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Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2010 12:36 am
1. Britain, ie. the country of the Britons
When Britain first, at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:
"Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
"Britons never will be slaves."
Christmas Eve 1983 - The Shoreditch District of The Imperial Capital London.
"There are no strangers on Christmas Eve."
~ Adele Comandini and Edward Sutherland.
"It takes two to make a murder. There are born victims, born to have their throats cut, as the cut-throats are born to be hanged."
~ Aldous Huxley
The body was eviscerated to the usual high standard, surgically dissected and parts missing, the disquieting aspect of this kill was the symbology, the Aramaic scripture written in an encircling pattern surrounding the body, staining the rain soaked steps.
The scripture had been written in some form of gold paint, the eyes had been removed and replaced with two gold sovereigns.
Inspector Alwitcher stood upon the steps of Shoreditch town hall, the rain soaked into the fabric of his greatcoat and bowler hat, seeming to blur the entire world in shades of watery grey.
Detective Sergeant Stillwell carefully examined the corpse, Alwitcher turned checking that his constables were blocking any approaches from the adjoining roads and alleyways.
Stillwell had served in her majesties army as a field medic and was fell versed in forensic investigation, his black rubber gloves coated in a slick sheen of red blood and gore, he turned looking up at the Inspector. Alwitcher stepped nearer to the horror and looked at Stillwell's findings, within the heart cavity amidst the pool of blood, sat a lump of gold ore.
Stillwell stood and waited for his superior to comment, Alwitcher didn't, instead he drew his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket, flipped open the lid, depressing a brass switch upon its casing the lid extended a series of panels finally opening into a large round lense.
He then dialled in.
Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2010 12:14 am
Christmas Eve 1983 - The Charleston Borough of The Great Metropolis.
Fragmenting dum dum rounds flattened and chewed at the peelers cover, as officers from The Greater Metropolis Constabulary returned fire.
Unfortunately the Skulkers had found the crime scene first and now were unprepared to give it up.
Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge swore, swung his arm over the stone grit box and sprayed some rounds from his automatic pistol.
He looked across to Sergeant Armitage hunkered behind a now wrecked steamwagon, Armitage winced as another volley of autofire clattered into the wooden panels.
Burridge grabbed his newest Detective Constable Nasby and pulled him back to the safety of the pavement, flicking open his Ethercom he dialled Armitage, holding up his notepad he displayed a C written upon the page.
The Skulkers were a loose confederation of murderous scavengers, they collected anything of value, from peoples prized possessions to fresh corpses for the black market chop shops, they'd grown attached to this one, Armitage signalled that Gulliver and Banks were ready.
Burridge nodded and the COG Banks broke cover and opened fire, the sentient automaton carried two huge autoguns, one beneath each arm and rained lead down on the gangers.
Burridge, followed by Armitage, then Nasby and then his constables broke cover each firing into the tenement warren before them, as the Skulkers attempted to rally Gulliver opened fire, from his vantage point of a tenement room he picked off the gangers as they foolishly betrayed their positions.
Both Banks and Gulliver had Ethersights, the weapon sights allowing them to peer into Etherspace and see the thought trails of the Skulkers, Burridge sprinted through the maze of alleyways making up the ground floor of the sprawling housing block, the smell of piss and waste was almost violent.
As he ran he tapped two Skulkers living up to their names, behind him Armitage's gatling pistols roared.
Breaking from the narrower tunnels, the alleyways broadened and the Chief Inspector stopped, several Skulkers lay dead, the body lay just beyond them, apparently untouched.
Sam approached cautiously, the body was surrounded by scripture, he looked down at the gangers each had slit throats.
"It's a brave member of the Constabulary to venture down here, Chief Inspector Burridge knew who the voice belonged to,
"Mr O'Rourke, I assume you made the call!" he replied looking up.
The Irish enforcer smiled mirthfully "Can't be having this kind of high jinks on the patch" he returned
The big man turned "Be careful you and yer boys don't over stay their welcome" and with that he vanished into the shadows.
Posted: Sat Jan 01, 2011 7:18 pm
Christmas Eve 1983 - The Shoreditch District of The Imperial Capital London.
