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ratcatchers2006-12-24 07:12 pm
m-danson.livejournal.com) wrote in ratcatchers2006-12-24 07:12 pm
Tears: Introduction to Arc 2 (cut-scene)
Six Minutes to Midnight
He watched the shuttle as it descended out of sight. If it had been purely up to his preference the Hunter would not have flown out of Thermidore alive. That one was a suicide bomber where a sniper was needed. It wasn't out of mercy or fondness that the Hunter had been given a chance. The numbers had dictated that the chance be given to avoid certain other unpleasant entanglements. He didn't like Hunters. Decades of associating with them had convinced him that they were all single-minded psychopaths incapable of seeing beyond their next murderous impulse. Even before the war, the Princes were barely able to keep them in check. Now, with the Princes gone, Hunters were roaming Europe like rabid animals. Unfortunately, they were excellent predators and that made them useful, for now.
The other demon child had been easier to handle, simply putting him in the same room as his father had resolved those equations nicely and brought Regina Thermidore one step closer to her goal. Alan liked that. The sheer beauty of the weave of cause and effect delighted him. It was a symphony that few could understand but he had found a kindred spirit in Vex, the Regina. There were rumours that they were lovers. The rumours were false. Now that she'd had her children, she kept her toys as toys only. He favoured the discipline of celibacy to keep his focus and secrets. Theirs was a relationship defined by respect rather than lust, and if he'd been born with wings she'd have killed him in an act of preemptive of self-defence. He would have done the same in her position.
He winced as he stepped into the elevator. His direct involvement had become inevitable, unpleasant as that prospect had been. Sacrifices had to be made and his previous role had become confining. Watching and remembering was good and necessary, but someone had to analyze and act or all those memories meant nothing. There were others who agreed with him and worked their own threads into the weave. Some did so with little skill or unaware of what they were actually doing. These he used. Others were trained to play the long game as he was, those he watched but left alone. Time would determine who was the more skilled player.
He would never forget the shock of linking to the Oracle only to see the constants in his beautiful equations turn into unknown variables, a counter-harmony added to his melody. He had thought that the combined skill and resources that his alliance with Vex created would had trumped those of all other serious players. Now he wasn't sure. Recent events had shown that new pieces could be placed on the board entirely without his knowledge. The seraphim and the smuggler were easy to understand. They were each driven by self-interest hence they were predictable. But the warlock was clearly insane even compared to the characteristic mental instability of his people. His monstrous form was unique to him though. It certainly wasn't natural form shifting. Nor was it common magic. Allan had his suspicions as to what was really going on. A discrete DNA comparison with samples he wasn't supposed to know existed would confirm it or not. Until then, the safest path was one of non-interference.
It was time to let someone else take the risk.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sky was falling again. A blue illusion shattering under pressure from the things outside. He couldn't hold the shielding much longer. Screaming. The sky collapsed. White shards of magic pierced his skin again and again. He couldn't hear himself screaming. For some reason he couldn't open his eyes. The shielding held still. Around him they ran away from the sky. Faceless crowd. He should be able to smell their fear. One of the refugees turned to him for help. A frightened face of aching beauty. As he watched the Sidhe's beautiful face sprouted fangs, horns grew from its skull, its limbs elongated into claws, and it reached for him. He woke then, only to stare into the face of the monster from his nightmare.
"Shit, you're ugly," he said to the apparition.
"You say the sweetest things, Sunshine," his lieutenant, Corey Rivera, shot back. "Dreaming of Underhill again?"
"Yeah." Kevin Danson, Commander of the group of specialist trouble shooters known as the Wolves, sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I've got to give up sleeping. What's our status?"
"We lost another worker last night," Corey reported.
Kevin cursed in three languages.
"I don't think our client was involved. I think this one just quit and forgot to leave his resignation behind. All of his belongings are missing too."
"Okay. What else?"
"A message came in for you." Corey handed his Commander a printout.
The message was short but Kevin took his time reading it. It was a strange message, usually clients preferred to haggle over price and identify themselves prior to paying the deposit. This offer skipped all the preliminaries, it simply stated that if Commander Danson travelled to Madeira for a week then the Wolves would be paid a quarter of a million American dollars and that a non-refundable reading fee had already been deposited in the account. There were no instructions as to his actions while in Madeira, he would be paid merely to be there.
"Is this real?" he asked.
