In The Valley of the Wolf

The Devil Makes Martyrs Of Us All

Eight months.

Seventeen days.

Six hours.

Thirty-three minutes.

Twelve seconds.

Every step he took since then echoed the sound of shovels scraping against the damp earth.

Every whisper of the wind was an “I love you” that he’d never hear again.

Every breath was a sin committed against the memory of their last.

Every night when he closed his eyes, he saw that rainy afternoon again. Every night on repeat, like the mindless children’s cartoons he’d never watch again.

Everything failed that day.

The car’s brakes.

The guardrail.

The concept of a just and loving God.

And when the car stopped rolling, when he could see the lifeless body next to him, could hear the silence in the backseat, so too failed his grip on sanity.

It was a cruel twist of fate. Three people got in the car that morning. Two loving parents and the unyielding optimism of a child. And by day’s end, the only one still breathing was the only one who didn’t deserve to.

Every morning when he woke up, he was somewhere else.

The family plot where everyone he had ever loved was buried.

The abandoned stairwell where he had murdered his best friend in cold blood.

The vacant lot that once held the nightclub where he first met her.

The warehouse he once painted with blood to save her life.

Their first home after returning to the United States.

A different memory was relived every day, all connected by the gun in his hand. He never had the nerve to pull the trigger, though. He knew they would meet again and he could never face the sorrow on her face if they had reunited on his terms.

So he wandered on, a shadow in the bright lights. People would occasionally recognize him and he both pitied and envied them. The man they knew, the man he knew, was gone. That man was still in the car, still screaming their names, waiting for a response that would never come.

That man was a hero, a legend. He had spat in both God’s and the Devil’s face alike. He had shed gallons of blood and spilt dozens more. Women wanted him and men wanted to be him.

He had it all, until he met her and realized that he had nothing.

He had it all, until she gave him a daughter and realized that he could have so much more.

He had walked away from his old life for her, for them. She told him that it would be the death of him, and she was right. And so here he was, in front of a glass tower, ready to put pen to paper, praying that he could fulfill her prophecy.

But even if she was wrong, deep down he knew that he’d always end up back here. It had been too long.

It was time Hell came home.

Bump in the Night

Elena Piero probably took her job too seriously. Or she would have, if it actually paid. But since it didn’t, it could only be called a hobby at best. Since she was 23, she had researched leads, unearthed rumors and practically anything else that went into producing wrestling dirt sheets. Having grown up in suburban Toronto, it was only natural that 4CW was considered “her” promotion.

It was fair to say that a lot of her job consisted of unpaid PR-work for the 4CW brass. Most of the time she spread the rumors, leaked the news, and told the lies that they had wanted her to. That’s not to say that she didn’t have a few tricks up her sleeve, though.

The juiciest rumors, the ones that actually paid enough to get her within a stone’s throw of the poverty line involved the hirings and firings of wrestlers. Unfortunately for her, that information was kept under lock and key. Fortunately for her, the boy who had crushed on her all through high school was one step below “brass” at 4CW. One pity fuck later, and she had the inside scoop before most of the company did.

Which made it all the more curious that he was knocking on her door.

Pulling away from the apartment door’s peephole, Elena made sure that her folding knife was in her pocket before she went to unlock the door and let Michael Carson in. He wasn’t physically imposing by any means, and was obviously madly in love with her, but once you play with that part of a man’s anatomy, you never really know what he’ll do to play again.

Elena: Michael… uh… what are you doing here? Its 11:30 at night.

Michael: I’m sorry, I know this is most irregular. Can I come in?

Elena opened the door further and motioned for him to come in. Carson gave her a small, awkward bow and stepped into her apartment. Not taking the time to even silently judge her, he paced to her couch and sat down.

Elena: Mike, what happened?

Michael: We hired… someone.

Elena sighed and leaned against the hallway’s wall. She knew this day would come. She started to mentally prepare herself for having to sleep with Michael again, while the other half of her brain desperately tried to avoid it.

Elena: Is your phone broken? You could’ve texted me like you normally do.

Michael ran his hands through his hair and looked up at Elena, for the first time letting the bewilderment show on his face.

Michael: That’s the thing, Elena. I don’t know who it is. They won’t tell me, and I can’t find out on my own.

Elena’s brain froze. This had never happened before, anywhere. She moved from the hall to the chair opposite the couch and sat down, instantly and irrevocably intrigued.

Elena: Then how do you even know they did anything?

Michael: That part wasn’t hard. At some point last week, $100,000 was added to the company payroll. There’s no hiding that. What they were able to hide, however, it the recipient. No employee information, nothing tax-related, not even a routing number to send the money to. Whoever he is, this man’s a ghost.

Elena nodded and let herself ponder the possibilities. She was 30 seconds into the case and could already tell that it would be the scoop of the year. Something that would give her real credibility. This could legitimatize her.

Elena: What do you mean when you say “they won’t tell you”?

Michael: That’s the part that scares me, why I’m here. I think they legitimately don’t know.

Elena: That’s insane. Someone has to. It’s not like they just throw that kind of money in the air and let it fall wherever.

Michael just shrugged. An investigator he was not. He was hardly an executive. He had only gotten into management when his on-screen job had been cut. Elena tapped her chin. Was the hiring even legal? Secrets were meant to be told, but this was something else entirely. She made a mental note to cancel her date for tomorrow night. Even if she could never publish what she found out, this was her new priority.

Elena: I’m assuming this information is confidential?

Michael: Yeah, it always is, you know that.

Elena stood up, implying that Michael should do the same. It wasn’t until she moved towards the door that he got the hint and leapt to his feet.

Elena: If you hear anything else, you let me know, ok? And if I figure anything out I’ll… I’ll return the favor.

Michael smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was the closest thing he had gotten from her to affection since that night of unrepentant passion. Maybe he was getting somewhere after all.

Michael: Of course.

Elena closed the door behind Michael without so much as a goodbye. By the look on his face, maybe she wouldn’t have to sleep with him again after all. Her mind was racing with possibilities. Countless names, new and old, logical and audacious followed one after another. She was so engrossed that she physically jumped at the thump on her door. Cursing Michael, she stormed down the hallway and opened the door to an empty hallway.

Nearly empty hallway.

She didn’t see the note until she started to close her door. It was an envelope, pinned to her door with some sort of spike through the peephole. She ripped it off and retreated back into her apartment, her sense of danger overruled by the adrenaline. The envelope held a simple piece of cardstock with three lines on it, obviously written with a typewriter. This wasn’t an impulsive move. She sat on the couch, note in hand, memorizing the words.

Don’t go looking for snakes.
You might find one.
-The Kaokame

Oh, go looking she would.

Last edited by Dread Pirate (Tue-18-Apr-2017 01:23:33)

I love it. The mystery thickens.

There is a House in New Orleans

Lady Adams’ Apothecary
French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana

She was an easy target. From his darkened corner in the musty, old shop, he could see her clearly through a maze of trinket-lined shelves.  He had long since slid his boots off; he wanted to get as close to her as possible before the floorboards creaked in alarm. It was slow going, minutes of controlled breathing and the silent shuffling of his feet. All the while the middle-aged woman never looked up from her cards, engrossed in teasing out the universe’s secrets. He was nearly upon her when he first dared to lift his hands. His knuckles, already white with tension, brought his fingers into position, ready to wrap around her neck.

And then without warning she swung around in her chair, a dagger pointed at his throat. It certainly looked ceremonial, but the nicks on the leading edge told a different story.

The man held his hands up in surrender for a moment before the two of them shared a twisted grin. The woman’s dagger dropped back to her waistband as the man took a chair on the opposite side of the table. The woman held one hand up, resembling an outward-facing fist and placed it on her forehead, a combination of the sign for the letter ‘E’ and recognition or knowledge.

It was sign language, but it was the closest thing he had ever had to a pet name.

E: [One day I’m gonna get you, Marie.]

Marie: [For the last time, I’m mute. Not deaf.]

E: [Someday, you’ll have to tell me how that happens to a kid.]

Marie paused and looked back at E. Instead of answering, she simply smiled. She would never tell. The ghosts of Jonestown needed to stay buried. Taking the hint, E leaned back in his chair, looked around the shop and sighed.

E: So this is voodoo chic? Is that even a thing?

Marie: [The tourists seem to think so.]

E: And the tarot cards?

Marie: [$15 at Barnes and Noble.]

The two shared a laugh, something E never could get used to. Sometimes he felt that it wasn’t that she couldn’t speak, she just simply… wouldn’t. Nevertheless, he looked around the store to make sure it was empty and leaned in closer to Marie.

E: [What were you able to find out about my newest fan?]

Marie looked at E blankly and put her hand out across the table.

Marie: [The silver?]

E reached into his jacket and pulled out a cloth bag. He jingled it for her before tossing it across the table.

E: Oddly poetic, even for you.

Marie: [I just needed to know how committed you are.]

E couldn’t help but smirk.

E: What else do I got going on?

***

Elena Piero stood on a street corner, fingering the third, and most recent, note left to her by The Kaokame and couldn’t help but think that maybe she had been had.

Finding one man in New Orleans would’ve been easy enough, even if she knew what he looked like. She didn’t even have that, though, and after four days of wandering, she was ready to go home. However, seeing as this was the closest thing she had taken to a vacation in years (and the farthest south she had ever been), Elena had decided to brave the godforsaken humidity and do at least a little sight-seeing. Three hours of wandering had taken her here, to a crowded corner in the French Quarter. Unfortunately by now, she had become a little dehydrated and her hands didn’t work as well as they should, and her fidgeting had led her to drop the card onto the sidewalk. Cursing herself, she bent over to pick it up and froze as the hairs on the back of her neck came to life and stood on end. She looked up and two blocks away, through the crowd she saw…

Him.

She didn’t know how or why she knew, but she did. There was something ineffable about his gait, how he checked his surroundings before slipping into the small store. She had no proof, but instantly she knew it was The Kaokame. Her investigative skills now at full speed, she allowed herself to be swept down the street by the crowd until she was across the street from “Lady Adams’ Apothecary”. She then pulled out of the crowd into a narrow alley and pulled out a cigarette, trying to look as casual as possible. It might take all day and night, but she wasn’t leaving Bourbon Street without her answers.

***

E sighed to himself as he thumbed through the last leaf of paper in the dossier Marie Adams had made on Elena Piero. Satisfied with the information, he set the manila folder back on the table. Although she looked like a respectable lady, she was anything but. Her underworld connections were leagues beyond anyone else that E knew. And he knew some horrid souls.

E: [Well, she’s certainly a threat.]

Marie: [You have no idea.]

