Setting
"We'll have to verify that in triplicate, civilian!" Ivan shouted as he jogged over to the two as best he could, his partner in toe.
Gotthard snickered, a funny sound as it echoed around his helmet. "Yeah, we also need to see your Slums migrations visas, documentation of every individual piece of ammunition you have, and of course complete colonic maps." He patted Hermes on the back with a chuckle, clearly joking. Of course the moment of levity was cut short by a bleeding, and grumbling Ivan.
"Look you prissy-named bastards..I dunno why the fuck you're here, but I imagine it's to shoot at the Aschen, or harass us, too bad you stepped in it though." He let his rifle fall from his hand as he spoke, the shot in his shoulder making it too painful to properly grip. "I don't know why, but seems like the Slums have decided to push us out.." He was panting at this stage without realizing it. "I don't know about you boys, but we have no back up, no chance of evac, and I can't hold anything heavier than a pistol, and I don't even own a pistol. This is bad."
Gotthard moved from Hermes and put Ivan's arm over his shoulders, helping the man stand, and sighing.
"It's still better than an invasion though, right?" Ivan chuckled for a moment at his comrade's joke, but that was soon replaced with swearing. "Well fuck, blood's oozing out my mouth. I'm gunna drown in my fucking helmet." Gotthard just sighed, looking to Anubis. "We've got about half a minute before at least thirty hostiles pop out from who-knows-where. Running is pointless, they'll just use the roof tops if we do. We need to make a stand, somewhere defensible if we can. And we're gunna need some better firepower.."
Anubis rushed over to their two uniformed allies, shook his head. "Don't they teach you idiots first aid? Move aside man, I've got super glue and duck tape.". Anubis patted the large bag on his side with a red cross on it and started shoving Gotthard out of the way. "I just need you to shoot in that direction, occassionally take the chance to make sure no one is trying to stick something up our asses. You know. Shit I hope they covered back in Fuckstick academy?".
"Hey Anubis, they weren't kidding. These guys are like roaches...Africanized Commie Roaches...We need to think of something fast or."
There was a series of loud audible popping sounds, Hermes saw something land in the middle of them all. A grenade... "GRENADE!" He shouted and cursed himself for what he did next. He dived ontop of, removing his helmet and placing it over the grenade and then placing his body over the helmet. With any luck he would take the full force and save Anubis plus the others. Tears streamed down his face as he yelled at the top of his lungs, awaiting the moment when it would all end. Anubis shouted something, probably calling Hermes an idiot for doing that but the intensity of the moment was ruined when an audible hiss erupted from the grenade, an ever growing cloud of smoke followed this. The entire street was coated in smoke, which answered what the other popping sounds were.
"I've got you in my sights...", an unfamiliar gruff voice announced, the only thing visible through the smoke was the red glare of what one could only assume was some kind of visor or maybe a robot? Regardless of what or who this was, they put down alot of effective fire. The gunfire only grew louder as they closed in, casings hitting the dirt and bouncing off one another, the screams of the thugs attacking Prima and the Bulwark officers muffled by whatever it was this guy was wielding. However by the time the smoke cleared, there was no one. Only a bunch of bodies, maimed and torn. The only thing to prove someone had saved their asses were the smoke grenades and the casings he left behind.
"Dude...who the fuck just..."Anubis mumble in disbelief.
"Fuck it man, Jesus is real or something. Either way, We need to go. You idiots are coming with us, Anubis help the bullet sponge move."
"Hey Dusk...you and Athens ok? We picked up some strays, their good boys though. Can we keep em?".
"We are fine. Still pulling off from this guy. We'll meet up with you shortly.".
"Goddamnit..", Gotthard huffed, unafraid to voice his contempt while he tossed his rifle aside. The damn thing had actually taken a few bullets, and been rendered more or less non-functional in the fray. "It just had to be a literal cloud of smoke, a cryptic line, and a wave of death, didn't it?", he was interrupted by a chuckling Ivan. "That dive, though. You were crying like a bitch and everything, Hermes. That shit was priceless!" Gotthard sort of snorted in agreement while rummaging around the bodies of a few slain thugs who'd managed to get close. "Yeah, man. That was fuckin' funny. If I had a camera rolling I'd submit that shit to the Newsletter, but..", he picked an almost modern looking pistol out of a corpse's hand and examined it.
"Mystery man saving us like that, and vanishing? A random, incredibly accurate super solider who just happened to be in the Slums? I mean, I know you Pussy Donna's are pretty thick but think for a minute."
Now it was Ivan's turn to groan, the gears in his brain clicking into action. "Yeah, the likelihood of that is..", he shivered before attempting to stand, and swiveling his head to look at Anubis. "You better patch me up fast, we just got Deus Ex Machina'd. We need outta here now...And if you ever talk about us like puppies again I will get a warrant for your colonic map."
Gotthard just nodded in agreement, tossing a few ratty old SMGs and pistols toward Hermes. Who knows, they might all need the extra ammo and fire power. Random, mysterious heroes saving the day with violence and catch-phrases was pretty normal in Wing City, but The Bulwark knew the truth better than anybody. "Good" things like that either meant you were about to make an edgy new friend, or something worse was about to happen.
"I hate this fucking city."
