What goes bump in the night

"Pah! You weren't the one up close and personal with the chompy little bastards!" Adrian exclaimed, and laughed.
 
"Whatever talk you have left, save it for the plane ride back."


Shepard walked in front of Adrian and Vojta, making a motion with his hand. The french police were starting to disperse, working sealing the building further. A small team in black had already entered and was doing what Shepard had requested of Leceel.


"We're leaving France."
 
Neimi bounded after Samuel after hiding her ears. "Hey! Where are you going? The plane is that way!"


Haiku shook her head at all the talk from before and started walking towards the plane. She was ready to get back to her little corner of "paradise" and back to her normal life. Though, then again, her life had been turned upside down by the arrival of the new recruits. Didn't she need to still fight Adrian?
 
Samuel jumped a little bit. "Oh, Neimi. We're leaving then? Alright." He headed to re-join the rest of the group. He seemed even more introverted than usual.


"Yes sir," Adrian said cheerily, and headed to the plane with Vojta. Soon they arrived and were climbing aboard. As they did so, he noticed Samuel still seemed lost in thought. He gave him a gentle nudge on the arm. "Don't let 'em get to you, friend. He's got his own way of thinking. Everyone does. Just because you two have different views doesn't mean one of you has to be wrong."


Samuel gave an appreciative nod and took his seat. Like Adrian, he sat where he'd been before.
 
Muerte didn't speak at all as he headed into the plane and sat down. His point was made. What point was there in pushing or brooding over it. His only thoughts were on the next mission, whatever it might be.


Shepard confronted Haiku briefly before getting on the plane


"Come see me after takeoff, I have something we need to discuss."


It wasn't a question, but an order. Takeoff happened shortly after, from which Shepard was looking through papers in the back quadrant of the plane.
 
Haiku made her way towards where Shepard sat looking through papers. "....you wished to see me?"


---


Near the front of the plane, Neimi removed the cloth off of her ears. "Well, I guess that went rather well."
 
"Yes. There are no immediate assignments for the main team tomorrow, but I will be heading to Washington. A new president was just elected, and he seems intent on cutting some of our funds. In my absence, I want you to keep an eye on the team. If anything unusual occurs, use your best judgement. Should something extremely unusual happen, consult Leceel's experience."


Shepard had his hands crossed over each other as they spoke, gazing quietly into Haiku's eyes the entire time.
 
"Understood." Haiku nodded. "Any more new recruits I should know about before I'm left baby-sitting?" She stood with her arms behind her back, like a soldier at ease.
 
"One. He's an artificer, so there will be a lot of equipment with him. Also, he's been alive for almost two centuries. The rest of the information is on a dossier I'll send you."


Shepard returned his gaze to the pile of paperwork in front of him


"Dismissed, Haiku."
 
Haiku nodded and marched out. More new people? Seriously, there was enough stress coming from the others as it was. Especially Adrian. He was such an odd anomaly; he actually intimidated her and she really didn't like it. But what did that matter? Haiku was stuck with all of these idiots whether she liked it or not so she decided to just deal with it for now.
 
It was several hours before the plane touched down back in the bermuda triangle, shortly after midnight. Leceel arrived shortly after, in a separate plane, from which he immediately headed down to his quarters. Shepard dismissed the team and headed back up to his office. If he was lucky he would be able to get three to four hours of sleep before his meeting with the president


Muerte was silent as he walked up to his room. He didn't care at this point whether Samuel followed him or not. Well, he hadn't really cared before either. His shirt went off once he was there, at which point he was able to get a full grasp on his injuries.


His forearm seemed to have set in just fine, no problems with the transition. His skin would take some time to reconnect, even with the stitches in place. He looked over at one of the wounds on his abdomen, he probably could--


The next several minutes were spent threading out the stitches from an injury three weeks old. It seemed to have closed up on its own finally.
 
Samuel didn't even look at Muerte, instead opting to head to the beach, slowly walking along the water's edge, smoking a cigarette to calm himself so that he could think clearly.


