Marchettus' Privy

Marchettus... what a strange name for a Scottish man with a penchant for old things and antiquated lifestyles.

The Privy... what the fuck was he thinking naming a guesthouse that?!

It took me the better part of 7 hours to travel to this place southwest of Chicago. I had never been there. It's outside of town on the far side from where my loft is. The grounds are huge... like a whole park reserve and then some. There are a few buildings on it. This guy had been buying up land left right and center. He sure must be loaded. Scottish foreign immigrant. He's tall... way taller than me. 6-foot 2-inches. Long strawberry blond hair and bushy beard. Heavy Scottish brogue. From media, he's not too fond of the government and seems to particularly hate politicians. I met him very briefly. He looked me up and down and cheerily pointed out the guest house calling it the privy. I wanted to remind him he is in America now and a privy here does not mean the same thing as it does in Europe. But he didn't give me the chance. He reminds me of a child on too much chocolate. Whatever. A hiding spot is a hiding spot. I suppose I could disappear anywhere if I really have to... But for the time being, I am not sure i am stable enough to be too far from Patrick's care. I hope Patrick makes an appearance.

The Privy... the private guest house... is opulent. I sit in the main room as I understand this is the first contact place for anyone coming here. Deliveries get dropped off, message end up here. I have a couple hours somewhat to myself and find myself faced with... a giant white wolf. And this was supposed to be safe, unquestioned crash space off the grid.

My first reaction was... caution and a hand to the klaive strapped to my back. Amazing how this Marchettus guy was completely unphased by it. He simply laughed and said she, Aurora, was friendly. Then he left. He had to run some errand. As it turns out... she was very friendly. I am such a damned sap. It was nice to just sit and rub my hands through her fur. It helped with my nervous edginess and shaking, too. She's actually... really sweet and super curious about me. Well, I am sure i smell like nothing she's ever smelled before.

I wish Marchettus stayed a bit longer to at least tell me what room I was staying in. He's coming back. I can hang out in the main room. Duffle with the klaive beside me where I have dropped myself. I yank a cushion from the sofa to sit on and play fetch with... the wolf. I feel a bit weird playing doggy games with a wolf. Gods I miss Fahr and the Silent Striders. This whole place, these grounds smell and feel like some long lost old cairn. I take a small moment to bury my face into her thick soft fur. The first time I come anywhere close to some kind of comfort. I pull back. If I lose composure now... I don't know if I can ever come back to coherent. Like I said, I know I won't pass the psych evals if I went back to work.

And good thing because I am now not alone. People arrive. First some metis guy from Canada. A courier bringing in some meds. His name apparently is Moon. Since he sounded like he was using a code name i did too and introduced myself as Silent Strider. He found that very funny and too much of a mouthful. He is very laid back... and tired since he'd been on the road for nearly 22 hours. I resigned to telling him my name was Jake. This is his drop point to meet with Patrick. Thank gods. Patrick will be coming. At least there will be a familiar face and I can ask for something to ease the edge off my shaking and nightmares again. Then that guy from the gun shop. What was his name? Schmidt... Jeff Schmidt. he too has a delivery, but Marchettus has to sign for it so he's waiting. The waiting is awkward. Moon doses on the sofa, Jeff fidgets, bored, waiting. He is the kind of guy i can see needing to always be doing something with his hands. Moon has to wait for Patrick. Jeff has to wait for Marchettus. And I am waiting for... I have no fucking clue. Maybe a clue. *facepalm*

Aurora leans into me, tail wagging, silver tipped fur tickling my face, amber eyes gazing with longing and hope for attention. Yup, I am a sap. I totally give in to her.. She's very bright. I can talk to her like a person about the game I will play and she gets it. So very smart. So... I ask her for a tour. Hell, why not? And she obliges! HA! Well... it is something to do.

