Mort Demonhand and the Firestones of Keri

Mort Demonhand and the Firestones of Keri

Author's warning- This ain't heroic or even pleasant. It's grim. Unrepentantly black. I had to get it out of my system. Don't be surprised if it upsets you. It upset me and I wrote it. If this is the first thing of mine that you've read, please go here . There are some nice stories and novels for you to read before you get to this. If you've read my stuff before, be warned- this lacks any sort of positive outlook.

This story is also more explicit than my other stuff, so if you are offended by language or graphic descriptions, please move along, there's nothing here for you.

Great title though, huh?

<plip...........plip...........plip.............plip........> the steady drip of water from the drainage pipe splashing into the fetid puddle in which his face lay partially submerged, nibbled away at blissful unconsciousness. As his eyes blurrily focused he saw his left hand, pinned to the alley floor by the magesword, struggling to pry itself off the ground. He smiled as he realized that his back must have been broken by the elemental's crushing attack, as he could neither feel the agony of the battering he had received nor could his body be controlled by the demonic hand. As the smile creased his face he heard the enraged and helpless whisper of his "tenant" urging him to do something before the devil rats began feasting. His nose brought him the sickly sweet smell of decay as consciousness faded while he waited for death.

********

<tick............tick............tick..tick................tick....> the hood of his Westwind pinged with the sound of his engine cooling as he sat in the underground garage. He was so tired. Tired of hunting, tired of tracking, tired of life. 22 years. 22 years since he started running. Longer than most shadowrunners survived. Longer than most dreamed of running the twilight world of multi-layered lies, violent betrayal and casual death. Longer than he wanted to think about.
He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the haunted and frightened eyes of a past-his-prime, down-on-his-luck, norm male. 40 years old and looking every bit of the 78 he felt. Moving from the red-rimmed, blue green eyes that stared back at him with a look which bespoke hopeless doom, he took in the rest of his face. The nose bore testament to an education in the school of hard knocks, with a break which had never properly healed. His teeth were mostly his own and the thin lips which covered them had once lent his face a rakish air. That was back when he was young, back when the dotted "cut here" tattoo which crossed his forehead from temple to temple was considered a piece of devil-may-care humor. His hair, a curly mop cut close along the sides but flowing to his shoulders in the back, was a reddish yellow, but light enough to camouflage the gray he was beginning to find in his hairbrush each morning. His chin could not be confused with a lantern jaw, but it existed and wasn't some pinpoint to ruin the shape of his head. He sighed and closed his eyes rather than look at what time had done to him.
<tip..tip..tip..tip...tip..tip..tip..tip..tip..tip..tip..tip..tip> Sunk low with the dread of the night's work before him, he heard the unmistakable sound of high heels running through the underground structure. He had just identified the sound when it was joined by the sound of larger, flatter shoes slapping the concrete in pursuit. Once, he was sure, he would have leaped to investigate, to intervene, to do something, but that was a long, long, time ago. Now, he sank lower behind the wheel and waited for this piece of nightly tragedy to work itself out.
"Heh.....heh,heh." a deep voice chuckled, "Where you gonna run now, baby? Ya runned outta room."
"Wait, guys, wait" a woman's voice pleaded. "Wait till Freddie gets here. Freddie will be mad if you......"
"No my dear." a sharp voice interrupted. "Freddie will not be mad at all if Syn and Duncan...er...entertain themselves with your body. In fact, I suggested that it would be part of their reward for catching you. Of course, I made the same offer to Tanaka, but he uh...turned up his nose?"
The chuckles that greeted the bon mot indicated that no one was particularly concerned about the timing or location of the proposed rape.
"Now," the sharp voice continued, "my two large friends might be convinced to forgo the pleasure of using your various...uhm....orifices if you'd simply return the stones....." the voice trailed off hopefully but when its only response was silence it offered further "I would even give my word that Tanaka would give you a quick clean death in exchange for the stones....." again only silence greeted the proposal. With a sigh the voice said "In that case......."
He heard the sounds of high heels and big boots dance back and forth across the concrete. There was a deep "OWWW!" signaling more surprise than pain, a hopeless woman's cry "NOOO!" and then the dull thud of a big fist striking meat. As the sounds of the scuffle died down one basso profundo voice said "Da fraggin slitch cut me! I can't believe it! I'm gonna frag her till she can't walk!"
"Ha-ha!" the sharp voice laughed, "Looks like you will have to wait until Duncan is done, Syn. Sloppy seconds for you, old boy. Come here and let me see that cut. Oh, it's not that bad. Just a second.........there"
