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OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Giving thanks edition: Kickin’ around Caracas, Pt. 5

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 1800.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…
submitted by Rocknocker to Rocknocker [link] [comments]

Say It With Music - A Hundred Unique Playlists

Over the years I have thoroughly enjoyed throwing together playlists for different occasions (making coffee, working out, weddings, seasons, etc.) and thought I'd share! Please let me know your thoughts, favourite mixes, as well as recommendations for future playlists. All feedback is welcome! Hope you enjoy them:
That Weekend Feeling
Skip to the good bit; weekend grooves to wave away any weekday blues.
Awesome Mix: Ultimate Edition (Mixtape)
A great hero, named Kevin Bacon, once taught an entire city full of people with sticks up their butts that, dancing, well, is the greatest thing there is. The legend of Footloose comes alive with Awesome Mix: Ultimate Edition - Songs from and inspired by the Guardians of the Galaxy series.
Morning Motivation: Steal Some Sunshine
Soak up the sun with energetic jams and breezy classics!
I'd Drink To That: Party Playlist
Mix it up with a party playlist to keep the night buzzing.
I'd Sing To That: Carpool Karaoke
Pack up and take those pipes on a roadtrip! The catchy. The memorable.
Just Jams 🎧
Nothing but jams to fill a pair of headphones or stadium.
Brendan's Listen Local
Funky & Thumpy! Some of my favourite energetic jams, classics, and BBQ party starters from our local Australian & New Zealand artists.
Friday Fire
It's Friday! Friends. Family. Fun.
Groovin' The Brew
Nothing but rockin' party grooves on tap.
Diverse Pop Sounds
It's pop, but not as you know it.
Break Thru
Ear Candy.
Sunday Sesh
Beers & bangers on a weekend!
Run To Paradise
Set up goals, and knock them down with an energetic running playlist.
Summer Daze
The heat is on with a playlist of crisp summer tunes.
Autumn Mix: Volume 1
A breezy & brilliant playlist for the ever-changing Autumn seasons.
Chilled Pop
Soft, chilled winter pop songs.
Warm Tunes
Warm songs of Spring, like a comforting embrace.
A Mid-Summer Night's Drink 🍻
Lord, what fun these mortals be!
Wind Down 🌚
When the night winds down, so does some great music.
90's Baby! 📼
It is the sound of the roller disco, BMX bike track and arcade!
The Hip Hip Hop
Only the hippest of the hip. My modern and classic hip hop favourites.
Indie Bops: It's ALT Good
Get your alternative bounce on.
Not Your Final Form: A Workout Playlist
All the other licks with the pumped up kicks to keep you going during a workout. My favourites and a few other choice tunes for pushing harder, faster, stronger.
Easy On The Ears
Easy, Easy, Easybeats.
Life Is Good ☀️
Today is gonna be a good day.
Dial M For Music
Deep, cathartic music.
JOY
Smile.
Vibe Hard
Get into the zone, and vibe-out to infectious tunes!
Rock & Roll Never Dies
Who says rock & roll is dead? Commercial radio? It's always been around; you've just got to roll with it and look harder. Get your kicks!
Brainfood
Introspective acoustic, calming strings, uplifting anthems, and a touch of nature. Food for the brain, and perfect background noise for studies.
Game Night 🎲
For every occasion... casino, tabletop, videogames; a soundtrack to a brilliant game night!
Sizzlers: BBQ Playlist 🍔
Fire up the burner and the anthems with a barbeque playlist hotter than the bright ball in the sky.
Kickstart My Heart: Classic Rock Radio
Rocking all over the world.
Rush Hour
Grinding Gears.
Riff Raff: Party Rock
Some rowdy rock to turn up the night.
RE : FRESH 🍹
SUPERDOPE. Piña colada's and Caribbean Rum.
The Driver
There's a voice in my head that drives my heel.
Country Road
Might as well cruise. Might as well banjo.
Born to be Wild
Life's an adventure; you can't be tamed.
Night Moves: Dancing In The Moonlight
Unwind with the moonbeams. Night drives & night lives.
Funk Right Off
Get Funk'd.
Rambling Roses 💐
Beauty and Love are as body and soul. Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.
Sweat. Reset.
Whatever it takes. 'Cause you love the adrenaline in your veins.
Power Pop: Marathon
Power pop to push and electrify a workout.
Cool Beans: Coffee Playlist
Recharge with some warm tunes.
Kitchen Crooners 🎀
Now we're cooking!
Now We're Cooking!
Tasty tunes for the Kitchen.
Pool Party
Dive in to great poolside swing.
Inspiration 💡 Takes Flight
Reach for the Sky!
Going Places
Always push forward.
First 💍
Songs for special days.
DisNeat - Taking The Mickey
Nothing but Disney favourites.
Road Trip: Spinning Wheels
Hear the call for adventure and hit the road.
Guilty Pleasures 🍨
You like the Grease soundtrack? Word.
Catchy AF POP
Pop that bops. Essentials and the catchiest of the catchy.
Acoustica
Stripped Back.
Playlist + Chill
Cool off with some chilled beats and sweet acoustic.
Making Waves
Unwind with breathy, breezy songs perfect for a walk on the beach.
The Playlist Of The Decade (New Years Eve)
We welcomed 2020 with the ultimate party playlist jam-packed with familiar throwbacks and modern favourites from the 2010's! Good times!
Rhythm Heaven
Step up and dance.
Sax on the Beach 🎷
Gratuitous? Nah! An instrument to elevate a song from good to great!
BedroX 🔥
Sparks.
Pump It Up: The Playlist of Champions 🏆
Winner winner, chicken dinner.
Retro Rewind
Twist & shout to killer Jukebox Classics.
Classic Se7ens
Nothing but 70's favourites.
Great Eight's
Nothing but 80's Favourites.
Noughty & Nice
Nothing but great 00's Throwbacks.
The Best Playlist Never Heard
It's unheard of!
Best Songs You Might Have Missed
Potentially slipped under the radar.
Songs for Soundtracks 🎬
Royale with cheese.
The Grand European Playlist
About to take off!
EPIC 🗡
Fortune & Glory!
SUPERHOT VR : ROCK
The champ is coming.
SUPERHOT VR : HIP-HOP
Kings never die.
SUPERHOT VR : ACTION
John Wick Schtick.
Cowboy Bebop : Spike Spiegel
Spike Spiegel is an ex-Syndicate goon and a bounty hunter aboard the Bebop. He is proficient in martial arts, zipcraft flying, and gunfights, but he also has comical and aloof sides of his personality. If there's three things he can't stand, it's kids, pets, and women with attitudes.
Cowboy Bebop : Faye Valentine
Faye Valentine is a coma survivor of over 50 years and she is trying to regain her memory. She got into a lot of debt upon entering this futuristic world, and she had to resort to a life of crime and hustling to survive... that is, until she decided to live on the Bebop and become a bounty hunter.
Cowboy Bebop : Jet Black
Jet Black is an ex-ISSP Special Forces Officer and the Captain of the Bebop. He is a bounty hunter and is called the "Black Dog" because once he sinks his teeth in he never lets go. Jet enjoys American Jazz music, taking care of Bonsai trees, and has a knack for investigative work.
Cowboy Bebop : Radical Edward
Edward is a net diver from Earth. Edward is a child prodigy for hacking and has an aptitude for anything mechanical, even though Edward has some eccentricities in other parts of her personality. For instance, Edward speaks in third person and sometimes behaves like a wild animal.
At The Movies 🎟
Lights, camera, playlist.
James Bond Classics 🍸
A martini, shaken, not stirred.
The Word Is Bond 🍸
The world is not enough; but this playlist comes pretty close.
Live Love LIVE
Blistering live performances.
Future Nostalgia
Neo-swing, retro swagger; it's future nostalgia.
B-Side Yourself
Hidden Gems, Deep Cuts & Rarities.
Punk'd
You're Gonna Go Far, Kid.
Building Houses: Hit By Hit
Baby let's play house.
Far ALT
A playlist rocking that weird shit.
Stay Home: The Safety Dance
Stay safe out there.
Day Tripper
A playlist for a long drive - a day trip.
In Tents
Music For Camping.
Roots
Bluesy classics to strut to.
All That Jazz
Get jazzy on it.
Focus Features
Take a breather.
Australiana
Paradise.
Drive Time
Coast to coast. Songs for a spin.
Stone Cold Classicals
It's classically classic.
Hall of Fame 💎
Songs for the career climbers and L.A. dreamers. Glitz & glam; all that jazz.
This is Halloween
Everybody Scream!
It's Beginning to Sound A Lot Like Christmas!
Christmas Classics.
Just For Laughs 🎭
What a Joker!
Two Nights In Tao🎙
Karaoke? There's a first time for everything.
GAME
Take control.
Game On : Borderlands Psycho-delic
CHOO CHOO THE PAIN TRAIN'S COMIN'
Red Dead Redemption II
Songs For Bloody Duels, Whiskey-Fueled Gambles, and Rolling Desert Plains.
Energy Shot
Keep animated with an energetic dose of catchy music!
Party Fillers
A background mix for any event.
The Essential AC/DC
AC/DC are an Australian rock band formed in Sydney in 1973 by Scottish-born brothers Malcolm and Angus Young. Although their music has been variously described as hard rock, blues rock, and heavy metal, the band themselves call it simply "rock and roll"
The Essential One Republic
OneRepublic is an American pop rock band formed in Colorado Springs, Colorado, in 2002. It consists of lead vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Ryan Tedder, guitarist Zach Filkins, guitarist Drew Brown, bassist and cellist Brent Kutzle, drummer Eddie Fisher and keyboardist Brian Willett.
The Essential Shinedown
Shinedown is an American rock band from Jacksonville, Florida, formed by singer Brent Smith in 2001. Shinedown has sold more than ten million records worldwide, and has had the most number one singles on the Billboard Mainstream Rock charts out of any band, with 16.
The Essential Dua Lipa
Dua Lipa is an English singer and songwriter. After working as a model, she signed with Warner Music Group in 2015 and released her self-titled debut album in 2017. The success of the singles helped her self-titled album become one of the most-streamed albums on Spotify.
The Essential Preatures
The Preatures are an Australian band from Sydney. The band was formed in 2010 and features Isabella 'Izzi' Manfredi on vocals/keyboards, Jack Moffitt (guitar), Thomas Champion (bass) and Luke Davison (drums). The band won the Vanda & Young Songwriting Competition with their song Is This How You Feel.
The Essential Maroon 5
Maroon 5 is an American pop rock band from Los Angeles, California. It currently consists of lead vocalist Adam Levine, keyboardist and rhythm guitarist Jesse Carmichael, lead guitarist James Valentine, drummer Matt Flynn, keyboardist PJ Morton and multi-instrumentalist Sam Farrar.
The Essential INXS
INXS were an Australian rock band, formed in 1977 in Sydney. INXS was fronted by Hutchence, whose magnetic stage presence made him the focal point of the band. Initially known for their new wave/pop style, the band later developed a harder pub rock style that included funk and dance elements.
The Essential Beatles
The Beatles were an English rock band formed in Liverpool in 1960. The group, whose best-known line-up comprised John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, are regarded as the most influential band of all time. The Beatles are the best-selling music act of all time.
The Essential Volbeat
Volbeat are a Danish rock band formed in Copenhagen in 2001. They play a fusion of rock and roll, heavy metal and rockabilly. Their current line-up consists of vocalist and guitarist Michael Poulsen, guitarist Rob Caggiano, drummer Jon Larsen and bassist Kaspar Boye Larsen.
The Essential Chromeo
Chromeo is a Canadian electro-funk duo from Montreal, formed in 2002 by musicians David "Dave 1" Macklovitch and Patrick "P-Thugg" Gemayel. Their sound draws from blue-eyed soul, dance music, rock, synth-pop, disco and funk. As of 2018, the band has released five studio albums.
The Essential Queen
Queen are a British rock band formed in London in 1970. Their classic line-up was Freddie Mercury (lead vocals, piano), Brian May (guitar, vocals), Roger Taylor (drums, vocals) and John Deacon (bass). With estimated record sales ranging from 170 million to 300 million, they are one of the biggest.
The Essential Michael Jackson
Michael Joseph Jackson (August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009) was an American singer, songwriter, and dancer. Dubbed the "King of Pop", he is regarded as one of the most significant cultural figures of the 20th century.
The Essential Brian Setzer
Brian Robert Setzer (born April 10, 1959) is an American guitarist, singer, and songwriter. He found widespread success in the early 1980s with the 1950s-style rockabilly group Stray Cats, and revitalized his career in the early 1990s with his swing revival band, the Brian Setzer Orchestra.
The Essential Florida Georgia Line
Florida Georgia Line are an American country music duo consisting of vocalists Tyler Hubbard and Brian Kelley. Their 2012 debut single "Cruise" broke two major sales records: it was downloaded over seven million times, making it the first country song ever to receive the Diamond certification.
The Essential KISS
Kiss is an American rock band formed in New York City in January 1973 by Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Peter Criss, and Ace Frehley. Well known for its members' face paint and stage outfits, the group rose to prominence in the mid-to-late 1970s with its elaborate live performances.
The Essential Sheppard
Sheppard is an Australian indie pop band from Brisbane, formed in 2009. At the 2014 ARIA's ceremony, they were nominated for Album of the Year, Best Group, Best Independent Release, Best Pop Release, Song of the Year, Producer of the Year, and Best Video.
The Essential Matchbox 20
Matchbox Twenty is an American rock band, formed in Orlando, Florida, in 1995. The group currently consists of Rob Thomas (lead vocals, guitar, keyboards), Brian Yale (bass guitar), Paul Doucette (drums, rhythm guitar, backing vocals), and Kyle Cook (lead guitar, vocals).
The Essential Coldplay
Coldplay are a British rock band that were formed in London in 1996 consisting of vocalist and pianist Chris Martin, guitarist Jonny Buckland, bassist Guy Berryman, and drummer Will Champion. Coldplay have sold more than 100 million records worldwide, making them one of the world's best-selling.
The Essential Daughtry
Daughtry is an American rock band formed and fronted by namesake Chris Daughtry, who was a finalist on the fifth season of American Idol. Their self-titled debut album was released in November 2006 and reached number one on the Billboard 200. To date, Daughtry has sold over 9 million albums.
The Essential Black Eyed Peas
The Black Eyed Peas are an American musical group, consisting of rappers will.i.am*, apl.de.ap, Taboo, J. Rey Soul and singer Fergie. Originally an alternative hip hop group, they subsequently refashioned themselves as a more marketable pop-rap act and have become best-selling artists.*
submitted by Ace_Aviator to spotify [link] [comments]