She walks me up the stairs to the second floor to a room that smells of Marchettus. Must be his room, or a room he uses often in this guesthouse. I refuse to call it a privy. The sign on the door to the room reads, "Patrons Only." Curious... curiosity killed the cat... please let satisfaction bring him back. I opened the door. Aurora didn't try to protect the space, so... ok then. *cough* NOT what I expected.Looked like i just walked into a near early 20th century bordello room. Marchettus has... uh... eccentric taste.

Then Aurora walks me to another room with a sign on the door that says, "no cats allowed." I am amused. I step inside just because. Step in, step out, step in... No one gets my humor. Clearly this is her room. Alabaster food and water bowls. Lots of stuffed animals and toys. Tons of blankets in various staged of canine love. I take up one of her favorite blankets and a toy she brings to me. I'll bring them downstairs for her.

There are several other rooms here. All old decor from various eras. It is practically a museum. And this is just the guesthouse! Closer inspection and there is no doubt. It is all authentic. Too much for just a collector. Some of this could likely only be gotten first hand from ... being there... in those times. I ignore the question and its answer screaming in my mind.

The bathroom on this floor is the next place Aurora brings me to. I suppose she is touring me to the most familiar places. Biggest bathroom I have ever seen. Also all alabaster. The tub is practically a small swimming pool! My calculating mind translated: alabaster... deadly, cold, and easy to clean. The faintest hint of the smell of blood... down the drain. CLICK! Holy shit... Marchettus is a vampire. A real one. And old one.

I return to the main room and set a place up for Aurora beside my chosen cushion and duffle bag.

Patrick has arrived and collected his pharmaceuticals from Moon. Moon is staying a few days to recoup from his drive before heading back out. Patrick offered to accept the delivery from Jeff for Marchettus. Jeff is responsible or obstinate. He will only sign it over directly to Marchettus. Those two seem to know each other, better than I know either of them. I decide to remain... aloof. Aloof and wary. No reason to call it shy. There are only three other people here and a wolf... and two  of them I know by name and face.

So this is the Privy... the sanctuary. I wonder who else will show up.

Abandoning the Den

Early April 2012

AAAAHHHH!
*pant pant pant*

I grip the klaive beside me in the bed. Eyes wildly checking shadows, corners. Ears straining for any foreign sounds. Klaive in one hand, dagger from under my pillow in the other, I cautiously check under the bed. I had long since got rid of any mirrors... just in case. I know I can block anyone from stepping from the umbra... the otherworld... into my den. The mirrors just had to go. The bathroom got smashed last time i tried to shave around the scars. A monster just seemed to be looking back at me... my scarred reflection.Nothing was under the bed. It was stupid. It was just another nightmare. I hacked the legs off the bed this morning though. If there is no under the bed, there is not chance of something being under it. I'll have to remember not to step on the bedside sword that usually sits under the bed's edge.

The adrenalin wears off, leaving my hands shaking again. I just sit with the klaive. Wait for it to pass.

Sometimes I feel lost. I am lost. So used to taking orders, I am not wholly sure what my role is now. Rogue... also means leaderless. What now? I glare at the klaive and demand of it, WHAT NOW!? I run my hands through my sweat soaked hair. What now?

Now... coffee. Then workout... then meditate. then shower.... Then....

2 hours later...

I have a third mission to gather intel from within a governmental building. No one gave me this mission. I gave it to myself. I am looking for answers. I find a shit load of secrets and stuff that leads to more questions... but never the answers to who really chose that mission with GhorraPawz. Never answers to the reasons why Fahr knew to bring his whole pack and got them all onto the mission list. I don't even know if they were all working for MI-5. No answers to why... why... WHY... the whole Silent Strider pack got wiped out. Every single one of them.... like those... things... knew exactly where each team member was. This is why I am more and more certain every day that it was a set-up. I don't think they expected even me to show up for the rendezvous point.

I shake my head. The memories are too painful. My hands start to shake again. Maybe Patrick has something for this... to settle the nerves.

I still feel mostly directionless. Purposeless. No... that's not true. I have one purpose. Find this klaive's true owner. That owner is somewhere here... somewhere in Chicago. I am not sure why I know that. It is like a feeling. Maybe the klaive has decided to speak empathically to me.

