Extracts from Agency Files, 18655, 19002, and A 4882.
Names have been changed in the following account to protect the privacy of those involved.
The incident began in an old industrial town located in part of what is called the "rust belt." I was driving past blocks and blocks of old buildings. A few with markers dating them to the 1800's, but they were still here. As I turned down a side street, I was thinking about Charlie, an Autistic Psychic Savant. We had found Charlie at a homeless center. One of our Agency Contacts realized the boy was gifted. Now Charlie is in a foster home, but he enjoys visits from his special friend. It was during one of those visits that Charlie spelled out a Psychic Message giving the rough location of something evil. It was my job to find it. I only had a few landmarks to locate.
It took a few days but I found the place. A faded sign with a painting of a bulldog on an old bar in the midst of abandoned factory and warehouse buildings. As I walked up to the door at Mick's Bulldog Bar, I didn't think it was open. It was, but when I walked in I felt that funny feeling I get when the supernatural is around.
"Hi. How ya doin?"
"I'm alright." I quickly took in an old bar that was lit by one five watt bulb. Two men were sitting in a corner, otherwise it was empty.
"Place is almost empty now, but things'll pick up after 5. Always do."
"Are you Mick?"
"Yeah, I'm Old Mick."
"Nice to meet you, Mick." I ordered a beer and got the distinct impression this place hadn't changed in forty, maybe fifty years. I told Mick a story about how I was just passing through. I could tell he didn't buy it. In fact, he seemed a little nervous.
"Well, I'll see you around Mick!" Then I drove off to do a little recon work. If there was something evil in the area, odds are "it" has done something to somebody. I was a few blocks away when I noticed a small roadside memorial. There was a small cross, a candle in a glass and a few stuffed kid's toys. I stopped to examine it, and noticed there was something in Spanish on the glass candle holder.
"Who are you?"
I turned to face an elderly woman with a Spanish accent.
"Are you from the police?"
"No, ma'am. I'm not from the police. What happened here?"
She looked at me with suspicion but spoke anyway. "The police don't believe us. The creatures killed Marta, but they don't believe us. I read in the newspaper there was traffic accident but it is not true."
She sounded angry and sad at the same time. I told her I wanted to know the real story. This sober sounding woman told me about men with twisted faces, one with fangs, another with horns, and one with a tail. And how she observed one of them change from a real man into one of the creatures. After asking her a few questions, it became clear these were not vampires or well-known shape changers.
I spent that night going through old Agency files I kept on my laptop. As I read, I kept thinking that I'm the one who usually ends up encountering the truly weird and unique. I wouldn't call it bad luck and it's not really what I'd call a curse. It was all part of what I had to do to keep people safe.
There are truly monstrous supernatural beings, but there are also those who walk among as humans who can change their shape to become something else. There are myths about these creatures from around the world, but sometimes, there are variations on the theme. Beings of great supernatural power sometimes come to our world and offer humans strange supernatural powers in exchange for their service to this great evil. The people who agree are usually very evil already and the rest are lost and frightened and are seeking revenge or some kind of control. None of them realize that the being they are dealing with will crush them eventually, much like a murderer who kills any witnesses to his crimes.
So I went to bed wondering about exactly what I might be dealing with and how many. The old Spanish lady I talked to gave me the impression there were only four or five. I say only because they seem to kill people and then leave the body alone. This compared to other creatures who eat their victims, for example. My theory was that these were people who became drunk on power and their ability to turn into murdering fiends. Likely, they were interested in getting revenge for relatives that had been gunned down by street gangs and those who just enjoyed killing. They didn't realize that the route they were taking made them more than monsters but humans that had chosen death rather than finding a way out for themselves.
It was 3 AM when it happened. A lizard-like hand covered my mouth, and I stared up into a face that was deformed. The cheek bones didn't line up, one eye was bigger than the other and the face was covered in snake-like scales. A fist came down and smashed into my face. Using my legs, I kicked it off me. While it lay on the floor I threw a blanket over it and held it down. It was hissing and squirming underneath but I was within reach of my gun. I pressed it against its head which was covered by the blanket.
"Feel that? You know what that is?" The thing moved its head in the affirmative. Past experience told me that the next second would decide whether the thing would live or I would have to kill it. It began to laugh.
"You can't kill me! If you do, my brothers will come for you!"
"Why did you attack me?"
