Part Eight: Endgame
I turned the hospice into an abattoir. Mary’s minions all over the hospice flooded towards me in vain attempts to protect the woman who held the keys to their million-dollar paycheck, and I took great pleasure in cutting them down. I unsettled them with my grim grin of satisfaction as I shot them dead with my gun. I terrified them with hysterical laughter as I slashed and stabbed them to death with my knife or hatchet. Soon they ran. Then the slaughter began in earnest, for always in the rout does most death-dealing occur.
The gang members fled, and as they fled they panicked and fired their guns without care for who or what was in the way. The close quarters of the hospice allowed me to play to my strengths, so I hit quickly and slew swiftly before I slipped back out of sight to reposition myself. Then I did it again. I did this repeatedly until every last gang-banger slumped to my feet, dead or dying, blood spaying all over the place.
I let a couple live, because they would lead me to her. She recognized this as soon as they got to her and shot them for their incompetence. I did not immediately go after her, but instead stayed aloof for a time. I did so because I recognized that to solve this properly, I could not stop with Mary; I had to get her entire family, which mean reaching out to that place called “Morocco” somehow. I waived to one of the many machines watching me and motioned for my friend to contact me. I asked her to put forth a call to Mary’s husband, connecting me into the call and showing him what’s going on.
She did as I asked, and moments later I had both husband and wife where I wanted them.
“Hello there,” I said, as I closed in on Mary, “it’s about time we talked.”
“Who are- oh, my God.” He saw from that vast distance that I stalked his wife. “I know who you are. What are you doing?”
“Protecting mywoman from yourwoman- from you.” I said, “Because that’s what this is really about now, isn’t it? You using your wife and my friend as proxies. You’re a coward.”
I heard the gasp. That wordless expression of “What are you thinking?” came through loud and clear. Good.
“Oh yes, I had you figured as soon as I knew your role in this scheme.” I said, “You’re a bankster, and just like your wife you like your deniability- and, for you, that’s something that includes playing your wife like a sucker so you can keep your hands clean.”
I kept Mary in line of sight, but concealed from her.
“See her? She’s getting her hands dirty. Right now, the cops are on their way here to deal with a mass shooting that she brought about due to personally handling the hit on my friend. She’s got bigger balls than you do, and you’re content to let her suffer and die for your ambitions- aren’t you?”
I leveled my gun at her and took aim. I made certain to show this to this dickless wonder of a man.
“Yet, right now, I can fuck you over right good and all of your planning won’t mean shit.”
“No, wait!” he said, but I just didn’t care anymore. I fired.
The shot hit Mary in the hip. I fired again and hit the opposite leg. A third shot crippled her shooting arm. All the while, her husband could do nothing but watch.
“STOP!” he yelled, but I shot Mary one more time in her other arm- just to be certain. Then I approached her as she slumped to the floor, bleeding and helpless. I kicked away her gun, pointed mine at her head and then put my device so that Mary could hear us talk.
“Say hello to your husband, you back-stabbing bitch.”
“Help!” she said.
“She’s not dead yet, but you wire me the funds and we’ll call it a day.” I said.
“WHAT?!” they said, harmonizing.
“You heard me. A deal’s a deal. You wanted a clean get-away, and I wanted the money for the hit. You’re rid of a bothersome bitch, and I’m rid of you. Win-win, buddy-boy, just like you said. You’re not going to welsh on me now and play the Indian Giver, are you? I found you once; I can do it again.”
“John, you asshole!” she said, “You cut a deal?”
“No, honey, I-“
I shook my head in mock disbelief. “Yes, he did. Why do you think he fled as soon as you got into trouble, and took the kids with him, to a place where the government can’t touch him? Why do you think he didn’t fight harder to get you to come with him? He’s just like you, Mary. He’s got to have at least one woman on the side, probably with him right now; he’s as much of an opportunist as you are, so he’s got to keep his options open.”
I then called up an image on my device. I quickly mocked it up to appear as if the transfer of wealth went through, and then showed it to her- knowing that she’d not catch the forgery. The look on her face as she finally experienced—if it was illusory—being on the wrong end of a betrayal made me beam wide and bright; my smile could’ve lit up the room.
“DAMN YOU, JOHN! COULDN’T KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS, COULD YOU!”
I heard him stammer something, but I didn’t care to listen. Facts, at this point, couldn’t save the Creator Himself so why bother? Mary went on about the usual post-birth body adjustments and how she worked so hard to keep him satisfied and so on. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Once she finished her tirade, I piped up.
“No turning back now, pal.” I said, and I looked up at the devices that my friend used to keep an eye on all of this. I shot her an inquisitive look, and she broke in on the call to answer.
“Gotcha, suckers! Finish it, Ken.”
I executed Mary then and there, and then I hung up on her husband. Sometime later, after I did some creative editing, I made the record look like the deal was between him and one of the gangs; he got killed as revenge by Mary’s side of their family a few days later- her mother still had friends far from home.
As for my friend and I, we escaped official notice. I took her the now-abandoned home of Mary and her husband, gave it to her and she resided there until the Azure Flames consumed the Old World in its entirety. I kept my promises all right- to her as well as myself. In the years to come, that bond would become the foundation for a renewed commitment to a very old way of life. I only regret that my dear old friend could never become my most beloved wife; because of her, I became a stalker of monsters- the Father of Stalkers.
Showing posts with label Promises. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Promises. Show all posts
Monday, March 21, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 08
Part Six: Reassessment
I did not waste any time. I assumed upon making that revelation that I did not know what I needed to know to make this right. I turned my attention to Mary’s life over the last 15 or so years, but the trick was figuring out how to learn what she got up to during that time without revealing myself to her. I needed to form some sort of cover that would keep her, and anyone working for her, distracted while I hunted down information regarding her recent past. I could not figure this out alone, so I went to the one I knew I could trust: I went to my dear friend.
I made my regular visit to her in the hospice as I usually did, making every effort to avoid being seen as changing my pattern of behavior. This time, however, I brought with me a small device. I had a personal music device on me, and I carried also a pair of secondary devices that would allow the music to fill a room with ease. When I saw her, I set up the devices and sat very close to her; again, I masked our conversation from those nearby. I also looked about the room using the player to search for any undocumented listening devices; I found a few, and muffled them by moving the fixing to cover them. Now assured of our privacy, I spoke freely.
I quickly got her fully informed as to what’s going on, and what I need to do next. She nodded her ascent, and she told me to let her handle it. I agreed. I returned a few days later to see a large pile of paper next to my friend’s hospice bed. My friend told me that she still had a few favors to call in, so she used one—under the guise of forming a complaint against the insurance provider—to get all of the public records on Mary Redalen. As I read them, I saw some things that I already knew, but also I saw that the pattern of deniable accidents of rivals and enemies had begun far earlier than I ever knew.
My own misfortune, from Mary’s perspective, was as ordinary as receiving a gift when one got married. The authorities’ records on Mary went well into her youth, and someone got hurt or worse at or near the same time that she got herself something significant that she wanted. The authorities got suspicious of her when the three students at her school died in drive-by shootings before graduation, but ultimately blamed it on the girl right behind her in the rankings due to stronger evidence of ties to street gangs, and Mary went on to graduate at the top of her class. This, I must say, is despite being suspected of leading a gang of thieves that broke into homes during the day.
They looked at her again when a rival for her lover at the next level of education turned up dead in a corn field, but dismissed it when the evidence arguing for the victim being raped and murdered by a disturbed local man held up under scrutiny and that arguing for her involvement did not. Then, as she trained as a law expert, Mary ran afoul of the authorities when one of the masters accused her of cheating; that fell apart when illegal pictures of children appeared in the accuser’s possessions.
The pattern now appeared, plan as day. Mary wanted something. Either someone threatened her acquisition of that, or someone stood in her way. Because she either lacked the ability to resolve it peacefully, or she lacked the character to do so, she conspired to have that someone destroyed. Often she manipulated others to do her work for her, leaving her in a place to deny involvement and get away with it. I now found myself lucky that all I blocked for her was a more desirable lover; I alone survived her lethal attentions. Yet, for all that this information did to fill in gaps in my knowledge, it still did not answer the questions before me: what does she want, and how do I threaten that?
To answer that question, I now had to dig into Mary’s recent past and present. Public records showed that she took a husband, and that she birthed three children, as well as receiving permission from the authorities to work as a law expert. As she came from a rich, if declining, family this was not at all unexpected. However, I found the answers to my questions when I discreetly inquired into her time at the insurance provider as well as in public service. Mary’s work displayed a rather subtle pattern of self-aggrandizement, of perception management and a keen appreciation of what made her look good to her superiors. In short, the work of a status-conscious pyramid-climber, much like many others that sought power and profit for their benefit and no one else’s.
Mary now held a senior position of power within the power structure of the insurance provider. She had to acquire more easily cowed opponents, so I scoured the little-trafficked areas of our land to find them. It took quite some effort, but I found them; I found them, and I found records of their rants, often done while drunk. Resentful men often speak the truth when freed from restraint, and drink does that loosening of restraints very effectively, so I listened and read. Then I followed up on the leads that I found therein. On a hunch, I followed up Mary’s professional associations; there I found more ranting by more resentful people.
