by Lars Teeney
“Evan—
There is much I have not told you about myself, and this is probably a good thing. I have a long and storied history with the Regime, particularly L.O.V.E. and the Rangers. I had not entirely retired, being
still on reserve duty, they had recently called upon me. So, I have left on a mission I cannot tell you about. Needless to say, I will not be returning. I have left a few things for you, namely all those treatises
you love so much. Stick with them, boy! They will be your best friend. Also, I have no need for the Claymore on the wall. It is my Clan sword, so treat her well.
As for yourself, I recommend putting your skills to use. Seek out L.O.V.E. and enlist if you can. You will be a great asset. Needless to say, it may be your only survival strategy, with your “affliction”, to hide
among the establishment—if you catch my drift.
Farewell,
Craig a Briuis”
Evan crumpled the paper in his hand. Immediately he was suspicious. Why would a man with so much just suddenly disappear? Maybe he was telling the truth. Evan decided that he should not hang around the school for too much longer. Once word got out that Craig had disappeared the looters would soon arrive, and most assuredly that gang would be looking for revenge against Evan. He at least had the night to pack and plan his next move.
Evan looked up at the Claymore, with its ornamented quilons at the ends of the crossguard, and polished pommel. He could see his own reflection in the shiny double-edged blade. He reached up and grabbed it by the hilt. The sword was lighter than he expected. He realized that extra weight was given to practice swords to develop the muscles used for sword-play. He looked around Craig’s office for the scabbard that accompanied the sword. Evan opened a filing cabinet drawer and found the leather scabbard and carrying strap. When he pulled it out of the drawer he spied something underneath. It was a ‘Database’ stash. Evan was perplexed, as it seemed Craig did not have a habit. He decided to take it, because he could sell it on the street for a profit. Evan returned back to the practice floor, and approached the large bookcase containing the many treatises. He went about the task of selecting the most concise treatises to take with him as he only had limited space. That night he would go to bed early, as to get a good night’s sleep. He would rise early the next morning, and would disappear once more into the slums.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
ENTER THROUGH THE NARROW GATE
Today was the day that Ayane Inoguchi would meet with Deacon von Manstein, who had recently been raised up to the rank of Deacon of the Pacific North West. His jurisdiction also encompassed the Great Lake Region of California, where Prelate Inoguchi was based. Her most recent target as an Ordained Prelate of the Church of New Megiddo had fled as far south as the barrens of the Grapevine. Eventually, she had taken care of her query, and so it was convenient for her that Deacon von Manstein happened to be in Los Angeles to meet with the Deacon Robertson of Southern California. Deacon von Manstein always insisted that she come to him in person to collect her bounties on contracts. It was one of the stipulations for saving her life after what had happened at the Twin Peaks H.O.V.E.L. There was no use in resisting, but the fire in her mind was ever-present.
Prelate Inoguchi could hardly believe that it had been a year since she had been put through Ranger training by von Manstein. She had passed with flying colors but was not enlisted into the L.O.V.E.R.s. Instead, she would become the Church’s most skilled assassin. This role she thrived in; an outlet for her never-ending reserve of fury. Today she was on her way to collect on her fifth successful contract. Each time the sum increased. She did not, however, look forward to meeting von Manstein again.
Prelate Inoguchi pushed down on the accelerator pedal of her vehicle. She had purchased the slab of a car from a shady dealer in Nueva San Jose for the trek down south. Prelate Inoguchi had heard a rumor that in the Twentieth century this type of automobile had been called a “grocery-getter”. Of course her current vehicle did not run off of petrol, instead relying on a combination of solar and “power bricks”. Needless to say, it maneuvered like an elephant on plastic skates. Prelate Inoguchi sped through the L.A. slums in her “grocery-getter”, causing pedestrians to jump out of the way. After some time, she reached the downtown district and found a place to park her ‘boat’.