The rain had become a grey curtain, enshrouding the square.
News hounds had descended upon the area, trying to get past the constables, Inspector Alwitcher regarded them grimly in the unpleasant knowledge that one a member of the force had tipped them off.
He turned the dial on his Ethercom, an illustrated Scope picture of the recipient appearing on the screen, a click of a button and it started to make contact.
Christmas Eve 1983 - The Charleston Borough of The Great Metropolis.
Sergeant Armitage had cautiously crossed the circle of scripture, as he examined the corpse.
Chief Inspector Burridge knelt examining the circle of golden words, they were clearly cabbalistic, the same as before, he knew by from the previous occasions what they were and despite the fact he couldn't read them he knew that they threatened death, even annihilation to the Jewish race.
"He's definitely society, guv" said Armitage as he stood and stretched his legs, "Odd none of his gears been nicked" he added
Burridge nodded, he didn't comment on the Irish mobsters presence, the COG Banks stepped through from the alley maze, the Chief Inspector turned to the automaton "Banks what's your assessment?" he asked.
As the machine turned a head that resembled a miniature steam locomotive boiler, complete with plough where a human mouth would be, Burridge looked at the swirling green lens that made its single eye, an eye that looked at the world from within the Scope.
As the COG began to analyse the crime scene Burridge's Ethercom chimed, warily he looked at the callers image checking for the Superintendents seal, satisfied that it wasn't his overbearing superior he answered.
"Hanson, how are you?" he asked as the London Inspectors face appeared floating above his pocket coms lens
"A grim night, Samuel" he replied
"How so" asked Burridge cautiously
"Another murder, 30 years almost to the day" said Alwitcher heavily
"Does it follow the pattern" replied Burridge
"No, thankfully this ones a whore as well, although same style"
"Don't count your chickens, I've got one here, a well to do, scripture, the works" interjected the Chief Inspector solemnly
"So the pattern continues, but two victims, why the change" said Alwitcher more to himself than Burridge
"One of each, the pattern brought full circle, our killer likes to change the stakes, after all its hardly the first time" observed Burridge
"Poor Fairfax, this will break his heart" commented Alwitcher, who looked watched as DS Stillwell took pictures of the scene, detailed pictures
Sam Burridge grimaced "Indeed, he thought he'd brought an end to it!"
"I'll drop by his flat in the morning" replied Alwitcher
"We'll speak again once we've had time to establish the facts" finished the Chief Inspector
Closing the ornate brass lid of his Ethercom, Burridge turned to Banks who began his analytical report of the scene, Armitage began to hurry the wrapping of the crime scene up, the slums predators were circling once again, time was short.
Posted: Sat Jan 01, 2011 9:11 pm
Boxing Day 1983 - CID Offices Metropolis Constabulary Headquarters Complex - Manchester Borough of The Great Metropolis.
Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge took his place at the great conference table in the senior officers conference room, assembled were a handful of senior detectives and forensic scientists.
All of whom were very disgruntled at having been summoned on the 26th of December, not least of which was the Head of CID, Superintendant Sir Ian Bestan-Lanforth.
Sam knew that there would be a great deal of pressure to suppress this latest murder, the main instrument of this suppression would be their senior officer.
Forensic Chief Professor Henry Dabert started the proceedings by giving a very matter of fact but gruesome account of the murder and injury suffered by the victim.
"Let us start by saying that there is no discernable connection to any previous murders and in fact the evidence points to this being a new double murder" Bestan-Lanforth looked directly at Burridge
"Wouldn't you agree Chief Inspector?" he finished with menace
Burridge ignored this "I firmly agree that this is a new set of murders, however their connection, including the anniversary is too much of a coincident to ignore" he replied coolly
"Nonsense Burridge, this is 1983, what are we saying that a murderer waits 30 years and strikes again, also the forensics tell me that the London killing took place within barely an hour of the Charleston killing" retorted the CID Head
"Actually lets take this whole hysterical scenario to its extreme and propose that this killer has struck in 1893, then 1923, then 1953 and again now in 1983, this would place our murderer in his mid hundreds"
He looked expectantly at his officers for any foolish enough to agree or to endorse his statement.
