More MHI fanfiction shenanigans (Updated 9/23)

[Jericho941]

It looked like something out of a Tarantino flick. There are very few situations where that description would be a good thing. From Miner's point of view, it wasn't good, but it beat the alternative. He was sitting in DeSanto's living room, and not allowed to leave. Sure, DeSanto was polite and sociable about it, but he was also leaning on a counter across the room from Miner, with an MAC-10 next to his right hand. Plus, the normally taciturn DeSanto was suddenly very talkative about random, meaningless topics. It was all very off-putting, but Miner figured he was safe as long as he didn't start talking about cheeseburgers and the metric system.

At least he got some food out of it. Omelettes and bacon for dinner? Oh well. Miner would've eaten a cow alive and not cared one bit. He was still wearing the "tactical" clothing he'd worn when he was hauled off, save the armor, which sat on the floor next to him. He'd been unconscious when he was dumped here, so DeSanto checked him for other injuries. Aside from a couple bumps and bruises, he seemed fine. At some point before he had regained his senses, DeSanto had gotten dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. As weird as the situation was, a bathrobe and boxers were still wildly inappropriate.

"So. How do you like the job so far?" DeSanto asked.

"Well, it's kinda fun, aside from the whole 'getting dragged off by a crazy vampire, tied up and held in the dark for God knows how long, beaten, and then rescued through means I really don't understand' thing. By the way, just what the hell am I doing here?"

DeSanto sighed. "Hell if I know. All I can tell you is that someone I used to know just dropped you off."

"Used to know?"

"Well, she had a pulse once."

"Oh," Carl said. Awkward. Can I leave now? Instead of voicing the thought, he attacked his omelette.

"So, uh, yeah. Janine's on her way over and you can tell her what happened. It's probably best if she hears it from you. After that she'll want to know why you were brought here of all places, and I'll have some explaining to do," DeSanto said with a self-deprecating smirk.

"Huh," was all Miner could think of to say about that. He glanced up from his plate to see Desanto's dog leering at him from across the coffee table, tail wagging. She stopped when she caught his eye, then started wagging her tail again, hopefully.

"Don't be greedy, Rosie. Come here."

The German Shephered reluctantly stood and padded over to DeSanto, put her head against his leg for a scratch behind the ears, and then immediately tore off to the door barking madly. Someone knocked a second later. Steeling himself for the posibility of imminent unemployment, DeSanto opened the door. Rosie poked her face through to sniff at the newcomer.

"Hi," Janine said, letting the dog sniff her hand. Apparently satisfied, the dog backed up to sit behind DeSanto again.

"C'mon in. Carl's in the living room," he said.

"In one piece?" she asked incredulously as she stepped through.

"Seems that way," said Carl as he stood up from the couch, a bit unsteadily. "I'm a little banged up, but I'm okay."

"What happened?" Janine stepped a bit closer to him to get a better look. Several places on his body were bandaged. "No bites, I take it?"

"Nah. I was stuck in this dark room for awhile. There was a lot of crazy stuff going on, sounded like people chanting and playing Monopoly. It didn't really make any sense. Also, I think I blacked out a lot."

"Anything else? At all?" Janine frowned. "This doesn't really give us much to go on."

"No, not really. Sorry. The only thing that really sticks out to me is the Monopoly for some reason. The place smelled like blood though. And then I woke up here."

"Huh," said Janine. "Well... get your stuff, I'll take you to get checked out and then home. Meanwhile... DeSanto, start talking. How did he wind up here?"

DeSanto recounted the night's events as best he could. When the story was over, Janine was not amused.

"And you just let her get away?"

"Well, she had me at a disadvantage. Short of running back inside to grab something huge, I wasn't going to be able to do anything."

"So you knew her? Vampires don't do charity, Caleb. What does she get out of this?"

"I don't know. She's deranged, maybe? She seems like she's up to something, but I don't know what. It can't be good."

Janine sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll let this one slide for now, but damn it, this reeks. Like weapons grade Anita Blake bullshit."

"I know," he said. "But at least she drives a distinctive car. Shouldn't be too hard to find a Lotus Elise around here."

"Maybe not on this side of the Sound, but I've seen them all over I-5 and I-90 recently. Well, okay. I'm gonna take Carl like I said, but we're working this, got it? I don't care who she used to be, we're going to kill her."