Adrian headed straight to his room and immediately began practicing his swordplay. He was grinning to himself as he looked forward to his duel with Haiku.
 
Vojta unpacked his things, laying everything out immaculately while listening to Adrian practice. "I think I'll go and look at the stars like I had wanted to." He said with a slight smile. He ascended up to the roof through the same way he had the first morning everyone was on the beach and pulled out his field book. 'These constellations match this time of year, but are in a different pattern.' He thought to himself. 'Perhaps it's due to where we are in the se-' He stopped mid thought when he saw a figure with a lighter on the beach. 'That's the meeker man that was with Adrian today, isn't it?' He thought curiously. 'I really haven't studied him much, but I think I can get closer without him noticing so I can.' He folded his book shut and faded into the shadows, traveling in the dark until he was up in one of the trees near the beach. Perching on one of the stronger branches, he reopened his book and began to sketch a profile of Samuel.
 
Haiku found the dossier on the floor of her room.


Roy Ernest Green


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-Nicknames/titles: Sarge, Sargent, Reg


-Gender: Male


-Age: 143


-Officer: Unknown


-Abilities: Infusion of Mana- Roy has learned how to lay mana, the elemental form of magic, into physical items to give them surprising abilities. For the most part he uses the realms of force, bio-magic, and alchemy. In his truck he has several magical items. Some of them he found on his adventures, his favorites, he made himself. To create a magical item he must be present in it's construction to lay the mana as it is formed. This extends any crafting project by at least double if he focuses solely on it. He can also place magic into potions that can increase any individuals abilities provided they have the stomach for them.


-Skills:


Bat out of Hell- Roy is a cavalry man. He always has been and always will be. He knows how to handle a horse very well. But more recently he uses his motorcycle, Lauren. He drives very well. He's been doing it for most of his life and can out drive most anyone.


Axes, Blades, Pistols, and Chains- He has a lot of inventory in his truck and he's become very familiar with it over the many years. But he doesn't really know how to use much besides those things. He primarily uses melee weapons such as axes and swords. These large objects of solid metal are easiest to but occasionally will use a pistol, of his own design, when he just has to have a ranged attack.


-Weaknesses:


Technology just goes piff- The magic in his veins and the curse he's under causes most modern tech around him to break down over time when in close proximity or quickly when he touches them.


Curse- He was cursed by the Sorcerer of San Juan and most good things that come into his life tend to end, generally in a terrible and sudden way. He finds a girl he likes, then she moves away or gets cancer. He does a good job in a new town, then the cops try and come after him.


Inventory is Everything- He has lots of gear. Lots of gear. Something for most any situation. But if he gets caught without the right gear, his day could end badly. If someone found out about his truck and destroyed it... he'd be very unhappy and probably in serious trouble.


-Weapons:


Axe: His all-purpose tool. It is a double headed axe fashioned after the battle axes of old. Crafted by his hands Roy was able to enchant it with the power of force that makes every blow from this already considerable axe that much more deadly. It cracks armor and slashes flesh. It also has several large impurities of many different metals that are known to have some creature that was weak to it. Silver, iron, bronze, wolfram, steel, and many more. This compound alloy would make the edge very hard to keep but the enchantment keeps it sharp and hitting with the effective force of something three times the weight.


Sword: He has two, one silver and the other cold iron. Each is enchanted. The silver sword with fire and the cold iron with the essence of winter.


Knives: He has a simple skinning knife that never dulls and is sharp enough to pierce most hides given time. He also has two fragmentation daggers.


Revolver: Standard 6-shooter. Generally in the glove compartment of his truck.


Conduit Gun: Always on his right hip. His conduit gun allows him to fire his manarounds that work in no other gun.


Mana-rounds: They are propelled by magical means and are all enchanted with devastating effects. The crafting of each takes about a month. He always has them in the holster next to his gun.


Type 1: Fire it engulfs the enemy in a giant fireball that wreathes around him scorching his flesh.