E stiffened. Something in Marie’s eyes said more than her hands ever could. In an instant, he knew. He had gotten too cute with Elena. Despite all of his instincts, he never once thought that if he left a trail of bread crumbs for her, that she would actually follow. And yet here she was. Resolving not to let panic overtake him, he looked around the store for a remedy.

E: Can I borrow a few things?

Marie simply smiled and gestured towards the cloth bag of silver on the table.

Marie: [Why do you think I made you bring the silver?]

E went to get up, but was stopped by Marie’s hand on his forearm.

E: What?

Marie: [Remember this. You can lie to the whole world and tell them why you’re coming back. You can lie to me, you can even lie to yourself for all I care. But don’t hide behind them. Its not fair.]

E opened his mouth to say something before thinking better of it. He left Marie with a single kiss on her tear-stained cheek.

***

In the alley across the street, Elena Piero was focused on The Kaokame, trying to glimpse his face through the smoked glass storefront. So focused in fact, that she never heard the muffled footsteps behind her and never even felt the chloroform soaked rag clamp over her nose and mouth.

***

Three hours later, Elena woke in her hotel room with the soul-crushing knowledge that she had been raped. Resolving not to cry, not to be a helpless victim, she tried to throw her sheets off and begin the process of documenting the unspeakable. The sheets wouldn’t move. It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t her weakness ensnaring her, it was the fact that the sheets were… tucked in? Enraged by this new affront, she ripped her bed sheets off with all her might and froze.

Her pants were still on.

And furthermore, there was a vase of roses on the desk across the hotel room. Elena sat for a moment, trying to piece the facts together. She had been attacked, drugged, she knew that much. But whoever took her had the… ‘honor’ (Elena couldn’t quite agree with that word, despite not having anything else to call it) to not only take her back to her room, but put her comfortably in bed, all the while making sure that she would know that nothing untoward had happened to her. And the roses?

What the hell?

It wasn’t until Elena pulled herself to a sitting position, running her hands through her hair that she saw the note stuck in the flowers. It was across the room, but by now the she knew the card and exactly what it had meant. The Kaokame had done this. She swung her feet to the floor (no small feat, considering her state) and made her way across the room. It took longer than it should’ve, but once she got it, she knew it was worth the effort. Unlike the previous three, this note was handwritten.

“Elena-

Sorry, but this secret isn’t yours to tell.

          -The Kaokame”

Mobius

Note: Please excuse the lack of accents on the Spanish. For the kids that don't remember, special characters are a lot harder on actual keyboards.

Estadio Quisqueya
Santo Domingo
Dominican Republic

“Tap! Tap, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Breathing heavily through his sweat-soaked mask, The Kaokame pulled harder on El Cangrejo’s neck. His Reverse STO had been sloppier than he would‘ve liked, but he had the Koji Clutch locked in tight. There was no escape and both of them knew it.

“C’mon! You’re gonna get hurt!”

The Kaokame was sure that El Cangrejo spoke English, but there was no cognition in his eyes. He was fading, and fast. Knowing the end was near, El Cangrejo started to reach for The Kaokame’s face, eventually getting a finger inside the mask and into his eye. The Kaokame yelped in pain but didn’t let his grip slip. The referee saw this however, and moved in to break the hold. The Kaokame rebuffed him with a frantic shake of his head.

“No! No! Estoy bien. El masque, el masque!” he lied.

Seeing that his final gambit had failed, El Cangrejo let his arm rest on The Kaokame’s side and slowly slipped into unconsciousness. It was only after he had heard the bell ring twice that The Kaoakme released the hold he referred to as “Angels Fall First“. Untangling his arms and legs, he rolled backwards onto his knees and watched his opponent come to with a shake of his head.

“Idiota.”

The Kaokame got to his feet and let the referee raise his arm in victory. The sparse crowd cheered. There couldn’t have been more than ten thousand people in the stadium, but it was easily one of his favorite places to wrestle. The heat and the humidity gave any match a sense of… reality that a sterile arena could never duplicate. It gave him a much needed edge. It had been years since he had wrestled and he was clearly jumping into the deep end with Supreme. Fortunately, he still remembered how to swim. The Kaokame rolled out of the ring and walked towards the makeshift locker room under the bleachers as the ring announcer declared his victory.

“Y aqua esta tu ganador… El Kaokame!” (And here is your winner… The Kaokame!)

***

This was bullshit.

The Kaokame had wrestled three times during his warmup tour, and his mask and cloak smelled like a dead rat. It soaked up sweat and blood and simply let them stew until he was a walking petri dish. Unfortunately, he had no other options. He could try to get to Miami early, catch a redeye flight to London and try and get his gear cleaned professionally there, but the timing would be sketchy and that increased his chances of being seen exponentially. And simply suffering and wearing the gear was out of the question. One more match under the bright lights and he’d be considered a biological weapon in the worst way. The Kaokame lifted the bottom of his mask over his chin and took a sip of water as he came to terms with what he must to.

At Storm Front, he would unmask.

True, he wanted to wait, all the way to Gallows End if he could; that show was special to him in so many ways, but there was simply no way. He started to sigh, but was interrupted by the show’s promoter, Esteban Jimenez barging into the locker room.

“Oh! Eres un mago, mi amigo!’ (You’re a wizard, my friend!)

“Gracias”

The Kaokame winced as he got to his feet. El Cangrejo had some strange… grounded, body-scissored abdominal stretch in his arsenal and it hurt like hell. He winced again as he saw Jimenez pull out a check book.

“Asi que, a quien debo hacer este chequeo?” (So, who do I make this check out to?)

“Escriba lo que quiera, pero no me voy sin dinero.” (Write whatever you want, but I’m not leaving without cash.”

Jimenez simply smiled and shook his head.

“Adios”

Jimenez only managed a half step back through the door before The Kaokame was on him, lifting up by his shirt lapels a full three inches off the floor. The Kaokame got nose-to-nose with the promoter and growled in his face.

“Usted me esta pagando etsa noche.” (You’re paying me tonight.)

Jimenez recoiled in fear for just a moment before a light of recognition flashed behind his eyes.

“Mierda, si hubiera sabido que eras tu, te habria pagado el doble!” (Shit, if I had known it was you, I’d have paid you double!”

The Kaokame was taken aback and put Jimenez back on the ground. He was so startled, in fact, that he didn’t notice the conversation switching to English.

“That scar on your chin…”

“… is one of many.” The Kaokame replied, self-consciously tracing the white line under his lip with his finger.

“But one-of-a-kind, nonetheless. I saw you get that, years ago.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, no, I did! Not in person, mind you, but I saw it happen. A cinderblock wall, no?”

The Kaokame blanched, his hidden face as white as his mask. This was not good.

“Oh, esto es bueno, muy bueno. Finalmente algo que me lleve por delante de esos gilipollas en San Juan. Incluse Boyle Heights, tal vez.” (Oh, this is good, very good. Finally something to get me ahead of those assholes in San Juan. Even Boyle Heights, perhaps.)

The Kaokame showed a predatory grin and stepped towards Jimenez, backing him into a corner.

“Una sola palabra de esto y le dire a la policia sobre tu pequena farmacia en La Calle Rosa.” (A single word of this and I’ll tell the police about your little pharmacy on The Pink Road).

Jimenez smiled and raised his hands in surrender.

“Bueno. Ahora, mi dinero?” (Good. Now, my money?)

The promoter pulled out his checkbook again, forcing The Kaokame to slap it out of his hands and shift back into English in frustration.

“Cash! Fucking cash! Its not hard to understand!”

“Ok, ok! Dios mio…” Jimenez muttered to himself before looking back up at The Kaokame with a quizzical grin. “Say, where were you last, anyway?”

“Port-au-Prince, just last week.”

“Let me guess… Lafontaine?”

The Kaokame nodded and Jimenez couldn’t contain his laughter.

“You… you… you took a check from a fucking Haitian? Did they drop you on your head there? Jesus!”

“I.. I don’t know, man. I don’t speak French. It just kinda happened.”

“Ok, ok. I feel bad for you, hombre. So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll give you the double, what I would’ve given you, had you shown your face. Let my kindness teach you what side of Hispanola you stay on. In return, whenever you unmask, decide that you are going to be who you are, you have to come back. No me importa lo que diga su contrato.” (I don’t care what your contract says)

The Kaokame thought for a second. Frustratingly, he once again had no choice. He had to trust Jimenez. Staring intently at the promoter, he thrust his hand out. Jimenez shook it and smiled.

“Meet me in my trailer after the show.”

The Kaokame shook his head in dissent.

“Half an hour. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Leaving so soon? Come on, spend one night in Santo Domingo. I even know of a… little pharmacy that will give you free samples.” Jimenez pleaded with a sly smile.

The Kaokame backed away and started putting his belongings back in his duffel bag.

“What can I say, Esteban? London’s calling my name.”

The Scabbard's Song

Pullen Park
Raleigh, North Carolina
United States

    Eddie Wolfbaine sighed as he leaned back on the park bench, taking in the scene in front of him. Spring had long since sprung, and the humid southern summer was creeping in, but the park itself was still bathed in color. The grass a rich green, the flowers bright purple, the pond a deep blue. Even the carousel across the way was a kaleidoscopic tornado. There were worse places to meet up.

    Even in it’s beauty, the park was sparsely populated today. A few families here and there, a few college kids hanging around for the summer, a lone business man clearly working some sort of deal. And soon, Elena Piero. Truthfully, Eddie didn’t owe her a thing, let alone an exclusive interview. But the way that she had pursued him, an not inconsequentially, declined to press charges when he had drugged her, had earned her more than a modicum of respect in his book. A little more stood to be gained, depending on how her Canadian blood could handle the Deep South. Hey, it wasn’t Eddie’s fault that this was halfway home, was it?

    Before long, he saw her trudging up the paved walkway. Her white tank top and long green pants were somehow inappropriate wear for both the interview and the weather, but that was neither here nor there. Her face showed signs of abject suffering, but all was forgotten as she came up to him. Eddie rose to his feet and extended his hand.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie… is this ‘hello’ or ‘hello again’?”

“I’ll settle for hello. I trust you understand that none of that business in New Orleans was personal.”

“Well, I wish I could say that that was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me on a case so…” Elena replied, pulling out a tape recorder and clicking it on. “What was that whole ‘Kaokame’ thing about anyway?”

Eddie took a second, aware that the interview proper had already started.

“I just… I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. It wasn’t the first time I had done it, and it probably won’t be the last.”

“So,” Elena said after taking a moment to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, “its been a long time since you were in a ring. Just what has Eddie Wolfbaine been doing all these years?”