"Yeah. Lets get back to our little get shanty shack before more of these guys show up." Hermes took the extra weapons and 'sapper assisted' them to his vest. He also made sure to pick up a few magaziness from the abundance of dead guys on the ground. It was a real mess that mystery man had left behind but fortunately they weren't the ones who had to clean up. "I'll take point. Bullet sponge and Anubis will take center and you...guy...I didn't catch your names.. bring up the rear. Don't stare back there the entire time, I don't need you tripping over shit and snapping your neck or something but just make sure we aren't being tailed and holler if anything suspect is going on back there, Hooah? Lets go."
Hermes went on as he briefed, taking point with his rifle at the low ready. He made sure to observe everything as he advanced, even the ground for signs of explosives but there trip was rather dull from then on. The Shanty Shack as Hermes called it, wasn't too far away and while their pace was slow, they got there in a relatively small amount of time.
Anubis moved Ivan over to the table, cleared it of it's original contents with one fell sweep and assisted hauling him on. "Just going to double check my earlier work. Give you some meds to make sure you don't get an infection and you should be good to go. Pray it goes that well...I don't have any pain killers if I have to do anything drastic.".
"Alright man listen," Hermes started to Gotthard, as he paced back and forth. "We had you blind folded and you were unconscious when we brought you here alright? If Dusk finds out you weren't she'll_"
"If I find out what Hermes?" The familiar feminine voice came from the door behind them.
"Uh..nothing yo...Hows you two doing? Had fun with that shooter you ran into?".
"That shooter was Aschen Special Forces. He nearly killed me on the first shot, must be a new guy if he missed but he was probably warning us... training alone would have enabled him to kill me.", there was an awkward movement of silence as Dusk pondered on something. She then snapped out as Athens walked past her, flicking her on the forehead. "Anywho, anything interesting happen besides saving these two lost pups?".
"Yeah, real fancy, but did you just fucking say Aschen Spec Ops?"
Ivan's very loud protesting snapped Gotthard back to the situation at hand. "Yeah..", he sort of grunted, tapping just beside the visor of his helmet to cycle through vision modes. "Aschen in a place like this is bad news. Spec Ops is worse, and discharging weapons to not kill somebody is worse still." He moved around in a slow circle as he spoke, coming to a halt and shrugging. "Thermal sweep clear."
Ivan eased his way off the table, rotating his shoulder and staring directly at Dusk. You could see it, but he was glaring.
"You weren't there for the warning, lady, so I'll play nice. Call us puppies again and I will get a warrant for a detailed map of your colon." He shook his left foot a bit, which only made him hiss in pain. "And with the day I'm having I'd be happy to personally ram a camera up your ass." Gotthard just sighed, as amusing as that thought was they were still in danger, a lot of it.
Did either Bulwark soldier give a damn about the Aschen, and whatever their plans were? No. Gotthard was well aware that Aschen Spec Ops could probably easily mask their thermal imprints though.
The last damn thing he wanted was a bolt of green plasma to the temple. "Welp. If the Aschen are setting up shop I say all six of us clock out and let the Invictus handle it?" He turned to Dusk, chuckling a little. "Anybody got a cellphone I can borrow?" Of course he knew the answer. Having personally taken stock of every item Dusk brought into the city.
Twice.
"Yo man you can use mine. " Hermes said as he went to his communication station in the corner of the room and grabbed the phone that was face down on the table there. "Don't kill my batteries though."
After that everyone went to do their own thing. Anubis was on that same table, taking accountability of their medical supplies and throwing out anything that had expired. Hermes was working on the communications station, a set of computers and radios, trying to get it to work again. Over by what looked to be a closet, Athens was refilling a few of her magazines.
"Unfortunately for us, we don't get to clock out. I don't have the manpower to deal with the Aschen, I'd at least 3 teams and I'm currently operating as 1 that is down 2 personnel. Plus the skillsets I'm looking for...they aren't easy to obtain and even if I could "hire" people...there is the loyalty issue." Dusk said this half to herself and half to the two Bulwark Officers infront of her.
"I don't expect the Bulwark to do anything...literally. Hmmm...Hermes can you reach Bandit on our radio?"
Hermes didn't even turn around."I tried that earlier. They are currently out of range and the only thing at my disposal that can probably extend that is in need of some serious maintenance. Man what the fuck happened to our maintenance platoon?"
"They got gunned down with the rest of the company...Remember?" Anubis chimed in.
"Yeah well. Fuck those guys..."
"Weren't you crushing on the LT from that platoon?" Athens joined, though she didn't turn from her work.
"Yo, you can't just...throw that in my face like that Athens."
"Gonna cry again, Hermes?"
"Cry?" Dusk was pulled from her thoughts by that word. "Did I miss something?".
The second Gotthard was handed the phone, he settled himself down on the floor of the shack. He punched in a bunch of things, tapping and swiping like mad. It really seemed like he was trying hard to contact someone in a complicated manner. He wasn't. He knew no one from Invictus, and even if he did they'd never lift a finger for him, probably. No he was downloading his favorite game-app, Flappy Space Mollusk. He went about playing it while everyone was busy.
Their banter through drew both of the Bulwark officer's attention.
"You guys had a maintenance platoon?", "You guys are hiring?", they spoke in almost unison, although Gotthard had only half heard the conversation. A hissed curse was voiced from him, too. "Damnit I was about to beat my high score.." Ivan ignored him though, focusing on Dusk's non-nonchalant job offer, or at least what he hoped was one. He'd jump at the chance, really. Anything to get them off Terra. "Well, there's also the code-name thing. Not many people want to sign up to have their name changed to something stup-"
Gotthard's howl cut him off.