"Why? Why does anyone attack anybody? You don't belong here! Get out! Get out now!"
"No. You don't understand. Tell your brothers that I will not leave." I pressed the gun against its head even harder. "Understand?"
It stopped talking and I let it get up, slowly. It was wearing average clothing and except for the arms and head, looked like a normal human. It walked out without saying a word. I got on the phone and talked to Analysis. I wasn't going to be sleeping the rest of the night anyway.
I examined the blanket I had thrown over it and spotted a scale that had come off. As I held it, it began to grow into a small, green lizard and I dropped it. Then it talked.
"What are you human? You are not more powerful than I. Tell me what you want and I might give it to you."
I was frozen in place. When I spoke, it was like someone else was talking. "I don't want to know what you are. Just stay away from me!"
"You were not frightened a moment ago. If you are looking for power I can give it to you."
I was still holding my gun and I fired at it. It died and discorporated into what looked like black oil. A short while later the police showed up. I told them I had been attacked and defended myself. They asked to see my gun permit and told me I was lucky I wasn't killed. And left.
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Part Two later.
Contact_21
Lazlo Agent
The Metamorphs
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Ron Caliburn
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Contact_21
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Ron Caliburn
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Silhouette
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Ron Caliburn wrote:Yeah, things always go bad when you're left with a human body at the end of the night.
That's why I try hard to figure out if it's human or not before I shoot.
A bad idea. Many of the worst monsters are regular, non-supernatural humans. While I take care of the supernatural trash, I take care of the other kind as well.
What can I say, I come from a fundementally lawless land. I think America has a lot of good ideas, but gets too caught up with due process and 'human rights' in cases where people shouldn't have any.
A couple of 10 gauge shells and you'll deal with your average rapist or seriel killer a lot more effectively than all the lawyers and judges in the world.
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Contact_21
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That's called taking the law into your own hands. Not something I would recommend. Even as a Lazlo Agent, I've got to be careful when I fire a gun in a populated area. Someone usually calls the police and I have to talk my way out of it. On occasion, agents have been found near the remains of a supernatural beast just prior to discorporation with the police nearby. The police know about this stuff and would rather not get involved. They usually think the Agent next to the body is CIA or some other government type, and they'd rather not spend the rest of their day dealing with that either. And I don't blame them. This is very scary stuff.
Contact_21
Lazlo Agent
Contact_21
Lazlo Agent
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Ron Caliburn
- Posts: 6915
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Silhouette wrote:Ron Caliburn wrote:Yeah, things always go bad when you're left with a human body at the end of the night.
That's why I try hard to figure out if it's human or not before I shoot.
A bad idea. Many of the worst monsters are regular, non-supernatural humans. While I take care of the supernatural trash, I take care of the other kind as well.
What can I say, I come from a fundementally lawless land. I think America has a lot of good ideas, but gets too caught up with due process and 'human rights' in cases where people shouldn't have any.
A couple of 10 gauge shells and you'll deal with your average rapist or seriel killer a lot more effectively than all the lawyers and judges in the world.
My concern is a little different.
1) Ordnance designed for use ont he supernatural is very unique and if you use it to kill a person, tracing you is a lot easier
2) A lot of anti-supernatural ordnance is not very good at killing people and vice versa. I want to have the best tool for the job before I use it, and usually one doesn't have the time for trial and error.
3) The police don't care when a dead monster turns to mist and vanishes, but they do care when they find a dead body.
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Contact_21
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The Metamorphs, Part 2
The Metamorphs, Part 2
After moving from my hotel room to an Agency safe house in the area, I called in a team of Physical Psychics. Actually, I was following the advice of a lady I'll call Clare. "If you send in a Psychic Sensitive, whatever is enpowering these people will detect him in an instant." By the way, Clare is a lot wiser than myself, and I've learned a great deal from her. But it would be at least a day before we could act. I hadn't slept and I needed to be rested.
I was told I slept while constantly tossing and turning and talking out loud. I don't remember dreaming anything. I was rested now, and I briefed my people. "It appears we're dealing with humans who can change their form at will. Usually, such people are empowered by some evil supernatural being like an Alien Intelligence. We need to find that creature before it finds more humans willing to serve it."
My team consisted of Frank Shere, Ed Morten, Ken Morris and Mike Warren. It would be up to me to find the creature, whatever it was, before exposing the rest of my team. The Metamorphs knew who I was but I wanted them to think I was working alone. So I decided to pay another visit to Mick's Bulldog Bar.