She came upon the Deaconess building where Deacon Robertson was headquartered. Her Prelate credentials were broadcast to the guards and she passed with no hassle. She walked into the dark, cavernous throne room. She could hear Deacon von Manstein and Deacon Robertson conversing before she actually caught sight of them, due to the acoustics of the structure. The two Deacons stopped talking and turned to her as she approached.
“Ah. Prelate Inoguchi—this is the Prelate that I have been raving to you about, Deacon. I trust that she will more than make up for the loss of your Prelate—what was his name?” von Manstein asked, standing next to Robertson’s throne.
“Zimmerman. I still can’t believe the man literally turned himself into a demon! I couldn’t let that stand!” Robertson complained, the rolls of his many chins undulated with every word he spoke, “His body even disappeared! Blasted black market body thieves!”
“Yes, as I was saying, Prelate Inoguchi here will take care of the West Coast. Isn’t that right, Prelate?” Deacon von Manstein prompted her to break her silence.
“Yes,” she said.
“Hm, well, statistics are the only thing that impresses me. She seems to have a perfect record. Let’s hope that it stays that way,” the plump Deacon stated. He scratched under one of his man-teats through his robes. von Manstein and Inoguchi stared awkwardly at the spectacle.
“I assure you, Robertson,” von Manstein said, slightly irritated.
“At any rate, how’s our old friend, Zhukov? I heard he made Cardinal?” Deacon Robertson changed the subject.
“Yes, a rising star that one. I haven’t seen him in several years, as he has taken up residence in the Church Central Authority building in New Megiddo City.” von Manstein recounted. Prelate Inoguchi stood in silence.
“You just watch, von Manstein! I will take the top spot! Arch-Deacon Robertson has a nice ring to it!” The Deacon launched his arms into the air when he said this. Waves rippled through his hefty frame.
“God willing,” von Manstein said dryly, ”Well, I suppose I will leave you to your duties. I must settle accounts with Prelate Inoguchi here, and that can take quite a bit of time,” von Manstein was eager to get the Prelate alone. Prelate Inoguchi could sense it.
“Very well, von Manstein. May Lord be with you,” Robertson dismissed them. Deacon von Manstein and Prelate Inoguchi made a hurried exit, spilling out onto the street, feeling the hot city air closing in on them.
“I swear that man gets bigger every time I see him,” he chuckled. Prelate Inoguchi nodded. He looked her up and down. She stared into his eyes coldly.
“I know that look. You want your reward! Come, Ayane, let us enter my A.P.C. I hope you are ready for a lengthy journey north. I have quite the reward in mind for you, and we can have some alone time during the trip,” he said, with a smile that bared his teeth. She turned her head away.
“I—I can’t go with you. I have my vehicle here. Just tell me where to meet you—” she was interrupted.
“Nonsense! Yes, I have heard of your “grocery-getter”. That is hardly a vehicle fit for a Prelate. No, I won’t have it. Come, follow me,” von Manstein insisted. He started off toward his A.P.C. Prelate Inoguchi followed behind reluctantly, her inferno raging.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
The trip north inside von Manstein’s A.P.C. had been traumatic for Prelate Inoguchi. It had triggered flashbacks to her terrible childhood at the H.O.V.E.L. No matter how many times she was set upon by Deacon von Manstein she could never get used to it. All she could do was shut down mentally and be somewhere else until it was over. Soon, von Manstein had slipped into slumber an
d so she was offered a reprieve. She sat in silence for the remainder of the trip, praying profusely to God. She noticed a bag under Deacon von Manstein’s seat. It looked to have contained ‘Database’ applicators. She wondered if von Manstein had a habit or if he was a pusher. Then, she remembered the incident with Carlotta; it all made sense.
Not long after the driver had announced that they had reached their destination. Deacon von Manstein stirred. He yawned and pushed his fingers through his peppered hair, then put his cap back on his head. The rear ramp of the A.P.C. lowered and cold air rushed into the passenger bay. Prelate Inoguchi could see that they were surrounded by forest. von Manstein exited the vehicle and turned to Inoguchi.