They resented her ambition. They resented her willingness to, literally, sacrifice others to feed her appetite for power and prestige. They resented her ability to avoid accountability, and punishment, by using proxies—and many of them were proxies that she used and discarded—and blame the victims. Yet they feared her, because they knew of no one that survived doing so; therefore, when I read that she entered into secret negotiations with the authorities to acquire a monopoly on the management of medical provision to the area and that her enemies within the company started dying shortly after they moved to block her from doing so, I knew that this was the thing she wanted so badly.
I also soon realized that she knew that I lived, but had no idea of how to get to me. She wanted me dead because I was the living, breathing proof that she was not invincible. She failed once, and now I could galvanize resistance to her merely by being known to’ve suffered her attentions and survived. I now had the clear picture as to what was really at stake here: the control of life and death by Mary over everyone else, because if she succeeded then she would seize total control over the provision of all forms of medicine in the region and she would use that power to propel herself to total tyranny over all.
I threatened that by mere dint of living. She targeted my beloved friend to draw me out. If I had not put those motorcycle gangs at each other’s throats, one of them would’ve ambushed and killed me by now. I realized that my window of opportunity would not stay open much longer. I had to act, and act fast, to put this threat down permanently for the good of us all. It was time to settle old accounts.
I did not waste any time. I assumed upon making that revelation that I did not know what I needed to know to make this right. I turned my attention to Mary’s life over the last 15 or so years, but the trick was figuring out how to learn what she got up to during that time without revealing myself to her. I needed to form some sort of cover that would keep her, and anyone working for her, distracted while I hunted down information regarding her recent past. I could not figure this out alone, so I went to the one I knew I could trust: I went to my dear friend.
I made my regular visit to her in the hospice as I usually did, making every effort to avoid being seen as changing my pattern of behavior. This time, however, I brought with me a small device. I had a personal music device on me, and I carried also a pair of secondary devices that would allow the music to fill a room with ease. When I saw her, I set up the devices and sat very close to her; again, I masked our conversation from those nearby. I also looked about the room using the player to search for any undocumented listening devices; I found a few, and muffled them by moving the fixing to cover them. Now assured of our privacy, I spoke freely.
I quickly got her fully informed as to what’s going on, and what I need to do next. She nodded her ascent, and she told me to let her handle it. I agreed. I returned a few days later to see a large pile of paper next to my friend’s hospice bed. My friend told me that she still had a few favors to call in, so she used one—under the guise of forming a complaint against the insurance provider—to get all of the public records on Mary Redalen. As I read them, I saw some things that I already knew, but also I saw that the pattern of deniable accidents of rivals and enemies had begun far earlier than I ever knew.
My own misfortune, from Mary’s perspective, was as ordinary as receiving a gift when one got married. The authorities’ records on Mary went well into her youth, and someone got hurt or worse at or near the same time that she got herself something significant that she wanted. The authorities got suspicious of her when the three students at her school died in drive-by shootings before graduation, but ultimately blamed it on the girl right behind her in the rankings due to stronger evidence of ties to street gangs, and Mary went on to graduate at the top of her class. This, I must say, is despite being suspected of leading a gang of thieves that broke into homes during the day.
They looked at her again when a rival for her lover at the next level of education turned up dead in a corn field, but dismissed it when the evidence arguing for the victim being raped and murdered by a disturbed local man held up under scrutiny and that arguing for her involvement did not. Then, as she trained as a law expert, Mary ran afoul of the authorities when one of the masters accused her of cheating; that fell apart when illegal pictures of children appeared in the accuser’s possessions.
The pattern now appeared, plan as day. Mary wanted something. Either someone threatened her acquisition of that, or someone stood in her way. Because she either lacked the ability to resolve it peacefully, or she lacked the character to do so, she conspired to have that someone destroyed. Often she manipulated others to do her work for her, leaving her in a place to deny involvement and get away with it. I now found myself lucky that all I blocked for her was a more desirable lover; I alone survived her lethal attentions. Yet, for all that this information did to fill in gaps in my knowledge, it still did not answer the questions before me: what does she want, and how do I threaten that?
To answer that question, I now had to dig into Mary’s recent past and present. Public records showed that she took a husband, and that she birthed three children, as well as receiving permission from the authorities to work as a law expert. As she came from a rich, if declining, family this was not at all unexpected. However, I found the answers to my questions when I discreetly inquired into her time at the insurance provider as well as in public service. Mary’s work displayed a rather subtle pattern of self-aggrandizement, of perception management and a keen appreciation of what made her look good to her superiors. In short, the work of a status-conscious pyramid-climber, much like many others that sought power and profit for their benefit and no one else’s.
Mary now held a senior position of power within the power structure of the insurance provider. She had to acquire more easily cowed opponents, so I scoured the little-trafficked areas of our land to find them. It took quite some effort, but I found them; I found them, and I found records of their rants, often done while drunk. Resentful men often speak the truth when freed from restraint, and drink does that loosening of restraints very effectively, so I listened and read. Then I followed up on the leads that I found therein. On a hunch, I followed up Mary’s professional associations; there I found more ranting by more resentful people.
They resented her ambition. They resented her willingness to, literally, sacrifice others to feed her appetite for power and prestige. They resented her ability to avoid accountability, and punishment, by using proxies—and many of them were proxies that she used and discarded—and blame the victims. Yet they feared her, because they knew of no one that survived doing so; therefore, when I read that she entered into secret negotiations with the authorities to acquire a monopoly on the management of medical provision to the area and that her enemies within the company started dying shortly after they moved to block her from doing so, I knew that this was the thing she wanted so badly.
I also soon realized that she knew that I lived, but had no idea of how to get to me. She wanted me dead because I was the living, breathing proof that she was not invincible. She failed once, and now I could galvanize resistance to her merely by being known to’ve suffered her attentions and survived. I now had the clear picture as to what was really at stake here: the control of life and death by Mary over everyone else, because if she succeeded then she would seize total control over the provision of all forms of medicine in the region and she would use that power to propel herself to total tyranny over all.
I threatened that by mere dint of living. She targeted my beloved friend to draw me out. If I had not put those motorcycle gangs at each other’s throats, one of them would’ve ambushed and killed me by now. I realized that my window of opportunity would not stay open much longer. I had to act, and act fast, to put this threat down permanently for the good of us all. It was time to settle old accounts.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 07
Part Five: Complication
The attention of the community upon the gang war between the Outlaws and the Hell’s Angels kept the authorities away from me, so I fell away from their notice. I maintained contact with the few of them I’d previously befriended, but that was just to keep up appearances. Instead I turned my attention back to the facts that brought my friend to call upon me, so now I had reason to visit her. When I did, I’d found that she got moved out of the hospital room to another wing of the building due to her condition suffering a severe change. That wing was the hospice wing, and the change was financial; she no longer had any means whatsoever to justify the hospital’s continued attempts to improve her condition, and no law protected her from being denied care, so they cut her off. If not for another law forbidding hospitals to evict indigent patients—which was now the case with her—she would’ve been thrown out to die cold and alone on the curb.
The despair in her eyes was a sight so horrible that it haunts me to this day, and I knew when I sat at her bedside that I was the sole thing left in this world that she could rely upon to do right by her. I saw that, if I was to accomplish my goal, I would have to deliver retribution for this crime of arrogance, but first I needed reliable information. I spoke at length with her, letting her tell the tale as she saw it, which took considerably more time than necessary between the trauma of past and present outrages fracturing her focus and the pain of the body that she suffered as a result of them. I sifted through her words, filtering out those expressing issues other than the immediate one—which I put aside for later reference—and focusing on those involving who condemned her to this fate, how and why.
Now, at this time there was a thing called “insurance”. What people did was to take some of their wealth, commonly in the form of a currency, and spend some of it to purchase a promised service that would cover the costs incurred if a specific sort of event or crisis occurred. Different forms covered different things, and the specifics varied from one policy agreement to another. Common people, like my friend, received health insurance either directly from an employer as part of one’s compensation or indirectly through one’s husband or father because otherwise it was too expensive to purchase as one would a conveyance or domicile. Widows usually had some recourse to coverage from their deceased husband’s insurance, but that was no longer a sure thing by this time. Yet there was a flaw in this scheme.
Insurance providers ran their enterprise as a profit-driven business. In order to maximize their profits, they did everything that they could—regardless of whether or not the authorities would allow it—to deny care to those who bought policies from them. One such provider, which was one of the largest, employed a wicked and vindictive woman I once knew by the name of Mary Redalen. She had attained a position within that provider where she decided who lived and who died through choosing which policy to fulfill and which one to deny, and she denied every policy request put to her. While it is certainly possible for most such people to do such evil things as deny a helpless woman the means that she needs to sustain her life without ever knowing anything whom they victimize, this was not the case here.
When my friend’s policy request arrived at Mary’s desk, as I soon learned, she cackled loudly. You see, reader, these two women met once more—for I was once Mary’s lover, many years before—and I introduced the two as a social event. I’d believed that she forgot about my friends after her failed attempt to kill me, but now I knew that to be false. The uneasy détente between us now fell away, and now I had new reason to fulfill an old vow- but first, I needed additional information.
The provider’s main office was outside of the center of town, far distant from the hospital, and like many such offices it went into a locked-down state after the traditional dinner hour. Yet workers did inhabit parts of that office at all hours, and at this time—like so many others—workers prized their convenience over any security policies. Therefore, gaining access to the building was rather easy to do; I just followed a small group of nighttime workers into the office and then split away when I could get out of sight.