Type 2: Lightning highly electrically charged and will short circuit normal humans. It will incapacitate many monsters. Puddles are your friend.


Type 3: Ice, localized freezing near the point of impact. Useful to disarm or encap a monster.


Type 4: Earth, after fired this bullet weighs a ton. Literally. Will knock most anything off of its feet. Designed to lodge in enemy and carry them away.


Type 5: Soul, good against ghosts. Does psychic damage to normal people interrupting nervous control and causing hallucinations if shot in the head. No physical damage.


Enchanted Biker Leather: Roy has a set of black leather that he has reinforced with magic. They make him more resistant to blows and bullets.


Enchanted Shield: His shield is enchanted to resist elemental damage. He rarely uses it but sometimes it's invaluable.


-Tools: 1940's UPS truck/base of operations, motorcycle, recycling bin filled with any chain imaginable, alchemical supplies of all sorts in truck.


-Personality: Roy isn't a very happy man. The only joy he seems to be able to keep from the ravages of his curse are in battle. He enjoys fighting, he enjoys planning for fighting, he enjoys recon, he enjoys making weapons. Maybe he always loved it, maybe he was meant to do it, or maybe its just the comfort of the repetition of the actions, the comfort of an old friend. His fighting style makes many think he has a death-wish, and maybe he does, but he's been fighting this way for the most of a century and it hasn't killed him yet. He's got lots of scars, emotional triggers, and has a tendency to come out of sleep swinging. Roy doesn't like unburdening himself on others. He just keeps it inside, and he sees himself as a loner. He doesn't know if he likes that or if he's just become accustomed to it.


-History: Roy was born in southern USA and remembers little of his young life before his time in the military. When he joined he was bubbling with enthusiasm ready to serve his country. The charge at San Juan hill under Lt. Teddy Roosevelt was his first major deployment.


Unknown to the American army, not that they would have believed it if they knew, there was a powerful sorcerer at San Juan. He summoned a deadly demon to fight the cavalry. The Rough Riders defeated it and brought the sorcerer down, but with his final breath the sorcerer cursed the Rough Riders to 'Live Unfulfilled'. This cursed them to live eternally in a state of unhappiness. When they try to succeed at something they may do just that, but have serious problems reaping the benefits. The curse also prevents them from knowingly taking their own lives.


The Lt. eventually ran for vice president hoping to deal with this threat that the US government was ignoring. When he got the big chair he set up the first US Paranormal Reaction Agency that was spear-headed by the RR. It lasted for 5 years and then Taft, as Taft is ought to do, ruined it. He closed the USPRA. Teddy ran for the office again, but to no avail.


The RR went to the West dealing with what they could with limited resources. As the years went by, some died, some joined up for a time, some settled down (never with any sort of permanence) some came back, but they always fought the things that went bump in the night. Eventually the modern government got wind of their motions and they were forced to disband. The LT is still alive and kicking and coordinates affairs from the outskirts of Chicago.


Roy specifically never left the RR. He was one of the best scrappers in the entire outfit. He quickly learned some magical arts to infuse objects with the energy that filled him from his curse. He's killed people, monsters, and things that lived in nightmares. He fell in love a few times, and has since learned not to do that. He kills things, dangerous things, and he may be hoping, subconsciously, that one of them makes him buy a farm.


-Physical Appearance:


Roy has short black hair and a 9-o'clock shadow. His eyes are brown. For the most part he wears a white long sleeve t-shirt and a black leather jacket, a pair of dark blue jeans, a pair of leather gloves, and a pair of black leather boots. While he doesn't have any accelerated healing his healing tends to me more complete than others. Scars are rare on his body, from recent wounds.
 
Samuel, blissfully unaware of the part-vampire drawing him from the treetops, stood at the water's edge with his right hand casually in his pocket, thumb sticking out. His left held the cigarette between the index and middle fingers. He stared out across the ocean as he somberly smoked, his brow slightly furrowed. His expression was that of someone deep in thought over something bothering them.