The figure in the car sat bolt upright as the voice in his head hissed "MAGIC!" He felt the terrible iron gray walls begin descending in his mind as he became a passenger in his own body. "Time to feed!" the voice hissed as his control deserted him again. He watched with a growing sense of helplessness as his right hand peeled the soft leather glove off his left and he stepped out of the Westwind.
"Why'd ya hafta hit her so hard fer, Syn? Now she's half outta it and ain't gonna really feel dis till she wakes all da way up! Ya ruined half da fun!"
Clicking his heels together to release the dikoted toe daggers from his high synthleather jackboots, the Westwind's driver turned to take in the tableau being plaid out three parking places away. A Troll, kneeling between the splayed legs of a semi-conscious and thoroughly horrified norm female was attempting to erect his impossibly knobby, thick and grotesquely huge male organ. On the other side of the couple was a huge mohawked ork with a line of dried blood across his prodigious stomach, visible through a ripped "FUCK YOU" t-shirt. The ork stood next to a well dressed elf with a haughty expression and a Asian norm who had already began moving towards the intruder.
The Asian said nothing, but making sound effects modeled on the cinematic utterances of the founder of Jeet Kune Do, fired a series of high speed hand strikes at the intruder's head. Wincing at the potential damage the flying fists could inflict, the driver said a small prayer of thanks that his "tenant" was not punishing him. Often in the past his "rider" had forced him to accept injuries from an opponent in the name of "discipline". Healing always followed the pain but he was thankful that now his controller was moving his head just out of the reach of the high speed jabs.
He watched with a sense of helpless fascination as time seemed to slow down and his own left leg shot out to deliver a double side kick. Striking the outside of the opponents knee with edge of his foot, he heard the snapping pop of the joint's dislocation. As the appendage ceased to support the Asian's weight and that worthy shifted his balance to his back leg, the second kick struck and the blade from the toe of the driver's boot tore through the Asian's throat. The cartoon sound effects that the Asian had been using simplified to a gurgling "Haaaakkkkk" as his life ended.
Before the now fully erect troll could deal with the input of Tanaka's death, a lightning quick slide step closed the distance and a simple punter's kick had driven a toe dagger through one of his testicles. Internally the norm again winced in sympathy for the pain he was inflicting, but as the giant's eyes bugged out of his head in pain, the toe dagger from the other boot was driven through one of those enlarged portals and into the brain, ending the giant's pain forever.
Although everything was happening blurringly fast, Syn did manage to pull his Ruger Super-Warhawk from it's behind-the-back holster and Freddie did begin summoning the energy for a spell. Unfortunately for them, before either could capitalize on their intentions, the driver's left hand shot out to fasten on Freddie's forehead while an angular kick drove a toe blade under Syn's chin, through the soft palette at the roof of his mouth and into his brain. While the ork's eyes rolled back into his head and his heavy pistol clattered to the concrete, Freddie commenced a high pitched keening moan. The terrible scream, a haunting sound which combined utter hopelessness with unendurable pain, echoed through the garage as the elf's eyes began smoking in his head. The intended rape victim watched in shock and horror as the elf began....aging. Fading into an ancient emaciated skeletal figure, Freddie's voice continued giving tongue to the terrible transformation. Eventually the sound faded and a suit of brittle bones dropped from the norm's left hand.
The woman noted the look of pure glee on her rescuer's face slowly changed to one of hopelessness and horror. She lay among the corpses and tried to gather her wits as the norm put a black leather glove on his left hand, reset the toe daggers in his boots and then began collecting weapons, credsticks and jewelry from his victims. She had just gotten to her feet and realized the danger she was still in when her savior finished examining the last body. "Wait!" she said with more desperation than she intended to reveal as the norm started back towards his car.
He turned and looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. She was an attractive young norm and there was no mistaking the fact that she knew it. Her Cafe au lait skin was perfect. Large, expressive, brown eyes perched above high flat cheekbones and a small straight nose. Full lips covered a slight overbite of perfect white teeth. Long dark hair flowed luxuriously past her shoulders. An athletic frame was barely covered by the short black dress she tried to rearrange after it's rough handling by the troll. Stopping short of the ten thousand watt smile which she usually used to get her way, she looked at him with large doe eyes and in a small, desperate voice she asked "Can you give me a ride?"
With a look of hopeless futility he shrugged and gestured for her to get in.