It was not hard, once inside, to find Mary’s place in this office. What was difficult was figuring out what to do once I got to it, as I did not have—nor could I procure—the keys to her files beforehand. Fortunately, slovenly habits worked to my advantage once more; not expecting any such infiltration, she left files out in the open about her work-space. One of them was that of my dear friend, and she left all sorts of detachable notes to it. Many of them, as I said above, confirmed that she knew who this was and did all she could to deny care requests. The troubling ones, however, had contact information to unknown parties with things like “Owes me a big favor” and “Can buy this guy easy”. I copied it all—not easy or quick, as it is a massive file—and slipped out the way I came.
Once safely away from the provider’s office, I began checking on the contacted individuals by way of my police contacts- specifically, I used their resources surreptitiously for this purpose. This is how I learned that many of these gang members, and many others, had policies with that provider; it is also how I learned that she one apprenticed with the authorities as an accuser, and thus encountered key members before reaching leadership status in their gangs. I took a look at Mary’s career since she left public service and joined the insurance provider; several rivals and other complications to her rise suffered convenient and deniable deaths in the period preceding promotions, and she in turn always approved claims by those members or their family.
All I needed now was to somehow produce a direct link between Mary and the two gangs, and that meant proving a viable link between their communications—any contact would fall under obvious business communications between the provider and a client, so the fact that they talked is not itself any crime—and the demise or near-demise of those Mary targeted. It was at this time that I also deduced what this was really about. Somehow I became worthy of Mary’s notice once more, and she decided that I had to go. She knew she could draw me out if she did this. Now the fight began in earnest.
The attention of the community upon the gang war between the Outlaws and the Hell’s Angels kept the authorities away from me, so I fell away from their notice. I maintained contact with the few of them I’d previously befriended, but that was just to keep up appearances. Instead I turned my attention back to the facts that brought my friend to call upon me, so now I had reason to visit her. When I did, I’d found that she got moved out of the hospital room to another wing of the building due to her condition suffering a severe change. That wing was the hospice wing, and the change was financial; she no longer had any means whatsoever to justify the hospital’s continued attempts to improve her condition, and no law protected her from being denied care, so they cut her off. If not for another law forbidding hospitals to evict indigent patients—which was now the case with her—she would’ve been thrown out to die cold and alone on the curb.
The despair in her eyes was a sight so horrible that it haunts me to this day, and I knew when I sat at her bedside that I was the sole thing left in this world that she could rely upon to do right by her. I saw that, if I was to accomplish my goal, I would have to deliver retribution for this crime of arrogance, but first I needed reliable information. I spoke at length with her, letting her tell the tale as she saw it, which took considerably more time than necessary between the trauma of past and present outrages fracturing her focus and the pain of the body that she suffered as a result of them. I sifted through her words, filtering out those expressing issues other than the immediate one—which I put aside for later reference—and focusing on those involving who condemned her to this fate, how and why.
Now, at this time there was a thing called “insurance”. What people did was to take some of their wealth, commonly in the form of a currency, and spend some of it to purchase a promised service that would cover the costs incurred if a specific sort of event or crisis occurred. Different forms covered different things, and the specifics varied from one policy agreement to another. Common people, like my friend, received health insurance either directly from an employer as part of one’s compensation or indirectly through one’s husband or father because otherwise it was too expensive to purchase as one would a conveyance or domicile. Widows usually had some recourse to coverage from their deceased husband’s insurance, but that was no longer a sure thing by this time. Yet there was a flaw in this scheme.
Insurance providers ran their enterprise as a profit-driven business. In order to maximize their profits, they did everything that they could—regardless of whether or not the authorities would allow it—to deny care to those who bought policies from them. One such provider, which was one of the largest, employed a wicked and vindictive woman I once knew by the name of Mary Redalen. She had attained a position within that provider where she decided who lived and who died through choosing which policy to fulfill and which one to deny, and she denied every policy request put to her. While it is certainly possible for most such people to do such evil things as deny a helpless woman the means that she needs to sustain her life without ever knowing anything whom they victimize, this was not the case here.
When my friend’s policy request arrived at Mary’s desk, as I soon learned, she cackled loudly. You see, reader, these two women met once more—for I was once Mary’s lover, many years before—and I introduced the two as a social event. I’d believed that she forgot about my friends after her failed attempt to kill me, but now I knew that to be false. The uneasy détente between us now fell away, and now I had new reason to fulfill an old vow- but first, I needed additional information.
The provider’s main office was outside of the center of town, far distant from the hospital, and like many such offices it went into a locked-down state after the traditional dinner hour. Yet workers did inhabit parts of that office at all hours, and at this time—like so many others—workers prized their convenience over any security policies. Therefore, gaining access to the building was rather easy to do; I just followed a small group of nighttime workers into the office and then split away when I could get out of sight.
It was not hard, once inside, to find Mary’s place in this office. What was difficult was figuring out what to do once I got to it, as I did not have—nor could I procure—the keys to her files beforehand. Fortunately, slovenly habits worked to my advantage once more; not expecting any such infiltration, she left files out in the open about her work-space. One of them was that of my dear friend, and she left all sorts of detachable notes to it. Many of them, as I said above, confirmed that she knew who this was and did all she could to deny care requests. The troubling ones, however, had contact information to unknown parties with things like “Owes me a big favor” and “Can buy this guy easy”. I copied it all—not easy or quick, as it is a massive file—and slipped out the way I came.
Once safely away from the provider’s office, I began checking on the contacted individuals by way of my police contacts- specifically, I used their resources surreptitiously for this purpose. This is how I learned that many of these gang members, and many others, had policies with that provider; it is also how I learned that she one apprenticed with the authorities as an accuser, and thus encountered key members before reaching leadership status in their gangs. I took a look at Mary’s career since she left public service and joined the insurance provider; several rivals and other complications to her rise suffered convenient and deniable deaths in the period preceding promotions, and she in turn always approved claims by those members or their family.
All I needed now was to somehow produce a direct link between Mary and the two gangs, and that meant proving a viable link between their communications—any contact would fall under obvious business communications between the provider and a client, so the fact that they talked is not itself any crime—and the demise or near-demise of those Mary targeted. It was at this time that I also deduced what this was really about. Somehow I became worthy of Mary’s notice once more, and she decided that I had to go. She knew she could draw me out if she did this. Now the fight began in earnest.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 06
Part Four: Evasion
Man-slaying has consequences. Not all of them are immediate or readily perceptible, but a wise man-slayer accounts for as many consequences as can be done before he hunts. As I noted above, I did account for retaliation by the gangs through the use of disguise, confusion and deliberate provocation of a war between the two gangs. What I did not fully appreciate was retaliation from the authorities; they are jealous, to the point of stupidity, when parties other than themselves act to defend or avenge those wrongs committed upon them. Instead, the authorities insist that people succumb to a form of learned helplessness that results in dependency upon them to do so, and they issue rules—backed by force—to claim such a monopoly and grant themselves permission to enforce it by punishing transgressors of any kind.
This, good reader, is where the consequences for man-slaying came from first. I kept an eye on the authorities, for I—like everyone else—knew of this claimed monopoly, in case they decided to waste time on me instead of the genuine threats that they claimed (falsely, of course) to be concerned about. My prudence proved its value when I learned that the authorities became concerned about a third party possibly provoking the war between the Outlaws and the Hell’s Angels, and unlike many others I did not hesitate to act to evade this unwanted attention.
I knew that the authorities proved sensitive to attacks upon their prestige and reputation, so by attacking the public perception of the authorities responding to contain the gang war I knew that I could generate sufficient social pressure to get their eyes off of me and on to the gangs. My options were not options at all. All I could do was to take the risk of a further provocation, one that would be difficult to ignore and then put popular attention upon it. That’s three points where I could fail—the act, the result and the report—so I knew that I had to execute this properly or my entire scheme would fail. I kept all of this to myself lest the authorities; my friend knew nothing.
I did not attempt another false flag attack. Instead, using my connections with the authorities, I took the opportunity to do innocuous favors for them—getting them refreshments, fetching them food, etc.—while going about my everyday business. I made certain to deliver these items while those I aided were away from the center of the enforcer’s headquarters, usually at or near a place where they kept an eye on the gangs. Familiarity bred contempt, in this case for observing their own rules, and soon these people would let me into their hiding spots for the brief time it took to deliver the goods requested. My initial plan, therefore, was indeed working; I did not rush this phase of the plan, as I assumed the worst of cynicism of these authorities, and that patience proved correct.
Since I’d removed myself from prying eyes for the moment, I then took to observing their hiding spots in all ways. Many used mechanical locks, multiple ones, that required specific devices—“keys” we called them—to get past without undue attention during or after the fact. Using a technique that was an ancient one even at that time, I got impressions on all of the necessary keys and then made copies to use when the time came. I did this by being around often enough to be able to claim curiosity about the way that these enforcers operated, and played to their need to demonstrate their superiority when I did so; they obliged, showing me that they could access the clubhouses at any time without the gangs ever knowing of the intrusion.
Now, I said previously that plans don’t survive contact with the enemy. That maxim is not one to take literally; circumstances change and unforeseen events occur that requires one to adjust a plan or scrap it altogether. In this instance, I had the idea of inducing the authorities to act on a prejudice that would escalate the gang war by getting the authorities directly involved as a third actively-hostile party- and thus get the gangs to retaliate upon them. Now I had another idea, which was to bomb one of the clubhouses, and these hiding places would give me the means to do so without detection.