Yee Naaldlooshi

Yee Naaldlooshi
Yee Naaldlooshi - Skinwalker
https://preview.redd.it/yd14ocistnf61.jpg?width=2032&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=fd609b7bb36432162a0442ab81c8392e538b34c0
by Gunnar Angel Lawrence
Terry noticed the quick blink of the computer screen when the email arrived. It seemed odd, he thought, but then again it was the end of a long day at work and he made the conscious decision to ignore the email until the next day. He eyed Christina as she got up from her desk and stretched. Her long blond hair cascaded over her shoulders and to her back. She looked at him and smiled broadly, it was time to go home. Terry got lost for a moment in her ice blue eyes and looked downward quickly.
“I know there’s a song called, ‘Its Five O Clock somewhere’ but let me make it official, and it’s time to go home.” Terry said with a smile. Christina lifted both arms into the air and gave a celebratory ‘yay’.
“Christina, call Scott up here, tell him we get paid this week, not a lot, but enough to eat for a few days anyway.” She smiled and pushed the intercom button and relayed the message. Terry opened the drawer picked the two checks out and slammed the drawer shut. The computer screen blinked once and Terry noticed that somehow the email had opened. He looked at the first line and swore.
Christina turned and noticed the expression on Terry’s face.
“No! Terry what is it?”
Scott lumbered into the room and knew that something wasn’t right.
“Wh—What’s wrong, guys?” he asked.
Terry sighed and handed them their checks. Then he summarized the email.
“The package we got from Show Low, Arizona, the one for the new casino? There is an issue. An Indian man is claiming it was stolen from an ancient burial site. He is on his way here now from the airport.”
“That’s bullshit! I know I paid for that piece from Andy, he’s a reputable dealer. I’ve bought from him before.” She said.
“I know that Christina, please do me a favor, find the paperwork on that piece and give the dealer a call for me, he is going to be here in less than an hour. Scott hang around, you’re bigger than I am and I might need someone to take out an elderly Indian for me.” Scott grinned and nodded.
Terry’s company found and acquired rare pieces for private collections, hotels, casinos and the occasional museum. The new casino in Miami had asked for interesting Indian décor. Unfortunately, few genuine Indian artifacts were found anymore in Florida that didn’t already have the name of a casino stamped on them. This piece was found in Navajo territory in a backwater community called Show Low.
Terry watched Christina lean against her desk with a sigh, her paperwork in hand. They were all very aware of the financial difficulties their company had been having since the recession started. And they all knew that a delay with the selling of this piece to the casino would mean a delay in cashing their next checks. He cleared his throat and pretended not to watch her stretch again. He knew that she knew that he liked her; there was just never the right moment. It wasn’t too much longer before a truck pulled up to the office. They heard the squeal of the brakes and all three bolted for the door. The delivery driver heaved his overweight frame out of the truck and shoved the small box and a clipboard into Terry’s hands. Terry took the box and signed the form on the clipboard.
The driver, Lenny, nodded with relief.
“Now you can deal with the Chief here, He’s followed me all day.”
Terry glanced over to where he pointed and saw the long white car pull to a stop behind the truck. The man who stepped out could have been in his seventies, but there was a strength about him that was conveyed with swift, firm movements. His bronzed skin seemed to glisten in the humid Florida afternoon. He strode over and waved good bye to the delivery driver who was moving as quick as his girth would allow.
The old man called after the delivery driver.
“Get out of here now sir, it is very important.” Lenny nodded and climbed into his van from the rear.
Terry watched the old man turned and focused on him.
“My name is Ata Halne. I am begging you not to open that package. We need to get inside, before the sun sets, it is coming.”
Terry smiled, “Mr. Halne…
“No! My name is Ata Halne, I don’t have time for explanations out here, we have maybe ten minutes before the sun sets. Get inside now please.”
Terry stared back at Scott and Christina and they appeared to be as confused as he was. All three of them backed into the building and shut the door. Ata Halne reached over, bolted the door and slid the bar lock in place. He turned toward them and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now, are there any open windows, barred or not, and are there any other entrances to this building?” He moved closer and they backed up. Christina, normally not one to take attitude, especially when she was ready to leave, was not speaking. She was gripping Scott’s hand with enough intensity to cause him to wince.
“Mr. Halne…” Terry started.
“I said my name was Ata Halne, now answer the question.”
“Okay fine. No there are no other doors, no windows on this floor….”
The old man pointed at Scott, “You, go shut the windows on the other floor now.” Scott hesitated, and looked at Terry, who nodded.
“Hey, we paid for that package and we got it from someone who has always been honest with us. What is your beef with this package?” Terry demanded.
The old man lifted his calloused finger and pointed it straight at Terry’s face. Unwavering, he held the finger there and spoke.
Anasazi.”
II
The word rolled off the man’s tongue with a cold trill. Terry felt a chill shoot through him when he heard it, though he had no idea what the word meant. The old man repeated himself.
“Anasazi. What you have in that package is Anasazi.”
Christina cleared her throat, still hesitant to approach the old man and spoke, “Anasazi, that’s Navajo legend right?”
The old man stared at her, “Funny thing about legends, a lot of them tend to have some element of truth to them. For the Anasazi, even the legend doesn’t cover how evil and how real they are.”
Terry looked at Christina, who had become something of an expert in Indian artifacts in a short time.
“Chris, I’m at a loss here, what is Anasazi?”
She grinned cautiously. “They’re spooks, ghosts, witches; he’s keeping us here for a damn ghost story.”
Ata Halne raised his finger to her and the cautious grin retreated from her face. “You are about to find out how much of a ghost story the Anasazi are.” He turned to Scott who had just returned from upstairs. “Are those windows shut and locked?” Scott nodded.
The old man turned to the door and reached into a small leather pouch hanging from his belt and pulled a white powder from the bag. He tossed the powder against the door with some low chanting.
Terry had finally had enough. “All right, Mr. Halne, whoever you are, we’ve had enough. It’s time you get going.” He walked over to the door and began to pull on the bar lock. And that’s when he noticed the door knob slowly turning.
“It’s here.” Ata Halne muttered.
Maybe it was the cold way in which he spoke; maybe it was just the sight of the door knob turning as he reached to open it. Whatever it was, Terry stopped and backed away from the door. Christina and Scott were behind him and shuffled over to the door. The knock came loudly and insistently, echoing inside the room making it seem as if it had come from seven different directions.
The three of them stood behind Ata Halne, their eyes focused on that twisting, turning knob. A muffled cry came from the other side of the door.
“Terry! Can you come out here please?” they recognized the voice of the delivery driver and Terry laughed slightly.
“Oh shit, Ata, you really had us going there. But seriously it’s time for you to leave. I need to see what he wants.”
Ata Halne lifted his hand and placed it on his shoulder. “If you open that door, he will kill you, your friends and me.”
“It’s just Lenny, he’s an asshole but he isn’t going to kill anyone.” Terry moved toward the door and was stopped again by the Old Man who shook his head.
“Lenny is dead, because he didn’t listen to me. What stands out there now is the Yee Naaldlooshii, a Skinwalker.”
Christina giggled. “So what old man, you’re saying Lenny is a werewolf? Terry, let’s go home.” She gave the old man a look of disbelief and walked over to Terry.
Terry looked at her puzzled.
“The Yee Naaldlooshii, skinwalkers, they are suppose to use Anasazi magic to wear animal skins and become whatever animal they want to. They are early werewolf legends, but they turn into more than just wolves. It’s magic bullshit.”
The old man walked past Christina to the window and pointed outside. “Can you see him, out there, in the shadows, are you sure it is Lenny?”
She moved to the window and nodded, “Yes, Lenny is right there, plain as day. He’s standing next to his truck.”
“And how far is that from the door here?” the old man asked.
Christina shrugged, “About fifteen to twenty feet.”
The old man nodded, “I see, so how is it exactly, that Lenny is turning the door knob on your door from twenty feet away?”
Christina then turned to look at the knob, and back to the figure in the dark. The Indian was right, the knob was still moving. Her face grew pale as she backed away from the window. Terry made his way over to the window and peered outside. The overweight shadowy figure rocked back and forth on his heels in the shadows, and he was indeed too far away to be turning the knob. Terry tried to speak but felt a lump form in his throat.
Seeing he had their attention, the old man said, “Call him closer, but don’t touch the door.”
Christina called out, “Hey Lenny, come on over here.”
‘Lenny’ moved deftly for a fat man and walked briefly into the light that shown from the roof of the building. When ‘Lenny’ looked up, the old man touched Christina’s shoulder. “Look at his eyes.”
She saw “Lenny’s” eyes glow a fierce yellow and gasped. “Lenny” seemed to hear her and stepped back into the shadows swiftly.
Her eyes widened, she looked to the old man.
“When the Yee Naaldlooshii are in human form, their eyes glow at night, like an animals. When they are in animal form, their eyes do not glow like an animals’ should. Like I said, your friend Lenny is dead.”
The tears formed in her eyes quickly as she realized that the old man was telling the truth. Scott was yelling.
“Bullshit, no this is bullshit!” he tore his cap from his head and tossed it to the ground. Terry looked out the window, then back at the old man.
Ata Halne spoke, “If you had told me when I was your age, that I could sit at a desk here in Florida and type something that would be seen in Arizona, or any other part of the world instantly, I would have said it was bullshit. Today, you call it email.”
Terry glanced out the window and addressed Ata Halne. “What the fuck is in that box, old man?”
He opened his mouth to speak and that is when the pounding began. It was as if two massive invisible fists beat the metallic walls. The walls shook with each hit. Christina screamed and ran to Terry. Scott looked up as the pounding escalated, now the roof was being pummeled. The pounding continued as Ata Halne began sprinkling the white powder toward the window.
He turned toward the three and began to speak, hesitated, and started again.
“Short version. The Anasazi control very dark magic, there are very few of them left. The amulet inside that box belonged to a chief among the Anasazi, he was said to have consorted with demons. When he died, his house was burned and his charms were buried on sacred ground. It was buried in a tomb on sacred burial grounds where Anasazi cannot go. When the honest person you bought it from found it, he had no idea what it was. The Skinwalker wants this amulet, to help him consort with demons and gain the power that comes with it.”
Terry shook his head. The pounding suddenly ceased. They stared up briefly and Terry spoke.
“So why didn’t he get it in Arizona? Why wait until it got here?”
“The Skinwalker has no power when the sun is in the sky. The amulet was removed from the protection of the sacred grounds and was on a plane bound for here before the sun fell. A Skinwalker is fast, but cannot keep up with a plane.”
Scott, recovered from his earlier fit, now asked, “So what do we do now?”
The old man leaned in, “Are you sure those windows are shut tight?”
“Shit!” Scott yelled and rushed upstairs.
Terry watched Scott go and faced Ata Halne, “So about his question, what do we do now?”
The old man sighed, “The amulet needs to be returned to sacred ground. It needs to be buried and this,” he reached down into his leather pouch to pull out some white powder, “this needs to be sprinkled on top of the burial place. Preferably, it should be sprinkled in the form of a circle. The Yee Naaldlooshii will not be able to enter sacred ground in Skinwalker form, and will not be able to reach the amulet shielded by the white ash in human form. One more thing, their power they get from fear, the fear you feel now, fuels the Skinwalker outside. Pretty soon, he will be strong enough to get in.”
Scott shook his head. “No, no damn it, we paid for that thing. No shit-face Indian monster is gonna take it. I’m getting the Judge.”
Terry agreed. Scott disappeared into his office and returned a moment later, the massive three inch barrel weapon at his side.
It was Ata Halne’s turn to be confused. “Judge?” he asked.
Terry pointed and explained, “Scott’s judge is a 45 long colt. He’s gonna blast the shit out of your Skinwalker.”
“No weapon will have an effect on the Skinwalker. All he’s going to do is make a hole big enough for it to get in the building. Unless…” he approached Scott who held the Judge in his hand.
“Scott, are those hollow points?” Ata Halne asked. Scott nodded. “Please, let me see them.” Ata Halne asked. Scott looked at Terry and Christina, removed the bullets and handed them to the old man.
The old man packed his white powder into the hollow points and stood them up on the desk next to him. He pulled out a flask and wet the powder in each bullet with the liquid inside.
When he saw the three looking at him, he shrugged, “Whiskey, it will keep the ash from flying out while the bullet travels.”
Terry pointed at the Indian’s pouch, “Ash? What does that do?”
The Indian patted the pouch and handed the bullets back to Scott.
“This ash is the white ash of a sacred tree. The branches of the tree are capable of killing the Yee Naaldlooshi, but only in his human form. Sharpen a branch, pierce the skin. When the Yee Naaldlooshi is strongest in animal form, not even sacred tree can kill him, but the ashes of part of the sacred tree branches can cause it great pain.”
“So, this ash can kill it then?”
The Indian shrugged, “It is possible. I’ve have only heard of one Skinwalker that was successfully hit with a bullet. He was three feet away when the bullet struck him. It didn’t affect him and he killed the man that shot him.”
Scott heard the last part and hesitated, staring down at the Judge. He looked at Terry, then at Christina and approached the window. He glanced briefly and turned inside.
“Guys, he’s gone.”
All of them gathered around Scott, and looked out the window. The delivery truck was still where Lenny had parked it. But “Lenny” was no longer in sight. The absence of the pounding from the outside now screamed at them in silence.
Ata Halne pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Terry. He placed his hand on Terry’s shoulder and spoke.
“We do not have much time; this is the location of the closest true sacred ground to us. It is behind a house several miles from here. If your gun does not work, and it won’t, you must bury this in the center of the enclosed area behind the house. This house was built on the site of a great chief’s dwelling.”
Terry stopped him, “Whoa wait. What about you?”
The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out another leather pouch handing it to Terry. “We don’t have much time, left. Take the amulet and when I say go, you go.”
“What about that thing out there?” Terry asked.
Ata Halne gave Terry a grim look, “It’s not out there anymore, it is in here with us.”
Christina screamed and pulled close to Scott. They pulled together in the center of the room, their eyes darting to and fro in the room.
Ata Halne began speaking.
“Remember, the Skinwalker can appear to be anyone or anything or any size. Do not let each other out of your sight. It can take your appearance, and your voice, but it won’t have your memories. It will try to stop you from completing the burial, in human form; the Skinwalker has all the strength of any human, but is cunning. You have the map; you must go and do this.”
A high pitched wail rose from the corners of the room and the lights snapped off. Scott yelled, “Shit!” Terry’s hands grasped around in the darkness and pulled at the arms closest to him. He felt Christina trembling and Scott, arms extended waving the Judge around in the darkness. From the darkness came Ata Halne’s cry, “Go, all of you. Go now!”
He cried out in pain and screamed in Navajo. The three bolted in the general direction of the front door and stumbled over the unseen desks and chairs in their path. Terry still clung to the box and fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. They heard Ata Halne grunt and an unearthly screech pierce the night.
They made it to Terry’s car, scrambled in and locked the doors. While Terry fumbled with quaking hands to get the key in to the ignition, Christina looked back at the doorway and shrieked, pointing. Ata Halne stumbled out of the office and raised his hands. She grabbed Terry’s arm and squeezed. He watched the old man approach the vehicle. An odd grin was on his face and he began to beckon to them. Terry stuck the key in and turned, nothing happened.
“Oh shit!” He turned the key again, the engine clicked.
Ata Halne came closer and smiled. He reached his hands around the back of his neck and pulled. His face collapsed inward, blood poured from his eyes, mouth and nose as the flesh mask fell forward.
Click click
Scott pointed the Judge at the gruesome sight aimed, and pulled the trigger. The explosion roared in their ears as they saw the creature reel back from the impact. The remains of Ata Halne’s flesh fell from around the creature. It was more shadow than substance, and turned its glowing yellow eyes toward the car as it fell to the ground.
Click, click, the car engine roared to life as the creature stretched out its hand. Scott raised the Judge and fired four more times. The creature cried out as each round struck home. Terry slammed the car into ‘Drive’ and punched the accelerator. With a swift turn of the wheel he drove over the creature writhing on the ground.
There was a slight shudder as the rear wheel spun off the slick bloody mass that was once Ata Halne. It was only now that Terry noticed that Christina had been screaming, he spun the car around and they sat and watched the quivering mass on the ground. With their ears still ringing from the gunshots, and from the screaming, they didn’t hear Scott speak the first time. Terry turned when he saw Scott’s mouth moving and asked, “What?”
“Is it dead?” he yelled back.
Terry shook his head, “I don’t know.” Tears ran down Christina’s face as she reached up and removed hair from her eyes with quaking fingers. The creature shuddered. With eyes locked onto ‘it’, the trio waited. They barely breathed as they watched it raise a misshapen arm from the pile of flesh and begin to push itself upwards.
“Damn it! I’m out of bullets. Hit it again, Terry.”
“No, we’re getting out of here.”
Terry yanked the wheel to the right and headed toward the highway at full speed. They stared back at the creature that was now stumbling to its feet, standing over Scott's corpse. They were doing eighty when the creature finally disappeared from view.
Each of them were panting heavily and remained silent for several minutes. Terry wiped the sweat from his brow and pressed harder on the accelerator. Neither of them realized how many hours they were driving before they finally came to the turn off the old man had indicated. They pulled in, exhausted. And Terry got out of the car.
III
Terry watched Scott get out of the car. He could tell that Scott was nervous, more because of the expression on his face as he stared straight ahead at the house in the distance than because of any words he used. Scott gave him a familiar nod of the head in the direction of the odd house and stepped away from the car. Terry turned to walk toward Christina when it hit. The blur leapt over the rear of the car with a deafening wail and landed on Scott’s back. Terry heard the strained gurgle as Scott fell to the ground with a thud. His neck had been torn open in one swift move, the blood exploding outward hitting Terry and Christina. She screamed as Scott hit the ground and began pulling and clawing at Terry to run. They stumbled away from their friend and headed toward the only cover available. The house.
Christine reached the door first, slamming her body against it with full force; the door gave as they burst into the room. Terry was a half second behind but still managed to get in her way when she tried to slam the door shut. With trembling fingers, she bolted the door and fastened the chain. Then she noticed the blood on her hand, her clothes and face. She began shaking. They had heard it coming; the warm moist breath it expelled with each step seemed to reach the backs of their necks even at a hundred yards. That panting might as well have been the creature laughing at them, for all the effort it expended in killing their friend and chasing them down. As Terry looked at Christina, they both realized that the only reason they made it to the house, was because Scott didn’t.
‘The old Indian had been right.’ Terry thought to himself. ‘Here we were, the young smart professionals with no time for ancient magic bullshit being chased by a homicidal magic creature.’ He winced at the irony and cursed the damned email that started it all, just a few short hours ago.
Christina shivered as she wrapped her arms around Terry’s neck and wept. The house was deserted and there were several more hours before sun rise. She buried her face in his chest and he embraced her. He kissed the top of her head, and said, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” She nodded silently. Terry kissed her again and guided her away from the front door. After a few moments, Terry took the amulet from his pocket where he had stashed it just in case, and examined it. It wasn’t anything spectacular; it appeared to be made of wood and turquoise with some gold pieces dangling from the center.
The wind whipped up outside the door, but there was no banging. There were no scratches at the window and no pounding on the roof. Terry pocketed the amulet and peeked out the window. On this moonless, starless night little was visible save the glow of the nearby city that lit up the hills and horizon around it.
A rap on the back wall caused him to jump. He looked over at Christina; her head buried in her hands and decided to check out the noise. The room appeared to be the den of a hunter or outdoors enthusiast. Mounting boards lined the wall with distorted heads of long departed animals. Terry approached what appeared to be a fire place and wondered if anything could get in.
He heard a rustle behind him and turned. Christina stood in the shadows, and he could see her shaking.
“I’m scared, Terry.”
He nodded and came to her side.
“I know. Me too.”
“Hold me, Terry.” She brushed her chest against his sending his heart rate skyrocketing. He placed his hand at the small of her back and squeezed.
“Always, Christina, always.”
Her hands fell to his waist and pulled him in tighter.
“Why couldn’t we just toss the damned thing out there and let it go away. Doesn’t that make sense? Then we could stay here. Please, please, just throw it outside.”
Terry shook his head. “That thing killed my best friend. I’m not giving it shit.”
Christina pulled back, “I know that, he was my friend too, but I don’t want to die. Where is it Terry? It wasn’t in the box.”
A chill went up Terry’s spine. “How did you know it wasn’t in the box, Christina?”
She shrugged and raised her eyes to meet his. Terry saw the yellow glow emanating from her once beautiful ice blue eyes. He stumbled backward.
“Oh God, no, not Christina!”
‘She’ smiled. “Is this what you want, this body? I know it is.”
Terry stared into the face of the woman he loved, but never told. He reached for the leather pouch as ‘she’ continued speaking.
“Where is the amulet, Terry? Tell me now and I’ll make sure that you die as quickly as she did.”
“Go to Hell.”
‘She’ laughed. “Kiss me Terry.” ‘She’ leaned down and climbed on top of him. He could still smell the perfume in her hair. Her cold lips locked on to his and pulled. Terry struggled to retreat, to get that hand full of ash from the pouch, but he shook as ‘she’ leaned in again. She placed a hand on his thigh and slid it upward.
Terry yanked his hand from the leather pouch and shoved the white ash into ‘her’ opening mouth. ‘She’ screeched and tore Christina’s flesh off where it collapsed into a crimson mess.
It rolled on the floor with a horrible wail as it clawed at what could only be its ‘mouth’. Terry leapt to his feet and ran for the back door. He passed Christina’s body lying in a bloody mound and cried out in anger and pain. He tore open the back door and ran into the back yard. One section of the yard was fenced off, and he saw the Indian symbols on the grave. Terry kneeled and overturned a stone in that section of the yard.
He tore at the ground with his hands trying to get a hole dug in the tough soil. He reached into his pocket, removed the amulet and dropped it into the shallow hole. He covered it over, replaced the rock and sprinkled white ash in a circle over the stone. Then with two handfuls of the remaining ash, he waited. The creature burst from the house and raced toward Terry. Its form glistened and sparkled, looking more like a shadow than a solid creature. Its forward progress stopped suddenly at the fence, as if it had hit an invisible wall.
“Skinwalker, meet sacred ground.” Terry said.
“NO!” it shouted. “It’s not possible. We are too far from Navajo land.”
“So was the Navajo chief they buried here.”
The creature shrieked and clawed at the air trying to pass through the invisible impenetrable shield. After several minutes of fruitless attempts, the creature began walking the border around the sacred ground. Terry turned as the creature did, never taking his eyes off of it.
“In a couple of hours, the sun will be up Skinwalker. I can wait, can you?”
The creature looked to the east and knew Terry was right. It spoke.
“The woman, you loved her?”
“Yes, I loved her and you killed her.”
The creature’s expression, if you could call it that, turned up into a smile. It pointed a finger at Terry.
“With the power of the amulet, I can give you your woman back alive.”
Terry stopped.
‘No, Ata Halne said that the creature would be cunning.’ Terry thought.
The creature spoke again, “We sit here at an impasse, and I have told you what I can do for you. You know what you can do for me. And yet neither moves.”
“You can make Christina alive again?”
The creature nodded. “With the help of the amulet, I can do anything.”
“How do I know you won’t kill me when I give it to you?”
“Obviously, you don’t. But you can sit and wait for her body to decay, or I can give her back to you now.”
Terry held out his left hand, as if to drop the amulet he didn't have any longer into the creatures' grasp and extended it over the border of the fence. When the creature opened its hand, Terry grasped it and pulled. White ash flew into the creature, searing it. With a hard yank, Terry pulled the creature through the fence. It writhed in agony, thrashing on the ground.
“I kind of figured that if touching sacred ground was too painful for you, that having the shit kicked out of you with sacred ground might do the trick.” Terry turned and picked up the stone. He brought the stone down on the creature’s head and heard a sick crack. He lifted the stone again and brought it down through the torso of the Skinwalker. Green smoke bellowed from the cracks in the creatures form.
Slowly, the creature began to lose his form and the twitching ceased. Terry looked down and watched as the form melted into the sacred ground and sizzled. He dropped the stone back into its place and stood over the liquefied remains of the Skinwalker. He picked up more stones from the sacred ground and placed them on the bubbling black liquid. He stayed for the sunrise; just to make sure the creature was as dead as it now smelled. When the sunlight hit the black ooze, it disintegrated into dust. There would be no human form for this Skinwalker not any more. Only when there was enough light in the sky did he leave the sacred ground and head for his car.
submitted by gunnarangellawrence1 to creepypasta [link] [comments]