"Hi Mick."
"You again. I kinda figured I wouldn't be seeing you."
"Well, let's just say something caught my attention and now I'll be staying around for a while." I could tell Mick didn't like the sound of that. But then again, as I walked in I noticed that there was no one in the place and maybe Mick didn't feel comfortable around strangers.
"Well things have changed around here. Slowed down." Mick paused and looked around the bar as if making sure there was no one there, even though he didn't need to. "But there's been some new trouble around here. And you should watch yourself."
"It's alright, Mick. I know all about it." Mick's eyes went wide in disbelief.
"Who are you, mister?"
"I'm a private investigator. I specialize in certain kinds of problems."
"Oh yeah? Well, I've been in combat, but I've never been so scared until those... whatever they are showed up. I don't wanna get mixed up in whatever you're doin."
"Mick. I'm here to help. If you know anything that can help, tell me. Now."
"OK. Go south three blocks to the river. You'll see a warehouse with the numbers 615. That's where they go."
"When do they go there?"
"Every night, and they leave by dawn, except on Wednesday. They stay there all day on Wednesday." Mick was looking pretty nervous now.
"Thanks, Mick. I just want you to know I'm one of the good guys."
"Then you're gonna take care of it? I mean, a lot of people are scared for themselves and their kids."
"Try not to worry Mick. But don't mention anything we talked about to anybody."
"Got it."
I didn't need to check out the location. And we needed the element of surprise. Today was Wednesday, and I didn't want to wait. Every member of the team, including myself, put on full camo and webbing. We each had nightvision goggles, two knives (I carried a third taped around my right ankle), 9 mm pistol, one clip in and two extra, cigarette lighter, pry bar, cell phone, first-aid kit and flashlight.
Now some young, inexperienced agents think that all you need to do is go in, guns blazing. But I know of too many men who have died because they didn't watch for simple booby traps, like trap doors. They sometimes forget the creatures they're fighting enjoy watching humans suffer. That they love coming up with clever traps so they can enjoy the feeling of outsmarting us pitiful humans. Sure, some of these things are driven more by instinct than any kind of brain power, but a lot of them are as smart, if not smarter, than most people.
We formulated our basic assault plan and arrived on scene at 12:05 AM. A time when any witnesses would likely be in bed and traffic would be light. We flipped on our goggles but saw nothing. The building was your typical rectangle and the lights were off. Two men would go in through a window on the west side of the building (Team A), three men, led by me, would go in from the east (Team B).
Team A entered and moved behind a concrete support column, guns drawn. Team B came in and we moved in similar fashion, carefully looking around for booby traps and suspicious objects. We met at an enclosed office area with broken glass windows. I could smell alcohol in the air.
I kicked in the door and half rolled to the floor, gun pointed behind me. Good thing because I shot the Metamorph that was waiting behind the door in mid-leap. One down, but there was no sound of others coming. Looking around, I saw several empty bottles of booze on an old desk. But there was no time to examine anything since we had to make sure no one was in the rest of the building.
We exited the office and began to walk behind it. That's when they jumped us. We took out four of them at close range. Looking around, I saw Mike on the floor, blood coming from his left arm. It was a bad stab wound. "Ed. Get back to that office with Mike and stay with him. Well finish the recon." We were moving a little slower now. A little more careful. But except for the smell, no one was in the men's room. The supply closet was totally empty.
Then Ken started talking. "I think we missed something."
"Like what?" I said. "This is nothing but a big, empty room."
"I know, but I think we missed something."
We began to walk back to the other side of the warehouse. Putting up our goggles, we were using flashlights now. Ken spotted it first.
"Hey. Look at this wall. It looks like fresh plaster." It did. This kind of off-white colored plaster. Then a tentacle shot out from it and I was in the air. Then Ken and Frank. The wall fell on its side and exposed five eyes and a wide mouth filled with teeth. We all started shooting. "Aim for the eyes! Get the eyes!"