I went with a sort of bomb known at the time as a “Molotov Cocktail”, which is a mixture of a couple of liquids—one of which is very easy to ignite—put into a glass bottle or similar fragile container that one can easily throw. Put a burning rag into the top, throw at the target and watch the rag ignite the liquids; this would result in the target burning to ash or worse. All of these components were freely available, and could be gotten in quantities that would not attract undue attention.
I assembled them at home, in a building apart from my house, and disguised them as standard consumables. I kept the rag and a fire-starter device concealed on my person. Then, when they were ready, I went over to the Hell’s Angels clubhouse when I knew that those watching it were not there due to a regular shift in the watch. That would be enough time for me to sneak into the watcher’s place, get into the best place for throwing, and throw my bombs- and that occurred without incident. After I got away, I did again as I did with the first provocation: I discarded all of the clothes that I wore, and I made certain as I made my way out to ensure that no signs of my presence would be left behind. By the time I got away and to a place where I could be seen without concern, enough time had elapsed that the fire would certainly attract the attention of those responsible for putting fires out.
The next day I listened to one of the local rabble-rousers. He talked about the fire at the Hell’s Angel clubhouse, remarking about the severity of the escalation that this represented. I took the chance to communicate under an assumed name and location, and I also assumed a false diction to my voice—if you ever imitated another in your hunt, you understand this misdirection—so that I would not be easily identified. Once I got to the man’s attention, I took the time to point out previous reports regarding the authorities’ wondering if a third party is involved and then I ridiculed the waste of time this was when “it seemed so obvious” that this was a straight-up gang war and that the authorities ought to do what they say they do and take them out.
Others communicating from afar took that as a cue to express great frustration with the way that the authorities handled the gang war, which the fire-bombing of the Hell’s Angels clubhouse made clear to them, and demanded the outright extermination of both sides. This outrage quickly became a roar of frenzied rage for order, and within hours any thought that anyone else was involved vaporized.
Man-slaying has consequences. Not all of them are immediate or readily perceptible, but a wise man-slayer accounts for as many consequences as can be done before he hunts. As I noted above, I did account for retaliation by the gangs through the use of disguise, confusion and deliberate provocation of a war between the two gangs. What I did not fully appreciate was retaliation from the authorities; they are jealous, to the point of stupidity, when parties other than themselves act to defend or avenge those wrongs committed upon them. Instead, the authorities insist that people succumb to a form of learned helplessness that results in dependency upon them to do so, and they issue rules—backed by force—to claim such a monopoly and grant themselves permission to enforce it by punishing transgressors of any kind.
This, good reader, is where the consequences for man-slaying came from first. I kept an eye on the authorities, for I—like everyone else—knew of this claimed monopoly, in case they decided to waste time on me instead of the genuine threats that they claimed (falsely, of course) to be concerned about. My prudence proved its value when I learned that the authorities became concerned about a third party possibly provoking the war between the Outlaws and the Hell’s Angels, and unlike many others I did not hesitate to act to evade this unwanted attention.
I knew that the authorities proved sensitive to attacks upon their prestige and reputation, so by attacking the public perception of the authorities responding to contain the gang war I knew that I could generate sufficient social pressure to get their eyes off of me and on to the gangs. My options were not options at all. All I could do was to take the risk of a further provocation, one that would be difficult to ignore and then put popular attention upon it. That’s three points where I could fail—the act, the result and the report—so I knew that I had to execute this properly or my entire scheme would fail. I kept all of this to myself lest the authorities; my friend knew nothing.
I did not attempt another false flag attack. Instead, using my connections with the authorities, I took the opportunity to do innocuous favors for them—getting them refreshments, fetching them food, etc.—while going about my everyday business. I made certain to deliver these items while those I aided were away from the center of the enforcer’s headquarters, usually at or near a place where they kept an eye on the gangs. Familiarity bred contempt, in this case for observing their own rules, and soon these people would let me into their hiding spots for the brief time it took to deliver the goods requested. My initial plan, therefore, was indeed working; I did not rush this phase of the plan, as I assumed the worst of cynicism of these authorities, and that patience proved correct.
Since I’d removed myself from prying eyes for the moment, I then took to observing their hiding spots in all ways. Many used mechanical locks, multiple ones, that required specific devices—“keys” we called them—to get past without undue attention during or after the fact. Using a technique that was an ancient one even at that time, I got impressions on all of the necessary keys and then made copies to use when the time came. I did this by being around often enough to be able to claim curiosity about the way that these enforcers operated, and played to their need to demonstrate their superiority when I did so; they obliged, showing me that they could access the clubhouses at any time without the gangs ever knowing of the intrusion.
Now, I said previously that plans don’t survive contact with the enemy. That maxim is not one to take literally; circumstances change and unforeseen events occur that requires one to adjust a plan or scrap it altogether. In this instance, I had the idea of inducing the authorities to act on a prejudice that would escalate the gang war by getting the authorities directly involved as a third actively-hostile party- and thus get the gangs to retaliate upon them. Now I had another idea, which was to bomb one of the clubhouses, and these hiding places would give me the means to do so without detection.
I went with a sort of bomb known at the time as a “Molotov Cocktail”, which is a mixture of a couple of liquids—one of which is very easy to ignite—put into a glass bottle or similar fragile container that one can easily throw. Put a burning rag into the top, throw at the target and watch the rag ignite the liquids; this would result in the target burning to ash or worse. All of these components were freely available, and could be gotten in quantities that would not attract undue attention.
I assembled them at home, in a building apart from my house, and disguised them as standard consumables. I kept the rag and a fire-starter device concealed on my person. Then, when they were ready, I went over to the Hell’s Angels clubhouse when I knew that those watching it were not there due to a regular shift in the watch. That would be enough time for me to sneak into the watcher’s place, get into the best place for throwing, and throw my bombs- and that occurred without incident. After I got away, I did again as I did with the first provocation: I discarded all of the clothes that I wore, and I made certain as I made my way out to ensure that no signs of my presence would be left behind. By the time I got away and to a place where I could be seen without concern, enough time had elapsed that the fire would certainly attract the attention of those responsible for putting fires out.
The next day I listened to one of the local rabble-rousers. He talked about the fire at the Hell’s Angel clubhouse, remarking about the severity of the escalation that this represented. I took the chance to communicate under an assumed name and location, and I also assumed a false diction to my voice—if you ever imitated another in your hunt, you understand this misdirection—so that I would not be easily identified. Once I got to the man’s attention, I took the time to point out previous reports regarding the authorities’ wondering if a third party is involved and then I ridiculed the waste of time this was when “it seemed so obvious” that this was a straight-up gang war and that the authorities ought to do what they say they do and take them out.
Others communicating from afar took that as a cue to express great frustration with the way that the authorities handled the gang war, which the fire-bombing of the Hell’s Angels clubhouse made clear to them, and demanded the outright extermination of both sides. This outrage quickly became a roar of frenzied rage for order, and within hours any thought that anyone else was involved vaporized.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 05
Part Three: Blood
You, reader, may or may not be a man-slayer. It is not the same as being a monster-slayer, no matter the appearance of similarity to one observing both in action. The primary difference cannot be appreciated until one becomes either sort of slayer, and most fail to achieve that state until they slay both men and monsters, for most men are foolish dullards that cannot—or, worse, will not—master such wisdom until they initiate themselves as slayers of men or monsters (or both). In this respect, it is too much like knowing the difference between loving and mating despite the appearance if similarity. (I believe that this is the Creator’s idea of a joke.)
I had already become a monster-slayer years before, for I had elder men in my family that took up the responsibility to teach me how to stalk animals, kill them cleanly and then make best use of what I killed. While this was not the sort of monster-slaying I would do after the Azure Flames, it was slaying monsters nonetheless. Before I went this far, I already shed the blood of living beings by my own hand and slew those beings utterly. I killed. That I killed animals that preyed upon others for food, for clothing—to provide—does not matter; all that matters is that I killed. Dead is dead, and killing is killing; how one dies matters not to the slain.
I had already become aware of these truths by this time in my life. It was the foundation for my becoming something of a pacifist, as I refused to kill another man out of hand. Instead, I become quite interested in the morality of man-slaying as a youth, and by then I acquired a certain useful guideline that I adhered to in deciding my actions- one that put the abusive husband above past the limit of my forbearance. Even then, I refused to shed blood until I found it necessary. Now, however, I expected that it would become necessary. The members of these gangs were notoriously violent, and did not take much provocation to go from beating and maiming to crippling or killing a victim- especially if it a victim that they saw as deserving of death. This was how I prepared for what I was to do next.
I kept an eye on the two gangs’ clubhouses, surreptitiously tapping into the authorities’ efforts, and through those efforts I deduced when each clubhouse emptied out for the night as well as when the last gang member left their respective clubhouse. I also spent time training extensively with my choice of weapons and unarmed techniques, preparing for the move. It was what I had to do to prepare myself for the task of initiation, because that is what this was- initiation into the Brotherhood of Man-Slayers and if I did so much as to hesitate—to disrupt my state of mind—I would fail, and failure meant death. I would think, reader, that you would have some ability to comprehend the gravity of my situation.
