3187 words (12 minute read)

Episode Eleven: Rescue Missionary (Revised)




You hear another loud knock that rattles the double-doors. A slimy, familiar voice speaks up:

“Charles!” Morgaeous shouts. “Stop dawdling and unlock the door! The guests are getting restless!”

You glance behind you. Sarah’s freed half of the ‘livestock’ so far. Most of them can walk, even though they all look rather exhausted and out-of-shape. A fish-man is stumbling back and forth, his water-adapted legs unsuited for moving quickly on land.

The comatose people in the hospital beds can’t move at all.

Oh dear, oh dear. Poor little Dieselnoi. So bright, so naive…making promises you cannot keep.

Who will you throw to the wolves into order to escape, little human? The sacks of meat lying in their beds? The non-humans, like Kayne would want?

Or perhaps you’ll throw that skinny grey Ogre to the wolves? Nobody really loves him, after all. Well, no one of importance, anyway.

…come now, Diesel. Who will you give up? Who will you sacrifice for the greater good?

#

You never thought you’d be sitting in a crypt, sipping a mug of hot cocoa alongside a computational necromancer and her vampire brother.

“Life is strange, I guess,” you muttered out loud.

“Tell me about it,” the ginger vampire said with a sigh.

“How’s the cocoa, Jace?” The necromancer asked.

Jace stared into his tin mug and said nothing.

Janice frowned. “I see,” she said softly. She reached into the medical cooler and pulled out a fresh blood bag. “Want a shot of AB?”

Jace’s eyes glimmered with hunger for the briefest of instants. He shuddered and looked away. “Not in front of our guest, Janice,” he said, voice thick with shame.

“Why not?” Janice said. She glared at you out of the corner of her eye, daring you to disagree: “You’re not hurting anyone. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“God willing––” Jace’s tongue stumbled briefly over the holy word “––I won’t ever have cause to be ashamed. And if I do give into the bloodlust…”

He nodded towards Janice.

Janice scowled: “I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. You’re not going to give in, and I won’t ever need to press the button!”

“Do what?” You asked.

“Oh,” Janice said with a sigh. “He made me put a kill switch in him.”

“What?” You blurted out.

“A precaution, that’s all,” Jace hastily said. “Something to stop me before I go on a bloodthirsty rampage. The threat of death helps me stay on the straight and narrow, you see…”

Janice rolled her eyes. “He made me put a circuit bomb inside his chest cavity,” she explained. “A bomb that’ll explode if he ever drinks from an unwilling mortal.” She shook her head. “What kind of brother asks their sister to do that?”

“My life...my unlife is not more important than the people around me,” Jace said soberly. “And I told you not to refer to humans as mortals, Janice: It’s dehumanizing.”

“What do you care?” Janice said. “You’re a vampire!”

“You’re a human!”

The two siblings, Vampire and Necromancer, started shouting over each other, so swept up in their passions that they’d forgotten you were there.

It would have been so easy for you to draw your machete and decapitate them both with a single ink-ribbon slash. The rewards and prestige would have been noteworthy, the risk to you minimal.

So why didn’t you?

I have reviewed this memory of yours, stolen from the depths of your skull, time and again, Diesel. I have parsed every sight and sound, every scent, every glimmer of thought and feeling...and yet true understanding of this moment eludes me.

Why is this moment so important to you, Dieselnoi? Was it because of the sheer novelty of a vampire and necromancer arguing over hot cocoa?

Why was this the day you started to consider betraying your Sect?

“Hey!” you said.

“What?” Janicee said, breaking off her shouting match with her sibling to glare at you.

“Just curious: what’s the end game here?” You asked, gesturing around at your surroundings. “This Crypt hideout, the zombies, the stolen bloodbags and computer parts...what’s it all leading up to?”

“We don’t have to tell you a damn thing,” Janice told you. “5th Amendment rights, you know?”

“Lady,” you shot back. “Do I look like a cop to you?”

“No,” Janice said. “You look like some kind of Triad gangster. Don’t they use machetes?” Her eyes widened as a thought occurs to her. “You know something?” She said out loud. “I bet you’ve broke more laws than we have!”

“Lady…” you growled, fingers tightening around the hilt of your blade.