    Eddie took a deep breath and a step back, his mind spinning. Just how much would he- could he say? All the pain and suffering he’d been through over the past eight months was his and his alone, but he couldn’t be a recluse forever. Intellectually, he knew that it was healthy to talk about such horrors, but at the risk of letting tourists in? Were Gwen and Haley’s lights so bright that they belonged to a world that didn’t know them? Was this the price of fame? Was it worth it?

“I’ve been… around, Elena.”

    Elena stood numb for a second. How could she have been so stupid, so calloused, so cold? It had been less than a year since the man had buried his wife and daughter and she had the gall to ask him ‘what he’d been up to’? She was so braced for an explosion that Eddie’s gentle answer nearly knocked her over. She didn’t have the nerve to look up into his eyes as she clicked the tape recorder off.

“Eddie, I’m.. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for what happened to- to your… to your fam-”

“To the ones I loved.”

“Yeah.”

    Without thinking, Elena took a step forward and hugged Eddie. The move surprised him, but he let himself be swept away regardless. The world melted away for just a second, but that second lasted an eternity. In it, Eddie saw so, so much. Awkward smiles and meaningful glances that led to a thousand tiny moments, like the pebbles that make a great mountain. On that summit Eddie saw himself, Elena in his arms, happy again. It was possible and she would be his redemption. It was…

    It was not real.

    Eddie pushed away from Elena with a start and shook his head. That part of his life, that part of his soul, was gone forever. The book on his heart had closed on that car ride, in that hospital, next to that grave with an awful finality.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, Elena, its ok. Its been awhile, but it’ll never be long enough.” Eddie smiled at her and motioned to her tape recorder. “Shall we?”

***

The rest of the interview had gone well, Eddie supposed. It was a combination of the standard 4CW filler, Viper this, Supreme that, Skywolf here, what’s next for Wolfbaine there and a bit of get-to-know-you. That part was a little insulting for a veteran, but the truth was that there were a lot of kids out there that didn’t really know him. They saw his tapes, saw the wars, but didn’t have a feel for the warrior. Hopefully, they would now.

    Elena made her way back through the park the way she had came and Eddie headed the other way, back towards his rental car. He had another night here in Raleigh, a convenient layover in New Orleans, then he was headed back home to Maracaibo. Reaching his car, he passed a man sitting at a picnic bench. As soon as his keys reached the car door, he heard a rustle and froze, a million thoughts raced through his head, but they all lead back to one question:

    Fight or flight?

    Although it was still mostly empty, the park was too crowded for a fight. Collateral damage aside, it would simply attract too much attention, all of it unwanted. So flight it was. With a sigh, Eddie turned around and found himself face-to-face with a man in a business suit, a pair of dark, expensive sunglasses, and a smile like they were old friends.

“Hello, Eddie. We need to talk.”

“And you are?”

“Special Agent James Elliot, FBI.”

Shit.

    Eddie took a second to collect himself.

“Talk about what?”

Elliot’s smile turned into something akin to a hungry shark.

“Oh, any number of things. For example, did you know that it’s illegal for an American citizen to bribe a foreign official?”

Double shit.

    Somehow, Eddie was inexplicably able to keep a straight face.

“Lots of things are illegal.”

“Oh, indeed. What I am allowed to do, however, is take a gander and your finances, and ooh boy, they aren’t what they used to be, are they? I mean, you’re hemorrhaging money on one hand to the PSUV [1], but on the other, you’ve got the same amount of money going towards anti-government groups… it’s almost like you’re trying to play both sides here!”

“That’s an awfully long speech to tell me that I’m under arrest.”

“It would be… if you were. You see, the law as people tend to recite is is, shall we say, incomplete. Yes, it is illegal to bribe a foreign official, but only if you can’t be used to a greater end.”

“What is this? Blackmail? Extortion?”

“No, no. Simply a quid pro quo.”

“What do you want?”

“You mean, who do I want?”

    Eddie rubbed his chin. This was getting dangerous. If Elliot was truly legitimate, then he might be better off taking the jail time after all.

“Oh, Ed, hear me out. There’s a man… somewhere in your neck of the woods. Don't know his real name, but he calls himself Adam Blackguard. He tends to float somewhere between Columbia, Venezuela, and Guyana. He’s done some horrible things and we‘d like to talk to him about it.”

“Then go get him.”

“The thing is, he’s really good at hiding, and to be frank, the last thing the Agency needs is another Bay of Pigs. We figure an unsavory character like yourself might have better luck. You bring him to us and we would be… most grateful.”

“Meaning you look away at whatever I wish to do with my Bolivars?”

“The bribery? Oh, come on! Nothing worthwhile in this world happens without a little money changing hands. No, you agree to even try and that gets buried.”

“Then what do I get?”

    Elliot sharktooth-grinned again.

“Something you’ve been looking for for years.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow as Elliot took a manila envelope off of the picnic table behind him.

“What is that?”

“This, my new associate, is the official, public, and unfortunately heavily redacted file on a man named Hiro Yamada. You bring me Blackguard, alive, mind you, and I'll give you the whole thing, warts and all.”

“Hiro who-now?”

Instead of answering, Elliot handed the folder over to Eddie, who opened it and immediately froze, the blood draining from his face.

    So much could be said in so few words.

    Elliot slapped Eddie on the shoulder and turned and walked away.

“See you around, bud.”

Triple shit.

Coda

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Giving him the actual file? You could get fired for that. Or worse.”

    James Elliot chuckled as he rolled down the window in his government-issued sedan and looked at his fellow agent sitting in the passenger seat. Such a worrywart.

“You know Eddie, you’ve read his file, just as I have. You know what kind of carnage that man is capable of, what he’s done for less than noble causes.”

“And?”

“Can you imagine the hell he would bring down if he had a legitimate reason?”

    Neither agent noticed that Eddie had left the file in the park. They hadn’t bothered to, as while the information it contained was true, the file itself was a fake, a five dollar workup done at the local Kinko’s. All it really was was ten pages of long, black boxes, ostensibly hiding mundane state secrets, save for three lines; two at the top of the first page, and a third halfway down the sixth.

“Yamada, Hiro
Lieutenant- Yakuza”

“Personally ordered and oversaw the execution of Michael Wolfbaine”

[1]: United Socialist Party of Venezuela

Last edited by Dread Pirate (Wed-7-Jun-2017 19:47:00)

Prismatic

Dockside
Bluefields
Nicaragua

Adam Blackguard drew a ragged breath, letting cold steel of his pistol trace a line down the middle of his forehead. Yes, his operations drew a healthy profit and he had plenty of assets to cover a missed shipment, but one and a half million dollars was one and a half million dollars. He made one last attempt to tether his rage before looking up at the man that had been his best friend since primary school.

“William… dear William, remind me, what exactly is it that I pay you for?”

“You know, Adam… Boss… sir. I run for you.”

“Run my drugs… yes. And what part of that entails pussing out at the first sight of the Coast Guard?!”

“But- I… what did you want me to do?”

“I don’t give a shit! Shoot them in the fucking head! Pay them off! Hell, pay them off and then shoot them in the fucking head, I don’t care! I pay you to get this fucking cocaine to Miami, period.”

William swallowed nervously, not knowing where Blackguard was going with this.

“Well, William, here’s my coke! And guess what? This shithole sure as hell doesn’t look like South fucking Beach!”

William involuntarily flinched as Blackguard momentarily lifted his pistol before thinking better of it, instead taking a slow breath and very nearly whispering.

“How much, Will?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t fuck with me. How much is missing?”

“It’s all there. You know I don’t play that. You can trust me.”

Blackguard let the pistol fall back to his waist as he walked over to William and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Right, you’re right. I’m sorry, mate. I should trust you, I- it would be inconceivable for you to fuck me like that.”

William breathed a sigh of relief, mortal terror falling from his shoulders.

“But then again, you failing this terribly would also be inconceivable, so…”

In an instant, the top of William’s skull exploded into the ceiling, his lower jaw following through the gaping hole. Twenty years of friendship, of fraternal love, gone in an instant. Adam Blackguard screamed in terror and anguish, as if somehow he were a passenger to his own actions. The ringing in his ears quickly faded, reality came crashing back in, and he knew he chose this path.

Alarmed by the unexpected gunfire, a host of lieutenants, agents, and grunts rushed into the office that held Adam Blackguard and William’s corpse. In their haste, they took to long to assess the situation. The men in front were retreating while the men in back were still pushing forward. The silence belied the mortal danger these men faced.

Adam Blackguard had become bloodsimple.

The sum of the pistol in his hand and the one in his waistband led to fifteen new job openings. Sixteen, if you count the poor soul tasked to repaint the walls and tear up the carpet. Crimson was such an unbecoming color. Blackguard knew them all, before their souls escaped through neat holes in their foreheads. Surrounded by fallen friends and a few whimpering cowards, Adam Blackguard looked up and screamed to the sky, begging an indifferent God to release him to Hell.

***

Lady Adams’ Apothecary
French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana

Marie Adams involuntarily let out a gasp and threw her silk handkerchief over her crystal ball. Intellectually, she knew that Adam Blackguard couldn’t see her, as sure as she knew that what she saw was truth. But it was still unsettling; never before had someone gazed at her point-of-view like that. Wringing her hands, she only now noticed that they were trembling.

What had Eddie gotten himself into? And how could she warn him?

Marie had intentionally left Eddie in the dark as to her true nature. She loved him, the closest thing to a family that either of them had anymore, but he had to believe, just as the rest of the world, that she was simply a charlatan. A cheap trickster preying on a drunk tourist’s prejudices. He had spent days here, ever since Gwen and Haley’s deaths had left him alone and political strife had driven him from Venezuela. And all this time, he had never suspected.

Marie Adams was a Voodoo priestess, and a highly respected one at that. For of all the priests, priestesses, witches and otherwise that she knew of, only she had actually been to the Shadowland.   

That experience, that stain on her soul was from where she drew her power. She had no heritage, no blood running through her veins, but she had been… there. That time she had spent on the Otherside, that knowledge of Them, had saved countless scores of her brethren. For you could not use Their power without Them knowing. And they did not share willingly, much less without permission. For every one of her spiritual brothers and sisters she had saved, there was a desiccated corpse that had turned up somewhere in the bayou. The police invariably claimed that the body had been dumped years ago, a hypothesis made ever more painful by memories Marie held dear of telephone conversations the night before.

