(Credit Unsplash Image Tim Hufner )

Interlude

    Prophets, soothsayers, Nostradamus and the like often speak of an end time. Some even want to be part of it. The end of the bloody world. Stakes don’t get much higher than that. Sure end of the universe and the like, but people rarely notice the ongoings outside of their homeworld anyway. Certainly not the most creative of endeavors, though thats never stopped the unimaginative before I suppose.

    What people never tell you about the end of the world is it’s never going to happen. Outside the gradual and inevitable heat death of the universe of course (that we’re all right on track for. Don’t you worry). 

What I mean to say, is anyone that’s ever tried to fuck with the status quo will tell you that you get set straight or ground into nothing. That’s why they call it the iron cage of bureaucracy and not the… the… sand castle of bureaucracy. Ah screw it, you know what I mean. 

   Point is, despite how no one’s ever gotten close to ending the world, our department sure likes to milk the stakes. It helps when it’s time for the big wigs to reevaluate our budget. The classic proverb “If it bleeds it leads”. For example: an eldritch god rises out of the ocean? We dump enough sludge and fire where you can’t differentiate the calamari from the abomination. An ancient cathedral is disturbed awakening a dormant Hierophant Lich? We pave the largest mall parking lot you’ve ever seen right on top of it. A bunch of larping satanists open the entrance to hell? What could have very well been an all out conquest from hell, turned to a nonaggression pact, into bartering goods and trade throughout respecting territories. Negotiations were lengthy with the demons, but with our top lawyers it seemed the expression changed to “Deal with the Humans”. The underhanded loopholes and technicalities we hid in our contracts made our pilgrims seem like philanthropists in comparison. 

    My department gets wannabe doomsday cults every week. First we check missing person cases, then secretive gatherings, the “we’re not a cult” cults, and the neighbors that never seem to leave their houses. And the most asinine part of my job: urban legend sightings. I mean honestly, in a world with demons, vampires, yeti’s, goblins, and giraffes, what the hell else can you flinch at in the shadows? 

Chapter 1: Hope and Shit

The Bureau of Equilibrium’s mission statement is “To ensure safety, stability, and fulfillment among beings from all walks of life and planes of existence.” I don’t know about all that fulfillment nonsense, but I suppose the rest is true enough. 

One of the few pleasures of my apartment is that nobody uses the roof or the fire escape. Therefore I got a reasonable lease being more accustomed to an open shelter. When I’m not working I garden, enjoy a nice bonfire, or sleep one off in my hammock. Problem is, there’s always fucking work to do. It’s just a matter of what tasks I decide to neglect. 

I stretch out my limbs as I look out to the city lights. Debating with great turmoil whether to brew coffee or open a cold one, I get interrupted by pigeon shit hitting my blanket.

“For fucks sake Maureen! And you wonder why the office calls you birdbrain?”

The pigeon cranes its neck before transforming into a nymph wearing a pantsuit of autumn leaves, with bramble-like hair, and ludicrously long eyelashes.

“Well Mal, I wouldn’t have to resort to that kind of behaviour, if you didn’t lock me out of my own homing loft and if you actually read the goddamn missives!” She motions to the burnt letters in peeking out of the ash of the bonfire.

“One of these days I’m going to barge into your home, leave you a nice present on your furniture and then hassle you about work.” Maureen taps her foot impatiently waiting for me to finish my rant.

I sigh and begrudgingly ask “What do they need Maureen?”

She gave me a list of locals that need assistance. Reports of gnolls waiting outside of a concerned citizen’s vacation home. A sewage siren pulling people down into our own filth before devouring them. A group of ravers that are terrorized by werewolves. Feeling heard, my druid supervisor wild shapes into a pigeon and flies off. Times like this I wish I had a BB gun.  That settles two things for me. Firstly, I will save the shower until after the sewage siren and that coffee isn’t nearly strong enough. I drink deeply from a can of Hearthshine. Finished, I wrench off the tab and chew on it as I get ready. Before I head down, I pull out my Charm of the Oldwoods and speak the druidic incantation summoning a dire rat from the fey realm. I scritch underneath the rodent’s chin.

