Part one lives here. It'll make more sense if you it first. https://www.reddit.com/Revblackrage/comments/hxikru/bulls_heart_texas/
I was half way to my car before I knew it, fresh cup of coffee in my hand. Ellie wouldn't let me leave without one.
I set the cup of coffee down on the roof of the Dodge and started digging around in my pockets. Looking for my keys. A scream ripped out of the restaurant behind me. It was long and loud. Sounded like someone had just stuck their hand in a deep fat fryer. Or had it forced into one. It startled me and I jumped, So much so that I dropped my keys.
I heard a snort. Which sounded suspiciously like it was at my expense. I looked over my shoulder as I bent over to grab my keys.
Murray's horse, Pistola, was tied up in a parking spot, about three spaces down from me. It was technically against city ordinance to tie an animal up in a commercial parking lot. Outside of Rodeo season of course, And there was special emphasis on undead mammals.
But if you won't tell, I won't. The skeletal equine was staring at me over a feed bag strapped to his face. I pretended not to notice that the feed bag was stained brown, with a suspicious blackish liquid dripping from the stained burlap. Sometime's in Bull's Heart, the answers just aren't worth the questions.
"Cut me some slack, dude" I said. With a voice that may or may not have registered a bit of annoyance. "I'm not a three hundred year old dead horse. Shit creeps me out sometimes."
I could have sworn that old Pistola, rolled his eyes at that. But that may have been just me giving the horse too much credit.
Another shorter scream erupted from the diner. This one ending suddenly. The context clues I had at my disposal, told me it was Marcel who was doing the screaming in there. Now were I a normal Sheriff's Deputy it would be my job to run into that Diner, ready to get to the bottom of it. But. I already knew the score and felt no need to investigate further. Plus, fuck that guy. Stripers had no protections under the law and I was specifically instructed to ensure their safety at my discretion and i discresified that Marcel was a worthless piece of human wreckage, who should be fed to a wood chipper. His death would truely be a net benefit to humanity as a whole. And that was about as far as I was willing to take it.
Just as I scooped up my keys, I heard a low nervous sound from the undead horse. One of those 'Hey I'm not cool with this' sounds horses make. A rustle of feathers creeping out of the night sky, the horse's call of unease it's only accompaniment.
"Fuck" I swore outloud. A rustle of feathers on a night time breeze could mean only a few things in Bull's Heart and only one of them would creep out a horse. I stood up straight. Looking for it. Resting my paw on the handle of my Smoke Wagon. My fingers wrapping around the checkered grip of the ridiculously large revolver. They always come when the stink of blood is on the air. They bring the cold with them too. As was attested to by the shiver running down my spine and the light steam I was suddenly exhaling. The hairs on my bare arms stood up in response to the suddenly frigid air. On one level I knew that I was under no immediate threat.... But you tell that to two hundred thousand years of evolutional preservational instincts. Shit was there for a reason. Yes I suppose you could say the thing perched over the door of Earl's diner made me uncomfortable. Just a touch.
The neon lighting from the diner's sign cast an odd neon red hue across it. The light seemed to accentuate the shadows it lurked in. But I wouldn't even have to look at the damn thing to know it was watching me. The whole site of the thing was like watching a demon stalk you.
Nobody was really sure where they had came from. Nobody who'd been to the Great Beyond, or any other such ports of mystical or metaphysical call, could recall such a creature in any of their travels.
I would describe it as a humanoid, with big ragged vultures wings. Bipedal body. Bird's legs. A man's chest. I usually saw a big fuck off beak, that was attached to a face that looked similar to a plague doctor's mask.
But rarely did two people see the same thing when they looked at the creatures. Well for the most part. The going theory was that they were some matter of shape shifters. But that still left a lot to explain. Everyone described the same ragged wings and the same piercing eyes. Orbs of a pure white, that burned with a mix of corruption and malevolent anger. Like spotlights of hate on a greasy black night.
But nobody could agree on secondary characteristics. To me they all looked the same, but if I tried to describe what I saw, you wouldn't know what I was talking about, because you saw a horses head with a seagulls beak for a face, or some other such silliness.
This particular creature's wings were drooped over it like a cloak. I could see the eyes boring into me from the inky black recesses of it's wings. No notion of a head, or shoulders, or anything could be discerned from the shadows.
I glared back at it for a moment, before I took a good weaver style shooting position, drew my smoke wagon and planted it's front site post right smack dab between those dumbass eyes. It did nothing but glare back at me with those huge hate filled peepers. I couldn't even tell if it understood what was happening. But I could make out it's inky black talons flexing on it's perch, as if it was about to throw itself forward and rip my belly clean open in a fit of avian fury. Everything in me told me to pull the trigger on my Magnum Research BFR and send a .45-70 Government Consecrated Exploding Sabot round right into the thing's forehead. Everything in me wanted to send that unearthly thing back to whatever soulless void it spawned from. The things aren't right for this world and everything in me was telling me to send it back where it belonged. To the pit it crawled out of.
But technically........Under Texas department of Fish and Game code, They are classified as an endangered species.
So all I could do was whisper "Bang" like a petulant child and reluctantly holster my weapon. I am not horribly mature, I admit.
Yeah, sure they stole dead bodies. Sure they flew around from Dusk till Dawn creeping the living fuck out of people. Sure they had all the sentience of a learning disabled possum. But some genius decided to call them an endangered species and grant them protected habitats. Like the forests surrounding Bull's Heart. Because where the fuck else would they be able to go?
The thrice cursed things are Illegal to hunt for sport or harvest. And if you kill one by accident, you better have your ducks in a row. Because you are about to be investigated for Poaching. Which in Texas, means you are going to face a lot of Jail time.
Which is some Fucking liberal bullshit, if you ask me.
Our local game warden, a fella named Lingelsou, was very particular about the animals of what he calls 'His Forest.'
He also had zero problem running in Deputys for violations to the Texas Fish and Game code. He once arrested a Deputy named Landis for taking one down. Even though he had a good reason for it..... well maybe not a good reason exactly, but a pretty damn good excuse.
About once a month or so, Deputy Landis has a condition that.... Well it's just best that he gets away from people for a couple days or so. He goes a little wild in that time frame. So he goes out to a plot of land he owns out in the woods and just rides it out. Safer for everyone that way.
During one of these..... Fits I guess you could call it. He took down one of the creatures and ate half of it. Warden Lingelsou took him in for it. It didn't matter that Deputy Landis wasn't in his right frame of mind. He still didn't have a population control hunting license, which was the only way to legally hunt them.
Sheriff Onryu had gone to bat for the Deputy, going so far as to site the American's with disabilities act of 1990, trying to point out that Landis had a condition and certain accessions had to be made in order to provide a fair and equal environment for him. Including free reign hunting rights for the thing that lived inside of him. Lingelsou wasn't buying it though. "Laws be laws" The Game Warden had said. "In my forest and in my jurisdiction, the laws be respected"
Sanctimonious do-gooder Prick. But the creatures did a good job of keeping their number's low and they didn't really go out of their way to attack people. Unless cornered. Which is a good thing. Because when they are worked up into a good lather, they can take and dish out a lot of punishment before they finally go down. Kind of like a skybourne Armadillo. Only less cute.
This specimen, as if sensing my unease, leaned forward and screeched at me. I got the impression of a beak sticking out from between it's wings. The screech was loud in the frigid silence. It gave off the audio sensation of nails on a chalkboard mixed with a crying newborn. A pretty unpleasant mixing of audible input.
Than the burning eyes turned back to Pistola, and I briefly wondered if the Creature was going to go after the undead horse. I mean they were death eaters and technically the horse was dead after a fashion.
I would legally be allowed to shoot it at the point, as Pistola was technically livestock....Deadstock?..... Anyway, in Bull's Heart, you could defend tame animals from wild Animals. Especially with all of the weird crap that lives in our woods.
But before I could sink much thought into it, the creature reared on it's haunches, gave one last terrifying screech and took wing, quickly disappearing into the night sky. My caveman ego wanted to believe that it was because the Creature was made uncomfortable by my presence.
But more than likely it figured that the staff of Toothy Earl's weren't going to toss Marcel's corpse out the front door, so there was no point in hanging around. Either way Pistola seemed to be okay with the end result, as he let out a sigh of equine relief as the potential predator made it's exit.
I watched the night sky in the direction it flew off for a moment, wondering if it was going to change it's mind and come back.
They have a name.
Like we don't just call them 'Creatures.' I just happen to think the name is stupid. Real fucking stupid. Because it's not a hot chick on a winged horse swinging a sword.
It is in no way shape or form a Valkerye. And yes that is a hill that I am willing to die on.
It's a fucking bird monster, not a chick who escorts dead warriors to the All Father's table. Can't put that shit on the side of a panel van from the seventies. End of discussion.
I just call them 'Shitbirds.'
When I was certain that the Shitbird was gone for good, I turned and gave Pistola a nod.
"You're safe now, Sir." I said with a professional smile. "You're welcome."
The Horse just stared back at me with Milky dead eyes. He seemed super unimpressed.
"Fine" I said with a bit of feigned exasperation "act like that thing didn't have you scared out of your peanut sized mind"
The Horse snorted at me again and again I swear he managed to roll his pupiless white eyes at me. That damn horse was smarter than he was letting on. I shook my head and turned back to the Charger. But as I got into the Dodge, I thought I heard something. Like words floating out of the dark. Scratchy. Raspy. Just at the point of hearing. The point were you aren't sure if it's your inner monolog or your ears, and i definitely wasn't quite sure which one it was.
"The.... Master.... Comes...."
I stared off in the direction the creature had flown. Well that was odd. I couldn't be sure that I had heard it.... But I couldn't completely write it off either.
*
I knew the way to the Miller's house like the back of my hand. We were out there enough after all. The Miller's were two people that shouldn't have been together. But they were also both extremely stubborn. Neither was going to be the one who broke first and left. They also refused to admit they had problems. Even when they were doing their best to rip each other apart. Made conflict mediation between the two parties a royal bitch.
They were one of the reasons I hated this God forsaken town.
I was going to meet up with Gruk and Daliwal at the foot of the Miller's drive and we would go up their property as a group.
It's usually best to go out on calls with as much back up as possible. Especially in this town.
I briefly thought about Gruk's condition. I glanced down towards the Digital Defensive Control Suite sitting in the middle of my Patrol car's center console. The screen showed that the U.V. Defensive lighting rig that sat on the roof of the Uparmored Charger Hell Cat cruiser was off. I reached down and tapped the off button just to be sure. I than reached over and hit the manual safety, locking it out of action.
A lot of citizen's of Bull's Heart had one condition or another that made U.V. light anything from annoying to downright lethal, so much so that the local Government classified U.V. lights as destructive devices. If you had some? You had better have a very damn good reason for having them or you were going to jail. Occasionally certain people would kick up a stink about it, make some noise about it being a violation of the 2nd Amendment, but they usually didn't get much support because.... well it's hard to get people real worked up about lightbulbs.
It would have been a damn shame to take Gruk and possibly Daliwal out of action, due to some avoidable asshatted dipshittery. I actually wasn't sure if U.V. would take Daliwal down or out, but I did know his kind were nocturnal, so better safe than sorry.
I turned down the dirt road that would take me to the Miller's front gate. Something about the way the lights of my cruiser played down the narrow tree lined dirt road gave it an ominous feeling. I was hoping it wasn't a sign of things to come.
"Here the fuck we go" I grumbled outloud.
I saw Gruk's S.U.V. and Daliwal's cruiser parked next to the Miller's cattle gate. Gruk had to drive one of the bigger S.U.V.s due to her massive size.
"More like her massive ass" I said to myself, giving myself a slight chuckle in response, finding myself hilarious. And before you ask, yes I am aware that I am an idiot.
I parked behind the big SUV and got out, but not before I let dispatch know where I was. "Jen, Whiskey Hotel, 10-23 at the Miller's" I told dispatch over the radio.
"Roger that, Whiskey Hotel, good luck!"
"Roger. Thanks. Out."
Daliwal and Gruk were standing in front of the latter's cruiser, looking up the property. Gruk turned her massive head my way. The black pupils of her eyes seemed to dig right through me as she stared. Her lips parted slightly and she gave me a disdainful sneer.
"Oh look..." She said said sounding gruff and vaguely British, like a bad guy from a Lord of The Rings Movie "'Ey sent a pathetic little 'Oomie to back us up..."
The look on her face could have frozen fire. She looked like she wanted to rip open my belly and play with what she found there. She squared up her shoulders like she was ready to throw down and raised her hands up to shoulder height. Flexing every muscle she had in her upper body. Her jaw fell open revealing some seriously nasty gleaming white canines. A Threat display if there ever was one. Her Body Armor and her duty belt did nothing except add to idea that she was preped and ready for a real slobberknocker.
She took a step forward, looking every bit of the bruiser she really was. From the top of her pony tail to the soles of her size twenty black Bates combat boots, she was built for war. Literally. Thats what her race had been bred for.
"Only thing 'Oomies is good for is filling bellys...."
Daliwal looked over at her with a 'what the fuck?' Look on his face. He seemed genuinely suprised by her words and aggressive actions. He looked over at me, his big yellow-green eyes going wide. He raised a hand to his beard and stroked it a few times. Looking back and forth between us. I got the feeling that was how his nerves liked to showed themselves.
The palm of his hand faced outwards and his fingers seemed to go backwards like their joints were reversed. He was a transfer from another town like Bull's Heart, somewhere in Florida. Thunder? Or maybe it was Cougar Teeth? Not that it mattered I guess. He had only been with the Sheriff's department a few weeks now, and most of that had been training time. He may have been a veteran. But here in Texas, he was 'The new guy' and he was still trying to figure out what was what.
The look on his face said that he wasn't quite sure what he had found himself in the middle of here, but he wasn't a fan of it.
I wasn't used to the backwards hands thing yet and it was still a little weird for me. Tiger head was off putting too, but that was easier to get used to. Seemed like a hell of a nice guy so far though. Like he was really working hard to dispell the negative views most people had towards free form shape shifters. He didn't need to though. He wouldn't have earned his Star if he were an asshole.
I tried to come up with a witty zinger to shoot back at Gruk, but I was drawing a blank. I almost went with 'ol reliable,' a Shrek reference. But I wasn't feeling it. So I just raised my hands to the waist, making sure not to spill my coffee, and mugged a sarcastically terrified expression at her.
"Ohhhh scary" I said in the most mockingly insincere voice I could muster, rolling my eyes as hard as I could. "Cut the fuckin' shit, Gruk, you're scaring the new guy" "Watch your language!" Gruk said suddenly, dropping the bad movie Orc accent like a bad habit. Her real voice sounded more like a housewife from somewhere in the mid west. Like Nebraska or some shit. Flat but somehow bubbly. You always had a suspicion that the next word out of her mouth was going to be 'Ope.'
"And besides, He isn't scared he already knows I'm a total sweetie" She said fixing him with a wide smile. Which despite the fact that it showed off her massive fanged canines, still managed to come across as incredibly warm and inviting. Like someone's mom. "I gave him some of my famous oatmeal cookies, would a big nasty evil orc make cookies for the new guy?"
She directed the last question at Daliwal. He looked like he was still in shock at the rapid shift in tones. His eyes were wide and his jaw was still slightly hanging open. I could tell that he wasn't exactly sure if we weren't playing a game of 'fuck with the new guy' His shifted his gaze between our faces. He swallowed, a bit nervously.
"Well...." His voice had that crisp English accent that alot of educated Indian Immigrants had, when they learned their English at a British founded University. You could tell from his tone that he wasn't super comfortable in the situation.