True, They terrified her, but so did her love for Eddie. She knew that if he knew what she was truly capable of, that she could take him to Gwen and Haley, he would beg her to, again and again. Over and over until They came. One day, Eddie may well find out about her on his own. And on that day, he may come to hate her for her deception. But that was still preferable to Their touch. Until that day, however, she was content with letting Eddie think that the trinkets adorning her walls were to lend her shop a little ambiance to keep the tourists in and not to keep those demons out. 

However, there were more pressing issues at hand. Such as who was this strange man in her shop and how did Eddie know him so well?

***

Special Agent James Elliot and Eddie Wolfbaine stood across a low table from each other, both unsure of whether or not they were actually having this conversation or just continuing to play their game. It had been ten minutes and not a word had been said. Yet.

“So, James, you’re not FBI, are you?”

“You’re no saint yourself, Eddie.”

“I never claimed to be. You did.”

“Fair enough. Central Intelligence.”

Eddie grimaced. This was an escalation, to say the least.

“Ah. Had my money on Homeland Security. Wasn’t positive, though. Knew you weren’t FBI, though.”

“Thought about jumping over there once or twice. I like my perks, though. Only bounded by my imagination. What gave me away?”

“You’ve read my file, James. You know how much I’ve dealt with sleazy government types in the past.”

“Aww, you flirting with me?”

“Just trying to find out about this Blackguard.”

“Hey, Ed, I’ve told you all I can. This op is so far off the books, it hasn’t even been made into a shitty graphic novel yet. The Agency has a lot riding on this… and so do I.”

“Another perk of yours?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to destabilize the local economy, would I? That’d be downright unconscionable. Can you imagine? All of Central America thrown into disarray. All because some Long John Silver wannabe decided that he wanted everything to go through him. If you weren’t so famous, I’d offer you a percentage. Finder’s Fee and all.”

“So why are you here, James?”

“Why are you, Eddie?”

“Marie has a lot of… friends. Friends that know things.”

James smirked and leaned across the table.

“If she did, don’t you think I’d have heard of her?”

Eddie looked at Marie and then back at James. Nope, not playing this game.

“Maybe all that blow has gone to your brain. Or maybe you’re just a real shitty agent.”

James merely smiled at insult and walked to the door. Pausing on the threshold, he turned back to Eddie.

“I trust we understand each other?”

Having taken mental notes the whole exchange, Eddie nodded and watched James disappear into the Louisiana summer. So somewhere in Central America, there was an Englishman, probably from Dover if Eddie’s literary knowledge held up, that had the guns and money to ensure that every bit of contraband, drugs more than likely, that came north from South America was moved by him. And if by the grace of God, Eddie was to find Adam Blackguard and somehow deliver him to the CIA, he would be awarded a small, seemingly inconsequential folder of information. Despite the enormity of the task, Eddie couldn’t help to smile.

He was either going to avenge Michael… or meet him.

Last edited by Dread Pirate (Mon-14-Aug-2017 19:13:45)

Lawyers, Guns, and Money

Unnamed Prison
Tegucigalpa
Honduras

*Tap… tap… tap…*

It was by the grace of God that Eddie Wolfbaine had convinced his jailors to let him keep his wedding band on. And now, the staccato of blood-stained platinum on rusted iron was the only soundtrack to his thoughts. They came by the dozen, but all boiled down to one question.

How the hell did he get here?

*** 72 hours earlier ***

Cartagena Bay
Cartagena
Columbia

Eddie Wolfbaine stood at the bow of the fishing vessel he had hired to taxi him across the Caribbean Sea and took a deep breath of harbor air. It reeked of fish and oil, which pleased him. All the usual players were where they belonged; nothing was amiss. He hopped from the boat onto the dock before the ship even stopped moving. The fisherman seemed trustworthy enough, but if he even got wind of what was in Eddie’s backpack… $300,000 could change a man’s character in the blink of an eye.

Eddie had kept the pack by his side and closed at all times. He had gone through a lot of trouble to rob both Lafontaine in Port-au-Prince and Jimenez in Santo Domingo, and the last thing he needed was a slimy customs agent wanting a holiday bonus. Reaching the mainland, Eddie coolly turned and started walking along the harbor. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but there couldn’t be too many boats in this town sailing under a Faroese flag.

It took him ten agonizing minutes to find his ship. Ten minutes of knowing he’d been betrayed, ten minutes of wondering who stabbed him in the back, ten minutes of questioning whether or not this grand gambit was worth the risk. But there, at the end of the lonely pier, under a white and red flag, there she was. Eddie approached the ship as purposeful as he could possibly be. In a crowded harbor, nobody blends in more than the guy running late. Halfway down the pier a scruffy, sea-worn man approached him, and with nothing more than a grunt and a sidelong glance, Eddie slipped the backpack off of his shoulder and into the man’s waiting hands. Eddie didn’t stop to let him count the money, nor did the man wait for Eddie to approve the ship. Back in the dawn of his career in Venezuela, Eddie had done this run more than once and he knew the types of people he was dealing with; any arguments, debates, or further negotiations would be met with a single remorseless bullet.

That being said, Eddie knew who he was dealing with. He knew that the cargo hold below would be filled to the brim with cocaine and that the local law enforcement would be watching his every move. Any idle curiosity would have to be sated in international waters. The only thing to do then, was to make a quick check of the boat to ensure it’s seaworthiness and get the hell out of Columbia. As Eddie descended the boat’s stairs into what was most likely the mess hall, the last thing he could remember was how a lead pipe to the back of the head didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

***18 hours later***

Eddie Wolfbaine woke with a groan as the morning’s first light through the barred windows and onto his face. And then another groan as the sharp pain radiating from the back of his head came into focus. He rolled to his side and put his hand to the back of his head, rubbing both a massive lump and a seemingly excessive amount of dried blood. The pain somehow centered him and all of his senses came to him at once.

The stone walls and floors.

The scent of wet earth.

The coppery blood in his mouth.

The chains on his wrist.

Dead silence.

Fuck. This wasn’t somewhere you put someone for a traffic violation.

Eddie tried to get to his feet, but the world spun the opposite way. He felt his consciousness slip away once more as he missed his bed entirely and landed on the ancient stone floor cheek-first.

***3 hours later***

Eddie was woken once more, in more pain than the last time, by a large man dragging him to his feet by his shoulders. The man slapped him a few times, ostensibly because he could, before letting Eddie stand on his own.

“Hablas espanol?”

Eddie could only groan as his faculties hadn’t quite returned to him, but the man took this as a negative answer.

“Fine, English it is. Your lawyer is here.”

“Ehh… my… what? My lawyer?”

“Si. Follow me.”

Too groggy to argue any further, Eddie shuffled behind the man, as best as his shackles would let him. They walked down numberless empty hallways before arriving at a single room. The man pulled a skeleton key from around his neck and unlocked the door. Inside stood two men, one in a neatly pressed suit, carrying the smug air of a man who’s never been told no, the other a worn, khaki button-up shirt. Using the same key, the man unchained Eddie and threw him into a steel folding chair. With a curt nod to the lawyer, the guard left the room, letting his footsteps slowly fade down the hallway.

The two men stared at Eddie for what seemed like an eternity before the meeker of the two finally spoke up.

“That’ll be all Miguel. Stand guard, would ya, mate?”

With military precision, the man pulled a second chair from the wall, set it in front of Eddie, and left the room. The other man casually walked to the chair and sat down, like the two of them were old friends.

“Welcome to Honduras, Mr. Wolfbaine!”

Eddie’s mind raced. Honduras? How exactly does a man get attacked and wake up in a secret prison a thousand miles away?

“How… who…?”

Oh, come on, Eddie. Surely you must know who I am! I mean, a man such as yourself *has* to have done his homework before trying to move that much blow through my territory.”

“Mr. Blackguard, I presume.”

“There ya go, chap! Now as for the how? Let’s just say that certain favors performed have given me certain perks here in Honduras that I don’t enjoy further south.”

“A simple phone call would’ve sufficed.”

“Oh, no… too impersonal…” Blackguard scooted his chair forward and leaned in towards Eddie. “… and you wouldn’t’ve learned your lesson, would you have?”

“Two, in fact! One- you’re moving 300k of coke through my waters, my lands. Don’t even have the decency to tell me you’re fucking me over! And two? This is the worst of all. Two- I come and find you… and you don’t even have the shit for me to rob! All these expenses, just to find that you’re a goddamn dupe!”

“So you caved my skull in because I got robbed too?”

Adam Blackguard laughed mirthlessly and pulled a pistol from his waistband. “I mean, the least I can do is tell you why I’m killing you.”

Eddie’s mind was unnaturally calm. Everything that led up to this was hinging on the next few moments.

“Or Adam, if I can call you that, I have a better idea.”

Blackguard paused and smiled.

“Something that’ll save your pretty head?”

“Well yeah, but you win too.”

Blackguard’s smile vanished and his eyes lit up. He was taking the bait.

“I know where Chacon keeps his stash. And seeing as how I’ve already paid him, if I go and get it on my own, that’s not stealing is it?”

“Haven’t gotten to the point where I win, dear Eddie.”

“Simple. I deliver the cocaine to you. Give me 65k to defray expenses and the rest is yours to do as you will.”

“Eh, no. I want it all.”

“Come on man, I’m broke. I gotta break even at least.”

“Not buying it.”

“Seriously? Adam, you’re getting the closest thing to a free million dollars you’re ever going to get. Get that boat to Miami and you’re in the black for the rest of the year, guaranteed.”

“Fine. You realize that I’ll probably just shoot you anyway, right?”

Eddie smiled and reached out and shook Adam’s outstretched hand.

“We’ll see how it goes.

***

Lady Adams’ Apothecary
French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana

Marie Adams stared at her crystal ball and gasped in horror. She loved Eddie, as a son, as a brother, as her most trusted confidant. She knew him through and through. But for the life of her, she could not understand why her most trusted friend had made a deal with the devil himself.

A Better Mousetrap

Unnamed Prison
Tegucigalpa
Honduras

In late 1998, Eddie Wolfbaine had spent three and a half months in a Cuban prison. An old Spanish Fortress, it was dingy, broken down, and above all else, brutal. Despite his relatively short stay, Eddie had quickly learned the rhythms and routines of a third-world dungeon. And despite the passing of nearly two decades, those lessons were still ingrained into his DNA. He could've stayed in that hell for a thousand years and still not be prepared to be referred to as "Sir" by his captors.

"What did you say?"

"Your bail has been posted, sir. You're a free man." The guard's accent was thick, yet his English was perfect; not the type of man to be easily bought.

"Bail? I haven't even had a trial yet."

"Must have a good lawyer, then." The guard raised his eyebrow at Eddie, as if they were both in on some sort of joke together.

Eddie started to protest, then it hit him.

Adam Blackguard.

