by Sean Davies
“Watch this,” Genie said excitedly while she reset the range. “Stitches, your turn. Give it a try.”
“All right, but it seems a bit too quick for me,” he said doubtfully as he took aim.
Once again, the targets sped around the concrete room, and Stitches did his best to match Brooke’s performance. The Alternative surprised even himself when each bullet hit the dead centre of every single target.
Brooke’s yellow Werewolf eyes went wide with awe. “Amazing, simply amazing!”
“Our boy Stitches can mimic other people’s skills!” Genevieve said cheerfully.
Constance looked at her Alt friend proudly. She had always suspected there was a little more depth to his knack for learning than Stitches let on or realised, but she’d never known the true extent, and the revelation brought forth a whole host of possibilities.
“Maybe I can become a Book Wielder after all!” Stitches beamed merrily.
Brooke patted him on the back and chuckled. “If you want to be the first Alternative Book Wielder then I’d stay out of the Lord Imperator’s way. If she discovers you can copy the abilities of others, then you’ll be armed to the teeth and on her Demon hit-squad before you know it!”
Stitches laughed nervously, embarrassed by the amazed looks he was receiving, and decided to try and deflect the attention. “Connie, don’t you think it’s time you try?” he suggested, holding the small rifle in her direction.
Constance put her hand on her stomach and frowned. “I would… but I’m just so hungry. Let’s get some food,” she announced, leaving before anyone could object.
Stitches chuckled, as Brooke tutted and Genevieve rolled her eyes.
“She’s going to be a handful,” Brooke warned Genie with a smirk as she went back to her business.
“Don’t I know it,” Genevieve replied with a sigh.
“Maybe she’s just tired,” Stitches added. “Lady Veronica said yesterday that you’d probably be worn out after all the sexual activity, and although Connie’s a white-eyed Book Wielder she probably doesn’t have your vampiric stamina,” the Alt rambled on carelessly.
“I swear I’m going to kill Veronica one day,” Genevieve muttered angrily.
✽ ✽ ✽
To the far west of Central Isle across the ocean, on the Continent of Desem, the members of the Highway One Hellions motorcycle gang were relaxing in their club house. The weather on the barren, once oil-rich continent was scorching, and as such the air conditioning units within the two-storey bar were maxed out.
The gang’s leaders, the feisty Werewolf couple Lynette and Kavarne (formerly of the Shadow Circle’s Primary Book Wielder guard), had stumbled across the abandoned bar down a turn-off half way along the extensive Highway One prior to the merger, during the final stages of the War for Reality.
After the eye-opening transitional phase from the old world into the new, Lynette had contacted their old friends, primarily to show that they were still okay but also to broadcast their plans to dive right back into gang life. The energetic Werewolf cutie Lynette hadn’t been expecting much interest—at least not to begin with—and her muscular hulk of a lover had secretly been hoping to take a decade or two off to chill, but within days their ranks were brimming with familiar faces and new pledges alike.
The aptly named ‘Halfway House’ bar was located next to a petrol station, a convenience store, a trucker’s rest stop, a greasy café, and a rundown three-storey motel, making it an excellent location for the Highway One Hellions’ needs.
As Desem’s dry, cracked, and crumbling plains were now brimming with monsters (in addition to the poisonous snakes and scorpions they originally hosted), life outside of the big cities was especially risky. Small towns and villages in-between the port city of Beachhead One and Neo-Industria had been harried by dangers soon after magic had been restored to the land, and the Highway One Hellions had quickly and generously answered the calls for help. To Lynette and Kavarne’s surprise, their gang had quickly developed a reputation for being guardian angels amongst the smaller settlements, and after the New Desem Republic was formed to govern the territories outside of Neo-Industria, the Highway Hellions were officially put on retainer.