".....The .....'Cookies'--" I got the feeling that he had to mentally restrain himself from saying 'biscuits' "--did have Raisins in them, so the question of your being a 'Sweetie' or something of a malicious sort hasn't really been settled just yet."
It took me a second, but I got the humor. Fucker was just so goddamn dry in his delivery, that it almost didn't land. I gave him a chuckle. I got the notion that he was gonna be an okay guy to work with. Once He got settled that is.
Gruk however stared at him for a moment. She didn't quite give a laugh, but she did give him another award winning smile. She placed her left fist on her waist and pointed at him with her other hand.
"I'm gonna have to keep my eye on you, Mister!" She said with a bit of humor in her voice. "And don't you worry about the Raisins, just my way of messing with the new guy, I guess. But don't worry. They help a body increase blood production. Thats good for you..... and Me."
Daliwal waited a beat before giving Gruk a wide-eyed nervous chuckle, before breaking eye-contact and looking down to make sure his boots were still on his feet.
His timid response set me off. I let lose with a stifled laugh. I squeezed my eyes shut and laughed into the back of my hand. My sides shaking. Now Daliwal wasn't a small guy, he was broad across the shoulders. Had Fangs and Claws of his own. A Gun too. I didn't know him too well, but I would bet that He could take care of himself in a fight. His kind were usually pretty good with their mitts. Or at least thats what I had heard about them. (That might just be a stereotype though. If it is, and anyone of you out there reading this are of the Raksasha people and have a problem with it, please know that I meant nothing by it.)
But when a Person of Gruk's size and ability, friendly disposition or not, makes a mention of your platelet count it could be a little disconcerting.
Especially since Gruk, in addition to being one of the largest specimens of Orc you would ever meet was also afflicted with Vampirism.
She was hell on wheels without the condition. Half the department had called her 'Mama Bear' because if you were down and bleeding and you needed someone to drag your ass out of the fire, she was the one you would want arriving on scene.
Believe me. I know what it's like to be laying on your back, getting the shit kicked out of you, looking up and seeing Gruk come charging onto the scene like a cross between The Incredible Hulk and Jesus Christ. But as to how she came across the Vampirism, It's actually kind of a sweet story.
A few years back she fell for a local gal named Maddie and they got married. Maddie was a vampire. In good standing of course. But than again she had to be, because rogue Vampires get run out of town pretty quick, if not staked down for the morning sun.
A man by the name of Kincade ran the local Vampire Coven and he was a stickler for 'The Rules of Fair Conduct' which 'The United Night Walker Covens and Clans of The United States, Mexico, and Canada' had applied to towns like Bull's Heart.
Kincade ran a tight ship and The Sheriff's Department had rarely if ever had reason to pick a fight with the Blood Suckers. Well.... Except that one time..... But thats neither here nor there. Plus we don't like to talk about it around here. It would be especially impolite to discuss it with outsiders.
Anyway the point is, that with the Vampirism accentuating her already considerable strength and hardiness.... she had gone from Hell On Wheels to a One Woman SEAL Company.
Part of the lovely couple's wedding vows had been Maddie converting Gruk into a Vampire. Maddie had taken Gruk's name and Gruk had taken on Maddie's condition. I had to admit. It twanged on the dusty strings of my heart. For some reason, it struck me as beautiful. To not only tell someone you want to be with them forever, but to take steps to actually do so? Well, I'm not gonna lie. I shed a few happy tears at the wedding.
I guess I'm a bit of a softy.
"Senior Deputy Gruk" I said, doing my best to come to Daliwal's rescue "if you could quit subtley terrifying the New Guy for a moment? I think we got us a wellness visit to make, if you would like to take charge and lead your valiant warriors on a crusade in the name of public safety? Now would be a good time for that."
"Oh, party pooper" Gruk said. But she drew up to her full height and turned to look up at the Miller's House. It was a white ranch style sitting on top of a slight hill. The lights were off and nobody appeared to be home.
"Okay" She said looking down at me "First things first, Cowboy."
She pointed down at the Magnum Research BFR in my Holster.
"Go to the trunk of your car and get a gun that isn't stupid"
"Goddamnit" I grumbled.
*
Five minutes later we were walking up the Miller's Driveway. A fifth Generation Glock 40 sitting in my Holster. We had to hoof it up the property. Because the cattle gate across the driveway was locked. Which wouldn't have mattered.
Because once a car crossed the Miller's gate, it tends to experience engine trouble. Never getting more than twenty feet before shutting down completely. Radios had issues too. Hell the 3D RMR Night Site on my pistol was probably dead. Like it's 10 year battery was burnt out. It was something to do with the Nature of the Millers..... and the Magic they threw around. Electronics hated the stuff for some reason. So normally we just left anything that had a battery in the car.
I was staring up at the House as I walked. It was odd. Usually at this point we could hear them screaming at each other, the pop and fizzle of Magic spells going off. Inhuman roaring as demons were summoned. Not to attack, but to help bolster arguments. Dishes breaking.
Tonight though? It was different. Dead silence. Like the house was a tomb. My eyes were going from window to window. Looking for any sign of life and finding none. No fluttering curtains. Lights popping on and off. No nothing.
Just the crunch of our boots on old asphalt. I almost didn't notice the temperature drop, until I was exhaling steam. I shivered inside my uniform. I was just about to ask 'Where the fuck did that come from'
When Daliwal spoke up.
"We are being watched" He said quietly.
"I see them too" Gruk said. All merriment lost from her voice. She was switched on now and jokes would be unprofessional. She eased the AR Pistol she carried off of her belt. It was chambered in .458 Socom, and of course the entire lower was custom made to fit her gigantic hand. Including a massive grip that resembled the handle of a 1911 Pistol rather than the traditional AR group. Making it the next best thing to a Bolter.
"I count twelve in the trees on the West side of the clearing"
"I count eight on my side" Daliwal replied, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I can't see shit" I said, wishing I had some form of natural night vision, like my creature of the night comrades.
"Valkerye" was all Gruk said.
"Shit" I muttered.
"Language" Gruk gently admonished, without taking her eyes off of the Trees on the edges of the clearing.
I followed her gaze out to the trees. I could just barely make out the little pinpoints of white light, that would have been the eyes of the Shitbirds.
I whistled lowly. There were a bunch of them out there. I had never seen so many in one place. Usually when there is more than two or three in one spot, they would fight each other. It looked like these assholes were just coping a squat and having a watch. Very odd behavior for Shit Birds.
"I've never seen so many..." Daliwal said, a tremor of discomfort in his voice. I noticed that his tail was held down, close to his leg. That might have been a good tactical decision to keep the appendage out of the way....... or it might have been an involuntary fear based response.
"Don't let them get to you" Gruk said, her voice soaked in matronly concern. "They never come for us..... just for the dead."
"Yeah" I said, turning my attention to the house. "Boss Lady is right. Pay them no mind."
I took a sip from the Coffee cup I was still holding. I was intentionally trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Partially for the new guy, partially for the fact that I wasn't going to give the Shit Birds the satisfaction of spooking me twice in one night. I did my best to walk like I didn't have a care in the world. Daliwal looked over his shoulder at me. His eyes widened slightly when he recognized the stylized Alligator on the cup. Toothy Earl's logo.
"You were at Toothy Earl's earlier?" He asked me, his ears perking straight up "Was.... Um.... Was Miss Ellie working?"
"Yup" I Responded "She was breaking in a New Striper. Didn't go so hot for him"
"Ah" The new guy said "Do you happen to know if.... If.... She is...uh... talking to anyone?"
"She talks to a lot of people" I said playing dumb "it's part of her job, silly boots"
"Oh... Uh... No..." He said, turning back to watch his side of the clearing, and the Valkerye in the Trees beyond. "I meant is she.... In a relationship with anyone?"
"Well" I said continuing on in the playing dumb vein "I'm sure she has a lot of relationships, with a lot of people--"
"Oh be nice" Gruk grunted at me "You know what he meant." She said to me. To Daliwal she said "Yes there's a fella she talks too, but I don't know if it's serious. Tall, blonde, human, a lot of people think he might really be that one lightning guy, the one with the hammer.... oh what is his name.... oh it doesn't matter." Her voice picked up a little more Growl as she went on. Apparently remembering that we were supposed to be focusing on the task at hand "Both of you need to pay attention to your sectors. Or I'll treat you both like a couple of juice boxs and call out another couple of Dumb Dumbs to back me up, when I've sucked you both dry."
"Yes ma'am!" Daliwal said, responding to the matronly authority in her voice.
"Yeah" I said, properly scolded, not even attempting to go for the obvious joke there. "Sorry, Boss."
She was right. Now wasn't the time for jaw jacking. She had left it unsaid, but there were more Shit Birds out here than anyone had ever seen in one spot. They were acting strangely. This was the quietest 'Millers Call' I had ever been out on. I would wager that it was Gruk's quietest one too. It was too weird of a night to be acting like a dumbass rookie. There was a time to fuck with the new guy and this wasn't it clearly.
I followed Gruk's lead and drew my Glock. I checked the RMR site and noticed that my Dot was in fact no longer illuminated on the glass. Like the battery was dead.
Fucking Miller's and their spooky ass hoodoo. The rest of the short walk was quiet. I watched the front, where the house was. Gruk and Daliwal watched the sides. They stayed quiet.
I would occasionally peek off to the side, at the trees in the distance. White Eyes Beamed back at me, making them look like under dressed sparsely decorated Christmas Trees.
I kind of wished we were talking more. As the feeling of all those eyes on me was driving me crazy. Felt like ants skittering up and down my spine. Some light conversation would be great to take the mind off of current events.
When we reached the house, Gruk mounted the steps to the porch and paused. She looked around. She tilted her head up to the side and sniffed the air around her. She suddenly tensed up
"What?" I asked her.
"Blood" She responded "Lots of it. Human."
Now were this the movies. The Vampire would look at me like I was a pot roast and get a strange look in her eye. But this isn't the movies and Senior Deputy LaVonda Gruk is a goddamn professional and I'll not have you imply otherwise. She treated it like a call for help and instantly got ready to run into an unknown situation to potentially save a life.
She raised her massive pistol and trained it on the door. She motioned to me with her head, telling me to kick the door for her. She looked at Daliwal and patted herself on the backside, wordlessly telling him to stack on her. He nodded and did as he was instructed.
I leaned against the opposite side of the door, back against the wall. I raised my leg and swung it back, giving the door a solid donkey kick. The door flew open in an explosion of cheap trim and paint flakes. Gruk and Daliwal flowed into the house. Gruk having to duck down in the doorway, so she wouldn't bang her head on the door jamb.
"Sheriff's Department!" She yelled.
The living room was empty of life. There was a stone table set up where a coffee table would be in a normal house, with stone bowls and unidentifiable powders in them. Jars full of God knows what lined a massive book shelf that covered an entire wall. Candles lit the space, some burned all the way down. Looked like they had been going for a while. Strange symbols were painted everywhere. I recognized a couple of them, just from being on the job so long.This looked like a Wizard's lab or a Witch's brewery. It probably was too, knowing the Millers.
"Clear!" I heard Daliwal yell. His voice a bit more of a roar, with the adrenaline surging through his veins. Gruk looked over at me. She pointed to her nose and than pointed towards a door leading off the living room, she than patted her backside again. I got behind her, ready to go wherever she would take me.
Gruk always took point. She was the most likely to survive a Shotgun blast to the face and stay in the fight. So it made good tactical sense. But it was also just the way she led. From the front.
We left Daliwal in the living room. To hold our only known exit, in case someone squirted past us. Gruk and I cleared the rest of the house, finding nothing. We came to a stop at a closed door at the end of the main hall. She looked at me and tapped her nose again. I got her meaning. This was where the smell was strongest.
I nodded and reached down for the door knob, i jiggled the handle finding it unlocked. I shoved it open and in went Gruk, pistol at the ready. I flowed in behind her. The smell of tangy copper hit me in the snout like a bag of hammers. I involuntarily gagged. I couldn't see anything. It was pitch black. But I knew it was bad. Room smelled like a badly run slaughterhouse. I felt around for a light switch. Found a candlebra instead.
'Good enough' I thought to myself as i dug in my pocket for a lighter. I gave the bic a couple of test flicks.
"Wait" Gruk said from somewhere in the darkness. "It's bad. It's real bad."
"Yeah" I said. I had gathered that much from the smell. "But how bad can it be?"
I lit the candle. It must have been a candle with some magic to it. Because it lit that room like a surgery ward and Gruk was right. It was bad. It was real bad. It was a bedroom. You could tell because a massive California King-size bed occupied the center of the room.
The comforter was soaked in reddish brown blood. There was a lump of meat in the center of the bed, that I slowly realized was a woman's torso. On one night stand there were ten neatly severed fingers. In two columns of five each. On the other night stand was a head. Devoid of a face. Just ragged skull staring at the doorway. At the foot of the bed were two legs, crossed over each other like an X. I realized that various organs and bits of body were arranged around the torso in a circle.
I looked over at Gruk. She was staring wide eyed at the wall above the headboard. I followed her gaze. The face of Giselda Miller stared back at us from the wall, where it had been nailed up like a trophy on display. Eyeless of course, because the eyes were still in the skull. But I knew that face. It had screamed all matter of venom and curse at me before.
There was something weird about this. Well, yeah no shit it was weird. But there was a strange sort of order to where everything was placed in the room. I looked over at Gruk. She looked back at me. I saw her swallow a few times, like she wasn't sure what to make of this all. Her face looked almost helpless and I felt bad for the Giant Orc.
"We...." She started to speak. Her voice a little unsteady. She paused and closed her eyes. She swallowed a few more times.
"We need to get out of this room" she said, more in control of her voice.
"Yeah" I said moving towards the door. I had seen this level of carnage before. Part of the job. People say when you see shit like this enough, eventually you get used to it. Well I'm still waiting on that fucking day.
"Forensics will have our butts" Gruk said, command voice firmly back in place "if we mess something up"
"Yeah" I said. Not particularly giving a shit why we got out of the room, but just happy to do so. We pulled Daliwal out of the House with us. Gruk closing the door behind us, to preserve the crime scene. We spun him up on what we had seen. His eyes narrowed in thought.
"What?" Gruk asked.
"Back in Florida. We had a Necromancer in town....."
"Awww fuck" I interrupted with a sigh, knowing where this was going. Necromancers were bastards and I didn't want to deal with chasing one down. I had one throw a dead cat at me once. It bit me. Shit was weird.
Gruk did that hand-shake shushing thing that mom's do when you were interrupting their shows. She wanted me to stick a sock in it. Probably had a problem with the cursing too.
"What you describe...." Daliwal went on "sounds like a ritual she did. We never found out why she did it. We figured out who it was and showed up at her door step with a lot of firepower. She did not come peacefully." The look on his face, and the way he stroked his beard, said it was a bad memory. Gruk had an uncomfortable look on her face too. I couldn't say as I blamed Her.
This could be real bad. If somebody was going around killing people for some silly necromancer bullshit..... well my week was about to get a lot fucking busier.
It's always something with this fucking town.
"Okay" Gruk said "So let's get down past the Gate and see if we can get some back up out here."
"Gonna have to wake up the Sheriff" I sighed.
"She'll be pissed if we don't. But in the mean time, we need to get people out looking for Mark Miller. His whereabouts are unknown, so that makes him our only suspect at this point."
And since the power's that be have a sense of fucking humor......
I heard a rustle of wings above our heads. Right before about two hundred pounds of meat was dropped right in the middle of our little pow-wow. It was a body. The legs caught me square in the chest, knocking me on my ass.
The face attached to the body's head, sure looked a lot like Mark Miller's face. Albeit a little more battered and beaten than usual. Dead bodies have a certain look about them and Mark Miller was rocking the fuck out of that look, broken neck and all. All three of us looked up. A Valkerye hovered about twenty feet above us. It's wings wide open, like it was riding a thermal. It's eyes blazed as it glared at us from on high. I had never seen one not skulking in shadows. I had never seen one this brazen.
"THE MASTER COMES!" It screeched down at us.
Thats when all hell decided to break loose.