Why do I feel so on edge? I feel watched. Like every hair is on end this morning. I spend the day preparing for my mission, moving through some extra bladework, using the climbing wall I build in this loft... but that edgy feeling won't go away. I double check the loft's roof escape. It's clear. I open the curtain to the front window a crack for the 11th time today. That van is still there. The guy in it just lit his cigarette.

I'm compromised!

Time to go....

I grab the laptop and pry it open with a blade, rip all the components out. I tear the notes off the fridge and burn them in the cast iron frying pan on the stove. The magnets that held them to the fridge get dropped onto each piece of the laptop that might hold any memory. The EM pulse wiped out most functionality of most of my electronics, but this had been protected in a case. The radio and TV... offer very sketchy service. They all get wiped down. Everything does.

All fridge contents get dumped down the drains or toilet. Bleach gets poured down after them. the climbing gear gets tossed to the middle of the room with my duffle. Some clothes. Food rations. Thin thermal blanket. Compact first aid kit and field medical kit.

Blades... shit. I cannot take them all. The klaive. The katana and wakasashi. Three daggers. My favorite dirk. Field survival knife. Ten throwing knives. Flatpack of 8 stars. I look at the rest of the collection, blades from various places in the world, collected from missions. I can't take them. Maybe I can come back for them. But I might not be able to. I can leave them. I have the criticals. 

I pull us a floorboard and grab the cash I have kept there before that fiasco of a bloodbath mission and from the black market missions. I kick the board back down into place and stamp it hard. then yank the brick from the wall by the bed and grab the bag within. Passports for USA & UK, along with currency and four keys and a stone. Keys for lockers where other contents are secured. The stone... all I have left from my last visit to Fahr's cairn.

Cairn... my Den. Damn. I don't have time to do the rite to undo the cat magic in here. Ancestors forgive me. I'll back if I can. I debate stepping through the umbra here to disappear. But if things were waiting on that mission... what if they are here too, with those men lurking outside. I refuse to be an easy meal. Into the vent escape route to the roof it will be then.

Gear strapped into place. Boots on and hood up.  Duffle shoved into vent. I pull the old crank fan into place. there is a bag... of dust... inside the vent. I crank the fan and let it suck the contents of the back of months of dust collection. Last survey of the room.... now with a thin layer of dust as if I had not been there in months.

Time to go.
Patrick had suggested a place to me once... if I needed to disappear.
The Privy.

Now I feel even more lost and more like no one.
Now I have no safe place to call home.

Figures with a dark moon coming...

I grip the klaive and climbing gear and disappear into the night... adrift in the world.

Re-Establish

I am Jake Adams.
My true name remains one of my secrets.
My code name is Silent Strider.
I wear the name with pride for they are my pride, my pack, my family.

I am a secret hunter.
I am I killer.
I will make up for the losses of my pack.
Their deaths will forever haunt me.

I trust no one.
I want to trust someone.
I want to heal these wounds inside.
I want to be part of a pride.

Dark secrets.
Blood on my hands.
Dark Moons.
Night terrors in my mind.

I am Silent Strider.
I am Jake Adams.
I am a secret hunter.
I am no one.

Here I come.

News: Coming Out

The world changed while I was in private rehab. I had isolated myself for healing and training. I blocked everything out but the small freelance missions I took in the black market to rehone my skills.

I finally felt ready to get a real look at the world again and decide how I want to step back into it, since I have been ignoring the comm codes to report back to the CIA. Did I trust them? Did they set me up? Did they know what I was? Do they now? What will they do with me? I needed answers without being trapped in their web of lies and service.