********

<ta-thump........ta-thump........ta-thump.......ta-thump> The expansion joints on the causeway kept up a steady rhythm as the Westwind cruised through the night.

"Where are we going?" The driver croaked through a too dry throat.

"Oh, um, can you take me to Tacoma?" the young woman asked.

"Yeah, sure. You live there?" the driver asked with a half hearted show of interest.

"Uhm, look. If it's ok with you I'm really not up for answering a lot of questions."

"Fine" the driver said with a shrug.

After several minutes of silence the young woman asked, "Not that I mind or anything but, uhm, what did you do to Freddie?"

"I killed him."

"Yeah, I know. I mean I saw that but...uh...how did you.....ya know......"

"I don't feel much like talking about it"

"I just asked because it was.......well, I never saw anything like that and........"

Pulling the Westwind over to the side of the road the driver turned to the woman and said. "Look. You don't want to answer questions and neither do I. Play the radio if you need noise, ok?"

Sensing that she was not dealing with the most stable of psyches, the young woman quickly backtracked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be nosy. You probably saved my life and I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Keri."

When the driver simply nodded and pulled back onto the road she asked "And what do I call you?"

After several seconds the driver said "Call me Mort."

"Well Morty, I really appreciate......" she stopped dead at the look the driver was giving her. She put her hand to her mouth as she realized her error and said "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Please don't be angry, Mort. I won't do that again. It's just been such a difficult night....." Her sniff as she searched through her tiny purse for a handkerchief did not seem to touch the driver at all. She decided to forestall the waterworks until she had his full attention. Riding in silence for the next ten minutes Keri continued to check out of the corner of her eye to see if Mort was looking at her. His concentration on the road was so absolute that the attractive young woman began to get concerned. Why isn't he checking me out? she thought with growing frustration. She shifted in her seat, exposing more of her long, sheer stocking covered legs but the driver didn't look over. She thought for a moment maybe he's gay but quickly realized that even a gay guy would notice. He might not be tempted by a view of her thighs but at least he would notice.

Snapping out of her contemplation of Mort's lack of interest she realized they had reached Donny's building. "This is it." she said. She laid a hand on Mort's arm, forcing him to look at her and said "I'll only be a minute. Please, wait here for me. Please." She did her best to sound earnest and look fetching but the driver's haunted eyes seem to be focused on something other than her great face and bod. She took his slight shrug as acquiescence and jumped out of the car.

*********

<buzz.......buzz.......buzz........buzz........buzz> Keri kept stabbing the comm buzzer as she waited for Donny to answer.

"Who the frag is it?" the partially dressed figure asked as he blurrily studied the com picture. After a few seconds recognition dawned "Kerri! The great user! The master manipulator! Whatsammatter, baby? Hamilton get tired a ya? I know ya ain't commin back down da ladder fer ole times sakes, so watcha want, baby?"

"Donny, I'm in trouble" she said in her best little-girl-lost voice. "I'm sorry. I never should have left you. I didn't know who my real friends were. I was stupid and bad, can you forgive me? Please, baby. I......I need your help."

Although her face held a look of abject pleading, inside she knew she'd hit just the perfect tone. Donny would melt at being begged that way. The fat man would be putty in her hands and with his hired muscle......

"What do you think Sandra?" the heavy set man asked someone off camera.

DREK! Keri thought. I thought the fat man would be all alone, but if that overstuffed slitch has got her hooks in him.... At that moment the voluptuously curvaceous blonde sauntered into the range of the video pickup wearing only high heels and a cat-eating-the-canary smile. She stepped behind Donnie and purred, "Isn't that the slitch who told you that she needed a real man? That she was tired of, what did she call it? Kid's games? Tell her to frag off."