The man must have one hell of a long reach. It was one thing to buy your way into a jail and have a private conversation with a prisoner. That only involved a warden and a few glorified thugs. But to bypass such a sizeable chunk of a country's legal system? Granted, he wasn't in Palm Beach, but Honduras wasn't exactly Somalia either.

"Well, can you at least get these fucking things off first?"

Eddie raised his manacled hands. It wasn't protocal to keep a prisoner in handcuffs while he was in his cell, but it wasn't exactly standard procedure for a prisoner to break a guard's jaw. At least Eddie thought he broke it. The guy was making some awfully grotesque noises when they dragged him away. At any rate, he was going to miss a month or three.

The new guard apologized and hurried into the cell, key in hand, with a deference that bordered on farcical. In any other situation Eddie would've laughed, but the more kowtowing his captor did, the less confident Eddie felt about his deal with Blackguard. And for the first time in a long time, he began to legitimately  fear for his life. The only bargaining chip he had was a verbal agreement with a man literally named "Blackguard". Not exactly the most confidence inspiring deal he had ever made.

The guard led Eddie through a set of winding corridors, the opposite way from that first day when he met Adam. Gradually, the smell of musty earth gave way to a salty seabreeze. Worse case scenario, he was going to die with the sun on his face. At the end of a particularly long hallway, the guard came to a heavy steel door and unbolted it with considerable effort. Leaving Eddie with nothing but a deferential nod of his head, the guard pulled the door open and let the jungle morning pour in. Naturally, Adam Blackguard was waiting there to meet him, with a cotton suit clearly pulled from some straight-to-DVD movie.

"Oof, mate, you look rough!"

"That wasn't exactly the Hilton, Adam."

"No, Eddie, no it isn't. I tell you what- how about you head on back in there, and I'll fly some people down from Cabo, and in a week or two, it'll be up to your more refined taste?"

"Very funny. Let's just do this so I can get the hell out of here."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, work, work, work. So very... American. What's waiting for you back there anyway? Blood? Pain? Misery? All for what is it, $200 a week? Leave that! Work for me, and you'll be making that in a day."

"Am I supposed to believe that this offer is just out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Well, yes and no. I happen to have... a few openings at the moment."

"And how exactly did those positions open up?" Eddie asked with a raised eyebrow.

Adam responded with a sheepish grin.

"Occupational hazards."

***

Somewhere on the Carribean Coast
Honduras

Three hours later, Eddie found himself handcuffed in the backseat of what had to have been the first Jeep ever built. The restraints themselves weren't too much of a surprise; both Wolfbaine and Blackguard had a lifetime of experiences to verify that there truly was no honor among thieves. But that didn't excuse the driver to run over every bump, root, and rock in Central America. His shoulder probably wasn't separated, but it would hurt for days.

"Hey, Adam! If you're planning on killing me, do it soon, no? I'm dying back here!"

"Calm down, mate! A corpse like yours would be bad for business, anyway. Just a couple miles more."

Eddie wedged himself back into his seat and let his mind race. There as a lot resting on nothing but blind faith. At best, things would turn out passable; at worst... catastrophic.

***

The marina wasn't much. A small, two-story shack adjacent to a dock- nothing more, nothing less. Well, nothing other than a small yacht with about a million dollars of cocaine below deck. As soon as the Jeep pulled to a stop, Adam jumped out the door and pulled Eddie by the arm out of the truck, apparently never having bucked himself in, despite every opportunity to do so. Eddie jiggled the handcuffs behind his back and made a face at Adam.

"Really? I'm manning this boat with two hands literally behind my back?"

"I dunno. Seems pretty damned funny to me. Inside." Adam pulled a gun from his waistband and motioned Eddie to enter the building.

And here we go.

The inside of the shack was dark, dirty, and like everything else in Honduras, damp. Eddie's third step landed in a discarded bucket and dropped him on his face. Cursing his twisted ankle, Eddie drug himself back up to his feet. He was vaguely aware that Blackguard was monologuing about his criminal enterprise, his background, typical supervillian stuff. Eddie's hearing, however, was a level deeper than that. A drop of water here, the chatter of a local monkey troop there. Eddie had nerves of steel, but this game was becoming torturous.

"You even been hearing a word I've said, mate? Jesus! I'm sitting here telling you- what... what was that?"

Adam turned towards a sound that could've been anything. An old bolt giving way. A mouse looking for a meal. Or, more specifically, a ball bearing being dropped down a set of concrete stairs.

Go time.

With a flourish, Eddie spun around and raised his mysteriously free hands chest-high, pointing a pistol directly between Adam Blackguard's eyes. The gangster stood slackjawed for ten full seconds before flashing a psychotic grin at Eddie.

"Eddie, Ed, Ed, what're you doing, mate? Even if you survive this, you'll never unload all that coke. Now let's just let bygones be bygones and I'll just break your kneecaps later, eh?"

"Not happening, Adam. This ends today." Eddie was firm, his aim true.

"Lemme guess... the pistol was in that bucket? Goddamn, I should've known! Elliot? There you are, old chap!" Adam's eyes lit up with false joy.

James Elliot, CIA, strode out of the shadows and put an arm on Eddie's shoulder. Adam feigned another emotion, this time shock, as James continued to his prey and in one quick motion, spun him around and placed handcuffs on him, shoving him into the nearby wall. Unable to resist himself, Adam looked over his shoulder to Eddie and grinned.

"The pistol, yes... but the handcuffs? How'd you slip those?"

"Tijuana, 2003." Eddie responded as he slipped his newfound pistol into his waistband.

"Oh, bore! Another stupid wrestling story?"

"More like... 'angry hooker'".

"Enough!" Elliot bellowed. "Adam, back to Guantanamo with you, unless the good Lord blesses me with a reason to spray your head all over this godforsaken country. And Eddie? This is yours".

Eddie Wolfbaine took the manila folder that Elliot produced from under his sportcoat and the world around him melted away. He never saw Elliot or Blackguard leave, never heard the helicopter hidden on the other side of a stand of trees take away. The only thing that existed was the dossier in his hand. Those blessed papers that would finally answer one of his life's most tragic questions.

He finally knew who murdered Michael Wolfbaine.

The Silence of the Wolves

Shimerda Ranch
The Sandhills
Antioch, Nebraska

Eddie Wolfbaine took a second look at the seemingly abandoned barn and sighed. It wasn't the first time that he had let doubt creep into his mind, but with the end so close in sight, it was sure to be the last. That's not to say that it was inherently a good plan; Eddie knew the risks from the onset. But Eddie had learned long ago that sometimes your enemies can be trusted more than your friends, and that was why he was standing in the middle of a Nebraskan field, 20 yards away from a CIA-run secret prison.

Eddie glanced back at his rental car, painfully out of place in the ice-covered field. Depending on the crop, it was possible that during the summer he could've hidden the car, but in December the fields would've had trouble concealing a skateboard. Not that that mattered, though. If any part of his plan failed, or at least went sideways, there was no hope that he'd make it back to the car alive.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, Eddie approached the barn and let himself in through a painfully out-of-place steel door. Once inside, Eddie found himself in a small hallway, illuminated by a strip of fluorescent lights overhead. The change in scenery was so disorenting that it took Eddie a full ten seconds to realize that he wasn't alone. From the moment that Eddie had pulled up to the barn, the man at the end of the hallway, dressed head to toe in black, had his pistol trained at the door, not once wavering. After a brief momentary standoff, the man pressed his hand to the earpiece wrapped around his ear, grunted in agreement, and holstered his weapon with military precision. Without a single word spoken, the man opened the door behind him and motioned for Eddie to go through and down the darkened stairs.

Eddie obliged and was met at the bottom of the stairs by an older man. His hair was greying and the years had taken a toll on his face in the form of a network of deep creases and wrinkles, but he still managed to find himself in an impeccably tailored suit. The man shook Eddie's hand like they were old friends.

"Ah, Mr. Wolfbaine, I presume? I do welcome you into our most humble abode. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"Um, no... no thanks. I'm quite alright, Mr....?"

The man simply smiled stoically as he resisted Eddie's attempt to get his name.

"Right, no names. Typical. Anyways, I'm here to see him." Eddie said with a forced smile.

"But of course. Why else would you be here?"

"The weather?"

"Maybe, but a meteorlogical fancy would't get you past out security system."

"That one guy? That was pretty disappointing. I was expecting something more... 'spy vs. spy'."

The older man's smile disappeared and a newfound intensity washed over his face.

"The agency learned long ago that the only unhackable security system, the only unpickable lock lies in the human brain. We had eyes on you from the moment you stepped out of the car. We are not your local police precinct. Follow me."

The man led Eddie down a long, damp corridor until they came to a barred metal door. The old man took an odd shaped key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
"Here you are Mr. Wolfbaine. I won't lie to you and pretend that we have ground rules here. We will be monitoring your conversation and if it strays beyond our comfort, we will either end the conversation... or you." The old man shrugged and left Eddie with a pat on the shoulder. Eddie sighed in response.

"Right."

Eddie opened the door and for the briefest of moments, stood mouth agape at what he saw. The room was divided exactly in half, bisected by a large sheet of tempered glass, wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor. On the far wall, built into the barn's ancient foundation, was one of the biggest bookshelves Eddie had ever seen, literally overflowing with dusty, old tomes. The bed and eating table were spartan enough, but in the corner sat a decadently luxurious chair, and in that chair sat the one man he thought he'd never see again.

"Eddie, I knew you'd come!"
Eddie sighed for a third time.

"Adam Blackguard."

"To what do I owe this pleasure, my dear enemy?"

"Oh please, don't get up on my account."

"Suits me fine. You know, I think Napoleon once owned this chair. Smells like ass, though. But I must ask you again... why are you here?" Blackguard asked, his face darkening at the question.

"I find myself in a bit of a... I need advice, Adam."

Blackguard scoffed. "From me? This isn't about Michael, is it?"

Eddie stiffened and took a step towards the glass. "How do you know about that?"

Blackguard smiled in return and gestured to his surroundings. "Look at this place! This isn't a prison. I'm not being punished here, there's no hope for me reformation, no penance to be found. This is merely a... penalty box, to keep me out of the game until I die a quiet, peaceful death. And as such, I was able to conduct a few interviews myself. That was a hell of a plan you had, by the way. Never saw it coming. And while I generally reward such betrayal with some knifeplay, you did it for blood, for family and I can respect that. Hell, it almost makes me wish I actually was going to offer you a job after I stole all your dope!"
Blackguard got up from his chair and slowly approached his side of the glass, opposite Eddie.