My vision blurred for a second. A strange, electrical feeling passed through me. Ken had stopped shooting. He was slumped over and being pulled toward the mouth. I took out my knife and started cutting the tentacle. Ed put in a few rounds at close range in the one holding him and it dropped him. Ed hit the concrete floor hard, he was unconscious. I went back to shooting the eyes. By now, we had gotten three.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike running at the thing with two bottles of the good stuff. He threw the Molotov cocktails at it. The tentacle holding me fell away and I kept shooting at the remaining eyes. Soon, it was blind. I thought it was almost over when a figure came out of nowhere and attacked Ed. Apparently, one of the Metamorphs we thought we killed was still alive. I was too far away to get there in time so I took careful aim. There was a chance of hitting Ed but I had no choice. I put the Metamorph down with one shot. Then there was a terrific roar behind me and a burst of light. The massive creature had been pulled back to its own dimension after we killed its last minion. Its only minion with a bulletproof vest.
I was shocked when the Metamorph didn't discorporate, only its outer skin melted away into a clear, foul smelling liquid, leaving behind a perfectly human corpse. That's when I realized these weren't true Metamorphs. The being they served only covered them with some kind of mentally mutable substance. In essence, they were wearing a supernatural disguise.
End File 00987
Postscript
Normally, the more bizarre incidents never make it into the newspaper. This one did under the headline: 5 Men Die after Exposure to Industrial Chemical. I could only shake my head and wonder how many more explanations they could come up with. At least they didn't mention swamp gas.
Contact_21
Lazlo Agent
After moving from my hotel room to an Agency safe house in the area, I called in a team of Physical Psychics. Actually, I was following the advice of a lady I'll call Clare. "If you send in a Psychic Sensitive, whatever is enpowering these people will detect him in an instant." By the way, Clare is a lot wiser than myself, and I've learned a great deal from her. But it would be at least a day before we could act. I hadn't slept and I needed to be rested.
I was told I slept while constantly tossing and turning and talking out loud. I don't remember dreaming anything. I was rested now, and I briefed my people. "It appears we're dealing with humans who can change their form at will. Usually, such people are empowered by some evil supernatural being like an Alien Intelligence. We need to find that creature before it finds more humans willing to serve it."
My team consisted of Frank Shere, Ed Morten, Ken Morris and Mike Warren. It would be up to me to find the creature, whatever it was, before exposing the rest of my team. The Metamorphs knew who I was but I wanted them to think I was working alone. So I decided to pay another visit to Mick's Bulldog Bar.
"Hi Mick."
"You again. I kinda figured I wouldn't be seeing you."
"Well, let's just say something caught my attention and now I'll be staying around for a while." I could tell Mick didn't like the sound of that. But then again, as I walked in I noticed that there was no one in the place and maybe Mick didn't feel comfortable around strangers.
"Well things have changed around here. Slowed down." Mick paused and looked around the bar as if making sure there was no one there, even though he didn't need to. "But there's been some new trouble around here. And you should watch yourself."
"It's alright, Mick. I know all about it." Mick's eyes went wide in disbelief.
"Who are you, mister?"
"I'm a private investigator. I specialize in certain kinds of problems."
"Oh yeah? Well, I've been in combat, but I've never been so scared until those... whatever they are showed up. I don't wanna get mixed up in whatever you're doin."
"Mick. I'm here to help. If you know anything that can help, tell me. Now."
"OK. Go south three blocks to the river. You'll see a warehouse with the numbers 615. That's where they go."
"When do they go there?"
"Every night, and they leave by dawn, except on Wednesday. They stay there all day on Wednesday." Mick was looking pretty nervous now.
"Thanks, Mick. I just want you to know I'm one of the good guys."
"Then you're gonna take care of it? I mean, a lot of people are scared for themselves and their kids."
"Try not to worry Mick. But don't mention anything we talked about to anybody."
"Got it."
I didn't need to check out the location. And we needed the element of surprise. Today was Wednesday, and I didn't want to wait. Every member of the team, including myself, put on full camo and webbing. We each had nightvision goggles, two knives (I carried a third taped around my right ankle), 9 mm pistol, one clip in and two extra, cigarette lighter, pry bar, cell phone, first-aid kit and flashlight.
Now some young, inexperienced agents think that all you need to do is go in, guns blazing. But I know of too many men who have died because they didn't watch for simple booby traps, like trap doors. They sometimes forget the creatures they're fighting enjoy watching humans suffer. That they love coming up with clever traps so they can enjoy the feeling of outsmarting us pitiful humans. Sure, some of these things are driven more by instinct than any kind of brain power, but a lot of them are as smart, if not smarter, than most people.