He leans into my hand and extends his neck asking for more pets. “Alright Keith you know the drill. Hold down the fort and hunt birds.” 

Despite the elevator being out of service for months, I still find myself sweaty and panting as I reach the bottom of the fire escape. It of course begins to rain. Not the best for my bike, so I’ll stick to the old walk and commute.

Before I start this series of goose chases, I make a pitstop. I head inside a nearby building. A clockwork crow greets me from the top of the door with a pleasant cooing. 

“Hey Doe, how goes it?” The red concubus lights up with a wide grin. Today the androgynous launderer has black hair along with a tank top and leather pants.

“Just got a lot better. You finally decide to change your looks? I’ll have all the cute men and ladies among others around your finger in no time.”

I present my soiled blanket and give an apologetic smile. “Sorry just hear for the laundromat service.”

They grimace before taking the blanket to the back walking past the finest suits and dresses; this is of course overshadowed by the exotic skins and hides suspended from hangers. “You are killing me darling! No one ever comes for a new look.”

I glance an inquisitive look at the skins, furs, and hides in the laundromat and indulge them “I gotta ask what is the deal with those?”

With a sudden look of pride they showed me molted husks, stitched skin, scalped fur and all sorts of madness behind them. Doe might complain, but the diversity of their clientele is unrivaled. “Not everyone can afford these ridiculous glamors, it’s practically robbery. Plus not everyone has my gifts.”

They up their femininity as their curves become more pronounced and their chin thins. It’s extraordinary to see the concubus’s gift for shifting forms so seamlessly.

They smirk at the attention before returning to their speech “My point being, there shouldn’t be a wealth barrier to feeling beautiful.”

Not having much to contribute to the topic and unable to suppress my habit of self-deprecating I add “No argument here, still I think I’m a lost cause in that department. Best you help the clients you can, yeah?”

With a pout she sidles toward me and pats my shoulder. “Honey, please don’t talk about yourself that way. Haven’t you heard? Bad boys are out, it’s all about sad boys now. Oh how I want to fix you.”

Off kilter and avoiding eye contact at this point, I mutter “Must’ve missed that memo. Take care of yourself, Doe. See ya later.”

This incident of the gnoll sightings was a bust. Apparently this “concerned citizen” was spending too much time on their NextThreshold app. Where racial profiling is an art and everyone’s a bloody renaissance man. Anytime this gnoll would walk their dog the neighbor would be convinced they were “casing the joint”. Racism aside, I can’t believe I still have to fill out a detailed report on this time waster. 

The night is still young and I’m determined to get some enjoyment out of it yet. I have decided it’s best to get method when infiltrating a bunch of ravers in an abandoned field of carnality. I take a cerberus bus to the city limits and follow the nearest glow sticks. Fittingly enough, white rabbit plays when I buy some ecstasy off of a crazed looking gnome with piercings and a purple Mohawk and goatee. 

Euphoria ensues in the dancing lights and if for a moment, I forget I’m on the lookout for a werewolf. I find myself trying to dance with a scarecrow as I come off the high and reality sits in. I saw a punk straight out of hell cackling at me. She has blue hair and a mocking smile. There’s something familiar about her. Shit she’s from the bureau isn’t she? Not a demon, a gargoyle. I flip the bird and dance with myself fueled by spite and petulant defiance, among other narcotics. Existence narrows its spotlight on me as I slowly forget the rest of existence beyond my sways. That is before purging in a nearby porta potty. Wiping away a string of vomit and spitting, I slap myself hard across the face. Centered, I get back to the fray. Even with blurred vision I finally see it, a werewolf on the dancefloor pouncing on a man. Pinning the man to the ground the jaws clamp on his shoulder. In a stumbling charge I headbutted them in their ribs. I free the man, but the werewolf tosses me back into the porta potty. Horribly sore and gagging I stand up and raise my fists. The werewolf to my surprise looks intimidated. I press my advantage and land a hook into the lycanthropes jaw. This time with my silver knuckle duster in hand of course. I knocked out a fang, hopefully a canine. The werewolf is bloodied as it flees. I examine the tooth and slip it into my pocket. Without warning, the ravers start attacking me. In the confusion I had to retreat and cut my losses. The worst part is that gargoyles laugh ringing in my ears the whole way home. 

