Ruin Britannia

[arcanus]

February 1984 – Newham, East London.
Bertrum De’Goshe moved slowly and methodically through the flat, it was situated on the forty seventh floor of the Scotts Row Tenement tower, a rarity in being a four room dwelling rather than the single room coffins that were crammed into the lower floors.
He’d deliberately not turned on any lights and paid the overseer hansomly.

He was as much feeling the place as visually searching it, in truth he was entirely unsure why the tarot reading had lead him here.
Something was amiss though and he was struggling to place the issue, the flat was covered in dust and motes floated lazily through the stray beams of light piercing the windows.
Which struck Chronos as odd considering the cost of keeping it empty, he could also see no sigh of recent movement in the flat.

His attention was drawn across the dust to a desk in the lounge, moving to it he saw a Scope Point, switching it on he looked upon a strange Scope Domain, one that appeared to resemble a dungeon or similar older place of stone.
He turned sensing the movement behind him, then he realised what was wrong ‘No voices, no chatter upon the Ether, only silence’
“Silence of the grave Froggy” purred a feminine London voice, shrouded in shadow the only thing he could see was a short top hat and pinstriped stockings.

Pain surged through his left bicep, a line of silver in the air as the cut throat razor completed its vicious swing, he seized his arm trying to squeeze the wound shut.
A gleeful titter, hard predatory eyes high on something analysed him like a cat looking upon a mouse.
Chronos thought hard he had to formulate a plan, an escape, he didn’t have the time the blade swept again faster than he could see or defend against, slicing across his guts.
The air exploded from his lungs, both hands wrapping around his stomach again keeping everything inside, he sank to his knees, his female executioner stepping forwards to deliver the coup de grace.

He allowed himself to slowly fall onto his back, easier to keep his guts inside, he saw a flash of movement, a cloak or something similar swept across the woman, a howl of anger and a tall dark clad figure stood between him and his killer.

“U don’t want to get involved in this mister” she snarled
“I already am” the strangers voice had a slight Scottish lilt to it, Bertrum’s vision became soft and blurred
The razor flashed again, but this time was intercepted by another sweep of the cloak, miraculously the fabric rebuffed the blade, with a flick it wrapped around the womans wrist and was followed by a sharp crack.

“SHIT, YOU BASTARD, THAT FUCKING HURT!” she roared and darted at him again
The man seemed to coil down into himself and met the charge coming up within her swing, he elbowed the woman in the face, seeming once again to wrap her up bodily within the cape.
She was loosed facing the other way round, she spun bringing the blade around, however the man brought his hand down savagely upon her wrist snapping it with a crack that wasn’t fabric.
He then hurled her bodily down the hall, the woman gripping her wrist uttered a vengeful curse and vanished.

The man leant over Chronos, he felt a searing burning pain across his stomach, instead of a flash of pain it grew hotter and worse, he hadn’t cried out with pain from the wound but Bertrum howled with pain from whatever the man had done to him.
The pain then started again upon his arm, it was then that Bertrum De’Goshe lost his battle for consciousness.

[arcanus]

February 1984 – Pewter Street, Southend on Sea.
The regency house stood a bright white, marred only by the sea spray that rolled in off the Essex coast.
The bedroom in which the small group had assembled was an equally white affair, understated with floral textiles, the relative serenity was ferociously shattered
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON” roared Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge
The tall red haired man scowled but said nothing, his companion a shorter imposing man, greying at the temples turned and coolly regarded Burridge, then turned back to the occupant of the double bed.

Bertrum De’Goshe was asleep, his convalescence had been steady if not miraculous, he’d been disembowelled yet his timey rescue by the red haired man and whatever he’d been administered had saved him.

“Chief Inspector, you’ll wake your friend” replied Inspector Robert McKenzie quietly, this did nothing to quell Burridge’s annoyance
“I think you’d better begin to tell me what’s going on, as I’m sure as usual I know only half of the story, meanwhile good people are being killed!” Burridge rasped coldly
“Starting with who he is” and he poked a savage finger at red.

