Maenad

Next target was a Maenad. Kalika wanted its blood, and then later texted me saying she wanted its eyes. Its eyes. What the fuck, right? Good job I'm such a fucking giver.

The Maenad I found was on the bounty list for striking down a lot of Timberwolves. They didn't have a picture of it, but the grotesque description was enough that I decided to go at night. Its residence was an dark, overgrown garden stretching to a hospital, both must have been abandoned for quite some time. The ground was either way too dry or way too drenched. I didn't take the footpath to the hospital, it seemed too obvious. Instead I decided to go through the cover of the winding trees. always keeping an eye on anything that might come sprinting out the hospital. Maenads are fast, faster than you or I. Unfortunately that also applies to their intellect.

"Jesus shit!"

The ground gave beneath me. I fell down maybe three metres. Doesn't sound like much until you actually have to fall that distance. Plus, you know how it feels when you get all your gear and you end up in a pitfall Team Rocket could have fucking dug?

I had to use my combat knives to ice-pick my way up, which took a long fucking time. Or at least, like the fall, it feels pretty long when a Maenad might charge in any second. I swear, even the crows seemed to be laughing at me. Eventually I hauled my arse up onto ground level again and made my way to the hospital. I could already smell the Maenad.

"Jesus bollocks!"

I hit the dirt as something tackled me from the side (sans mercy - my shoulder is knackered.) Used the momentum to roll away and hit a disused, overturned lawn mower. This being a Maenad, or maybe me just being slow and making excuses, I didn't have long enough to move. That's when I was being choked by something. Garden hose pipe. Admittedly I wasn't thinking straight at that point; I pulled my Colt out and tried to fire it, of course I left the bastarding safety on. Still, the gun distracted the Maenad who kicked it away from us. I braced my foot against the lawn mower, hauled the rusted blade off and rammed it into the Maenad's carotid. Impaled it pretty good into the ground. Messy, but I was able to collect some blood easily.

It actually said something. It said, why are you doing this?

I didn't have a good answer for that, so I said nothing. Taking out the eyes was the gross bit. All the soap and scalding water in the world will never make me forget how it felt getting my fingers into the socket and prying them out.

Plus the crows will eat well this spring.

Oathbreaker

One of the things I like and despise about Kalika, she's very straightforward. No song and dance, she just came up to me and said, "I need some Oathbreaker blood, some Timberwolf blood and some Maenad blood. For analysis. ASAP."

"Why?"

"You can gather it in these test tubes." She put some capped test tubes into my bag followed by some paper, sellotape and a pen. "Use these to mark which blood is which."

I didn't appreciate not being told why, but I did appreciate not having to stand guard; sometimes going out in the field is a good thing. Being the hunter rather than the hunted, it's a good feeling. Anyway, before I left, I printed off all the bounty pages on the USB that were Oathbreakers, picked up my knife and my Colt. That's why there was a silence, I had to fully commit to the mission and gather intel on the target (good fucking god, I almost sound like Kalika or Incognito.)

The Oathbreaker I found worked as a chemist sort who was on there for experimentation that left a handful of Timberwolves dead or wishing they were dead, and for aiding proxies. She had the lowest bounty of all, so I figured she'd be less on guard compared to any Oathbreakers that know they're on the shitlist. I approached by foot; she lived on a farm, growing some freaking bizarre plants I've never seen before. There was an enclosed greenhouse with this huge dark plant growing. I couldn't determine much about the shape of it, but it seemed to breathe in and out. I was about to go in and look at it in more detail until I saw the human and animal bones on the floor.

Continuing to stare and try to work out the deal was my mistake. It distracted me from the mission until projectile hit the pane just centimetres from my head. I dived behind a tractor tyre to go over what I knew. From the angle it likely came somewhat from above, so whoever shot was up high.

Now by instinct, I slowed my breathing and held my Colt properly. It stopped my hands shaking. Freaking out helps nobody but your opponents. That's when I saw the ladder on the side of the large steel circular structure. A slurry pit. I poked my foot out to bait the shooter, they fired, it hit the sole of my boot. Charging the tank, I basically hurled myself up the ladder to find the Oathbreaker reloading a crossbow, of all weapons.