The remnants of the Desem Patriots motorcycle club—a Supernatural bike gang that had suffered massive casualties fighting against Winston and the Archmage Omniosis’ forces—had also been enlisted by the NDR. Kavarne had bad blood with their old gang leaders; they had kicked him out of their club after a poker argument had escalated into a full-blown bar brawl (the very same night he had picked up the hitchhiking then-human Lynette), but they had died in the War for Reality, and the new blood in the gang were more than willing to ally with the Hellions for the good of protecting the continent. Due to the locations of their headquarters, the Desem Patriots stuck to the lower half of Desem while the Highway One Hellions protected the north, leaving the polluting powerhouse of Neo-Industria to safeguard the middle.
With the extra Desem Dollars flowing in from the NDR, the Hellions had installed a metal wall around the whole rest stop, complete with a walkway, guard towers, and flood lights in order to keep the bar, motel, café, and petrol station safe within. They also had bought a dozen cargo containers for general storage, and some prefabs to use as offices for organisational and administrational purposes, along with some well-equipped labs for Alchemy.
The Highway One Hellion’s banner was of a silver demonic skull sandwiched between two motorbikes performing wheelies, surrounded by lime green witchfire on a pitch-black background, and it hung proudly throughout the compound for all to see.
Lynette peered over the bar’s first-floor wooden railings. She was wearing her light brown hair the same way as always in a shaggy chin-length bob cut, and she was dressed in a pair of frayed denim hot pants and a skimpy black and silver crop top that showed off her attractively athletic, tanned figure. The Werewolf Swiftpaw also sported a pair of grubby black boots, and an open black leather jacket with the gang’s emblem covering most of the back.
She could see that Kaine of the Trinity of Old was still enjoying himself, despite being over a day late for the Conclave of Nations; he was currently regaling a table of scantily dressed, heavily tattooed and pierced biker chicks with his epic Great War stories.
The grey and white-haired Werewolf Brutebeast, Kaine, often spent time with the Highway One Hellions, as most of his old Dogs of War gang had quickly left the Catacombs once Omniosis had been felled and joined with Kavarne and Lynette—including the Vampire Blake and the Book Wielder Werewolf Wayne, who had been two of his most trusted allies.
“Hey, old man,” Lynette called, cheerfully. “Your carer is on the way to take you back to the home!”
“You’ll be old one day too, missy… wait, no you won’t,” he guffawed drunkenly.
Kaine’s groupies joined in with the laughter, and whispered assurances that the muscular man was still in his prime.
The leader of the Hellions rolled her eyes and headed down the wooden spiral staircase to hit up the bar herself. Lynette grabbed herself an ice-cold beer, popped the cap off on the side of the bar, and took a long refreshing mouthful, savouring the good life.
A good-looking Mage with black spiky hair (that had clearly been dyed), a neatly trimmed brown beard and a cheeky grin entered the bar, dressed in a dark blue suit and a grey robe-like duster. He also wore a pair of antiquated gold-rimmed spectacles over his amused purple eyes. Behind him were three armoured Trinity Guards with their trademark yellow, purple, and red plumed helmets.
“Mr. Lord Imperator—Jonathan Knight,” Lynette greeted him warmly. “You and your boys here to earn your colours?”
“Maybe another time, wolfie,” Jonathan smirked.
“How about a beer then?” Lynette offered, already pulling out four more bottles for her guests.
“Well, we shouldn’t be drinking on the job,” the Mage began, feigning a concerned tone and stroking his beard, “but then it would be rude to refuse
our host, so…”
“Enjoy,” the Werewolf Swiftpaw laughed as she handed out the beers. “We were just discussing the Supernatural matters of northern Desem with your boss, and we overran a bit.”
“By a day?” the Mage said, enjoying her poor attempt to cover for Kaine.
“It was a really long discussion,” Kaine said after finishing yet another pint of bitter. “There’re so many settlements up here, you know. But it’s all good, no one abusing their powers and all that,” he added drunkenly.
“After you tore that Anarchy’s Ascendant loony to shreds in Smithston, there’s been significantly less trouble from wannabe super-villains,” Lynette added.
“See? No need to call the Conclave when Kaine’s in town,” the rugged Werewolf said in a macho voice to the women around him.
Jonathan gestured to the gorgeous biker girls surrounding the grey-haired Werewolf. “So, have these lovely ladies been assisting you with your day-long discussions?” he asked in amusement.