"Right," DeSanto said. "I'm with you on this one."


"Right," DeSanto said. "I'm with you on this one."

"Good. I'd hate to have to kill you." It was not even slightly a joke. DeSanto was skating on thin ice and knew it. Janine walked Carl to her car without another word.

[Jericho941]

Man, writer's block has been kicking my ass over the last few months. I was trying to add more before posting this blurb, as I've been sitting on it for awhile, tweaking it, trying to figure out how to get the plot moving to the next point. But I figured I'd better get this out of the way in order to try and jump-start the process.

___

DeSanto took off running. This was what he normally did after he woke up; today was just different because a stupid Newbie had to show up on his doorstep. The life of a monster hunter wasn't all glory, after all. There was an awful lot of exercise when you weren't hunting. Things just got in the way today.

Stupid Newbie.

A mile down the road with a weighted pack. Rosie panted happily at his side, completely indifferent to the running, save for the occasional nip at Caleb's ankles. How she hadn't grown out of that, he didn't know. The thought brought him back to Keira. Why now? Just when he thought he'd put her and all of what brought him to MHI behind him, she just had to show up.

Stupid vampire.

Three miles down the road, Rosie started to lag behind. Time to turn around. He ran hard, back toward the house, teeth gritted as he panted for breath. Not the best way to run long distances, but personal demons are hard to exorcise.

"Haaa... haaa... haaa..."

Rosie ran just behind him, unsure what to make of the growling noises he made with every breath. To the simple mind of the German Shepherd, it seemed that her human was talking to himself. To DeSanto, it was just what his throat did when he was out of breath.

Caleb coughed to push the gag reflex back as he ran. He slowed his pace down just a little, but he kept running. Rosie didn't approve of all this running, in her simple canine way, but she put up with it because he fed her well. Still, he was going to have to learn to let the prey come to him. It would be so much easier on the pack, such as it was. They got delivery pizza, for crying out loud. There was no excuse for all this running, she thought, thick strands of saliva dripping from her flopping tongue.

DeSanto thumped onward, oblivious to his faithful dog's discomfort. He thought of Kiera, still human, laughing at dinner. He thought of being beaten by vampires and dragged away from her. He thought of surviving, thinking she was dead, only to have her return as that. Mostly though, he thought about all his hatred of vampires and the feeling that no matter how many he killed, it would never be enough... and yet, when it came down to it, once he saw those blue eyes in his scope, could he really pull the trigger?

Well, if he didn't, he was pretty sure Janine would take care of both of them anyway.

Stupid... stupid everything.

[Jericho941]

"Sorry about all this. I think I might not be cut out for this job after all," Carl said as they passed the Tacoma Dome on I-5. It was the first thing he'd said since getting into the car.

"Okay, first off, don't be sorry. What happened to you wasn't your fault," Janine said, glancing at him before changing lanes to pass a convoy from Fort Lewis. "We're all one team, so if anyone besides the monsters are to blame, it's us. Second, you're brand new. Nobody's an expert right out of the box. Besides, learning this job never stops. Once you think you know everything, that's when they start coming through the walls."

"Oh," Carl said, "I get that, I guess. It's just that this all seems so normal to everyone else."

"Everyone but Tricia's been doing this a lot longer than you have, Carl. Experience counts for a lot, but there's only one way to get it. Some came in with a little more than others, though. I mean, don't let Steve's tattooes and piercings fool you; he used to be in the military before he worked his last job. So did DeSanto. Both of them still had to do plenty of adjusting to hunting monsters, though. J's just a natural fighter, but you can't punch wights and get away with it."

"What about you?" Carl asked.

"Heh. I used to work for a shady alphabet soup outfit. Don't worry about it."

"Alphabet soup?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Uh, okay." They drove on in silence for a bit before he spoke again. "I was wondering... when I was in training they said that our ammo only comes in .308, .45 and shot shells. How come you and Grunwald don't use them?"

"Well, we roll our own. Sort of. I've got some connections, too. And to be honest, I don't like using a pistol round in a primary weapon, and .308 isn't much fun for me on full auto. You usually have to be a pretty big guy like J or Caleb to pull that off. That's the nice thing about being a private outfit, you can use what works for you. Did you see DeSanto's rifle up close?"

"No, why?"

"He's done a lot of work on it. He's even got it custom-engraved. His selector switch says 'Safe, dangerous, and PANIC!'"

