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SCB – Mickey

You know we nearly ended the human race….

Until we figured out that wasn’t a good idea. Unfortunately for us by the time we figured that out we outnumbered the food 30 to 1. So we were desperate, and lacking in options. The infighting between the clans and the species started to kill us faster than the humans could. And the starvation? Forget about it. We fucked up that bad. So we decided, well not “we” but a handful of us more forward thinking creatures of the night decided, that we will broker a deal between our world and the food. We were again a small minority, so it took a while and much desperate pleading to come up with a deal we both could live with. And not just something that’ll last a generation or two, but a status-quo that’ll last for now and the futures, future. Because unlike the food, we live a long time have a greater interest in keeping our promises (since violent death is the usual way out of them). So we sat down with the humans and decided that a small percentage of the your population will be our allowance, to feed on or to replenish our numbers.

And what was in it for you? Human civilization. The right to choose your own Renaissance and the benefits of having to only worry about serial killers and rapist at the wee hours of the night. Without the Treaty and this organization enforcing the rules…well need I remind you of the dark ages? Of the early attempts to settle the America’s? The rise and fall of Rome? I would like to blame religion but its a matter of ecology. To us, you are food and the incubators of our children. But to you? Well, their less kind nouns in your dictionary to describe us. Low words like virus and parasite. Pathogens that invade your blood streams and warp your DNA to suit our needs.  Is it a surprise you find theological reasons to cover up the base fear you have of us. Of our invisible power. Not really.

So what we have here is the old americana debate. The price of freedom, but not in the traditional sense of guns, glory and duty to country. No in the real world, its backroom deals with devils and men you’d call monsters. It’s selling your soul.

So in the meantime, it’s my job to keep sup world’s side of the bargain. The status-quo most be defended, that’s where the S.C.B comes in. Supernatural Census Bureau. To keep track, to take account, to smooth over and to eventually cull when necessary. I hate my job. Vamp clans, werewolves, keeping the zombies in the Nevada desert. Not my idea of a good time. My own people hate me. And for what? Keeping their mouths fed, keeping the heat off them, keeping the secrets of our existence in the dark where its suppose to be. And don’t get me started on the immigrants. Your division does too good of a job and you get them coming over in droves; wide-eyed, drooling mouths, not very concerned with how you runs things. That’s the one thing that bothers me, no matter how good you get at maintaining the status-quo there’s always a need to crack heads. Always. And in my opinion, I mean I hate to talk bad about my own people, but vampire covens are the worst. The worst….

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Samson : Note 1

I was born in a test tube. Can’t say I feel any particularly way about it, maybe some base distaste for being a crime against nature from the day I was slated to be conceived.  I have no brothers and especially no sisters, for I am a clone and the term brother couldn’t begin to describe what it feels like to be around one of me. Humans talk about love, love for family, love for strangers. But they don’t know respect, understanding, knowing someone not by word or action but by smell and thoughts unspoken. This “respect” is fostered in the litters in which we were born. 24 man-made souls, from 872 capital ships, raised over a period of 14 years, and taught all the basic essentials of life, mostly what we are, what we are meant to do, and the meaning behind doing so. The meaning is the most important, not because having a purpose in life is important, but because that’s what you’re suppose to understand to avoid being weaned from the litter. Out of 24, seven of us are bound to wash out and those bound to wash out rarely turn the age of 10.

“For we are the glory of mankind.

We fight in their footsteps and through the mouths of angels.

We bring the rains of hell upon the foul things that pollute the motherland with their very existence.

We make life short and bleak for those who fester under the sun and below rocks and even under the sea if there is yet more evils to be found there. ”

And so on and so forth until our lives are ground into dust by the reclaimer protocol that claims our corpses when the enemy has finally slain us. It is, as we like to say, a brutish existence not becoming a softer toned men. Softer tone being that of our human handlers, some too anxious to join the battlefield in glistening armor and flaming sword. We try to discourage the spirit the best we can in those that seem a bit too, “into it”, as the softy’s would say, so at least only those fully trained and ready in body and soul can stand in the darkness and freedom as we do, as we have been born for.

Some of our a soft tone handlers, most from divisions not considered to be part of Noah but part of a greater slice of the government with many branches that my kind are vaguely privy to, would often go through great pains to personally ask why us Samson’s, lauded for our great intelligence, seem content with our “grim fates.” Why we don’t rebel? Which even now, several years into this war, is a primary concern of those who distance themselves from the institution that is Noah.

I have answered this question a few times. Usually with a wizened laugh, stating their concerns are drowned under several facets and sufficiently buried underneath several layers of reasons and understanding. The soft tones have misconceptions about the nature of intelligence, inherently so being very much far removed from what is necessary for survival. For humanity intelligence is merely the sum of facts gathered purposely under a keen mind. In mans natural habitat, the universe simply yields results and the only wall to overcome is the ignorance of the unknown. But for the rest of us, archiving facts means little, and nothing “yields” unless savagely broken. To know, to study, and to ultimately overcome an intelligence keen enough to evade your pursuit, or better fight back, is the greatest show of mental prowess. So they (not all) inherently misunderstood what it means to have a firm head on ones shoulders, at least from our perspective.

Now you can blame our ‘nature’ on the weaning, or our indoctrination from a young age. Maybe its the genes, though no one can deny we were bred to be aggressive, if not eager to spill and cause mayhem. Each layer of reasoning has its toll, though I’ve never meet a Samson to complain about it. The assumptions that we’re either happy to be used or seething with bitterness, is a misconception. To rephrase, we are tools, that much is obvious, but we do not take orders for the love or hate of it. It’s not the adrenaline that rides our veins, or any particular high or thrill that ultimately allows us to swallow the heavy pill of our fates. As a Patriarch is a man, not of science, math, or reading, but of necessity, if not mere students of disciplines long forgotten to time and the Exodus, we Samson’s are students of war. And like any good student, it is not the pleasure, or the ease that drives us, but the necessity of the subject in question. Because someone must learn it, we are merely the volunteers.