Yee Naaldlooshi

Yee Naaldlooshi - Skinwalker
by Gunnar Angel Lawrence
Terry noticed the quick blink of the computer screen when the email arrived. It seemed odd, he thought, but then again it was the end of a long day at work and he made the conscious decision to ignore the email until the next day. He eyed Christina as she got up from her desk and stretched. Her long blond hair cascaded over her shoulders and to her back. She looked at him and smiled broadly, it was time to go home. Terry got lost for a moment in her ice blue eyes and looked downward quickly.
“I know there’s a song called, ‘Its Five O Clock somewhere’ but let me make it official, and it’s time to go home.” Terry said with a smile. Christina lifted both arms into the air and gave a celebratory ‘yay’.
“Christina, call Scott up here, tell him we get paid this week, not a lot, but enough to eat for a few days anyway.” She smiled and pushed the intercom button and relayed the message. Terry opened the drawer picked the two checks out and slammed the drawer shut. The computer screen blinked once and Terry noticed that somehow the email had opened. He looked at the first line and swore.
Christina turned and noticed the expression on Terry’s face.
“No! Terry what is it?”
Scott lumbered into the room and knew that something wasn’t right.
“Wh—What’s wrong, guys?” he asked.
Terry sighed and handed them their checks. Then he summarized the email.
“The package we got from Show Low, Arizona, the one for the new casino? There is an issue. An Indian man is claiming it was stolen from an ancient burial site. He is on his way here now from the airport.”
“That’s bullshit! I know I paid for that piece from Andy, he’s a reputable dealer. I’ve bought from him before.” She said.
“I know that Christina, please do me a favor, find the paperwork on that piece and give the dealer a call for me, he is going to be here in less than an hour. Scott hang around, you’re bigger than I am and I might need someone to take out an elderly Indian for me.” Scott grinned and nodded.
Terry’s company found and acquired rare pieces for private collections, hotels, casinos and the occasional museum. The new casino in Miami had asked for interesting Indian décor. Unfortunately, few genuine Indian artifacts were found anymore in Florida that didn’t already have the name of a casino stamped on them. This piece was found in Navajo territory in a backwater community called Show Low.
Terry watched Christina lean against her desk with a sigh, her paperwork in hand. They were all very aware of the financial difficulties their company had been having since the recession started. And they all knew that a delay with the selling of this piece to the casino would mean a delay in cashing their next checks. He cleared his throat and pretended not to watch her stretch again. He knew that she knew that he liked her; there was just never the right moment. It wasn’t too much longer before a truck pulled up to the office. They heard the squeal of the brakes and all three bolted for the door. The delivery driver heaved his overweight frame out of the truck and shoved the small box and a clipboard into Terry’s hands. Terry took the box and signed the form on the clipboard.
The driver, Lenny, nodded with relief.
“Now you can deal with the Chief here, He’s followed me all day.”
Terry glanced over to where he pointed and saw the long white car pull to a stop behind the truck. The man who stepped out could have been in his seventies, but there was a strength about him that was conveyed with swift, firm movements. His bronzed skin seemed to glisten in the humid Florida afternoon. He strode over and waved good bye to the delivery driver who was moving as quick as his girth would allow.
The old man called after the delivery driver.
“Get out of here now sir, it is very important.” Lenny nodded and climbed into his van from the rear.
Terry watched the old man turned and focused on him.
“My name is Ata Halne. I am begging you not to open that package. We need to get inside, before the sun sets, it is coming.”
Terry smiled, “Mr. Halne…
“No! My name is Ata Halne, I don’t have time for explanations out here, we have maybe ten minutes before the sun sets. Get inside now please.”
Terry stared back at Scott and Christina and they appeared to be as confused as he was. All three of them backed into the building and shut the door. Ata Halne reached over, bolted the door and slid the bar lock in place. He turned toward them and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now, are there any open windows, barred or not, and are there any other entrances to this building?” He moved closer and they backed up. Christina, normally not one to take attitude, especially when she was ready to leave, was not speaking. She was gripping Scott’s hand with enough intensity to cause him to wince.
“Mr. Halne…” Terry started.
“I said my name was Ata Halne, now answer the question.”
“Okay fine. No there are no other doors, no windows on this floor….”
The old man pointed at Scott, “You, go shut the windows on the other floor now.” Scott hesitated, and looked at Terry, who nodded.
“Hey, we paid for that package and we got it from someone who has always been honest with us. What is your beef with this package?” Terry demanded.
The old man lifted his calloused finger and pointed it straight at Terry’s face. Unwavering, he held the finger there and spoke.
Anasazi.”
II
The word rolled off the man’s tongue with a cold trill. Terry felt a chill shoot through him when he heard it, though he had no idea what the word meant. The old man repeated himself.
“Anasazi. What you have in that package is Anasazi.”
Christina cleared her throat, still hesitant to approach the old man and spoke, “Anasazi, that’s Navajo legend right?”
The old man stared at her, “Funny thing about legends, a lot of them tend to have some element of truth to them. For the Anasazi, even the legend doesn’t cover how evil and how real they are.”
Terry looked at Christina, who had become something of an expert in Indian artifacts in a short time.
“Chris, I’m at a loss here, what is Anasazi?”
She grinned cautiously. “They’re spooks, ghosts, witches; he’s keeping us here for a damn ghost story.”
Ata Halne raised his finger to her and the cautious grin retreated from her face. “You are about to find out how much of a ghost story the Anasazi are.” He turned to Scott who had just returned from upstairs. “Are those windows shut and locked?” Scott nodded.
The old man turned to the door and reached into a small leather pouch hanging from his belt and pulled a white powder from the bag. He tossed the powder against the door with some low chanting.
Terry had finally had enough. “All right, Mr. Halne, whoever you are, we’ve had enough. It’s time you get going.” He walked over to the door and began to pull on the bar lock. And that’s when he noticed the door knob slowly turning.
“It’s here.” Ata Halne muttered.
Maybe it was the cold way in which he spoke; maybe it was just the sight of the door knob turning as he reached to open it. Whatever it was, Terry stopped and backed away from the door. Christina and Scott were behind him and shuffled over to the door. The knock came loudly and insistently, echoing inside the room making it seem as if it had come from seven different directions.
The three of them stood behind Ata Halne, their eyes focused on that twisting, turning knob. A muffled cry came from the other side of the door.
“Terry! Can you come out here please?” they recognized the voice of the delivery driver and Terry laughed slightly.
“Oh shit, Ata, you really had us going there. But seriously it’s time for you to leave. I need to see what he wants.”
Ata Halne lifted his hand and placed it on his shoulder. “If you open that door, he will kill you, your friends and me.”
“It’s just Lenny, he’s an asshole but he isn’t going to kill anyone.” Terry moved toward the door and was stopped again by the Old Man who shook his head.
“Lenny is dead, because he didn’t listen to me. What stands out there now is the Yee Naaldlooshii, a Skinwalker.”
Christina giggled. “So what old man, you’re saying Lenny is a werewolf? Terry, let’s go home.” She gave the old man a look of disbelief and walked over to Terry.
Terry looked at her puzzled.
“The Yee Naaldlooshii, skinwalkers, they are suppose to use Anasazi magic to wear animal skins and become whatever animal they want to. They are early werewolf legends, but they turn into more than just wolves. It’s magic bullshit.”
The old man walked past Christina to the window and pointed outside. “Can you see him, out there, in the shadows, are you sure it is Lenny?”
She moved to the window and nodded, “Yes, Lenny is right there, plain as day. He’s standing next to his truck.”
“And how far is that from the door here?” the old man asked.
Christina shrugged, “About fifteen to twenty feet.”
The old man nodded, “I see, so how is it exactly, that Lenny is turning the door knob on your door from twenty feet away?”
Christina then turned to look at the knob, and back to the figure in the dark. The Indian was right, the knob was still moving. Her face grew pale as she backed away from the window. Terry made his way over to the window and peered outside. The overweight shadowy figure rocked back and forth on his heels in the shadows, and he was indeed too far away to be turning the knob. Terry tried to speak but felt a lump form in his throat.
Seeing he had their attention, the old man said, “Call him closer, but don’t touch the door.”
Christina called out, “Hey Lenny, come on over here.”
‘Lenny’ moved deftly for a fat man and walked briefly into the light that shown from the roof of the building. When ‘Lenny’ looked up, the old man touched Christina’s shoulder. “Look at his eyes.”
She saw “Lenny’s” eyes glow a fierce yellow and gasped. “Lenny” seemed to hear her and stepped back into the shadows swiftly.
Her eyes widened, she looked to the old man.
“When the Yee Naaldlooshii are in human form, their eyes glow at night, like an animals. When they are in animal form, their eyes do not glow like an animals’ should. Like I said, your friend Lenny is dead.”
The tears formed in her eyes quickly as she realized that the old man was telling the truth. Scott was yelling.
“Bullshit, no this is bullshit!” he tore his cap from his head and tossed it to the ground. Terry looked out the window, then back at the old man.
Ata Halne spoke, “If you had told me when I was your age, that I could sit at a desk here in Florida and type something that would be seen in Arizona, or any other part of the world instantly, I would have said it was bullshit. Today, you call it email.”
Terry glanced out the window and addressed Ata Halne. “What the fuck is in that box, old man?”
He opened his mouth to speak and that is when the pounding began. It was as if two massive invisible fists beat the metallic walls. The walls shook with each hit. Christina screamed and ran to Terry. Scott looked up as the pounding escalated, now the roof was being pummeled. The pounding continued as Ata Halne began sprinkling the white powder toward the window.
He turned toward the three and began to speak, hesitated, and started again.
“Short version. The Anasazi control very dark magic, there are very few of them left. The amulet inside that box belonged to a chief among the Anasazi, he was said to have consorted with demons. When he died, his house was burned and his charms were buried on sacred ground. It was buried in a tomb on sacred burial grounds where Anasazi cannot go. When the honest person you bought it from found it, he had no idea what it was. The Skinwalker wants this amulet, to help him consort with demons and gain the power that comes with it.”
Terry shook his head. The pounding suddenly ceased. They stared up briefly and Terry spoke.
“So why didn’t he get it in Arizona? Why wait until it got here?”
“The Skinwalker has no power when the sun is in the sky. The amulet was removed from the protection of the sacred grounds and was on a plane bound for here before the sun fell. A Skinwalker is fast, but cannot keep up with a plane.”
Scott, recovered from his earlier fit, now asked, “So what do we do now?”
The old man leaned in, “Are you sure those windows are shut tight?”
“Shit!” Scott yelled and rushed upstairs.
Terry watched Scott go and faced Ata Halne, “So about his question, what do we do now?”
The old man sighed, “The amulet needs to be returned to sacred ground. It needs to be buried and this,” he reached down into his leather pouch to pull out some white powder, “this needs to be sprinkled on top of the burial place. Preferably, it should be sprinkled in the form of a circle. The Yee Naaldlooshii will not be able to enter sacred ground in Skinwalker form, and will not be able to reach the amulet shielded by the white ash in human form. One more thing, their power they get from fear, the fear you feel now, fuels the Skinwalker outside. Pretty soon, he will be strong enough to get in.”
Scott shook his head. “No, no damn it, we paid for that thing. No shit-face Indian monster is gonna take it. I’m getting the Judge.”
Terry agreed. Scott disappeared into his office and returned a moment later, the massive three inch barrel weapon at his side.
It was Ata Halne’s turn to be confused. “Judge?” he asked.
Terry pointed and explained, “Scott’s judge is a 45 long colt. He’s gonna blast the shit out of your Skinwalker.”
“No weapon will have an effect on the Skinwalker. All he’s going to do is make a hole big enough for it to get in the building. Unless…” he approached Scott who held the Judge in his hand.
“Scott, are those hollow points?” Ata Halne asked. Scott nodded. “Please, let me see them.” Ata Halne asked. Scott looked at Terry and Christina, removed the bullets and handed them to the old man.
The old man packed his white powder into the hollow points and stood them up on the desk next to him. He pulled out a flask and wet the powder in each bullet with the liquid inside.
When he saw the three looking at him, he shrugged, “Whiskey, it will keep the ash from flying out while the bullet travels.”
Terry pointed at the Indian’s pouch, “Ash? What does that do?”
The Indian patted the pouch and handed the bullets back to Scott.
“This ash is the white ash of a sacred tree. The branches of the tree are capable of killing the Yee Naaldlooshi, but only in his human form. Sharpen a branch, pierce the skin. When the Yee Naaldlooshi is strongest in animal form, not even sacred tree can kill him, but the ashes of part of the sacred tree branches can cause it great pain.”
“So, this ash can kill it then?”
The Indian shrugged, “It is possible. I’ve have only heard of one Skinwalker that was successfully hit with a bullet. He was three feet away when the bullet struck him. It didn’t affect him and he killed the man that shot him.”
Scott heard the last part and hesitated, staring down at the Judge. He looked at Terry, then at Christina and approached the window. He glanced briefly and turned inside.
“Guys, he’s gone.”
All of them gathered around Scott, and looked out the window. The delivery truck was still where Lenny had parked it. But “Lenny” was no longer in sight. The absence of the pounding from the outside now screamed at them in silence.
Ata Halne pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Terry. He placed his hand on Terry’s shoulder and spoke.
“We do not have much time; this is the location of the closest true sacred ground to us. It is behind a house several miles from here. If your gun does not work, and it won’t, you must bury this in the center of the enclosed area behind the house. This house was built on the site of a great chief’s dwelling.”
Terry stopped him, “Whoa wait. What about you?”
The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out another leather pouch handing it to Terry. “We don’t have much time, left. Take the amulet and when I say go, you go.”
“What about that thing out there?” Terry asked.
Ata Halne gave Terry a grim look, “It’s not out there anymore, it is in here with us.”
Christina screamed and pulled close to Scott. They pulled together in the center of the room, their eyes darting to and fro in the room.
Ata Halne began speaking.
“Remember, the Skinwalker can appear to be anyone or anything or any size. Do not let each other out of your sight. It can take your appearance, and your voice, but it won’t have your memories. It will try to stop you from completing the burial, in human form; the Skinwalker has all the strength of any human, but is cunning. You have the map; you must go and do this.”
A high pitched wail rose from the corners of the room and the lights snapped off. Scott yelled, “Shit!” Terry’s hands grasped around in the darkness and pulled at the arms closest to him. He felt Christina trembling and Scott, arms extended waving the Judge around in the darkness. From the darkness came Ata Halne’s cry, “Go, all of you. Go now!”
He cried out in pain and screamed in Navajo. The three bolted in the general direction of the front door and stumbled over the unseen desks and chairs in their path. Terry still clung to the box and fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. They heard Ata Halne grunt and an unearthly screech pierce the night.
They made it to Terry’s car, scrambled in and locked the doors. While Terry fumbled with quaking hands to get the key in to the ignition, Christina looked back at the doorway and shrieked, pointing. Ata Halne stumbled out of the office and raised his hands. She grabbed Terry’s arm and squeezed. He watched the old man approach the vehicle. An odd grin was on his face and he began to beckon to them. Terry stuck the key in and turned, nothing happened.
“Oh shit!” He turned the key again, the engine clicked.
Ata Halne came closer and smiled. He reached his hands around the back of his neck and pulled. His face collapsed inward, blood poured from his eyes, mouth and nose as the flesh mask fell forward.
Click click
Scott pointed the Judge at the gruesome sight aimed, and pulled the trigger. The explosion roared in their ears as they saw the creature reel back from the impact. The remains of Ata Halne’s flesh fell from around the creature. It was more shadow than substance, and turned its glowing yellow eyes toward the car as it fell to the ground.
Click, click, the car engine roared to life as the creature stretched out its hand. Scott raised the Judge and fired four more times. The creature cried out as each round struck home. Terry slammed the car into ‘Drive’ and punched the accelerator. With a swift turn of the wheel he drove over the creature writhing on the ground.
There was a slight shudder as the rear wheel spun off the slick bloody mass that was once Ata Halne. It was only now that Terry noticed that Christina had been screaming, he spun the car around and they sat and watched the quivering mass on the ground. With their ears still ringing from the gunshots, and from the screaming, they didn’t hear Scott speak the first time. Terry turned when he saw Scott’s mouth moving and asked, “What?”
“Is it dead?” he yelled back.
Terry shook his head, “I don’t know.” Tears ran down Christina’s face as she reached up and removed hair from her eyes with quaking fingers. The creature shuddered. With eyes locked onto ‘it’, the trio waited. They barely breathed as they watched it raise a misshapen arm from the pile of flesh and begin to push itself upwards.
“Damn it! I’m out of bullets. Hit it again, Terry.”
“No, we’re getting out of here.”
Terry yanked the wheel to the right and headed toward the highway at full speed. They stared back at the creature that was now stumbling to its feet, standing over Scott's corpse. They were doing eighty when the creature finally disappeared from view.
Each of them were panting heavily and remained silent for several minutes. Terry wiped the sweat from his brow and pressed harder on the accelerator. Neither of them realized how many hours they were driving before they finally came to the turn off the old man had indicated. They pulled in, exhausted. And Terry got out of the car.
III
Terry watched Scott get out of the car. He could tell that Scott was nervous, more because of the expression on his face as he stared straight ahead at the house in the distance than because of any words he used. Scott gave him a familiar nod of the head in the direction of the odd house and stepped away from the car. Terry turned to walk toward Christina when it hit. The blur leapt over the rear of the car with a deafening wail and landed on Scott’s back. Terry heard the strained gurgle as Scott fell to the ground with a thud. His neck had been torn open in one swift move, the blood exploding outward hitting Terry and Christina. She screamed as Scott hit the ground and began pulling and clawing at Terry to run. They stumbled away from their friend and headed toward the only cover available. The house.
Christine reached the door first, slamming her body against it with full force; the door gave as they burst into the room. Terry was a half second behind but still managed to get in her way when she tried to slam the door shut. With trembling fingers, she bolted the door and fastened the chain. Then she noticed the blood on her hand, her clothes and face. She began shaking. They had heard it coming; the warm moist breath it expelled with each step seemed to reach the backs of their necks even at a hundred yards. That panting might as well have been the creature laughing at them, for all the effort it expended in killing their friend and chasing them down. As Terry looked at Christina, they both realized that the only reason they made it to the house, was because Scott didn’t.
‘The old Indian had been right.’ Terry thought to himself. ‘Here we were, the young smart professionals with no time for ancient magic bullshit being chased by a homicidal magic creature.’ He winced at the irony and cursed the damned email that started it all, just a few short hours ago.
Christina shivered as she wrapped her arms around Terry’s neck and wept. The house was deserted and there were several more hours before sun rise. She buried her face in his chest and he embraced her. He kissed the top of her head, and said, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” She nodded silently. Terry kissed her again and guided her away from the front door. After a few moments, Terry took the amulet from his pocket where he had stashed it just in case, and examined it. It wasn’t anything spectacular; it appeared to be made of wood and turquoise with some gold pieces dangling from the center.
The wind whipped up outside the door, but there was no banging. There were no scratches at the window and no pounding on the roof. Terry pocketed the amulet and peeked out the window. On this moonless, starless night little was visible save the glow of the nearby city that lit up the hills and horizon around it.
A rap on the back wall caused him to jump. He looked over at Christina; her head buried in her hands and decided to check out the noise. The room appeared to be the den of a hunter or outdoors enthusiast. Mounting boards lined the wall with distorted heads of long departed animals. Terry approached what appeared to be a fire place and wondered if anything could get in.
He heard a rustle behind him and turned. Christina stood in the shadows, and he could see her shaking.
“I’m scared, Terry.”
He nodded and came to her side.
“I know. Me too.”
“Hold me, Terry.” She brushed her chest against his sending his heart rate skyrocketing. He placed his hand at the small of her back and squeezed.
“Always, Christina, always.”
Her hands fell to his waist and pulled him in tighter.
“Why couldn’t we just toss the damned thing out there and let it go away. Doesn’t that make sense? Then we could stay here. Please, please, just throw it outside.”
Terry shook his head. “That thing killed my best friend. I’m not giving it shit.”
Christina pulled back, “I know that, he was my friend too, but I don’t want to die. Where is it Terry? It wasn’t in the box.”
A chill went up Terry’s spine. “How did you know it wasn’t in the box, Christina?”
She shrugged and raised her eyes to meet his. Terry saw the yellow glow emanating from her once beautiful ice blue eyes. He stumbled backward.
“Oh God, no, not Christina!”
‘She’ smiled. “Is this what you want, this body? I know it is.”
Terry stared into the face of the woman he loved, but never told. He reached for the leather pouch as ‘she’ continued speaking.
“Where is the amulet, Terry? Tell me now and I’ll make sure that you die as quickly as she did.”
“Go to Hell.”
‘She’ laughed. “Kiss me Terry.” ‘She’ leaned down and climbed on top of him. He could still smell the perfume in her hair. Her cold lips locked on to his and pulled. Terry struggled to retreat, to get that hand full of ash from the pouch, but he shook as ‘she’ leaned in again. She placed a hand on his thigh and slid it upward.
Terry yanked his hand from the leather pouch and shoved the white ash into ‘her’ opening mouth. ‘She’ screeched and tore Christina’s flesh off where it collapsed into a crimson mess.
It rolled on the floor with a horrible wail as it clawed at what could only be its ‘mouth’. Terry leapt to his feet and ran for the back door. He passed Christina’s body lying in a bloody mound and cried out in anger and pain. He tore open the back door and ran into the back yard. One section of the yard was fenced off, and he saw the Indian symbols on the grave. Terry kneeled and overturned a stone in that section of the yard.
He tore at the ground with his hands trying to get a hole dug in the tough soil. He reached into his pocket, removed the amulet and dropped it into the shallow hole. He covered it over, replaced the rock and sprinkled white ash in a circle over the stone. Then with two handfuls of the remaining ash, he waited. The creature burst from the house and raced toward Terry. Its form glistened and sparkled, looking more like a shadow than a solid creature. Its forward progress stopped suddenly at the fence, as if it had hit an invisible wall.
“Skinwalker, meet sacred ground.” Terry said.
“NO!” it shouted. “It’s not possible. We are too far from Navajo land.”
“So was the Navajo chief they buried here.”
The creature shrieked and clawed at the air trying to pass through the invisible impenetrable shield. After several minutes of fruitless attempts, the creature began walking the border around the sacred ground. Terry turned as the creature did, never taking his eyes off of it.
“In a couple of hours, the sun will be up Skinwalker. I can wait, can you?”
The creature looked to the east and knew Terry was right. It spoke.
“The woman, you loved her?”
“Yes, I loved her and you killed her.”
The creature’s expression, if you could call it that, turned up into a smile. It pointed a finger at Terry.
“With the power of the amulet, I can give you your woman back alive.”
Terry stopped.
‘No, Ata Halne said that the creature would be cunning.’ Terry thought.
The creature spoke again, “We sit here at an impasse, and I have told you what I can do for you. You know what you can do for me. And yet neither moves.”
“You can make Christina alive again?”
The creature nodded. “With the help of the amulet, I can do anything.”
“How do I know you won’t kill me when I give it to you?”
“Obviously, you don’t. But you can sit and wait for her body to decay, or I can give her back to you now.”
Terry held out his left hand, as if to drop the amulet he didn't have any longer into the creatures' grasp and extended it over the border of the fence. When the creature opened its hand, Terry grasped it and pulled. White ash flew into the creature, searing it. With a hard yank, Terry pulled the creature through the fence. It writhed in agony, thrashing on the ground.
“I kind of figured that if touching sacred ground was too painful for you, that having the shit kicked out of you with sacred ground might do the trick.” Terry turned and picked up the stone. He brought the stone down on the creature’s head and heard a sick crack. He lifted the stone again and brought it down through the torso of the Skinwalker. Green smoke bellowed from the cracks in the creatures form.
Slowly, the creature began to lose his form and the twitching ceased. Terry looked down and watched as the form melted into the sacred ground and sizzled. He dropped the stone back into its place and stood over the liquefied remains of the Skinwalker. He picked up more stones from the sacred ground and placed them on the bubbling black liquid. He stayed for the sunrise; just to make sure the creature was as dead as it now smelled. When the sunlight hit the black ooze, it disintegrated into dust. There would be no human form for this Skinwalker not any more. Only when there was enough light in the sky did he leave the sacred ground and head for his car.
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A Cinematic Guide to The Weeknd: Pt 3. My Dear Melancholy and After Hours