"It seems to be," his lieutenant answered. "We checked it out when it came in. We have the deposit and the swiss bank named there has confirmed that they have the rest of the money in trust. All you have to do is follow the instructions for authorization and the money will be transfered to our account. It's strange, but the finances appear to be legitimate."
Kevin hauled himself off of his cot and started getting dressed. A lacework pattern of thin scars covered his torso, arms, and face marring the wolf and raven Hadia designs tattooed across his body. His skin glowed slightly to Corey's fey sight.
"It may be a trap," Corey reminded his boss.
"I don't think so. There are cheaper and easier ways to kill me," replied the alpha Wolf. "And the World Court prefers more formal means of extradition. Whatever our anonymous client wants, I don't think it involves my being assassinated while visiting a friendly nation."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to accept the contract and relax in paradise for a week while you convince Quetzalcoatl that the locals are not snacks. Don't worry, I'll think of you as I dine on food that doesn't wiggle and bathe in water without snakes," said Kevin, as he buttoned up his shirt. "If you are good I'll even bring you back a bar of soap."
Corey laughed. "If that windbag of a bureaucrat doesn't stop trying to order my people around I'm going to feed him to Quetzalcoatl myself."
"Just smile at him now and then, that should keep him in line." Kevin tossed a few last items into his bag and secured his weapons. "Threatening to sacrifice him isn't good for our paycheck."
"It might solve our problem though." Seeing Kevin's look, Corey explained further, "If we reintroduce the old religious traditions of sacrificing to the gods we might be able to keep Quetzalcoatl satisfied and keep him from hunting outside of the perimeter. If it was marketed right this region could have a lucrative tourist industry inside five years."
"Are you seriously suggesting turning one of your kin into a zoo attraction?"
"That 'kin' has the IQ of a gremlin and teeth the length of my arm. He may be genetically fey, but your puppy self is closer to 'my kind' than he is." Corey paused to give his boss time to think it over before delivering his final argument. "Can you think of another solution that doesn't involve us fighting him?"
"See what you can do to make it work. I'll be back in a week."
Corey grinned.
"And get Emily to track that message. I want to know who we are dealing with." The last image that Corey saw before the tent flap closed was the logo on the back of Kevin's jacket, a wolf's head with a dead rat crushed between its teeth.
He watched the shuttle as it descended out of sight. If it had been purely up to his preference the Hunter would not have flown out of Thermidore alive. That one was a suicide bomber where a sniper was needed. It wasn't out of mercy or fondness that the Hunter had been given a chance. The numbers had dictated that the chance be given to avoid certain other unpleasant entanglements. He didn't like Hunters. Decades of associating with them had convinced him that they were all single-minded psychopaths incapable of seeing beyond their next murderous impulse. Even before the war, the Princes were barely able to keep them in check. Now, with the Princes gone, Hunters were roaming Europe like rabid animals. Unfortunately, they were excellent predators and that made them useful, for now.
The other demon child had been easier to handle, simply putting him in the same room as his father had resolved those equations nicely and brought Regina Thermidore one step closer to her goal. Alan liked that. The sheer beauty of the weave of cause and effect delighted him. It was a symphony that few could understand but he had found a kindred spirit in Vex, the Regina. There were rumours that they were lovers. The rumours were false. Now that she'd had her children, she kept her toys as toys only. He favoured the discipline of celibacy to keep his focus and secrets. Theirs was a relationship defined by respect rather than lust, and if he'd been born with wings she'd have killed him in an act of preemptive of self-defence. He would have done the same in her position.
He winced as he stepped into the elevator. His direct involvement had become inevitable, unpleasant as that prospect had been. Sacrifices had to be made and his previous role had become confining. Watching and remembering was good and necessary, but someone had to analyze and act or all those memories meant nothing. There were others who agreed with him and worked their own threads into the weave. Some did so with little skill or unaware of what they were actually doing. These he used. Others were trained to play the long game as he was, those he watched but left alone. Time would determine who was the more skilled player.