Can anyone imagine? Full war-time production of Samson’s can reach, 20928 at any given time, with a six-month delay between batches for each ship can only contain at max 3 litters of potential troops. Not including the ones who are weaned, this method of thinking, some may call even twisted, is shared by each and every one of them. Through potentially 20928 life experiences, or 62784 souls at max capacity. This is why we are clones, not brothers. Clones can differ in behavior, temperament, thought process, and can even deal with variations in environment, but eventually…. you are what you are. And if the core is right, ultimately they’ll avoid getting weaned, and the soft tones will declare another victory for the glory of man.

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Patrick D Mortal : January 25th, 2010

“So I have a joke to tell. A young man visits a catholic priest for his monthly confessional. Same day, every month, every year, for 40 years since this gentle old man was transferred here back in the 70s to replace some big shot who packed his bags for California, or Vegas. Never one for the small details. Now this young man was a peculiar young man, not necessarily for the content of his confessionals, but for one small little detail that few people are apt to believe. And thankfully this kind old priest never reports. For no what matter what day or season, no matter how often you cut the cheese on the math, this young man doesn’t seem to age.”

“Don’t find that funny? Ok maybe you simply don’t find it possible. Fair enough. You might find what I’ve been telling the same man, every month, of every year, for forty years funny. Or maybe you already think I’m crazy. But I can tell you’re new so maybe I shouldn’t bust your chops. ”

“I don’t think your crazy.”

“I think I misspoke. It’s not that I can tell that your new, it’s that I know your new, to here anyway. Henry died didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah he tends not to miss our chats. Stroke wasn’t it? Or plain old heart failure. Told him he needs a new heart, but stubborn bastard didn’t listen huh.”

“I-”

“Don’t worry, I don’t mean to disrespect, Henry was a friend, who also thought I was crazy but after sometimes he started to believe me. Or at least understand me.”

“Father Henry was indeed a good patient man.”

“Don’t I know it. Gentle souls like him show up but not too often. Told em once that I was considered converting back in the 1920’s when this cathedral was first built. Helped out Cardinal Luey when they nearly burned the place down and figured why not. Been avoiding the cross for about as long as it was invented. Remembered spending sometime up there myself, figured I rather not wear any reminders around my neck for fun. Didn’t seem right to me, but you know times change and you figure why not? Wouldn’t hurt me none, but you know I came from a time when your words stood for something and in the end I figured I rather not join your club, conflict in interest and all.”

“Father Ron?”

“Yes, yes…just give me a moment to think.”

“Hey don’t wreck your brain over it now, give it a minute, you’ve heard wilder yarns huh? Tell me I’m wrong! And besides I came here to confess remember? Just wanted to loosen you up a little.”

“Anyway, here’s the thing, it’s January the 25th using a modern calender correct? Well I can’t be quite sure when it happened. It’s been so long that at this point I’m just picking a random date. Same day every month no exceptions. Easy enough rule to follow I guess. The day, the month, hell the year doesn’t really matter. Cardinal Luey got me hooked on venting my problems. Considered me a troubled youth when we met. Well ‘youth’ compared to him anyway. But defiantly troubled, gliding on a pound of opium and a half a gallon of moonshine troubled. Even to this day I’m not sure what month, or year we met. I got the 25th off a newspaper so not sure it was the 25th. But you know it, that meeting, returned some sanity to a very dark time in my life, so short of excepting the lord and savior in my heart, at least I try to drag ass to the same old spot and keep it open  with whatever change I’ve managed to collect along the way.”

“Now in hindsight you might be thinking, being the priest of a New York cathedral and all, that I’m some boozing and whoring druggy that needs to see the light again. A month here and that is to be expected and it’s not like I haven’t enjoyed boozing and fornicating. Its  a sin for me to say otherwise. But at the end of the day, I like you have less material concerns to sleep at night with. In a way we deal with the same problem, just on different scales.”

“What is it son?”

“The object of my confession. The words I’m afraid to utter….”

“Don’t be afraid to confess your sins before the Lord son.”

“Sins? What if I told you that 2000 years ago aliens abducted me, tore me apart, and put me back together? Than they talked to me. Explain to me what they are, where they come from, and what they do. What they did to me? What they made me into, their gift to me that I didn’t deserve. A gift you’ll think that I squandered if you believed me. You see they made me immortal, as in doesn’t die unless exceptionally violent means. What would you do with eternal life? On earth I mean. Aw you’d be beside yourself. Me my future was grunt for the Roman Empire or shoveling dung and making horse shoes…so frankly I was rather short on bright ideas back than. And there was the catch hanging over me. Always a catch, though not like I had a choice, abduction and all. If I wanted to opt out all I had to do was pick an excessive painful death. Otherwise the catch applies.”

“Oh not curious huh? Figures I’ve lost me marbles and all sense. Heard it all now? Well fair enough. But I just have to tell you anyway. Its my sin you know. Not in the sense of what I’ve done but in the sense of what I’m going to do. Pretty bad stuff. Ready? Sitting down properly? Used the restroom recently? Ok thing is, the catch, pretty damn terrible thing to have over your shoulder. Didn’t believe it at first because well, 27AD shit shoveler who can’t read just couldn’t imagine it. 2000 years ago they, the aliens, looked like Gods to me but now? We put a man on the moon for christ-sake, s’cuse my cursing, and that was only 50 odd years ago. So yeah my perspective changed over the years and it started to hit me, about two hundred years ago, that the conditions regarding my relative immortality may need to be taken seriously.”

“And you may be thinking, get to the point all ready. And I will, just need to swallow some bile as I say this. Again disturbing to think about really. I remember what they showed me, their plan and how they go about it. Makes eternal lakes of fire sound about as tame as water-boarding is to be skinned alive. You see at some point in our natural history, as science marches on, we’re going to look beyond putting a man on mars. And when we do we’re going to want our space ships to go farther, faster so we can colonize planets further and further away. When this happens, when the day comes when we’re at the cusp of truly exploring the cosmos to plant our seed on foreign soils, I have to make a phone call. A long distance phone call to the same people that made me what I am today. And they’ll come, not in peace, or to make war. There too advance for either. They just want to neuter us. Tear us apart and than leave those behind with a bare minimum of functioning brain cells. Sparing only me.”