"Now, I can give you whatever advice you want. Turn the other cheek, save yourself, demand blood for blood, you name it. But let me ask you this. What makes you so fucking sure that you can trust me?"

This time it was Eddie's turn to take another step towards the glass, and a knowing grin crept across his face.
"Because, Adam, you've bathed your world in blood, just as I have... and I imagine it was for the same reasons as me."

Blackguard blanched momentarily as his eyes glazed over and returned to that once-quiet road in Belfast, that ancestral home lost so long ago. He answered Eddie with the whisper of a defeated prsioner.

"Fair enough, mate. You can fuck off waiting for your advice. I don't know you, but I will tell you this. 'Til the day you die, you'll never stop seeing him. Everytime you close your eyes, he's there, I know, and he always will be. But its not a question of vengance or closure or moving on. What you have to decide right now is that when you see him...

Adam and Eddie both moved towards the glass again, leaving them inches apart.

"... when you see him, will he be your guardian angel or your darkest demon?"

Do You Still Get Frequent Flyer Miles While Traveling to the Astral Plane?

Kansai International Airport
Osaka
Japan

Eddie Wolfbaine had flown around the world more times than he could ever hope to count. He had flown to every (yes, every) continent on this planet and had done so in everything from presidential planes to a stowaway's hideout in a cargo hold. So First-Class into one of Japan's finest airports was something he could literally do in his sleep. And so he did. Semi-concsious or not, he didn't actually fully awaken until his plane lurched to a stop at the terminal. Rousing himself and stretching his muscles the best he could in the cramped cabin, he reached above his seat and grabbed his carryon bag. It was a lot lighter than it appeared, but Eddie did his best to sell its weight anyway. Nobody needed to know that it was just filled with handtowels that he would never use. Nobody needed to know of the singular purpose he had crossed the Pacific.

Nobody needed to know that Eddie Wolfbaine had murder on his mind.

Mouthing a silent "Thank you" in Japanese to the flight attendant, Eddie quickly left the plane and then the terminal itself and passed through Customs nearly without incident.

"Business or pleasure?" the agent asked, clearly already weary and over his job at 10:30 in the morning.

"Business is my pleasure" Eddie had responded. Maybe that Jack and Coke was a little stronger than he had thought.

The agent just rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had heard that line today and shockingly enough, it never got any funnier.

"Yeah, sorry. Right. Bye." Eddie mumbled as he headed towards the baggage claim. He had wrestled on five continents, been adored by millions, had gunfights with Columbian leftists, and had even just helped run an off-the-books-operation with the CIA and yet he was still as awkward as ever. Great.

Eddie was still castigating himself when he made it to the last escalator before the baggage claim. He stepped onto the moving staircase and looked out over the large room and froze. At the bottom of the escalator stood a woman, vaguely familiar. Her face buried in her phone, all Eddie could make out was her olive green jacket and black hair tightly pulled back. And yet, Eddie knew in his heart he knew her. He was about ready to blame it on the whiskey (yet again), when she looked up and they locked eyes.

What in the hell was Elena Piero doing in Japan?

As the escalator reached the floor, Eddie could see the tears welling in Elena's eyes. She looked up at the ceiling and then back at Eddie, as if trying to shake away a false vision. As he stepped of the escalator and onto the solid ground, Elena's hand went over her mouth, successfully holding a sob in. As he approached her, a low "No, no, no" could be heard.

"Elena, what are you doing here?"

"No, Eddie, what are you doing?" Elena replied, remarkably composed, as if she had already practiced that line a hundred thousand times.
Eddie looked over his shoulder in a full blown paranoid panic. If she knew that he was in Osaka and for what purposes, odds are that They did too. And if They saw her with him, They might assume that...
Eddie forcefully grabbed Elena by the arm and led her to an empty corridor nearby.

"Elena, you need to leave." He half-growled. "Go home."

"Fine. Then take me there." Elena replied with a glare as strong as Eddie's.
"Elena, this is not the time to play games. This is-"
"Suicide. The Yakuza will kill you before you knock on the front door."
Eddie scoffed.

"Yeah, 'cause I plan on ringing the doorbell. Do whatever you want, Elena. I'll see you in Chicago."

Without so much as a nod of the head, Eddie turned and left Elena, walking briskly in his anger.

"It won't bring them back, Eddie!"

Eddie froze. He turned and whispered, the acoustics of the hallway amplifying his words.

"What the fuck did you say to me?"

"Listen, Eddie. I know something happened after The Blood Moon. Something happened between you and Michael that drove him back here to Japan. The two of you were estranged even before you met Gwen."

"Estranged or not, Michael's still my younger brother."

"But was he? Really? He was missing for what, twenty years? Michael's been dead for most of your life, Eddie. And yeah, you can't pick up the phone and call him now, but did you before? No. So don't play the fraternal card with me."

Eddie winced. Elena was saying some horrible, vile things. And every single one of them was true.

"So that leads me to believe that you're here for something else, Eddie. Something about Gwen and Haley. What that thing is, I don't know and frankly I don't care to. It's not my business. But I will tell you that despite my not knowing either of them, I can promise you that neither of them would want you to die in a hailstorm of gunfire in some Japanese brothel."

This time it was Eddie's turn to wipe a tear away.

"Fuck you, Elena."

Eddie turned away and took two steps before he heard Elena say... something. It was clearly a foreign language, guttural and yet somehow vaguely familiar. He started to feel as if his head was ascending into the heavens while his body remained wrapped tightly in its mortal coil. He turned to Elena to question her, but no words came out of his mouth. She held an ancient notebook in her hands and was now openly weeping.

As Eddie lost consciousness, he detachedly remarked to himself that he had seen that exact same notebook on a desk in Marie Adams store.

***

When Eddie came to, he found himself in a room that wasn't. He supposed that the walls and the ceiling and the floor were all a spotless white, but until the day he died, he was never able to find the right words to describe the feeling. It was just like they... weren't there. He pulled himself to his knees and unsuccessfully shook the cobwebs out of his head, the confusion hanging on for dear life. He was halfway to his feet when he heard a voice behind him.

"Hello, Ed."

If Eddie's heart still beat in whatever place this was, it ground to a halt. It wasn't so much her voice; there was only one person on the face of the Earth that ever referred to him as 'Ed'. He turned and saw her.

"Gwen?"

Gwendolyn Wolfbaine, deceased-but-now-maybe-not simply looked back at her husband and smiled. She stepped towards him to embrace him, but only looked at him bewilderedly when he backed away.

"No." Eddie's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"Here I am, Ed. Is this not what you wanted?"

"You're not real."

Gwen frowned and looked down at her body.

"I look real. Or maybe I'm not, who knows? The question is... does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! There's a huge leap between your spirit and a hallucination."
Gwen shrugged.

"Not really. Whether or not this is actually me or I'm just a figment in your twisted imagination I still look the same and we both know I'm still gonna tell you the same things."

"How do you figure?"

Gwen stepped towards Eddie and placed her hand on the side of his face.

"What was it that you told me when we got married?"

A single tear rolled down Eddie's cheek.

"I know you and I love you."

"Right. Think back to every discussion, every argument we ever had. Deep down, you knew what I was going to say as soon as I did. Just the same as I knew you."

Eddie kissed Gwen and held her free hand.

"So why am I- we here?"

Gwen shrugged yet again.

"Eh, something Elena did, probably. Although somehow I feel Marie is involved. How well do you know her anyway?

Eddie stopped and frowned. Try as might, he couldn't remember how he met Marie Adams. And it only now occurred to him that he had never even tried to remember. It was like all of a sudden, she was just... there.

"Huh. That is odd."

"I know, right? But hey, while I've got you here..."

Gwen's hands turned ice cold, her grip into stone as she stared right through Eddie's eyes, deep into his soul.

"... go home, Ed. This 'Wolfbaine Family Curse' of yours didn't kill us. It was dumb luck, no more, no less. I got to die proudly sitting next to the man I love and Haley... Haley never had to say goodbye to her dad."

"But-"

"Quiet. Michael knew what he was getting into, which backs he was stabbing. I'm not saying he deserved whatever happened to him, but the Scales of Justice are balanced. You and I bled to build a life together; don't squander what's left of it."

Gwen quickly pulled away and looked up. She grimaced as a loud, deep noise rang through... wherever they were, followed by a constant whooshing sound, like wind into a microphone.

"Shit, love. Time to go. I still adore you Ed, don't you go forgetting that."

"What? No! We just got here! I-I can't..."

Eddie fell to his knees, not bothering to hide his tears.

"I can't lose you again, Gwen."

Gwen joined Eddie on her knees and lifted his tear-stained face with a single finger. She smirked, then kissed him again.

"Oh, Eddie. I never left."

The last thing Eddie remembered from this World-That-Wasn't was the pervasive scent of his wife and the comfort of her forehead pressed against his.

The Bells, They Toll For Thee

Harborside
Barcelona, Catalonia
Spain

In another life, Eddie could've been a sailor. Or a pirate, if he was feeling romantic. And truth be told, it was hard not to become enamored with this life. Last night, clouded with rum, he had been lulled to sleep by the Mediterranean's waves, only to be brought back to life this morning by the bells of Barcelona. For a week now, his entire world was this ship. And in this world, he was free. Truly free.

Eddie stretched in his hammock, running this next week's itinerary through his head. He hated to admit it, but time was up. He had a date in London, and fortunately enough time had passed since that horror in Osaka that he felt reasonably confident that he could focus solely on Scharff.

Osaka.

Gwen.

Eddie shook his head. She was still gone, now, and forever. Osaka was a million miles away. He centered his focus by once again listing European cities, footsteps on the way to Revival. Barcelona-Marseille-Lyon-Paris-London. No, no, no, that was all wrong. Try as Eddie might, French just never made sense. Barcelona-Marseille-Milan-Lucerne-Frankfort-Brussels-London. It was longer, but at least for most of the time he'd be able to understand the language. Finally satisfied, Eddie rolled out of his hammock and shuffled across the room. From somewhere in the ship below, the aroma of stale coffee wafted upwards, a burnt offering to the gods themselves. Eddie crossed the hatch and stood at the ship's railing. It would take Eddie forever to wind his way through the ship, find the mess hall, and choke down the coffee. Eddie didn't have that sort of time; the coastline loomed ahead. The Spanish morning, however, would make a fine substitute.

***
Port Vell
Barcelona, Catalonia
Spain

Eddie Wolfbaine shouldered his backpack as he finally stepped off the ship's gangplank and onto Spanish soil. Having travelled the world over, he had seen his share of both airports and harbors, and while they both served similar purposes, in reality they couldn't be more different. Airports tended to be so sterile, arbitrarily dropped down from above on any old slab of land. Harbors, though! Harbors were something else entirely. If you were to stop and take a look, you could gaze back in time and watch it transform from a friendly beach to the city-within-a-city that it became. You could not plan such a thing. The sights, the smells, the sounds, the geography itself grew organically. Airports were built; harbors evolved.

