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Boom-Boom Blues.; EN fanfic. Updated 4/26.
Topic Started: Apr 15 2005, 10:58 PM (816 Views)
Rust
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Yuh-huh. Eeyep. Mm-hmm. ...yeah. >_>

Since the day Scott linked this blasted piece of webcomic-y goodness unto my Favorites list I've had thoughts about it. Now I managed to get them into a coherent enough form to create a few chapters. It's gonna be in installments, and although I write at a faaairly good clip, the amount of willpower in my fatigue-ridden brain is sporadic.

Disclaimer: Syrus "Virus" Zuviel, Harold "Harry" Eastwood, Lothar Hex, Ryoushi "Rogue" Nekittou, and all other Exterminatus Now or Grim Darkness characters are © Stuart Edney, Martin Faulkner, Alan Graham, and Garry Webber. Due to my somewhat limited knowledge of the EN universe (though I managed to commit a good amount of the info on the website to memory before it asploded sometime in the last 24 hours), I sincerely apologize for any...uh, inaccurate creative liberties I may take. I also promise to the aforementioned four persons that any and all misuse of their characters and all others related to the EN fancomic will result in immediate correction upon notification, and depending on the severity of such error, the repeated bashing of my own cranium into the nearest piece of solid matter.
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Happiness is just a word to me, and that might've meant a thing or two if I had known the difference.
-Yoko Kanno

It'll shine when it shines.
-Old Folk Proverb



Prologue: So Many Raindrops

It was always miserable when it rained in Mobotropolis.

The city wasn’t exactly a peach to begin with; it was little more than a vast monolith carved of wash-gray stone and steel after the plague of 3021. The place’s population had taken a rather drastic dip during that troubled time, to be sure. However, people had slowly trickled back into the city over the years after the disease, and it wasn’t long before the advantages of such a broken-down metropolis began to present themselves. Especially to the Mobian Inquisition.

Take a weapons manufacturing plant, for example. There were slums all over downtown. How difficult would it be to, say, do a few months’ worth of quiet renovations, hollowing out a development of buildings, plating their skins with steel and building barbed-wire fences around them, then filling their guts with enough destructive playthings to turn half the world into glass? Not that difficult at all, apparently, judging by how such a project was now right in front of his very eyes.

The sooty-gray wolf stood at ease in the pouring, sooty midnight rain; droplets smacked icily onto the oversized (coming right down to his ankles despite his considerable height) loden green hooded raincoat and puddling at the boots on his feet. The huge and filled canvas packsack on his back had been soaked black. And his muzzle was positively numb.

He was on top of a dilapidated apartment building some seven stories wide, one that gave him a fantastic view of the slums below. The wolf’s eyes, sheathed in the darkness of his hood, were staring at them with great concentration.

Which was promptly broken by the crackle of static in his coat pocket.

He sighed and withdrew a bulky walkie-talkie from said pocket – it was blessedly waterproofed, at least. He hadn’t expected it to pour this hard this late.

He pressed the Talk button. “Anything wrong? Remember to say ‘over’ when you’re done talking this time, please. The last conversation we had was really awkward.”

“No, nothing. We set everything up. Just letting you know.” The walkie-talkie’s reproduction was tinny and poor, making the voice asexual and anonymous.

Long silence.

“…uh, over.”

“Stellar. Make that a habit. Now, did the evac signal get through? Over.”

“You bet. There wasn’t even any security left.” The voice sniggered. “Your reputation throws a lot of weight. Over.”

“Good.” He blinked twice, getting the buildings back into focus, and then tucked his other hand into another pocket. “Now listen.

“I’m holding a stopwatch in my other hand. Not one second after we break communications I’m going to set it going. Ten minutes after that, I’m hitting the detonator. Twenty minutes after that, there’s going to be a series of very large explosions. I suggest you relay that to your friends and tell them to pick up their feet.”

Grin.

“Over.”

“What!?” the voice screeched. A high, wavering note of panic had crashed into it with great speed. “It took us an hour just to find your contact points! Can’t you give us that much time to get out?”

He didn’t answer.

“…over.”

“You really think that’ll work?” he responded promptly. “That evac notice blew our cover wide open just like it did the last four times. And this place has backup gennies along with equipment that could sense contraband bombs within five miles. Every Inquisition bomb squad and its grandmother is waiting for those sensors to go off; I had one of our own squads place an inhibitor on the backups before the power was cut, but it isn’t going to last for long. I guarantee you that if I wait that long we’ll all be carted away in body bags. Over.”

“Yeah…but-”

“Come on,” he cut in smoothly. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be followers of hedonism? Full of enough sacrilegious energy to light up this whole city? Just pretend you’re on the party floor and shuffle your feet right on out of those doors. You’ll be back with your buddies in time for a blowjob and a bologna sandwich. Over.”

“We were never told this was gonna be so risky,” the voice said sulkily. “Granser said that the last four squads left with over an hour to spare. Over.”

The wolf’s teeth flashed in a wide and spitless grin. Rain dripped through the gaps and onto his tongue; it tasted like gasoline.

“Like it or not, that old adage of the Inquisitors’ has got some truth to it. Everything you have been told is a lie.

“Over and out.”

He snapped off the transmission and hit the button on the watch at the same time. Replacing the former and removing the latter, the wolf stared at the screen with casual curiosity until it was ten seconds away from ten minutes.

He undid the top two snaps of his coat and withdrew a small steel box with an innocuous black button in the center. At the same instant that the clock went over to 10’00”, the button was pressed.

The next twenty minutes were occupied with him watching rain drip off the slick vinyl of his coat. Neither the rain nor the coat showed any signs of letting up.

* * * * *

Eighteen minutes later.

He had gotten one more call saying that everyone had made it out safely. That was peachy. Flawless operation. Both watch and box were gone; now a pair of dark glasses had been drawn onto his face. The last thing he wanted was to be blinded by the fireworks.

Nineteen minutes.

Well, then…off you go, I guess.

Ka-BOOM!


The first of the five or so buildings seemed to bulge along its sides for a moment, and then erupted in an unbelievable fury of flame that roared up into the night sky and parted the pouring rain like the vengeful hand of Tyrus himself. Pieces of rubble, varying from small and lethal shards of rock to car-sized and equally lethal chunks of steel and unknown metal instruments, went soaring up into the air. They came down with a series of sharp clangs that cut effortlessly through the secret, unassuming patter of rain.

Ka-BOOM!

Another one went up. The explosions were tremendous; all of the malignant little toys stashed away in the labs’ recesses had compounded his own handiwork very nicely.

Ka-BOOM! Ka-BOOM! Ka-BOOM!

The last three went up in quick succession, belching out apocalyptic quantities of smoke and fire. Both climbed up into the sky, adding to the gray layer of cloud that was already smothering the stars. Metal and rock flew everywhere, and the baking heat of the blasts could be felt even from his vantage point.

Finally, it was done. The flames were roaring steadily; the rain wasn’t doing the minutest bit of good in dampening them. Who knew what kind of chemicals it must be giving off; the toys in those labs weren’t being made for the next Inquisitor-only picnic.

Slowly, the wolf drew off his glasses and took off his hood, letting the rain soak him in cold little driblets. Now that his face wasn’t obscured in shadow his eyes could be easily seen; they were bottlegreen and benign, at peace with himself and any given number of organizations and gods. There was a good-sized chunk missing from his left ear; aside from that, he looked just fine.

He turned his head up to the sky and sighed.

Five minutes later he was walking down the street, hands in his pockets, skirting through back alleys to dodge the sound of sirens. His packsack bumped along amiably, its owner’s own toys rattling within.

“Well,” he muttered, “now.”

Now the only way out is either gonna be straight up to heaven…or straight down to hell.
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Chapter One: Quote-Unquote Protagonists

It was noon.

That meant that Harold ‘Dirty Harry’ Eastwood had woken up approximately fifteen minutes earlier; the gray fox was clad in a wrinkled bathrobe with his fur askew. Not only that, but his head felt like a Cerberus had used it for a potty chair. He had been on one hell of a caffeine bender last night and had gotten maybe four hours of sleep, all told.

Which is maybe eight less than what I’d like. Ouch. Thinking hurts.

That meant it was too much work for too little reward; his thoughts felt like a big mess of sunny-side up eggs. That thought made him hungry, and he promptly resolved to just shut down entirely until his morning caffeine fix was taken care of.

Mumbling incoherently, he poured the rich brown nectar colloquially known as ‘coffee’ from pot to mug. To say that Inquisitor Eastwood enjoyed coffee would be an understatement on par with saying that Lothar Hex was a wee bit tad high-strung. If he could have the stuff injected directly into his veins then he would drag an IV drip everywhere he went. As a matter of fact, Eastwood had shot off memos to central command about making that happen several times. The last one had been answered with a popular profane two-word phrase and a letterbomb.

Actually, most of their warband’s memos ended up with a similar response. Their track record was less than sterling, what with the corruption and the vice and the incessant disregard for orders.

