Dear Diary,
A decade. That's
how long it took me to come back here and read about what a fucking useless
person I was. There's nothing like reading your old bullshit and realizing
"Fuck, I was one hell of a teenage tragedy trope." Maybe this doesn't
happen to everyone. And maybe I'm still bitter about it all. Ten years isn't
long enough to get over any of it.
Boston is a shit
hole of a supernatural city. I've carved out a small space, a place where
assholes won't bother me. Not since the last time one of them broke into the
apartment and a great big mess was made. That hasn't happened in awhile.
I don't know why
I'm writing in here again. Maybe because my spidey-sense is tingling and I can
feel that some fucked up shit is headed my way in a way I can't explain, or maybe
because therapy told me that writing shit down can help. Never helped before,
mostly. It did make me feel less alone.
It was 3 am when
this latest adventure started. I mean, it started a decade ago, but let's not
talk about what happened between Samael and now. Let's pretend I'm just an
average hunter in Boston going to med school and there's nothing complicated
going on at all with me. Thanks. I appreciate it.
3 AM. Curtis, my
roommate and sometimes, well, fuck buddy, called me because he had an elaborate
version of a bad dream. I grabbed the truck and we headed to the random
location that his quest box appeared at. Maeve (local fae bitch) was there,
bleeding out on the ground, along with another hunter I've heard of in passing.
We're very rare. So we hear of each other pretty easily.
Half an hour later
we were in the hospital and Maeve was making me promise I'd come back. Derek, a
local human whose ass I saved a month or so ago, is one of the nurses there. He
was tending to her and the hunter, keeping them out of the lime light of the
ER. And well, he's pretty flirtatious. I mean, I assume he is. It takes someone
with balls of steel to flirt with me now-a-days. And he did. Maybe it's just
because he's human.
Anyways, that
outstanding weirdness aside, I got a text from Merov, a playboy millionaire.
Normally I'd say fuck it and let Batman sort his own shit out. But he keeps
giving me the weapons I need to kill bad shit in the city, and really, you
can't ignore when your sugar daddy (ew, no, not like that) sends out an SOS on
his phone. Before Curtis could stop me, I promised Maeve I'd be back and off I
went.
The penthouse was
in flames. Tenzin was coming out of the building. He's a scam-artist
kinda-wizard with a penchant for demon troubles. Troubles I regularly help him
with. The little fucker was running the fuck away from the scene. Not
surprising, but really? C'mon.
Merov was on top
of the opposite building, threatening somebody or something. I couldn't really
see. He seemed to have everything in hand. Really I just took out the fuckers
that were running away. Rule 25: Never leave survivors. I mean, in theory you
want people to know you're a badass. You don't need survivors to share that
story. You just need gore. And remains. There wasn't time to make a scene, so
the vamps bit it with the bow. Fish in a barrel.
Batman wandered
down with a rocket launcher and told me the Amber Vamps needed us to pay a
visit. We argued briefly about this, mostly because I don't take sidekicks and
Merov wanted to be a side kick. He pretty much pushed until it was either I
kick his pretty ass or I let him go with me. I didn't want the Amber Vamps to
have time to prepare. And Merov had the rocket launcher. So he got in the truck
and off we went.
The Amber Vamps are
(well... were) lead by Sultan Kazzam, an incompetent asshat of a vampire who
annoys the fuck out of me. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's a showcased magician
based on how he dresses, but I guess immortality rots the brain. I've yet to
meet a clever vampire who lived.
On our way Curtis
called. God love him. He's always trying to save everyone. Everyone. Good, bad,
the dudes with the guns. Doesn't matter. He wants peace. Badly enough he's
willing to throw himself into the middle of danger to do it. I guess there were
kidnap victims or hostages or something with the Amber Vamps and he was gonna
get them out. I told him to hurry up. I had no idea what was going to happen
and I couldn't lower my guard to worry about a bunch of humans. Worst hunter
ever right? I'm no Buffy.
The warehouse was
a great target for the rocket launcher. I got out of the truck and grabbed it
to start loading. Merov started talking about going in there and saying hi.
It's like he actually doesn't understand battle strategy. Rule Number 8: Shoot
first. Shoot everything. No questions. There's no need to announce yourself
when you have a rocket launcher. Even the vamps knew how to use it on Merov.
Another argument
later I'm walking towards the warehouse with my holy knives and a pretty pissed
off look on my face. Why the fuck Merov wants to say hi before we slaughter
these assholes, I don't even know. Probably some sick rich boy fantasy.
Whatever. Let him get his ya-yas off if that's what it takes. Stupid asshat. I
called Curtis and put the phone in my pocket. It was time to dance.
A head rolls as we
walk in. Guard vamp. Remember, Rule Number 13: No one gets out alive. Merov
called out Kazzam. Except he called out everyone. He said some shit and the
vamps threw themselves on the ground in fucking terror. I kinda looked at him,
wondering what the fuck he was playing at, when Kazzam ran the fuck away.
I went after him.
Arrowed his head to a board and then brought him back. The weirdo vamp Merov
had brought with us, the one had interrogated on the roof top, who, turned out,
Merov had promised a cure to in exchange for help, began to stab the body. I
cut his head off. Cure delivered.
Curtis arrived
with Maeve and the hostages. I guess blowing the building up would've killed
them. I wanted to kill the rest of the Amber Vamps, wipe out the nest, but
Curtis and Merov wanted to go. It's important to have the appropriate amount of
alcohol after a kill. Curtis knew this well. And Merov invited us to his place.
Turns out his
cottage is a mansion a short flight away by helicopter. Rich people. I suddenly
remembered Curtis mentioning a dude who took him on a helicopter and the wicked
weekend they had. Must've been Merov. Gross. But whatever gets my roomie off, I
guess.
Merov. He played
me. The entire ride to his 'cottage' I could feel the anger brewing inside me.
He had used me as effectively as I would've threatened someone with a rocket
launcher. I was there to be his meat. The weapon. To make his reputation. All
those times he'd ask me questions after a hunt on his balcony, it was just to get
him where he needed to get. He had started a dangerous game and I had opened
the door to him.
That was ending.
Now.
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