He Who Fights Monsters

Session 10: We're Up All Night to Get Lucky

Things are looking up again, and it’s been a busy couple days. We headed back up to Chi-town to even the score with the Double-Banger – slipped down into the sewers all quiet-like, packing some Whitey Pete. Tom found its lair, with our pictures up like a stalker, and then lo and behold – here comes Banger. My ears are still ringing, but a handfull of incendiary rounds later, and I’m putting a round in the back of it’s skull while it tries to crawl away.

No, you missed your chance, slimy.

We go through the place, and find a bunch of skins and a little ugly statue:

Baphomet.png

This dude. Turns out? Not your friend. Some kind of full-on Templar Illuminati shit. Dan Brown all the way.

So we tear the Double-Banger a fiery new one, then head back to the Loyalists. I talk ’em into leaving Ivy alone for a while, as they tried to tranq her last time she came by, so that is now a hard sell. We head back, but Val wants to stop by a winery for a wine-tasting. Why the fuck not, right?

Turns out it’s run by some kind of little pixie dude who is like the most enthusiastic wine-guy I’ve ever heard of. Rolling around in the shit. Tom goes snooping off, but I hardly notice ‘cause I’m talking to this chick in leather who looks kind of like Chyna from pro wrestling, except her fake tits aren’t as big. But with wine goggles on and some shared interests, I’m all about this Delilah chick. We go out to her Heavy Metal van and tear that shit apart. We do some damage. I shit you not.

chynadxgear.jpg

Meanwhile Tom does some shit and ends up smelling like old wine and holding this rabbit’s food, but without his jacket. Didn’t really get the story on that one.

We get back to the safe-house, and there’s a lot of talking about Baphomet and rituals and I’m puffing on a stogie and enjoying my afterglow when there’s a tapping on the door, then on the window. I don’t see anybody so I go outside and find a spikey blonde douchebag sneaking around in our bushes. He’s from another hunter group, and he’s after the rabbit’s foot. He goes for my gun, and ends up gut-shot.

Now I have this big damn hassle to deal with. I drag him and his flak vest down into the basement, and call up Val for some backup. We get to talking, seeing as these are his last moments. I give him a smoke and he gives me the run-down of this loser band-slash-hunter group he’s part of. I feel like…that is, I figure it’s not worth all the hassle of listening to him die the long way, so Val helps me dose him with enough morphine to put him down. Val starts working on putting together some fake John Doe tags so we can drop him in the morgue.

Then I hear the Limp Bizkit outside, and I figure, oh good, another douchebag surprise. Down the street there’s Tom waving a gun around at another dude who has a gun out, and they’re arguing outside this van that’s blasting LB. And I admit it, I lost my temper a little.

So this guy mouths off to me, even after I make it real clear what’ll happen if he doesn’t shut his mouth and move on. I’ve still got the Whitey Pete rounds in my 44, so I put a slug into their gas tank and turn the douchebag hunter crew into a pile of screams and wreckage.

I think Tom is getting used to my style of problem-solving, as he just heads off, mumbling about a new jacket. Priorities, but hey, what are you gonna do? Having an idiot-savant detective around is handy as shit.

Cops come by, but we don’t know nothin’. They’re learnin’.

I’m not sure what the hell was going on, but a rabbit died, Ivy seemed real happy, and Tom got some stew he wouldn’t share with the rest of us.

I get word from Sonny that the dirt-bikers are back in town causing headaches after I spend the day at the auto shop putting together The Vengeance. Finally finished putting in the new window assemblies that’ll actually raise and lower the Lucite and started putting some of the trim back into the truck now that the Kevlar and plates are all in place. Adds a good ton to the truck’s weight all told, but who wouldn’t want to drive through a hail of gunfire? I sure would, and now I can live the dream.

Next up, we fix this dirt-biker problem. You think people would learn, but you’ve always gotta learn ’em again.

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