[arcanus]

February 1984 – The Sea Front, Southend on Sea.
Southend Upon Sea had become the Sea Side resort for the Gentry and Capitals Business men, while the Lords of the Realm frequented Bognor and those common folk lucky enough to travel went to Brighton.
Burridge watched the well to do brave the bluster and spray of February winds, sitting opposite Mckenzie he awaited his requested explanation as the steam Hackney carriage followed the sea road, east to circle the town back to its air field.

Steam Hackneys hadn’t changed in style in over a century, in fact the only major modification was the replacement of a horse with a steam engine, elements within 20th Century Victorian society refused to concede to Bentley, Triumph or the damn Yankee Duesenberg steam car, let along zepcars, so the Hackney lived on.

The advantage in this case was that Burridge could sit opposite Inspector Mckenzie and continue to bore holes in his skull, finally Sam broke “So who is he then!”
Mckenzie seemed to break from some reverie and with a cold expression regarded him.
“His names Monroe”
“And?”
“He’s a street mercenary, nothing to do with the constabulary”
“So who’s paying him!”
“Private concerns who are as every bit as driven to stop this horror once and for all, maybe more”
“Your not going to tell me who?”
“It isn’t important!”
Burridge’s eyes narrowed “So Robert, what’s SIBs involvement in the “Church Killings” he persisted
The murders had been named after the London Murders, the Whore Gwyneth Tailor had been gutted on the steps of Shoreditches St Leonards Church, its true name of the Kabal Killings were seen as anti-Semitic and steered away from.
“We’re involved in anything that's multi-juristictional” Mckenzie replied
“Rubbish, I’ve yet to see SIB officers investigating freight robbery or train jacking!” Sam retorted
“Must you be so churlish, you know perfectly well what I mean, plus I think you also know full well why SIB would be keeping an eye on this investigation, Inspector Fairfax for one thing”
“So you think there’s a connection between the 50’s killings and these”
“I’m in agreement with you that our murderer has an inheritor, our theory and fear is that a single inheritor has grown into a group or at the very least has allies”
“There’s still a great deal your not telling me Robert” challenged Sam
Mckenzie breathed out slowly, in order to contain his rising annoyance with Burridge, the carriage rounded the corner onto the slight incline of Admirals Walk.
Silence descended once again until Burridge’s impatience and frustration got the better of him
“Do you know its not even the nonchalance that the Establishment has towards the killing of its subjects or even people promoting their own self importance by protecting what they know, it’s the fact that the longer we drift in silence the more satisfaction this monster gains from our incompetence.”
“If he is a student of the ripper then he must be very jolly indeed” added Sam

The two sat in silence for the remainder of the drive before they arrived at the aeroport, Yard and Great Metropolis Zep shuttles sat upon the tarmac pads dotting the grounds between the monolithic mooring towers of the passenger and cargo airships.
Mckenzie stepped out heading towards the Great Metropolis craft, Burridge followed him and realising the SIB Inspector was simply going to leave, grabbed his arm.
“That’s it then, precious time wasted by being dragged from London for what!”
Mckenzie turned slowly his countenance had changed, something dark now settled over him, the demeanour of a man who’d seen many things best forgotten or best never seen at all.
“No Chief Inspector, no time wasted, your friend will be up and about in a few days and Monroe will guard him from this point on!”
Something stopped Burridge from saying anything
“As for our meeting, I was seeing whether I could trust you”
“Answer me one question before you leave” Sam replied “Why dosen’t SIB take the case, if your struggling so much with who to tell God knows what, you take it”
A grim smile crossed Mchenzie’s face “SIB isn’t well liked Chief Inspector, which is why we need CID, plus we’re stretched to the point of breaking, which is why we need you to keep looking”
“Looking for what!”
“The links Chief Inspector, they must be there, why are the Skulkers out of their territory, how are they linked to the Capital, if you find the connections you’ll find the whys and we’ll help you as much as we can!”
Burridge had noticed that a huge man had stepped out of the Zep Shuttle, inhumanly big, cybernautically big, who was now staring at the pair of them.
“Consider this Sam, it’s not what I can’t tell you, its whether you’re ready to hear what I could tell you!”
Mckenzie nodded to the mechanical monster and boarded the craft, Burridge watched as its vertical props pushed it into the air, the main set rotating to a horizontal plane and then the craft accelerated away, North.