I acquired a suitable disguise and a motorcycle, and then I went forth to execute my plan. By now I found that the Hell’s Angels clubhouse closed first, though not by much, and that my best chance to successfully ambush the last man out came during the middle of the interim between when the Old World’s decadent society engaged in its rituals of ceremonial violence that they called “sport”. I went to that gang’s clubhouse when I knew that the authorities watching it took a break knowing that they’d have time to eat and drink before the last man usually left.
I knew where their watching devices lay, so I knew where and how to avoid them. I crept into position, drew my knife and waited but a few moments before my man exited the clubhouse and walked toward my position. I banished all sympathy from my mind and hardened my heart against this member of the Hell’s Angels, for I knew what monstrous deeds he’d done before and that justified his death at my hands. Once I focused my mind, he came into view and I ceased all reflective thought; I now acted on reflex, without conscious thought, and leapt upon him.
My practice and training proved its value, for I struck home and drove my blade deep into his back. That staggered him long enough for me to withdraw my knife and finish closing with him. Now so close that I could grapple him, I seized him with my free hand and using my knife I stabbed his throat and eyes repeatedly. Then I cut deeply across his throat to ensure that I’d severed the flow of his blood in his neck and instead caused it to gush forth like a tidal wave upon the soiled street at his feet. I threw him to that very street and stripped off his “colors”. Before I stole away with them, I paused to use what was once a ubiquitous device to capture that image perfectly. It all took a few long moments to ambush this man, slay him and take my trophies.
I had not yet allowed the fullness of my deeds to come to my attention. I could not, for I still had work to do. I took my trophy and return to my motorcycle by stealth, riding away without being seen. So far, my plan worked without incident, but I never assumed that it would end that way. It did not, for when I arrived at the Outlaws’ clubhouse I found that there were two there. Furthermore, I found that the authorities watching it had disappeared; a check on their communication devices told me that they got called to assist with another incident. I had to improvise, so I took a pair of rags out my pockets. I tied one about my head and the other concealing my face. I wore goggles over my eyes, and then I put on the stolen Hell’s Angels vest. Now utterly concealed, I drew the longer of my firearms and approached the clubhouse.
I attacked them both, brazenly opening fire with my weapon. I made certain to bloody both of them, so that they would not follow, and to be seen clearly so that they would make the assumption that their rivals attempted to raid their clubhouse. Then I fled, running to my motorcycle and riding away- again, ensuring that they saw my disguise. Once well out of sight, I slipped out of my disguise; I took the time, while sitting at home, to send the image of the slain Hell’s Angel member with the lost colors to a place where the Angels’ membership would see it.
I discarded the clothing, except for the stolen vest, at a homeless shelter. I held on to the weapons, as I had no reason to believe that anyone would be able to track them. As for the motorcycle, I kept it around for a while; I assumed that I should be prepared to follow-up on this if necessary, and if I did then I would need that vehicle. Satisfied that this hunt had concluded with no immediate retaliation to worry about, I slept. I learned the next day that I succeeded; not only did I become a man-slayer, I also became a war-monger for both gangs declared all-out war upon each other and the city felt it.
You, reader, may or may not be a man-slayer. It is not the same as being a monster-slayer, no matter the appearance of similarity to one observing both in action. The primary difference cannot be appreciated until one becomes either sort of slayer, and most fail to achieve that state until they slay both men and monsters, for most men are foolish dullards that cannot—or, worse, will not—master such wisdom until they initiate themselves as slayers of men or monsters (or both). In this respect, it is too much like knowing the difference between loving and mating despite the appearance if similarity. (I believe that this is the Creator’s idea of a joke.)
I had already become a monster-slayer years before, for I had elder men in my family that took up the responsibility to teach me how to stalk animals, kill them cleanly and then make best use of what I killed. While this was not the sort of monster-slaying I would do after the Azure Flames, it was slaying monsters nonetheless. Before I went this far, I already shed the blood of living beings by my own hand and slew those beings utterly. I killed. That I killed animals that preyed upon others for food, for clothing—to provide—does not matter; all that matters is that I killed. Dead is dead, and killing is killing; how one dies matters not to the slain.
I had already become aware of these truths by this time in my life. It was the foundation for my becoming something of a pacifist, as I refused to kill another man out of hand. Instead, I become quite interested in the morality of man-slaying as a youth, and by then I acquired a certain useful guideline that I adhered to in deciding my actions- one that put the abusive husband above past the limit of my forbearance. Even then, I refused to shed blood until I found it necessary. Now, however, I expected that it would become necessary. The members of these gangs were notoriously violent, and did not take much provocation to go from beating and maiming to crippling or killing a victim- especially if it a victim that they saw as deserving of death. This was how I prepared for what I was to do next.
I kept an eye on the two gangs’ clubhouses, surreptitiously tapping into the authorities’ efforts, and through those efforts I deduced when each clubhouse emptied out for the night as well as when the last gang member left their respective clubhouse. I also spent time training extensively with my choice of weapons and unarmed techniques, preparing for the move. It was what I had to do to prepare myself for the task of initiation, because that is what this was- initiation into the Brotherhood of Man-Slayers and if I did so much as to hesitate—to disrupt my state of mind—I would fail, and failure meant death. I would think, reader, that you would have some ability to comprehend the gravity of my situation.
I acquired a suitable disguise and a motorcycle, and then I went forth to execute my plan. By now I found that the Hell’s Angels clubhouse closed first, though not by much, and that my best chance to successfully ambush the last man out came during the middle of the interim between when the Old World’s decadent society engaged in its rituals of ceremonial violence that they called “sport”. I went to that gang’s clubhouse when I knew that the authorities watching it took a break knowing that they’d have time to eat and drink before the last man usually left.
I knew where their watching devices lay, so I knew where and how to avoid them. I crept into position, drew my knife and waited but a few moments before my man exited the clubhouse and walked toward my position. I banished all sympathy from my mind and hardened my heart against this member of the Hell’s Angels, for I knew what monstrous deeds he’d done before and that justified his death at my hands. Once I focused my mind, he came into view and I ceased all reflective thought; I now acted on reflex, without conscious thought, and leapt upon him.
My practice and training proved its value, for I struck home and drove my blade deep into his back. That staggered him long enough for me to withdraw my knife and finish closing with him. Now so close that I could grapple him, I seized him with my free hand and using my knife I stabbed his throat and eyes repeatedly. Then I cut deeply across his throat to ensure that I’d severed the flow of his blood in his neck and instead caused it to gush forth like a tidal wave upon the soiled street at his feet. I threw him to that very street and stripped off his “colors”. Before I stole away with them, I paused to use what was once a ubiquitous device to capture that image perfectly. It all took a few long moments to ambush this man, slay him and take my trophies.
I had not yet allowed the fullness of my deeds to come to my attention. I could not, for I still had work to do. I took my trophy and return to my motorcycle by stealth, riding away without being seen. So far, my plan worked without incident, but I never assumed that it would end that way. It did not, for when I arrived at the Outlaws’ clubhouse I found that there were two there. Furthermore, I found that the authorities watching it had disappeared; a check on their communication devices told me that they got called to assist with another incident. I had to improvise, so I took a pair of rags out my pockets. I tied one about my head and the other concealing my face. I wore goggles over my eyes, and then I put on the stolen Hell’s Angels vest. Now utterly concealed, I drew the longer of my firearms and approached the clubhouse.
I attacked them both, brazenly opening fire with my weapon. I made certain to bloody both of them, so that they would not follow, and to be seen clearly so that they would make the assumption that their rivals attempted to raid their clubhouse. Then I fled, running to my motorcycle and riding away- again, ensuring that they saw my disguise. Once well out of sight, I slipped out of my disguise; I took the time, while sitting at home, to send the image of the slain Hell’s Angel member with the lost colors to a place where the Angels’ membership would see it.
I discarded the clothing, except for the stolen vest, at a homeless shelter. I held on to the weapons, as I had no reason to believe that anyone would be able to track them. As for the motorcycle, I kept it around for a while; I assumed that I should be prepared to follow-up on this if necessary, and if I did then I would need that vehicle. Satisfied that this hunt had concluded with no immediate retaliation to worry about, I slept. I learned the next day that I succeeded; not only did I become a man-slayer, I also became a war-monger for both gangs declared all-out war upon each other and the city felt it.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 04
Part Two: No Return
I could not trust anyone with the fullness of my plan, not even a significant subset of it. I could not take the risk of betrayal to either the authorities or to the gangs. Instead, I spent more time on that plan, with the intention of breaking it down into individual elements that would not immediately arouse suspicion as I went about acquiring the aid that I needed to fulfill my ambitions. Once I decided upon a suitable division, I set about making contact with various acquaintances, contacts and friends to acquire those necessary skills and tools.
Within my dwelling, I cleared a space and ensured that it was sufficiently equipped for all of my training needs. I placed a man-sized pole therein, upon which I trained my unarmed and melee weapon techniques. Therein I also kept my weaponry, such as it was at that time; unlike the panoply I became famous for after the Azure Flames, at this time such weaponry was limited to a strong club, a hatchet and a pair of knives—one that I could easily conceal, and one I could not—with an eye towards getting one or more of the wondrous firearms that the Old World is justly famous for producing in such variety and quantity. In this pursuit, I relied on the recorded wisdom written down by famous figures in the world of martial arts and warfare—some within my lifetime, some within living memory, some ancient even then—and reconstructed that of their practices that worked (discarding the rest).