Chief Inspector Chalder an ally of Burridge, cleared his voice "Do we have another explanation for the 30 year pattern Sir?"
Bestan-Lanforth regarded Chalder like some form of insect "Clearly not some phantom or Etheric monster, or are we in the realms of superstition or fairy tales" he barked
"Sir, if I could suggest a far more practical theory" interjected Burridge
The CID Head looked at him and then nodded, despite the political sensitivity of the matter he was clearly intrigued
Chief Inspector Burridge stood and walked behind his fellow officers â€œWe know that the Ripper killed again in 1893, however he would have been an old man by 1923"
"What's the point of this Burridge?" glared Bestan-Lanforth
"The point sir is that the Ripper trained a successor, or rather successors, we have numerous other killers to whom cults have strung up around, what if he started his own!" Burridge looked at the concerned glances that spread around the table.
"The cult carries on its founders work, as they induct new recruits the agenda shifts, political motivations enter, hence we gain the class murders, the alternation of a member of the gentry, then a whore and so on, until now where they strike at both, a statement a whore in the Rich Capitol and a Lord in the Industrial Heartland" Burridge looked at his colleagues reactions
"We absolutely should not jump to any conclusions, especially connecting the two murders, at this time there is no connection" warned the Head
The exasperated detectives sighed "However this murderous ring does have merit, a far more practical theory rather than ghosts or immortal killers" he continued
"Chief Inspector Burridge continue with this line of enquiry" with that the Head of CID stood and marched from the room.
Posted: Sun Jan 16, 2011 8:09 pm
29th December 1983 - The Great Metropolis Express Southern Line, Destination London Paddington.
Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge had allowed himself two days of leave over Christmas, having no immediate family his wife having died a number of years previously and his daughter missing nigh on ten years now.
He looked out at the farmlands of Derbyshire, he would enjoy the scenery until they reached Buckinghamshire where the line went underground, the Countries of Bucks, Bedford and the surrounding counties were Crown estates, with limited industrial intrusion allowed.
Millions of hardworking Englishman's pounds had been spent on drilling tunnels deep beneath the estates to allow the modern high powered steam express monsters to carry passengers and goods between the Great Metropolis and Crown Capital.
Just so that the aristocracy and nobility could maintain their precious estates and fiefdoms, it was stomach turning, and in far shores more subservient colonial subjects would be sweated to breaking point to ensure the Empires coffers were not dented by such extravagance.
Sam smiled, this however wasn't enough for the Industrialists of the Metropolis they wanted more lines and the cost of more tunnels would be exorbitant; clashes had started over two years ago in Parliament and would continue for a long time to come, it was unlikely the Industrialists would win for the time being.
As he returned to his notes, his Ethercomm chimed, passengers were fortunately scarce at this time of year, most of the boxcars having been swapped over to freight however he was still blessed with a compartment to himself.
"Sam, what time are you arriving in Paddington?" asked Hanson Alwitcher
Sam smiled "About three hours Han!" he replied
"I'll meet you there, I can attend to a few things before you arrive"
"Okay, see you when I arrive"
Burridge closed the lid of the Comm and once again returned to the notes on the Shoreditch murder.
29th December 1983 - Peckham District, The Crown Capital, Greater London.
It was the first of two visits he had to make before Sam arrived, crossing the forecourt of the Alfred Court retirement flats, great towers of dank gothic concrete where South London housed its geriatric citizens without the means to afford more affluent abodes in their twilight years.
Peckham was a rough, dangerous district, menacing shapes slid from the shadows, conscious of this Alwitcher drew his revolver.
Furtively the figures began to gradually close, these footpads had little fear of the police this was their domain, he stopped as the daylight dimming allowed them more front.
Alwitcher waited and a grim smile crossed his face, the gangers approached more brazenly now, knives in full view, until one screeched from the rear, an almighty crunch painfully echoed around the towers.
The gangers looked to each other fearfully, from the very shadows they'd originated a tall powerfully built man appeared, his fist darted out smashing into the nearest gangers jaw with such force that an audible crack resounded.