After a few minutes he flicked the stub of his cigarette into the tide, sighing deeply. "How can one man honestly justify life?" he muttered frustratedly, "It cannot be done. Does it really require justification?!"
 
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Vojta finished his sketch and went to put his pen away, when Samuel's sudden talking surprised him, causing him to drop it. A very audible *piff* was heard as it hit the sand on the beach. Vojta dare not move, and stopped breathing, else he give away where he was.
 
Samuel froze for a moment at the sound, and slowly turned in its direction. He slowly made his way over to where he'd heard it, and then he noticed the notebook. He cocked his head slightly as he picked it up and brushed some sand off of it. "...Where did this come from...?" he mused aloud. "I've never seen it before...did someone drop it?" He was unaware of the man above him, shrouded by darkness. He leaned against the tree and noticed what page it was open to...


"Is this a sketch of...me?" His eyes widened. "This is of me, just a mere minute ago..." He stood up off of the tree, his body bent slightly; he was ready to flee at a moment's notice. "Is someone there?" He projected into the night. "Please, reveal yourself." His eyes were darting around his surroundings.
 
Vojta silently swore inside. 'How incredibly careless. Have I really become so sloppy? Guess there is no avoiding contact now.' He phased into the shadows and moved to the base of the tree, stepping out from the back slightly. "Hello there, uh, Samuel wasn't it? I did drop that field book, and I must apologize greatly if the sketch offends you." Vojta averted his eyes, unwilling to make anymore than the absolute needed contact. "If I could have it back promptly, that would be incredibly useful, as my notes are all in it, and it's one of my most important keepsakes." He said, running all the words together in a haste to get the book and leave to somewhere where no one would find him for a while.
 
Samuel initially jumped backwards to get some distance upon hearing the man speak, but once he faced him, he recognized him. "Ah...you're the part-vampire, Adrian's friend, right? Vojta?" He relaxed and straightened his posture. "Here you are," he said, handing him the notebook. "You are an excellent sketcher if I may say so." He was wringing his hands out again. "Forgive my standoffish-ness, I just thought I was alone out here. I was rather startled to see that I was, in fact, not." He gave Vojta a once-over; he immediately recognized the signs of someone who naturally shied away from contact with other people, for whatever reasons. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'll leave you be; I should probably be heading to my room anyway," he said with a polite bow of his head, and started making his way back to the main compound.
 
Roy sat in his seat on the plane. It was an old one, a C-76 Caravan. A nice plane from WW2 used to carry freight across the Atlantic, or so the pilot had informed him when he had climbed aboard. The pilot had been filled with enthusiasm at his assignment to fly this piece that should be in either a museum or a junkyard. While Roy was happy to see that this new agency was willing to accomadate his... special needs, he was hoping they would have been traveling by boat. He has never liked flying. The plane has crashed everytime he was on one.


The darkness of the cargo hold surrounded the man. The darkness only punctuated occasionally by a pulsing red light. Roy had spent the last hour listening to the hum of the engines and staring at the side of his truck. She wasn't a beaut but she was his and only broke down on him once a month. The decommissioned UPS truck from just after WW2 shown in the red light.


Roy unbuckled himself and went to the back of his truck. He opened it and looked inside during the flashes of red. Everything was still there and still secure. He looked at his bike, Sophia, chained down to the floor. She looked like a caged jaguar just waiting for the right time to run.


"Soon," said Roy, "we'll go riding soon." He stroked the bike with a hint of joy in his eye. But it soon passed as he slumped over and pulled down the door to his truck. He sat back down on his seat, the furthest one from anything that had anything to do with not falling out of the sky like a rock. The one where he could be alone.


Roy's eyes closed. Maybe he would get some sleep.


An engine sputtered and Roy's eyes shot to the location of the parachute he had set on the seat next to him. He quickly ran through what he would need to pick up out of his truck.