I also took up related practices of physical training, focusing upon endurance. I walked far more often to nearby places, and then extended that distances as my health and fitness improved. In order to do this while maintaining my other obligations, I had to reacquaint myself with the concept of time; my inherent sense of time improved as my health did, because I had to learn how to integrate this training into my greater body of activity. Because I lived in a temperate climate with changing seasonal weather, I reacquired the practical knowledge necessary to be active outside at all times of the year.
You may find this odd, reader, but this also led to my mastery of how to prepare and cook food for myself from raw ingredients; in the years before the Flames, this skill was rare—enough that one could earn quite a good living from it—and as I did not hide my growing acumen I once more became interesting company to many an acquaintance and friend who’d previously shunned me due to my disdain for conformity to artifice and illusory dogma. This too I turned to my advantage, because it let me approach people in a manner they found not threatening or suspicious and acquire the benefit of the expert knowledge about criminal science, legal theory and enforcement procedure that I needed.
I began this process in the fall of that year, and over that winter—a cold and cruel one—I made this transformation. When the snows receded in the spring of the next year, I had successfully changed myself in body and mind into a man that could accomplish this goal. My dear friend had, by then, gone home from the hospital- or, rather, to a residence that would accept her. (I had not the room, though I wished that I did, for I would have taken her in.) This took some persuasion, and in procuring this place for my beloved friend I performed a favor for an influential man—not that I knew this at the time—that would mark the moment wherein I could no longer abandon this path.
I asked one of my friends who worked for the authorities, and formerly worked for the military, if he could refer me to an expert on the use of firearms. He knew, for I—truthfully—had told him some time previously that I wanted to purchase one of the sort of firearms that those neither of the military nor of the enforcement agencies, that I wanted to learn how to effectively use such weapons for valid self-defense purposes. He fulfilled my request and introduced me to a man who worked in preparing for catastrophic events on behalf of the authorities. I befriended this man, and in time he confided to me that his sister suffered the abuse of a violent, yet cowardly man whom she foolishly took as a husband; she wanted to leave this man, but feared retribution. He appeared to be negligent about leaving about his place of work the information regarding where his sister dwelled, so I noted it down.
I found the abusive husband drinking himself into a stupor at a bar. I disguised myself as a plain-clothed enforcement agent and went up to him, asking him to step outside where we could talk privately. I assured him that he was in no trouble, but rather that I wanted to ask him about one of his co-workers whom I said was under suspicion for fraud. I sat him in his conveyance, turned it on so that the noise would drown out the conversation unless one were right next to us, and started talking to him. As I did, I helped him strap himself into the operator’s seat and get himself ready to drive away. Then I assaulted him with an electronic device that incapacitated him. With the conveyance on, I reached inside and set it to go forward; it pointed toward the river right nearby. I watched it launch forward at some speed and fly off the end of the road. I did not stay to see if it landed in the river or on the bank, lest undue attention be given to me.
By the time that I met once more with my trainer, I received confirmation that the husband did die in the apparent accident, which the authorities—after trying to find the agent that did not exist— ruled as an accident borne of impaired judgment due to the husband’s drinking. The trainer and I talked over the incident; he let on that he found it interesting that a man vaguely resembling me was the last to see him alive, and I let on that I found it interesting that a man entrusted to enforce the authorities’ rules had to break those rules to acquire the justice that his sister needed so that she could heal. We then came to an accord, which would become something more after the Azure Flames destroyed the Old World.
Nonetheless, when I did that I killed a man as surely as if I slew him by fist, firearm or flail. I slew with my mind; I slew by cunning, deception and guile as I exploited the gullibility of my victim as well as those others who could interfere. I also impressed—in terms both glorious and horrific—the man for whom I did that deed. (As for the sister, that is another story.) The only other that ever deduced what I did was my own beloved and precious friend, and to her credit she understood what happened as well as why- for she then deduced that this was to be done on her behalf. I passed the point of no return.
I could not trust anyone with the fullness of my plan, not even a significant subset of it. I could not take the risk of betrayal to either the authorities or to the gangs. Instead, I spent more time on that plan, with the intention of breaking it down into individual elements that would not immediately arouse suspicion as I went about acquiring the aid that I needed to fulfill my ambitions. Once I decided upon a suitable division, I set about making contact with various acquaintances, contacts and friends to acquire those necessary skills and tools.
Within my dwelling, I cleared a space and ensured that it was sufficiently equipped for all of my training needs. I placed a man-sized pole therein, upon which I trained my unarmed and melee weapon techniques. Therein I also kept my weaponry, such as it was at that time; unlike the panoply I became famous for after the Azure Flames, at this time such weaponry was limited to a strong club, a hatchet and a pair of knives—one that I could easily conceal, and one I could not—with an eye towards getting one or more of the wondrous firearms that the Old World is justly famous for producing in such variety and quantity. In this pursuit, I relied on the recorded wisdom written down by famous figures in the world of martial arts and warfare—some within my lifetime, some within living memory, some ancient even then—and reconstructed that of their practices that worked (discarding the rest).
I also took up related practices of physical training, focusing upon endurance. I walked far more often to nearby places, and then extended that distances as my health and fitness improved. In order to do this while maintaining my other obligations, I had to reacquaint myself with the concept of time; my inherent sense of time improved as my health did, because I had to learn how to integrate this training into my greater body of activity. Because I lived in a temperate climate with changing seasonal weather, I reacquired the practical knowledge necessary to be active outside at all times of the year.
You may find this odd, reader, but this also led to my mastery of how to prepare and cook food for myself from raw ingredients; in the years before the Flames, this skill was rare—enough that one could earn quite a good living from it—and as I did not hide my growing acumen I once more became interesting company to many an acquaintance and friend who’d previously shunned me due to my disdain for conformity to artifice and illusory dogma. This too I turned to my advantage, because it let me approach people in a manner they found not threatening or suspicious and acquire the benefit of the expert knowledge about criminal science, legal theory and enforcement procedure that I needed.
I began this process in the fall of that year, and over that winter—a cold and cruel one—I made this transformation. When the snows receded in the spring of the next year, I had successfully changed myself in body and mind into a man that could accomplish this goal. My dear friend had, by then, gone home from the hospital- or, rather, to a residence that would accept her. (I had not the room, though I wished that I did, for I would have taken her in.) This took some persuasion, and in procuring this place for my beloved friend I performed a favor for an influential man—not that I knew this at the time—that would mark the moment wherein I could no longer abandon this path.
I asked one of my friends who worked for the authorities, and formerly worked for the military, if he could refer me to an expert on the use of firearms. He knew, for I—truthfully—had told him some time previously that I wanted to purchase one of the sort of firearms that those neither of the military nor of the enforcement agencies, that I wanted to learn how to effectively use such weapons for valid self-defense purposes. He fulfilled my request and introduced me to a man who worked in preparing for catastrophic events on behalf of the authorities. I befriended this man, and in time he confided to me that his sister suffered the abuse of a violent, yet cowardly man whom she foolishly took as a husband; she wanted to leave this man, but feared retribution. He appeared to be negligent about leaving about his place of work the information regarding where his sister dwelled, so I noted it down.
I found the abusive husband drinking himself into a stupor at a bar. I disguised myself as a plain-clothed enforcement agent and went up to him, asking him to step outside where we could talk privately. I assured him that he was in no trouble, but rather that I wanted to ask him about one of his co-workers whom I said was under suspicion for fraud. I sat him in his conveyance, turned it on so that the noise would drown out the conversation unless one were right next to us, and started talking to him. As I did, I helped him strap himself into the operator’s seat and get himself ready to drive away. Then I assaulted him with an electronic device that incapacitated him. With the conveyance on, I reached inside and set it to go forward; it pointed toward the river right nearby. I watched it launch forward at some speed and fly off the end of the road. I did not stay to see if it landed in the river or on the bank, lest undue attention be given to me.
By the time that I met once more with my trainer, I received confirmation that the husband did die in the apparent accident, which the authorities—after trying to find the agent that did not exist— ruled as an accident borne of impaired judgment due to the husband’s drinking. The trainer and I talked over the incident; he let on that he found it interesting that a man vaguely resembling me was the last to see him alive, and I let on that I found it interesting that a man entrusted to enforce the authorities’ rules had to break those rules to acquire the justice that his sister needed so that she could heal. We then came to an accord, which would become something more after the Azure Flames destroyed the Old World.
Nonetheless, when I did that I killed a man as surely as if I slew him by fist, firearm or flail. I slew with my mind; I slew by cunning, deception and guile as I exploited the gullibility of my victim as well as those others who could interfere. I also impressed—in terms both glorious and horrific—the man for whom I did that deed. (As for the sister, that is another story.) The only other that ever deduced what I did was my own beloved and precious friend, and to her credit she understood what happened as well as why- for she then deduced that this was to be done on her behalf. I passed the point of no return.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 03
I was not then the man that I became after the Azure Flames. I did not possess the skill, the experience or the abilities that made me famous. However, I did possess much of the knowledge and the cunning necessary to succeed and that is what I put to work. I had a few friends amongst those very local authorities, and through them I found the records kept for the authorities’ attempt to bring the gang to account for its actions. I found in those records information concerning who the members of this gang—which, as I suspected, was part of a larger gang—were, where they lived and what they did with themselves. I also found that they were in a long-standing conflict with a rival gang, then known to exist all over the Old World: Hell’s Angels.