A second foolish ganger thrust his switchblade towards the mans torso, this was intercepted casually, the blade removed and savagely rammed into its owners throat.
By this time the gaggle of scum had turned upon their heels and fled, a brutal, murderous lesson but a sadly necessary one, the Inspector nodded to Sergeant Butcher, who obediently stepped in beside him.
An extremely apt name Alwitcher had often thought, Butchers old army skills razor sharp and sadly practiced more often than any of them liked.
Hanson was already frustrated this trip had been delayed for several days longer than he'd wished, the whores murder had provoked a considerable amount of interrogation and censorship from the Yard.
It had rattled some very senior officers and undoubtedly beyond them in Whitehall, Sam had commented that a similar punishing reaction had be forthcoming from the Metropolis's senior constabulary.
Still the pact was made they had a duty to join the succession of investigators who had tried to stop the thirty year murders, one of whom he was going to see now, the one who thought he had stopped the killings.
DS Stillwell had by this time caught them up, Butcher assumed a place at the base of the flats stairs, while the Inspector and Stillwell continued up the numerous flights of drab grey stairs until they reached the apartment they sought.
Stillwell nodded and also assumed a guarding stance at the door as Alwitcher nodded firmly upon the sturdy wooden door, no reply was forthcoming, he knocked again, it could be simply that he was out but in Peckham Alwitcher didn't want to take the chance.
Slipping his mechanical lockpick from his pocket he rapidly opened the lock and hesitantly entered, it was common for poorer residents to booby trap their living places, no such deathly snare activated.
Hanson cautiously entered, his potential host was slightly fortunate in that he had three rooms rather than the single coffin rooms of the flats below, negotiating the numerous cardboard boxes lining the short porch hallway, each box filled with yellowed newspapers.
He stepped into the living room and his fears were realised in a single glance, in the form of the old mans body lying near the window, immediately Hanson's shoulders dropped and tears broke from his eyes.
For a moment guilt and recrimination flooded through him, why hadn't he visited more often, even visited on Christmas Eve when he'd said he would, he knelt laying a hand on Chief Inspector William Fairfax's face.
The old man had been dead for several days, Hanson cast his gaze around the damp flat, a poor final place for an esteemed and decorated officer, the officer who at the time brought down a brutal serial killer.
"Sir I'm very sorry" came Stillwell's respectful comments from behind
Hanson nodded in appreciation, the collection of old newspapers from 1953, alongside new copy featured the Shoreditch murders were not lost on the Inspector nor his deceased mentor.
"Goodbye Bill, sleep easy now, don't worry we'll get this bastard!" he whispered
He stretched to his full height, dusted himself down and turned to Stillwell, Alwitcher's face had hardened once again
"He may not have lived as he deserved, but he'll be buried with the respect we all owe, make sure his body is taken to King James"
"Consider it done sir!"
Posted: Mon Jan 24, 2011 1:23 pm
29th December 1983 - Barnehurst, Harrow, The Crown Capital, Greater London.
Dr. Frederick Gordon Brown wrote:After washing the left hand carefully, a bruise the size of a sixpence, recent and red, was discovered on the back of the left hand between the thumb and first finger. A few small bruises on right shin of older date. The hands and arms were bronzed. No bruises on the scalp, the back of the body, or the elbows. ... The cause of death was hemorrhage from the left common carotid artery. The death was immediate and the mutilations were inflicted after death ... There would not be much blood on the murderer. The cut was made by someone on the right side of the body, kneeling below the middle of the body. ... The peritoneal lining was cut through on the left side and the left kidney carefully taken out and removed. ... I believe the perpetrator of the act must have had considerable knowledge of the position of the organs in the abdominal cavity and the way of removing them. The parts removed would be of no use for any professional purpose. It required a great deal of knowledge to have removed the kidney and to know where it was placed. Such a knowledge might be possessed by one in the habit of cutting up animals. I think the perpetrator of this act had sufficient time ... It would take at least five minutes. ... I believe it was the act of one person.
Catherine Eddowes Autospy, 1888.