“And that’s just PG abridged version. Are you imagining what they’ll do to me if I don’t call. I can’t, but they’ve told me. In terms I’m still not able to understand. But I rather that not happen. Any of it. Either way you slice it. So that’s my dilemma, that’s my confession.  Every January 25th. Till that day comes, because I don’t know what I’ll do. I mean I was never a strong person to begin with, so I really don’t know… and the fact that I don’t know what I’d really do…isn’t that a sin?”

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November 24, 2108

Happy Thanksgiving, I believe you have much to be thankful for. I read the second email you sent after the 15th of September. Yes I will be attending the wedding in December. Now on to less loftier matters, the speech pretty much confirmed a lot of conspiracy theories you picked up on the web, some I believe myself. The African European State Union, AESU for short, is real and is happening. The paper work will take a while, but when they get that conglomerate up and running we are going to have a big shape up of regional powers. At worse this may cause panic, which will show up as tension, and may escalate to something more. This is pretty much unprecedented, no one really knows what to make of it. If you want to know my theory (which you probably do), the old OWG is rearing its head on this one. Many of the OWG are praising this move and I can’t seem to blame them, the world just got smaller.

P.S, if you’re going to send pictures of your supermodel wife to my email, the email of a soon to be married man, at least make sure you’re in more than one of those pictures.

-November 24, 2108- Erik Riddler Burton to Becker Bradley Jr. On November 27th, 2108 the French Prime Minister also severing as the president of the EU speech was leaked to the public. In this speech the Prime Minister called nationalism the root of all evil, and called for all nations to make way for a new age, where the people will live on one earth and under one sovereign government.

Check out War Story, because your up here ->>>, when this story started down there <<<—-

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In the Apartment of Evil

Back up takes the fun out of daemon hunting, but the League of Shadows takes the tedium out of hunting necromancers. I could call them right now if it wasn’t for the 4th level abomination sleeping in some assholes basement waiting to be sicked on hapless teenagers. They’re better at the more boring assignments, the ones that don’t involve undead pirates and possessed grandmothers, but lean towards the subtitle difference between H.P Lovecraft and someone sacrificing goats and virgins in the backwoods by a lake shore. Granted, there are 6 billion people on this planet and despite all advances in social media and travel, it’s impossible to thoroughly investigate every Wicca club in the state of Missouri let alone the country. Sometimes they arrive too late and counter-demonology 101 has to be dusted from the shelves, friends need to be sacrificed….

Which is partially why I am rummaging through the mail Mr.McCoy leaves haphazardly in his bachelor-pad/apartment/condo. Who knows what their called these days. It’s a box on top of another box with two kitchens and a thick wall dividing the two renting units. One bed room, one bath, one living room and room enough for two barely adult sizes tables that denote the dining room from the living room. He as an impressive library of science fiction, pulp fiction, and old school fantasy before Dresden Files and Song of Ice of Fire with the occasional college textbooks un-open since the day it was bought. His TV looks expensive but only that, there is no sign he actually sits down and uses it; his cable is basic, his game systems include the original Xbox and an N64, and his fridge is mostly lined with beer and flavored tequila.

His closest is light on the wife beaters and jeans and more on the button ups and other business casual “comfortably working in an office” drape. No D&D, no He-man, or even a fetish for Star Wars. A guy with more condoms than video games probably stopped wearing his geek on his sleeve years ago. And most disturbing is no occult. None. And I’ve been to necromancers apartments, most don’t think to hide that type of shit from plain sight, some are more than proud to let you know they firmly believe gibbering horrors from beyond space-time did or should rule this workd, usually by way of undisclosed human organs laying about with crude “insert your favorite ancient civilization” runes and inscriptions mapped over floors and jars. I personally tend to start worrying when I start seeing Scandinavian/Germanic runes inscribed in various bodily fluids, no offense to anyone but when people start asking the “frost giants” and “dark elves” to cross the rainbow bridge from their cozy dark corner in the multi-verse into the “middle-realm”…well lets say the Viking’s disappeared for a good reason…

Was I wrong? I’ve been here for two hours without noticing, god I’m still bad at this. Stopped Iran from doing the “other” type of nuclear research (the kind that involves less boom or more num) but can’t find a single vile of “cocktail monster bait”. Well, if I think about this logically, he may have a lot of people come in and out his apartment for one reason or another. It would be a buzz kill for a one night stand to run into your collection of satanic rituals 101. Few necromancers know guys like me exist, not for the lack of paranoia on their part, but for the simple reason that while stories of witches are rather prevalent, the guys that hunt them are far less popular. This is partially on purpose (secret government agencies and the league of shadows wouldn’t be quite secret or shadowy otherwise) and mostly because the potential witch to hunter ratio is very skewed on the witch end. And besides the few bastards that slip through the cracks look less like Magikarps and more like Gyarados when they finally make the radar again, meaning there are few to none who are truly qualified to put them down.

Though I’m sure he isn’t that dangerous. I mean come on, what kind of social outcast doesn’t have an Xbox 360? I need his cellphone and or his laptop (no **** desktop to hack? fucking serious?), but I’d rather borrow his cellphone for now. So I do what any sensible king of the ocean floor has done for generations…hide under his bed just when he comes waddling in at 10pm in the evening, talking loudly and boisterously on his cell-phone.

“Look I’ll have next week column to you by Friday, I just spent all day at Starbucks getting the ideas down… Look I know, I know was late last week but Vicky came through didn’t she?… I know I know your paying me not Vicky but… Ok, ok I got you, rough draft before the clock hits 12, you have my word!”