The first big question I had to ask myself was… am I ready to be back? That answer was a no. I know I still won’t pass a psych exam. The nightmares are still bad and mornings leave me sometimes shaking too much to trust holding a cup of coffee. I sleep badly on good nights. Dark moons? I am better to not go to sleep at all those nights. I am glad my loft is so soundproof. I am sure the screams would wake the neighbors otherwise. I suppose I am improved since I actually get some sleep now whereas in October… I had days where I was so fogged that I could not tell reality from nightmare and had to beg Patrick for sedatives.

It is now February 2012…

I have better control of myself, even though the nightmares still come. I shake less. I can manage to slip into places and get intel. I can still take out a target. I don’t sleep on Dark Moons. Mornings are a series of meditation, katas with and without blades, honoring of the blades way of the Sword as I had been taught… though I usually do this now with this klaive rather than one of the other blades I usually work with. I like the feel of it in my hands. I kneel respectfully with it across my lap and just study the symbol upon it. Sometimes they change. I seem to always be able to read them. Sometimes I think it is just communicating with me. Sometimes I think it is laughing at me. I wish Fahr was here to advise me. Fahr…

I turn on the TV and radio now and then to get the public news. I dig out the supposedly secure laptop I was issued and dig up news that may not be made public. And it is nothing of what I expect.

Vampires are real.

Vampires of come out of the proverbial coffin or closet or whatever.

Vampires are in positions of power… and openly admit it.

I take a moment to digest this news. I recall what I learned from Fahr. Vampires, litch, leeches. All the same. Although Fahr used to make a distinction. While they were all leeches, bloodsuckers, Vampires had a degree of class and respectability… maybe even honor in some way. They had a code and laws that they adhered to very strongly. Litches, abandoned that and are little better than a rabid undead tiger determined to drain you of blood and life. I don’t yet know how to tell the difference. Hell, I have never met any vampires directly and been told THIS is a vampire. I have no idea of knowing if someone is or not. And whose side are they on? What… who... will they feed on? Are the stories and myths true? What works and what doesn’t? How do I kill one if I have to? Have I killed a target already who was a vampire and all he is doing now is laughing and re-establishing himself?

Who… or what… runs the major corporations that are the fragile support of our country right now? Runs the CIA? Runs the government?

So many secrets.

I need to know.

I smash my comm. The flashing was annoying.

Guess I really am rogue now.

Rehab & the Klaive

Healing is a bitch. Rehab is even more of a bitch. It has taken me all the past three months to stretch, heal, work out damaged muscle and strained joints. The headaches still come now and then, but less often now. I am not pretty. I am not even Joe-average anymore. But close enough to Joe-average if I don’t expose too much.

Months of exer4cise and private training. Months of visiting the Schmidt shooting range to get back to passable with the gun. Months of meditating and martial arts. Months of re-acquainting myself with blades and blade work.

And months to stare at this klaive as I am sure it mocks my lack of ability to know where to go with it. I add it to the blade I train with. It is comfortable in my hands. Really really comfortable. Ok, I have a fetish for blades. And this is a real sweet blade. It has symbols on it that translate to it being a spirit bound blade. Fahr calls it a fetish. I need to keep reminding myself of the different definition… and that he is dead and gone forever.

I work on all my skills till I am almost at par with how I was before I took out GorraPawz.

January has come and is slipping away. We have entered 2012. The governments have stuck to their word and the major cities have electricity once more, but only the major cities. Costs for anything has sky rocketed.

Marchettus has popped up in news several times buying up land, fixing things, re-establishing economy in some areas almost single-handedly. No one ever gets a picture of him. Says it is for religious reasons. I know some Islamic cultures are like that, as well as some voodoo people. But Marchettus sounds on the radio like a heavily accepted Scotsman.

My comm came alive with new orders. I did not respond. They left me to die! Then I think about it and having nearly failed that mission, they should have left me to die there. So why retrieve me at all?

Many a night I have knelt in meditation on some mats in my den, the klaive across my lap reviewing all that has happened. Patrick said it was not healthy to live in that moment so much. But I can’t help it. I feel like I missed something. Something important. The nightmares help not at all. And on the dark moon… they are debilitating. I know I would not pass a psych eval.