Sam Burridge looked back from the hill out to a choppy sea, a nasty gnawing feeling was settling into the pit of his stomach, things would get worse from here of that he had no doubt.

[arcanus]

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing – then –”
― Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

Bethlehem Mortuary – Forensic Analysis Floor - Southwark The Crown Capital
He found himself inspecting the gloominess of the ceilings dank grey brickwork, riddled with black pipework and etherpipes , he supposed that it was somewhat of a tradition that a place investigating the often brutal causes of a person’s demise was so oppressive.

Inspector Alwitcher brought his attention back to the series of heavy gurneys laid out on the cold stone floor, a mixture of a century old architecture and the insectoid devices of forensic ethertech. The morticians were assisted by automatons, directed by Scope programs.

His subordinates had retreated from the dissection of the Harvesters The Crown Capitals homegrown version of the Metropolis's Skulkers, his officers had repelled the body-snatchers as they tried to ambush a funerary carriage transporting the cadaver of the first whore.

Alwitcher's attention was drawn back to the dissection by the heavy thud of meat landing on a slab, this was not a place of compassion each cadaver hoisted around, weighted and then clinically examined.

Finally Doctor Pagress completed his examinations, removed his rubber gloves and stepped out of the examination room and into observation gallery completed with its rivet ladened brass housings and green glass windows.
Pagress was a man of hard angular features, older than his looks he had retained a full head of black hair, neat whiskers only just flecked with pepper grey.
“I think your aware of the causes of demise Inspector” started Pagress regarding Alwitcher with a hard appraising look, the Inspector nodded to the Morticians comment on his squads brutal efficiency.
“Is there anything unusual about them?”
Pagress reflected for a moment “Whilst avoiding facetiousness Inspector they are rarely normal”
Alwitcher remained silent, Pagress nodded the policeman was not in the mood for discourse
“Usual brands, piercings and self-mutilations, however they do share a tattoo which I’ve not seen before” the chief mortician had moved to a Scope Point sliding his hands into a pair of metal lined gauntlets connected by a cable to the Points wooden and brass fascia.

He flipped a few switches and the green swirling image on the Scope Points screen was replicated on a larger circular bottle green screen housed in the rooms far wall, the glass cleared and the movements of Pagress’s gauntlets were replicated inside the transparent orange facsimile of the room within the Scope.
He manipulated a number of icons and a series of photographs appeared on the main screen, each of a tattoo on an area of flesh.

The image was a swirling pattern, made up a various pieces of text at different angles, the language was nothing Alwitcher had seen before, “I only mention this as unusual in that it’s a level of complexity not seen in gang members or snatchers, bearing in mind the majority are illiterate”
Alwitcher nodded “Can you print them for me”
“Certainly replied the Mortician

[arcanus]

The BFE Industries Tower, City of London 1984
The two plods looked around their unfamiliar surroundings with wariness, in the hours since Alwitcher’s cryptic ethercall to Burridge events had moved swiftly, now both the London Inspector and his sergeant stood on the 48th Floor landing platform of the BFE Industries gothic skyraker.

The largest manufacturer of Etherium alloys in the Empire BFE was a powerhouse of British Industry and not ordinarily associated with the matters of the constabulary.
A jet black Zep-Car descended from the heavens, swinging onto the platform, rain lashed from above, without landing the car stopped a few inches off the floor, its rear passenger door swinging open to bid them enter.

Unable to see the drivers through the glass partition, Hanson watched the tower drop away as the car ascended.