All of that was quickly forgotten as Eastwood smacked his lips over the mug and drank deep. His expression was close to sublime as the java flowed down his throat, into his bloodstream, and made his heart beat a little faster.

His head a little clearer, Harry sat down at their kitchen table and flipped up the newspaper that lay neatly on it. He pretended to read the front page for all of seven seconds before turning to the funnies.

* * * * *

“Come on, Blasphemy, sit still…that’s it, just a little longer…good boy! Who’s a good boy, huh? Don’t worry, just a few more.”

Syrus ‘The Virus’ Zuviel, head of what was probably the most infamously incompetent band of Inquisitors in the Inquisition's long and checkered history, was cooing as he picked out pieces of blue fabric from Blasphemy’s teeth – the critter in question was a daemonic Chao that didn’t resemble a Chao as much as it did a red horned blender with malevolent little yellow slits for eyes. It was sitting sullenly but quietly on Virus’ desk while the brown-furred rat plucked out the foreign objects gingerly with tweezers. Anyone else who would have attempted such a daring feat would have likely lost their arm. Followed by most of their head.

He squinted hard, making sure to get every last piece. Blasphemy had been getting a little overenthusiastic with the mailman again, and the poor guy had been a little slow on the draw this time around. Though I’ve heard skin-implant surgery’s come a long way nowadays. He’s probably insured, too.

“Just…one…more…got it!”

With the operation completed, Blasphemy snapped his titanic razor-lined maw shut and leapt off the desk, waddling out of the room in a way that would have been comedic if it weren’t so menacing. It was menacing because the Chao decided to snap off a healthy chunk of the doorframe for kicks on his way out.

Virus rolled his eyes. “Do that again, mister, and you’re going to have to hunt out your own dinner tonight.”

Not particularly perturbed at the idea of taking the door-to-door salesman population down another peg, it just grunted at him and went on its merry way.

Virus’ carefree attitude would have been endearing under any other circumstances, but in a line of work that had a tendency to involve gunning down bloodthirsty daemons and insane cultists, a job that had both a potentially high collateral damage and casualty count, his blatant disregard for consequences had made him no less loved than any of his teammates. Well…maybe a little more so than Lothar. Nevertheless, their knowledge of Commander Antonius Schaefer’s dirtier secrets (which were, of course, gained via totally legitimate and innocent coincidence) kept them all living the life of Riley.

“Virus, come in! And don’t give me that line about the toaster being possessed by a minion of Fernex this time, either!”

He raised an eyebrow. Speak of the devil.

* * * * *

“Damn it, cat, you’re cheating.”

“That’s the fifth time you said that, and for the fifth time I’m going to say no.”

“Don’t give me that line of crap. Damned lying cheating litterbox-filling bugger…”

Ryoushi ‘Rogue’ Nekittou grit his teeth but didn’t goad his opponent on any further. The orange-furred cat knew perfectly well that when Lothar began getting childish then his supply of current insults was sputtering to a close. He didn’t want to give the cyborg any fresh material to reply to.

And the black half-machine echidna would rise to the occasion splendidly if given the opportunity, he knew. Right now both his organic and bloodred cybernetic eyes were squeezed into slits of dull rage as Rogue trounced him for the sixth time. The orange fedora he always wore was casting a murderous shadow over his face that didn’t make the image any cheerier. Hex might have been the most feared mercenary in Mobius, but he flat-out sucked at video games. Or maybe it was just because Rogue was so awesome at them. Either one worked pretty well for the Daemon Hunter.

“The buttons are messed up on this controller,” Lothar spat. “Give me yours.”

“You’re really reaching now, Hex,” Rogue said smugly. “Maybe you’re losing because of those six oversized sausages you call fing-”

He cut off suddenly, just realizing the line he had crossed – too little, too late.

With deft, precise movements Lothar looped his controller cord around Rogue’s neck and pulled it tight. The cat felt his windpipe close obligingly and gave out a choked gasp at the echidna yanked tighter, a look of casual impersonality on his face – he might have been a doctor giving a patient a routine eyes-and-throat checkup. Rogue twisted and slammed his elbow into Hex’s chest, and the cord let up.

They both rolled off the couch and faced each other tensely. Living with Lothar was like getting punch-dead drunk and then trying to pick your way through a minefield; the echidna was constantly looking for reasons to take his considerable and perpetual anger out on the nearest breathing target. The fact that he tended to commit such socially inappropriate acts with the same attitude reserved for making a sandwich didn’t change the fact any.

“Guys, quit messing around. Schaefer just called. Conference room ASAP.”

Zuviel and Eastwood were walking by and pulling on their regulation trench coats, firearms holstered neatly within. The rat looked fine. Eastwood looked like the walking dead, even though he was still gulping down coffee in great quantities.

“What’s your point?” Lothar growled. “I’m trying to skin the fuzzball here. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Works for me,” Rogue shot back with a smirk.

“Come on, guys,” Eastwood muttered. “The sooner we get this finished the sooner I can get back to bed.”

“That works, too,” Rogue said (with a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for a decent excuse to get away from Hex, of course). He got up and followed the two Inquisitors out of the room.

Lothar just sat there for a minute or two, blinking at the sudden lack of bloodshed he had expected. Then, after weighing the consequences of being left alone with Blasphemy on the prowl, he grudgingly stomped out himself.
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Chapter 2: Debriefing

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Schaefer’s hologram said. “I trust you’re all well-rested?”

The conference room was vast, dark, and consisted of a single long kidney-shaped table with very nice chairs upon which to sit. In front of the table was a large holo set, and hovering above said holo set were two of, if not the, most powerful men in the Inqusition. The first was Antonius Schaefer, who was sitting at his desk. The massive bear was flanked by his right-hand man, the bespectacled (and considerably slimmer) weasel Simmons.

Eastwood muttered something about the price of rutabagas in Taika.

“Good to hear,” the commander responded curtly. “Since there’s a lot on my plate today and I’d like to spend as little time talking to your four as possible, I’ll cut to the chase: Your mission today consists of the tracking and apprehension of a decidedly infamous terrorist in Mobotropolis.”

Lothar spat.

Schaefer’s eyes narrowed at that – the echidna made a hobby out of being a royal pain during debriefings at every possible opportunity. “Something wrong already, Hex?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how you’re going to try to get our arses killed this time, is all,” he replied, smirking. “You hoping someone’s going to stab us in some back alley? That podunk town’s a death trap…to everybody but me, of course.”

“Good to see you’re your usual modest self,” Schaefer answered, “but like I said, I don’t have time to mince words with you. This mission is of first-class importance.”

“This must be one high-power guy we’re after, then,” Virus said good-naturedly. “Even Operation Dead Men Walking was only third-class.”

At that title, Eastwood gave a little scream and jumped in his seat. It promptly fell over with him still in it, and he scurried under the table, shivering.

“Whoops,” the rat chuckled as his poked his head next to the fox. “Sorry about that, Harry. Forgot about the whole repressed-memory thing.”

“Get we get on with this?” Rogue asked.

“Gladly,” Schaefer growled. “Simmons?”

“We’re bringing up your target’s profile now,” Simmons said in his usual cool, detached manner. “Pay attention, if you please.”

Their images vanished, replaced with a grainy photograph of a wolf in a massive green raincoat and an equally huge backpack. The lousy quality suggested that it had been snapped on impulse – Lothar, ever the opportunist, wondered how much that photo must have cost Schaefer. Most of the Mobian Inquisitors liked to shoot with high-power plasma weapons, not cameras.

“His name is Charlie Gaebles,” Simmons’ voice said. “Age 28, eye color green, fur color dark gray. Scars consist of a piece missing from one of his ears, presumably by either shrapnel or gunfire. He’s a freelance demolitions expert who’s been associated with countless anti-government radical groups over the last ten years. Wanted on charges of mass arson, mass vandalism, manslaughter, black marketeering, treason to country, treason to royalty, grand theft auto, grand theft aero, conspiracy, and tax evasion.”

Lothar whistled. “Nice rapport.”

“You have no idea,” Schaefer cut in ruefully. “His targets have consisted of almost exclusively our own property, and his antics all over Mobius have cost us trillions…almost as much trouble as you four. Last night he blew up an extremely important weapons-development facility in Mobotropolis. Even more infuriating, he’s so deeply embroiled with the underbelly of that city that we’ve never been able to conduct a thorough enough investigation of his whereabouts. He’s a favorite client of influential crime organizations worldwide and a favorite customer of every black marketeer you can name.”

“However, last night we received an anonymous transmission that proved highly beneficial to the investigation,” Simmons continued. “Not only did we get the coordinates of Gaebles’ base, but we were also told who his current clients were.”

“And those clients are who, exactly?” Lothar spat.

More information appeared on the screen. “A Soulthirster cult,” the weasel replied calmly. “The Yss’garoth, as a matter of fact.”

Virus raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that one of the biggest in Mobius?”