A Cinematic Guide to The Weeknd: Pt 3. My Dear Melancholy and After Hours

My Dear Melancholy

Gaspar Noe/Cannes Film Festival
The My Dear Melancholy era notable for being a time when The Weeknd was in proximity to a lot of serious directors. While he’s had a foot in Hollywood for awhile, 2017 through 2019 he was actively engaging with filmmakers like the Safdies Brothers, Gaspar Noe, and Claire Denis, amongst others. While he had been actively courting the Safdies since Good Time was released, he attended the 2018 Cannes Film Festival where he crossed paths Noe, whose film Climax took home a number awards at Cannes. Noe’s Enter the Void had previously served as an inspiration for Kiss Land, and for MDM (and later After Hours) seem to call back to Noe’s other films, like Irreversible and Love, which are both twisted depictions of heartbreak. On the other hand, Climax is about a French dance troupe who accidentally take LSD, and according to Noe is not a “message” movie. It is an audacious psychedelic technical exercise, with numerous long takes and highly choreographed set pieces. The idea for Noe, who had previously captured the feeling of drugs in previous films, was to do the opposite, and present the objectively reality of drugs, watching people high from a sober perspective.
Noe is a rather strong advocate of film, and the opening scene of Climax features VHS boxes of a number of films that have influenced his filmmaking. Two of note are Schizophrenia, otherwise known as Angst, one of Noe’s favorite films which The Weeknd name checked to the Safdies, and Possession, which would go on to be an influence on After Hours (more on this later). He is also said to have sat next to Benicio Del Toro at Cannes, which means he likely caught some of the Un Certain Regard section, where Del Toro served as a jury member. Outside of that section, there were a few other films of interest such as The House That Jack Built from Lars Von Trier (The Weeknd has previously expressed affection for Von Trier’s Antichrist), Mandy from Pastos Costamos, and music video director Romain Gavras’s The World Is Yours, as well as a restoration of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which Noe has referred to as the film that got him into filmmaking.
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Asian Cinema
Later in 2018, The Weeknd continued his globetrotting with a tour of Asia. He once claimed in an interview that whenever visiting a foreign country he only watches films from there. I’ve previously written about the influence of Asian cinema on Kiss Land, and there’s not enough work from the MDM era to glean anything cinematically adjacent to this, but now would be a good time to mention that the "Call Out My Name" video was heavily inspired by the work of famed Japanese photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto. The Asian tour poster seems to be a reference to Ichi the Killer, which leads us to Takashi Miike. Though he is notoriously prolific across a number of genres, his most popular works internationally are genre melding blends of horror, comedy and crime, most notably Audition, Ichi the Killer and Gozu. Another film worth mentioning is Perfect Blue, Satoshi Kon’s masterwork about a pop star’s mysterious stalker that The Weeknd posted about on Instagram before. Bloody and haunting, the film was a major influence on Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan and Requiem for a Dream. In Interviews he has also mentioned a number of Korean films, such as The Wailing, I Saw the Devil and Oldboy. While Wong Kar Wai was previously mentioned as an influence on Beauty Behind the Madness, also worth mentioning is the work of John Woo, specifically A Better Tomorrow, well known for the shot of smoking a cigar off money, and Infernal Affairs, Andrew Lau’s crime classic which served has the basis for Scorsese’s The Departed.
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After Hours