BFE Industries Stratro Zeppelin – Adventurer
The term zeppelin was a slight misnomer, akin to the mobile Ariel towns that were the New Reichs flying fortresses The Adventurer was a small floating island manned and housing several hundred crew. Its Ether bubble forming a flattened midnight blue dome across its top holding it in perpetual levitation.

The upper deck had a tempered ether-glass ceiling allowing its most senior occupants a clear view of the rolling etheric energies within the bubble above and the complex series of stanchions and magnetic anchors that held it to the superstructure.
They proceeded through opulent wood paneled corridors before entering a hall like conference room in the very center of the deck.

Alwitcher noticed that Sam was already here, along with Armitage and a little more surprisingly De’Goshe who looked pale but corpus mentis, he noted several stoic black clad figures of official bearing, a shorter stocky man sat opposite Burridge and a young lady of authoritative bearing sat at the head of the table.

“Welcome Inspector Alwitcher” greeted the woman
Alwitcher nodded in greeting “Madame”
Burridge interjected “Han, this is Chief Inspector McKenzie of the Special Investigation Branch” he indicated toward the shorter man, Alwitcher’s attention was drawn back to the black clads.
“And this is” gestured McKenzie to the woman
“Lady Marianne Guilford Bessemer” she replied
“Our host” added McKenzie
One of the inheritors of the BFE Empire mentally noted Alwitcher , and pondered the reason for their involvement.

“Welcome gentlemen” Lady Bessemer continued “We will dispense with the niceties and move to the business of the hour, as a senior shareholder in BFE Industries I feel that within the reach of my influence and in support of Chief Inspector McKenzie and associates efforts I will provide you with discreet assistance”
She Paused to allow the point to settle “I will insist gentleman that BFE Industries and my name are not publicly discussed or exposed, the board members and shareholders are not to be aware of this help, however I feel it is our duty to assist you where bureaucracy and politics may prevent you from finally closing this most human of evils!”
“It was felt that you required a place of anonymity to gather your thoughts and plan your next stratagems”

[arcanus]

BFE Industries Stratro Zeppelin – Adventurer
In the small hours, the assembled members of the constabulary rubbed weary eyes, the clues were scant, having reviewed their case files both historic and current, scenes of the crime and anything else that could connect.
Both Burridge and Alwitcher felt their mentors frustration, 30 years previously he had tracked a killer with the same modus operandi, one that left virtually no trace and a trail of surgically eviscerated victims.

“Nothing new” commented Stillwell through the bluish curl of cigarette smoke, Burridge stood sleeves rolled up, tie loose flexing his braces as he looked out into the night sky.
There was something surreal about being stood in an office thousands of feet up in the sky, something almost calming.
“That’s not quite true” he replied, the London Sergeant looked at the Chief Inspectors back and the clouds beyond.
Alwitcher continued for Burridge “The Skulkers and the Tattoos”
“Correct” replied Sam turning to the group “There our new leads”
“Surely they’re scavengers following the trail of blood, sickos” replied Armitage
“Apart from being at the murder scenes before us, we’ve been thinking of them as stalking the scenes what if they're accomplices” added Stillwell thoughtfully
“Whatever their motives they are travelling further afield and appear to know where he will strike next” said Burridge
“Plus there’s this” added Alwitcher placing the printed image of the tattoo on the desk.
The assembled officers fell silent for a few moments, Burridge broke the thought processes “The Skulkers are a new factor especially now they've appeared in London as well, so far we’ve seen them as a dangerous hindrance”
“Mes camarades” said Chronos “Oui we can hunt the hunters”
A knock came on the door and Chief Inspector Mckenzie stepped in “People time for some sleep” the junior officers wearily nodded, gathered their possessions and then joined a steward who led them to their quarters.

The two senior officers took the Special Investigation Bureau Head through the findings.