"My space mollusk! I was about to set a new record for the Terran server! I..I.." He was crying, oblivious to Dusk's question, or Ivan's attempt at desertion.
"When you got here, you were blindfolded and unconscious. If Dusk found out you know where this place is, she'd_"
"Shut Up." The woman didn't even need to shout to be heard, the venom in her voice spoke over the others. "Anubis don't be a dick, your a fucking professional not some Bulwark Officer. Athens, ease the fuck up. The Army you enlisted to is halfway across the Galaxy not giving a fuck about us so no need to be such a hardass and Hermes...Good job but smokes and the nades that blow you to bits look very different...Cmon man..."
The mood remained tense for a few more seconds as Dusk removed all of her battle gear and placed it in one of the few remaining free spaces. "Jeez guys, at ease. Relax, ass chewing over." She stated over her shoulder. Dusk then gripped the bottom of her shirt and seemed like she was going to pull it up over her head and off but she stopped. "Oops. Right, guests."
Everyone went back to their previous activities leaving Dusk to continue thinking out loud in front of the Bulwark Operatives. "They only listen to me out of respect, if they wanted to they could just leave or flat out not listen to me. I couldn't stop them really. That's another issue about finding more members...they'd have to know their place. People around here aren't very good at that. The average street thug thinks he is a God...sometimes they actually are, it's insane. She leaned against the table Anubis was working on Ivan's bandages at and looked over at him. "You know?" It seemed like she was talking to him the whole time...but then she continued.
"You and this goofball are the ones who always show up to harass me for paperwork when I'm up and about...Are you stalking us?" her tone seemed friendly enough but she was looking somewhat down at Ivan's chest plate, her bangs covering her eyes...her intent. The rest of her face seemed so blank and void of emotion. If Dusk wasn't so much smaller than...everyone in the room...she might have looked down right intimidating. However she did have her pistol still holstered on her hip, her arms were crossed at the moment but she wasn't done. "Your here again...In our path. Was it chance that you got attacked just as I called for help? That my guys ran into you and this mystery man pulled some super soldier bullshit just in time to save all your asses?".
Anubis packed his medical supplies and walked out of the shack. Athens sighed and muttered something about removing stains and Hermes put on the headphones attached to the radio he was fixing.
"You Bulwark guys have worked me over since I got to this city and it was all for giggles. Fine. I can live with that. But now your in my house, so to speak. Using up my medical supplies, looking at our makeshift comms station that one day won't be fucked. Looking at how much ammo we have, all the weapons we are missing. " She paused and chuckled. "Shit I almost took my shirt off infront of you two and you didn't even buy me a drink. So tell me pups...can you see why I suddenly am thinking this way?".
Dusk uncrossed her arms and now resting a few fingers on her pistol. "Why I'm thinking someone might not miss two strays like yourselves who played a few too many games? You understand what I'm getting at? I hope so ...because from now on..Im asking the questions and If I don't like the answer, Im going to give you something you won't like.".
Even if it was point-blank in the head, her little pistol probably wouldn't even crack the material it was made of.
Did she really overlook the fact that Ivan took three 12mm rounds, at close range, and it didn't even penetrate the armor a tiny bit until the last shot? Their gigglefit paused, both men out of breath. "Y..Yo...You're fun to fuck with alright..", Ivan was biting back laughter, "Yeah, some of your expressions were priceless, and the shit you'd believe..", Gotthard return to his phone-game, already over his amusement and wrapped up in it. Ivan on the other hand looked Dusk dead in the eye, or seemed to, hard to tell with a helmet.
"Here's the thing, Dusk," he spoke oddly slow for once, his tone startling serious for the first time in years. "For one, your pistol is useless, for two your ego is kinda hot, and for three, If there's one thing in the universe that is objectively impossible, it's intimidating a soldier of The Bulwark." He broke off his gaze, opting to stare at the shack's little door instead. "And that's not arrogance, or pride.", he sighed a little as Gotthard nodded in agreement despite not paying too much attention. "I've served custody papers to demons, I've fined bloodthirsty warlords for littering, I've vacantly looked beings who can alter time, and sunder reality in the face and told them, 'No, you can't park here..'."
Ivan's last statement trailed off, as a swarm of unpleasant memories hit him. Gotthard's attention seemed to have been piqued, though. He spoke without taking eyes off the phone.
"Mhmn. We've been in battles that've leveled our city, killed friends and family. We've been threatened by being so far beyond anything you could ever hope to be so many times that we simply...Don't care.", he hissed a little, his talking impacting his score. "But you are right about one thing. Nobody would care if you shot us, not even us really. Probably is, Ivan is currently without his chest-plat, so you'd have to go for him first. By the time you fired on him, I'd gun you down with the PDW on my lap."
The armored man simply shrugged, his voice monotone and care free.
"Sure, the rest of Prima Donna would kill me quickly, but they'd still be without their glorious leader. That'd hurt your efforts, and moral.", Ivan sighed loudly in response, tiring of the tension and memories. "Yeah," he huffed, hoping to dispel it a little. "And you know, you are hot, but not hot enough to stalk. So you know...Chill the fuck out."
With that Dusk backed down. She sat back down on the ground, they're little shack didn't exactly have chairs...or room for them. It was a miracle they managed to fit everything they had in it now.
"Well you're treated and he got to have his fun. If those thugs haven't tried to shoot you here that must have mean they gave up. I guess your business here is up."
As if on queue, Anubis entered back into the shack and continued his work.