Carl chuckled, and then stopped abruptly, gently rubbing the bruised side of his face. "Ow."

"Of course, another perk of the job is being able to get stuff like that fixed pretty quickly," said Janine. "Tomorrow, you'll hardly feel a thing. But, first things first. Let's get you back to Bellevue."

[Jericho941]

A loud buzzer sounded and a heavy gate slammed down through the floor with a resounding boom. Steve was through it a fraction of a second later, drawing a training pistol as he moved. He was immediately confronted with a cluster of "hostile" paper zombie targets. He stopped and immediately dispensed two shots into the head of each. He tore off down the dirt path they were on and coiled over a picnic table, one hand on the impromptu obstacle with the other tightly gripping the gun. He landed fluidly and kept running to the next group of targets, "hostage" targets at a camp site being menaced by zombies. He shot the latter and started running again, reloading on the move.

Steve literally ran the course, because he wanted to. It was set up differently every day so that it couldn't be memorized and rendered pointless with just a few sessions. The goals here were accuracy and situational awareness. Since there were a few mechanical surprises planted along the way, they used training pistols with low-velocity training ammunition for safety. Startling a person with a gun could have nasty consequences at the best of times, and many Hunters were justifiably jumpy to begin with. Other drills used "real" guns with full-power loads, but this course was a new, experimental one. It was an expensive experiment, but Janine let Al fret over the budget.

Steve slid under a simulated park gate and jumped up, gunned down the last targets and sprinted through the course gate at the other end.

"How'd I do?" he asked, putting the pistol away.
"That was awesome!" Grunwald exclaimed.
"I don't like it," J said, "but you got all the bad guys."
"Why not?" Eu asked.
"J doesn't like the way I run the course," said Steve, "he thinks it's unsafe."
"You pretty much violate every safety rule except the one about having your finger on the trigger," said J. "Your muzzle covers a lot more than it should when you're doing your fancy stuff, and you treat cover and concealment like they're just obstacles to jump over."
"Like you said, my finger's off the trigger when I'm not shooting. Besides, most of the time we're fighting things that don't need eyes to see or shoot back."
"Relax Steve," J sighed, "I gave up on the gymnastics argument a long time ago."
"Parkour," Steve corrected.
"Whatever," J said. "Don't pay any attention to this clown, Eu. I'll show you how it's done."
They walked back to the start of the range where J picked up his training pistol and slipped some magazines into pouches on his thigh. He gave the thumbs-up to Steve.