[Game Preview] Week 3 - Cincinnati Bengals (0-2) at Philadelphia Eagles(0-2)

Cincinnati Bengals (0-2) at Philadelphia Eagles (0-2)
The Eagles are off to their worst start with a real coach since 2003 (I consider 2013-2015 non-existent) when they also dropped their first two games of the season. The team would like a repeat of that season where following a week 3 bye,the team rebounded to defeat the Bills 23-13. The Eagles ripped off 12 wins in their remaining 14 games following their 0-2 start. Maybe the Eagles will be able to do the same, but they will have to shake the injury bug first. The Eagles will be without first round pick Jalen Raegor this week who underwent surgery on his hand to repair a torn UC ligament in his thumb. The Eagles may also be without Fletcher Cox who is dealing with an oblique injury. The Cox injury should be watched closely if he can’t go, Joe Mixon and Joe Burrow will have a much easier day against the struggling defense. Last week against the Rams, the defense was under prepared and unable to stop anyone. The Rams took advantage of Jim Schwartz’s consistently odd decision to have his CBs, play so far off the line of scrimmage, giving a free release to the WRs and allowing easy short passes. If Schwartz does the same this week, it will be another long day for the Eagles defense and a great fantasy day for Tyler Boyd, who Bengals Joe Burrow connected with 7 times last week including 1 for a TD. On the other side of the ball Doug and Carson will both need to be better than the last two weeks. For Carson, he needs to get out of his own head and play with confidence. For Doug, he needs to find some creativity and help his 5th year QB. He would do well to get Carson moving and utilize the RBs more in the flat and screen game. However, if we see more of the same we saw in weeks 1 and 2 from the Eagles coaching staff, we should expect another loss. Hopefully that is not the case and Carson and the coaches can learn from their mistakes in weeks 1-2 and pull our a win this week. Go Birds!