Athens looked over, loading her rifle and Hermes sighed audibly.
"Don't bother coming here again...We won't be here." With that it was settled. Hermes begun to pack as did Anubis.
"Don't get killed on the way home."
The Many hunted, their form all but invisible to the naked eye, they were but a dust that moved and watched, followed and waited, searching ever for that which would make them grow, adapt, and change to achieve final protocol.
Now a mere shell of its majesty toppled pillars and ash-covered walls, the posters torn, but the unmistakable sensation of utter cold. Horrific ice-like biting the soul and engulfing in misery and untold despair. A crime had taken place here, and the air, the bricks though washed in ash had never forgotten the forbidden whispers that echoed now in the abandoned building threatened to overwhelm weaker minds and drive those to acts unfathomable to many.
Blood.
Blood was spilt when the crime took place.
Crimson ichor did overflow and drown those who survived...
Blood flooded the halls and screams neverending sang out...
One terrible, terrible night an upcoming Director made a choice that would doom all presiding... He found a manuscript like no other. Old, tattered and seemingly rare. It spoke to him, echoes down his very cortex driving him to call forth others to perform the grotesque and unholy act. Perhaps some had realized what it meant, or perhaps obsession drove them to woe-betide common sense and indulge in the most taboo of shows to ever take place.
Or maybe it was merely the implications that rehearsals were truly perfect and all was ready on time...
It seemed like it would be a guaranteed hit...
Many big names had attended out of curiosity...
None had heard of the play, 'The King in Yellow' but if their minds were not completely ruined in the seconds it began, they would never truly forget the horror they unleashed... Nor ever be able to remain coherent and rational.
The most utterly depraved acts and torture took place in this place, men and women once considered normal became animals and violent psychopaths, cannibalising and ripping each other to shreds. Feasting on the entrails and blinding themselves or sewing their mouths shut...
The story of the Solstice Theater is long forgotten...
Not long after, though, did people speak of seeing a figure clad entirely in yellow walking around and when nearby the play did continue or Carcosa sang out...
More bodies, more brutal massacres and after that the place was left forgotten... better to never ever let the horrors of this play happen again... Better not to let it be unleashed once more... and hope that time will remove all traces...
To this day you search hard enough, you will find the original Manuscript, completely new. Once more daring a naive fool to once again try to perform the play that should never be performed nor ever witnessed by mortal or immortal minds...
And time has shown that if you wait long enough, it will occur...
Like a dark macabre ritual, it happens like clockwork...
The ground so stained with blood and death, that even the dead can never quite be free of these cruel acts...
Some even say if they come near enough, they hear something in the wind, something that drives them to utter grief and self-loathing... they weep his name while gouging their eyes or ripping them out in grisly acts which cause the very sockets to bleed vile crimson flow.
They also silenced their ears with vile implements perforating the ear-drum to never hear it again.
For no one can hear his true name... Witness his true face and hope to remain stable, a million names, a million ways to speak them... But the one name you must never utter, never proclaim...
Is Hastur...
"I've never made a run to a dump before." Bishop was snarky and found himself kicking an empty bean can only to remove his jacket and toss it off to the side. The biker simply found a seat and looked upon the empty stage before him wondering why he had even came to such a place.
Her name was Renny, a banshee and not the noble kind, psychopathic and sadistic she was dangerous one and also meant to be dead. Though despite her rather pallid features she seemed at this point very much alive, "I guess yer are wonderin' 'oy scon are al' Jesusin' it up. turns oyt bein' a spirit an' al' oi don't die permanently oi cum back better than ever an' able ter take me vengeance. or 'eaven cud not stan' me voice seem for 'ell. oi don't 'av any feckin idea in truth. but, scon are alive an' yer are in a place av death... so ye suddenly into necrophilia or waaat?"
That was it in truth, Renny accent despite living out of Ireland for damn near a century or more had never left, leaving it very difficult to understand her unless you were used to it. Some suggested it was spite and her being a bitch. Nonetheless she approached over to Noel smirking with those dark eyes, "So whatever ever 'appened ter ol Dullahan? we still a ban' or waaat? oi miss de thrill an' 'onestly sum av yer weren't entirely 'alf-bad."
"My oh my, Noel ding-a-ling. Out of all fucks in this area I did not imagine I would see your grotty one again. Then again, I am one to speak after all I was supposed to be dead."
"I guess you are wondering how I am all Jesusing it up. Turns out being a Spirit and all I don't die permanently I come back better than ever and able to take my vengeance. Or Heaven could not stand me voice same for Hell. I don't have any fucking idea in truth. But, I am alive and you are in a place of death... So are you suddenly into necrophilia or what?"
"So whatever ever happened to Ol Dullahan? We still a band or what? I miss the thrill and honestly some of you weren't entirely half-bad."
"Renny, you spiteful bitch, how've you been? I doubted I'd see you too sweetheart but like you said you should have been dead." The cook kept his paper tricks at the ready but found himself looking upon the shotgun and dagger in the banshees hands. It was her following statement that she made that caused Noel to drop his guard and laugh a little.
"A Necrophiliac? Na'ah just doing a job....As for whatever happened to the crew I've no idea. The Club house is empty and I could care less. I kinda find it hard to believe that you would find me as something better than half bad. If I recall I skipped out on our first official meeting."