I took some time to copy the information, quietly and without notice, and took the copy home with me. There I continued to study that information, and I took care to study the pictures taken of the members of the Outlaws motorcycle gang that somehow escaped the doom intended for them by the authorities. These thieves and reavers of the Old World accrued wealth and power through using brutal violence to control the trade in goods and services that the Old World’s authorities claimed to disallow. The rival Hell’s Angels gang contested for control of the disallowed trade that the Outlaws controlled, and their struggles was a bloody and brutal one fought in the manner of a blood feud.
The idea came to me then and there that I could manipulate this conflict to achieve my end, but this idea was not without risk. I knew much of the ways of gangs such as the Outlaws and Hell’s Angels, but I did not possess much experience in dealing with them. The authorities approach to dealing with them was select one of them to pretend to be one of the gangs’ sort of people and go through the process of becoming an initiate to a gang, achieve full membership and then sabotage them from within until they are weak enough for another to conquer them from without- usually by the authorities’ hand. I knew, even then, that if I attempted to do as the authorities did then I would fail and be butchered like a hog to slaughter. I had to use another method to achieve my goal.
I knew that these two motorcycle gangs would resume their feuding ways readily, if provided with an excuse, so I decided to provide one. Being that both of these gangs operated in defiance of the authorities, and that both of these gangs operated in the open—they wore the symbols of their gang affiliation with pride—instead of wisely concealing their presences, all I needed to do would be to play out a very believable scenario. I would disguise myself as a member of one gang, stalk one of the other gang’s members and ambush him in a place where my disguised self would be readily seen. I would be certain to take the target’s “colors”—a supreme act of humiliation for these scum—and then display those colors in the clubhouse of the former gang. Once the latter gang saw the displayed colors of its targeted member, a gang war would inevitably result. The ensuing chaos would allow me to freely go amongst them and cull them as one culls deer from a herd.
Even then, I knew to keep the plan simple. Plans, good reader, never play out as one intends. The wise know that something will go wrong, or something unexpected will interfere, and therefore it is best to leave plans simple and flexible. When the complications come, a simple and flexible plan is far easier to adapt to changing conditions than complex or inflexible plans. To accomplish my objective, I needed a weapon, a suitable disguise and a few places to scout before I considered both my approach and my target. I intended to do this all in one fell swoop—that is, in one night, which was possible at that time despite the distances due to the many tools the Old World had for travel—and it was at this stage that I started what, in retrospect, was the step that would serve me well for the rest of my life.
I paused, walked away from my planning for the space of a meal, and then returned to it with the specific task of finding points of difficulty that could easily result in failure. The obvious points hit me immediately, in that merely knowing where the two gangs keep their clubhouses would mean that I could easily break into them. Neither would assaulting one nor escaping thereafter be that easy. I knew I needed help.
I took some time to copy the information, quietly and without notice, and took the copy home with me. There I continued to study that information, and I took care to study the pictures taken of the members of the Outlaws motorcycle gang that somehow escaped the doom intended for them by the authorities. These thieves and reavers of the Old World accrued wealth and power through using brutal violence to control the trade in goods and services that the Old World’s authorities claimed to disallow. The rival Hell’s Angels gang contested for control of the disallowed trade that the Outlaws controlled, and their struggles was a bloody and brutal one fought in the manner of a blood feud.
The idea came to me then and there that I could manipulate this conflict to achieve my end, but this idea was not without risk. I knew much of the ways of gangs such as the Outlaws and Hell’s Angels, but I did not possess much experience in dealing with them. The authorities approach to dealing with them was select one of them to pretend to be one of the gangs’ sort of people and go through the process of becoming an initiate to a gang, achieve full membership and then sabotage them from within until they are weak enough for another to conquer them from without- usually by the authorities’ hand. I knew, even then, that if I attempted to do as the authorities did then I would fail and be butchered like a hog to slaughter. I had to use another method to achieve my goal.
I knew that these two motorcycle gangs would resume their feuding ways readily, if provided with an excuse, so I decided to provide one. Being that both of these gangs operated in defiance of the authorities, and that both of these gangs operated in the open—they wore the symbols of their gang affiliation with pride—instead of wisely concealing their presences, all I needed to do would be to play out a very believable scenario. I would disguise myself as a member of one gang, stalk one of the other gang’s members and ambush him in a place where my disguised self would be readily seen. I would be certain to take the target’s “colors”—a supreme act of humiliation for these scum—and then display those colors in the clubhouse of the former gang. Once the latter gang saw the displayed colors of its targeted member, a gang war would inevitably result. The ensuing chaos would allow me to freely go amongst them and cull them as one culls deer from a herd.
Even then, I knew to keep the plan simple. Plans, good reader, never play out as one intends. The wise know that something will go wrong, or something unexpected will interfere, and therefore it is best to leave plans simple and flexible. When the complications come, a simple and flexible plan is far easier to adapt to changing conditions than complex or inflexible plans. To accomplish my objective, I needed a weapon, a suitable disguise and a few places to scout before I considered both my approach and my target. I intended to do this all in one fell swoop—that is, in one night, which was possible at that time despite the distances due to the many tools the Old World had for travel—and it was at this stage that I started what, in retrospect, was the step that would serve me well for the rest of my life.
I paused, walked away from my planning for the space of a meal, and then returned to it with the specific task of finding points of difficulty that could easily result in failure. The obvious points hit me immediately, in that merely knowing where the two gangs keep their clubhouses would mean that I could easily break into them. Neither would assaulting one nor escaping thereafter be that easy. I knew I needed help.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 02
Part One: A Cry in the Dark
Everything was very different in the Old World. Before the Azure Flames flooded the world and reduced it all to ashes and dust, the monsters that menaced the world were few in number and subtle in their affairs. Men routinely lived in cities so large that millions could be found dwelling there, and they did things so ephemeral because so few were needed to feed, clothe and house them all. It was a time when Man lost touch with Creation itself, lost in the splendor of a wealth so incredible as to be thought mythical to you that came after the Azure Flames. It was also a time when Man took so much of this for granted that they lost sight of their fortune, even the most wretched amongst them. Such perversity is, in part, why the Azure Flames seemed to me to be nothing less than divine retribution for such hubris.
I was a young man then. I loved a woman, a woman who—sadly—chose not to be my wife. Yet she and I remained close and intimate friends, and I swore to her that if she should ever have the need that should call upon me and I would answer. It became clear as we spent our youths and matured into what should have been the prime of our lives that this turned out to be best for both of us, for our lives diverged wildly.
She became a wife, married to a decent and patient man who made his living through fixing the power systems of homes and workshops, and a mother to three girls who promised carry on their mother’s legacy of sultry beauty. She also became crippled after she suffered a freak accident while traveling to a marketplace, making impossible her ability to do for herself. Meanwhile, I struggled to keep any work for longer than a year due to my inability to avoid speaking the truth and not work to the fullest of my capacity; I made others look like the failures of men that they were, and they took petty revenge by conspiring to have me removed- and the rules did not allow a man to defend himself as he should, by either cowing or killing them in an open fight. (So I did it covertly, and this development of cunning would serve me well later.)
I remind you, reader, that a man could not simply build a home and sustain himself in the ailing years of the Old World. Instead, he had to do work for others just to accrue the means to feed, clothe and shelter himself—usually, so did his wife, especially if they had children; my dear friend, as you can see, was in a most vulnerable position after her crippling—and those few that possessed the wealth acted as the petty men they were despite being the slave-masters of the world. The laws forbade that men settle their disputes as men were meant to, enforcing a form of false helplessness that coddled the weak and craven (who, naturally, groveled at and eagerly served the masters out of dependency as well as delusion)- not that I thought in those terms at the time. The Old World was a world gone mad with its own hubris that it could defy Nature and impose itself upon the law that makes the world work as if it were rules written for a game.
That revelation did not come when the Azure Flames flooded the world. It came a few years before. My dear friend’s husband crossed a gang of men known for their disdain for the law of this sick society and their love of self-powered, two-wheeled vehicles known as “motorcycles”. This gang called themselves “The Outlaws” and the people in charge took them quite seriously. These men found where my friend and her family dwelled, and they assaulted my friend and her family one night by surprise. By the time that the local masters responded, this gang slew her husband and children while leaving her in a state wishing that she too had died. The authorities took her to a hospital, and once she regained her wits and could stand to hear what she’d suffered she started to call to her remaining family. Her mother and brothers abandoned her, seeing this as divine punishment for her willful disobedience to her elders and their disapproval of her husband. Her late husband’s family likewise abandoned her, for they saw it as a judgment against him due to his own disdain for tradition.
Late one night, I received her call. I made haste for the hospital and stayed with her for as long as she could before fatigue overtook her. It was in this lengthy conversation that I learned—from her—all that I said immediately above. Yet her troubles had just begun.
She was severely injured, and while the hospitals of the Old World could (and did) perform such miracles that today cannot be believed without resorting to sorcery or other supernatural power it did not come without a price. This price quickly became impossible to bear, for the merchants that she (with her husband) struck a pact with to prepare for just this scenario broke the pact with spurious and false claims that she somehow violated the terms of the pact. She needed the hospital’s care, but was not able to repay the hospital for the care provided; if not for laws in place forbidding the denial of care that must be had, the hospital would have thrown her out to die.