This night has been utter bedlam. Worst yet is I still need to find the sewer siren. At least I’ll be acclimated to the stench after the rave. 

After a solid three hours of sewer exploration with my headlamp I consider writing it off as an active imagination. That is until I trip over innards. Shit. Doesn’t matter, I’m ready for this. 

A siren relies almost entirely on their eerie otherworldly voice to entice people to their death. They are actually pretty spindly for man eaters. Somewhat counter-intuitively, I have my earphones on max volume and I’m catching up on a podcast, while hunting a deranged mermaid. Living the life. I pull out my knife while I stand up. Not having my hearing is a huge disadvantage and adds to my paranoia. I’d be surprised if that fall didn’t make me completely lose my element of surprise. Still I have no alternative. I find a wall and press my back to it not wanting to expose myself to all sides. It’s damn dark and it is a race against my batteries. 

I wade through shallow sludge following the gore trail. There’s no sight of her anywhere. Faint light radiates down a corner. Moonlight? Another entrance to drag unsuspecting pedestrians? We’re already in a sewer let’s hurry this shit show along. As I skulk around the corner, I trip falling face first into the water. Shielding my face I feel the skin grate off my elbow. That’s definitely going to be an infection. I scramble up and once again press against the wall. One of my earphones fell out and the other is emitting a disturbing half static and muffled speech. The chamber is dark and smells of rust. There’s no light source, no escape. I don’t understand until I see it.

Any hope of my own clumsiness causing me to trip is shattered as I see the faint light. It’s beneath the water. I know what this is, I have to run away. Faster than I can close my eyelids, I see the primordial light. Like Prometheus must have felt, I’m transfixed. A blue woman with an unnaturally smooth and alien face observes me. She’s lithe with delicate features. It’s as if she was across a campfire. 

“Who are you?” a quiet sing voice coos. 

“Nobody” I say instinctually.

Unflinchingly she retorts “Nobody? That’s no answer. I’ll even start; my name is Lyra.” 

I can’t keep my defenses up. I crack “My name is Malrik. I work for BOE. Here to investigate reports of a… a…” 

Matter of factly she says “an evil sewage siren?” 

My shoulders shrug as I gaze into the light. “Don’t care much for your alignment. Just want to pay my rent.” 

A giggle escapes at that, perhaps at my bluntness. “Oh is that so? If I let you go, we’d go our separate ways? You say you found nothing. Get paid and I get to keep feeding?” 

My mouth moves as my thoughts form “Nah, I’d probably just get some backup and kill you later.” 

She flicks my nose, I don’t respond, unable to pull myself from the light. Not just unable, but unwilling. “Not very sporting of you.” 

I snap back “And that poor bloke and his guts back there were? Honestly you think you’d have the decency to finish your leftovers.”

Her brow furrows behind the light “Your defense mechanisms do not interest me. I see behind it so much sadness.” 

I groan in irritation “For fucks sake just eat me. Do I just have sadness written on my face?” 

Stoically she nods and the light does with her.

I find myself nodding along, eyes never moving from the radiance. “Yes, you’ve had it so long you’ve forgotten how to hide it even. It’s in your eyes, your posture, your very breath. I can’t tell your sighs from your inhalations.” 

I bitterly reply back “Now listen up when I say psychobabble I don’t just refer to your diagnosis, but the fact that you are a psychopathic abomination. That’s babbling at me, if that wasn’t clear.” I can’t hurt her back with my words no matter how hard I try. 

Her finned eyebrow arches “Do you actually not believe me? Or did I affirm your thoughts? Look down.”