Rolling her eyes she gave a shrug before continuing, "f oi wus still vice president dat may 'av mattered. but bein' scon are dead oi tink scon are oyt av de job. nonetheless, perhaps we can feckin chucker somethin' an' perhaps git de ban' back together. yer nu for auld time sake or jist ter 'av somethin' ter chucker, not as craic ter perform jobs withoyt de groop. nor is it entirely desired. if scon are in me weck dead, who knows who else can be foun'?"
"This is my understanding from what I get. Something big happened and seriously doubt it was an Orgy and place got burnt down. Completely destroyed then moved and well then Dullahan vanished from the face of this place. I woke up in coffin and had to damage it with my potent voice. FYI Noel, you ain't experienced anything until you made a Banshee let out that sound in pleasure. Not a hint, more saying my voice is not limited to warnings or harm.
"If I was still Vice President that may have mattered. But being I am dead I think I am out of the job. Nonetheless, perhaps we can fucking do something and perhaps get the band back together. Ya know for old time sake or just to have something to do, not as fun to perform jobs without the group. Nor is it entirely desired. If I am not dead, who knows who else can be found?"
"So what are we doing here boss?" Cook smirked and placed his hands inside his jackets pockets. "You know finding new prospects is not as easy as it looks. Fucks sakes I know for a fact that finding a cheep ride is a shit show."
Dropping the kickstand and dismounting the dark green machine, Falcon checked his phone to confirm what he already knew. Two dots, blips really, appeared on a map of the immediate area inside the theatre. It was something The Dullahan had left behind for him to find. At some point, the boss managed to implant tiny tracking devices in members of the Gae Ceann. It had taken a while to figure out, but Falcon managed to only glean bare facts from the reams of information hidden in a micro SD card. The general location of the member and vitals. It didnât even state who the blips were. Even so, one showed up as virtually dead, which was somewhat odd. The other one was very much alive. There was another blip popping in and out randomly on the map as well -evidence the implant had been found and tampered with, or maybe just a glitch.
Pocketing his phone, the mechanic drew a Luger pistol from a shoulder holster and entered the Solstice Theatre quietly, heading straight up the middle aisle despite the obvious threat of ambush. It may have been arrogance, but it was more a confidence in old loyalties and his uncanny luck.
As he came within earshot, only catching the tail-end of the conversation as it were, a smirk lit upon his face. These were two very capable people heâd been (unconsciously) hoping to find.
âNot quite a problem as yehâd think, Mister Harrison -or Bishop if you prefer- ifân yeh know where ta look,â Kevyn said with a chuckle as he stopped in the aisle near them. âAnâ of all the places yeh pick, yeh pick the most clicheâd fer a siren⊠I thought yeh despised them stereotypes, Mistress Renny...â
"Figures yer paddy wud go aff on 'is own withoyt any sort av backup behind 'imself. oi swear me man is gonna be de utter death av me."
The woman got off of her bike and dusted off her jacket, taking her time to remove her armament from the sides of the bike. Along the side was a heavy rifle with a scope which she slid onto her back and with a flick of her wrists, activated her gun gauntlets, sliding back the plates and loaded in two belts worth of solid slug ammunition. Ruby's mind wandered to how far Falcon and her had come since the Ceann broke off, a small sigh of content overcame her lips as she reached into her pocketbook and withdrew her lighter and a cigarette to smoke
"Well, oi 'ill in me brown 'av me 'usban' ter be 'eadin' aff an' gettin' 'is arse blown aff in sum sort av darin' scrap loike in de auld days. better go in an' save 'is 'ide an' make sure me man doesnt git 'imself killed."
Ruby took a pull on her cigarette and headed inside, kicking down the door with aggressive force only to walk right on in. Upon seeing the three, she let out a long groan of discontent and annoyance.
"Oi! oi expected a goddamned swarm av sum sort av baddie, undead or even a friggin rival gang. not a meetin' av de ghost an' cat. for cryin' oyt loud oi wus gonna make bill skinner an' 'av a movie noight again wi' me paddy. waaat is 'eadin' on 'ere?"
Ruby exclaimed while heading towards Falcon to put an arm around him and give his ass a smack then looked over towards the other two in the room while giving them a curt not in greeting while looking over the place with some curiousity and interest. Why had they chosen this old place for a meeting point? Surely a bar would have been a clearly better option then this festering shithole.
"Well, fuck me. Never thought I would see the day when I saw more of our sorry group. Just call me Noel. No need for any of that tough shit sense I'm not currently running a job right now." The biker simply offered his shitty grin to the group as a whole and stood his ground.
"Regardless I doubt me just showing up out of the blue was enough of a reason for a banshee, a gunsmith, or even the well known Conway to pop up out from the blue. Like I said to Renny moments ago, what's the plan?"
Turning to the one with similar cut to her gib she scoffed laughing half as she responded, "Ghosts, yer wish lass, scon are a spirit av de emerald isles an' existed whaen yer were still de twinkle in de milkmans mince pie an' juice in daddy's cock."
"Honestly, I could not give a toss what you all wanna do. But crime is dull affair with only meself so how about we get the fucking hut repaired grab a bevvy and we'll discuss what comes after celebration of finding the whole thing again!"
"Ghosts, you wish lass, I am a spirit of the Emerald Isles and existed when you were still the twinkle in the Milkmans eye and juice in Daddy's cock."