Jace laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Janice,” he said. “He just wants to make sure we won’t hurt anyone.” He grinned sheepishly, exposing his sharp incisors. “You can’t fault him for being concerned, right?

Janice hesitated.

“...the vampire’s right,” you said. “Christ, I never thought I’d be saying that out loud.” You unbuckled your Ink Machete from your belt and set it to the side, sheath and all. “I just want to understand what’s going on, ma’am,” you told her. “I wouldn’t lie to a Dame like you.”

Janice blinked. “Dame?” She repeated. “What are you, some kind of Private Eye?”

“She wants to cure me,” Jace said loudly.

“A cure?” You blurted out.

“What?” Janice said, frowning. “You think I can’t do it?”

“People have been trying for thousands of years,” you pointed out. “Note my use of the word trying.”

“Well,” Janice said with a huff. “That’s because they were doing it wrong!”

“There may be no way to do it right,” you told her.

“Everyone who tried before treated Vampirism like a disease,” Janice said, a fanatical energy creeping into her voice. “They thought they could reverse the transformation and revert the vampire back into a human form.” She sniffed loudly. “That’s like asking a geneticist to turn a grown man back into a human baby! No, no...I’m going to improve Jace’s condition!”

You went very, very still.

“You’re going to try and make Jace a better vampire?” You asked, keeping your tone light and casual as you reached for the white strings tied to your waist. “How so?”

“Reduced bloodlust, for starters,” Janice said, counting with her fingers as she talked. “Increased neural activity in the empathy centers of the brain. The ability to digest and enjoy non-human sources of food.” She poked her brother in the ribs. “All the human organs and traits are still there, locked away inside Jace. They just need to be switched back on!”

“So...you’re not planning to make Jace more powerful, or remove all his weaknesses?” you ask.

Janice shrugged: "I suppose that could be cool." She rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “But that’s not what he needs right now.”

Jace reached out and patted her sister’s knee. “You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” He said.

Janice broke eyes contact and looked away. “Yeah, sure...” she muttered.

You sip the last of your cocoa and set the tin mug aside. “...I’ll be damned,” you said. “You guys are the real deal.”

“Was that in question?” Janice asked you, tension in her voice. “What would have happened if we weren’t the real deal?”

You said nothing...but the look on your face must have spoken volumes.

Janice went pale. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered.

“You’re good folks,” you told them. “I get that now. But most Necromancers and Vampires aren’t like you…”

“Oh?” Janice said sharply. “Now I’m curious, hunter: what do you think Necromancers and Vampires are supposed to be like?”

“Now hold up,” Jace said with alarm. “We’ve been getting along splendidly so far: let’s not...”

“...they’re threats,” you told Janice. “They hurt humanity.”

“More than humans hurt themselves?” Janice asks you.

You flinch. "Well..." you started say.

With your back turned to the broken door, you never saw Somchair enter the Crypt...but you did hear the loud ’rat-ta-tat’ of his gun thunder in your ear drums as he opened fire.

Jace threw himself in front of his sister. Dark shimmering bullets impacted his flesh, ampules of sacred ink that burst and sank into his pale, freckled skin.

Suea,” Somchair chanted.

Jace shrieked loud enough to shake your bones as the Ink beneath his flesh burned. He fell backwards into Janice’s arms, twitching spastically. Steam rose from the twin tiger tattooes freshly branded around his throat, their fanged mouths open in a silent roar.

“Jace!” Janice shrieked, fumbling for her Hand Mirror.

Somchair sighted down the notches of his 1921 Thompson Submachine gun–– a literal Chicago Typewriter––and squeezed the trigger.

Janice caught and reflected three Ink Bullets with her magical mirror. The other bullets slammed into her forehead and seeped beneath her pores.

Suea,” Somchair chanted.

Janice collapsed like a puppets with their strings cut, tattooed images of Tigers chomping down on her temples. Jace fell on top of her, bloody foam dribbling from his lips as he spasmed.

Somchair grinned and blew on the nozzle of his Tommy Gun: Ink dripped from the tip of his gun’s barrel.

“Good work, Diesel!” He said, giving you a wink. “I couldn’t have pulled off those shots if you hadn’t lowered their guard!”