Cincinnati Bengals (0-2) at Philadelphia Eagles (0-2)

The Eagles are off to their worst start with a real coach since 2003 (I consider 2013-2015 non-existent) when they also dropped their first two games of the season. The team would like a repeat of that season where following a week 3 bye,the team rebounded to defeat the Bills 23-13. The Eagles ripped off 12 wins in their remaining 14 games following their 0-2 start. Maybe the Eagles will be able to do the same, but they will have to shake the injury bug first. The Eagles will be without first round pick Jalen Raegor this week who underwent surgery on his hand to repair a torn UC ligament in his thumb. The Eagles may also be without Fletcher Cox who is dealing with an oblique injury. The Cox injury should be watched closely if he can’t go, Joe Mixon and Joe Burrow will have a much easier day against the struggling defense. Last week against the Rams, the defense was under prepared and unable to stop anyone. The Rams took advantage of Jim Schwartz’s consistently odd decision to have his CBs, play so far off the line of scrimmage, giving a free release to the WRs and allowing easy short passes. If Schwartz does the same this week, it will be another long day for the Eagles defense and a great fantasy day for Tyler Boyd, who Bengals Joe Burrow connected with 7 times last week including 1 for a TD. On the other side of the ball Doug and Carson will both need to be better than the last two weeks. For Carson, he needs to get out of his own head and play with confidence. For Doug, he needs to find some creativity and help his 5th year QB. He would do well to get Carson moving and utilize the RBs more in the flat and screen game. However, if we see more of the same we saw in weeks 1 and 2 from the Eagles coaching staff, we should expect another loss. Hopefully that is not the case and Carson and the coaches can learn from their mistakes in weeks 1-2 and pull our a win this week. Go Birds!