Inspector Hanson Alwitcher sat within the modest if not comfortable flat in Barnehurst, not far from The Duke of Carnarvon’s estate on the Mound.
He sat with his anger, resentment and grief simmering below the surface, due to the arrangements at Fairfax’s flat he’d elected to go straight to Paddington and meet Burridge, said Chief Inspector now sat across from Hanson. The third person and the owner of the dwelling was a short dark man, of oily complexion and Gaelic origin, one Bertrum De’Goshe or Chrono’s if you preferred his professional moniker.
Bertrum was making coffee, the scent of Parisian espresso pervaded the lounge, Burridge’s face was unreadable, Hanson was unsure of the Metropolis’s officers opinion of the Frenchman nor his faith in him.
Chronos didn’t drink tea, a vapid English drink and poor imitation to coffee, the fact that it cost a small fortune and was well beyond the means of most folk mattered little.
Sam cast his gaze around the flat, French impressionist paintings adorned the walls, notably those of Jean Frédéric Bazille which leant a tranquil, calm air to the room.
Setting their coffee down, Chronos took a long draw on his strong Turkish cigarette and settled into his large rattan chair, “So I understand that a cult is too blame for the murders?” he started
Burridge looked up but said nothing in response, Hanson smiled “Your very well informed Bertrum!”
Chronos merely nodded his head and smiled “Details that haven’t been made public” finished Alwitcher
“And nor will they” added Burridge with a degree of scepticism
“You think I am the killer” chuckled Bertum
“The cult aspect is known only to a select few within the Yard and Metropolis constabulary” his eyes now narrow
The Frenchman smiled “And what about details you haven’t shared with even them?”
The Chief Inspector almost snarled, Hanson gave him a look, “Such as?” Burridge slowly responded
“Such as the same fingerprints left upon the victims throats, the same fingerprints that were found on all the victims in 1953, left by the same hand, despite the killings having been only moments apart, something that wasn’t put in any report because it just couldn’t be explained!”
Burridge shook his head “There’s a rational explanation”
“Really Chief Inspector, why did Chief Inspector Fairfax swear his immediate officers to secrecy, as well as the small piece of preserved kidney found in the mouth of each victim, kidney from Catherine Eddowes” replied Chronos
“This is ridiculous” stated Burridge
“If so why are you here, Chief Inspector, Catherine Eddowe’s was suffering from Brights Disease, was she not, each piece of the found kidney had this virus”
“Look Bertrum, I realise that your stock and trade is dramatics, the mysteries of the occult and all but this is not the work of an immortal killer, such things are impossible!” Burridge stated moving to look beyond the blinds of the window and into the street, his sense of paranoia growing.
Alwitcher looked at Chronos as Sam grew silent and lost in his thoughts, the problem was that they both knew that something was greatly amiss! Something that couldn’t be simply explained away by a group carrying on Saucy Jack’s grisly work, but they were confronted by the same mystery as there predecessors, the same lack of knowledge, the same feeling that someone was playing with them.
The Frenchman was similarly lost in thought as he finished his cigarette.
“What did you find out Bertrum?” said Alwitcher
“Well both scenes had the same overtones as the killings in the 50s, same trappings and the killer performed his craft in the same way, the coroner would find that both victims were dissected by the same blade” Burridge turned and scowled
“The other key detail that is not widely known is the Scope, there is an area synonymous with both scenes, its blasted and warped as if attacked by a bomb, a ritual circle is present, the Aramaic detailed there is a curse upon the Jewish peoples”
Burridge now stalked back to his seat, “A place in the Scope linked to this, that could be it, Scope entry was in its infancy in the 50s” he turned to Alwitcher and then to Chrono’s we need to go there and quickly.
Chrono’s looked grave “I warn you it won’t be pleasant”
Both officers merely nodded.
Posted: Mon Feb 21, 2011 8:42 pm
January 1984 - Somewhere in the UK Scope.
The trip was rough, both officers felt as if they were sat within a rocket leaving the safety of Earths sky, they’re senses turned over and over, however throughout it all they kept hold of the line that Chrono’s had somehow attached to them.