I ignore the orders. They must know I am alive or they would not have sent a mission command. I screwed up somewhere. Got scene somehow. Probably been noticed on one of the freelance missions I picked up in the black market. I am beginning to really like this klaive.

The questions though, pile up. So I put my training to use… against my own government. Bit by bit, I dig out their dark secrets. Bit by bit, this klaive helps me end the tainted lives of those I have encountered. Taint. A bane I can hardly abide. Not anymore. And it has seeped into every faction of the world. I understand now why the garou say they are at war. They are. They have been for a long time. My digging has not gone unnoticed. The cost of gathering the secrets of corrupt people, organizations, and government offices. The cost… enemies.

Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am seeking to avenge the deaths of the Silent Strider pack that welcomed a cat to their tribe. Maybe it was my fault all along. I will try to make it right. I will continue Fahr’s fight.

I pat the klaive. It has become my only trusted companion. I want to reach out and trust someone else, to not be alone. But every time I do, they die. I am a walking risk.

Fallout

December of 2011

So… Alien Apocalypse… And we thought it was an invasion. They left. They just… left. Three months of almost total blackout worldwide. Their arrival ruined the world’s electrical systems. So glad I don’t keep my money in a back. All those ones and zeros that made up many many dollars turned to plain zeros.

Apparently, the aliens made some apology for their presence being disruptive. By disruptive, I mean the ruined and failed technology, and oh the most wonderful part, foreign diseases. So sorry. Now we really do have an apocalypse. Small generators in strategic places give some access to TV or radio for the few places in the world not affected by the EM devastation. Glad I had added one in for my loft a few years ago as a precaution. I get to listen to the reports of widespread disease. It has started to decimate some populations. The government and military or in disarray trying to maintain order.

I still have no communication or orders for any missions. Maybe they have given up on me or assume I died after all. Good. I’ll watch the fallout from the safety of my den while I retrain myself back to fit form. I’ve been to see Patrick a couple more times, cautious not to come into contact with anyone diseased. Apparently, though, I have a better immune system. Patrick merely commented that I am special like that. I suppose maybe so is he and others like us. We still have not mentioned this openly to each other. I am still uncertain about how much I can trust him, though that trust is slowly growing.

Mostly healed, I trudge through the snow of early December thinking how so much of Chicago is starting to look like those movies of post-apocalyptic Earth… or that game… Fallout. Ok, maybe not quite that bad, but I feel it will get there before it gets any better. I stock up on supplies, and clean weapons and liquidate some prize items in the black market for cash which allows me to buy some great black market gear that I would normally only be issued on missions. I do odd jobs no one wants to do for extra money with no questions. I stay local for now. I don’t want to tap my actual resources yet. It might tip off where I am and that I live. But I am also not without resources. As a backup, I have a box with emergency spare … stuff. A couple passports that haven’t expired yet and some money from a few places in the world, mostly US though. My dead mentor had always taught me to plant emergency back-up in safe places that even my government has no access to… just in case.

Ya… in case of something like this. Aliens invade us, but didn’t mean to and left behind disease with an apology.

Governments assure their citizens through print media that we will be back online, so to speak, by January or February. If the disease doesn’t wipe out populations, freezing through the winter certainly will. Hope my little generator holds out.

"Doctor" Patrick & the Schmidts

Chicago. Not exactly home sweet home, but hey, it’s as close I suppose I can get. I have a couple low level contacts here and well, a mission to find the owner of this klaive.

I don’t dare go to my den like I am. I am too… trackable. Anyone who knows me even a little will know I will seek medical attention. The city though… was evacuated. So much for that notion! Fine… I find a back alley, disgusted, and find a large abandoned cardboard box. In there I strip down, pop a codeine pill to dampen the pain and shift to cat in the dark to be as well hidden as possible. I curl there and lick my wounds.

It is amazing how much of my body I can lick in this form.

Holy god-forsaken fucking resurrected Christ! Cat tongues are SCRATCHY!