Manarounds, 5: glove compartment.


Axe: wall above bike.


Sustenance potion: cooler below crafting table.


Shark Repellant: cooler.


Flare-gun and rounds, 6: glove compartment.


He was moving to his truck in half a second. The door opened and he had grabbed the cooler when the sputtering stopped. He carried the cooler with him to his seat set it down. He then went to his truck grabbed a waterproof dry bag from the back and picked up the rounds, the flare gun, and the charges and put them into it. He grabbed his axe on the way out of the truck and walked back to his seat. He strapped the dry bag to the cooler with, hopefully, enough air to float inside.


Preparations complete he sat down. After a few minutes his eyes started to close again... He was awoken violently by the sudden silence of an engine going out. He stood up pulling the parachute onto his back grabbing the cooler and bag in one hand and the axe in the other, and heading to the button that would open the loading ramp.


The engine sputtered back on...


He halted and he clenched his jaw, eyes closed.


"Goddamn planes."
 
"It's because he isn't really alive." Vojta said quietly, turning to face Samuel as he left. "Your question. How Muerte justifies life. It's because his life isn't life. He never had experiences to make him warrant emotions, that much is obvious from my watching him. He's more on the side of being a sociopath than a person. He's a reactionary being that gained sentience, or to put it differently, a minion without a leader. He understands rational thought, simply because he lacks emotional recognition. It's what makes him, even some of my own family, almost monsters. You have a caring face, one that, if you don't mind me saying, was easy to sketch. That's why it bothers you so much to see him toss life around like it is an idea or a fact, when it's so much more than that to you. My advice is to look at him more like he does himself: as if he were already dead." Vojta then leaped up into the tree and traversed the darkness once more, not just to maintain his secret, but also because it was much faster than walking. He reformed on the roof, descended the ladder, and went back to his room to put away his field book.
 
Samuel stopped when Vojta began speaking, and turned around when he'd finished, but the man was already gone. Now thoroughly confused, he walked back to the complex, to his room, his mind turning over Vojta's words the entire way. He hesitated for a moment at his room's door, but opened it and entered. He walked over to his side of the room, donning his sleepwear. He stood there for a few seconds before turning around to face Muerte, and cleared his throat to get his attention. "I...would like to apologize for my aggravation earlier. We may differ greatly in many aspects, but we are still co-workers, if nothing else, so I should treat you with the respect that all people deserve." He sighed as he took off his right glove, and extended it to Muerte. "I understand you probably do not care. This is for my own peace of mind, if nothing else." He stared blankly at Muerte, awaiting the handshake calmly.
 
When Samuel walked in, Muerte was sitting on the edge of his bed, cleaning one of his desert eagles. The sink in the corner held some blood in the basin, with a collection of extremely strong thread that had been holding one of his injuries together. He was still shirtless, showing just how many sewn-up wounds he had over his body. His eyes briefly went up when Samuel started to speak, but turned back to the gun before long.


"You are not the first to be aggravated at my speech. You are one of the few who has not physically acted on it however."


Muerte reached up and took the hand, though his head did not move up to look at Samuel
 
The moment Muerte took the hand, Samuel's hair turned jet-black, and his eyes turned red. His expression was one of cold anger, and a sickening 'hiss' came from the two clasped hands as Muerte's was severely burned by Samuel's. In moments Samuel had pumped all of the trauma he'd absorbed recently into Muerte in the format of raw pain.


Normally Samuel wasn't so willing to use his right hand's power; however, he was interested to see it's effect on Muerte. For him it was a win-win: either he made Muerte experience pain for the first time in his life, or Samuel found someone he couldn't hurt for the first time in HIS life.
 
Meurte's eyes finally travelled back up at the *hiss* sound. He did not seem phased at all by Samuel's sudden change in appearance, though he did pull his hand back forcefully. For a brief moment it felt like his body had something crawling beneath his skin, but that was all.


"Did you attempt something just now? Depending on your answer I may have to return in kind."
 
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