[arcanus]

North Heath Library – Barnehurst, The Crown Capital
The frozen remnants of autumns fallen leaves swirled down the road, Bertrum drew his scarf around himself, looking at the flickering etheric gaslights before entering the library.
He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, mentally admonishing the voices around him, the dead he could deal with it was the fear of joining them at the hands of the living that scared him.

From the libraries roof, a figure drew himself from the deep shadows of the stonework.
Concealed within his vantage point the watcher observed as the predators slunk from the darkness, they had been following Chronos since he had left his house.
He tapped the circular brass device on his right ear “Mr De’Goeche make your way to the basement quickly”
Bertum didn’t need to be told twice he hurried across the libraries checkerboard tiled floor toward the stone stairwell, descending quickly he drawing a large metal key from his pocket. He cursed almost dropping it, fumbled it in the lock and pushed through the heavy wooden door at the base of the stairs.
He pulled the door closed behind him and locked it behind him before hurrying down the next flight of stairs into the basement.

The predators were clad in tight ragtag suits, adorned with various leather straps, buckles, spikes and belts, each wore a leather mask reminiscent of some fetish mask crossed with an executions hood, their prey inside, a small number fanned out to cover the exits while the majority stalked into the library.
“They’re in” the watcher said into his mouth piece

[arcanus]

North Heath Library – Barnehurst, The Crown Capital.
The Skulkers spread out as they entered the library, howling and whooping, they clambered up the balconies, danced across the desks and strew the books across the floor. However, despite their apparent joviality they hunted, their quarry had come entered and they would find him.

From hiding places in neighboring buildings, constables hurriedly surrounded the building, they immediately sprayed the doors and windows with a thick stringy substance, within seconds every exit or escape from the building was barred by a man made spiderwebs.

Their sergeant looked around nervously "Building secure!"

***

The Library Catacombs
Bertrum hurried the stairs deeper into the basement catacombs of the building, breathing heavily he hurtled down the dark stone corridor towards his escape, an old vault door leading out to disused underground tracks.
He paused something down here, fear bringing him out in cold sweats and shivers, breathing out he hurried on, then he heard it again, was he not alone!
‘They couldn’t have got through the basement door’ he thought ‘I put the bar down and locked it’, he chided himself ‘Get a move on’ he broke into a run.

The wind was knocked out of him, one minute he was on his feet the next on his back holding his throat.
Standing over him was a tall leather clad individual, same executions mask made of patchwork leather, belts full of knives, a skin tight suit adorned with grisly trophies.

Behind him prowled three others, the leader crouched Bertrum’s eyes widened as he noted the man’s skin was a sallow grey, heavily lined and marked, the pupils of his eyes were vertical slits and the nails of his fingers overly large and pointed.
“We are Skulkers of the shadows little man, did ye think we wouldn’t know of yer tunnels and doors” the leader said with a mocking hiss, Bertrum grimaced as he dug his claw like nails into the small mans calf.

[arcanus]

North Heath Library – Barnehurst, The Crown Capital.
The Watcher stood over the library’s skylight, as the police sergeants message came through he rolled his head to loosen his neck, drawing his large side-arms he stepped forward over the skylight and allowed himself to drop through it.

The Skulkers paused at the sound of shattering glass, a figure dropped like a stone landing with a heavy thud on a heavy desk his crouched legs absorbing the fall, without pause the figure stood bolt upright and opened fire a Gatling carbine per hand rained fire down upon the scavengers.

He struck fast, the Skulkers tactics was mob law, attack in numbers, overcome, he spun his shots assisted by the cybernautic targeting engine within his right eye, raking three along the top balcony, his next shot slamming one closing on his position from the floor, his next on a group attempting to jump down from the opposing bookshelves.

By the time his carbines clicked empty a good twenty or more lay in tangled heaps, the air smelled of iron and cordite, the remaining dozen emerged or staggered from their cover, the remaining feral members of the pack they spread into a circle and closed in.

From beneath the mask concealing his face the watcher grinned maniacally, he hopped down from the table “Ladies and gentlemen, shall we dance!”

Monroe.jpg