I grabbed her arm and plunged the blade into her wrist. Shaking the test tube out of my sleeve, I crushed blood out of her arm as fast as possible and got the sample. She managed to tackle me onto the slurry pit cover and got a shot on my leg with the crossbow. It scarcely hurt; I looked down in surprise, and then I saw it. Little syringe-like marks on the projectile. A tranquilliser dart. Now I was on borrowed time. If I ran, or freaked out, my heart would race and the tranquilliser would take effect faster.

Her foot powered into my chest suddenly. I fell back on the ladder platform, blade making a hole in the slurry pit cover. I got an idea. Tore into the slurry pit cover with my knife, following the circumference, then extended the tear much further with two bullets from the Colt. One for the edge, and one for towards the centre. Christ, it was fucking a putrid smell, one of those smells that has a force to it. The Oathbreaker dropped straight through the rip. Rapidly enough for her to be unable to stop it. I think I saw the fear on her face. She was going to drown in liquid shit. Nobody survives that. You can't swim in it or lie on top of it; it's worse than quicksand. Even if you could navigate it, the fumes knock you out. It was too dark to see her fall in. Still, I heard the grotesque slapping sound reverberating through the steel tank as her body hit the viscous manure.

I practically fell down the ladder and stumbled into a barn to pass out as safely as possible. As you know from the fact I'm writing this, I made it back OK. Although that was the longest shower I have ever had.

Bounty

Kalika retrieved new information on Graham, or "Source 1" as she is calling him.

She found files that were bounties. There's a bounty on Graham as part of a purging of the local proxy system that you've probably heard of or perhaps taken a bullet for. Now this is happening plenty, so it wasn't especially out of the ordinary until we saw the price being offered. It was £6,500, fucking absurdly high for his age and ability. Why is it so high? I can't get my head around it. There must be something we're missing here.

Wanna hear something crazier? The files I took from the Timberwolves have a near-identical bounty. I say near-identical, it was the same stuff but written into the Timberwolf bounty format. So I don't think they stole this file from proxies. There must have been some kind of shared knowledge or system...

(No, of course I'm not going to take the bounty. As much as I need the money, I have my limits, and Kalika has her research. And I don't help servant organisations, as a general rule.)

Kalika and I are approaching a difficult decision. People are going to be gunning for him. Maybe I should start tracking anyone who's hunting him and see what I can get.

Errands

I've become everything I feared: Kalika's errand girl.

Records of proxies have largely gone under here as a coherent organisation shattered into many loners and gangs. But there's one group that rushed in to fill the power and office work vacuum, and that's the Timberwolves.

What I initially thought was going to a be a difficult task actually proved to be quite easy. Not because of any skill on my part, but because Kalika pointed out all we needed was access to a Timberwolf base computer. Since we figured the information would be shared between local divisions, all we had to do was find a smaller branch that wasn't as closely guarded.

So we found one, in Dover of all places. I was able to climb some bins and ease through a second floor window. I got in there, ducked by the computer, loaded the shit onto a USB. As I was leaving I think one of the security guards for an adjacent building saw me, but I must have got away fast enough.

The bad news is that the Timberwolves see this they'll have probably tightened security there. If they haven't already. No catching the ferry or taking the Eurotunnel to France for us. Wouldn't risk it. They don't shoot to stagger you.

Dream Diary #2: Storm

I see a hurricane turning, slowly shredding everything in its path.

My head says it is a hurricane. Everything I ever logically laid out in my life says hurricane.

My blood says it is a party.

I wake up with my head pounding.

Kalika here.

I wanted a chance to write out and explain this myself.

I called in some contacts and took the substance to a bigger lab with better equipment. With the small sample I wanted to go more in depth and prove my theory.

It was blood, but with fewer red blood cells, and therefore a bigger percentage of plasma. It appeared to have a crystallisation adjutant added, collectively this produced an orange substance. That is the basic oversight of it, but none of this is what stood out to me.