The throng of people pulsed warmly against the warm walls of the theater as they filed through ushers to their seats. Portraits of upcoming shows from gangly artists littered the walls. A season's sun aged them yellow like seared brands. Patrons hadn't fared much better as the olive-skinned Apan watched all the wrinkled meat pass by him pushed in by door workers. The dim memories of his dreams echoed in his mind an indistinct itch he couldn't scratch off. Nor clean the description of a play read by a director that he either couldn't remember or tried to forget. Patrons filing in through red cordons between each door leading into the house were eager learners. This play was a thing of excitement for them perhaps they'd find new excitement in theater for their pallid lives. There was a name for the play filming his tongue as the last effort of a sane soul twitches to warn instinct to run away. "It's far too late for jitters," he thought as sparks of wisdom were quelled, "the show must go on."
Heavy doors pounded shut with the hollow finality of metal bolts on tree flesh. Apan's voice rang out in excited chase, "Ladies and gentlemen, The King In Yellow is about to start. Please take your seats."
A woman tried to sneak past him through heavy doors but his quick glance corralled the woman with nothing but a warm smile. Her large dishplate eyes looked up at Apan's hand softly cradling her head. Apan thought she was pretty but a niggling impulse remained that she looks tasty. A gleeful voice said with a cold undertone Apan wasnât sure was his, âItâll be all over soon. Get back to your seat. It wonât even hurt.â
There was the bigger deal of all this where rehearsals met snags or problems throughout but Apan noted how well it all had went, if not too well, that this day was not delayed at all. As if in spite of how well the production went their Director chose to have practices in a way where no one but he knew the full play. This was unusual and very disturbing. Apan voiced his concerns as worries mounted but the Director waved away concerns as pointless. This show would be remembered for years to come he assured. Paroxysm of repressed joy with each look from his Directorâs eyes during rehearsals, could they have been called deranged? Apan knew the Director, once considered a friend, this script discovered him to pull his mind into seclusion. As if writing on walls to no-one speaking how this would be his greatest show none could never repress his memory. A curious choice of words but dismissed by the rest of his eccentricities. Apan even once considered tearing the manuscript up as wild eyes mounted, but his friend the Director a creative mentor, threatened with lethal inflection to never speak of this again.
So rehearsal went on without issue the content of this strange play yet beyond bewildering. Its bearing carried as utterly without rhyme nor reason. Set in a place called Carcosa its songs foreign in tongue, at least they assumed so, that it seemed incomprehensible to humans. Yet somehow the tongue found theirs as songs were sung by souls with doubts they they should. How so they wept inwardly they had felt compelled.
Was someone controlling the proceedings?
One somber night after Apan was up late after inflictions of bewildering rehearsal but was about to leave when he happened to see the Directorâs office light on. Tired if quiet leaden steps slowly approached ready to turn it off only to hear a half hushed conversation at the fringe of partly hidden light, âMy King, the show will be on soon and people will hear your million names with million ways to say them before hearing your last true name.â In fear Apan hurried away burning the lead out with hot adrenaline from his exhausted soul along with the will to ever speak of it. That striking person to which the Director spoke garbed in a horrible ragged yellow robes⊠a yellow so sickly even witnessing forced bile upwards through Apanâs throat from the depths of his fearful soul.
Apan rubbed his temples. It was a day of celebration he should focus less on this and instead on their collective labor to birth art. Soon they began and no doubt after the show things would be better? Right?
Finally lights did dim as applause showed the Director to the stage his thin arms high. Even in flattering still light signs, alarming ones, raised in the recesses of his memory of the Director. His creative mentor was gaunt, eyes sunken, near to being more skeletal than human.
Yet he spoke with supple voice with majesty beyond measure, âMy friends, my fellow creative types, I Nigel Rasanen, welcome you to a show like no other youâve had shake the depths of your soul. We gathered the best talents for this creation like nothing you have seen nor shall comprehend. Never such a grandiose spectacle seen again than what I shall inflict on you tonight. I promise never living to witness greatness such as this. Bear your soul for me against this play to live many times to know pillars and spires supporting great intellectual dimensions we can scarcely imagine!â
The very suggestions by his mentor troubled him, Apan tried to tell himself he was imagining as his eyes swore that behind his friend was the yellow robe. A sickly yellow tether holding him upright as if a puppet. Blinking, it vanished from him, but he could not remove this doubt not in the least. Somewhere in his mind a hidden understanding of terror wanted him to scream but found itself smothered under waters so very cold. His throat closed with doubts quelled.
Nonetheless the curtains opened after he left the stage so lights could quell to let the show begin.
Witnessing the strangeness of honed story was both mesmerizing and horrifying as even though he had seen this scene it thrums across his mind more alive, more real. It felt like it was history made not fiction. Such a strange feeling, such a strange emotion⊠Yet the actors were performing impeccably speaking lines with such practiced abandon. Resonating powerful voices from which erupted one strange story being toldâŠ
Then it happened, the lights flickered off.
On
Off
On, to Apanâs previsioned eyes that saw grotesque display whole of the Theatre now become a living breathing creature. Digested acid at his feet backed by the horrible aberration of muscles moving in and out, everything there so very alive, it was almost like the Theatre was a huge unnamable monster with many eyes staring while the juices rose around them.
Off
On, then it was gone, the Theatre was once more majestic leaving Apan with deep questions of if had imagined it?
Off
Before as safety flickered away actors stopped in silent dark but to continue in the light all actors handling the resumption with gusto, not once hesitating, despite worried annoyance from the crowd.