He would never forget the shock of linking to the Oracle only to see the constants in his beautiful equations turn into unknown variables, a counter-harmony added to his melody. He had thought that the combined skill and resources that his alliance with Vex created would had trumped those of all other serious players. Now he wasn't sure. Recent events had shown that new pieces could be placed on the board entirely without his knowledge. The seraphim and the smuggler were easy to understand. They were each driven by self-interest hence they were predictable. But the warlock was clearly insane even compared to the characteristic mental instability of his people. His monstrous form was unique to him though. It certainly wasn't natural form shifting. Nor was it common magic. Allan had his suspicions as to what was really going on. A discrete DNA comparison with samples he wasn't supposed to know existed would confirm it or not. Until then, the safest path was one of non-interference.
It was time to let someone else take the risk.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sky was falling again. A blue illusion shattering under pressure from the things outside. He couldn't hold the shielding much longer. Screaming. The sky collapsed. White shards of magic pierced his skin again and again. He couldn't hear himself screaming. For some reason he couldn't open his eyes. The shielding held still. Around him they ran away from the sky. Faceless crowd. He should be able to smell their fear. One of the refugees turned to him for help. A frightened face of aching beauty. As he watched the Sidhe's beautiful face sprouted fangs, horns grew from its skull, its limbs elongated into claws, and it reached for him. He woke then, only to stare into the face of the monster from his nightmare.
"Shit, you're ugly," he said to the apparition.
"You say the sweetest things, Sunshine," his lieutenant, Corey Rivera, shot back. "Dreaming of Underhill again?"
"Yeah." Kevin Danson, Commander of the group of specialist trouble shooters known as the Wolves, sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I've got to give up sleeping. What's our status?"
"We lost another worker last night," Corey reported.
Kevin cursed in three languages.
"I don't think our client was involved. I think this one just quit and forgot to leave his resignation behind. All of his belongings are missing too."
"Okay. What else?"
"A message came in for you." Corey handed his Commander a printout.
The message was short but Kevin took his time reading it. It was a strange message, usually clients preferred to haggle over price and identify themselves prior to paying the deposit. This offer skipped all the preliminaries, it simply stated that if Commander Danson travelled to Madeira for a week then the Wolves would be paid a quarter of a million American dollars and that a non-refundable reading fee had already been deposited in the account. There were no instructions as to his actions while in Madeira, he would be paid merely to be there.
"Is this real?" he asked.
"It seems to be," his lieutenant answered. "We checked it out when it came in. We have the deposit and the swiss bank named there has confirmed that they have the rest of the money in trust. All you have to do is follow the instructions for authorization and the money will be transfered to our account. It's strange, but the finances appear to be legitimate."
Kevin hauled himself off of his cot and started getting dressed. A lacework pattern of thin scars covered his torso, arms, and face marring the wolf and raven Hadia designs tattooed across his body. His skin glowed slightly to Corey's fey sight.
"It may be a trap," Corey reminded his boss.
"I don't think so. There are cheaper and easier ways to kill me," replied the alpha Wolf. "And the World Court prefers more formal means of extradition. Whatever our anonymous client wants, I don't think it involves my being assassinated while visiting a friendly nation."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to accept the contract and relax in paradise for a week while you convince Quetzalcoatl that the locals are not snacks. Don't worry, I'll think of you as I dine on food that doesn't wiggle and bathe in water without snakes," said Kevin, as he buttoned up his shirt. "If you are good I'll even bring you back a bar of soap."
Corey laughed. "If that windbag of a bureaucrat doesn't stop trying to order my people around I'm going to feed him to Quetzalcoatl myself."
"Just smile at him now and then, that should keep him in line." Kevin tossed a few last items into his bag and secured his weapons. "Threatening to sacrifice him isn't good for our paycheck."
"It might solve our problem though." Seeing Kevin's look, Corey explained further, "If we reintroduce the old religious traditions of sacrificing to the gods we might be able to keep Quetzalcoatl satisfied and keep him from hunting outside of the perimeter. If it was marketed right this region could have a lucrative tourist industry inside five years."
"Are you seriously suggesting turning one of your kin into a zoo attraction?"
"That 'kin' has the IQ of a gremlin and teeth the length of my arm. He may be genetically fey, but your puppy self is closer to 'my kind' than he is." Corey paused to give his boss time to think it over before delivering his final argument. "Can you think of another solution that doesn't involve us fighting him?"
"See what you can do to make it work. I'll be back in a week."
Corey grinned.
"And get Emily to track that message. I want to know who we are dealing with." The last image that Corey saw before the tent flap closed was the logo on the back of Kevin's jacket, a wolf's head with a dead rat crushed between its teeth.