General Information
Posting Rules and Guidelines
Remember to [join us on Discord]https://discord.gg/HwwBbM3) during the game!
New to the Eagles? Take a look at our New Fan Page!
Score Prediction Contest

Date
Sunday, September 27th, 2020

Game Time	Game Location
1:00 PM - Eastern	Lincoln Financial Field
12:00 PM - Central	1020 Pattison Ave
11:00 AM - Mountain	Philadelphia, PA 19148
10L00 AM - Pacific	Wikipedia - Map

Weather Forecast
Stadium Type: Open Air
Surface: Grass
Temperature: 78°F
Feels Like: 78°F
Forecast: Clear. Partly cloudy throughout the day.
Chance of Precipitation: 1%
Cloud Coverage: 31%
Wind: South Southwest 8 MPH

Betting Odds
Oddsshark Information
Favorite/Opening Line: Eagles -5
OveUnder: 46.5
Record VS. Spread: Philadelphia 0-2, Cincinnati 1-0-1

Where to Watch on TV
CBS will broadcast Sunday’s game to a regional audience. Spero Dedes will handle the play-by-play duties and Adam Archuleta will provide analysis.
TV Map - Week 3 TV Coverage Map

Radio Streams
List of Eagles Radio network member stations with internet broadcast availability
Radio.com 94.1 Desktop Streaming

Listen to Merrill Reese and Mike Quick
Calling the game on 94WIP and the Eagles Radio Network will be Merrill Reese, the NFL’s longest-tenured play-by-play announcer (44th season). Joining Reese in the radio booth will be former Eagles All-Pro wide receiver Mike Quick, while Howard Eskin will report from the sidelines.

Location	Station	Frequency
Philadelphia, PA	WIP-FM	94.1 FM and 610 AM
Allentown, PA	WCTO-FM	96.1 FM
Atlantic City/South Jersey	WENJ-FM	97.3 FM
Levittown, PA	WBCB-AM	1490 AM
Northumberland, PA	WEGH-FM	107.3 FM
Pottsville, PA	WPPA-AM	1360 AM
Reading, PA	WEEU-AM	830 AM
Salisbury/Ocean City, MD	WAFL-FM	97.7 FM
Wilkes-Barre/Scranton, PA	WEJL-FM	96.1 FM
Salisbury/Ocean City, MD	WAFL-FM	97.7 FM
Salisbury/Ocean City, MD	WEJL-AM	630 AM
Salisbury/Ocean City, MD	WBAX-AM	1240 AM
Williamsport, PA	WBZD-FM	93.3 FM
Wilmington, DE	WDEL-FM/AM	101.7 FM
York/LancasteHarrisburg, PA	WSOX-FM	96.1 FM

Philadelphia Spanish Radio
Rickie Ricardo and Bill Kulik will handle the broadcast in Spanish on Mega 105.7 FM in Philadelphia and the Eagles Spanish Radio Network.

Location	Station	Frequency
Philadelphia, PA	LA MEGA	105.7 FM
Allentown, PA	WSAN	1470 AM
Atlantic City, NJ	WIBG	1020 AM; 101.3 FM

Bengals Radio
Bengals Radio Dan Hoard will handle play-by-play and Dave Lapham will provide analysis for the game.

National Radio
Compass Media will broadcast the game nationally with Chris Carrino handling the play by play and Brian Baldinger will provide analysis.

Satellite Radio

Station	Eagles Channel	Bengals Channel
Sirius Radio	SIRI 81 (Streaming 825)	SIRI 105 (Streaming 806)
XM Radio	XM 226 (Streaming 825)	Streaming 806
Sirius XM Radio	SXM 226 (Streaming 825)	SXM 385 (Streaming 806)

Eagles Social Media	Bengals Social Media
Website	Website
Facebook	Facebook
Twitter	Twitter
Instagram	Instagram
Snapchat: Eagles	Snapchat: officialbengals

NFC East Standings

NFC EAST	Record	PCT	Home	Road	Div	Conf	PF	PA	Net Pts	Streak
Football Team	1-1	.500	1-0	0-1	1-0	1-1	42	47	-5	1L
Cowboys	1-1	.500	1-0	0-1	0-0	1-1	57	59	-2	1W
Eagles	0-2	.000	0-1	0-1	0-1	0-2	36	64	-28	2L
Giants	0-2	.000	0-1	0-1	0-0	0-1	39	43	-14	2L

Series Information
The Cincinnati Bengals lead the Philadelphia Eagles(Cincinnati Bengals lead series, 9-3-1)
Series History
Head to Head Box Scores
First Game Played
September 19th, 1971 at Riverfront Stadium, Cincinnati, OH . CIncinnati Bengals 37 Philadelphia Eagles 14
Points Leader
Cincinnati Bengals lead Philadelphia Eagles (360-222)
Coaches Record
Doug Pederson: 0-1 against the Bengals
Zac Taylor: 0-0 against Eagles
Coaches Head to Head
Doug Pederson vs Zac Taylor: First meeting between coaches
Quarterback Record
Carson Wentz: Against Rams: 0-1
Joe Burrow: Against Eagles: 0-0
Quarterbacks Head to Head
Carson Wentz vs Joe Burrow: First meeting between QBs.
Records per Stadium
Record @ Lincoln Financial Field: Bengals lead Eagles: 2-0
Record @ Paul Brown Stadium: Bengals lead Eagles 1-0-1

Rankings and Last Meeting Information
AP Pro 32 Ranking
Eagles No. 23 - Bengals No. 28
Record
Eagles: 0-2
Bengals: 0-2
Last Meeting
Sunday, December 4th, 2016
Eagles 32 - Rams 14
Andy Dalton threw a pair of touchdown passes and Cincinnati finally got its depleted offense moving without receiver A.J. Green, and the Bengals sent the Philadelphia Eagles to their most lopsided loss of the season, 32-14 on Sunday.
Click here to view the Video Recap
Click here to view the Stats Recap
Last Meeting at Site
Sunday December 13th, 2012
Bengals 34 - Eagles 13
Andy Dalton threw a touchdown pass and ran for another score, an opportunistic defense forced five turnovers, and Cincinnati beat the Philadelphia Eagles 34-13 on Thursday night. The Eagles offense imploded turning the ball over 4 times with another turnover on a kick off. At one point the Eagles turned the ball over on 3 straight possessions. The Eagles lost double digit games for the first time since 2005, in one of the last games the Eagles were coached by Andy Reid.
Click here to view the Video Recap
Click here to view the Stats Recap

Last 10 Meetings

Date	Winner	Loser	Score
12/4/2016	Bengals	Eagles	32-14
12/13/2012	Bengals	Eagles	34-13
11/16/2008		Bengals & Eagles	13-13
1/2/2005	Bengals	Eagles	38-10
12/24/2000	Eagles	Bengals	16-7
11/30/1997	Eagles	Bengals	44-42
12/24/1994	Bengals	Eagles	33-30
11/17/1991	Eagles	Bengals	17-10
9/11/1988	Bengals	Eagles	28-24
11/21/1982	Bengals	Eagles	18-14

Injury Reports	Depth Charts
Eagles	Eagles
Bengals	Bengals

2020 “Expert” Picks
Week 3 - "Expert" Picks

2020 Team Stats
Eagles Season Stats
Bengals Season Stats

2020 Stats (Starters/Leaders)

Passing

Name	CMP	ATT	PCT	YDS	TD	INT	RAT
Wentz	50	85	58.8%	512	2	4	64.4
Burrow	60	97	61.9%	509	3	1	81.5

Rushing

Name	ATT	YDS	YDS/G	AVG	TD
Sanders	20	95	95	4.8	1
Mixon	35	115	57.5	3.3	0

Receiving

Name	REC	YDS	YDS/G	AVG	TD
Goedert	12	131	65.5	10.9	1
Boyd	11	105	52.5	9.5	1

Sacks

Name	Sacks	Team Total
Sweat/Graham	1.0	4
Lawson/Bynes	1.0	2

Tackles

Name	Total	Solo	Assist	Sacks
Gerry	17	8	9	0.0
Bell/Bynes	16	6/7	10/9	0/1.0

Interceptions

Name	Ints	Team Total
N/A	0	0
Jackson III	1	1

Punting

Name	ATT	YDS	LONG	AVG	NET	IN 20	TB	BP
Johnston	7	389	62	55.6	49.1	4	1	0
Huber	8	428	70	53.5	43.5	3	3	0

Kicking

Name	ATT	MADE	%	LONG	PAT
Elliot	4	3	75.0%	38	3/3
Bullock	6	5	83.3%	50	4/4

Kick Returns

Name	ATT	YDS	AVG	LONG	TD
Scott	3	61	20.3	25	0
Wilson	3	131	43.7	45	0

Punt Returns

Name	RET	YDS	AVG	LONG	TD	FC
Raegor	2	6	3.0	6	0	2
Erickson	2	29	14.5	29	0	1

League Rankings 2020

Offense Rankings

Category	Eagles Stat	Eagles Rank	Bengals Stat	Bengals Rank
Total Offense	314.0	28th	324.0	26h
Rush Offense	89.0	29th	95.0	26th
Pass Offense	225.0	23rd	229.0	22nd
Points Per Game	18.0	T-27th	21.5	23rd
3rd-Down Offense	46.2%	T-11th	43.8	15th
4th-Down Offense	0.0%	T-25th	100.0	T-1st
Red Zone Offense (TD%)	60.0%	T-14th	40.0%	30th