"You heard her, kid. Next time maybe ya won't be so quick ta shit on yer friends." <click>

"DAMN YOU, DONNY!" Keri screamed in frustration. Her intention to vandalize the comm unit on the outside of the high rise went the way of the buffalo when the human doorman stepped outside to check on the disturbance.

**********

<tik.....tik.....tik.....tik.....tik......tik.....tik> Mort looked up from the last of the credsticks he was checking in the portable reader as Keri's stiletto heels announced her return. Her preoccupied muttering told the older man that she had not been successful in whatever she had attempted. Her command "Drive" might have been ancient Urdu for all of the difference it made, but Keri was not slow on the uptake and quickly changed her tone and command to "Could you please drive me to Renton?"

With a shrug, Mort started the Westwind and got back on the road.

While Keri mentally ran through her options, Mort was involved in an internal debate.

....and I say we should just let her go! Mort thought, She doesn't understand what she saw.....

...but the fact remains she DID SEE! the demon hand interrupted with a harsh whisper. I don't want that information in circulation here. Besides, she could serve us both. You could get your rocks off and eventually she could serve as ...a snack. Don't recoil in horror, "Mort", the mage was very good but eventually I'm going to need more energy. The quiff is a mundane but she might give me enough juice to last when the fuel runs out and we hunt for another magic user. I'm really thinking of you, the voice whispered seductively, You just know the trim would be very enthusiastic in the sack as she tried to get her hooks into you. You'd have a lot of fun, maybe break you out of this tedious gloom and doom cycle you seem to be in, and then I could.....

NOOOO! Mort screamed internally, throwing all the will power he could muster at the rider. You will not take AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!

The sudden blinding pain blanketed his brain with sheets of agony. It was difficult to get to the side of the road without crashing as the liquid fire engulfed his mind. When he tried to give voice to the pain the demon whispered Ah-ah-ah. Mustn't scare the little lady, "Mort". Say, was that a shot at me, calling yourself death? You know, nobody's going to get the joke......now, have you had enough? Are we clear on who's in charge and who isn't?

Mort signaled his surrender and the pain receded. Now I don't like doing that the voice whispered reasonably. If you'd just let me call the shots, you could have a really good time. Don't I heal you when you're injured? Don't I neutralize all the nasty magic that's thrown your way? Haven't I taught you more kicks than all of your Savate and Tae Kwan Do and Capoeira instructors put together? If you'd just stop fighting me and get with the program you could even learn to tap mana yourself. You could be a rich, powerful mage. You could have a harem of beauties like Keri here panting for your touch. You could....

Get stuffed Mort thought weakly.

See, that's what I like about you, buddy, the voice whispered, you just never give up. I know the slitch means zip to you, that you couldn't give a shit what happens to her. You been in the shadows way too fraggin long, pal. You'd have let those freaks rape her to death without batting an eye, but because I want to use her, suddenly you decide to protect her. You know, ever since you slipped on the ring, what was it, 7? No, 8 years ago, I've been waiting for you to finally surrender and sit back and enjoy the ride, but you never do. You're a constant challenge. Predictable only in that you always do the unexpected. The whisper said with a hint of admiration. Then suddenly the tone changed to a much more dangerous hiss. But I want you to know exactly what is going to happen, sweetheart. The next time we go hunting I'm gonna let you take some big damage, you understand? Painful, nasty, disfiguring damage, so you remember who is really in charge. Now you have something to look forward to, buddy boy. You go right ahead resisting. We'll see how long it takes you to break.

Tearing his attention away from the silky menace of the voice in his head, Mort responded to Keri's questions about why he was pulling over by gritting out between clenched teeth "Get out!" As shocked as she was by the sudden and unprovoked dismissal, the young woman was more alarmed by the way the driver began shaking as his eyes rolled back into his head. Seeing that the driver was powerless to compel her to leave the vehicle while in the grip of whatever kind of fit had grabbed him, Keri did not move. When the fit passed and Mort looked completely wrung out, Keri began patiently and quietly explaining to him why he should continue to help her.