Things would get worse for her. The home she had, after the authorities completed their use of it to find information above and beyond what she could provide, became the victim of another attack- this time by fire. This fire consumed the home, and all of her wealth, leaving her not only without her husband and children but also the home that she made with them and the wealth that they generated. No family, no friends (save me), no wealth and no support from the larger community left her bereft of anything but her hope in the authorities’ system of enforcement.
The authorities did, indeed, capture the Outlaws gang and bring them into this gang before a so-called “judge” and let a pair of smooth-talking advocates argue for and against whether or not the gang actually killed her family and destroyed her home. Due to the cunning and perversity of the advocate that the gang employed (no doubt by their own ill-gotten gains), the Outlaws successfully confused that fool of a judge and had him declare the Outlaws free wrong-doing. After successive appeals to higher levels of authority, this route ended when the penultimate level of judges declined to hear her appeal. With this action ended, all socially-allowed means for getting revenge closed their doors to my friend.
I sat that night in her hospital room, as she cried a deluge of tears in a mixture of frustration, rage and despair that masked her incredible pain of the body. She took me by the hand and looked at me with eyes so blue that the oceans seemed small by comparison. She said nothing—she did not need to—and I answered her with immortal words said by Solomon Kane: “Men will die for this.”
Everything was very different in the Old World. Before the Azure Flames flooded the world and reduced it all to ashes and dust, the monsters that menaced the world were few in number and subtle in their affairs. Men routinely lived in cities so large that millions could be found dwelling there, and they did things so ephemeral because so few were needed to feed, clothe and house them all. It was a time when Man lost touch with Creation itself, lost in the splendor of a wealth so incredible as to be thought mythical to you that came after the Azure Flames. It was also a time when Man took so much of this for granted that they lost sight of their fortune, even the most wretched amongst them. Such perversity is, in part, why the Azure Flames seemed to me to be nothing less than divine retribution for such hubris.
I was a young man then. I loved a woman, a woman who—sadly—chose not to be my wife. Yet she and I remained close and intimate friends, and I swore to her that if she should ever have the need that should call upon me and I would answer. It became clear as we spent our youths and matured into what should have been the prime of our lives that this turned out to be best for both of us, for our lives diverged wildly.
She became a wife, married to a decent and patient man who made his living through fixing the power systems of homes and workshops, and a mother to three girls who promised carry on their mother’s legacy of sultry beauty. She also became crippled after she suffered a freak accident while traveling to a marketplace, making impossible her ability to do for herself. Meanwhile, I struggled to keep any work for longer than a year due to my inability to avoid speaking the truth and not work to the fullest of my capacity; I made others look like the failures of men that they were, and they took petty revenge by conspiring to have me removed- and the rules did not allow a man to defend himself as he should, by either cowing or killing them in an open fight. (So I did it covertly, and this development of cunning would serve me well later.)
I remind you, reader, that a man could not simply build a home and sustain himself in the ailing years of the Old World. Instead, he had to do work for others just to accrue the means to feed, clothe and shelter himself—usually, so did his wife, especially if they had children; my dear friend, as you can see, was in a most vulnerable position after her crippling—and those few that possessed the wealth acted as the petty men they were despite being the slave-masters of the world. The laws forbade that men settle their disputes as men were meant to, enforcing a form of false helplessness that coddled the weak and craven (who, naturally, groveled at and eagerly served the masters out of dependency as well as delusion)- not that I thought in those terms at the time. The Old World was a world gone mad with its own hubris that it could defy Nature and impose itself upon the law that makes the world work as if it were rules written for a game.
That revelation did not come when the Azure Flames flooded the world. It came a few years before. My dear friend’s husband crossed a gang of men known for their disdain for the law of this sick society and their love of self-powered, two-wheeled vehicles known as “motorcycles”. This gang called themselves “The Outlaws” and the people in charge took them quite seriously. These men found where my friend and her family dwelled, and they assaulted my friend and her family one night by surprise. By the time that the local masters responded, this gang slew her husband and children while leaving her in a state wishing that she too had died. The authorities took her to a hospital, and once she regained her wits and could stand to hear what she’d suffered she started to call to her remaining family. Her mother and brothers abandoned her, seeing this as divine punishment for her willful disobedience to her elders and their disapproval of her husband. Her late husband’s family likewise abandoned her, for they saw it as a judgment against him due to his own disdain for tradition.
Late one night, I received her call. I made haste for the hospital and stayed with her for as long as she could before fatigue overtook her. It was in this lengthy conversation that I learned—from her—all that I said immediately above. Yet her troubles had just begun.
She was severely injured, and while the hospitals of the Old World could (and did) perform such miracles that today cannot be believed without resorting to sorcery or other supernatural power it did not come without a price. This price quickly became impossible to bear, for the merchants that she (with her husband) struck a pact with to prepare for just this scenario broke the pact with spurious and false claims that she somehow violated the terms of the pact. She needed the hospital’s care, but was not able to repay the hospital for the care provided; if not for laws in place forbidding the denial of care that must be had, the hospital would have thrown her out to die.
Things would get worse for her. The home she had, after the authorities completed their use of it to find information above and beyond what she could provide, became the victim of another attack- this time by fire. This fire consumed the home, and all of her wealth, leaving her not only without her husband and children but also the home that she made with them and the wealth that they generated. No family, no friends (save me), no wealth and no support from the larger community left her bereft of anything but her hope in the authorities’ system of enforcement.
The authorities did, indeed, capture the Outlaws gang and bring them into this gang before a so-called “judge” and let a pair of smooth-talking advocates argue for and against whether or not the gang actually killed her family and destroyed her home. Due to the cunning and perversity of the advocate that the gang employed (no doubt by their own ill-gotten gains), the Outlaws successfully confused that fool of a judge and had him declare the Outlaws free wrong-doing. After successive appeals to higher levels of authority, this route ended when the penultimate level of judges declined to hear her appeal. With this action ended, all socially-allowed means for getting revenge closed their doors to my friend.
I sat that night in her hospital room, as she cried a deluge of tears in a mixture of frustration, rage and despair that masked her incredible pain of the body. She took me by the hand and looked at me with eyes so blue that the oceans seemed small by comparison. She said nothing—she did not need to—and I answered her with immortal words said by Solomon Kane: “Men will die for this.”
Friday, January 14, 2011
The Promises We Keep-Part 01
Foreword
I am Ken, the father of that race of Men whom you know as my Sons, stalkers and slayers of all things foul and unnatural. By my hand, I write these words. I write these words, telling the story of my life, because I know too well that one’s freedom depends greatly upon the power to control the story of one’s life. As I write this, I am now a venerable man and soon to exhaust the last of my lawful allotment of time, yet my mind remains clear and sharp. So, before the mercy of a peaceful death comes, I write so that I ensure the fidelity of my story after I am gone.
I do not know who you are, reader. I cannot assume that you know who I am, nor can I assume that you are either a friend of my people or a foe. I can only assume that not only can you read what I write, but that you comprehend it and are able to enrich your life through appreciation of the meaning that my story imparts unto you. Therefore, all that I ask is that you read my story honestly and carry it with you honorably thereafter.
Even now, at the end of my days, the demands of my existence require long days away from a quiet place where I may channel my thoughts through a pen and record them like this. This is why I do not write lengthy tales, but instead write short and succinct stories of significant episodes. It reflects the reality of my existence after the Azure Flames flooded the land and reduced the Old World to ashes and dust. Therefore, I hope to live long enough to collect these tales together into a single tome so that my descendants—and other future generations—may benefit forever from the substance of my story.
With that said, I begin not with the most notable of the tales told about me, but something I have not revealed to anyone- not even the women I took as my wives, nor the children I sired by them. This is a tale of the life I led in the dying days of the Old World, before the Flames, when I had yet to become the iconic figure—the living legend—that I am now. Yet, as the wise amongst you shall see, my younger self held the defining trait of my people: we are defined by the promises we keep.
I am Ken, the father of that race of Men whom you know as my Sons, stalkers and slayers of all things foul and unnatural. By my hand, I write these words. I write these words, telling the story of my life, because I know too well that one’s freedom depends greatly upon the power to control the story of one’s life. As I write this, I am now a venerable man and soon to exhaust the last of my lawful allotment of time, yet my mind remains clear and sharp. So, before the mercy of a peaceful death comes, I write so that I ensure the fidelity of my story after I am gone.
I do not know who you are, reader. I cannot assume that you know who I am, nor can I assume that you are either a friend of my people or a foe. I can only assume that not only can you read what I write, but that you comprehend it and are able to enrich your life through appreciation of the meaning that my story imparts unto you. Therefore, all that I ask is that you read my story honestly and carry it with you honorably thereafter.
Even now, at the end of my days, the demands of my existence require long days away from a quiet place where I may channel my thoughts through a pen and record them like this. This is why I do not write lengthy tales, but instead write short and succinct stories of significant episodes. It reflects the reality of my existence after the Azure Flames flooded the land and reduced the Old World to ashes and dust. Therefore, I hope to live long enough to collect these tales together into a single tome so that my descendants—and other future generations—may benefit forever from the substance of my story.
With that said, I begin not with the most notable of the tales told about me, but something I have not revealed to anyone- not even the women I took as my wives, nor the children I sired by them. This is a tale of the life I led in the dying days of the Old World, before the Flames, when I had yet to become the iconic figure—the living legend—that I am now. Yet, as the wise amongst you shall see, my younger self held the defining trait of my people: we are defined by the promises we keep.
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