Click

He settles on his bed by flopping on it, pulling out various cords from his briefcase/carrying bag before finally slapping the charger against the wall and letting his apple shinny rest after a long day in McCoy’s back pocket; which going by how readily this bed is touching the floor, it must have been rough. Real men have Androids, but I resist the urge to point that out, he needs to go to sleep or sit on his work desk, which ever is easier on my poor legs. He of course does neither, instead he dials another number, the phone whizzes back into action and another voice, defiantly male comes into speaker.

“Alex whats up.”

“You know whats up, they just found the girl.”

“Oh…”

“Where is Katherine?”

“Checking the cage.”

“BY HERSELF!??!”

“God no, she toke O’Hera and Joey with her.”

There was a long audible pause as both men breath sighs of relief.

The man on the other end breaks the silence,”So who stopped HIM.”

“Wasn’t me.” says Alex sharply.

“Next meeting we need to talk.” the distance sound of family obligations can be heard from the strangers phone.

“Yeah, yeah sure.” hangs up McCoy.

“I could slit your throat right now.” It wasn’t a threat but a promise. But my rage will have to wait. Bumping him off now will trigger a flight or fight response that always ends me up in Texas (whoever made this universe did two things wrong and one of them was Texas).

Besides they’ll be all together soon enough. In the mean time I’ll take my Mandriod and  connect to his I-crap, using my double whammy. Now don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate the good ol’ days when all you needed was a ward soaked in the entrails of a local thief and a few cursed items (basically objects with soul(s) tethered to them). And yes I could have easily made a few sandwiches with Alex’s brain for the information I need. But there is a time, a place, and a measure of caution you must have and I’m sure my predecessors would appreciate how much easier technology makes the busy work associated with daemon hunting. And besides stomping around in the mind of a normal person is traumatic (for them) but fine, doing the same to a person who just came face to face with a gibbering horror is varying degrees of dangerous and extremely traumatic but its doable, but…. the mind of someone paranoid and actively engage in magic… no way to not leave a mess (that’ll usually result it your choice in serious mental disease(s) or a mind wipe of the last 10 years of their life as a bonus), or hit a trap (see making messes), or leave a dead body(the other way of dealing with traps). And the worst case scenario IS leaving a cold unresponsive body behind…  Maybe I am being too cautious but I’d rather not try to stop another easy assignment from crossing the Mexican border if it can be helped.

But as far as my double whammy, oh man what an awesome little device(and my only device). Connects to any phone. Check. USB enabled device. Check. Even has an extension for using fake credit cards to access ATM’s using bluetooth. Check. And best of all, none of those apple tards can use it. Go Mandriod. Without even having to crack his password, my Android app loads his shitty Apple OS and gives me complete access to his phone from the comfort of real smart phone position five feet. away Silently I go through his call history looking for the names of his mentioned friends.

“John Percy of course, Katherine H’Lee,”

Contacts.

“Joey H’lee, Jill O’Hera? Bingo. Wait…”

I nearly laugh. An alarm set for 4 am in the morning. Basically dawn. Looking at my target again, if I had met him 12 years ago he would be an overweight chili-dog stuffer but now he is reasonable buff, except for tell-tale signs of alcoholism starting to set in around his gut. He doesn’t fit the profile of a skinny, nebbish little man with wet black hair and beady little eyes. Instead he is has graying sandy blonde hair that stands at attention even while being rolled over a pillow. Light blue eyes and the type of “adorable” baby face one would find in a Seth Rogen comedy. No one would believe this asshole killed over 20 people, or that his actions are chewing at the fabric of space-time and inviting more of his pet Cthulhu’s to our little corner of the multiverse. Nay.

….

Oh the ease of hiding in the back of a car, a hot ward fading me into the shadows of an Mitsubishi Lancer, as Alex tumbles on in and fumbles for the keys. The only trick is staying silent, even as he throws his briefcase into my abdomen without looking. I could have shadowed him from the comfort of my car but its hard to notice someone following you in a small town at 4am in the morning. Especially when you go out into country side and all there is for miles is highway and corn-stalk.

“John.”

“Morning Alex.”

“The sacrifice, you found one?”

“Of course.”

“Boy or girl.”

“Girl.”

“Katherine will bitch.”

“Let her! Look, I’m stressed enough as it is and besides our mutual friend specifically asked for one.” John points out.

“Still one more missing girl, especially after… that…that Jessica girl the cops will think a kidnapper/rapist is one the loose.” Alex sighs.

“No, I heard from my cop friends that their blaming it on drug-sex traffickers or something like that.”

“Seriously?” Alex’s relief passing over like waves.

“Yeah they found a meth dealer eviscerated in a bath tub. They keeping a lid on that part.”

“Oh…but still…”

“Yeah I don’t like this more than you do, but lets’ get this over with before my kids wake up.”

Some 45 minutes later, not counting the 30 minutes it took to not even be half way there, Mr. McCoy parks the car. I look outside and all I see is two sports cars that looked that they starred in the fast and the furious, a Ford minivan that looks like the envy of suburbia and a grey Chevy Altima. All of which are surrounded by tall grass and wheat and an old shack looming in the foreground ominously. However Alex doesn’t seem to notice, he slams the door as he heads straight for the barn. I stare at him waiting for something horrible to happen but nothing does. Weird.

I step out the car and immediately my ears start to ring. Getting back into the car seems like a great idea, in fact driving away seems like a really great idea…

“So this is what it feels like to be repelled.”

Ok good trick. I ignore the ringing, the anxiety, the cursing myself for not simply taking my own car and for the most part it helps. Except the ringing, it seems to only get louder and its coming from my ward. I touch it and its blazing hot.

“Only a really good mesmer.”