Martin Scorsese
While After Hours more so than any other Weeknd album is bursting at the seams with cinematic references, the influence of Martin Scorsese stands above all. Similar to The Weeknd’s body of work, many Scorsese’s are explorations of violence and masculinity, investigating them from a perspective that depending on who you ask (and how they’re feeling) glamorizes, condemns or just simply presents the reality of characters on the fringes of society.
While there are direct references to a number of prominent Scorsese films, what’s interesting is that his influence also reverberates in other films/filmmakers that influence After Hours. Todd Phillips’s Joker is in effect an homage to Scorsese’s loner-centric New York films, and the Safdie Brothers have been putting their own millennial spin on the type of 70s gritty thriller that Scorsese trafficked in (Scorsese was also a producer on Uncut Gems). Specific Scorsese works will be discussed more in depth in the requisite sections, but it is worth mentioning upfront what a prominent role that Scorsese plays in the nucleus of After Hours.
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Urban HorroIsolation
With After Hours, The Weeknd departs from the slicker sounds and influences that permeated Starboy and returns to the cinematic grittiness of Beauty Behind the Madness. While urban horror is a theme that permeates throughout The Weeknd as a project overall, there is a thorough line to be drawn here that follows a number of 70s and 80s cinematic and aesthetic references. For one thing, while the initial bandaged nose was a reference to Chinatown (previously, The Weeknd has a Kiss Land demo titled "Roman Polanski"), the full bandaged face that is so prominently featured throughout the After Hours era is a classic cinematic visual trope that was especially prominent throughout 60s and 80s, though it saw a slight re-emergence in the 2010s. The fully bandaged face is often used to remake someone in the image of another, usually against their will (The Skin I Live In, Eyes Without Face), or as a case of mistaken identity and doppelgängers (Good Night Mommy, Scalpel), themes present throughout much of After Hours. The "Too Late" video acknowledges these references, but instead presents the bandages on two Los Angeles models recovering from plastic surgery, in a nod to a famous Steven Meisel’s photoshoot for Vogue Italia.
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The “masks” people wear is another horror trope that is featured prominently on After Hours, and this is best seen in the red suit character. One important reference in the film is to Brian De Palma’s Dressed To Kill, where a serial killer is targeting the patients of a psychiatrist (any more on this film will veer towards spoiler territory). The Weeknd is on the record as saying Jim Carrey’s The Mask as being a large influence on the Red Suit character, it being one of the first film’s he watched in theaters. One of the more complex references would be to Joker. While it sort of an in-joke that the character of the Joker is commonly overanalyzed and misinterpreted, referencing Todd Phillips’s Joker is more nuanced because it is in essence a full on homage to Martin Scorsese’s New York films, most notably Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy, which focus on eccentric loners, and can both be seen as cautionary tale of urban isolation, a theme explored perhaps in songs like "Faith." The King of Comedy revolves around a would be obsessive stand up Rupert Pupkin haggling his way to perform on late night TV, with The Weeknd’s talk show appearances being a prominent part of the early After Hours marketing, most notably in the “short film”. This idea of isolated and compressed urbanites recurs throughout After Hours and it’s films.
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The idea of urban repression is in the subway scene of the After Hours short film. The entire film itself is something of a reference to the subway scene to Possession (another Gaspar Noe favorite), mimicking the (also subway set) scene in which Isabelle Adjani’s Anna convulses on the subway due to a miscarriage, as well as Jacob’s Ladder, a 90s cult classic horror film starring Tim Robbins as a Vietnam vet (like Taxi Driver’s Travis Bickle) who is experiencing demonic hallucinations, encountering them in the subway and later at a party he attends, splitting the scene into two.
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Las Vegas
As always, The Weeknd once again grounds After Hours with a strong sense of place, this time setting the album against a nocturnal odyssey through Las Vegas. One of the most prominent films is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Terry Gilliam’s adaptation of Hunter S. Thompson’s book. This is directly referenced in the "Heartless" video, which sees The Weeknd and Metro Boomin in the Johnny Depp and Benicio Del Toro roles as they tumble through a Las Vegas casino. The Weeknd has gone on the record to state that the famous red suit character was influenced by Sammy Davis Jr.’s character in the film Poor Devil. However, similar red suit has also been sported by a number of Vegas characters, most notably Richard Pryor and Robert De Niro’s Sam Rothstein in Martin Scorsese’s Casino. With the red suit, The Weeknd seems to be playing with the idea of a devil-ish other, another side of his personality that emerges in Las Vegas.
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While the city lights are the oft discussed part of part of Las Vegas, it should be noted that similar to Beauty Behind the Madness, the desert that surrounds Las Vegas is just as important to the juxtaposition of its beauty. The "Until I Bleed Out" video ends/"Snowchild" video in the desert, similar to the confrontation between Robert De Niro’s and Joe Pesci’s showdown in the desert in Casino, as well as Joe Pesci's death in Goodfellas. The idea of a hedonistic desert playground also bears semblance to Westworld, both the film and the TV show. The desert seems to represent some sort of freedom to The Weeknd, as the "Snowchild" video portrays the desert as a pensive location for reflection, as well as the "In Your Eyes" video showing the girl prominently dancing with the dismembered head out in the open, in reference to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, another prominent desert film.
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New York/The Safdies
Despite it’s Las Vegas setting, After Hours also takes a good amount from films set in New York, most notably Martin Scorsese’s 1983 film After Hours. Besides the title, After Hours is similarly about a twisting and turning nighttime odyssey. The film stars Griffin Dunne as Paul, a working class stiff who heads downtown to rendezvous with a woman he met at a diner earlier that night. Of course, things don’t turn out the way they should, chaos ensues, and Paul is set on a dangerous trek back uptown. Like the film, the album After Hours is set off by a woman (though the album takes more stock in romantic endeavors), seems to be set over a single night (or at least a condensed period of time), and involves similar chaos and misadventures (sirens at night at the end of Faith). Tonally, After Hours the film is more comedic perhaps than After Hours the album, however The Weeknd is on the record as having said that "Heartless" and "Blinding Lights" placement on the album is intended to be somewhat comedic, reflecting exaggerated machismo and ecstasy, respectively (to comedic effect).
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Another of the most prominent filmmakers of After Hours are the Safdies, who featured The Weeknd in Uncut Gems. They also served as a link to Oneohtrix Point Never, who scored their last two films and later worked After Hours. I believe there are three major film tropes (not genres) that inspired After Hours, all of which the Safdies’s have engaged with. There is the one-long-night films, in which a character spends one-long-night on the run from whatever chaos and forces may be that they left in their path. This can be seen in the Good Time, as well as After Hours (the movie). Then, there is the descent-into-madness type, where a character slowly loses grip with reality and ends up in over their head (something like Scarface or Breaking Bad, but for our purposes Jacob’s Ladder can be categorized here as well), which the Safdies did with Uncut Gems. Lastly, but maybe most importantly, the Safdies also explored toxic romance (more on this later) in their less seen film Heaven Knows What, about two heroin addicts and the destructiveness their love brings out in each other, an idea that recurs throughout After Hours on songs like "Until I Bleed Out" and "Nothing Compares." A recurring song throughout Heaven Knows What is Isao Tomita’s synth version of Debussy’s "Claire De Lune", which is featured in some episodes of Memento Mori and bears some resemblance to the start of "Alone Again".
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Obsession/Toxic Romance
While love and lust and the ups and downs with it have been a formative part of The Weeknd’s ideology and themes, I don’t think it would be remiss to say that After Hours is perhaps his most outwardly romantic album. Despite this, one of the major arcs of the album is toxicity that comes with it, which a number of already mentioned films deal with. While "In Your Eyes" is one of the more romantic and accessible songs on the album, a re-assessment of it Ala Sting’s “Every Breathe You Take” could frame it as lonely obsessing, such as Travis Bickle’s infatuation with Jodie Foster’s teenage prostitute Iris, Joker's fixation on Murray Franklin, Rupert Pupkin’s obsession with Jerry Langford. Casino also deals with toxic romance, another prominent theme in After Hours, best seen in the love triangle that forms between Sam, his partner Nicky and his wife Ginger, played by Joe Pesci and Sharon Stone respectively.
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In almost all of the After Hours’s video content, The Weeknd seems to constantly meet his demise at the hands of women. Another interesting reference that may be something of a reach is to Phantom Thread, Paul Thomas Anderson’s film about Reynolds Woodcock, a couture dressmaker loosely based on Cristobal Balenciaga and his muse Alma, played by Daniel Day Lewis and Vicky Krieps, respectively. The film delves into their dysfunctional relationship, with Woodcock berating her and Alma poisoning his tea to keep him dependent on her. One of the highpoint of the film is a New Years Eve Party that bears strong resemblance to the "Until I Bleed Out" video. While the balloons may just be a callback to his earlier work, there is something about the color grading/temperature and the production design of the "Until I Bleed Out" video (as well as parts of the "Blinding Lights" video) that made me immediately think of Phantom Thread. A similar relationship is seen in the German horror film Der Fan, which The Weeknd has mentioned in a recent interview. In Der Fan, a young girl Simone spends her days obsessing over popstar R, until she finally encounters him outside his studio. The film is similar to the aforementioned Takashi Miike’s Audition in its exploration of obsession and idealization. In the film, an older man puts up a fake casting call to search for the perfect girlfriend. While Audition explores these themes from an Eastern perspective of societal pressure, Der Fan explores it through a Western lens of pop idolization and idealization. Both films deal with the idea that despite outward appearances, the perfect partner does not exist, and anyone that claims to be (or has the expectations put on them) is not who they seem.
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One film he has spoken at length about is Trouble Everyday, Claire Denis’s arthouse vampire movie. The film stars Vincent Gallo as Shane, a scientist who travels to Paris under the guise of his honeymoon to track down core, a woman who he was once obsessed with who has now become a vampire. Core is locked up in a basement but sometimes sneaks out to seduce and consume unwilling victims. This seems to be where some of the bloody face stuff comes from, but I believe it’s influence is a little more conceptual. To me, a good companion film to Trouble Everyday is American Psycho, which seems to also have been a thematic influence on After Hours. Both films concern idealized version of masculinity and femininity, both very sexual and physical, but hostile as well. American Psycho ends with Patrick Bateman confessing to the killing of a prostitute, but no one believe him. Trouble Everyday ends with Shane killing Core, but Shane is unable to arouse himself after that except through violence. Koji Wakamatsu, a former Yakuza turned prominent extreme Japanese filmmaker (and a major influence on Gaspar Noe) is quoted as saying “For me, violence, the body and sex are an integral part of life.” Despite being hollow, idealized impressions of the self, a vampire and as a banker (cold, seductive bloodsuckers = monsters), Patrick Bateman and Core represent the Frankenstein-ian relationship between sexuality and violence, which I believe is the main theme of After Hours. Truly, we hurt the ones we love.
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Postscript

To cap things off, I would just like to illuminate some key takeaways. As a filmmaker myself, this has been an extremely helpful exercise in understanding other artists process and ideas.
Steeped in the history of the medium…
It’s clear that The Weeknd is not your typical “I’m influenced by cinema” artist but an extremely legit film buff with serious credentials. The Weeknd’s film taste leans towards 70s-00s genre works, mostly horror, drama and thriller, and is well versed in the classics but also has the nose to sniff out deeper cuts and obscurities. The mantra of “good artists borrow, great artists steal” works even better if not many people know where you’re stealing from! What is impressive to me is that he is not just versed in “mainstream” obscurities, but also serious deep cuts. Films like Possession and Phantom of the Paradise may not stick out to the average person on the street but are well known in most film circles. Films like Inland Empire and New Rose Hotel (Der Fan was especially impressive to me, it is one of my favorite films) however are not as well known and it is very impressive to me that he can come across films like that, and really get enough out of it to bring into his own work.
…is able to interpolate contemporary/mainstream films…
This perhaps is one of the most impressive aspects of his integration of film into The Weeknd’s work. It is very easy for film buffs to get lost within their own obscure taste, living in a world where everyone is an idiot for not knowing who Shinya Tsukamoto. Trilogy and Kiss Land had a lot of contemporary obscurities, like Stalker, David Lynch etc., well known but they still existed as artifacts, not of the time we live in. However, perhaps picking something from his work on Fifty Shades of Grey, of late he has kept his finger on the zeitgeist and anticipated/integrated what the filmmakers of today are doing, such as his work on Black Panther and Game of Thrones, general appreciation of Tarantino, the works of Nicolas Winding Refn in Starboy, and his use of the Joker and Uncut Gems on After Hours, both of which came out just a few months before the album. It feels Jackson-esque, and I believe this is one thing that will help him further in his quest for pop stardom.
…while also being fully in tune to the works of modern transgressive auteurs…
In addition to keeping up with the mainstream is in touch with, The Weeknd also makes it a point to seek out and learn from the cutting edge filmmakers of today. While the Safdies were always going to blow up, I don’t doubt that a Weeknd co-sign accelerated their rise. Gaspar Noe is one thing, Enter the Void and Irreversible exist as masterpieces of the mainstream obscurities I’ve been mentioning, but he really truly tries to understand the heart of Noe’s work, even going so far back as to understand Noe’s influences (I sincerely hope he is tuned in to the work of Koji Wakamatsu). But most of all, to be a fan of Claire Denis is one thing, but to seek her out and make her an offer that she ACCEPTED is absolutely astounding to me. Just spitballing but it would be like if Michael Jackson shot a music video with Rainer Werner Fassbinder (who I’d bet good money that The Weeknd was put on to by Noe). We can only PRAY that one day we will be blessed with a David Lynch Weeknd video.
---------------------------
…and that just about does it. Hope you enjoyed this and thanks for being patient with me. I got quite busy after the first two and had my own projects/work going that kept me occupied. As we’re still technically in the After Hours era, I also wanted to wait until a few more videos and interviews came out to aid me in my research.
I also wanted to find enough time to make the Letterboxd for this. I personally don’t love Letterboxd culture, I find the popular culture surrounding the site a bit snobbish and exclusive, but I’ve gotten a number of requests for one and you gotta give the people what they want. Throughout the list are a few films that he hasn’t mentioned but are some of my personal favorites and I believe Weeknd fans will like, I encourage you to accidentally stumble upon things on it. Don't overthink, just pick something and watch!
If you’d like to follow me further, you can find me on Instagram here, where I post about film reviews Letterboxd style. I prefer Instagram so that more average people see it instead of an echo chamber of film snobs. I am also a filmmaker myself, I just recently wrapped this short film and am currently in the process of putting together my next project.
The main reason I did this however, besides a general appreciation of The Weeknd’s work, was to put more people on to the beautiful art form that is cinema. One thing I learned from Scorsese is that one must be an advocate and truly champion your medium. I hope that this encourages to check out more interesting movies than they wouldn’t normally come across, and I hope this will inspire more people to create more as well, whether it be to write, make films, music, anything. If even one person picks up a pencil, a camera or a keyboard because of these posts, I will be satisfied.
Thanks all!
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Teen Titans #8 - Who is Cassie Sandsmark?

Teen Titans

In Illumination
Issue Eight: Who is Cassie Sandsmark?
Originally posted January 2018
 