“Don’t you have a wife to please?” Kaine retorted grumpily. “I swear, you two are always working!”
“We make time for each other when we can,” Jonathan said with a defensive undertone.
“She’s a lovely lass,” Kaine told his admirers. “Got balls of steel, but a heart of gold. We got ourselves in one hell of a jam once, during the War for Reality, not too far from here actually—”
“Kaine. Silvario wants to discuss the Conclave of Nations with you,” Jonathan interrupted before he could get too far into the tale. “Do you need a cleansing potion?”
“Pfft, I can handle my stuff, kid,” the burly Werewolf said, reluctantly rising from the table.
“Kid. You know I’m older than you by far,” Jonathan sighed, and then remembered the untouched beer in his hand. “Hmm… actually, have one last drink, and then we’ll go,” he conceded with a grin.
Lynette shook her head and giggled.
She was still shocked that Kaine had managed to talk his way into one of the Trinity’s three leadership positions, especially considering his icy history with them, and Lynette had known that he’d quickly tire of their stringent ways. When she’d asked the scruffy long-haired Werewolf why he had taken the mantle, he’d said that it was important for the old ‘underground-lovin’ fogies to have a ‘surface representative’ among them. Lynette enjoyed how much time he spent fulfilling his self-appointed role; it often began and ended with a drink, but it worked nonetheless. The strict and heartless Cherriesa handled security and order, and Silvario took care of diplomatic and internal matters within the Catacombs, while Kaine looked after the Supernatural affairs on the surface.
As the Trinity and Hellions mingled, Kavarne slammed the door to the bar open. He had his massive battle-axe in hand, along with a sawn-off shotgun on his hip and a rifle holstered on his back. The massive hulk of a Werewolf Brutebeast hadn’t changed much at all. His rough, rugged face was still host to a thick beard that ended in a plait upon his chin, and his brown hair was still wild and long, but he’d half-heartedly tied it back in a loose ponytail. He was in full riding leathers, and Lynette knew from the serious look in his feral yellow eyes that trouble was afoot.
“There’s been some kind of explosion in Abilton,” Kavarne explained. “It’s done something weird to the Alts; they’re attacking everything in sight.”
Lynette nodded and then whistled loudly to bring the bar to silence. She rattled off orders quickly and concisely, instructing who amongst them would be aiding the civilians and those that would be subduing the crazed Alternatives, and everyone set to work in a flash.
“Looks like we’re heading to Abilton then, Jonny-boy!” Kaine said, sounding far too cheerful. He was happy to have an excuse to dive into some real action. “Someone get me a rifle.”
“One step ahead of ya, old man,” Kavarne said, un-holstering his rifle and tossing it towards the Werewolf.
Kaine caught it and looked at it appraisingly. It was a lever action 45-70 rifle with a worn walnut stock. “A classic. Nice one, lad.”
“Just remember, boys and girls,” Lynette began as she quickly loaded two massive revolvers and holstered them on her hips. “We’re checking the situation out before we start shooting the place up. We don’t wanna piss off Winston, especially after he hooked us up with all that sweet Alchemy gear.”
Jonathan coughed deliberately to draw their attention.
“I think we have a spare BB gun if you want to come along,” Kavarne joked.
Jonathan tutted and turned to Kaine. “Come on, we’ve got to go. You know the Hellions can handle this.”
Kaine stood to attention heroically. “Ah, but as surface representative it would be pretty damn negligent to avoid an opportunity to assist in a crisis. Come with us—you can’t let Alice have all the fun!”
The Mage sighed in defeat, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to convince Kaine otherwise. “Fine, we’re in. But if it gets too much then we’re leaving.”
“Deal,” the Werewolf leader of the Trinity agreed cheerfully, before pausing for a moment. “Hang on, don’t you work for me?”
“Maybe you should rethink the cleansing potion after all,” Lynette giggled as she left the bar.