Eddie imagined momentarily that he could stay here forever, a common motif in his recent daydreams. The port itself was nearly self-contained and Eddie felt that he could somehow belong here, away from the bright lights, away from the demons chasing him. There was nobody who knew him, nobody who knew his life. Nobody except for the beggar in the alley that looked strangely like Elena Piero. Eddie sighed and made his way to confront her, yet again. She was certainly stalking him, but after everything he had done to her as The Kaokame, it wasn't exactly undeserved. Turnabout was indeed fair play.

"Get up, Elena." Eddie growled.

Elena didn't answer and visibly shrunk away from him. Eddie lifted her up by one arm and spun her around to face him and recoiled in shock. She looked horrible, like she hadn't slept it days or weeks. Eddie was most struck, however, by the animalistic eyes burning through her bedraggled hair.

"Jesus, Elena. When's the last time you slept? Or showered?"

"Can't sleep. They'll find me."

Eddie helped her all the way to her feet and supported her against him. In a moment of weakness, Elena let her head rest on Eddie's shoulder and fatigue overtook her, if only for a second. She could've slept forever if the bell from a passing trolley hadn't brought her back to life.

"No! No, no, no. I'm sorry, Eddie, I really am."

"Sorry for what?"

"They're here."

"Who? Who's here?"

"They."

Eddie's eyes followed Elena's shaking arm across the harbor and his blood froze. He had only seen them a few times before in his life, but the Yakuza were unmistakable in any corner of the world. Eddie protectively pulled Elena into his arms and whispered into her ear, trying to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

"Let's go."

Eddie started to lead Elena out of the alley, but was stopped as she shrieked in horror. Wrenching herself away with inhuman strength, she ripped the lid off a nearby trash can and pulled out a notebook. As they left the harbor, it occurred to Eddie that he had seen Elena with that notebook once before, in Osaka, with one notable exception.

The notebook was now bound with Elena's hair.

***

Sagrada Familia
Barcelona, Catalonia
Spain

Eddie wasn't religious, far from it in fact, but he had noticed in his travels that religious buildings, churches in general, tended to be beautiful. From the grandest cathedral to the most humble temple, they all seemed to radiate of peace and harmony. This church, the Sagrada Familia was borderline grotesque. It gave Eddie a sense of otherworldly foreboding, but Elena was clearly intent on leading him there. She had taken the lead as soon as they left the harbor and navigated the twisted streets with a natural proficiency that make Eddie wonder how long she had been in Spain waiting for him. Only once or twice was Eddie brave enough to sneak a look over his shoulder.

The Yakuza were gaining on them.

The pair reached a patch of grass shadowed by the church and paused abruptly. Eddie tried to pull Elena forward, but her feet were planted to the ground, and her eyes were closed, clearly trying to recover a lost memory. Eddie's pulse quickened as he could hear the clapping of combat boots on pavement; the Yakuza had finally caught them and Eddie was unarmed. In fact, the closest thing he had to a weapon was the ancient book that Elena had been carrying since Osaka (or was it before?). Despite not having anything approaching a plan, Eddie reached for the notebook, intending to... swing it or something. Just as he moved, however, Elena spun away from him and slammed her open palm into Eddie's chest. To his surprise, Eddie flew back, far and hard enough to bowl both of the approaching Yakuza agents to the ground. By the time Eddie came to, Elena was at the church's door, a couple yards ahead of another pair of Yakuza, a pair that Eddie hadn't seen approach or even follow them. A foot inside of the building, Elena spun around and held the notebook in front of her like a weapon.

"Genua ante me iubes tenebris ad lucem!"

The world exploded in an instant. The church doors slammed shut with a crash heavier than the wooden doors should be capable of, locking Elena in. Church bells rang from somewhere within, vaporizing all fifteen Yakuza within earshot. Eddie survived, but blacked out from the force of the blast.

He woke up two days later.

In London.

***

Coda

Elena Piero dragged herself to her feet and checked her watch. She had slept for six hours, the most she had gotten in one try since she barred herself in this godforsaken church a week and a half ago. She made her way to the rain-soaked window and checked to see if her friends were still there. Their routine was easy to learn; in exactly ten and a half minutes she would see everyone. The four Yakuza that walked the blocks around the church she had named Larry, Moe, Curly, and Shemp. The fifth hadn't received a name yet. It filled her with such an unholy horror that to name it, to familiarize herself with it felt like an admission of damnation. Even now, her heart stopped and chills overcame her as she gazed across the plaza and locked eyes with an ebony lion.

Strange Aeons

La Sagrada Familia
Barcelona, Catalonia
Spain

With a sigh, Elena Piero wiped the sweat out of her eyes and started counting again. Every sunrise since she locked herself in La Sagrada Familia she had come to this abandoned corner and scratched a tally mark on the wall. She hadn't meant anything by it at initally; it just seemed like something you were supposed to do when you found yourself locked up. She didn't have a watch or a phone, so she didn't know exactly what day it was or how long she had been in the cathedral, but she couldn't help the feeling that 3,146 days was... wrong.

She had camped out for many nights, waiting for a trickster, or some low-level demon, anything. After two weeks (or 5 months, who can tell?) of stakeouts, however, Elena was forced to admit that she was indeed alone. No priests, no tourists, no old parishoners, nothing. It was as if Elena existed on a seperate plane of existence than the rest of the world. She found this easier to accept than she thought she would, though. She readily admitted that she blamed so many of the problems in her life on others. From the asshole landlord who evicted her simply because she couldn't afford the rent, to the clueless driver in the other lane who couldn't psychically sense that she was going to change lanes without using a turn signal. Elena was a professional blamer. So in a twisted way, it was comforting to know that there was only one possible reason that she had been sleeping on a cold stone floor for somewhere in between a month and a decade.

This was all her fault.

If she really stopped to think about it, Elena couldn't help but laugh. This road to ruin had so many jumping off points, so many warning signs, and yet she ignored every single one of them.

Nobody forced her to hack Eddie Wolfbaine's email and find out he had booked a flight to Japan.

Nobody forced her to research the murder of Michael Wolfbaine and assume Eddie's plans.

Nobody forced her to fly to New Orleans, break into Marie Adams's shop and steal the Grimoire Nocturna.

Nobody forced her to meet Eddie in Osaka and enchant him, bidding him return to the United States.

And that's where everything got turned around. The Men In Black Suits were waiting for her in Chicago, Toronto, even in her sleep. They haunted her, night and day, like a pack of wolves waiting for their prey to accept death inevitable. She didn't know who they were, but she knew that they knew the line she had crossed. Elena had always assumed that black magic was the stuff of fairy tales, but the Grimoire Nocturna had called to her. From thousands of miles away, it whispered in her ear of the ways it could help her. She could save Eddie, she could be respected, be a person instead of just a thing. So she had gone to New Orleans and stolen her salvation. From Louisiana to Japan, she had practiced the spell silently, never having the courage to say it out loud. The first actual recitation was in that corridor in the airport.

The words were ash, her breath sulfur.

As soon as they left her tongue, she knew the horrible mistake she made. Granted, given a hundred opportunites, she would've made the same decision every time, but that didn't change the fact that she had been duped.

It was all a lie. The book couldn't couldn't call for her and even if it could, it wouldn't. However, that... thing, that black lion that stalked her, night and day, that was somehow real. It was clear no one else could see it. There would be police, news, something. But she knew it was there, staring through every window, watching her every move. Waiting to pounce. The Men in Black Suits (Yakuza, Eddie had called them) pretended he wasn't there, but she knew they saw him too. They always knew where he was, if only to give him space. There was an air of unholy reverence in how they avoided him.

Elena suddenly froze in her tracks. She hadn't been aware that she had been wandering througout the church, but it didn't surprise her either. She was alone in this labrynth, who cared where she went? But this, this was somewhere new. At first she thought she was in a courtyard, but the gate at the far corner clearly led back out into Barcelona. There was nobody at the gate... had she found a way out? Elena sprinted across the courtyard towards her freedom.

Elena was proud of herself that she only allowed a small yelp when, a few yards from the iron bars, the black lion turned the corner and faced her. Her feet skidded to a stop a mere six inches from the gate, and there she stood, face to face with her doom. She stared into his eyes (apparently he was no longer an 'it'), and saw something else; the look in the lion's eyes seemed to recall an image beyond description, a memory that she couldn't remember. Her terror began to subside as the icy fingers of fatalism creeped into her. And then, even in the surreality that her life had become, something truly unexpected happened.

The lion spoke.

"Hello, Elena."

"...Hi."

"You ok in there?"

Elena looked back over her shoulder at whatever the cathedral actually was.

"I want out."

"That's quite impossible. At least alone."

"What? Who else do you want?"

"Isn't it obvious? Bring Eddie here and you'll be escape."

"Eddie? Why? Who are you?"

"You're smart, Elena. Surely you've figured it out by now. I'm-"

Elena watched the fur on the lion's mane bristle as a Yakuza soldier passed behind him, feigning ignorance of their conversation.

"-I'm the Angel of Death, Elena."

The Sunday School lessons of a thousand years ago raced through Elena's head. That would make the black lion... Abaddon? She looked up and started to confirm this with Abaddon and froze.

That look in his eyes, she remembered where she had seen it before. The memory beyond memory was now front and center. The implication was impossible and yet somehow made perfect sense. She walked up to the gate, nose to nose with the lion. Solving such a celestial mystery had given her confidence; no sense it wasting it before she decended once again to madness.

"They may call you Abaddon, but I know your real name."

Last edited by Dread Pirate (Fri-22-Jun-2018 23:54:04)

From The Shadows

Lady Adams' Apothecary
French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana

The taste of blood shook Marie Adams from her thoughts. She had been staring at nothing in particular for a while now, pondering and apparently subconsciously biting her lip. As she felt the blood run down her chin, she looked around her shop to make sure it was empty and made a subtle gesture with her hands. The blood and the wound instantly disappeared, but the anxiety remained.

The Plan was always risky, there was no getting around that, and it hadn't surprised her one bit when it went awry immediately. But even with the worst luck, she would have assumed that something would've gone right by now. Instead, every move she made had an illogical reaction, like playing chess blindfolded. She had missed something, but what? She rubbed her eyes and summoned another cup of coffee onto the nearby table. For a split second, the scent of a Columbian jungle filled the otherwise empty shop as the steaming cup dutifully appeared.