“What…” you said.

“Aren’t you the lucky one!” Somchair said, talking over you. He walked up and nudged the twitching Jace with his foot. “Two live captures on your first hunt! Your pa sure will be proud!”

“But…” You said.

“Don’t worry!” Somchair told you, slapping your shoulders just a little too hard. “I’m not gonna hog all the credit for myself! I’ll make sure they know you helped.” His grin stretched wider. “And I won’t tell them you tried playing tea-party with a witch and vampire.”

“They weren’t doing anything wrong...” you told Somchair.

Somchair cuffed you across the jawline.

Stars exploded in your vision. You fell onto your side, the left side of your face a blanket of tingling-numbness.

Then came the sharp, throbbing, pain.

You struggled to rise. Somchair crouched by your side, resting the stock of his Tommy gun against his knee.

“Whew,” he whistled. “That’s gonna be a shiner. I’ll tell them you got that bruise fighting the Yaks.”

“Bastard,” you whisper, puffy lips causing your words to come out slurred. “I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Somchair stopped smiling: “Tattle on me? Go crying home to Daddy? Trust me: If your father hears you made friendly with monsters, he’ll toss you out the Sect doors with his own two hands.”

“...listen to me, Shintawantra,” you croaked.. “Jace and Janice don’t deserve to be locked away like this. They aren’t guilty of anything.”

Mmm, mmm,” Somchair said, nodding thoughtfully. “Very good points." He raised his index finger. "Counterpoint: they’re monsters, and my job’s to bag them. You really gonna fight me over that? Fight the while Sect?”

You fell silent.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Somchair said with a sneer. He stood up, walked over and grabbed the paralyzed Jace and Janice by their wrists. “I’d remind you not to cross with me, Diesel,” he told you as he dragged their bodies away, “but we both know you don’t have the guts. Toodles!”

Somchair left the tomb, his prizes in tow, leaving you in the dark with your thoughts...and no doubt, your unbearable shame.

#

Tick-Tock, little boy! No more time to daydream: what’s your choice? Will you sacrifice the few to save the many?

Or will you be a glorious hero and call on my divine power…?

You toss your hat to the ground and stamp on it a few times.

“Dammit,” you whisper. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

Another loud thump, as Morgaeous slams into steel door a second time..

“Ah well,” Mandrake Kayne says, flipping his trench knives into a reverse grip. “I’ve always known I’d die in a den of monsters…”

“Hold that thought,” you say at last. “Sarah,” you say, running over to her. “Give me your valuables!”

“Um,” Sarah says. “Pardon?”

“Gah,” you curse. “Poor phrasing, sorry…what’s the most precious object you’ve got? I’m going to enchant it.”

“Charles!” Morgaeous shouts from the other side of the door. “Charles, come here this instant!”

Sarah slips a gold ring off the tip of her left horn. “My mother’s,” she explains.

“Perfect,” you say, touching the ring in Sarah’s left hand with one finger, then your sword in her right hand. “Gremlina,” you whisper, feeling the chill of magic run up your arm, across your shoulders and down into her ring. “You can pop the rest of the locks with your ring,” you say, holding out your open hand. “Blade back, please?”

Sarah gives you a worried look, but pops the hilt of your Jian back in your hands. “What’s the plan, chum?” She asks.

“Stalling,” you say, giving Sarah a wink. You lower your voice a few octaves. “If we don’t meet again, ma’am, give the Alder my regards.”

“Wait––“ Sarah starts to say.

You’re already heading towards the locked door, snatching your hat back up from the ground as you go. “Kayne,” you growl as you pass him by. “Stop being a baby and set the prisoners free!”

“Wait––“ Kayne starts to say.

You’re already next to the cafeteria doors, jammed shut on your side by a metal pipe wedged into the door latch.

“Charles!” Morgaeous roars from the other side. “You’re starting to disappoint me, and you won’t like me when I’m disappointed!”

You clap your hand over your mouth and do you best Mothman impression. “Sorry, Boss!” you say, voice muffled by your hand (and hopefully the door). “The door’s stuck!”

Silence.

“Have you tried pushing it?” Morgaeous shouts.