And I push forward, hit something solid, realize what it is too late, reach for my ward too late, feel each hair on my body catch fire as my tongue dries, my eyes sizzles, my throat gurgles yesterday’s stomach acid as my entire body is being plugged into an outlet and all I can do on time is scream,

“SooON OOOOoooOOF AAAAa BIIiiiiiiIIITccccccCCH”

And yes this will be edited

                                                                 

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September 15, 2108

Don’t feel so guilty, I couldn’t have read your email even if you sent it earlier. I’ve been working on a theory on synthesizing atoms into molecules using very complex magnetic fields. Ok you probably don’t want the long explanation on how you can possible do that, so I’ll go directly to a topic of interest. But I do have to say congratulations on getting married. I see you have come a long way from drunken senior at the freshmen orientation party. Be sure to remember to invite me to the wedding.

I still haven’t gotten over NATO being disbanded; I mean wow times have changed huh? From what I’ve been able to glean, it appears that the EU and AU are discussing the nature of their organization and how the UN will play in the future. With the CAU (Central Asian Union), PAU (Pacific Asian Union), MEC (Middle East Coalition) being considered the concept of single states unrepresented by a larger body is becoming unlikely. The UN was originally an organization that facilitates relationships between individual states. However, with a lack of individual states and the relevance of large international organization, can the UN actually act in the best interest of states still unaligned with their neighbor?

P.S I can’t help but think we are going in the wrong direction. Maybe it will all work out in the end.

-September 15, 2108- Becker Bradley Jr. to Erik Riddler Burton. The French Prime Minister, severing as the president of the EU at the time (recent EU laws allow Prime Ministers of individual EU states to be appointed to the Presidency for a 28 month term), invites the AU leaders to a special two months long conference to discuss the future of the EU and AU in the international stage. The closing speech will be televised at all cable and local stations during 11th of November, 2108. However a month later the EU cancels the televising of the speech.

Check out War Story, because your up here ->>>, when this story started down there <<<—-

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April 2, 2108

Becker I greatly apologize for the lateness of this email, a lot has happened since our last exchange. I have a fiancée now, and the wedding plans, my web column…so much stuff I need to take care of! But at last now I have finally time to address concerns you are probably too busy to truly meditate on. Congratulations on your Nobel Prize!! I did get a chance to read that article concerning your work, unfortunately I did not understand a word of it, but I wasn’t a science major at USC like you were. Now concerning the meat of this message; I have to say I too am startled at the speed in which our world is changing. Though many would say “progressing”… I leave the word choice to you my friend. Do not be mistaken what Doc. Trenton and those who have published similar pieces of work are suggesting, is a One World Government. By proxy the United Nations, the largest international body to date, would be a logical starting place for these reforms. The idea flaunted a year ago is now a full-blown political movement, global in retrospect. So the idea of reforming the UN, though grass-roots at best, is not completely out of the question.

But the movement soon realized that they will be hitting a brick wall, unable to adapt a true One World Government, or OWG for short, through the UN. It might not make a lot of sense inherently, but it is quite common sense to people who understand the nature of the UN. The UN, despite the bureaucracy, is still a democracy with very loose and limited powers over the individual laws of member states. In which case you might as well say it has no powers over its individual members, except the power provided by enforcement via sanctions. Even then, sanctions, if even voted on, can only “strongly” persuade a nation from its original course; which again assumes said nation even cares. UN cannot be vested more power beyond its initial democracy and even if it did; we by all means would love to see the UN actually enforce these powers (which you might have deduced it can’t).

Many would argue that if all nations adopt the same laws unilaterally, according to whatever guidelines that come out of the UN of course, that the UN’s job will be made easier and we would have a true OWG. The plan coined the Universal Constitution is a logical idea, but lacks foresight. As I, like many others, have pointed out; even if you do get everyone to adopt a Universal Constitution unilaterally to avoid the mess of having each nation vote to adopt it, than by what means do you ensure that there isn’t 100 different versions of a legislative document that you couldn’t get anyone to vote on in the first place. Not only would enforcing one version of that document be impossible, finding a version of the Universal Constitution that all the states of the world can agree on will defiantly never happen.

So thus a new, even more efficient approach was taken, where the UN simple recognized “nations bond together by treaty or alliance forming a union. With the exception of alliances formed solely for the purpose of co-military dependence or trade.”Effectively allowing the EU, AU, and the USAN to be voting blocks with the weight of all its member states, instead of observer status members or only allowed full participation during certain occasions at best, and also effectively reducing the number of countries needed to pass resolutions without getting rid of vital votes. The perfect start to the OWG, since now individual nations held less sway over the decision-making power of the UN. Pressure for nations in the Middle East, Asia, and even the USA with North American region, to become part of a multinational organization sharing a common currency, possessing a legislative body, common borders, courts, free trade, and joint military is mounting.

-April 2, 2108- Erik Riddler Burton to Becker Bradley Jr. Becker never got a chance to read it until September 1st, 2108. NATO was disbanded August 29, 2108, because of concern over non-EU nations having influence over the global policy of the EU. America, Canada, and Mexico form the NAU, North American Union, August 30, 2108.

Check out War Story, because your up here ->>>, when this story started down there <<<—-

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A Day in October Part 2

“Jessica”

My face is an inch away from hers, but her attention, and her panic, is drawn to the combat knife I hold  in front of her saucer like eyes.

“Understand me, I do not intend on using this on you.”

She doesn’t believe me of course, but I don’t need her to, the knife comes down and brushes lightly against her throat, drawing blood as it slowly misses her major arteries, leaving no more than a paper cut behind.

“I know I did this before, but I need a fresh sample you see.”

And I slide the blade over my tongue.

“Mandrake… wolf-bane…garlic….. basil? Basil? Seriously?”

I read the confusion in her eyes as she mumbles complaints through her gag.

“You were roofied by amateurs, all the pros know to use paprika.”

No one knows what that’s suppose to taste like I wanted to add, but I notice her following the swaying movement of my dagger and sigh.

“Really?”

I hold the blade in front of her, her panic fully taking in the jagged, almost predatorial, nature of the seven inch knife that stole her breath. Granted it’s a damn terrifying instrument; few weapons I’ve come across give the impression that a great white contributed to its design.

I put the knife away.

“See” I hold up my hands, “no knife.”