“At this point it’s probably the biggest of them all,” Schaefer said gloomily. “They’re almost as enigmatic as Gaebles himself, but their rough location – down in the slums of Mobotropolis – has allowed them to grow to sickening proportions. There’s an enormous amount of vice in that cesspool and not nearly enough law enforcement.”

“We think that if you can apprehend Gaebles alive then we can drill the location of the cult out of him,” Simmons said, “so it would be greatly appreciated if you could all keep your trigger fingers down to minimum levels of activity.” Their images faded back on the holo screen. “Are there any questions?”

“For one thing, how are we supposed to get there?” Rogue asked. He was leaning back in his chair with an expression that was one step away from total boredom.

“I believe that Inquisitor Eastwood and Hex have ships of their own,” Schaefer replied. “You’ll just have to hitch a ride with them. Though it’s suggested that you park a good distance away from our coordinates. If Gaebles finds your vehicles then it’s likely he’ll either hijack or sabotage them. Possibly a combination of the two.”

“Your concern is touching,” Lothar said.

“Don’t fool yourself,” the commander snapped. “That’s valuable hardware you two are flying. Anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” the echidna said. “What’s the catch?”

Simmons raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Every mission you send us on is an attempt to get our arses blown up, shot, stabbed, or eaten,” Lothar said flatly. “But now you’re sending us after one single mutt who blows up your toys as a hobby. Are you starting to develop feelings for us, or are you just losing your touch?”

“Actually…” Simmons began, but was then cut off by Schaefer’s bellowing laughter.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you!?” he roared jovially, his considerable gut rolling like a log in high tide. “We’ve had Inquisitors that stumbled over Gaebles before, you know. They were reduced to chunky giblets before they could even draw a bead on him.”

Simmons’ eyes widened ever so slightly. “Sir-”

“That ‘mutt’ carries around over one hundred pounds of portable explosives at any given time between his pack and his coat. He could crush your skulls like they were eggshells if you got within arms’ reach of him!”

“Sir, I don’t think-”

“Not only that, but he’s developed customized bombs that have made some of our technopriests go weak in the knees.”

“Mr. Schaefer, sir, with all due respect-”

“If we’re lucky, by the time Gaebles gets through with you idiots we’ll be able to bury all four of you in the same cereal box,” Schaefer said, then threw back his head and dove into another fit of hysterics.

“Sir,” Simmons said, very quietly.

The commander’s laughter stopped dead. He looked around at the warband: Eastwood was still cowering under the table. Zuviel had one eyebrow raised, and Rogue hadn’t reacted at all. Lothar, on the other hand, appeared to be attempting to strike Schaefer dead through sheer willpower. His cyborg hand snapped off a piece of the table and crushed it into splinters as both eyes shone with insane hate.

The commander cleared his throat. “Um…right, then. Schaefer out.”

The image flickered and died.

“The next time I see his fat arse,” Lothar said slowly and with great vehemence, “I’m going to cut it up, fry it, and eat it for dinner.”
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Chapter 3: Downtown Strut

The flight to Mobotropolis had gone without incident…more or less. Eastwood’s sudden jolt had woken him up fully, but he had developed an alarming tic in his right eye that took an hour or so to calm down. Lothar, meanwhile, had needed to shoot down three loaded passenger planes before cooling off.

They had landed in a relatively abandoned vacant lot a half-mile or so from the coordinates, and were now walking in file down the grimy and dampened downtown streets. Lothar was grimacing as his feet splashed in gasoline-tainted water that had filled the multifarious potholes in the road, and he couldn’t help but be thankful that his cyborg parts were rust-proof.

“This place is a dump,” he growled. “Why doesn’t Schaefer just nuke the whole city and save us a lot of trouble?”

“All of the crime and daemon sightings around here give us plenty of work,” Virus said as he studied his map. “Behold the status quo.”

“I know where you can shove your status quo,” the echidna murmured.

“People at six o’ clock,” Eastwood said quietly. “Try not to make eye contact. I’m starting to wish we hadn’t come here with our coats on.”

The derelicts of downtown were coming down, hiding in newspaper blankets and gathered around trashcan fires. They were all dull-eyed and smeared with city grime…and there wasn’t a single one that was staring at the four with flat hate. A hedgehog sitting against a dilapidated apartment building slowly and deliberately gave them the finger.

Lothar’s eye twitched and he brought up his arm, which promptly assumed cannon form. Rogue grabbed it.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “I don’t want a riot here. Might alert Gaebles.”

“Nobody does that to me and gets away with it,” he snarled.

“This time they do. Let it go, Hex.”

He spat and let his arm drop. “Gods-damned furball. If you wanted to play Good Samaritan then you’re in the wrong place.”

“I think that if he didn’t know that before,” Virus said, “then he does now.”

Rogue said nothing and just went shuffling along. This place made him feel ill – he couldn’t tell if it was the thick, foul air, the overall decay…or the unanimous animosity that he and his compatriots were receiving by the locals.

A rock flew by his head, missing by half an inch. He grit his teeth and kept going.

A drunken voice screamed out, “Go back to whereya came from, ya Inquisition sons a’ bitches!”

* * * * *

“This is it,” Virus said, finally coming to a stop.

“Thank the gods,” Eastwood sighed. “I’m tired and this city is a real drain on the attitude.”

They were in front of a huge warehouse that didn’t look out of place compared to its surroundings – it was on the outskirts of Mobotropolis’ industrial district. A splintery set of wooden double doors was firmly secured by a very large and very heavy wooden bar in front.

“Take a look at this,” Rogue said, standing to the right of the door. He ran a finger over some sort of light graffiti cut into the blank stone:

Boom-Boom Blues.

“Maybe it’s some sort of code?” he mused.

“Every minute you spend puzzling over graffiti is a minute that I’m not smashing this bugger’s head in for making us come here, Rogue,” Lothar said calmly. “Now either get your furry arse over here or I’m going to have to finish what we started this morning.”

Rogue rolled his eyes but fell in line. The four of them now flanked the entrance, with Lothar on the far left, Rogue the far right, and Eastwood and Virus in the middle.

The echidna brought up his cannon-arm and decimated the door with one hard blast. It fell with a flat wooden thunderclap.

The four leapt in, all bringing up their weapons at once. Virus, his Glock in one hand and his rosette in the other, held up the latter to a vague figure in the gloom of the warehouse’s guts.

“Charlie Gaebles!” he called out. “You’re under arrest by the authority of the Mobian Inquisition. Drop any weapons and come quietly and we can at least give a fair chance of your continued physical well-being.”

Thunk.

At that flat, unimportant sound, all four of them slowly turned their heads to the left.

There was a rather short but very sharp serrated knife embedded in the stone next to Lothar’s head. The knife was ticking. Lothar did not know why the knife was ticking until his mind registered what it had instead of a hilt.

A frag grenade.

With the pin pulled.

There was a second of total silence.

“Well!” Eastwood exclaimed brightly. “I’d say we’ve gotten off to a great start.”
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RedFox742
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Holy crap, I've got competition.

... I'd be less concerned if it wasn't damn good competition.

Wow. I am thoroughly impressed. The only prior fanfic to develop here was a sheer ripoff of my own, and I wish I could accuse this of being the same, but... hell no. You've got everything here--sterling character development, a mission that promises to lead to some very awesome scenarios, and sprinkled humor that more often than not had me guffawing in my chair. First time I laughed, (as the little fiasco with the "over" sequence began,) I was trying to figure out if I had done it more out of "oh, this is supposed to be funny, I should laugh," but it kept happening. Great, great, funny stuff.

Besides that, your style and mechanics are damn near perfect as well. You've got a good balance of dialogue and description (perhaps a touch description-heavy, but it would be hypocritcal of me to criticize that; I do the same,) and I can't complain about the grammar. (In fact, one misspelling of Schaefer's name was the only error I caught, though I do read quickly.)

Oh, and it ended on perhaps the funniest line of the whole thing so far.

I can't wait for more, and since you say that you write quickly, (I don't,) more should be on the way soon. One other comment: Could you possibly get this in a Word document so I could print it and not have to read it at the computer? Portable stories are far preferable to the electronic type.

Sweet stuff, but I promise you--If you want a fanfic battle, I'll give it to you. ^^ We can let the forumers decide.

Keep it up, dude!
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Lothar Hex
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I just have to point out. CABAL is not the name of ANY organization in Grim or EN. It is the name of the INQUISITION's (hence why Virus and East are INQUISITORS) computer network.

Plus, the Inqusition is not really the police force as you seem to have them portrayed as in your fic.
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Lothar Hex,Apr 16 2005
07:12 PM
I just have to point out. CABAL is not the name of ANY organization in Grim or EN. It is the name of the INQUISITION's (hence why Virus and East are INQUISITORS) computer network.

Plus, the Inqusition is not really the police force as you seem to have them portrayed as in your fic.

Ah-ha. That makes a great deal more sense.