Defense Rankings

Category	Eagles Stat	Eagles Rank	Bengals Stat	Bengals Rank
Total Defense	344.0	9th	398.0	22nd
Rush Defense	135.5	22nd	185.0	30th
Pass Defense	208.5	5th	213.0	7th
Points Per Game	32.0	26th	25.5	T-16th
3rd-Down Defense	40.0%	10th	45.8%	20th
4th-Down Defense	66.7%	T-19th	25.0%	T-9th
Red Zone Defense (TD%)	77.8%	27th	62.5%	16th

Team

Category	Eagles Stat	Eagles Rank	Bengals Stat	Bengals Rank
Turnover Diff.	-5	32nd	-2	T-25th
Total Penalties	8	5th	11	T-12th
Total Penalty Yards	50	2nd	89	13th

Recap from Last Week’s Games.
Eagles - The Eagles' struggles continued in their home opener against the Los Angeles Rams. An early fumble by Miles Sanders led to a Rams touchdown by Tyler Higbee. After the Eagles cut their deficit to four with a Jake Elliott field goal, Los Angeles responded with a Robert Woods touchdown run followed by a second Higbee touchdown catch. Trailing 21-3, the Eagles closed the deficit to five points by halftime with touchdown runs by Wentz and Sanders. After forcing a three-and-out on the Rams' first possession of the second half, the Eagles would drive to the Los Angeles 21, only for Wentz's first down pass to be picked off by Darious Williams, turning the momentum back in the Rams' favor as they would outscore the Eagles 16-3 the rest of the way. Despite not being sacked once during the game, Wentz finished the day with a 56.5 passer rating, completing 26 of 43 passes for 242 yards and two interceptions. The 37-19 blowout loss dropped Philadelphia to 0-2 for the first time since the 2015 season, and marked the Eagles' first home opener loss since that same season. It was also the first home loss to the Rams franchise since the opener of the 2001 season.
Bengals - After losing their regular season-opening game at home, the Bengals then traveled to Cleveland to face the Browns for Battle of Ohio Round 1. In the first quarter, the Bengals scored first when Randy Bullock kicked a 38-yard field goal to make it 3-0. Though, the Browns took the lead when Nick Chubb ran for an 11-yard TD to make it 7-3. In the second quarter, the Browns went up by double digits when Baker Mayfield found O'dell Beckham Jr. on a 43-yard TD pass to make it 14-3. The Bengals then came within 4 after Joe Burrow found C.J. Uzomah on a 23-yard TD pass to make it 14-10. Mayfield then found Kareem Hunt on a 6-yard TD pass to put the Browns up by double digits, 21-10. The Bengals closed out the half when Randy Bullock kicked a 43-yard field goal to make it 21-13 at halftime. In the third quarter, the Browns went back up by double digits when Chubb ran for a 1-yard TD to make it 28-13. The Bengals drew closer with Bullock's 27-yard field goal to make it 28-16. In the fourth quarter, the Bengals were able to get within 5 when Burrow found Mike Thomas on a 4-yard TD pass to make the score 28-23. Though, the Browns would go back up by double digits yet again when Hunt punched the ball in for a 1-yard TD to make it 35-23. The Bengals wrapped up the scoring when Burrow found Tyler Boyd on a 9-yard TD pass to make the final score 35-30.

Recap from Last Week’s Games.

Eagles - The Eagles' struggles continued in their home opener against the Los Angeles Rams. An early fumble by Miles Sanders led to a Rams touchdown by Tyler Higbee. After the Eagles cut their deficit to four with a Jake Elliott field goal, Los Angeles responded with a Robert Woods touchdown run followed by a second Higbee touchdown catch. Trailing 21-3, the Eagles closed the deficit to five points by halftime with touchdown runs by Wentz and Sanders. After forcing a three-and-out on the Rams' first possession of the second half, the Eagles would drive to the Los Angeles 21, only for Wentz's first down pass to be picked off by Darious Williams, turning the momentum back in the Rams' favor as they would outscore the Eagles 16-3 the rest of the way. Despite not being sacked once during the game, Wentz finished the day with a 56.5 passer rating, completing 26 of 43 passes for 242 yards and two interceptions. The 37-19 blowout loss dropped Philadelphia to 0-2 for the first time since the 2015 season, and marked the Eagles' first home opener loss since that same season. It was also the first home loss to the Rams franchise since the opener of the 2001 season.

Bengals - After losing their regular season-opening game at home, the Bengals then traveled to Cleveland to face the Browns for Battle of Ohio Round 1. In the first quarter, the Bengals scored first when Randy Bullock kicked a 38-yard field goal to make it 3-0. Though, the Browns took the lead when Nick Chubb ran for an 11-yard TD to make it 7-3. In the second quarter, the Browns went up by double digits when Baker Mayfield found O'dell Beckham Jr. on a 43-yard TD pass to make it 14-3. The Bengals then came within 4 after Joe Burrow found C.J. Uzomah on a 23-yard TD pass to make it 14-10. Mayfield then found Kareem Hunt on a 6-yard TD pass to put the Browns up by double digits, 21-10. The Bengals closed out the half when Randy Bullock kicked a 43-yard field goal to make it 21-13 at halftime. In the third quarter, the Browns went back up by double digits when Chubb ran for a 1-yard TD to make it 28-13. The Bengals drew closer with Bullock's 27-yard field goal to make it 28-16. In the fourth quarter, the Bengals were able to get within 5 when Burrow found Mike Thomas on a 4-yard TD pass to make the score 28-23. Though, the Browns would go back up by double digits yet again when Hunt punched the ball in for a 1-yard TD to make it 35-23. The Bengals wrapped up the scoring when Burrow found Tyler Boyd on a 9-yard TD pass to make the final score 35-30.

Connections
Bengals HC Zac Taylor is the older brother of Eagles QB Press Taylor.
Bengals TE Coach James Casey played two seasons for the Eagles from 2013-2014.
Bengals assistant Special Teams coach Colt Anderson played 4 seasons for the Eagles from 2010-2013.
Eagles Run game coordinatodefensive line coach Matt Burke was the LB coach for the Bengals from 2014-2015.
Eagles DB coach Marquand Manuel played for the Bengals from 2002-2003.

2020 Pro Bowlers

Eagles	Bengals
DT Fletcher Cox (Starter)	DT Geno Atkins
OG Brandon Brooks (Starter)
C Jason Kelce (Starter)
LS Rick Lovato (Starter)
TE Zach Ertz
SS Malcom Jenkings (1st Alt)
OT Lane Johnson (1st Alt

General
Referee: Adrian Hill
Philadelphia hosts Cincinnati at Lincoln Financial Field for just the third time in the all-time series and first time since 2012. Sunday marks the 14th overall meeting between the two teams.
The Eagles are 23-10 (.697) at home in the regular season under head coach Doug Pederson, which is tied for the 6th-best home winning percentage in the NFL since 2016, trailing only New En-gland (.818, 27-6), Baltimore (.758, 25-8), Kansas City (.758, 25-8), New Orleans (.727, 24-9) and Green Bay (.712, 23-9-1).
In Week 2 vs. L.A. Rams, Miles Sanders combined for 131 scrim-mage yards (3rd-most in a single game in his career), including 95 rushing (1 TD) and 36 receiving. In 2019, Sanders led his class with a franchise-rookie-record 1,327 scrimmage yards.
Brandon Graham recorded sack No. 52 of his NFL career against Rams QB Jared Goff in Week 2 vs. L.A. Rams. His 52.0 sacks are the 5th-most in Eagles history, behind Reggie White (124.0, 1985-92), Trent Cole (85.5, 2005-14), Clyde Simmons (76.0, 1986-93) and Hugh Douglas (54.5, 1998-2002, ‘04).