For her credit she hasn’t peed herself once. She  blinks and exhales several minutes worth of carbon dioxide, nods her little head back and forth, sobbing a little but relatively calm. Taking my actions as slow and deliberate as possible, I cup her cheek in my hand and cradle her head as gentle as newborn.

“I need you to be calm.” I whisper.

I take her head in both hands and squeeze until her skull rigid in my grip. She doesn’t cry out in panic, by sheer force of will she stops herself from thrashing about vainly in her bindings. Not so much as a whimper escapes her gag. I try not to smile.

“I’m going to do something horrible to you. You will not enjoy this and I can not reiterate how unpleasant it will be. If you panic, if cry, if you fight me in any way, I will gut you like a fish.”

She doesn’t bother to nod but she knows I understand, though she is way off about my intentions, her relaxed body and emptying mind (“think of England” she mutters over and over again) will do. And besides I rather she not call my bluff; leaving a brain dead med student in the care of local authorities and worried sick parents leaves too much evidence behind for my taste. I may be a king, but I haven’t been to a country where hiding a body isn’t simpler, easier, and far less strenuousness on the diplomatic immunity. So with a shallow breath I open up the sardine can most people call a mind and start making sandwiches.

….

“Hey”

I wear my business casual smile with a hint of “aw-shucks, look how embarrassed I am” and awkwardly bring out my object of interest.

“Does this guy frequent your shop?”

The cashier/owner looks at my sketch of a slightly overweight Caucasian male, with heavy horned rimmed glasses, chubby perpetually rosy cheeks, a good old boy smile, and hair that hangs in wet mope like fashion over a comically flat forehead.  Recognition comes easy.

“Percy?”

“That’s right.”

“Is he in any kind of trouble.” The comic book stores owner’s face re-actively recoils at the thought.

“No, no nothing like that.” Disarming smile and awkward nebbishness turned on to max, “He wanted to sell comics on…craiglist, yes craiglist, but he is kinda hard to find and I came all this way, and well….”

“John Percy buys comics?”

“He’s a big collector.”

“Well he doesn’t buy any here.”

Looking at around at the mid sized collection, I can imagine my Percy boy reading but never buying the latest issues, huddled with 2-3 other disenfranchised man-child’s bemoaning the canonical nightmare which as become the Walking Dead. Or maybe he comes here alone, his friends teenage years of idle time spent behind Starbucks and bookstores long buried under the demands of sleep and menial jobs.

I shrug “Buys online?”

He shakes his head, “Probably.”

“Hey it was nice to meet you,”  I hold out my hand for him to shake which he does  vigorously despite the searing sensation, “And don’t tell him I was here looking for him.” A command not a request, but he doesn’t notice the difference, so he’ll nod and smile and forgot I was here all the same. He also doesn’t notice he has been marked, the price for the inscription a last courtesy from Jessica before the cops found her in a sleazy motel in the more rugged side of town due to an anonymous tip. The cops will eventually find a small time street dealer (whats left of him) in the bathtub… I don’t make any pretenses about killing an innocent, it could have been a mother of three, or a grampa coming back from vacation, marrow is marrow and after making a sandwich I get hungry. And besides I leave the vigilantism to the Bruce Waynes and Frank Castles of our universe, I tend to keep a good relationship with the criminal element– a few aspiring pimps and mobsters helped saved the world a few times.

….

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“John Percy went to school here, you was his main literary teacher.”

“I’m sure he was but as you said before that was 18 years ago. I’ve had thousands of students since than, and quite frankly most of them aren’t worth remembering…. Why are you interested in him?”

Scratching the back of my neck and pretending to struggle to keep eye contact with Professor Milesaw, “I’m a reporter from the Missouri Bugle and it turns out your former student has made quite a name for himself. I wanted to get the first interview with the man who he admits inspired him so much.”

Milesaw puffs his chest in pride and leans forward, “Oh that John….” he really wants to talk out of his ass but some invisible force seems to be holding his tongue,  I smile as he literally chokes on his bullshit, “…. no….”

Memories are like terminates, they’re not hidden and they don’t go away, there only waiting for a good reason to come up.

“John Percy he was nothing special, but his friend, Alex McCoy, he was a true talented. You should read the story he published through the school paper, he was like a Steven King.”

“So your saying Alex also inspired John? Funny I’ve interviewed Mr. Percy and he never mentioned Mr. McCoy.”

Milesaw yawns, “Well I don’t know what happened with those two after they graduated. In my opinion the class of 1992 as a whole wasn’t the same after that incident that happened 18 years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well many dropped out, I think John was one of them. Every school in this county and a few of the neighboring ones across Missouri closed for two months. Even some of the colleges and of course this one.”

“Really?”

“How do you expect people to react when there is a crazy axe murder on the loose killing people’s children?”

I hold back a smile; you’d be surprised how quickly people get back to business as usually when their crazed axe murderer leaves evidence that looks less like that creepy guy next door and more like a giant honey badger.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about Alex.”

“He lives on the other side of town at 1421 Malbarry Rd.”

“How did you know that?”

“He uses me as a reference for his free-lance jobs and sends me thank you letters.”

And with that I tap his forward head and guide him as he feints.

“Thank you for your help but I need you unconscious.” I angle him into his seat, “But,” I lean in close to whisper in his ear, “your password per favore.”

“1122345”

…..Honestly better than the Japanese Defense Minister’s home office password being “123”.

John Percy being a college drop out explains the bartending gig, he doesn’t look the type to appreciate free drinks and boobs. But Alex, yeah he defiantly sounds like a player. A quick query for his name in the archives of old school papers using the good Professor’s desktop gives me a hit… well call me cthulu. May not be mountain of madness, but he didn’t get his master of horror degree from “i think too much about candles and pentagrams with my other weird friends who dress in all black.”. He was that kid and a cool one at that if Milesaw could appreciate him. Wearing your satanic worshiping tendencies on your sleeve was rather frown upon until some depressed teenagers made it cool sometime mid 90’s. His short story “the Witch behind the Wardrobe” reads less like a pious manifesto and more like a genuine leaning towards what man shouldn’t know.