We formulated our basic assault plan and arrived on scene at 12:05 AM. A time when any witnesses would likely be in bed and traffic would be light. We flipped on our goggles but saw nothing. The building was your typical rectangle and the lights were off. Two men would go in through a window on the west side of the building (Team A), three men, led by me, would go in from the east (Team B).
Team A entered and moved behind a concrete support column, guns drawn. Team B came in and we moved in similar fashion, carefully looking around for booby traps and suspicious objects. We met at an enclosed office area with broken glass windows. I could smell alcohol in the air.
I kicked in the door and half rolled to the floor, gun pointed behind me. Good thing because I shot the Metamorph that was waiting behind the door in mid-leap. One down, but there was no sound of others coming. Looking around, I saw several empty bottles of booze on an old desk. But there was no time to examine anything since we had to make sure no one was in the rest of the building.
We exited the office and began to walk behind it. That's when they jumped us. We took out four of them at close range. Looking around, I saw Mike on the floor, blood coming from his left arm. It was a bad stab wound. "Ed. Get back to that office with Mike and stay with him. Well finish the recon." We were moving a little slower now. A little more careful. But except for the smell, no one was in the men's room. The supply closet was totally empty.
Then Ken started talking. "I think we missed something."
"Like what?" I said. "This is nothing but a big, empty room."
"I know, but I think we missed something."
We began to walk back to the other side of the warehouse. Putting up our goggles, we were using flashlights now. Ken spotted it first.
"Hey. Look at this wall. It looks like fresh plaster." It did. This kind of off-white colored plaster. Then a tentacle shot out from it and I was in the air. Then Ken and Frank. The wall fell on its side and exposed five eyes and a wide mouth filled with teeth. We all started shooting. "Aim for the eyes! Get the eyes!"
My vision blurred for a second. A strange, electrical feeling passed through me. Ken had stopped shooting. He was slumped over and being pulled toward the mouth. I took out my knife and started cutting the tentacle. Ed put in a few rounds at close range in the one holding him and it dropped him. Ed hit the concrete floor hard, he was unconscious. I went back to shooting the eyes. By now, we had gotten three.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike running at the thing with two bottles of the good stuff. He threw the Molotov cocktails at it. The tentacle holding me fell away and I kept shooting at the remaining eyes. Soon, it was blind. I thought it was almost over when a figure came out of nowhere and attacked Ed. Apparently, one of the Metamorphs we thought we killed was still alive. I was too far away to get there in time so I took careful aim. There was a chance of hitting Ed but I had no choice. I put the Metamorph down with one shot. Then there was a terrific roar behind me and a burst of light. The massive creature had been pulled back to its own dimension after we killed its last minion. Its only minion with a bulletproof vest.
I was shocked when the Metamorph didn't discorporate, only its outer skin melted away into a clear, foul smelling liquid, leaving behind a perfectly human corpse. That's when I realized these weren't true Metamorphs. The being they served only covered them with some kind of mentally mutable substance. In essence, they were wearing a supernatural disguise.
End File 00987
Postscript
Normally, the more bizarre incidents never make it into the newspaper. This one did under the headline: 5 Men Die after Exposure to Industrial Chemical. I could only shake my head and wonder how many more explanations they could come up with. At least they didn't mention swamp gas.
Contact_21
Lazlo Agent
-
Ron Caliburn
- Posts: 6915
- Joined: Mon Jan 24, 2005 7:09 pm
- Location: Best if you don't know.
Good work there C21.
Despite the reputation I have in certain circles, I am a proponent of the cautious entry. There is always something you don't expect. If you aren't ready for the unexpected, the unexpected will kill you.
On another tactical note, I have a strong preference for shotguns, particularly magazine fed models. They reload fast, and you can change ammuniition types fast as well. Most importantly they pack more punch than a 9 mm and a lot of the special purpose rounds that are life savers in this line of work just can't be made for handguns but will fit easily in a 12 gauge.
Despite the reputation I have in certain circles, I am a proponent of the cautious entry. There is always something you don't expect. If you aren't ready for the unexpected, the unexpected will kill you.
On another tactical note, I have a strong preference for shotguns, particularly magazine fed models. They reload fast, and you can change ammuniition types fast as well. Most importantly they pack more punch than a 9 mm and a lot of the special purpose rounds that are life savers in this line of work just can't be made for handguns but will fit easily in a 12 gauge.