This is my chance. If I can look away from the light then I can live to fight another day. Given permission, the light begins to dim. I look down to the water to the reflection of my face and to my dismay the light’s reflection flares. Again I am the moth.

In my periphery I can still make out my reflection along with waste fittingly floating by my visage. What a lowlife. I feel revolted just looking at it. Dirty blonde doesn’t begin to describe the disheveled hair. A pair of ram horns, but one is broken. The reflection uncomfortably grits its yellow teeth as if to apologize to me or the world for existing. The beard is unkempt and scruffy; not only does it look itchy, it is. Then comes the kicker, the green irises and red sclera. That vacant expression that always seems half asleep. There’s a special kind of hollowness to them and I don’t just mean the bags that make me feel like a caricature alcoholic. 

“You don’t have to hide yourself from me. I can’t believe you’ve endured it all for this long. Isn’t it time now, though? Aren’t you tired of being so tired?” 

Knowing her meaning, but unable to tell a lie I begin to answer; only for her to push me through the sludge water and hold me down in a rather sloppy and panicked drowning on her part. My mouth is in a limbo of sewage water and vomit. Moving around fluid, but not finding the oxygen I need. Until the webbed hand pushing me beneath the polluted deep slackens. 

My body lurches up halfway over a pathway. I’m sputtering and donating lung tissue. The siren wails at me, but I already have my eyes closed. For the first and last time I am grateful for the sewage water stuck in my ear. I can make out the words without her influence in my periphery. “Thrall! Get up. I command you to hel-” A loud squelch is heard and I don’t need my eyes open to know I’ve been splattered in brain matter. 

I don’t care, I refuse to open my eyes and try to get my bearings around a corner. With reluctance my eyes shoot open only so I can sprint away from whatever approaches me. I hear heavy steps and clanging behind me. Fuck Maureen! I’m quitting and leaving my resignation on top of her shit covered floor! Launching myself on the iron ladder to the surface, I grunt as my ribs collide on the rungs. I clamber out of the sewer and let the lid slam down. Reaching into my pocket, I frantically grind my components into a tiny mortar. I yelled the first incantation I learned “pláthoun íchni láspis” before running to Doe’s shop. I leave behind a trail of thick mud to slow whatever the hells chasing me. After nearly half an hour of sprinting, jogging, and finally a defeated brisk walk, I’m assured I outran it. 

A violent caw erupts from the clockwork crow attachment echoes in the laundromat. Doe’s now in a more masculine form muscled with a fu manchu mustache. 

He gags as I approach. “Oh god I can taste it from here. Baby, what have you gotten into?” 

Unable to maintain my composure. “No it couldn’t have been a mere sewer siren. It was an Angler too! I thought those freaks were extinct! Hope they are now.” Not encountering many sewer sirens Doe looks at me not grasping the conversation. 

I look back and notice that while I stopped the mud trail spell nearly an hour ago, I’m still dragging filth into the laundromat. “Shit, I’m sorry Doe. I’m a damn mess. Do you have anything to clean up with? Also any alcohol?” 

Doe crosses his arms at that. “I meant rubbing alcohol!” I convinced Doe. 

Doe gives me a warm smile and walks to the back returning with an opulent towel with the intricate monogrammed stitching of the initials “EM”. I give a sideways glance “Those aren’t your initials. Client get on your shit list?” With a bellowing laugh Doe slaps his knee. “You could say that. Just another rich megalomaniac prick.”

I pour the alcohol on my elbow, then dab a little inside my broken horn. The familiar cooing signals a customer has entered. I’m removing muck from my head. A lanky young man walks in with  neon attire. He speaks at Doe while holding his mouth as if he were afraid I’d eavesdrop or I could lip read. He’s right on both accounts, I’m bored. I realize that he’s not being discreet, he’s got an injury. I catch a glimpse of a missing tooth. That confirms it. The sun has started to emerge. It all makes sense. Small world. I stride towards the counter. When Doe hands the young man a fur suit. Wait. What?