 
Blüdhaven wasn’t good for much. An old whaling town, the dirty, industrial cityscape was later transformed by wealthy, criminal investors, building its industrial district into a neon paradise, a city-sized casino idyllic as long as you never looked beneath the surface.
And though the Teen Titans were almost always preoccupied with minimising the rampaging of emerging metahumans, they would often strive to tackle the crime that lurked in the shadows cast by the neon lights. One such criminal was André LeBlanc.
See, the smarmy and greasy Angel Marin, one of the ‘philanthropists’ so cherished in Blüdhaven had held an exhibition to show off the depths of his riches, including his star piece: the Night Diamond, a priceless gemstone. This naturally presented a challenge for the self-styled ‘world's greatest jewel thief’ LeBlanc.
He was a wanted man internationally due to his masterful skills and cutting edge tactics, but targeting the home of such a dangerous man as Angel Marin, LeBlanc was - even to his own admission - pushing his luck.
The thief darted silently down the crime lord’s corridor, his footfalls suppressed by his rebalancing boots and his hi-tech jumpsuit hiding him from thermal sensors despite its garish white colour. On his cracked face sat a green monocle, which LeBlanc used to scan for traps in real time. As he ran, LeBlanc gripped the azure jewel tightly, the diamond no bigger than a golf ball despite its exorbitant worth. The man’s agility and resolve was unmatched for someone of his age, but unfortunately his resistance came in the form of three meddlesome teenagers.
Angel Marin slept soundly in his bed, LeBlanc having eluded all of his security, but the Teen Titans had already seen the thief’s approach. Thanks to a recent upgrade to Cyborg’s tech, the teen was able to piece together a wealth of technological information sources to track LeBlanc all the way from his previous heist, and now they were moments from thwarting him.
LeBlanc pushed into the drawing room, the window he had entered through still cracked open. But as the man emerged through the open doorway, the oak door immediately pushed shut. The thief turned back towards the door, drawing a glowing, white knife to slash out at whoever had pushed the door to, only to find an empty place. Furiously, he pivoted back toward the window, now to find the shadowy figure of the blue-clad vigilante blocking his path. Nightwing. LeBlanc threw his arm out, slashing at the slender assailant, only for Nightwing to strafe aside with a boastful cartwheel. “No thanks!” Nightwing spat, springing off of the ground and throwing himself at the thief. Quickly, he struck with his twin sticks, aiming to disarm the thief as well as snatch the stone from him in one fell swoop, but André wouldn’t unhand his prize so easily.
The thief swung out once more, with Nightwing this time much closer. Before the vigilante could bounce back, he cried as the searing hot blade streaked across his chest, cutting through his black-and-blue armour as if it were butter, exposing his pale and bleeding flesh.
“Heh.”
Recoiling, the vigilante brought his hand across his chest, wiping the blood aside before clutching at his sticks once again. Nightwing leapt vertically and hooked his sticks around the industrial-looking chandelier above, using it to fling himself across the room to intercept the white-clad thief who continued his way to the open window. He landed and - stick still in hand - threw a fist out, striking LeBlanc cleanly in the nose.
The thief staggered, dazed. He would have just shot the kid if he had even brought a gun, though in his line of work a firearm was such a clumsy weapon. Narrowing his gaze on the dark figure he faced, LeBlanc focused himself. How strong could one kid be? Arrogant as ever, he then threw his knife aside and slipped the Night Diamond into his white satchel. He brought up his fists, ready to exchange blows.
The two men clashed, and quickly LeBlanc began to impress Nightwing as he dealt fast and powerful strikes. As they traded attacks, blocking and leaping up and down, they almost seemed to dance with each other, with LeBlanc using his streamlined gauntlets to deflect strikes from Nightwing’s escrima sticks. But LeBlanc caught Nightwing off-guard when he delivered a spinning kick to the vigilante’s head, flooring him with a manoeuvre Nightwing never would have expected from a man approaching forty. Though as LeBlanc turned away with a sneer, seemingly having bested the Gotham crimefighter, he turned to find himself face-to-face with none other than a towering, green gorilla. With a single punch, he was out.
“You know, I don’t know why you didn’t just let me just punch him sooner,” Gar grinned, morphing back to human form. As he rose from the ground, Dick produced a pair of black boxer shorts from his belt compartment, unfurling them and throwing them the way of the nude, green child as if it were a regular occurrence (which, by this point, it was).
“That’ll be because we’re sitting in the house of a dangerous gangster,” Dick smiled coolly, his hand pouring over his throbbing head, “Ever heard of ‘lowkey’?”
“Ah, you got me there!” Gar exclaimed, slightly quieter this time, “I’m many things but lowkey isn’t one of them.”
“Nice work though,” Dick replied, before activating his communicator, “Cyborg: you still on overwatch?”
Beat.
“Cyborg?”
Vic spluttered, suddenly bursting in over comms, “Yeah. Of course, sorry just got distracted by… things...”
“Finlay,” Dick continued, “Of course. I’m sorry. Look, head back to the roof of Iris Cove Casino, and we’ll regroup with you there.”
“Got it.”
Since Dick had discovered that it was an associate of Vic’s father, Jacob Finlay, who was responsible for stealing the Cyborg blueprints, as well as springing the metahumans that almost killed Vic, he had wanted nothing less than see the crooked physicist see what was coming to him. But what he couldn’t have expected was for the doctor to turn up dead - his neck wrenched - in Gotham River. It was a tragedy, and not at all what the man deserved.
The Teen Titans had attempted to follow up on the death, but had found nothing. That was until Dick received a clandestine call from Silas Stone.
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
The fifteen-year-old Cassandra Sandsmark emerged from the Music Box Theatre wide-eyed, her mind blown. Growing up in Buckinghamshire, England, Cassie had always dreamed of seeing a Broadway show, and it was every bit as amazing as she had expected it to be.
Her mother was an archaeologist, and therefore was often away for long periods of time, and when Cassie wasn’t couped up at her boarding school, her grandparents were too old and untrusting - despite their riches - to fly her out to New York. And though Cassie had finally gotten her wish, it was through the most distressing of circumstances. Now, though Cassie was raised by a strictly Christian family, she always found difficulty in believing in a God for one reason or another, so imagine her surprise when she was visited by the image of what appeared to be an angel, imploring her to flee to New York City, of all places, that she was being hunted and would only be safe within the bounds of that city so far across the pond. No answers, only urgency.
And so, the Fear of God firmly instilled in her, the fifteen-year-old stole as much money as she could from her grandfather’s bank account and grabbed the first plane ticket to the United States.
Though Cassie honestly didn't know what to expect. Upon arriving in the ‘greatest city in the world’ she had heard nothing from the otherworldly figure that had addressed her before, and she quickly began to realise that she couldn't occupy herself in her hotel room for very long. And hence, she decided to indulge herself in an overpriced visit to Broadway, and it was worth every penny to the young girl.
But now Cassie was lost once again. Cars hurtled past her along the wide road, as monolithic buildings stretched high into the jet black sky. There wasn't a moment of silence, the city filled with a cacophony of noise, even at this hour. Quickly, she pushed over to the nearest taxi, pulling her red hoodie up tight over her slender shoulders to keep out the quickly emerging chill. As the driver rolled his window down, Cassie doubled over, peering through the window to address him.
“Hello? Do you go to the White Ram Hotel?” she chirped in a polite tone.
“Do I!?” the driver exclaimed. He was a middle aged man with olive skin and a sleazy black tracksuit. “This ain't the subway. I’ll take you anywhere you want, hot stuff!”
“Excuse me?!” Cassie cried, pulling herself up. Sure, she was more developed than other girls in her year at school, but she was only fifteen. Surely he could see that! Right?
“I love me a British accent,” the driver sneered, “Say somethin’ sexy and I’ll give you half fare!”
Cassie was flustered and infuriated. Slamming her foot down on the pavement, she pushed away. “I’ll think I’ll walk, thank you very much!!”
And so Cassie took off down the street, walking against the flow of heavy traffic, the sounds of the city growing more fierce. Quickly, the black of the night seemed to slowly seep in around her, the darkness consuming her, but Cassie kept plodding on towards the White Ram.
As Cassie walked, a enigmatic presence lurked in the distance, watching her; stalking her from the shadows. There was a quality to Cassie, something powerful that just made her unignorable, something that called to the presence in the dark.
Unbeknown to this, Cassie continued on, eventually coming to pass the exterior of an old Irish pub that stretched along the street. Nervously, Cassie pulled up the hood of her red hoodie and picked up her pace, the footfalls of her black Chucks growing heavier against the concrete sidewalk. Something she’d call the pavement.
Though Cassie wouldn’t get off so easy as from the pub, right as she passed its doors, emerged three men of varying levels of intoxication, all swaying with the breeze. They each looked around thirty and each similarly struggled to keep their balance as they poured out onto the street. Quickly, one caught a glimpse of the young girl attempting to hurriedly make away, catching the side of her face as she walked past. “Hey!” He blurted out, steadying his lacking weight on his friend’s shoulder, bottle in hand. “You’re very pretty!! You should be… v… very proud.”
She ignored him and continued down the street, still a while off the next corner.
“Hey–” he repeated before bursting into a cry, “I SAID HEY!!”
Cassie jolted, glancing over her shoulder for just half second, enough time for a few of the boys to catch her eye. She turned away and continued on.
“HEY!!” Another man called after Cassie, this time annoyed, “He’s talking to you!!”
“Fucking bitch…” the first man mumbled to himself.
“No!” the third man called out, pulling the first man forward and snapping him out of his sulk, “N– No she doesn’t get to ignore you like that!!”
The third took off in a sprint after Cassie, continuing to define call out, “My friend wants to talk to you!!”
The first and second men looked to each other, too drunk to roll their eyes, and began to stumble after their leading friend. Cassie looked over her shoulder once more to see the three men clambering towards her. But before she could run, the man threw himself in the way of her path.
“No need to be rude…” he grumbled, his friends then catching up behind.
None of the men were cruel, but all were plenty menacing as they surrounded the 15-year-old girl, who stood alone and afraid in a city mostly unknown to her.
“Get out of my way…” Cassie seethed, her breath unsteady as she pretended to be as tough as she could muster.
“Ah! British!” exclaimed the youngest of the men, the one who had first noticed Cassie, “I like British!”
He placed a hand forcefully on Cassie’s shoulder as she faced away from him, and pulled her around to face him. “C’mere.” Instinctually, Cassie reacted, flinging herself back, and crashed into the chest of the man who had first pursued her.
“We ain’t gonna hurt ya!” the crushing man cried, only for Cassie to react by delivering a swift kick to the man’s groin. He fell quickly, groaning in pain.
“What the fuck, lady!?”
The man behind her jostled Cassie’s shoulder, threatened and enraged. Taking no shit, Cassie turned socked the man in the jaw, causing him to stagger back.
“Stay away from me!!” she cried before punching him once again, unaware of the third man behind her as he drew a knife.
But as the man threw himself forward to slash out at the increasingly violent young girl, out of nowhere flew a glowing gold chain that seemed to magically wrap itself around the wrist of the man’s knife hand. And with one quick tug, the man went flying several feet. Though as Cassie turned to see just what had occurred behind her, she saw not the floor assailant, but a woman, tall and draped in black, her skin lightly tanned and her hair as dark as her plated armour. “You need to come with me.”
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
The next morning, Dick Grayson pushed hurriedly through the S.T.A.R. Labs security checkpoint, already a registered visitor at this point. He didn’t know the cause of Silas summoning him, but he had guessed from the police cars lined up on the street outside that the scientist likely had information regarding Finlay’s death.
And as Dick entered the central lab, he was implicitly proved correct as he found Silas seated, the figure of a tall, muscular man in a beige coat and a black-banded, white cowboy hat. Immediately, Dick recognised the lone policeman as NYC Sheriff Saunders. It was rare that the man ever came out to investigate first hand since his election, and he and Dick had never crossed paths, especially while the latter was Nightwing.
“And… Dr Finlay: any reason to believe he had any enemies?” the Sheriff spoke in a gruff, deep tone, befitting of his fearsome silhouette and his fifty years of smoking. The man was no nonsense.
Silas took a second. A part of him wanted to pretend the man was a saint, but the truth was that he was far from it. Similarly Silas knew that what he had to said could incriminate himself, but was already worn down by the death of his coworker and his son shunning him for a second time. He had no time for lies.