“I’m jumping to conclusions.”

So was assuming the 6’3 bartender that marked Jessica and Kevin would be a big comic book nerd.

“Rule 1 of the multi-verse: If you seek it, you will find it or it will find you.”

I have two names, one address, and all I had to do was a make a little girl relive the night her boyfriend got eaten… several hundred times.

And yes this will be edited

                                                                 

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A Visit to the Shrink

“I see here that you’re a recovering sex addict and alcoholic.”

“Yes”

“You’re twenty-two years old.”

“I don’t see how that is relevant.” the boy fidgets.

“Well, it is quite unusual for an adult white male of Irish descent to be a recovering sex addict and alcoholic, and to have self admitted himself for both.”

“I’m not normal.”

I give him an apathetic grin.

“Well give me an example.”

“I have these thoughts…. I mean all the time…and…and… I can’t turn em off… I mean it’s always sex, even now always sex and…and… all the female nurses, the positions…. I came here because I thought you can help me?”

“I didn’t mean to take light of your…condition… Can you tell me, what are you in these daydreams?”

“I often bend them over an-”

“No” I interrupt, “Not what you do, but what are you.”

His eyes glaze over as he tries to remember. I try to give him a healthy push in the right direction, though too healthy and he’ll foam at the mouth gibbering about the end of space-time.

“I…I don’t know…”

“So you’re not you.”

He pauses, almost in a self-induced blue screen, before slowly restoring his easy bake brain to proper sentence forming ability.

“No…”

And that’s all I need to know before I lock the door and disable the cameras. He panics, but he doesn’t make it to the door before his skull hits the green and white tiles.

“Sorry.”

Matt Crossneck was the lone survivor of an unsolved murder/disappearance 6 years ago when he lured away Stacy Daniels, age 15, from a friends pool party one autumn weekend. The police found plenty of blood but no body. A dazed and confused Matt Crossneck, covered head to toe in lacerations and bruises, was the only witnesses and shortly suspect, but no one wanted to believe a drunken 16-year-old with not so much as a learner’s permit can dispose of a body as quickly and efficiently as a thirty something 6’2 overweight white male.

That was six years ago. And considering I’ve spent the entire day pouring over this towns more violent headlines, this is the closest thing I have to a lead. And I nearly missed it because the age groups don’t match. Unless my supernatural grizzle bear has a girlfriend, I’m guessing whatever ate my mark last night probably establishing a pattern. Eighteen years to this date, a group of college kids were eviscerated at a house party. Would go down as a typical Friday the 13th unsolved except for the fact that besides the blood and gore, very little of their actual bodies were found. And while this is Missouri, the local cops at least did their job as well they could, considering how many police records I’ve read in how many languages, I would know. Nevertheless, whoever wrote the scene had no fucking clue what happened. Besides maybe the victims being chewed up by a lawn mower. Drag ass to twelve whole years later and this young man is the solve survivor to what I take is the same kind of nasty event, just on a smaller scale and a much younger age group.

The case gets mighty curious from here. And my desire to hunt it is starting to burn out of sheer curiosity than compulsion.

The age thing stumps me good. Understand that daemons are creatures of habit, because what tethers it to this plane of existence is mighty thin and the slightest hint you don’t belong here registers a kick in the ass by the universes firmware. Like a good virus you want to inmate natural occurrences in our world. Or you simply want a defining set of rules and procedures that govern your behavior. At least for a bottom feeder daemon that withered its way into our world through whatever crack chance the multi-verse gave it, them’s the options. And because them’s the breaks, you end up having to care about little things, like what you eat….

Now I’m not a monster hunter. Though I’m highly qualified to do so. I’m more of a case worker. Because monsters don’t exist. Really they don’t. But that’s the lie we tell people to ensure that they don’t really exist. I want the little sheep to believe that just over that fence there isn’t a pack of hunger wolves. Frightens the sheep and excites the wolves, lose lose situation in my book. So while I rather not run around protecting all the sheep, and lord knows I can’t, I’m very much compelled to do so. Not because I personally want to, but because a geas is a bitch of a thing to have. The type of soul binding destiny trap that ensures that like my daddy before me and his daddy before him, I’ll be a farmer just like them. The kind with the shotgun pointed at the fence, snarling at whatever comes through.

So yeah I “could” have saved them. The boy anyway. Funny I call him a boy when I probably not that much older than he is physically. But doing so, wouldn’t give me a case. And I work cases. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, and by extension the geas that runs my life. So while I’m really not a therapist, and not exactly one to care much another mans sexual deviancy, or the lack there of, I figure I do Mr.Crossneck a favor and get rid of his hang up for him. A little on the house I guess, so I press my fingers against his temples to make the mucous green circles around his irises disappear. When I arranged the meet, I noticed he had them, which is how I knew the cases were related off the bat. Terror is like disease passed on by the most harmless of actions, lying dormant for years while silently eating its host alive from the inside. When he wakes up he will remember nothing and his grey hairs will stop growing at an alarming rate. However when ladies look into his eyes, they won’t be mesmerized by tiny sliver of demonic magic desperately  trying to pass its evil on to the next host, which means he’ll get laid less often but he’ll thank me when he can finally settle down with a girl that likes him for him. Or he’ll be alone forever, he is a special kind of loser this one.

In any case I’m done here, so  I “persuade” a nearby orderly to call for a janitor and consider the lack jawed patient lying in his own pool of blood as merely an office accident a few stitches can work out, before driving to my cheap motel for some RR and Colombian roast.

Returning to my cheap motel, the case greets me as the papers rustle when I slam the door. I yawn, none of those will help me now, so I shove them aside and unpack the testing equipment. Microscope, blood slides, PH testers, intoxication metrics, and various instruments for detecting genetic abnormalities and hormone levels. Sighing, I have to wonder why I insisted on doing this myself instead of giving it to the league of shadows or trusting in the governments counter occult agencies for once. I’ve already prepared a 2000 page training manual that should be relevant for the next four decades (in 6 languages no less)… No, I should know better than that– my predecessor would.

