for a poo. I do hear the occasional dog bark. Most of them big dogs. Nearly always, their owner shouts at them to shut up.

I plant my Aryan Brotherhood “Christmas Presents” and then find myself a safe vantage point. I’ve only got one earplug in before the first one goes off.

There is a low whump. A column of flame reaching high into the sky, and then about a heartbeat later, screams coming from inside the trailer park homes as the explosions cause the toilets inside to explosively back up.

Then there is another. and another.

Something about this just makes me smile. These people are pretty shitty already. 

Shit and flames and screaming terrified people are everywhere and many of them come running outside half dressed and slip on the ice for good measure. I’ve chosen one of the many trees that would make this place a nightmare for a sniper and keep my head on a swivel. Finally, I see what I was hoping to see. John Freeland, clad only in jeans, and slippers and covered in shit slamming out through his front door and starting to yell orders.

Nope. Can’t have them getting their feet under them.

So I whistle as loudly as possible. And when I see him look at me. I yell. “JOHN FREELAND! ANTIFA SENDS IT’S REGARDS.  Then I drop to the roof of the trailer below. (Slick, but thankfully flat) and then I run and leap over the palisade wall.

Sue me. It seemed appropriate at the time and they reacted the way I wanted them to. Like I had drop-kicked the hornet's nest

When no one can see me, I ditch my earplugs, shift to Urhan, and then find a spot to stay low. Everyone is trying to get out but the shit and ice slurry is turning it into keystone cops out there. The menfolk are trying to get organized and dressed in something warm that doesn’t reek and grab ALL of the guns. There are, as I estimated around 17 dudes. Every one of them has some AR15 or shotgun. lots of knives. Bows and crossbows and shit like that.

The women-folk are just trying to load the terrified kids into the trucks and fuck off for the high cotton. 

I leave them a trail that a blind redneck could follow. I might as well. I’m not super stealthy like some.  But I can jack up a tracker something fierce by dint of simply leaping up into the trees and doubling back.

Again. I’m not super stealthy. I don’t get cute and try to take them out one at a time. But when the force gets spread out enough that the men are three man teams. I might leap up and scare the fuck out of them in Dalu form.  Fun fact: When you conk two guys heads together they don’t actually make that coconut sound.  I feel as if the Stooges lied to me. Do that to two guys and the third goes running screaming about the huge freak he saw.

I feel like I’m living the last half of Rambo: First Blood. I don’t necessarily want to kill these guys but I can NOT let them gang up on me. So a lot of this is psych-ops. 

I catch one guy alone. He tries to yell, but I slap a cobra clutch on him. Just like I learned from Sergeant Slaughter so many Saturday mornings ago.  He goes down like a sack of bricks.

I see one of John’s “Sortie groups” coming. Well...I smell them first. Each man has a long arm. and they could still technically put me on the deck with them. But before they know it I have leaped into their midst and I am laying about myself with Butchery.

I do get shot twice, but in seconds the rest of them are down on the ground and holding some part of themselves in agony.

I take a breather. shift to Urhan. Heal a bit. keep an eye out.

Freeland has been directing this little battle from a jack-leg command and control post but since I’ve put more than half of his soldier on the deck, he’s come out to see for himself.

From my vantage, I can see that he’s got some tracking chops, and maybe a little military experience too.  He’s got three guys in tow. Each of them armed to the teeth. From my vantage point, I peg a rock at the head of the guy in the center. >pok!<  Down like a bag of wet cement.

The other two guys look at each and start firing wildly in what they think is my direction. It takes a good 20 second of Freeland yelling at them to stop before they hear him and can try to calm down.

I take a moment and reach down for the Dalu bass in my voice. “Children. I have no interest in you. But John Freeland will be mine this night. Run and I’ll forget all about you.”  

And then before they can pinpoint my voice. I dummy up.

John surprises me. “ Go ahead, boys. I’ve got this. “

They look at one another wordlessly and then turn back up the path.

John walks out into the clearing. “OK Antifa. You’re about to see what the master race is all about.

I should describe the motherfucker shouldn’t I?  6’10” if he’s an inch. Broadly framed and heavily muscled. Like me, his body is covered in ink that tells a few stories of bad judgment and the prison time that followed.  He is stripping off his reeking shirt. He cleans off his torso and his face with the clean bits. He doesn’t seem to feel the cold at all. Maybe he’s trying to work himself up into some kind of berserker rage or some crap.

I step into the clearing.  “MR. Freeland. I am a bonded authority and I am here to take you in. I am going to assume you aren’t coming peaceably.

He gets a good look at me. “Shit...Don’t I know you?”

“Yes sir you do. La Jolla Penitentiary. Sometime around 2002”

“I seem to recall wiping the floor with you.”

“You did.  You’re still coming with me.”  Then I show him my silver eyes. You know pure psych-ops rattle him with the lunacy some. He’s actually a hard combatant. I could use the edge at this point.

Only...he doesn’t even blink.

Uh oh.

“He reaches behind him and pulls out a blade about two handspans long. It is silver and it catches Mother’s light.

So...You’re one of THOSE huh.  My dad was one of those. I fucking hated my dad.

He lunges.

Ok. So this is a quandary. I can NOT let him stab me with his big silver knife

*I pivot the high part of my torso. As his arm comes in. I slip underneath and smash the nerve cluster under his armpit with my balled up fist. He does not drop the knife.*

If he hurts me significantly, I’ll death rage and considering he has a silver knife. I might be the one going down if I lose my head. 

*He shifts his weight then drives his elbow into my face right around the orbital ridge of my eye. and then he draws a line of white fire down my face and torso with a shallow slashing cut. unthinkingly I shove him. I still have the strength advantage and he sprawls a bit before recovering his feet.*

Also: I won’t get paid. and after this, I feel I should get paid.

* He flips the knife around Spetsnaz style and comes in high looking to slash me or maybe nick my hands and forearms. unaccountably he leaves his jaw open. I shatter it*

He makes a kind of “fuffguggling” noise when I do this. Only, I am horrified to see that his jaw is already starting to re-knit itself. Taking advantage of his momentary discomfiture. I grab ahold of his knife wrist. We struggle. He’s strong. At the moment I’m stronger but also more wounded. He gets a loose hand and digs a thumb directly into my eye. It really hurts. His own eyes are a seething maelstrom of hatred and madness. Neither of us has good footing. A slip in either side could mean it’s all over.

Then I remember, and just in time too...That I am smarter than him.

I shift my weight by throwing my feet out from me and then effectively Power-slam him

I snap his wrist. His big silver knife drops nervelessly from his hand and lands in the snow. 

From this point onward, it’s just me breaking bones. HIS bones.

Then at some point, I throw his insensate body over my shoulder. And walk back to the RV.

I do pick up the big silver knife and put it in my rucksack. Not a tool...more like a trophy.

When Mr. Freeland regains consciousness. He is handcuffed and his thumbs have been zip-tied. Also,  he has about 14 bungee cords securing him. He is largely healed from our conflict but has nothing to say as I have placed a gag in his mouth. He stays more or less in this particular configuration until I remand him to the custody of the State Prosecutors office.  Fun fact: John Freeland, noted domestic terrorist is not a fan of the Spice Girls, nor, is he a fan of my singing the many many hits of the relentless juggernaut of Power-Pop that is, the Spice Girls.  If you need any other proof of his low character. Look no further.

The fire at the trailer park made the local news. The Aryan Brotherhood is taking up some collection or something to rebuild from ANTIFA terrorists or some dumb shit like that.

Ed is so overjoyed, He pays me on time.