Next came a turbid coldness that Apan was so shocked pressing on his legs he turned around expecting a door to be opened. All he saw were doors tightly secured with that unerring sense he was being watched. The cold itself unnatural, horribly icy, biting, a chill like something of a grave slithering up oneâs pant leg from the floor⊠Strange horrors spoke from seclusion there into his mind. The cold, Apan looked to the actors to reassure himself, yet the show continued⊠It was here he wondered if he should leave. Never before had such unholy or eldritch terror so shook his very soul.
Just as he was well considering abandoning this place came the actress by name of Erin Welsh-carroll; a major up and comer in the creative circles. Gifted soprano of distinction with an almost heavenly appearance sought after by many that desired so much less of her worth. Her dress itself a Cerulean blue with a pearlescent shift that hinted at some impossible depth like a pure night sky. The upper translucent layers light like drifting clouds roiled around her as she began to sing, and it started out well enough.
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead;
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa.
Part way through her voice issues unforgiving echoes to reverberate Apanâs skull. That moment he truly feared his conscious would completely shatter. Even more horrifying were others holding their ears concreting his fears raised higher with her pitch to unnatural heights from words in that incomprehensible tongue. Each piece swung the pick harder at his mind the more the song was sang. Horrifyingly enough Apanâs pain struck understanding of it all yet though he had never once heard this language. He knew of Carcosa, he knew of what she sang. So very much she sang. Her face paled as much as her eyes grow red before at once dripping blood down from them. Mascara mixing with crimson to show an utterly terrifying visage ready to tear through.
Still she sang, her skin growing even more pale, her voice speaking in a tongue that seemed not possible our bodies to even speak.
Pinned by horror Apan clung to his ears to shut the noise out but could shut away the purely dreadful sight of white alabaster skin melting in rivers of pain down her face to congeal like wax on her shoulder. Yet the voice rang out unsullied while the very crowd stare in horror clutching at their ears to not be deafened but finding themselves caught in between.
White of her face continued melted away revealing a marred crimson muscled face, unrecognizable from the beauty she once wore, that instead now built up on her shoulders. Clumps that melt off reveal her twitching red muscled visage all the while she continuing to sing.
In terror one soul mustered a weapon to uncover their ears just briefly. The shot rang out in combat to the noise but seconds after a horrible spurt of retaliation Apan saw the manâs head completely gone. Now stood a macabre display of blood and gore as if the noise struck back with similar rage. Just a moment longer than it ought to stand before the ruined body collapsed in a shower of more screaming now not just pain but abject fear.
The shot meanwhile did nothing, she still sang, despite the bullet that pierced her heart through and through. Yet continued the soft voice even as eyes streamed blood then tumbled out with sickening sputter of life. Even still stood the singer with holes of eyes that still bleed and still sang.
At this point terror desperately tried to engage the subconscious mind to enable frozen prey to try move while still covering their ears. Some failed leading to a sardonic display of pitiless fireworks alongside those who rushed towards the door trying to bang with their elbows. They could not use their hands to escape but to suffer the song. Battering, aggressively beating with legs, elbows, and bodies, it was so chaotic. Some poor souls fell underfoot and were crushed by the drowning. Fear so blinds everyone that very few noticed blood on their boots alongsinde brain matter and gore nor how their clothes were bloodied.
Further to add to this, while she sang, it began to rain.
A red mist, erupting from the sprinklers, raining down aggressively.
Apan knew to keep mouth shut as not to swallow, the knowledge was too at the fringe of his understanding to put together, but he knew what he must do.
Those who did not found themselves uncovering their ears instead to cover them in rage at once attacking their fellow man, their eyes just as red as the singerâs sockets, bleeding the same blood. Hands ripped into people tearing flesh away from their straining eyes..
Chaos since nigh with some people attacking the others while trying to maim them on worse. An unfortunate display the raging now that saw prey dragged the hearing fearful kicking and screaming away from those people too afraid to uncover their ears. Screams of the forsaken drag the Theatre crossroad thrown on a pile of collected charnel then it began, the thing that finally broke Apan and made him sing.
They flew at smothered captives like beasts starting a frenzy greedily tear flesh and innards away in a gluttonous feath feast. Apan knew both some of the victims and some of the monsters he could not believe what he was seeing. All acted without remorse. Sinew split with snaps of jaws ripping and slobbering all over the fleshy crimson pile of bodies. Limbs and bodies torn asunder the smell of iron lies thick in the cold cloying air as the blood pooled into the bodies drowning those buried deep enough to be spared the indignity of being rent apart by the monsters once people. The pile choked, sobbed, cracked, even as the strongest still screamed.
Finally, the song did end.
She bowed with the falling shards of Apanâs broken mind a witness to the show that ever went on, like nothing had happened, just going onwards⊠His psyche breaking down into million razor pieces completely irreplaceable and impossible to repair.
The song became melodic, it became beautiful. Yet no one was singing, yet he could still hear it and he declared uncovering his ears, âHAIL CARCOSA, OH GREAT CARCOSA OF LENG!â
He watched in glee as the fires erupted, and he watched as the Acolytes who tore the bodies asunder writhed naked between grotesque and ecstasy. He watched as they ripped out their own eyes to further see the majesty he now knew. Still he watched as they rushed like bloodthirsty hounds at each other as wallpaper peeled down revealing the fleshy prison they fought to be free of. It was breathtaking. Oh how he watched as people were brutally murdered in the truly most revolting ways nothing taboo and twisted denied them.
The song, still sang, and Apan, heard what he must do, he casually went backstage to do the final act for one must survive and the million names he knew begged him to finish with this.