As for the police-force thingy, that was inadvertant. I'd recheck their real purpose if your site hadn't finally decided to give up the ghost. >_<
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*sigh* And you claim to know the comic :P

The Inqusitions purpose is the destruction of daemons, xenos (aliens), sorceres, not nice people and basically to protect mobius from evils such as that. They are vastly unknown to the general population of Mobius in the Grim Darkness. In EN they're not as secretive and some people know about them (mainly for comedic affect), but they are most definatly not a normal police force.

Errors aside, it's a damn good piece of work.
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Huzzah! That was going to be my next guess.

I'll refrain from any more of those connotations in the near future...not to mention making an effort to dispel any that I might've already set up.

I've already scrapped all the erroneous CABAL references, too. Luckily they weren't too rampant.
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RedFox742,Apr 16 2005
06:42 PM
I can't wait for more, and since you say that you write quickly, (I don't,) more should be on the way soon. One other comment: Could you possibly get this in a Word document so I could print it and not have to read it at the computer? Portable stories are far preferable to the electronic type.

Ever heard of copy and paste?
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yeah, well, I'm lazy, and I'm not sure all the italics would copy over.
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Chapter 4: Felon-Rush Rhythm

Before Eastwood had even finished his sentence, Lothar’s arm had converted into its 3000 rpm buzzsaw configuration (which, by virtue of being so messy when it chewed into its victims, was by far his favorite of the two). He snapped the saw up, sheared the blade off the grenade, and delivered a sharp roundhouse in the same second.

The grenade went flying and exploded with a deafening BANG! less than two seconds later. On top of sending a fine cloud of debris into their faces – along with a few close misses with airborne shrapnel – it had taken out a goodly piece of the warehouse wall, allowing what pearly sunlight that had pierced the cloud-choked city sky to illuminate the place.

It was virtually barren, with nothing but four large support pillars to hold up the roof in each of the four corners. And in the middle stood the guy that had tossed the grenade in the first place.

Gaebles’ jacket was unsnapped; underneath he was bare-chested with a pair of very new bluejeans on his legs. The jeans’ knees were slit open, probably to allow for better mobility. He was juggling two more grenades in one hand with deft, almost absent ease.

“Howdy,” he called out, smiling. His voice was clear and energetic. “That was a nice move with the blade grenade there, buddy. Just what I thought would happen. Joey owes me two hundred credits now. Hot damn.”

The wolf stopped dead in his monologue, noticing the black echidna for the first time as he straightened his hat.

“Lothar? Lothar Hex? The hell are you doing chumming around with this crowd?”

“Have we met?” the echidna growled.

Gaebles chuckled. “Nope. But one doesn’t need to meetcha in order to know who you are, you know. You’re the last guy I’d expect to come barging in here.”

Virus cleared his throat. Loudly.

“Oh, right. I’ve been ignoring you guys, haven’t I?”

Rogue rolled his eyes. That damned echidna gets all the attention.

“Look, why are you even coming after me in the first place?” Gaebles asked. His voice was wounded, but he was still grinning. “Last I checked you guys didn’t screw around with anybody that wasn’t connected to some loony cult.”

“Don’t play dumb, guy,” Eastwood said, his Magnum pointed directly at the wolf’s head. “We all know that you’ve been working with the Yss’garoth.”

Gaebles grunted. “So I have.”

In one quick move, he caught the airborne grenade with his other hand and simultaneously yanked out both grenades’ pins with his teeth.

“Think fast!”

One of them went streaking through the air towards the four. Eastwood took careful aim – the bullet would pierce both the explosive and Gaebles’ head with deadly efficiency. Schaefer had said to take the guy alive, but he sure wasn’t coming quietly.

Before he could pull the trigger, though, the grenade erupted with a tremendous flash of white light and a sound that made the previous bang seem like a whisper in comparison.

All four cringed and shielded their eyes as another explosion rocked the foundation.

“Gruss damn it all!” Virus shouted. “He’s got flashbangs!”

“No shit, really!?” Lothar roared over the ringing in his own ears.

When the light dimmed down, Gaebles was gone. There was, however, a very large hole in the concrete floor. Rogue rushed over to it and peered down.

“There’s water down there,” he said disgustedly. “This place must’ve been built over some old sewer system. He’s escaped.” With all the bombs that he had, trying to take him on in quarters that close was suicide. One well-placed explosion would send half the tunnel collapsing on them.

“My ass he has,” Hex said. “He couldn’t have gotten far, and one of those manholes is his only way out. Besides, this is personal now. A grenade with a knife on the end? What idiot thinks of that?”

“We’re going to need to hurry if we want to catch him at all,” Rogue shot back. “One end of this tunnel’s grated off. If we keep moving to the right of this place we should catch up with him.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Virus said, replacing his rosette. “Let’s move.”

* * * * *

Charlie Gaebles’ boots were soaked right through in fluids better left unmentioned.

He splashed through the spacious sewer tunnel, trying to keep his breath and not breathe through his nose at the same time. He had expected the Inquisitors to show up, sure, but a warband with Lothar Hex? And the one on the right had looked like a Daemon Hunter, too. Things were going south very fast.

Not breaking his stride, packsack jingling along noncommittally, he reached into another one of his coat pockets and grabbed a cell phone, punching out the numbers the best he could.

Come on, pick up…

There was a small click on the other end, followed by a dry, wheezing voice that said:

“Monohan’s Used Parts, how can I help you?”

“It’s getting colder nights, dear old friend of mine,” Gaebles responded casually, despite the needle-sharp jabs of pain that were starting to introduce themselves to his side.

“Ah, Charlie!” the voice said, sounding much more jovial than before. “Good to hear from you again. Listen, I just got a shipment of highly illegal plasma grenades, top quality. If you could maybe stop by tonight I’ll see what I can-”

“Not now, Monohan. I need a ride.”

“You need a…” Monohan must’ve then noticed the ragged bite of Gaebles’ respiration and the panicked note in his voice, because the next comment sounded a good deal more morose. “Oh, Charlie. Who are you on the run from this time? Cops?”

“No. Inquisition.”

There was a long, pregnant pause. His thoughts still whirling from the stress on his lungs, Gaebles could almost picture the old badger on the other end holding the phone in his dimly lit office…and making a move towards hanging it up.

“You owe me, Monohan. I’ll call in all the favors I’ve got.”

“There ain’t enough favors in the world to get me to mess with those spooks,” he answered flatly. “How th’hell do you expect me to take a risk against guys who kill daemons for a living? I’ll be spending the rest of my life havin’ engaging conversations with rubber clubs.”

Gaebles finally stopped, having come across his own landmark, one that he had set the night before just for this occasion – a Stormbolt pistol held up by two more blade grenades jammed into the cold stone of the tunnel. He grabbed the gun and shoved it in his pocket. Boomsticks like this aren’t really my thing, but now’s no time to be picky.

“Listen, man,” he said, looking at the manhole above. “I’ll throw in two grand along with the cost of the car you’ll send me. But I need this. Those guys are going to have me flanked in less than two minutes and I can’t take them head-on like that.”

Monohan sighed.

“…where are you, Charlie?”

Grunting, he shoved up the manhole and looked around the street. “Corner of Amp and Rad.”

“You’re a lucky kid. I’ve got a man who can get there in thirty seconds. And I’m not gonna miss the piece he’s driving, either.”

“Can’t express my gratitude for all this, buddy.”

“Express it by stayin’ alive, you damned fool.”

Click.

Gaebles grinned and sat on the end of the manhole, trying to get his wind back until the badger’s contact came. Thirty seconds later – almost on the dime – it did.

There was a loud, sputtering roar, the kind that can only be caused by an engine left in a car that should have died years ago. With it an old, rust-stained and rattling pickup screeched across the corner of the street and came to a halt next to him.

The driver’s-side door flew open. In the seat was a heavily scarred German Shepherd in a leather jacket and rattling chain-covered jeans. Punk attire or not, the pooch looked an old, cold thirty.

“Where to, bub?”

“Get out of the car, please,” Gaebles grunted as he wrenched his body back into a standing position.

The dog obliged. “I guess that Joey wasn’t kidding when he told me what you were plannin’ to do with this heap.”

“No, he wasn’t. Now run.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, bub,” the dog said, and was gone.

Gaebles hoisted himself into the seat and wrenched off his packsack, putting it between his knees and zipping it wide. Inside was a king’s ransom of handheld explosives; he took a small disc-shaped piece of metal with nothing more on it than a red button and a digital display.

He rapped it against the underside of the dashboard and the bottom popped open, revealing four cruelly sharp spikes. It was slammed into the dashboard and stuck nicely.

Gaebles pumped the gas.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Roll it.”

* * * * *

“Man, how far did this guy run?” Eastwood panted.

“Just keep going!” Rogue shouted back. Unlike the other three, he wasn’t showing the slightest sign of fatigue from this little marathon. “He can’t have gone much farther!”

“No shit, because he would’ve passed out by now!” Lothar snapped back. His cyborg feet left indents in the asphalt every time they slammed down. “There’s no damned way anyone can run that far carrying that much metal!”