“It was... I strongly suspect it was Finlay who allowed the meta thief - Selinda Flinders - to break into the lab. There, she not only freed her brother but also stole my blueprints for the cybernetics I used to treat my son from a safe that only myself and Finlay knew even existed.”
The Sheriff took a deep breath, still unaware of Dick standing in the doorway behind him. Carefully, he jotted down some notes in his small paper pad. “And what would Dr Finlay have wanted those… blueprints for? Industrial espionage?”
“No,” Silas sighed, “He wanted them so that he could save his brother the way I saved Victor, despite all my protests that the technology wasn’t ready.”
“His brother: This is Arthur Finlay, correct? Paralysed after a burglar attacked him in 2006.”
“That is correct.”
Saunders paused and took another long, deep breath, before launching into hurried speech. “Now it’s funny you should mention that as Arthur Finlay was nowhere to be found when we visited his estate earlier this week. Odd for a man who can't wipe his own ass.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying it’s entirely possible that Dr Finlay– that Jacob succeeded in ‘fixing’ his brother.”
Beat.
The Sheriff smiled. “But that’s for me to chase up. Sorry, I shouldn’t have divulged that with you, - it’s as of current - entirely unfounded.”
“It’s fine.” Silas smiled tiredly, “We can all speculate. Now, if you don’t mind, I have another visitor.” Silas gestured graciously towards the door, where Dick Grayson was standing.
Sheriff Saunders looked across and his face immediately dropped, realising his mistake. “Ah, I see. Well, I won’t keep you then. Thank you for your insight, Dr Stone. We’ll be in touch.”
Quickly, the Sheriff wrapped up his notepad and made his way over to the door. As he exited, he tipped his hat towards the young spectator. “Nice to meet you, young man.”
And he was gone.
Silas stood, meeting Dick in the centre of the lab. “You know, I thought he’d never leave.”
“Was that it, Dr Stone?” Dick asked, perturbed, “You think Jacob’s brother killed him?”
Silas sighed. “That seems to be the leading theory, but no, that’s not why I called you.”
“Then what–”
“Christmas has come and passed, and this is the first year I’ve spent it without my Victor since he was born, the first year since my Elinore…”
Silas blinked.
“I wanted to give you a package. A gift. To give to Victor. A belated Christmas present.”
“He’s still not talking to you?”
Silas crawled along to his desk where, from a lower drawer, he produced a small purple box tied with a red bow, no bigger than a ring box. He held it out to Dick, his eyes so tired.
“Just please make sure Victor opens it,” he replied, “Won’t you do that for me, Richard?”
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
Silently, a robed figure approached the derelict apartment block in Avalon, Blüdhaven. This was the only known address for the Teen Titan known as Cyborg, but clearly circumstances had forced him to move on. The figure sighed, shaking her head before moving on.
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
“It was like my nan always said: that someday I’d feel something, and all that crap about burning bushes and… the big man in the sky would just slip into place.”
As Cassie spoke in the relative warmth of the drab, grey squat, her words were lost on Donna, who - despite having developed more than adequate conversation skills - had no idea what the young girl was talking about after she had asked her why she had come to New York City.
Cassie grinned, sat on the only chair in the apartment, as she registered her saviour’s bemusement. “I had a vision. It sounds crazy I know, but some angel came down and told me that… I was being hunted… and that I’d only be safe if I came to New York.” Her eyes were wild, as if she were reliving those impossible moments as she told the tale, “She told me some monster wanted to kill me, that it was the plan of the Gods that I remained safe. Truth is, I struggled believing in one God, never mind plural!”
Donna was beginning to understand, but remained bemused as she looked up from the floor to the girl she had found herself driven to protect. The idea that anyone could believe in just one God perplexed her. Surely there would be too many responsibilities for just one God to handle.
Shaking off her confusion, Donna stood up from the floor and made her way to the open window. Behind her, Cassie sat by the breakfast bar, wrapped in a shawl Donna had found in the bedroom. Donna needed to understand the connection she shared with this girl. They had to be connected somehow, or else what would explain the otherworldly, gut-wrenching pull towards her that Donna had experienced as soon as Cassie had stepped within a thousand mile radius.
Who was Cassie Sandsmark? That’s what Donna kept asking herself. What did Cassie mean to her? Though Donna supposed that to answer that question, she’d have to figure out just who she was herself.
Cassie sat up quickly, shrugging off her trepidation for the thrill of the adventure. “So is that it then?” she asked. Donna moved away from the glass to face her. “Are you my guardian angel? The person the vision said would protect me?” “I…?” Donna honestly didn’t know.
“Come to think of it: why are you wearing battle armour?” Cassie’s eyes were wide as she looked upon her fearsome protector, stood against the New York City skyline through the thin glass, “Are you - like - one of those Amazons? Like Wonder Woman?”
“NO.” Donna spat, suddenly recoiling. Immediately, she realised her mistake as she watched Cassie flinch back. Calmly, she elaborated. “No. I’m nothing like… I’m not Wonder Woman…”
“Oh.”
“But I think I am supposed to keep you safe… from whatever monster is trying to harm you.”
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
Vic fumbled with his keys, half distracted by his conversation with Gar as he stood in the hallway of his new apartment block on Payton Street, attempting to unlock the door. He’d gotten into his new place over Christmas, his last home desolated when Shimmer and Mammoth attacked him at his home.
“So the guy goes through all the trouble of hiring these supervillains to steal your… thing and then just mysteriously ends up dead?” Gar jested, his voice animated and non-serious.
Finally, Vic turned the key and the two entered into his new apartment. The place was much more spacious than Vic’s previous place, with a more open-planned layout which Gar definitely considered an upgrade. Though a winter chill emanated through the place, visually it was quite warm, the Christmas decorations still up and on full display almost a month later.
The guy was my dad’s friend, Gar.” Vic replied, irritated. “If he weren’t such a jackass, he’d be like my uncle, so please take this seriously.”
Vic pushed forward, pulling off his thick, grey hoodie and laying it across the arm of his couch along with his keys.
“Dude, he tried to kill you!” exclaimed Gar, “That doesn’t exactly scream close family friend.”
“A man is dead!” Vic snapped, his tone now deadly serious, something entirely unheard by Gar until now from his usually somber but amicable friend, “Get a grip.”
Gar lingered in the doorway. He took a deep breath. Vic was right. “I– I’m sorry, man. I guess that’s just how I cope with... things. He was your friend, I get it.” He stepped forward, slowly pushing the door shut behind him.
Jacob Finlay wasn’t a friend of Victor’s. In fact, Vic could never stand the man. But it saddened Vic deeply to know that he was gone, even after all the hurt he had caused him.
Slowly, Vic made his way over to the fridge, feeling his stomach yearn for a snack. He opened the metallic white door and looked upon its contents with disappointment. He sighed.
“I know we just got in, but do you fancy heading back out for food?” Gar suggested earnestly, “I know a diner that’s cool with people like us in downtown Blüd.”
’People like us’. Vic was used to that meaning something else, but he supposed he did have that in common with his plucky, if not crass, young friend. They were both outcasts due to their appearance. Vic was half-metal, Gar was green. On the rare occasions Vic had left the house as himself (rather than the superhero Cyborg) he made sure to never stay too long in one place, as to avoid anyone noticing his horrific visage under his shadowy hood.
“How do you mean?”
“This old couple owns the place,” Gar explained, “Man’s blind and the lady’s… well, actually open-minded and reasonable.”
Vic froze, actually considering the proposal. It’d been a long time since he’d sat down in a restaurant - however fancy - and eaten out. He looked to the empty, open fridge and then back to his discarded hoodie. His eyes flashed.
“Sure,” he smiled, “You wanna grab your coat this time? You’ve been complaining about the cold all day!”
Gar grinned back at Vic, deeply pleased by his response. “Yeah, one sec!” He ran, bounding across the floor and over to the hat stand Vic rarely seemed to use. From there, Gar pulled down his orange-red Parka and pulled it on in one fluid motion. As he did, Vic made his way to the couch and slipped back into his hoodie, zipping it up slowly.
The two smiled at each other and Vic - now stood closer to the door - pushed forward, wrapping his metal grip around the door handle and pulled it down. As he swung the door open, there stood a startled Dick Grayson, moments from ringing the doorbell"
“Woah!” Dick jumped.
“Dick!” Gar exclaimed, “We’re heading out to eat, you coming?”
“You?” Dick replied, pleasantly surprised to see Vic trying something new. “Uh, yeah… sure!”
From the pocket of his black pea coat, Dick produced the purple box he’d been handed earlier, nervously fidgeting with it between his hands slightly as he glanced up and down from it to Vic. “Though, uh… I actually came to give you this, Vic.”
Dick held the box out. Vic looked open-eyed to Gar and then back to him. “Dick, you already got me a Christmas present,” he laughed, walking over and taking the purple-wrapped present, eyeing it curiously.
“No, it’s… it’s from your dad. Cos you missed Christmas.”
Beat.
Vic looked back up to Dick. “Dick, I missed Christmas cos I can’t stand the man. He made me into this… thing, and it was his lies that almost got me killed.” Without even looking, Vic tossed the box over his shoulder, it hitting the ceiling and ricocheting before landing between the couch and the television.
“Vic…” Gar moaned disappointedly.
“What?!” Vic cried, “He’s human garbage. Has that brilliant mind and uses it to constantly fuck with my life. I don't need him. He’d be better off dead.”
Dick and Gar both looked at him in stunned silence. Dick’s eyes flitted back and forth and his moved out of the doorway and into the apartment. He looked to Gar, an orphan like himself, and then to Vic. He nodded. “How about we go get that dinner?”
Vic took a breath, calming himself. He nodded reluctantly, his confidence shaken but determined not to let his dad ruin his victory. “Right, yeah. Sure!” he affirmed himself. “I– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s fine.” Dick smiled, turning to face the open doorway, “Let’s just g–”
Just as Dick had moved, replacing him in the doorway was a tall, hooded figure: one none of the teens had met before yet one that all three recognised.
“Holy fuck!” Gar exclaimed, “It’s Wonder Woman!”
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
“I was speaking with my former teacher Athena after I sla–” “Wait, Athena?” Gar interrupted, starstruck, as if he were taking notes, “As in Popped Out of Zeus’ Forehead Athena?” Diana nodded solemnly. The Amazon sat on a kitchen chair, comfortably at a level to explain herself to the three young men, who each stood.
“Athena revealed to me a child of both Ares and Circe roamed the man’s world, that… an adversary of mine sought to hurt the child, for the misdoings Circe had committed against her.”
Diana told the tale, her eyes hollow as she seemed to hold back some inconvenient truths, something Dick picked up on easily, “I was told that I would find the child in New York City, and knew that Batman had established a strike team nearby. So here I am, hoping you can lend me your assistance.”
Dick sighed, running his hand through the front tuft of his dark hair. He’d never met the Amazon warrior before, but knew that she and Bruce were friendly, with Diana being part of his ‘Justice League’ initiative. But Dick was disappointed to hear how the Teen Titans were perceived by the older heroes. “Batman had nothing to do with it. I formed this team, uh… we formed this team. Together.”
Diana smiled. “Of course.”
“So that’s all you know?” Vic replied, addressing the matter at hand, “Some kid is in danger in New York City. No idea whereabouts?”
“That was where I was hoping that you could help me,” said Diana, addressing Vic directly.
Vic smiled softly to have garnered any sort of attention from somebody as powerful and well… beautiful as Wonder Woman. “Well I suppose we could tr–”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with that other Wonder Chick running about New York? Does it?” Gar interjected, perhaps a bit louder than he had intended.
Diana cocked her head, moving her vision away from Vic and towards Gar, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“This amazing, gorgeous warrior. Long, flowing black hair. This awesome armour, all jet black and mysterious. She looked a lot like you actually.”
Diana’s eyes darted open as she bolted to her feet. Could it be? The doppelganger she had faced in the Trials, who had fought with her own skill and ferocity.* Had Ares sent her here? It was more than possible that she was an emissary of Ares, posthumously working to secure Ares’ progeny.
It was as Athena had said to Diana: death was the only way to transfer the mantle of God of War.*
“Gods…” she groaned, “I’ve fought her before. She is far more dangerous than the woman I seek to stop. If she gets her hands on Ares’ daughter, the consequences could be dire. We need to find them both and pray that she hasn’t already found her.”
Dick stepped forward. “I’ve been trying to locate this black-armoured Amazon since Gar ran into her a couple months back. She’s been being very discrete. I’ve tried everything.”
Vic stepped forward. “I haven’t.”
 