So I prepare a blood slide for Matt’s blood sample. I was sure to take it before I exorcised his inner demons, but I kept my fingers cross that what I’ll find would match the sample I took from the woman I have gagged in my bathroom.

She kicks and screams just when I look inside the microscope, both are muffled noises to me and defiantly mute points to the outside world, but nevertheless rather annoying.

“Jessica.”

Her name doesn’t calm her.

“Jessica, do understand that this is the safest place you can be.” for other people, “And I have a lot of work to do. The quicker it’s done, the faster you can go back to your banal life of frappes and gossip girls.”

I’d figure all the pillows I layered the walls and floor with to mask the sound of her constant banging would be appreciated. It’s easier when the female gets eaten, no one care about a young male who hasn’t been seen in two weeks. But let little miss sunshine not call her mom in twelve hours and there will be a squad cars on every third block. Only the multiple wards I have in place keeps this sleazy part of town out the police radar. For now anyway.

“Fucking necromancers.”

I take a good look in the mirror before heading off to complete my work. A blood sample would be all I need if I’m right. I keep my fingers cross.

There are two problems with this case. One manifestations are creatures of habit. Pure and simple. They are picky eaters and generally prefer under aged meat. Monsters, apparitions, ghost, aliens, adults may see them, but children believe in them. If a real life gray skin alien were to show up on your front porch any rational adult would think Halloween came early. Or some comic book convention has found its way to their town, or a movie was in mid shoot, or anything to discredit the possibility of the supernatural. That’s the magic of adulthood, we wish our reality to make sense and it does. However children, especially the ones who haven’t hit puberty, aren’t very picky about how many arms and legs actually belong on a ten foot tall spaghetti monster.

Which becomes a problem when some asshole brings the spaghetti monster to our side of reality, because children don’t care about the laws of physics or understand why cockroaches can’t be 20 feet long. Habitually slaughtering scores of children is what most low-class abominations do when tethered to our plane of existence. Which leads to the second problem, the difference between Medusa and the Minotaur. Medusa was her own lady with a big grudge on men, hunted by an established MO, and did it by the several dozen. The Minotaur however was the pet daemon of a mad sorcerer king who found a relatively cheap way to kill people by gruesome wild animal. Why is this so important? Because one involved a necromancer who can summon these things over and over again, and one was a freak accident involving a particularly pissed off lady saying the worst kind of prayer, when the stars have aligned.

The lesser horror doesn’t match the MO. Hunts young adults, but doesn’t bath in their blood or even preys on the same age group. He’s obviously nesting here but hasn’t established a meaningful pattern. Six years ago it attacks Matt and Stacy at a pool party, kills Stacy, leaves Matt relatively unharmed, though he clearly was part of the menu. twelve years before that it slaughters 16 young adults, all between the ages of 20 to 26, but stops.

The blood work is conclusive, no match.

“Figures.”

But my theory matches. Something was unintentionally summoned 18 years ago, either by a bunch of goth kids who had nothing better to do, or by a really intelligent young man or woman(as unlikely as it may be never rule out the women) for the sole purpose of handling a certain group of people.  The problem is few bottom feeders are interested in anything older than 12, so most likely whatever came through wasn’t particular easy to handle. Especially considering whoever was behind this probably didn’t think their dabbling into necromancy 101 would actually work. Whether or not they actually knew their lesser horror actually existed, I can’t tell, but the second part of the plan involved spiking someone’s drink with a particular set herbs and spices. Not something to get drunk off of, but a discrete way to train their pet daemon on a particular group of people. For this to work with the minimal amount of collateral damage, they’d need a house party our necromancers of honor weren’t invited to (naturally). What follows next, any B-rated horror slasher film can tell you, but the main point is that 18 years later Jessica, and probably Kevin as well, has trace amounts of something voodoo in their system. The type of soul binded pocus that stays in your system for years. My honest guess, after the deed was done 18 years ago, the sorcerers involved probably put two and two together and realized what they have done. And didn’t feed the beast for 12 years….

And yes this will be edited

                                                                 

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May 30, 2107

To all confused readers. This post and similar post I, the wuzzman, will make like it are not part of the main story, i.e Story of a David, but are separate entities which are given their own categories. Please enjoy this short story which will be updated once per week and do come back for other new stories or shorts posted through out the weekday. Again sorry for any confusion, I do enjoy your rage too much.

“We lack the humility of our fathers”, my dad tells me after reading Doc. Trenton article. While I understand why it has gone through most intellectual and political circles, the fact that copies of it can be found in the local newspaper is quit startling. Though I do not have the time to follow the news lately, recent work at the lab gives me hope we can make major headway in large-scale atom realignment.However I do not wished to go uninformed for too long, so can you please tell me your opinion of this quote;

“The worlds inequality can be explained through simple deduction. Are we not divided by nations, along borders, govern by laws, that inherently ignore the fact that we all live on the same planet? Competition between countries, which is all but natural considering the nature of a nation, will produce winners and losers, and the losers will inherently be the very people who these states claim to protect. Why is it then a surprise, that a large portion of the population in any society remain in poverty? Yet simply knowing this does little good, we have known for years this is the outcome of our political system(s). It is only by doing, through appropriate action, that we can come to an absolute solution that benefits the people. First, by acknowledging that a divided world is inherently an evil world, lacking freedom and equality that we the people deserve. Second, and by far the most important thing to acknowledge, is that we all live on one planet, and for the benefit of every living person in that planet, should be a government that protects all the people of that planet.

P.S Good points you raised last time.

-May 30, 2107- Becker Bradley Jr to Erik Riddler Burton. Becker Bradley earned the nickname the Modern day Alchemist during an AP science article published in July 4, 2107, concerning his work in magnetic fields and atomic bonds..

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