That was when they saw headlights about fifty yards ahead, attached to probably the junkiest car in Mobian history. It made a sharp turn to the right, repaving the road with rubber as it did.

“Looks like that’s where our friend is,” Virus said. “Lothar, Eastwood, cut through the alley on the left. If we flank him he doesn’t have a chance!”

“Whatever lets me stop running and start shooting,” the echidna gasped, and obliged.

He and Eastwood ran through the alley and hit the street beyond in a roll, bringing their guns up at the car as they did. Gaebles could be seen clearly through the windshield.

“Last chance, my friend!” the fox shouted. “Either get out of the car or we’re going to repaint the upholstery of that thing!”

Instead, the wolf floored the gas, sending the car roaring towards them with incredible speed for something so dilapidated. They both rolled to either side and ran ahead to join the others while the car spun around.

Now it was the four Inquisitors versus a coffee can on wheels.

“Worst standoff I’ve ever had,” Lothar snickered. “That thing looks like it’d break if you stared at it long enough.”

* * * * *

Narrowing his eyes, Gaebles smacked the button on the mine he had placed on the dashboard.

The display began to count down from ten.

* * * * *

The car began its charge again, the door flying off from the velocity Gaebles was squeezing out of it.

Eastwood and Virus looked at each other, smiled, and brought up their guns.

Bang!

Both of the car’s front tires exploded, making it leap into the air like an old dog that had been kicked. It began to corkscrew out of control, sending sparks flying everywhere as it swerved at the warband.

Lothar brought up his arm and grinned. “Right…between…the eyes.”

That was when Gaebles jumped out.

Everything seemed to slow down then, and all four could see this picture: The wolf flying out of his car, jacket rustling in the wind, packsack clutched firmly in one hand. There was a gun in his left pocket, and he had one index finger point at them.

He mouthed one word.

Bang.

The car suddenly exploded into a fury of flame, transformed from a crippled hunk of metal to a 2-ton flaming bomb that struck the open manhole and went flying at them with terrifying speed.

“Sweet mother of Tyrus, get down!” Virus screamed.

They dove in every direction, Lothar diving into the manhole himself to avoid being flattened and then incinerated by Gaebles’ handiwork. It slammed into the asphalt and rolled, leaving behind shining streaks of tar in its burning wake.

After what seemed like an eternity, the four opened their eyes and stared at the wreck. It was sending out tremendous oil-scented heat in the midst of a pool of flaming hottop.

“It’s over,” Eastwood sighed. “He’s gone.”

“The fuck he is,” Lothar spat. His eyes darted to another alley in the same direction Gaebles had leapt in. “If you wimps want to give up that easily, be my guest. But I’m going to bash his head in for pulling that trick off before I could.”

Rogue sighed. “Well, I didn’t take this job for my health. Let’s go.”
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Chapter 5: Down to the Wire

He cut through back alleys left and right, putting the pack back on as he went. This city was built like a maze with no chunk of cheese at the end, but such unsound design did have its advantages.

That must’ve shaken them. Now if I can only find a place to hide…

That was when a sizzling blue-white streak of plasma passed by, almost singing the fur on his face.

“Aww, shit.

Without looking back, Gaebles grabbed a ladder and hoisted himself up it, running up the corresponding catwalk until he reached the rooftop of the particular building that had been to the left of the latest alleyway – in this case, a clothing outlet four stories high. He ran to the end and stopped.

The Inquisitors followed suit in seconds, and then the familiar clicks ensued as guns were loaded. Gaebles merely stared down at the street, his back to them all.

“I don’t see why we just don’t kill you and get it over with,” Lothar said coolly. “What are you going to do this time, eh?”

Slowly, the wolf raised his hands above his head and turned. He was smiling.

“What’ll happen to me if I decide to give up to you guys, huh?” he asked amiably.

Eastwood thumbed back the trigger of his Magnum. “That all depends on how willing you’ll be to talk. Though at this point I’m feeling less than enthusiastic at your chances of living. Buuut, it you’ve got any nice roasts that you might happen to have lying around…”

“Harry, not now,” Virus muttered.

Gaebles snickered. “I’m surprised at your persistence, for sure,” he mused, then turned his eyes wonderingly to Lothar. “Though I was really expecting better from you.”

The echidna’s grip tightened on his arm. “You’re going to want to watch what you say if you like having all of your limbs.”

“Yeah, I’m really scared,” the wolf shot back, and his gaze had acquired an odd steely glint that was slightly unnerving. “You just got your own ass kicked by the oldest car this side of the Immaterium, you quill-covered cowboy wannabe. Must suck to be that obsolete, don’t it? Maybe you should consider version 2.0, huh?”

Lothar’s eye twitched alarmingly. All three of his compatriots were slowly backing away, eyeing Gaebles with an odd mix of horror and pity.

“Shut up,” the cyborg said softly.

“Or what? You’ll stand there and rust at me?” He snickered again. “Man, this world sucks. The most feared mercenary in Mobius is a chrome-crotched can opener with an anger management problem. Feeling a little inferior, Hex? That blender down the street staring at you funny?” This time his laughter was louder.

Tones of dull red were falling over Lothar’s vision. “Shut up,” he repeated hoarsely.

“Maybe you should just quit the Inquisition gig and start opening soup cans for a living,” Gaebles replied, and went off on a stint of wild, jagged cackling that counterpointed the steady roar of blood in Lothar’s ears.

His arm went from cannon to buzzsaw in a split-second. With an inarticulate roar he dashed at the wolf, meaning to slice him into chunks so small that he wouldn’t make a meal fit for bacteria.

Gaebles’ laughter cut off and he quickly drew the Stormbolt. He squeezed off three thundering shots, but Hex swerved around them all, his eyes glittering with unfathomable rage.

The cyborg swiped the saw at Gaebles’ neck…and Gaebles ducked, grabbing hold of Lothar’s own.

The echidna gagged as the wolf whipped his body around and flung him at the three others with bone-crushing force. His arm mercifully converted back to normal before impact, but he still bowled them over and fetched his head a dreadful crack on the concrete lip of the roof before coming to a stop.

Rogue, head spinning, pulled himself out of the pile just in time to see Gaebles calmly leap off the roof.

“Virus!” he yelled, straining to detach from the other two. “You got any grenades of your own?”

“I think there’s still one or two left,” he replied calmly. “Psyk or frag?”

“Frag,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’m going in. Give me cover.”

* * * * *

Freefalling, Gaebles did a hard flip ten feet above the ground and brought both legs down hard. They screamed at the pressure such a maneuver placed on them, but held firm. They were used to carrying around large amounts of weight.

He sighed exasperatedly. Time was now very short. If he didn’t get away before Lothar came to, then a great deal of shit was going to hit the fan. If looks could kill…

He looked up, eyes widening at the thing streaking towards him.

* * * * *

Rogue brought out his beam sword, letting its brilliant azure blade loose as he flipped over the lip of the building.

Ready or not, bomb-boy, here I come. Get ready to face the most skilled out of these chuckleheads.

Instead of freefalling he simply ran down the wall of the building, grinning in anticipation of the stylish finish to this nutjob’s life. Better for him to die quickly than whatever Lothar was going to have in mind when he regained consciousness, at any rate.

Gaebles looked up and Rogue saw the clear surprise painted on his face. He prepared to cleave the guy right down the middle with his sword – it’d be a quick, painless, and bloodless finish. He’d collect his praise and demerits respectively from Schaefer, rub it in the faces of the others for a few weeks, and life would go on.

The gap was closed.

So long, Charlie.

He swiped the blade…

…and Gaebles ducked and twisted his body at the same instant, dodging the attack entirely. The blade sheared the smallest little cut in his backpack, but that was all.

Rogue struck the ground, eyes wide. That move had been so quick he wasn’t even sure where the wolf had gone.

And that was when Gaebles grabbed him from behind.

Five fingers clamped down hard on the back of the cat’s skull, sending a tremendous wave of pain through his head – one that quickly moved down to the whole body. He gave a single soundless gasp of shock before being hoisted in midair by the wolf, the fingers squeezing ever tighter on the hard bone of his skull.

Through the haze of agony in his mind, one clear thought cut through:

He could crush your skulls like they were eggshells if you got within arms’ reach of him.

A look of pained horror crossed his face, but Gaebles’ grip simply wouldn’t yield. He watched Rogue’s struggles with the same relative coolness as Lothar had held when he had tried to garrote him with a controller cord.

“Harry!” Virus screamed from the rooftop. “We’ve got to help him! His head isn’t going to last much longer!”

“I’d like to make a hardheaded joke so much right now, but you’re right,” Eastwood answered dimly as he drew a bead on Gaebles.

The wolf simply raised his Stormbolt and fired twice. The fox felt the slugs part air between his ears before he dove back.

“I can’t shoot him if he gets me too,” he panted. “Those things almost took off the top of my head!”

Virus got beside him. “So, what? We just leave him there?”