Burridge tried to give it little in the way of thought, it just wasn’t something he could get his head around, give him a good crime to be solved any day.
Hanson opened his eyes, he’d found the tab trip to be nauseating, they stood upon a blasted waste ground stretching for as far as the eye could see, in the distance the outline of monolithic buildings.
An acrid smell assaulted the senses, which confused Alwitcher as he thought they’d send their consciousness into the Scope, how could he smell?
Chief Inspector Burridge looked around, Chrono’s stood across the site, near to a pure ebon figure two slightly archaic constables stood guard, as his vision became accustomed he identified the detail.
The red soil had a dozen corpse shaped white scorch marks, an elaborate series of symbols wove around each body, the ground was moved by an ever moving layer of what appeared to be soot.
Hanson crouched warily examining the symbols, each was raised from the ground, the lines made of objects, peering more closely he realised they were bones and metal shards.
“What the hell is this” he asked looking up in disbelief
“You may not be so far from the truth” replied De’Goshe
Burridge slowly walked throughout the wasteland, eventually reaching the black figures position
“In your experience what do you make of this constable” he asked
The figure, one Jacob Croaker from the Yards Etherscope Investigation Branch or EIB, betrayed nothing his Avatars face featureless and as black as night itself “It reminds me of something I’d prefer to forget Sir” he replied
Sam turned and looked at him quizzically “Go on”
“I think the victims must have suffered terribly sir, it’s the only thing I can think of, their pain so great it left these marks” the EIB constables voice distant
Alwitcher looked up, as Chrono’s floated over to the pair “How could that be?”
The mystic turned to look at the London Inspector “There is a great deal of theory and a degree of evidence that the Ether transmits human brainwaves, what constable Croaker is suggesting is that their pain was so great that it transferred the tortured thoughts into the Scope”
Alwitcher stood his head cocked, an inquiring look crossed his face, his thought processes whirring,
“Could these mental remains be connected to the killer in some way?”
Chrono’s frowned “What your suggesting is spirit mediumship”
“I can see where Han is coming from” interjected Burridge “We’re not suggesting summoning ghosts, more using these as the start of his trail, could the killers throught patterns have been captured?”
Chrono’s grinned, particularly at Burridge’s scowl the policemans annoyance that they were considering the occult as an investigative tool was most amusing.
“There’s far too many here for the latest killings” observed Burridge
“Could be the previous victims as well” said Alwitcher thoughtfully, Burridge didn’t like what that suggested.
“I suggest we take this somewhere else” said Croaker ominously, each of the party turned, the soot had now billowed up into a cloud and through the gloom figures shambled.
“What are they?” asked Hanson warily, he winced as a chronic headache seemed to be coming on, from the look on Burridge’s face he appeared to be developing one as well
“Anomalies” replied Croaker “Rogue drones, but anything in this place can’t be good”
With that both Hanson and Burridge were picked up by Croaker and Chono’s and sped from the horrid place.
Posted: Fri Mar 18, 2011 11:13 pm
January 1984 – The Brookwood Metropolis Cemetary, Brookwood, Surrey.
Great Metropolis Chief Inspector Samuel Burridge stood stoic, but calm, almost aptly it had started to rain.
He looked down into the empty grave, then along the path towards the great throng of black clad mourners who watched Inspector Hanson Alwitcher and the Scotland Yard boys who carried Chief Inspector Fairfax’s casket.
In 1852 The London Necropolis Company were awarded the contract by Parliamentary decree to manage the capitals growing number of dead, initially they did this by establishing the largest cemetery in Europe, later they went onto the construction of great necropoli where the wealthy could be interred within the capital.
The not so wealthy still came to Brookwood, via the special funeral train.
On the edge of the gathering stood The Great Metropolis’s Head of CID, Superintendant Sir Ian Bestan-Lanforth.
Hanson had been so successful in contacting a vast number of people who would pay their respects to the late Chief Inspector that a number of notable officers from a number of forces were included, Bestan-Lanforth couldn’t avoid attending, it just wouldn’t be the done thing.