"We are here: Kelly Butte. Are you ready for your reward?” von Manstein beckoned her to follow him. She felt ill-at-ease. Had she been taken here to be disposed of? Was that her reward? She stepped out of the A.P.C. reluctantly. She looked around at the landscape. She noticed that they were atop a hill somewhere. Something didn’t feel right about the place. The trees and undergrowth had a grayish tint to them; they seemed sickly. The sky was overcast and drizzling. The wind howled through the tree-tops. von Manstein and his driver walked toward a nearby thicket. The driver rushed ahead.
The driver began to remove branches from the thicket that had been piled up intentionally to hide something. When he cleared the foliage she could make out a cement structure that seemed to be the entrance to a bunker. von Manstein sent a command via his neural implant for the steel door to open. Hydraulic cylinders hissed with activity, and the metal door swung open to reveal darkness.
“Shall we?” von Manstein and his driver entered. Prelate Inoguchi slowly followed. She wanted to know what she was walking into, so she looked up Kelly Butte on the [Virtue-Net]. The text scrolled passed on her retinal H.U.D. The official article stated that Kelly Butte was one cinder cone in an extinct lava field. A the beginning of the Twentieth century a prison was built on the summit and the prisoners had provided cheap labor for the crushing of rocks that were used to pave Portland, Oregon’s streets. Several decades later a massive civil defense bunker was built into the butte. Since that time, it had been used for many different purposes; an infectious disease quarantine zone, an emergency dispatch facility, and most recently it had been a Church safe-house. Inoguchi followed the men through a dank, dimly lit corridor.
After some time, they reached a massive, open chamber. von Manstein sent a command for the lights to activate. The overhead lights struggled to life; flickering. Prelate Inoguchi was surprised to see that an ancient sports car was parked in the middle of the chamber. Next to it was a large pile of stacked, wooden crates that gathered dust. Prelate Inoguchi profiled the old car using the [Virtue-Net]. The car turned out to be a 1968 Dodge Charger. It was jet-black in color, with the exception of a bold, white cross painted on the hood, like a holy racing stripe, with the vertical bar spanning the body length of the car. She kicked the tire.
She looked up at the structure of the chamber. The space was an elongated dome shape, almost as large as an old-world football field. On the far wall, she could make out a faded, ancient mural that had been painted on the wall. The artist had used a perspective trick to give the illusion that the chamber continued on to an outdoor vista. Stone ruins emanated from the bunker opening, terminating in the background of the mural, among a landscape of rolling hills, trees and a salmon-pink sunset in the sky. She surmised that it had been painted to put employees who had worked here at ease from working in a drab subterranean environment.
“What do you think? She’s a beauty isn’t she? Much more appropriate for a Prelate of your stature than that “grocery-getter” of yours,” von Manstein exclaimed excitedly.
“She is quite a machine,” Prelate Inoguchi said without emotion. von Manstein ran a hand over the hood.
“She may require some maintenance as she hasn’t been used in quite a while. This is your new home, to do with what you please—but...” he trailed off.
“But?” she asked.
“But, there are conditions you must agree to,” he stated.
“What conditions?” she pressed.
“You will be permanently on retainer to the Church of New Megiddo, to bring the enemies of the Faith to justice. For life. Your tasks will be unpleasant and difficult, but you already know this. Do you accept?” he asked with anticipation. Prelate Inoguchi mulled it over in her mind. She wanted to refuse and tell him to leave, but she knew that it would mean her life if she refused.
“Very well. I accept. But, I have two conditions of my own,” she replied.
“Conditions—you?” he scoffed.
“You heard me right,” she stated.
“Okay, what are these conditions of yours?” he asked, visually annoyed.
“First, I am to be the only Prelate that the Church employs this side of the Mississippi,” she proclaimed. His eyes narrowed.
“That’s a tall order. Would you even be able to handle that volume of contracts?” he asked skeptically.
“Of course,” she said plainly.
“Fine. What is your second condition?” he asked while pacing back and fourth.