“Do you have any better ideas!?” Eastwood snapped.

Large black flowers were blooming in Rogue’s vision. His struggles were lessening; worse still, he could hear a sound like ice shifting in a waterglass as his cranium started to give way.

Damn…it…

The beam sword slipped from his grip.

Didn’t want it…to end…like this…

He faintly felt his body being whipped about sharply. It didn’t much matter. The pain in his head was distant, faint. He was going.

That was when Gaebles slammed his face three times into the cement wall of the building with great speed, making a gruesome indent in the rock. New, crushing pain flooded Rogue’s body and he screamed quite audibly before being hurled across the street. Yet, somehow, his body still managed to twist and land on its two boot-clad feet.

Rogue doubled over and retched at the shock of such a cruel interruption in the process of dying…but he wasn’t dead. There was blood running freely down his face, one eye was swelled shut, and there were still five white-hot augers of pain on the back of his skull…but he wasn’t dead.

And the utterly dumbfounded expression on Gaebles’ face did the pain a world of good.

“You’ve got one hell of a tough constitution, buddy,” he breathed. “What’s your name?”

“Rogue,” he heard himself say.

“Spare me the secret-agent bullshit. What’s your real name?”

“Ryo-” He hacked again. “Ryoushi Nekkitou.”

“Daemon Hunter?” he asked, kicking the beam sword over to him.

“Yeah.”

“Not too fond of the Inquisition, I bet.”

Rogue didn’t answer that…but his eyes darted ever so slightly upwards.

Gaebles looked up and saw a grenade sailing easily through the air, right down towards his head. Not missing a beat, he drew another of his own from the lining of his coat, pulled the pin, and threw it up.

Gaebles’ grenade hit Virus’ own and continued on its way to land at the feet of two very shocked Inquisitors. It also sent the rat’s bomb skittering three feet away from an equally surprised Daemon Hunter.

“Get back,” Virus said softly.

They leapt away just as the grenade blew and sent a rough sheet of flame across the top of the building, obscuring Gaebles from their view. Eastwood brought up his Magnum anyway.

“There’s no way you can shoot him like this, Harry.”

“I can try,” he said coolly.

He fired three times before being grabbed and hurled aside by something that vaguely resembled a quill-covered freight train.

“Lothar, no!” Virus cried. “You’ll be cooked alive!”

Holding his hat close to his head, the rage in every inch of his countenance not diminished a bit, Lothar Hex leapt through the sheet of fire and onto the street below.

“I don’t know who I’m going to feel sorrier for when all this is over,” Eastwood said. “Man, I need coffee. I think I’d give one of my ears right now for one delicious black mug of-”

“Tell you what,” Virus said. “If Lothar takes this guy down I’ll buy you enough to last the whole month. It’ll cost me six months’ salary, but it’ll be worth it.”

“Sounds like a wager to me.”

“Good. Now come on. Rogue needs our help.”
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Wow, what the crap? Things just started happening VERY fast. You've got a very vulnerable villian in a very nasty scenario, and yet he's still pulling pretty much damn near everything out of his little bag of tricks. Every time I think CG is gonna get away, he somehow reverses the trick. Whoo. Quite a thriller.

I'm not sure how much I buy the whole "skull-crusher" thing... that whole part there had me a touch off of my stride. And I'm not sure why Lothar didn't just shoot Gaebles instead of trying to slice him... did his anger get that much better of him?

The car trick is QUITE cool, though. You can't have made that up... did you? Where did you see/read that? :P

Still reading, still enjoying. Keep it up!
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I made it up. Flash of inspiration, combined with way too much late-night anime. =P

'course, it's highly possible that it's happened somewhere that I haven't heard of. Ideas like that always are.
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Chapter 6: End of the Line

Oh, no. Oh no, oh shit.

He had come to a dead end.

Gaebles had put the squeeze on the cat, so he was out of commission for the time being – though it had still surprised the hell out of him to see the guy still standing after that beating. Normally the folks that he did that to ended up with lousy headaches in the morning at the very least.

So he had cut and run through another series of alleyways, so sure that the city’s twisty-turny layout would save his sorry ass yet again. But that old chestnut had finally occurred and there was nothing in front but a blank brick wall.

His breath now coming in short little gasps from anxiety, Gaebles took off his bag and zipped it open. He rummaged through its contents, being careful not to press any buttons.

Come on. I know I had plastique in here somewhere…

His hands froze. Something was coming.

Coming very, very fast.

“Oh, this is very bad,” he said softly.

Gaebles zipped his bag back up and threw it to the side. It thumped against the wall and settled comfortably next to a corrugated trashcan, the kind that seemed to breed in deathtraps like this.

He drew a new device from his jacket – this thing looked like nothing more than a small glass ball with a collection of dancing sparks inside of it. His personal favorite invention aside from the blade grenades, as a matter of fact. He was very, very thankful for deciding to keep one handy.

Turning around slowly, he saw the silhouette at the mouth of the alley – one with a rather fetching hat and an eye that burned with red light so fierce it’d probably put all four dark gods to shame.

He smashed the ball on the ground just as Lothar Hex fired.

The glass seemed to move of its own accord, specially placed static repulsors embedded within making them align in a small circle around Gaebles’ feet. The air around him appeared to waver, and all six plasma blasts were deflected easily, crashing into the walls and (Tyrus help us all) the trash can right next to his pack. A few more inches to the right and they both would have been dead. But the static-discharge shield bombs that Gaebles colloquially called ‘zap spheres’ had saved his neck.

Lothar lowered his arm and converted it to the buzzsaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to convince you that I didn’t mean any of that stuff, huh?” Gaebles asked sheepishly.

The echidna stepped forward.

“I am going to tear you open,” he said simply, “and shit in your guts.

“Are you?” the wolf answered coolly. He cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see.”

* * * * *

“He’s going to need medical attention,” Virus said hoarsely. “Fast.”

Rogue was lying unconscious and in seriously bad shape. His face was a mess, and the frag grenade’s detonation had sliced him open in two dozen places. He was still breathing fine, but the blood loss worried the rat more than the inevitable head injuries.

Eastwood was examining the dent Rogue’s head had made with sickened fascination. “That nut would have killed him easily if he had just squeezed for five more seconds or so, don’t you think? Why did he decide to do this instead?”

“Don’t know. What confuses me even more is why he didn’t just snap his neck and get it over with,” Virus replied distractedly as he hoisted Rogue up. “Maybe it’s just because he’s a crazy sadistic asshole.”

“Or maybe it’s ‘cause he didn’t want to kill him?” Eastwood mused.

“The guy’s previous actions are making that hard to believe,” he said dryly. “Come on, Harry. Grab his beam sword and let’s go.”

Eastwood consented, but he still couldn’t help but wonder. He had to wonder a little more when he remembered that Gaebles had tried to give Rogue’s weapon back to him.

Then all that was forgotten as he followed Virus down Lothar’s trail.

* * * * *

“Tell me, Lothar,” Gaebles said conversationally as he dodged the saw’s brutal swipes, “why didn’t you shoot me up there instead of trying to slice me up?”

Lothar just grinned and lunged with his arm. Gaebles sidestepped and the buzzsaw chewed through the stone wall like butter.

“Nobody insults me and gets away with it. Ever. A few cauterized holes in your head wouldn’t do justice for what you said."

The echidna turned and delivered a fierce overhand swipe at Gaebles, who had crept up behind him (probably to do whatever he had done to the fleabag; Rogue had looked pretty banged up). The wolf ducked and, before the saw made contact, slammed his fist into Lothar’s gut. His wind went whooshing out of his lungs as he staggered back.

“Come on, Hex, we’re both adults here. That was kindergarten crap I threw at you. Why didn’t you shoot me? I could’ve easily deflected it just like I did before, so it wouldn’t have affected the outcome in the end. But I was expecting you to at least take the smart way out.”

“Cram it up your arse,” he spat back, and then rushed at Gaebles again. The wolf made his characteristic sidestep, but this time one of Lothar’s metallic feet shot out and connected squarely with his hip. He cried out and slid back from the impact.

“A relationship built on lies ain’t any good, Hex,” he snarled. “Why the fuck didn’t you shoot me!?”

Lothar just grinned back. “Maybe I’ll answer when you tell me why you want to know so badly, eh?”

His arm reverted to its normal form, and he slammed both hands together with great relish. “I think I’ll just take the pleasure of bashing your own skull in this time around. There’s so much more satisfaction when the deed’s done with your bare hands.”

* * * * *

“There he is,” Virus panted. “Lothar!”

“Stay out of this, both of you!” he roared back. “This is between me and him!”

“Should we disagree?” Eastwood asked.

“I like having the use of all my extremities, personally.”

“Good call.”

* * * * *

“You’re awfully good at bearing a grudge, you know that?” Gaebles asked. He was trying to stay cool, but that bastard Hex was even stronger than he thought. That one kick on his hip was all he had landed, but it felt like someone was lighting matches down there now.