Outside, the vehicles were already assembling and being loaded with gear. There were several off-road jeeps—including a black one belonging to the Trinity, which was marked with their triangular emblem in silver on the sides and hood—and a flood of motorcycles both old and new. Chief among them was Merv; a sentient motorcycle with a single cycloptic green headlight for an eye, a shiny silver chassis studded with sharp barbs in places, and six fuming exhausts arranged into two stacked sets of three on either side of its rear tire. Lynette had received the bike from the Gloom during Winston’s very first meeting with the Foreman, and the piece of Alt-tech had been her loyal mechanical steed ever since.
“Miss me, boy?” Lynette asked the bike playfully.
Merv revved its engine in a happy acknowledgement and kicked up some dust with its rear tyre.
Kavarne wafted away the dirt cloud with his hand and jumped onto his new burly chopper, painted with green flames on its black body; he’d customised it for regular use in combat situations. He still had his original vintage motorcycle, but Kavarne would only take it out on trips that had a low probability of his pride and joy being trashed by monsters.
“Ready when you are, minx,” Kavarne growled in his husky voice as he moved to be side-to-side with Merv.
“Right then, let’s do this!” Lynette cheered.
“Try to keep up, wolfie!” Kaine laughed as he sped past on a borrowed motorcycle.
“Come back! You said you’d stay in the jeep!” Jonathan yelled from the Trinity jeep as it chased after the wayward leader.
Kavarne and Lynette cracked up with laughter, and gestured for the convoy to head out.
Under Lynette’s orders the convoy took the faster but much more dangerous off-road option, and they charged across Desem’s dusty plains, gunning down Cacti-men, bone wolves, giant trap-door Spiderscorpions, and any other murderous monsters dumb enough to try their luck with the Hellions. The Werewolf Swiftpaw knew that her people were well versed in the continent’s compendium of creatures and she trusted in their skills and abilities to make the journey without any careless casualties. She also wanted to let Kaine have some fun, and couldn’t resist showing off to the Trinity lackeys chasing after him.
The Highway One Hellions’ rapid journey was made easier with the help of their spotters, who used magic detection sensors mounted within their jeeps to locate any massive congregation of potential foes and radioed the information out to the convoy. In the early days of their new gang, Lynette and Kavarne had accidentally driven over a sleeping, half-submerged Sand Dragon and been chased into a field of giant sand worms, and they had narrowly escaped the unfortunate encounter with their lives. As such, the Werewolf couple treated the technology with the same love and care as their rides.
The
scanning technology had been a ‘gift’ from Winston himself, and all he’d asked in return was that Lynette and Kavarne keep him informed of any information, rumours, and petty gossip they gleaned from the New Desem Republic. As the two Werewolves had known Winston and Veronica for years, they had no trouble accepting the deal, especially now that the Archmage Omniosis was long gone and out of the picture. They’d recently discovered some facts about the Manager, Edward Anderson, from some of his drunken assistants and office workers when their business took them close to Neo-Industria West; after that, Winston had not only kitted the Hellions out with state-of-the-art Alchemy equipment for their new labs, but he had sent over herbs and reagents by the crate-load, and had even thrown in a couple of Justiciar heavy plasma launchers with a friendly note attached, stating that they were for helping with their worm problem the way they’d helped him out with his.
As they neared Abilton, the Highway One Hellions split into their hastily divided roles. Two groups would head north—one to go to the main road into town to assist and safeguard the evacuating civilians, while the other group would continue onward to round up any stragglers that may have wandered into the wilderness in a panic—and another two groups would head east and circle up and around the other side of town, repeating the same process as the first groups. That left Lynette and Kavarne at the tip of the spear that would thrust directly into the heart of Abilton, to pacify or kill the rampaging Alternatives.
After so many successes, Lynette was completely at ease and sound in the knowledge that the situation would be quickly resolved, and the feisty Werewolf was already picturing the after-battle celebration party at the clubhouse (and the rough, passionate private ride with Kavarne that would follow after that), when her spotters began reporting that their sensors were failing. She snapped out of her daydream, catching a glimpse of the town below in the distance, and her jaw dropped in horrified shock.
Structurally speaking, Abilton was completely undamaged. Every building was intact, even down to the old wooden chapel and the cars parked along the pavements; however, a thick black substance had been blasted over almost every surface, making the town appear as though it had been dipped in tar.