Draft Picks

Eagles	Bengals
WR Jalen Raegor	QB Joe Burrow
QB Jalen Hurts	WR Tee Higgins
LB Davion Taylor	LB Logan Wilson
S K’Von Wallace	LB Akeem Davis-Gaither
OT Jack Driscoll	DE Khalid Kareem
WR John Hightower	T Hakeem Adeniji
LB Shaun Bradley	LB Marcus Bailey
WR Quez Watkins
OT Prince Tega Wanogho
LB/DE Casey Toohill

Notable Off-season Additions

Eagles	Bengals
S Will Parks	NT DJ Reader
DT Javon Hargrave	CB Trae Waynes
CB Nickell Robey-Coleman	CB Mackensie Alexander
CB Darius Slay	G Xavier Su’a-Filo
	LB Josh Bynes
	WR Mike Thomas
	S Vonn Bell
	CB Leshaun Sims
	RB Jacques Patrick

Notable Off-season Departures

Eagles	Bengals
S Malcom Jenkins	QB Andy Dalton
CB Ronald Darby	CB Dre Kirkpatrick
RB Jordan Howard	G John Miller
WR Nelson Agholor	OT Cordy Glenn
OL Halapoulivaati Vaitai	TE Tyler Eifert
LB Kamu Grugler-Hill	WR Marqise Lee
RB Darren Sproles	CB Darqueze Dennard
DT Timmy Jernigan	DT Andrew Billings
LB Nigel Bradham	S Clayton Fejedelem

Milestones
Eagles QB Carson Wentz (99) needs 1 passing TDs for 100 career passing TDs.
Eagles WR Desean Jackson (6386 needs 79 yards to move up to 3rd on the Eagles all-time receiving yards list all-time passing WR *Mike Quick
Eagles WR Desean Jackson (34) needs 2 TDs to move into a tie for 7th on the Eagles all-time receiving TD list tying WR Jeremy Maclin
Eagles DE Brandon Graham (52) needs 2.5 sacks to move to 4th on the Eagles all-time sack list tying DE Hugh Douglas
Eagles DT Fletcher Cox (48) needs 2.5 sacks to move up to 6th on the Eagles all-time sack list tying DE Greg Brown
Eagles DE Vinny Curry (27) needs 1 sack to move up to 19th on the Eagles all-time sack list passing DT Darwin Walker
Bengals WR AJ Green (8987) needs 13 yards to reach 9000 receiving yards for his career.
Bengals WR AJ Green (63) needs 3 receiving TDs to move into a tie with Chad Johnson for the most receiving TDs in Bengals history.

Stats to Know

QB Adjusted Completion %

What’s one thing rookie Joe Burrow and 5th-year Carson Wentz have in common? They have not been terribly accurate so far. PFF has an Adjusted Completion % stat that accounts for clear drops, spikes, throw aways, batted passes, and throws made while getting hit. Burrow and Wentz are near the bottom in AC%, with 70.4 and 70.3, respectively. Interesting to note a bit of the distribution within the array of aforementioned stats: while Burrow has had one of the lower rates of on-target passes dropped by the receiver (4.1%), Wentz doubled that at 8.4%, good for 5th-highest. Yes, Wentz has stunk, but...

Matchups to Watch
Rookie versus Veteran, Which QB Has Poise Down 0-2?
With two consecutive weeks of porous defense from both the Eagles and Bengals defensive units, this Sunday's matchup should rest squarely on the shoulders of each offensive unit. Will the Eagles be able to rely on fifth year starter Wentz? Will he be able to shake off two tumultuous weeks and put together a consistent offensive performance? Will the Bengals weapons coalesce around their rookie Burrow? Will he be able to put together his first complete NFL game and demonstrate that this season is the turning point for the franchise? A big piece of Wentz stabilizing his game time performance will be continuing his focus on short-time-to-throw plays. From Week 1 with 8 sacks versus the Washington Football Team to Week 2 and zero sacks versus the Rams with the vaunted Aaron Donald, the Eagles Offensive Line and Wentz’ pocket choices resulted in less lost yards and broken plays. Unfortunately, key turnovers again forced short-yardage scoring situations and massive tempo swings. Wentz needs to take advantage of the cleaner pocket that will likely be available versus the Bengals (2 sacks on the year so far) and finish drives cleanly to put the game away. Without rookie WR Jalen Reagor (placed on IR with a thumb injury after Week 2), Wentz will have to make use of the remainder of his threats, including veteran DeSean Jackson who had 6 catches on 9 targets for 64 yards against the superior Rams’ defensive backfield. Joe Burrow has had the classic introductory NFL QB experience. A high-flying game versus the Browns last week, with 300+ yards passing, 3TDs and zero ints was fantastic bounce back from Week 1 versus the Chargers. 193 yards, 0 TDs, and an int will not win the game for the Bengals versus the Eagles, even if Wentz struggles. A key focus for Burrow will be settling into the routine and relationships he’s formed with his offensive weapons. AJ Green remains one of the best WR threats in the NFL and his slow start to the season (8 catches for 80 yards) could end at any time, in any game with a QB like Burrow. Burrow threw a nearly record setting number of passes during the almost-come-from-behind loss versus the Browns; if the Bengals are able to establish their run-game and abuse the Philadelphia secondary in a similar way to the Rams offensive scheme, then Burrow could have a very big day. If he is forced to drop back 60+ times, and Joe Mixon is again held under 75 yards on the ground, the Bengals and Burrow may have a hard time. Keep an eye on how comfortable each QB is feeling, and whether they can establish good tempo. That will be key to offensive production this weekend.
Coaching Conundrum; Pederson versus Taylor
At the core of the NFL these days is the combat between offensive and defensive schemes. Both coaches come from a background of coaching QB play and offensive schemes, though from different eras and coaching trees. How they go about using that experience to enable their teams to a secure a necessary win this week will make or break their seasons. Doug Pederson, at the helm of a revamped offensive coaching tree with the addition of Quarterbacks Coach Press Taylor as Passing Game Coordinator, has had a rough three year stretch of offensive stumbles. Since the miraculous Super Bowl 52 season (2017), the Eagles have consistently failed to be productive, with a lot of the challenges relating to lack of roster depth and poor player improvement through misaligned coaching. This is the third consecutive year of stuttering offense to begin the season and a big piece of the matchup versus the Bengals will be how well the Eagles can settle in. Coach Pederson has made it clear that the lack of full-speed off-season practice plays a big role in the Eagle’s struggles so far; so it remains to be seen when and if both units can make use of this gametime practice to solidify the small flashes of prior success we’ve seen. Opposite Pederson is Coach Taylor, in his second year of a complete rebuild, now with the (ideally career-long) franchise WB in Burrow. Hailing from the Shanahan line, through the LA Rams McVay, Taylor was brought into Cincinnati to recreate the organization’s coaching structure and form a new core for the team around veteran WR AJ Green. The 2019 season showed marked improvement throughout, particularly in run production and passer protection; the addition of Covid-related practice limitations have also taken their toll on the Bengals’ preparations for this season, as exemplified by the Week 1 drubbing by the Ravens. Taylor returns this season with second-year offensive coordinator Brian Callahan, formerly the QB coach for the Raiders. The cerebral talent in the Bengals organization is clearly arrayed around giving Burrow the best possible chance to shine; and they may just do so against an extremely poorly performing Eagles defense. Being able to establish consistent offensive strength and consistency throughout this season will be a key part of whether this new coaching structure is able to flourish in Cincinnati or if yet more change is needed to remake the franchise. During game day, keep an eye out on how these coaches make use of their star players, now that the very early season yips and stumbles should be behind them. Whoever can appropriately adjust to the flow of the game and take advantage of the others mistakes will win this football game.
The Big Punt: How Special Teams Makes An Impact
Kevin versus Cameron, Huber versus Johnston, two players that may very well decide the nature of this Bengals versus Eagles matchup. These titans of the turf, two punters to rule them all, and two punters to pin them deep; two punters waiting on call, and two punters to make fans weep. In lieu of offensive production, and in hopes of good defensive play, Kevin Huber and Cameron Johnston bring their punting prowess to Lincoln Financial Field this Sunday. Hailing from opposite sides of the Earth, Huber from Cincinnati itself, and Johnston from Geelong Australia, these two are some of the most capable foot-based deliverers of the football to opposing teams. Huber holds nearly all of the Bengals franchise records in punting statistics; and Johnston holds the highest gross and net punting averages in a single Eagles season. The third year Australian punter is known by Eagles fans for his insanely long hang-time and penchant for pinning the NY Giants inside the 20 (20+ times in four games). Huber is loved by the Bengals fanbase as both their longest tenured player and his consistency over the past 13 years. He has missed just 2 of 180 possible games, and has been perennially top 10 at his position. Both players are in the final year of their contracts, so effective performance is a must for maximum salary gains. Keep an eye out on how effective these two are in establishing and keeping good field position. If both teams are struggling for consistency, these swings may be the key to a late drive that puts the game away. Additionally, with every punt comes the magic of a muffed punt return. If you’re a particular connoisseur of special teams play, watch and see if these punters add any special spin or location to their strikes; and key turnover last week in this position kept the Eagles hopeful. Maybe lightning will strike twice for the Eagles Special Teams and the Wizard with the Large Leg, Cam Johnston; maybe the Bengals gunners will scoop up a muff and Huber will be huger than expected. Stay tuned!