"Are you ok? Look. I know that this is a kind of strange situation and all. I really appreciate your helping me. I just need to get some stuff together and then I swear I'll never bother you again. Please. I'm in an awful mess. You've been terrific and if you could please, please just help me out a little while longer, I'd be so grateful."

Although she sensed that she had hit all of the right notes without overplaying her hand and Mort had taken the Westwind back onto the road, Keri had the feeling that the older man's change of heart about leaving her by the side of the road had little or nothing to do with her psychological manipulation. Her potential ineffectiveness disturbed the attractive young woman a great deal more than the nagging question of why the male was helping her if he did not want her for the usual reasons.

**********

<thump-thump......thump-thump.....thump-thump......thump-thump> Mort could hear the blood pounding in his ears as the waves of pain receded. If only the stupid damned girl had jumped out of the car when I gave her the chance instead of continuing to "use" me to get what she wants! So damned self-centered! The ghostly whisper of a laugh caused the mage hunter to blank his mind and concentrate on the road. Too soon he stopped at the address in Renton.

"Could you.....could you come in with me? Please? I'm really scared. Just to my door?" Keri asked with the demure nervousness of a teenage vestal virgin.

While a part of the older man's mind appreciated the artistry of the girl's use of her voice and sex appeal, another part grimly noted that letting her have her way ultimately meant doing exactly what his demon hand commanded. He almost heard another ghostly chuckle as he shrugged apathetically and followed her up the three flights of stairs that ran up the outside of her synthewood paneled condo.

She unlocked the door to her apartment, but before he could turn around on the landing outside her front door, she grabbed his ungloved hand and said:

"Wait, please. Come inside....I'm so scared. I'll only be a minute. You've been so good, please? Please?"

Seeing that he had not rejected her beseeching tone, Keri pulled him into her apartment and said. "Here. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I'll be right out."

Promising himself that if he heard the shower come on he would make a fast exit, Mort opened a refrigerator containing nothing but champagne and a big bowl of badly molding strawberries. He grinned lopsidedly as he recognized how long it must have been since Keri entertained at home. He considered the bubbly but knowing what might happen if his inhibitions were lowered he quickly closed the door and turned on the cold water in the sink. Bending over, he put his head under the tap and luxuriated in the sudden chill.

He realized that he must have been under longer than he intended because as he groped for a dishtowel to dry his face he heard the shower turn off. Drek! he thought, but as he stepped back towards the entrance Keri came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her body. She saw he was dripping and stepped quite close as she breathed "I'm sorry I don't have more towels. We'll have to share." With a frankly inviting smile she pulled the towel from around her body and held it out to Mort.

<pik..pik..pik..pik..pik..pik..pik..pik.pik..pik> the silenced SMG fire stitched a line across the window over the kitchen sink. Mort's reaching for the towel(?) the girl(?) became a headlong dive and shoulder roll as he knocked Keri back into the room and swept the Franchi PA-3 shotgun out from under his coat. The PA-3 was a stockless, cut-down, double gripped, pump action shotgun intended to be fired from the hip. Still a favorite "Door opener" for tactical groups because of it's power and portability, Mort had discovered that his demonic addition allowed him to use the weapon accurately with one hand (provided, of course, it was his left hand).

The body-armored dwarf who swung in through the broken kitchen window and the similarly armored ork who kicked in the front door had both opted for black balaclavas rather than armored helmets for the assault. While this fashion choice diminished a casual observer's ability to recognize the identities of those so attired, it did leave a rather obviously exploitable Achilles' heel in a gun battle. The 450 grain 12-bore solid slugs that Mort had loaded in his weapon, although designed primarily to blow the hinges off locked doors as a means of securing entrance, proved equally adept at penetrating both black fabric face coverings and the flesh and bone beneath. A fact to which the brain and blood covered walls of Keri's apartment quickly attested.

"Get dressed" Mort said as he shoved two more shells into the three shot blaster. "I'll see if you have any more visitors."