However this presented Burridge with a problem, his superior was now aware that he was in London and would draw obvious conclusions, even now he was glaring at his officer.
Sam ignored him as the procession reached the graveside the casket laid upon the pall, he patted Hanson on the shoulder
“We’ll done Han, you’ve done him proud”, both men nodded and smiled as Father Brompton began the service.
Across the expansive fields Chronos stood, watching the proceedings, he listened to the chatter that surrounded him and nodded.
Posted: Sat Mar 19, 2011 3:30 pm
January 1984 – The Great Docklands Borough, The Great Metropolis.
Detective Sergeant Croydon Armitage cursed, basic error and he’d fallen for it, driven by impulsiveness and not a little frustration.
He’d allowed himself to become separated from his colleagues and plunged into the rabbit warrens of the Docklands warehouse district.
They’d received a tip off that another body had turned up, one that might be of interest.
However when they’d arrived they’d found Skulkers here as well, the scavenger gang had responded once again with dogged resistance.
He spun through the alleyways, now well aware that he was being hunted.
Drawing his Gatling pistol he swiftly made his way down the alleyway taking care not to trip over any rubbish, the alleyways must lead eventually to the wharfs and open air.
He turned a corner but to his dismay another lengthy corridor, and then another and another, exasperated Armitage paused to take stock, his senses already playing tricks upon him, movement behind him, ‘Damn’.
He broke into a run, the movement invisible to his vision but nether the less pursuing him, running out of breath and with no exit in sight he pulled himself into a doorway.
His pursuer didn’t appear from his right as expected instead dropping down from the wall space above and kicking his pistol from Armitage’s hand, before the Sergeant could react his pursuer jabbed a knife into his chest, then again repeatedly into his torso.
His masked attacker stood back as he sagged, then looked to his right, more of them.
The Skulker watched for his opponents demise, eyes narrowing as this didn’t seem to be occurring, Armitage thanked his lucky stars for the Chiefs insistence that they were Mesh armour vests.
Grunting a curse the killer moved in again, the door behind Armitage exploded and a huge metal hand enclosed the Skulkers head, hoisted him off the ground and hurled the flailing body into the opposite warehouse wall.
Armitage tumbled out of the way as Bank’s smashed through the remainder of the door and intercepted the next Skulker, delivering a blow to their head that knocked them out cold.
<Are you functional Sir> asked the COG
“Yes, how did you know where I’d got too” wheezed Armitage
<Simple sir, I plotted your point of entry in the maze from the ambush point, calculated your running speed, logical attempts to leave the maze and travelled parallel, our opponents had denoted you as our leader and therefore expended the most effort in ensuring your elimination>
Sergeant Armitage merely looked at the 9 foot automation in amazement, he now fully understood why Burridge had accepted Bank’s application into the CID
Armitage followed Banks a far shorter route than he’d taken to the murder site, enroute Banks expertly thwarted further ambushes returning fire and sending more Skulkers to meet their makers.
Members of the Greater Docklands constabulary were now pouring into the complex, the Skulkers having to retreat, Armitage moved to the body, the anti Semitic scripture was present, another well dressed victim, this time a lady.
Across the scene DC Lucy Palmer was engaged in a fierce argument with a Sergeant from the Docklands Force, catching the gist of the spat the sergeant was claiming the crime, Armitage sighed and circled the murder until he reached the pair.
A pair of Docklands constables stepped in his way, looking at the nearest Armitage allowed his experienced gaze to settle upon them “Piss off lads, mines bigger than yours” a backwards glance drew their attention to Bank’s, oddly both officers moved aside.
Palmer turned to him “Sarge this plod wants to take control of the scene”
Armitage regarded the older Docklands Sergeant “This is a CID case” he stated simply
In a deep Liverpool accent the sergeant spat “Always the same with you tossers waltz in like you own the place”
“Stop being a dick, we were here first and we both know why your making a fuss, Tennyson dosen’t want a fuss on his docks, tough shit!”