♦ ♦ T ♦ ♦
 
“Don’t you have any games? Or a telly or something?” Cassie sighed, stood peering out of the frosted window onto the New York skyline.
Telly?” Donna asked, standing a few feet behind Cassie, surrounded by a whole load of nothing. “I’m afraid not. This place doesn’t have much outside of shelter, and sometimes warmth.”
“Then what do you do for fun?” Cassie had been cooped up in Donna’s squat for some time now and was beginning to grow restless. Despite the drab decor, the place was an improvement on sitting alone in her hotel room, but the boredom was killing her.
“I’ve found the city to be the best source of entertainment,” Donna explained very matter-of-factly, “Although I think it might be best for us to stay put until we know you are safe.”
“And when is that? When the thing hunting me gets bored? When I get a follow up message from the angel?”
“I don’t think that was an angel.”
“That isn’t the point!” Cassie groaned, frustrated. “I just wanna have some fun!”
Donna stopped. She thought for a moment and then nodded. “Alright.”
Donna couldn’t recall much of her past, but did remember one thing that she had always enjoyed: combat. She didn’t remember all the details, but Donna used to love sparring as a child, with Diana, the monster that now plagued her nightmares. It was always so exciting, and it really seemed to develop an interpersonal closeness between the combatants. She smiled before removing her silver gauntlets slowly.
“Here.”
“What?” Cassie asked.
“Take them.” Donna held the gauntlets out for Cassie, one in each hand. Carefully, the younger girl took them and slipped her wrists into them.
“They’re too big.”
Donna grinned as the gauntlets seemed to magically adjust, twisting and forming into a perfect fit around Cassie’s forearms. Donna then flicked her own wrist forward, causing a cloud of black smoke to erupt from the palm of her hand. Cassie recoiled, watching the black smoke move and stretch before giving way to the form of a solid, golden sword. Donna gripped the blade tightly and pointed it forward.
“Wait, what?”
“We shall fight?”
Fight?!
“Well, you won’t have a weapon, so it’s more like exchanging blows. I’ve found it quite enjoyable.”
“Right…” Cassie replied, reluctant, “So what’s gonna happen?”
“I will make an attack with my blade, and you shall bring up your gauntlets to intercept. You’ll find them more than capable of deflecting my attacks.”
“Like…?” Cassie practiced thrusting her arms back and forward, flashing the silver gauntlets as she moved.
“Exactly! We’ll start slow.”
And they did. Beat-by-beat, Donna would move the sword towards Cassie, giving her plenty of time to bring up her gauntlets to clink against the blade. One strike. Two strikes. Three strikes. Four. Gradually, Donna increased her speed, and with her Cassie would begin to move with increasing ease and agility. She was a natural.
As they grew more and more rapid, their movements also increased in intensity. Before they knew it, both began to shift their footing until they were dancing back and forth around the room, sparks flying each time Donna’s blade crashed against Cassie’s forearms. First, Cassie began to cackle with laughter, then allowing Donna to join with a more conservative chuckle. But all this ceased with a knock at the door.
They stopped. Cassie glanced over to the door first, then Donna. They weren’t expecting visitors. Donna flourished the blade in her hand, furrowing her brow and narrowing her gaze, ready to attack whatever came through.
And just as expected, the door came crashing, the wood obliterated into splinters. Through it leapt a fearsome warrior clad in red and gold, a beast of a woman, a terrifying figure. The demon Diana.
Nightwing had tried to knock, but the Amazon warrior wasn’t willing to wait. Bursting into the room, Diana charged at Ares’ puppet, seeing her with her blade drawn, the young Cassie Sandsmark terrified beside her.
Donna slashed out as Diana came crashing down on her, unarmed yet incredibly dangerous, but the strike was fruitless as Diana evaded with ease, delivering a mighty punch to the centre of Donna’s chest. Diana of Themyscira didn’t need a weapon.
Donna stumbled, kicking over a small coffee table as Cassie scrambled out of the way. The demon moved incredibly quickly, far faster than Donna could comfortably comprehend. She hadn’t been this fast when they’d fought before. First, another punch to the chest, then grabbing Donna by the arm - catching her sword strike - to pull her close, only to pound her back into the ground.
As Donna hit the ground, she skidded, whipping back around onto her feet, beaten but ready to persist. “Your master is dead,” Diana seethed, “And you shall fall with the rest of his forces!”
As the two warriors clashed, Cassie scurried away, ducking and running for the door. However, she found herself blocked by the bodies of three young men: one some kind of robot man, one green and the other clad in blue and black spandex. “Ack!”
“We’re not gonna hurt you!” Cyborg panicked, holding his large, cold hands up.
“Like shit you don’t!” Cassie spat, her teeth clenched, pivoting back around to watch her friend fight off the red-and-gold blur of a woman. Wait... That was Wonder Woman!
Donna grumbled, moving her sword arm back and shifting her off-hand forward. She then allowed her bronze shield to materialise magically in her grip with a flash of amber light. “I see you have new toys.” Diana smirked, her gaze as steely as her black-clad doppelganger.
She was right. Donna recalled easily that in their last encounter, the one that haunted her, she fought Diana unarmed. Now, Donna couldn’t recall how she came to wield the magic required to summon her weapons, but she was more than happy to use them if it meant having an edge over the tyrant that had previously terrorised her.
Donna didn’t reply. Instead, she threw herself forward, shifting her weight rapidly across the wooden floorboards, heaving the mass of her shield against Diana enough to stagger her, giving her an opening to strike with her blade. Diana cried out and kicked, colliding her leg into her adversary’s shield and dragging her strike to the right.
Donna saw through this trick immediately, it was an attempt to disarm; to wrench the shield right from her hand. It wouldn’t work. Not if Donna kept as best a grip as she could. However, Donna had underestimated the strength of her foe, and subsequently found herself launched across the room along with the shield, leaving her sword by her feet, crashing down on a pile of wood in the corner of the shabby apartment.
She attempted to pull herself up, but couldn’t, her armour too heavy on top of the weight of her aching bones. Diana persisted however. Breathing heavily, she pulled herself over to her floored quarry, scooping her foe’s blade off of the ground as she moved. Finally, she stopped. Planting her crimson boots into the wooden floor, Diana loomed over Donna, a relentless, fearsome monster.
Diana looked upon her quarry, this supposed emissary of Ares, deliberating over her fate. Perhaps she had overestimated her, for the puppet Diana had fought during the Trials fought with such ferocity and intensity that she now found entirely lacking. It was as if she was another soul inhabiting the body of that abomination.
But that moment of hesitation on Diana’s part was exactly what Donna need to act. In one fluid motion, Donna burst from her pile on the floor with new mobility. After delivering a kick to the monster’s head, Donna swung her empty hand out in a wide arc. Instantly, the sword vanished from Diana’s grip, reappearing in Donna’s own with a black flicker.
As Diana staggered, Donna let loose with slash after slash before finally winding up for an overhead attack, a killing blow. However–
“STOP!!”
A shock wave exploded through the room, launching its contents as well as the two combatants. Donna hit the ground and skidded once more. Bloodied, she looked up to see Cassie between her and Diana, her silver gauntlets glowing white hot, her face mortified.
“She doesn’t want to hurt you!” she screamed to Donna before turning to look upon Diana, scraping herself off of the floor, “You don’t want to hurt each other.”
Donna stood up uneasily, her eyes still wild, waiting for Diana to attack once again.
“I…” Diana mumbled, gripping her bloodied arm.
“You’re Wonder Woman. You save people.” Cassie explained, her voice compassionate yet quivering, “And I don’t need saving. Not from Donna. She’s my friend.”
Diana painted, finally looking upon her adversary with new eyes, “... Donna?
Donna’s eyes flickered, filled with doubt. She looked to Cassie, then finally to Diana, and instead of a demon, saw an injured woman. She lowered her sword.
Diana saw this and recalled her parting words to the black-clad warrior, when Diana had pummeled her into the bloody waters during the Trials. 'Barely real and always a copy. What kind of emptiness must exist inside you?'
But when she focused on Donna’s eyes, those that so closely resembled her own, she saw not the rage she had seen during the Trials, but fear. Pure fear. There, she remembered.
“Great Hera, what have I done…” Diana groaned, looking upon her friend with a long forgotten familiarity. “Donna…”
But the moment wouldn’t last, for Gar was moments too late to cry out, warning them as a fearsome feline figure crashed through the window, emerging from the urban jungle of New York City’s skyline. There, the animal moved immediately for Diana, launching into an all out assault, no longer Dr Barbara Minerva, but The Cheetah.
 
 
Continued in Wonder Woman #21
 
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