“I wouldn’t be where I am now if I just forgave and forgot,” he said.

“Wouldn’t you? I’m dubious.”

“Enough chitchat,” the echidna said, eyes dancing with murderous glee. “Let’s go.”

Gaebles was the first to make a move. Coat billowing out behind him, he delivered a strong upward kick to Lothar’s chin. The echidna just leaned back and let it go wide, then rushed in and spun to take the wolf’s back. His metallic elbow smashed into Gaebles’ spine, then reveled in the scream that followed.

Gaebles promptly retaliated by spinning with his fist outstretched and letting it slam into the side of Lothar’s face. While the echidna was reeling he delivered a quick series of jabs to the midsection and then another hard left to the head. The hard left, however, was intercepted when Lothar grabbed his fist with his organic hand. The metallic one, meanwhile, reared back in preparation to take out his eyes with the spikes embedded in the knuckles.

The wolf responded by grabbing the echinda’s outstretched arm and twisting his wrist sharply back. Lothar’s stiffened bones screamed in protest and he loosened his grip, howling, only to get a hard kick in the chest a moment later. He slammed hard into the wall and dropped to the ground, dazed.

Gaebles advanced slowly, cracking his knuckles. Good workout or not, he was sorely regretting not grabbing those blade grenades while he had the chance.

He brought out the Stormbolt.

Though I’ve still got this.

“So long, Hex,” he muttered.

Lothar suddenly looked up and grinned.

“So long yourself.”

He rushed forward and grabbed the gun, yanking it hard to the side and making the shot go wild. In the same move he removed his hat with the other hand and shoved it into Gaebles’ face.

The wolf’s vision suddenly disappeared, and he yanked the hat off with his free hand…

…only to see Lothar delivering an uppercut with his metallic one.

The spikes traced two burning lines of fire up Gaebles’ midsection as it gashed his skin, sending blood pouring down his legs and pooling on the ground. The fist itself crashed into his jaw, sending him soaring a full foot off the ground only to crash down to earth, the slimy taste of blood filling his mouth.

“Well, well,” Lothar said quietly, flexing his hand. He kicked the gun away. “Looks like I win. Now it’s time for my favorite scene of any fight against idiots like you.”

He smirked.

“Let’s see which body part I’ll smash first.”

Gaebles suddenly lunged forward, his legs scissoring and catching both of Lothar’s, sending him crashing to the ground, too. Before he could react, one of the wolf’s feet rose up and the boot-clad heel crashed right into the echidna’s mouth.

There was an amazing hammerblow of pain and Lothar covered his mouth, letting out muffled screams of either agony or rage. Gaebles, meanwhile, was slowly getting back up.

* * * * *

“Do you think we should help him now?” Eastwood asked.

“If we did, I think we’d end up regretting it later on,” Virus said through grit teeth. “I’m starting to wish we had just taken the insubordination mark and stayed home.”

* * * * *

“Commander Schaefer, sir!”

Back in his office, Schaefer leaned back in his chair and sighed. “What is it now, Simmons? The report on the Gaebles case can’t be back already, and I’ve got other missions to dispense.”

“Actually, sir, you don’t. Unless the timetable is incorrect, of course.”

“Just shut up and get to the point.”

“Yes, immediately.” The weasel looked at his clipboard. “It would appear that there’s been a mid-level daemon sighting in an area that might be…highly inconvenient for our day’s work.”

“And where would that be?”

Simmons merely stared at him, and that was when it clicked.

Schaefer’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand to his head. “Oh, gods damn it all.”

* * * * *

Lothar made a move to get back up, but Gaebles’ foot slammed onto his chest, driving him back down. The wolf was panting, fighting to stay conscious despite how much of his own fluids were draining out of his flesh. Blood was dripping everywhere. And those spikes hasn't even gotten down to his insides.

The echidna tried to get up again, only to be smashed down a second time.

Then a third.

Finally, Lothar stopped struggling. Gaebles rammed his foot down two more times for good measure, and then punted the echidna back to Virus and Eastwood. After a moment’s hesitation, he bent over and threw the hat, too.

“Come on, Gaebles,” Virus said calmly. “End of the line. Either you come with us or you’re going to die from your wounds.”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Gaebles chuckled. He pulled one last grenade from his jacket. “This is a trick that you’re just going to love.”

CRASH!

Quite suddenly, quite abruptly, quite without warning, the wall behind him burst open to reveal the biggest surprise of all, in a day where all three conscious individuals honestly thought that all surprises were used up.

“It’s a Ravenor!” Eastwood cried. “Are you telling me that this guy can control daemons, too!?”

The huge red-furred canid beast roared deafeningly…and then swiped its paw at Gaebles, knocking him against the alleyway wall with bone-crushing force.

“Apparently not,” Virus said tensely. “Gaebles is through. We’d better take these two back to base.”

Meanwhile, the wolf was staring down a huge horned head with a gullet big enough to swallow him without even having to chew. But he wasn’t surprised. After this little chase he didn’t think anything would ever surprise him again.

He groped around and grabbed his bag, then unzipped it, pulled the grenade’s pin, and dropped it inside.

“You want a snack, pooch?” he said gently, zipping it shut. “Here.

He threw the bag down its throat, and while it swallowed he hopped over one massive paw and ran just as fast as his rubbery legs would carry him.

Eastwood and Virus were walking with their comrades’ bodies in arm when they heard the explosion. They looked back and saw nothing but a pile of blood-smeared rubble.

They both gaped.

“Do…do you think he’s escaped?” Eastwood managed to squeak.

“With all that he’s pulled off today,” Virus said slowly, “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

* * * * *

Gaebles slowly staggered away from the wreck, jaw slack, trailing blood behind him in two gory trails. He was through, it seemed like. And he had a great deal of reasons to regret it.

He dropped to his knees. “Damn it,” he croaked. “What a shitty way to die.”

A car – a fairly nice sedan – pulled up to his side, the driver rolling down the window. Probably some rubbernecking onlooker. Feel free to watch, I’m only dying here…

“Come on, Charlie. Hop in.”

He looked up and blinked, but his sight had gone screwy somehow. Everything was blurry. But he still recognized the voice.

“Mono…han?”

“You have to be the most damnfool kid I ever met,” the vague shape said disapprovingly. “Look at you. It’s going to take weeks before you get over this. But I’ve got connections. Come on.”

Oh man, oh man. If I needed any more proof that this is the right thing to do...

“Thank you,” he heard himself say.

“No point in playing noble hero now, Charlie. You’ve had the course. Get in.”

Through some infinitely powerful gesture of will – and maybe a miracle or two – Charlie Gaebles staggered to his feet.

A minute later the car was streaking under the darkening sky.
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Lothar Hex
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Illogical
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It's still damn good, but it seems you haven't read up on Lothar's physiology. Which can be seen in this topic:

http://s8.invisionfree.com/Exterminatus_No...p?showtopic=310

Quote:
 
Strength: When created, his already superior Echidna strength was increased more so. In one punch of his normal arm, Hex can exert around 2000 lbs of pressure per square inch. Most Heavyweight boxers manage between 700-1000 lbs. However, his stregnth is further augmented by his bionic spine, arm, and legs. So much so that with his right arm, Hex is, in theory, capable of lifting a maximum of 5 tonnes. However, lifting anything above 1 causes pain in Hex, increasing with the weight. Also, lifting heavier weights causes exhaustion if held for too long. If Hex ever needed to lift 5 tonnes, it is very likely he may die in the process. The strength of his legs has also been greatly increased because of their bionic status.

Enhanced Physique: Almost all aspects of his body were improved upon during his creation. Basically it is thought that Hex's body is 1.75 times more effecient than that of a normal Mobian. One example of this is that Hex's bones are harder than normal, meaning they are harder to break. This also works in conjuction with his increased muscle stregth which boils down Hex being "naturally" more resilient to physical damage. In conjuction, he heals faster than normal as well. An example would be that if an arm is broken a normal Mobian would take about 5 weeks for it to heal fully. It would take Hex 3 weeks to recover from the same injury.

Reaction: One of the improvements made to Hex when he was created was increasing his reaction times. On average his reaction times are half that of a normal Mobian, possibly more. They are on par with a trained martial artist. Couple with his strength, this makes Hex a dangerous opponent to face in hand-to-hand combat. Though his "training" in that area only covers that of the hand-to-hand combat taught by the Overlander military.


I'm assuming CG, is a lot stronger than your average Mobian however, plus faster than Lothar, but if Lothar slammed his bionic elbow into his spine, being as mad as he is, would shatter his spinal column. Also, it would take a bit more than having a someone stomping on his head 3 times to render him unconcious.

Lothar isn't unbeatable, but he's damn tough. Charlie could beat Hex, but it would take more than he's done in your story.

AND THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY OVER-INFLATED EGO! IT'S ALL LIES I TELL YOU, FILTHY LIES!
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Jeffk38uk
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This ranks up as one of the finest fanfics next to Redfox's. Decent storyline with a good mix of description and conversion.
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The Virus
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The Ravenor was a bit... Daemonicus ex Machina, so to speak. There were better ways to resolve the scene than invoking the briefly, randomly, and gratuitously daemonic.