This course of action turned out to be monumentally ill conceived as the heavy round from the Barretts' sniper rifle which tore through Mort's stomach and part of his spleen hastily illustrated. Blown back into the room by the force of the round, the 40 year old norm currently calling himself Mort should have begun that journey to the land from which no man doth return, but the demonic force which had taken up residence in his left hand began healing the injury immediately. Instead of going into shock in preparation for a trip on Charon's ferry, Mort listened to a whispering internal voice bitching about wasting it's strength keeping him alive. Lying motionless on the floor he watched with some interest as Keri, who had not yet begun dressing, climbed the headboard of her bed to remove something from the ceiling panel directly above her. Placing the velvet bag's drawstring around her neck so that the bag fell between what Mort had to admit were a very nicely shaped pair of breasts, the young woman climbed down and quickly began dressing. By the time she had donned her t-shirt, jeans and boots Mort was completely recovered from his wound.

"There's a sniper out there." Mort said with some authority. "Got another door?"
When Keri nodded and pointed, Mort quickly said "Wait. Keep down. Get the ammo and weapons from the dwarf. Also any armor that will fit. Hurry."
While Keri crawled towards the dwarf's headless body, Mort began stripping the Ork.
You don't have time to be acquisitive, shmuck. The voice in his head whispered. The slitch has seriously pissed somebody off, Sir Galahad, and you've landed us in a shitstorm.
I've landed us?! I'm Sir Galahad? Everytime I try to drop the woman YOU hit the fraggin agony button and hiss about who's in control Mort mentally screamed Now you realize she's trouble and suddenly it's my fault?!
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Happy now? Ya got that outta your system? Think we might be able to focus on surviving now? The sniper's got be out there to drive us towards that other door......
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! SHUT-UP! SHUT-UP! SHUT-UP! Mort screamed in his head. Stop distracting me or I'm gonna make a mistake that gets us killed!The 40 year old enjoyed the blissful silence as he collected the AK-97, ammo and fragmentation grenades from the headless ork.
As Keri crawled back to Mort, reloading the dwarf's silenced Ingram SMG as she went, the mage hunter was pulling the pins on a pair of frag grenades. Before he could toss the pineapples at the closed back door, there was a huge <BOOM> and it flew into the room on the concussive blast of a charge set by some more invaders intent on making there way into Keri's apartment. Unfortunately for said invaders, Mort's release of the already primed fragmentation grenades as he tossed them through the now open back door, preceded the invader's next move by a full 2 seconds. The norms in the hallway, armored though they may have been were still thoroughly killed when the notched wire sleeve which surrounded the explosive core of the grenades segmented into 2,000 blast driven fragments.
"LET'S GO!" Mort screamed over the ringing echo of the detonations.