He went into the office to pick up a knife he had never known was his to stab with, slash, and gore with hateful duty through the pretenders flesh. The man he once respected wallowed in weak bloody filth he chuckled. He laughed, he guffawed without hint of amusement more like derangement to finally turn away having served his new Master. Blood dripped upward the blade tracing foul language on scoured pitted metal. Apan looked at it once giggling at the fell words and patterns the rivulets traced on his skin as the Directorâs lifeblood sweetly caressed his flesh.
The younger Falcon would have been irritated, even furious at Ruby for stubbornly following him into [possible] certain death. Now, not really all that much older (or wiser, heh), all he felt was honoured that such a transcendent woman would choose to perish beside him. There werenât many others heâd face the Grim Reaper with, and most of them just so happened to be right here. In this partially burned, long empty theatreâŠ
Despite being quite used to it by now, Kevyn still jumped somewhat from Rubyâs playful swat. For the most part, though, he took it rather stoically, given the serious conversation. Judging by what was said, and not said, it seemed like he was expected to take reign of the Gae Ceann. It wasnât like he hadnât been expecting it. Hadnât been more or less groomed for it until the gangâs forced exodus. But he never expected the immortal Dullahan to vacate the title of Boss, ever, either.
âPleasant seeinâ yeh here, too, mâdear Gunny Mare,â Falcon said quietly as the gunsmith joined his side. Then, after Noel and Renny said their piece, he took a deep breath and began.
âIâm not gonna bullshit yeh, this isna gonna be easy. Us rebuildinâ Gae Ceann. But it is possible. We wi-â
The rest of his words were interrupted as a shot rang out from the entrance, body instinctively turning toward the sound. The bullet that might have hit him in the gut now left a bloody furrow along his right forearm. In the next instant, he shoved Ruby directly toward the others with the same arm as he got off a shot from the Luger with his left. The interloper dropped to his knees, a dark hole where one of his eyes used to be visible a few moments before the body decided it was dead and flopped facedown.
Several bullets were returned where he had been standing, but the mechanic had the presence of mind to keep moving after firing and was thus safely behind the seats.
âWeâre claiming the bounty on all yâall!â A voice shouted from just outside the door, as the sounds of at least half a dozen assailants assembling there echoed into the theatre. âPayâs the same live or dead, so we ainât playinâ nice!â
âLooks like weâve got ourselves an audience, friends. Shall we set the stage fer âem?â Falcon chuckled, then took on an imperative tone that brooked no argument: âIâll keep âem from floodinâ the place whilst yeh three book fer the stage anâ beyond. I shall be right behind yeh, when the moâ iss right⊠Now go!â
At that, he unloaded the entire clip at the entrance, following up with another barrage from a second Luger that appeared in his right hand -trusting that his order was being carried out behind him. Not really hitting anything in particular, the sixteen (or so) forty-five calibre hollow point rounds still proved more than enough to quell the imminent surge of attackers. A few lucky bullets caught an arm or a leg here or there of course, but Kevyn didnât keep his head up long enough to watch.
Instead, dropping the mags to the floor, he was distracted from finishing the reload. Blood trickling slowly from his arm, it was eagerly swallowed up into the aged carpet. That fresh metallic tang in the air suddenly mixed with a scent of old blood and decay. It might have been tunnel-vision from the battle, but it seemed to Falcon that the Solstice drastically became darker. And a sense, a beckoning, toward center stage permeated all within...
"Go on luve. Get yer bleedin' arm looked at. Ah got this" She said with a wink and walked towards the doors, her gun gauntlets activating with a snap of her wrists, the golden metal sliding and transforming into the fearsome weapons of the old days. She snapped her arms down to cock the weapons which were two shotgun barrels mounted into the weapons itself and proceeded to the door. With enough force to kick a car down the street, she flung one of the doors outwards towards the enemies and looked them all over, eyes glowing red.
"One of ye shot mah man...and ah wont be havin' that" She said and aimed a punch at one of the offenders, throwing an explosive round straight into the man's chest cavity which exploded in a shower of blood, gore and chunks as she charged towards them with shotgun blasts firing, explosions going and probably a great deal of screaming along with the sounds of-
"I HOPE YER HUNGRY YE FUCKS!!! YE MADE ME MAN BLEED!!! AH'LL MAKE ALL YE FUCKER'S BLEED!"
Inside, all they could hear from within, was the sound of War, Death and Apocolypse.
No one messes with Gunny's Mare's stallion.
Noel ducked behinds a few of the old theatre seats knowing full well that it was not the kind of cover he wanted or needed. Some lame asses decided that they would make an easy payday and opened fire on the remnant of what remained of the former gang.
'Those fuckers are shooting at us....At Me.'
Noel began to grimace as his thoughts raced and searched for the nearest exits and towards the stage that he was ordered to retreat back towards. It was only a split second decision but Noel suddenly began to smile as Ruby made one of those fucks into beef stroganoff in what could only be called a fiery explosion of artful intent!
'I've got to up my game.' Noel began to laugh like a mad marauder as he called upon what made him special. Paper seemed to flow from his sleeves only to take jump to life and enshroud Falcon and Ruby. Their newfound armor would be as light as paper as it moved effortlessly with their form but with the density of steel.
Noel however did not flee but instead made his way past some of the seats and took up several discarded flyers for the last show this place had preformed and forced the newfound paper into a wall which began to form next to him. He wanted more cover and needed a moment to control to field a bit more.