Marie chuckled to herself as she sat down. She really needed to cut down on the magic. She had used so much in her life so far, at some point the Petro would find her and call her into account for all she had done. So for the past year, under the cover of proper and sanctified magic, she had reached far and wide, searching for an heiress, someone to take her throne after her inevitable demise. A year or two ago, she had found someone worthy, someone only ever referred to as "The Razorblade Queen". No real name, no face, no location beyond a vague feeling.

Every breath Marie took was a risk, clearly leaving New Orleans was suicide. So instead she hired two men, a Swede and and Icelander to at least find her. They'd never be able to capture her, but they didn't need to. She could handle the rest. Unfortunately, they weren't up to the task and she was forced to take liberties with their memories. Through them however, she had met Eddie.

She hated using him so; she legitimately liked him and came to think of him as a son, so he never knew his true purpose. Toying with his memory was easy enough. She simply faded herself in until he just assumed she was always a part of his life and he never remembered the mysterious packages she would have him pick up or steal on his travels. She justified this to herself by never forcing his friendship, by arcane methods or otherwise.

It took months, but eventually the trap was set. She sent Eddie away and cast a spell from the Grimoire Nocturna, a fairly benign spellbook generally dealing with dreams, to call the Razorblade Queen to her. Then the unexpected happened. Instead, the reporter from Toronto showed up in the middle of the night. And in an act that defied logic, she stole the book and fled to Japan. It wasn't until Elena confronted Eddie in Osaka that Marie began to grow truly concerned.

Through her crystal ball (some stereotypes are true, after all), she watched in confused horror as Elena cast a spell from the Grimoire Nocturna to temporarily send Eddie to The Otherside... which was entirely impossible. She had to have had help, but if it wasn't a Petro, then who? It wasn't white magic, or else Elena would still have her sanity. And yet it wasn't black magic, either, or Elena would've already lost her life, or worse. From New Orleans, Marie watched Elena wander the globe with growing trepidation as her path constantly grew closer to Eddie's.

And then Barcelona happened.

Whatever it was that actually happened, however, Marie still didn't know. Elena didn't have a magical bone in her body; she probably would struggle with a hidden card trick, and yet she improvised a spell that would've taken Marie a month to prepare. And while it was under the shadow of a cathedral, there was nothing holy about what she did. Her Latin was remedial at best. Marie could make the argument that the onryo that claimed to be Abaddon had something to do with it, but he was clearly working with the Yakuza.

Marie forcibly stopped her train of thought and banished her now empty cup of coffee to it's proper place. There was a serial rapist in Reno that had to be half insane by now. She turned and looked at her dusty bookshelf. Most of the customers that wandered into her shop believed that it was nothing more than a collection of old movie props; those who truly understood knew it to be one of the premier collections of arcane knowledge in the Western Hemisphere. Somewhere on the shelf had to be the answers she sought, for Elena's sake, but also for her's. Because if such a simple plan had gotten away from her so badly, maybe it was for the best if the Petro did take her.

Last edited by Dread Pirate (Sun-29-Jul-2018 05:16:12)

The gripping mystery continues.

I've always liked Eddie Wolfbaine RPs. From Eddie's search for his brother and the Yakuza stuff, to Adam Blackguard's insanity, to Marie the psychic, to Elena and her ordeals, there's always some mystery going on, I always feel like I'm being taken for a ride (in a good way) and the writing style is great. You have a lot of talent with setting the scene, and allowing me to get into the mind of whoever is the focus. Dialogue is always intriguing, I'm never bored reading the interactions.

This is more of a general review, since I haven't given my thoughts on these RPs in a while. Just wanna say keep up the great work and I look forward to seeing more.

Prelude To a Reckoning

Duskfall (July 29, 2018)
Mercedes-Benz Stadium
Atlanta, Georgia

"AND NEEEEEWWWW CHAMPION..."

She squirmed in her seat as the crowd erupted into a white-hot inferno. It was to be expected; while Eddie Wolfbaine was a crowd favorite, Jacob Scharff was the hometown boy. He could do no wrong, and the fact that Eddie played the villian so well when he wanted to only served to put any indecisive fans into Scharff's corner. It was all a dance, one that she knew Eddie could play all too well. There wasn't a change in him, he just knew his role.

She got up out of her seat and made her way down the aisle, being sure to leave the purse under her seat. She wished she didn't need to steal it, but the tickets inside were the only way she could get into the arena without doing things with her mouth to a security guard. And those days were long behind her. As she walked down the stairs to the concourse, she returned her attention to the ring. Scharff was still in the ring, soaking in the crowd's adulation. Wolfbaine on the other hand, had rolled to the floor and was leaning up against a barricade. She was half-tempted to go down and say something to him, but what? He didn't know her yet and was probably in no mood to take hollow advice from a stranger.

Suddenly, Eddie stood up straight, stiff as a board, and turned to scan the crowd. There was a confused look on his face, like he was looking for something that shouldn't be there. She froze.

"Not here, not now..." she whispered to herself.

Shaking the feeling away, Eddie turned and headed up the rampway. She sighed in relief, and yet was beyond conflicted. She wanted to track him down, corner him, tell him everything. But she knew he wasn't ready and that would drive them apart, possibly forever, so she couldn't risk it. Not tonight, not tomorrow, maybe never. The risk was so great, she was normally paralyzed by fear. That paralysis had been so prevelant in these last few months she was still surprised that she had the nerve to meet him earlier in the week. But oh, how close that meeting came to total disaster.

***

Three Days Earlier
4CW Meet & Greet
Atlanta, Georgia

There was only one person left in line in front of her when the panic gripped her chest. She had started to mentally rehearse what she was going to say to Eddie Wolfbaine when she realized that she never actually decided what she was going to tell him. She hadn't even brought anything for him to sign.

"Uh, excuse me? Hello...?"

She gasped and looked up. The guy in front of her was gone; it was only her, a table, a championship belt, and Eddie Wolfbaine himself. She felt like a fool as she shuffled up towards him.

"So what am I signing?"
"I...I don't have..."

Eddie shrugged and smiled.

"A selfie it is, then?"

She brushed a stray strand of hair behind and smiled easier than she thought she'd be able to.

"Yeah, a selfie, sure."

"What's your name?"

Fuck. She hadn't even come up with a name yet. Normally that was the first thing she did when she got into a new town. Clearly, she was slipping.

No, not slipping. Just distracted. Very, very distracted.

Her mind raced and she searched for something, anything. She desperately wanted to use her name, her real name, for the first time in forever, but that wouldn't do. There was no upside to that in the short or long-term, not yet. Then it came to her. The first pseudonym she had used as a child, right after she found out who and what she really was.

"Kamieta." She smiled and swore that Eddie's face brightened with hers, even if it was just a shade. "Its- no, Kami. Call me Kami."
"Alright, Kami. Let's do this."

Eddie got up from his chair and made his way around the autograph table. He took her burner cellphone in one hand and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. For a split second, Kami allowed herself to close her eyes and go somewhere else. Somewhere where the past wasn't real and the world today was what it was supposed to have been. She opened her eyes just as Eddie took the picture. To the world it was just another successful fan-wrestler interaction, but to her, it was so much more.

***

Present Day
3 hours after Duskfall
Atlanta, Georgia

Most nights when Kami walked the streets, she had no real plans. It was almost supernatural how trouble always seemed to find her, even on nights she was trying to take off. For weeks, months, she felt drawn here, to this time and place. And when she saw that Eddie was going to be in Atlanta as well, it all made sense. All the preparations had been made, this was where It was going to happen. And yet something had gone horribly wrong. Something had changed,  and the hope that had filled her soul was gone and left exactly nothing in its stead. She felt angry, hollow, hurt, embarassed. It was the first time she had seen Eddie in the flesh and it felt like she thought it should. It had felt so right that she instinctively jumped into the future where there were no secrets and no shadows. She allowed herself to believe, if just for a moment, that for the first time in this life, everything was actually going to be ok for once.

What a fucking mistake. She was better off staying away until everything was ready. She would rather be alone that have to stare at something of hers that she couldn't have.

She thought of summoming Abbadon, but she knew that he would just preach patience or have some bullshit excuse as to why It hadn't happened yet. Or worse, he would have no idea what she was talking about and she had subconciously invented the whole thing. That couldn't be true, though. The calling, the voices that drew her in from halfway around the world were real, she knew, and crystal clear until the day two weeks ago when they disappeared. That part concerned her. Maybe she was crazy after all. Everything she'd been through, the event she was planning, none of that was normal or natural. Maybe her santiy had finally decayed, maybe-

Kami froze in her tracks. She heard the scream two blocks away, clear as day. Eddie Wolfbaine could wait, it was time for her to go to work.

By the time Kami found them, the man had a woman pinned against the wall with one arm and was using the other to try and peel her pants off. It was a little later in the incident than Kami would've liked, so she didn't have time for theatrics. Without breaking stride, Kami picked a brick off of the wet alley floor and crushed it over the back of the man's head, reducing it to a fine powder and he instantly crumpled the concrete below. With one well placed kick, she flipped the rapist over onto his back and leapt onto his chest, pinning his arms to the pavement with her knees.

"Go!" Kami told the bewildered woman without so much as a second of eye contact.

Underneath her, the rapist was coming to. Kami leaned down and headbutted the man, breaking his nose. He wasn't getting up, and he wasn't leaving the alley alive, so there was no real reason for Kami to do that, but damn it felt good. The man stuttered and choked through the pain.

"Ahh! The fuck are you, bitch?"

Kami simply smiled and calmly pulled a six-inch pin from behind her head. Her brown hair fell to her shoulders and she examined the laser-sharpened edge of the blade.

"Me? I have many names. Some that can be said, others that are just for me. I'd ask your name, but let's be honest. Nobody cares. You'll just be another footnote at Interpol, sweetie."

"Fuck you."

"You know, sometimes when I do this, we do. I figure if I give the guy one last ride and then cut his throat... well, then I get off twice. Oh well, looks like just a quickie for you."

With one swift motion, Kami flicked her hand down and opened the rapist's throat from ear to ear. Like the professional she was, she rolled off of him before the arterial blood started to work its way down his shirt. They were nice pants and she didn't want to ruin them. She then took a glove out of her back pocket and put it on, using the pool of blood under the man's head as a palette.  She didn't normally leave messages, but this was a special occasion. Her first American kill.

It didn't make the front page of the newspaper the next day, but the editors were sure to include a picture of the rapist, underneath a blanket with her message neatly framed in the brick wall in the background.

"Long live the Razorblade Queen"