**********

<thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump> Breathlessly racing down the fire stairs, Mort and Keri were focused only on escape. They made the ground floor just in time to hear the sirens of the first Lone Star units to arrive on the scene.
When they reached the bottom of the stairwell the pair kept low and faded into the parking lot on the opposite side of the building from where they had left Mort's Westwind.
"Look for something fast" Mort whispered as they squatted between parked vehicles.
"You're going to steal a car? With Lone Star pulling into the lot?!" Keri asked with incredulity.
"Faster than walking." Mort responded.
"Why don't we just take your car?" Keri asked
"Too dangerous" the hunter responded.
"And it's not too dangerous to try and steal a car with Lone Star arriving on the scene?"
"Just look for another car" Mort responded curtly.
As the older man started to turn away he heard the <ratchet clack> of the charging bolt for the Ingram Smartgun being pulled back and released. A smiling Keri casually pointed the weapon at his head as she said "I don't think so, chummer. You've been real nice and I'll probably really feel sick about this tomorrow, but I can't let you risk getting me busted. Very, very slowly I want you to drop the AK and then toss over the credstick that starts your car and, please, please don't force me to kill you. I'd really hate that."
After releasing the SMG, Mort began reaching for a pocket when Keri hissed, "Remember, the star won't hear it if I'm forced to use this Morty. It's silenced."
Grimacing at the nickname, Mort tossed Keri the credstick. After looking at it for a few seconds she said, "I hate to do this but can I also have the sticks you got from Freddie and his boys? I know it sounds really bad, my taking them after you saved my life and all, but I can't really be sure that this is the stick that starts the car and I'm probably going to need the creds on them as I run. You understand."
With a small sigh, Mort began emptying his pockets of credsticks. Innocently he asked, "Are you going to kill me to make sure I don't chase you or sell data on you?"
Keri blushed and said "Uhm......I uh, haven't decided yet" but Mort could see that she already had. He tossed the handful of credstick which, not surprisingly scattered across the asphalt of the parking lot. In the tinkling of the credsticks hitting the ground, the beautiful young woman did not notice the <click> of Mort's heels colliding or the <snick> of his boot daggers being extended.
The look of anger which passed over Keri's pretty face indicated how close she was to opening fire, but the flashing blue and red lights of a patrolling cruiser convinced her to wait.
"That was really shitty, Morty." She whispered, "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to try to hold you at gun point and pick those up at the same time? You must think I'm a ditz. Now you put your hoop on the ground, legs out straight in front of you and use your hands to move yourself over here and collect those sticks and," she hissed, "you try anything, anything at all, and I'll blow you away. Now get moving"
Mort followed the instructions exactly. When he had collected all of the sticks and was close enough to hand them over his left leg exploded into a sitting front kick which drove the toe dagger up under Keri's perfect breast, through her rib cage and into her heart. The look of complete surprise on her face became her expression for eternity when he drew out the blade and kicked twice into her exposed throat, separating her skull from her torso. Though her head hit the asphalt with a rather wet plop, Mort was able to ease the rest of her remains to the ground without making any noise.
"It's such a shame I'm not a lot younger, Kid." Mort sighed wistfully. "It might have been a lot of fun being manipulated by you. Never allowing myself to believe that I was being used, punctuating everything with exciting sex, maybe even convincing myself that we were in love. Yeah, might have been a lot of fun. Now let's see what all the bad guys were really after."
Pulling the blood stained velvet bag over the ragged stump of Keri's neck, Mort found a pair of certified credsticks and several pearly stones. In the light of the parking lot's halogen lights the mage hunter repressed a whistle as he realized the bag held half a dozen Opals. No wonder there were hit teams after you, babe. These firestones are worth a fortune. I wonder how they ended up in your hot little hands.
The roving Lone Star Patrol car, as well as the siren-announced arrival of other emergency vehicles ended Mort's speculation. He pulled the pin on another fragmentation grenade and used the weight of Keri's headless corpse to keep the spoon depressed. This meant that when the body was discovered and turned over the grenade would go off, possibly giving him a distraction and definitely reducing the volume of "evidence". 22 years in the shadows insured that concern over the additional injury or death the fragmentation grenade would cause the innocent never entered Mort's mind. He crept over to a beat-up Toyotacorp Gopher pickup which must have belonged to the Condo's groundskeepers and hot-wired the vehicle. Driving it through a short hedge which separated one Condo's lot from another he slowly eased away from the battle scene.