“You can’t speak to me like that!” retorted the uniformed officer
“I just did, and your lucky my guvnors away, else he’d really hurt your feelings, now take the hint and piss off” dismissively Armitage turned back to the crime scene looking at DC Nasby expectantly
“Same method as last time sir” he mumbled
“And” responded Armitage
Nasby bucked up, Armitage mentally prodding him “Apart from the clinical if not macabre way of dissecting the body and the anti-Semitic scripture, very little blood, curious that the Skulkers were at a second murder scene this is far from their territory”
“Hear that lads, a toff dick” came the voice of the Docklands Sergeant over the mass grumbling of the constabulary, Armitage gave the plod a dark look before turning back to Nasby
“Paid it no heed lad, goes with the territory, especially from plods on two payrolls” again he looked at the sergeant
“The Chief Inspector wanted to be notified as soon as we found another one” added Nasby
“Good lad” with that Detective Sergeant Armitage dialled his Ethercom
Posted: Wed Apr 20, 2011 9:54 pm
January 1984 – Scotland Yard Head Quarters, The Victoria Embankment.
Bestan-Lanforth had wasted little time, having used his influence had acquired an office in the yards immense twenty story bastion of law and order, one carved in stone and etheric steel.
Burridge had been summarily summoned, highly predictable, but nether the less a bollocking heading his way.
Sam stepped into the office, tipping his hat to his superior, in return he received a baleful glare.
The Superintendent was making a show of reviewing a pile of documents whilst sipping his American coffee, Burridge didn’t wait for his superior to grant him permission to sit, he wasn’t some whipping boy and he sat, another glare.
“So Chief Inspector what inventive explanation will I receive for your being in the Capital without authorisation” Bestan-Lanforth started, and continued
“Because if you were by chance here as part of the ongoing murder investigation that would suggest you were following a line of enquiry linking the two murders, something the Chiefs have implicitly stated is not to be looked into, or putting it simply insubordination” his gaze settled upon Burridge
“We needed specialist help”
“Oh pray tell what manner of specialist help would be required outside of the force” Bestan-Lanforth almost purred
Burridge screwed up his mouth in prudent thought “Sir, can we dispense with ritual humiliation, the line of enquiry required follow up on a cult having developed around Saucy Jack, the killings of course started in Whitechapel”
Bestan-Lanforth scowled as if he’d been deprived of his satisfaction.
“That is how we agreed we would proceed sir”
“The Chief Inspector has also been most helpful in helping my department” came a voice from the door, Burridge knew he’d closed it, and turned to see their visitor.
The Superintendent’s face developed an even darker look, which gave him an almost cadaver like look.
“Chief Inspector McKenzie, to what do we owe this honour” he growled
The Head of The Great Metropolis Special Investigation Branch merely nodded in acknowledgement,
“I merely wanted to take the opportunity to comment your officer on his diligence, the SIB has interest in the Whitechapel murders and Chief Inspector Burridge has been most helpful”
Bestan-Lanforth looked as if he’d discovered something incredibly disgusting on the bottom of his shoe but didn't comment
“We’re still in them midst’s of the enquiries and therefore it’s all very hush hush, I’ll bring you up to date when Whitehall is happy” McKenzie finished, his eyes very bright but solid.
“Thank you Chief Inspector” said the CID Superintendent stiffly, with that McKenzie was gone
Burridge sat in silence as Bestan-Lanforth returned to his reports, gravely pensive, quietly he stood and headed for the door
“Chief Inspector, Sam”
Burridge turned somewhat surprised
“Be careful, this one’s getting poisonous” both nodded and he left
Posted: Mon Apr 25, 2011 9:44 am
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.
Posted: Sun May 15, 2011 10:25 pm
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.
Posted: Mon May 16, 2011 1:40 pm
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”
“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.
Re: Ruin Britannia
Posted: Sat Dec 03, 2016 12:33 pm
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
Re: Ruin Britannia
Posted: Sun Dec 04, 2016 12:46 pm
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”
Posted: Sun Jan 08, 2017 8:32 pm
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.
Posted: Mon Jan 09, 2017 10:18 pm
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
Posted: Sat Apr 01, 2017 11:10 pm
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.
Re: Ruin Britannia
Posted: Sat Apr 08, 2017 7:56 pm
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!”