“Yes!” You say, nudging the door with your shoulder and making a thump noise. “It won’t budge!”

Morgaeous curses under his breath, a guttural chant from a undead language. “Fine, then!” he shouts to you. “I’ll push from this end, and you’ll pull from yours, Charles!”

Wait!” You say. “I need to move this table out of the way!”

“Why did you put a cage in front of the door?” Morgaeous howls in frustration.

“Hold on, Boss!” You shout, walking to one of the folded-up cafeteria tables. “Striboga,” you whisper, layering your flying enchantment into the cage frame. “Hold on!” You shout again as you gesture at the tables and will it to move.

The table groans loudly, leaving scrape marks against the concrete as it slides towards the door.

“Hurry up Charles, or I’ll poke out your eye facets 1 by 1!” Morgaeous shouts.

“Almost there!” You shout, moving your hand slowly through the air like a fisherman reeling in his line. With your formidable mystic powers, you flip the table on end and lean it against the doors. 

"Are you done yet?" Morgaeous hollers. 

After touching the table and retrieving your spell, you risk a glance over your shoulder. All the cages are open by this point. Sarah is waving the liberated livestock through one of the fire escape doors, waving fumes from a smoldering e-cigarette over each escapee as they pass through.

You see Kayne press a grenade and hunting knife into the hands of the young Cop. "Keep them safe," you hear him tell the Cop.

The Policeman takes the hunting knife and holds the cylindrical grenade with a white knuckled-grip. "Normally," he says to Kayne, "I’d ask you if you’re licensed to carry these weapons around in public..."

Kayne gives the Cop a look.

You see the Cop visibly wilt. "...but I think we can table that conversation for later!" He says, running to catch up with the fleeing captives. "One at a time, people! No trampling!"

Grobach, still bound to the x-shaped cross, strains desperately against his bindings. “Release me, wench!” He shouts at Sarah. “Free me and my royal homies shall show these with lovely swage...!”

Kayne punches the Ogre in the jaw with his knuckle guard of his trench knife.

“What was that?” Morgaeous shouts.

“Nothing, Boss! Almost done!” You say. Ten more seconds…

Charles!” Morgaeous growls.

“Sorry, Boss!” You shout. Six more seconds…

You hear another loud thump from behind the door. “Argh!” You hear Morgaeous curse. “Blagh! Hrk!”

You raise your Jian, holding it en garde. “You okay, Boss?” You ask.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the last of the prisoners disappear through the door with Sarah and the human cop…everyone, that is, but the struggling, writhing Grobach.

You turn to follow them…

The concrete wall next to the cafeteria door shatters in a blaze of fire and brimstone. Cement and cinder blocks fly everywhere, crushing and bending some of the empty cages near the back.

As it turns out, you’re not the kind of person who could turn their back to an explosion and walk stoically away. You trip backwards and fall on your rear, jian clattering to the ground as you lose your grip.

You see a long, dark shape slither through the churning cloud of dust. Morgaeous Drakeworm, Meat Baron of Cryptatown, squeezes through the hole he blasted in the wall, his jaw hinged open wide enough for him to swallow an ostrich egg.

Inside his mouth, nestled between his pink gums and forked tongue, is the muzzle of an old-fashioned cannon, a Napoleonic 12-pounder that protrudes from his throat. You watch, stupefied, as Morgaeous bobs his head up and down, his neck muscles visibly contracting beneath his scaled hide.

The bronze cannon slides back into the depths of his dark, slimy throat. His jaw hinges back in place with a sickening crunch. Morgaeous hisses softly, forked tongue flicking out from between his lips.

“You!” he snarls, eyes narrowing as he catches sight of you. “The eavesdropper!”

The dust settles behind Morgaeous, revealing a crowd of hissing, well-dressed monsters, auctioneers that followed the serpent to see what was going on.

Morgaeous looks down at the mangled Mothman corpse by your feet. You see his serpent expression soften, shifting from anger to something approaching honest grief.

“Charlie,” he whispers. “You weren’t half bad.” The glare he sends your way is feels hot enough to melt steel. “Don’t worry, little buddy,” he says to his dead servant. “You won’t be going to hell alone.”

Next Chapter: Episode Twelve: the Miser’s Dream (Revised)