***********

<whiffwhiffwhiffwhiffwhiffwhiffwhiffwhiffwhiff> The silenced chopper's blades slashed the night sky as the black air stallion sailed along, flying high above the Toyotacorp Gopher pickup truck. The rigger flying the craft used the chopper's infra-red scanners to keep the pickup bullseyed as it entered the Redmond Barrens. Within a minute she radioed "Eagle to team 3, Eagle to team 3, Looks like you guys win the lottery. Target is headed in your direction. Looks like Union Hill Rd and 228th Ave. is the party site of choice. Will advise."
Three minutes later the rigger said "Team 3, you're on. Rock and Roll."
The first indication that Mort had that anything was wrong occurred when the RPG-8's man portable rocket exploded under the rear axle of the flatbed, causing the pickup to begin somersaulting up the street. As his knees cracked the underside of the dashboard, his forehead took turns with the back of his skull alternating between smashing into the top of the steering wheel and smacking into the semi-padded head rest. When the funhouse ride finally ended, Mort found himself hanging from his seat belt in an inverted position. Groaning, he wiped the blood out of his eyes, released the safety belt and grabbed his recently acquired AK97 as he kicked the door open.
Greeted by the eerily familiar whine of a minigun spinning up to speed, Mort quickly vaulted the cab before the troll with the Vindicator could vaporize him. He ignored the tremendous pain to his knees and the ringing in his head as dodging to his left, Mort went prone behind a fire hydrant and the troll used the streams of lead his his high speed weapon produced to rip through any section of the inverted pickup that his quarry might be using for cover. Mort shook his head at the Troll's choice of headgear, however, as the baseball cap did very very little to deflect the burst from the AK97 he used to pepper the giant's head.
Congratulating himself on the quick elimination of a very dangerous adversary, Mort was about to take stock of the situation when his back was perforated twice by a sniper on the roof behind him. Wringing out a bloody groaning cough as his demon hand healed the damage to his lungs, Mort pulled his last fragmentation grenade. Although flat on his back his left hand was strong enough to launch the death canister the 4 stories to the roof where his assailant looked down. The grenade's air burst, exploding before it even landed on the dilapidated building's roof, encouraged the sniper to attempt an unaided personal levitation spell. Since the sniper was not a magic user, the attempt was predictably brief and unsuccessful, culminating quickly in a dull thud and messy stain on the sidewalk.
Again before Mort could catch his breath a screaming ork woman armed with a Sandler TMP jumped up across the street and opened fire while a norm male in tribal native American gear, complete with war paint, began casting a spell. At the first sign of magic, Mort felt a terrible lethargy as he lost control of his body and watched the left glove come off. He wanted desperately to let his demon hand just absorb whatever magic the shaman was throwing at him while he took out the ork. This would insure that he would not be distracted when he faced the most dangerous part of the ambush. His hand, however, had other priorities.
Mort could feel the impacts of the SMG's slugs through his armored longcoat as he stood. While it was undeniably true that the stings were more a distraction than a major problem, the mage hunter would have dearly loved to remind his rider that, as he had illustrated with the troll mere seconds earlier, unarmored craniums were highly lead intolerant. Although absorbing the stun spell the shaman had thrown and moving on that worthy with single minded speed, the demon in Mort's hand spared just enough attention to empty the clip of the AK-97 into the ork woman, thereby silencing her SMG.
Mort watched as his body moved with blinding speed on the Shaman. A Scissor Kick Take Down commenced as the demon slid Mort's body in low, hooking his left leg around his opponent's far knee while his right leg smashed into his opponent's stomach. When the demon twisted Mort's hips the Shaman fell backwards, losing his grip on an ancient looking tomahawk. Mort's body continued the twist and the left hand fastened on the shaman's forehead as the terrible draining began.
Between the agonized screams of the dying shaman and the triumphant laugh of Mort's demon, nobody paid any attention to the rock creature that pulled itself out of the ground just behind the combatants. Neither fighter paid any attention as it grew to some 12 feet in height, looming above the pair in the street. Similarly, nobody noticed approach of the the small Arab woman with the sparkling Kaskara in her hand.
The draining of power, soul and life occupied all of the demon's attention, right up until the moment when the manifested earth elemental ripped Mort's body off it's nearly dead victim, smashing it repeatedly into the side of a building. Time and again the elemental flailed the body, like a lose jointed doll, into the side of the brownstone. It's master then commanded that the vaguely humanoid rock man throw Mort to the street repeatedly, perhaps testing how high the mage hunter would bounce. When the action took the participants off the street and into an alley, the Arab woman signaled an end and the elemental flattened Mort's crawling body to the ground with a stomp which shattered multiple vertebrae. The hand, still crawling like a spider at the end of Mort's shattered arm, was run through by the woman's Baghirmi straight sword, and pinned to the tarmac. The mage, seeing that the battle was won, dismissed her elemental and went to check on her team-mates, saying into a com unit. "Three to all units, Team three to all units, Party is over. Repeat, Party is over. Send in the cleaners."

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<plip...........plip...........plip.............plip........> the steady drip of water from the drainage pipe splashing into the fetid puddle in which his face lay partially submerged, nibbled away at blissful unconsciousness. As his eyes blurrily focused he saw his left hand, pinned to the alley floor by the magesword, struggling to pry itself off the ground. He smiled as he realized that his back must have been broken by the elemental's crushing attack, as he could neither feel the agony of the battering he had received nor could his body be controlled by the demonic hand. As the smile creased his face he heard the enraged and helpless whisper of his "tenant" urging him to do something before the devil rats began feasting. His nose brought him the sickly sweet smell of decay as consciousness faded while he waited for death.

End Trans

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