As soon as I knew it was blood, I began looking for azoth, which came out positive along with a similar grey material I couldn't identify. I then started testing for drugs, which was when I moved to the bigger lab. The emails sent do not make any kind of word or meaningful anagram. Rather, they match a chemical formula, which is C12H16N2. And as I suspected, there were abnormally high traces of this chemical - N,N-Dimethyltryptamine, or DMT. 

For the uninitiated, DMT is a powerful and fast-acting psychedelic, a rather uncommon street drug, and an active ingredient in ayahuasca. It induces feelings of extreme joy, terror, anxiety or spirituality. Users given high enough doses often report visual and auditory hallucinogenic experiences such as accessing a "higher plane of existence", meeting what is described as "intelligent beings" that they are able to communicate with. These beings are typically described as humanoid, but often supernatural in nature. So I initially suspected that this proxy was taking this substance recreationally. Min gave me a few more details about his behaviour and how he seemed to have different states of consciousness, and this matched the effects of DMT.

However, in the blood I found no evidence of the usual impurities that DMT or other drugs are cut with, and I find it hard to believe a teenage boy as unstable as Graham would be able to get hold of purified DMT, or be able to purify it himself - it is hard enough to test for, to the extent where I needed a lab. While I cannot conclusively rule out that it wasn't externally produced and ingested by someone, I wanted to discuss something else about this compound. It has been theorised DMT can be endogenic in mammals, a.k.a. naturally occurring in the body. In 2013 researchers found the compound in the pineal gland of rats. It has been put forward as a scientific explanation of alien abductions and spiritual experiences. A leading researcher on DMT has hypothesised that in near death, the pineal gland produces a significant amount of DMT that would cause near-death experiences.

I haven't identified the grey composite, and neither could anybody at the lab. It seemed, to us, quite comparable to azoth in structure and mystery. For now I'm calling it "gris", after the French word for grey.

This is based off one sample with an unreliable source. But if we were to assume everything about this was legitimate, I would say that as it seems to interfere with other chemicals in the brain, azoth, and/or perhaps that other grey substance, can somehow stimulate the pineal gland to produce DMT.

This is all very hypothetical. I plan to do further research on our source.

Kalika

Kalika

I have a room mate of sorts now, although I don't know how great that is if you both hold a gun at your sides when interacting.

She contacted me by email asking to study the substance. Since I've made no progress and she seems to have the know-how, I agreed. We settled on a meetup at an alley behind the bar and immediately pulled guns out on each other. I showed her the emails and let her go through my entire phone just to prove who I was. That basically set the tone for the ensuing hidden weapon checks and our tense walk to where I was staying. Things settled a bit after. At least, once a certain amount of time had gone by without anybody shooting or stabbing anything.

"You can call me Kalika." She set up a fold-out table and got out a micro burner and some test tubes.

"Kalika. OK. That's a pretty name."

"It's not my name. It's what you can call me." Kalika pulled out what looked like a small microscope, and held it up to show me. "I lived off nothing but one Pot Noodle a day for months to afford this, so if you break it, I break you. And for when you put this on your blog, the same goes for Graham and any of those other bumblefucks."

"I'll make sure I post about it. How long have you been running for?"

"From the rakshasa? Twelve years, maybe. Since I was ten."

"Ten? How did you survive?"

"I had a group I ran with who protected me, showed me the ropes and the guns," she said shortly, tossing a sealed bag of azoth on the table. "I was raised on bullets and wack theories on just about all the rakshasas you can think of. And my group ain't here now, so don't bother asking. We're not friends, and I don't need what happened publicised."

"Right."

"Anyway, I've got a pretty good idea of what this stuff might be based on those letter emails you got. It fits into a theory I had. I'd say those emails basically confirm it."

"What's the theory?"

"It can wait. Need to translate it anyway." She pulled out a notebook.

"What's that test tube thing with the stuff in it?"

"It's not a test tube. It's a gas chromatograph."

Not knowing what any of the fuck that was, I decided to leave her to it. Now she's hard at work, and I'm typing this up while guarding the door. Hopefully this gets somewhere.