But regardless, a fine piece of writing. Nice style, good linguistic flair. And High-octane action-a-go-go.

Is Gaebles perhaps artificially augmented himself somehow?
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Jeffk38uk
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I guess we'll have to find out in the next chapter. We're all quivering in excitement.
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Rust
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The Virus,Apr 17 2005
12:31 PM
The Ravenor was a bit... Daemonicus ex Machina, so to speak. There were better ways to resolve the scene than invoking the briefly, randomly, and gratuitously daemonic.

But regardless, a fine piece of writing. Nice style, good linguistic flair. And High-octane action-a-go-go.

Is Gaebles perhaps artificially augmented himself somehow?

Tee hee. I've actually got reasons for that sucker popping up. All in good time. =P

And sorry for underestimating Hex's capabilities, Lothar. Hopefully you'll find his future performances a little more endearing. O_o;;
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Rust
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Chapter 7: Love Forever, Love is Free

One week later.

Monohan hadn’t been completely wrong when he had said that it would take Gaebles longer to recover from the trashing Hex had given him; his coat was snapped up again, and underneath it was a huge mass of surgical tape that was letting his gashes knit together. He looked like some sort of mutant half-mummy with his coat off, but the bandages at least made it hard for him to bend over. When he did, it felt like someone had jammed a railspike down his spine and right into his guts; the adrenaline must have taken a great deal of the bite off of Lothar’s strikes.

Worse still was the itching that ensued from his slowly healing wounds. It was endless. The first three days had been the worst, even with Monohan’s black-market painkillers to make him care less about it…but the sensation remained, making it impossible to forget that chase, making it impossible for him to forget that he was running out of time.

He was standing in front of another nondescript warehouse. His backpack was gone – obviously, because it had been reduced to cinders along with that Ravenor. He had a spare, but it was in his base and going back there wasn’t a wise idea at this point in time.

To the right of the warehouse door were carved the following two words:

Feel Good.

He sighed, shook his head, and shoved the door open. There were a great deal of crates in the nondescript interior, all covered with sheets. Gaebles pushed them aside and saw the small metal trapdoor underneath the pile; yanking it open revealed a sloping corridor that seemed to descend right into the bowls of the earth.

Shouldn’t have come here at night. It’s going to be crazy down there.

He went down, slamming the trapdoor shut behind him.

* * * * *

Good gods, you’d think these guys have never heard of volume control. How do they manage to hear anything else?

The main foyer of the Yss’garoth cult’s headquarters was a vast stone antechamber, the size of a ballroom, dominated by twelve huge doors in the back, the center one bearing the cult symbol (which looked like the male and female sex symbols welded together; Gaebles had never failed to take amusement in the blatant double meaning of that little mark). The cultists, tattooed, pierced, and wild-eyed, were engaging in all sorts of acts along the walls and on the floor. These little acts were not ones that the wolf could look at for very long without feeling dizzy…and the hard, pumping rock n’ roll emanating from the walls wasn’t doing much good to his head, either.

He looked around confusedly, trying to single out someone that he at least had a nodding acquaintance with.

“Hey, look!” one of the Soulthirsters cried out. “It’s Gaebles!”

The music stopped dead.

Every head turned.

Gaebles blinked twice. The sudden abruptness of the cultists’ reaction was something new.

“You really Charlie Gaebles, big guy?” an ermine next to his foot asked. The ermine was wearing what looked like two hankies and a prayer.

The wolf cleared his throat. “Uh…yeah,” he muttered. “That’s me.”

The foyer suddenly erupted into a wave of cheering, a huge hammerblow of sound that would’ve knocked him flat if somebody hadn’t grabbed him from behind and squeezed tight. His gashes answered with some cheering of their own.

“Charlie Gaebles!” one of them cried. “The Soulthirsters’ devil of demise!”

GAE-BLES! GAE-BLES! GAE-BLES! GAE-BLES!

“Kind of flattering, isn’t it?” giggled the one who had grabbed him. He turned and saw a Siamese cat with three jingling gold hoops in her right ear and strips of leather cinched tightly around the places where they were necessary. That was all…excluding the twin Raptors holstered at her sides, of course. The gunbelts were held together by what looked like a heavy steel bolt.

“Tessa,” Gaebles gave a sigh of relief. “Good to see you.”

“Sorry for the enthusiastic reception,” she said softly, and smiled. “All of these newbies keep hearing about what you’ve been doing for us and just…go nuts.” The crowd, meanwhile, had dissolved into just a uniform roar of praise.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s, uh…a little overwhelming.”

She laughed again and pressed up close to him. “Say, Charlie, when are you going to stay for a little late-night fun? There’s going to be something big happening here a week from now…Granser would be greatly appreciative if you could maybe find the time to attend.”

“Actually, I came in here hoping to find him,” Gaebles said, and laughed a little nervously. “You have any idea where he is, Tess?”

“Oh, in the chapel,” she said nonchalantly. “Big door in the center, of course. Is it going to be…guy talk?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he said, and smiled. “Be seeing you, sweetheart.”

She made sure to put on her most seductive posture and traced a finger down the topography of his coat. “I’ll be counting on it, sugar.”

* * * * *

The chapel of the Yss’garoth was, overall, a rather unappealing place to any outsider. Blasphemous tapestries were hung up on the walls, organs nailed into the stone…and everything, pews, altar, floor and all, was splashed with all manner of extremely distasteful bodily fluids. Despite it all, the place was vast and mercifully soundproofed from the endless party that raged on in the foyer.

Before the altar kneeled a tall reptile clad in a deep purple robe; his face was serene as he prayed steadily on to the Lord Soulthirster that ruled over both him and his followers. His emerald-green, horned head was bowed slightly, clawed hands clasped together. He was perfectly at peace with his surroundings. Cameron Granser was, after all, probably the Mobian in most favor with the dark god of hedonism.

He heard the door swing open and quietly shut.

“What is it?” he asked. Even through his state of calm the guttural tone of his voice came through.

“Cameron? That’s you, right?”

He started at that voice, then turned and grinned toothily. “Charlie, you old son of a bitch! Where have you been lately, huh?”

“I got into a little scuffle, that’s all,” he said brightly, making sure not to slip as he walked toward the altar. “Look, Cameron, I was wondering if I could collect my pay for those jobs I did. My time in this city’s starting to run a little short…”

“Say no more!” the lizard replied, and laughed merrily. He got up (wincing at the pops in both knees), and dove behind the altar, pulling out a sleek steel briefcase. He handed it to Gaebles, who accepted it gratefully. “I take it you had no trouble finding your way here?”

“Well, I’ve stopped by twice before,” he chuckled, and shrugged. “Though the walk down’s still a real pain.”

“Ah, that’ll be fixed soon. There’s actually a lift being built lower down; by the time it’s finished you’ll be able to come down here and back up again without any strain at all.”

“Don’t think I’ll be able to test it out, buddy,” he said with real regret. “Like I said, I’ve got to skip town.”

Granser’s expression turned quizzical. “Why, exactly?”

“Inquisition,” he said grimly. “Looks like they finally connected the dots.”

He winced. “That’s truly a shame. You’ll be able to get out without any trouble, right?”

“Don’t worry about me, Cameron. You just keep to yourself until the heat dies down, alright?”

“Of course!” he laughed, and clapped a hand to Gaebles’ shoulder. “And when it does, feel free to come back here. There’ll always be work for you, Charlie.”

“Thanks for the offer,” he replied, and looked around. “Um…look, you wouldn’t happen to have a place where a guy could…you know.”

“Door to the far left in the foyer,” he said, smile widening. “You’ll be able to relieve yourself in relative privacy there, I promise.”

“Thanks. Be seeing you around, Cameron.”

“No problem, my friend. Take care of yourself.”

Charlie nodded, hoisted up the briefcase, and limped his way out of the chapel. The door’s opening let in a flood of rock music; the party had already started anew.

Granser’s deep violet eyes watched the wolf’s step carefully as the door swung shut. He wasn’t smiling.
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Lothar Hex
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Rust,Apr 17 2005
04:35 PM
And sorry for underestimating Hex's capabilities, Lothar. Hopefully you'll find his future performances a little more endearing. O_o;;

Thats why you actually do RESEARCH before doing a fan fic.
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Rust
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Lothar Hex,Apr 17 2005
06:43 PM
Rust,Apr 17 2005
04:35 PM
And sorry for underestimating Hex's capabilities, Lothar.  Hopefully you'll find his future performances a little more endearing. O_o;;

Thats why you actually do RESEARCH before doing a fan fic.

I did, I did! The main problem revolved around me not doing enough. >_>

After the site blew up I knew that I'd have to stop slacking before all the stuff I managed to memorize drained out. I've got a memory like a thingy that lets liquids through while keeping back solids of appreciable size.
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