“Got all the blood out. You stay out of dog fights alright, doll? ” He blushes and yells back “Quit acting like we know each other. I ain’t charmed by it.” He turns to leave and is face to face with the man who knocked his tooth out.

“You’re not a werewolf?” I shout. 

He recoils in fear “What the hell? Stay away from me! I know kra ma ga and blood magic!” 

Unable to hold my tongue I say “So when you ran away with your fake tail between your legs last night, was that using kra ma ga or blood magic?” The poor kid is tearing up all while white knuckled. Hard to tell if he’s about to hit me or start crying. 

I need to de-escalate. “Sorry man, I’m on edge. I work for the Bureau and there were reports of a werewolf attacking ravers. I’m still a bit unclear about what is going on. Care to clarify it?” 

He digs a pointed finger in my chest. “They made a psychopath like you an agent? I could have your badge! I should call the cops!” 

I wait for him to finish “You could. But can’t you see there was some kind of miscommunication? I mean werewolf or not you did maul a guy.”

He deflates a bit “Listen not that you would understand, but it’s a turning fetish. Alright? Two consenting adults and all that.” 

I rub my temple and sigh. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you simply actually become a werewolf?”

He scoffs at my ignorance “Have you ever seen a werewolf transformation? It’s horrible, bones break into place and don’t even get me started on their spine! Plus you need a guardian and silver restraints to be sure you don’t go on murder sprees!”

I snap “It’s a hell of a lot better than almost getting killed over something so stupid! Don’t you understand how wrong that could’ve gone?!”

The young man quivers, all bluster gone. He’s clearly terrified. I take a deep breath and concentrate on opening my hand up. It balled into a fist without noticing. 

“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to corroborate your story with the alleged partner. And if you’re telling the truth I pay your laundry bill, plus give you a scolding on public indecency. If you’re lying, I will hunt you down and make your dentist bill more expensive.” 

He’s rattled by that and starts crying “Holy shit, don’t hurt me bro. It’s the truth. Next time we’ll go to a hotel. Don’t hit me again.” 

What’s wrong with me? He’s clearly telling the truth. My nerves are too much right now. I haven’t recovered from everything. Like a petulant child I tried to kill two birds, do my job and party too. If I wasn’t so fucking sloppy I might’ve noticed. I’m such a piece of shit.

“Sorry brother-man. I had a rough night. Just. Just get out of here alright?” He skirts around me not ever turning his back to me and leaves the place. 

I just stand there dazed at the full extent of my carelessness.

Doe throws a shilling at the side of my head. “Are you planning on making a habit of scaring away my clients?”

I pocket the shilling. “No Doe, crazy coincidence won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” 

Doe shakes his head “Quit saying you’re sorry!”

I ignored him before asking “Care to let me know how much it cost to get the blood out of the werewolf suit?” Doe has a crooked smile that unnerves me and he starts writing down something on paper. 

“837 Sovereigns? What the hell was that proletariat monologue about affordable beauty for?!” 

Doe places a hand on my shoulder and applies pressure “Careful now. Blood and discretion are always going to cost more.”

After meekly agreeing and retrieving my blanket I make my way towards the door; when I hear familiar heavy steps. How? I immediately duck behind the counter earning an annoyed glance from Doe. I beg him to keep quiet. The crow caws again. Doe practically swoons.

“Darling! Long time no see, how have you been?” A heavy trudge approaches the counter. This means I must be mistaken, a regular of Doe couldn’t have been chasing me in the sewer. I peek above the counter and gawk. A towering figure is in front of me. A welding mask stares back at me. Not only that, but a holster on each side of her hips. A sawed off shotgun on the right and a morningstar on the left. Dark reinforced leather is smeared in gore and mud. Leathery wings extend from her back. She flips up the welders mask and I see her face. The gargoyle from the bureau and the rave! 

She looks positively pissed to see me. “I save you from certain death and you throw mud at me! Who raised you?” I am completely at a loss. 

(To Be Continued…)