I think I passed out several times trying to lick my burned and blistered and torn flesh. Why did I think this was a good plan?!

I watched the lights of the ships above warily. I ate some food I stole from the hospital. I licked my wounds again. This went on for a few days. I felt like a stray cat. Except I am a bit big for a stray cat. I am grateful the fuzzy disorientation has finally totally left me. I regret that I cannot lick some places of myself, like parts of my face that I don’t dare wipe with filthy hands and parts of my neck and between my shoulders. I think I have a fever. No… I know I do.

The lights have left the sky. The space ships are either gone or … cloaked. Can they do that?

I hear the noise of vehicles and then slowly the city starts to come back to life. There is a great deal of military on the streets. The Alien invasion must still be in progress. A stolen hoody from someone’s public wash allows me to blend into the crowd and hide my festering wounds. I make it into one of the public hostels where the city people are staying till the city can be confirmed completely safe again. This allows me to at least have access to actual clean water. I don’t stay though. I don’t dare. They would yank me into medical care that I must avoid.

Time to find “Doctor” Patrick. He is one of the two contacts I have in this city. He’s a black market doctor. Does good work, asks no questions, and reveals nothing. He’s worked on me before. I make undetected to his side door. I must have underestimated my state of health because before I realize it, this big albino, Patrick, is practically scraping me off the floor and dropping me onto a table. I just let him. He doesn’t need to be gentle; he just needs to make me well. But he is remarkably gentle before I remember vaguely that he often treats the street kids for free. He keeps my stolen hospital supplies as payment for his services.

In the end, I have fresh bandages, fresh meds, fresh food... Oh thank gods, fresh food. I’ll be scarred over my right brow and cheek, down my neck and the back of the right shoulder, and down between my shoulder blades to the middle of my back. All the places I could not lick heal. I listen to him tisk as he gives me something to fight the infection. Blending in is going to be harder now. I will have to find a good lie to make convincing and believable for a new cover. I’ll have to invest in lots of hoody sweaters and until I am more healed with a better lie, avoid anything where I need to look good. HA! Look good! I find this funny while we are invaded by aliens.

I get a few days to recover in the privacy of Patrick’s illegal underground clinic. I think he knows what I am, but I can’t tell. My nose tells me he’s… something… something like Fahr, but different. Fahr… I shove the memories aside and try to tell myself that I am not suffering PSD. The nightmares these past few weeks have been unbearable. Then I remember! Bone Gnawers. I think. I haven’t really officially met any, but Patrick fits the likelihood. I say nothing though. He is keeping my secret, I can keep his. I feel satisfied to have a new secret though.

The dark moon is coming. I need to get back to my den, my safehouse. I glance down at my coded comm. Still no orders. Good. I need to recover. I need to heal and then rehabilitate my physical skills and endurance. With some medication in hand from Patrick and a quiet reminder from him that if I need a place to stay he can find me one. He mentions some place called the “privy”. I laugh so hard it hurts. I would have laughed even harder if he called it the “loo”. He describes how to get there and that it is under the care of some man names Marchettus. It is supposedly safe… a backup. Well, if all else fails, I will consider it. I thank him for his service and patience. We have hardly spoken the entire time I have been here till now. That’s fine.

I slip out for a quick stop by Schmidt’s to get my handgun checked. A father and son run place where they sell guns and supplies. The father thinks I am ridiculous for having come here to clean my gun… that with an issued piece like this, I should bloody well know how to clean it. I scowl at him. I know how to clean the damned thing. I would just rather pay someone else to do it, especially if parts are damaged from the explosion I was caught in.

On my way through the streets of scared people, for I can smell the fear on them, I find my way to my loft safehouse. My den. An Alien ship was seen overhead briefly and people ran terrified. I decide to drop off the radar for a while. Not even this safehouse is known to my superiors. I hope it stays that way. I need to recover and rethink all that has just happened. I need to gather intel and understand what the hell we are facing with these aliens. Wait… why should I? It’s not my job. Not my mission.