------

"And that is what must be done. Otherwise, all shall perish," the voice said. "This is your warning."
"No," Carl said. "I can't believe it. There has to be another way."
"I see you won't take my word on faith," the voice said. "Very well. Let me show you a glimpse of... an alternate future. If you can call it an alternative, anyway."
Carl's vision was suddenly filled with what could only have been a forest blasted down by a volcanic eruption. Eustace's body lay at his feet, torn in half.
"I, um..." Carl stammered, unable to coherently voice his objection to this horror.
'Behold!" the voice shouted in his mind, indignant in his disgust. Carl looked up and saw Tricia empty her UMP into the face of a vampire. It did nothing to slow its advance. She turned to run, to find some sort of solace and reload, but she was quickly struck down by a massive, rusty broadsword and thrown to the ground. She tried to move, tried to fight back, but died before she could even fully insert a loaded magazine.
Steve Amundsen pounded out .45 rounds into the darkness, seemingly uncaring for the encroaching oblivion. With his grease gun finally empty, he quickly drew his Kimber and fired it until its slide locked back and he found himself impaled by a massive black tentacle as he reached for a magazine. Steve coughed blood and gurgled for breath as he reloaded and dumped another magazine into the tentacle. There was an alien scream and the tentacle withdrew from his body, dumping him on the ground. Steve would've smirked at the small victory if there'd been enough blood left in his body to do so.
Janine shoved a grenade into her F2000's grenade launcher and fired it into the gibbering mass before her. Something black and oozing struck her hard in the face and she fell down under its weight. Before she could move againt the creature brought its weight down upon her head in some sort of monstrous curb stomp. Completely stunned, she could not move.
Caleb DeSanto howled his rage into the night, emptying his rifle into the black shape over Janine until it overbalanced and fell. He tried to finish it off, but his rifle was empty. He lifted his MAC-10 off of its resting point at his side and hosed it down and charged.
Ortiz's shotgun boomed, its last shell expended before the weapon was sliced in half by an otherworldly blade at the end of a tentacle. The same blade darted in and out, inflicting several wounds before finally disembowelling J. Dropping the useless remains of his weapon, J sank to his knees in pain, folding his arms over his ruined abdomen. And then he began to glow. Carl felt an intense sensation of holy justice as all around him burst into flame.
Janine had regained more than her footing. She had the black tentacle monstrocity underfoot and was busy empting her F2000's magazine into its head with a war cry. Black ichor splashed around and over her as the monster suffered her wrath. Suddenly, it seemed to catch fire. Janine jumped off of its body and looked around as the shadows around her seemed to ignite. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she reloaded and breathed a sigh of relief.
J sighed as well, although it was with a sense of finality as the abominations around him had been burnt and rent asunder by faith alone. "At least some of us are safe," he thought, yet Carl heard it as though he'd said it. "Thank you, God." And then J fell down all the way, and sighed one final time.
Janine sat down heavily on a boulder and reloaded. "My God," she breathed, "are we all that's left?"
"Seems that way," said DeSanto as he reloaded. Janine brushed her hand through her hair as though to hook it behind her ear, a useless gesture given her new pixie-ish haircut, but subconsciously comforting nonetheless.
"I think we're good for now," said DeSanto. His monotone betrayed just how "good" he thought they were at that moment. Janine stood and racked the charging handle on her rifle.
"You're probably right, but we need..."
DeSanto registered a strange, wet slapping sensation on his face before he realized that Janine had stopped speaking. He turned around only to see her twitching on the ground, as though having a seizure. He ran to her.
"Jan!" he shouted, dropping down and grabbing her armor. "Janine! Jan!!"
It's not fair. She's survived so much, she's lead us so far, it's not fair! It's not fair!"

Caleb never heard the beat of the Blackhawk's rotors as he cradled Janine's ruined head to his chest. He slowly put her back down, and Carl felt his breath catch in his throat as DeSanto seemed to look him right in the eye. The FBI team surrounded him, shouts to drop weapons filling the air. DeSanto slowly stood, holding his Glock 21 up above his head. It seemed strange to Carl; there had been nothing in the look in Caleb's eyes that suggested surrender.

An agent came up behind him, part of the team meant to arrest him as they surrounded him. hanks to his armor, most of the shots failed to wound him. Every impact, even those that got around his armor, only seemed to fuel his fury. DeSanto rammed his knife into the throat of another agent and drew him closer, using his still-struggling body as a shield as he shot another agent in the chest and head. A final insult to the agent dying in his embrace, DeSanto screamed his fury into his ear as he turned to engage another agent. This foe caught a lucky break, however, and shot DeSanto in the armpit. Caleb's grip on his shield slackened and he drew out the knife.

"Fucking die already!" The agent shouted, emptying his magazine into DeSanto's body. Caleb reeled, and fell against a fallen tree trunk under the onslaught, bleeding from a dozen wounds. The Glock dropped out of his ruined hand, and he slid down untl he sat on the ground.

"Fuck!" the agent cursed again as he reloaded, and surveyed the damage. "Fuck!"

"Yes, that's what I did to your mom. Get over it," DeSanto grunted as he tried to pick himself up.

"Those were my friends, you asshole. You know what? To hell with taking you in, you goddamn freak," the agent replied, and emptied his magazine at DeSanto. Caleb struggled to his feet anyway as many of the bullets were stopped by his armor.

"Um," said the agent, fumbling for a magazine.

Caleb wasn't really capable of forming a coherent reply as he raised his tanto one last time and brought it down on the agent's neck, but what he shouted did sound something like,

"Dooooog!!"

The knife plunged into the side of the agent's neck. DeSanto tore it back toward himself, hard enough to rip the knife through the front of the agent's throat, and bring him toppling on top of himself.

Time passed at an accelerated rate now. DeSanto was about to die, bleeding out from an absurd number of wounds. It was amazing that he'd lasted this long. And then she came. The one in the robe.

"Oh no, no, this won't do at all. You need to come with me."

And then she bit his neck.

"No, no, I don't want to see any more!" Carl screamed.

"Hey, hey. You're safe here."

Carl blinked and realized he was still in Janine's car.