“Secondly, I want full autonomy as a Prelate of the Church of New Megiddo. That means you must consider my debt to you for saving my at the H.O.V.E.L. fulfilled. No more visits,” she said coldly. She shot him a look with piercing eyes that reached his soul. He returned a wounded look like he had just been shunned by a lover.
“F-fine. It is done. But—if I do this for you—then you better not disappoint me in your performance. You would not like what happens when I’m disappointed.” von Manstein made his threat clear.
“Then it’s settled. We have a deal,” she confirmed. von Manstein walked slowly over to the pile of crates. He pulled a crate off the pile and placed it on the ground. He forced open the top.
“These weapons are surplus and have been stored here for ages. Perhaps they will come in handy for you in the future,” he said. Prelate Inoguchi approached the crate and looked inside. There were chrome cylinders in rows. She picked one up and inspected it. There were a safety and an activation switch on the side. Disengaging the safety, she flipped the switch. A white-hot jet of plasma shot up from the shaft. Inoguchi had been startled by the brightness and intensity of the jet. She deactivated it, and placed the shaft back into the crate, and nodded approvingly.
“Well, Prelate. I guess this is it then,” he said, with a dopey smile on his face and giving a gesture to embrace. She was hesitant to embrace him, but she figured it was necessary, so she did. von Manstein held her until things got awkward, then he released her. He turned and slowly walked toward the exit with his driver, then stopped.
“Enjoy your new home. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. May the Lord bless you in your ventures!” he exclaimed.
“God-speed and safe travels,” she replied. They departed the bunker. Prelate Inoguchi smiled to herself as she experienced something akin to happiness and relief. He would no longer have free reign over her. Prelate Inoguchi stood for a moment, reciting a prayer of thanks to God. Then she decided she would turn to the task of making this drab bunker livable. She would make it a proper hermitage.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
von Manstein had sat silent for the last several hours during the return trip south. He felt a dark depression overtake him as he was not handling his “breakup” well. He could not understand why Ayane had forsaken him after all he had done for her. von Manstein poured over the rosters of children living at H.O.V.E.L.s in his jurisdiction, intent on finding his next “protégé”. Deep down he knew that none could replace his sweet Ayane Inoguchi. He began to sink into a worsening mood and needed distraction. He eyed the bag of ‘Database’ under the seat and reached for an applicator. He rolled it in his palm, contemplating what he should do.
“Just one dose to take my mind off things,” he resolved. He primed the applicator and injected the drug into his shoulder, then
sat back and waited for the drug to take effect. Soon he would be transported to another time and place.
⍟ ⍟ ⍟
BEHOLD A PALE HORSE
Today the slums of Los Angeles were abuzz with activity. There was an air of festivity among the people. The Reverend Wilhelm Wainwright had appeared to all the Virtuous citizens of L.A. and announced that the Vice Deacon of the Church of New Megiddo, their own Cornelius Robertson had come back to ordain a new Deacon of Southern California. The Reverend had proclaimed that the Vice Deacon’s motorcade should be received by cheering crowds on the street. Church agents had been sent out to the slums with promises of free bread and dairy, to whip up the excitement of the crowd. The procession route had been marked out through the slums, into downtown and finally to the Deaconess building. The man in the black fatigues had traced the route via his neural network and had also moved through the route by rooftop and alleyway. He had made a note of all its features and bottlenecks, and he had passed on his data to his collaborators.
“This is Pale-Silence, I do believe I have found the ideal position. All units redeploy around these coordinates,” the black-clad man said, peeking out from behind a ruined generator to the street below. He observed many slum-dwellers rushing to Church agents in charge of allocating gift rations. They were accompanied by Regime soldiers, which encouraged the ravenous masses to form queues. Hungry children cried excitedly when they were handed a slice of bread slathered with butter. They raised chants of “New Megiddo Invictus!” and “Praise President Schrubb and Reverend Wainwright!” and crowds began to line the sidewalks of the procession route, barricaded by soldiers and metal barriers. He shook his head in contempt for the scene. The Man in Black unstrapped a case affixed to his back. He opened the case and inspected the wares contained within.