Last season’s front three of Sébastien Haller, Luka Jović and Ante Rebić won over the hearts of football fans all over Germany and Europe. Nicknamed the Büffelherde, or herd of buffalo, they enraptured fans, stoked fear in opposing defenders, and, as is tradition, brought in the big cheques during the summer transfer window. The obvious question loomed over Frankfurt: could they replace their three main attackers?
Short answer: eh. Long answer: nah. They brought in Bas Dost, André Silva and Dejan Joveljić, while also hoping for Gonçalo Paciência to step up. The latter has been Frankfurt’s most prolific scorer thus far, accumulating seven goals, and as one can infer from that number alone, a goal-scoring beast Frankfurt is not. Dost has scored five goals, Silva a grand total of four. Their second-highest scorer? With six goals, it’s centre-back Martin Hinteregger.
Frankfurt are a wholly unpredictable team. They’ll yeet Niko Kovač out of Munich by squarely beating them 5-1 on MD10, only to lose every single match but one until (including) MD17. You read that right. After beating big ol’ Bayern on 2 November, they didn’t win once in the league for the rest of the year. It’s been marginally better since then, but not by a lot, hence their rightfully earned 12th place.
But they are in the DFB-Pokal semi-finals, where they will have another go at Bayern, and even though they fluffed the first leg of the Europa League Ro16 against Basel by losing 0-3 at home (a match I sincerely, 100% forgot existed), they’re not out of there yet. If there’s one thing Frankfurt is good at, it’s pulling the rug out from under you to surprise you. Too bad they’re oftentimes surprising themselves, as well.

Who to watch?

Sebastian Rode is a God among men, the king of kings. His stint at Dortmund was a massive failure, but he’s back with a vengeance to show he’s got what it takes, and he will prove it once and for all. Next weekend! ON THE GRANDEST STAGE OF THEM ALL! AT WRESTLEMANIA!!! Honourable mention goes to Filip Kostić, who was good for Stuttgart, poor for Hamburg, and is living his best life at Frankfurt. He protec, he attac, but most importantly, he learned how to play left wing-bac.
And that’s it for Part 2. Same as last time, if you have any further questions regarding the teams, specificities of the league or the Pokal, or anything else, feel free to ask! Part 3 will follow in the coming days. You can also find me on Twitter, where I'll probably be posting stuff about the Bundesliga, football in general, and judging K League kits since they apparently don’t show any of their other games live on Youtube and I don’t have anything better to do.
I’d also like to thank all of you for the incredibly warm, positive response. It really means a lot to me.

So, I lost my job and started going back to punk shows. Unfortunately, it seems like my local venue is infected with Anarcho-Capitalist Crust Punk Vampires.

In 2012, I got shot by a rubber bullet at a protest-cum-riot and it politicized me. I mean, not that I wasn’t political before, but getting hit with a rubber bullet fucking hurts. It changes you. It’s like a taste of what being really shot is like, and it leaves you with the impression, “I don’t want anyone to be shot, like, at all. Ever.”
So, it was no wonder really that I fell into the punk scene. And on the night after I got laid off, it was really no wonder I went back. There I was, a young professional without a compass, a lingering hatred for the Man, and a faint memory of the Red and Black.
Back when I was going to shows, everything revolved around the Red and Black.
It was your typical punk flop house that held DIY shows three nights a week. And before I got a real job, then subsequently lost my real job, it was something close to home.
It had been three years, but I could already smell my own history. The party washed out onto the lawn. There were the usual crusties, the skramz kids in their black v-necks smoking cigarettes and talking with similarly drab friends.
This was my first look at the Red and Black in a long time. The people were the same, but the building looked a little different. A little newer maybe, subtle renovations that made it look like it’d gotten its shit together since the old days. I must’ve been wearing an expression, because as I was studying the house, a guy in a red flannel shirt, one-inch gauges and a big red beard came up to me and said, “New owners.”
“Huh?” I said.
“It’s different, right? Not just me. It looks different.”
“No, I’m with you,” I said. “Used to be scummier. Like an old bowling alley or a skating rink with uneven floors.”
“An anomaly. Something from the past.”
I helped him out with the word. “An anachronism.”
The guy pointed at me with both fingers, as if to say ‘aha!’ and then slapped me on my back. “Name’s Peter,” he said, then he took my hand.
“Robert.” We shook on it.
His skin had a wily, fresh pinkness to it, that I’ve-been-drinking-for-awhile look. Maybe it was booze, maybe it was genetics, but he looked alive, and that alone made me feel it too.
I noticed he was holding a ice chest and I pointed to it because I was fucking stupid.
“BYOB, man. You need a drink?”
I shrugged and said, “Sure. Thanks.”
The first chords of a sound check reverberated out of the door and we started to follow the crowd into the Red and Black. My nostalgia got an adrenaline shot when I saw the sign at the door
Welcome to the Red and Black
$5 cover
Rules: Don’t be a dick.
We got inside and saw the opener start strumming out a couple power chords, nodding to each other and then thumbs-upping subtle changes in tone.
The crowd did the things punk crowds do; they melted into each other and swayed together, like a school of fish caught in an undercurrent. As the opener closed out with one last blast of power chord inflected rage, static exploded and the crowd dissipated from the stage as the band hauled their gear to the van and drank whatever was handed to them.
I still felt restless. I wasn’t finding my baptism. I wasn’t reborn. I just had ears that wouldn’t stop ringing.
I watched the kids talk and stumble, and I was suddenly overcome with the feeling that they were all talking about something I could never understand, something outside my realm. They were all part of a secret club and I’d given up my spot at the table years ago.
A kid who wore a black bandanna with a white hammer and sickle said to his friend, “I hear the Alley went under.”
“Landlord killed it. Some douche threw a glass bottle through one of the neighbor’s windows”
“Shit happens, you know?”
Some other kids were talking about local government. Another group was talking about school. Another was asking a friend if Katy really liked him. He couldn’t tell for sure. There were a lot of hot and cold vibes coming off her and he didn’t want to make the wrong move, and like, totally creep her out.
I felt fucking old.
The dreadlocked crusty with an el toro nose ring on stage, the singer, I presumed, grabbed the mic as the stringed instruments tuned. “I wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight,” he called into the crowd, “What you have here is special. Not every city has a scene like this, this is the dream gig for a lot of bands. Take care of each other out there, guys: the best things can’t last.”
He might’ve tried to say something else after that, but the bassist started playing booming minor notes that mixed like mud and oil. The guitarist tapped his toe to the rhythm of the snare and then came in with a trilling melody that was jagged and hypnotic. The dreaded vocalist closed his eyes and began to scream. It might not have been English at all, I considered, but each syllable resonated in my bones.
The crowd came alive. They circled and smashed into each other, the floors bent under the weight. I don’t think any of us could taste anything but each other. I got swallowed by the energy, I put my arms in an X in front of me and dove headfirst into the bodies, being pushed back and forth as I pushed them. At one point, a teenage boy was slammed to the ground. He was retrieved by four others. He stood with a bloody nose and a smile.
In the midst of the beautiful chaos, I looked out at the rest of the crowd—some of them were moshing, some of them were dancing, but some of them were motionless. Their eyes, they reminded me of the cat I had when I was a kid—a tabby named Marco. He’d sneak up on garter snakes in the garden and he’d just perch in the grass, watching the living tubes squirm around in the undergrowth. I always thought old Marco liked the feeling of being a god. The moment God comes down to earth, whether to heal the sick or kill a snake, he ceases to be mystifying. Marco was drinking it up. And so were these guys. They were spread out from each other, masked in the crowd. They didn’t look different, they just looked different. They wore black beanies with Amebix patches, or maybe an old trucker hat rimmed with studs, or maybe just ungainly hair. They looked out with the blank eyes of a predator.
I lost sight of them as I got jostled further into the pit, up to the stage, where the full force of a couple hundred people cornered me. I managed to find a way to the side as they continued to scrap to the beat of the music.
When Armed Defiance finished, the crowd cleared out and I was left with the stragglers. I was one of the dozen of the sad sacks who refused to go home, who couldn’t let a good thing die. Peter walked up beside me.
“Good show, right? Last band was good, right?”
“Yeah, man,” I said lamely. “Really good shit.”
He pointed up to the ceiling. “This place is fucked, man.”
I already knew.
“Maybe I’ll just go outside.”
Peter smiled and slapped me on the back. “If it didn’t kill us then, it probably won’t kill us now. Have a beer or something. I don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to have to talk about Orchid with a nineteen year old.”
I said that I would and he gave me a semi-cool beer. From out of nowhere it seemed a flask had appeared. “This makes the medicine super-fucking-medicine.” I threw some back and my mouth was lit with burning barley.
He smiled, because he knew it was bad. And he knew the hot metal flask only made it worse. What a guy.
I yawned. The night was losing its luster. Peter didn’t seem like a friend anymore, just another needy, lonely dude on a night off. He reminded me a little too much of myself and that shit can get real depressing real fast.
Peter kep talking and I kept looking for a way out. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. The guy with the black beanie.
“Who’s that?” I interrupted. I nodded towards the weird dude with eyes like a cat waiting to bite through the thin skull of a garter snake.
He looked hurt but shook it off quickly. “He lives here,” he said.
“Like, lives here, lives here? A tenant of the Red and Black?”
“Or part-owner, or whatever punker-than-thou bullshit they call it, you know?”
More and more of them appeared, black clad anarchists with predator eyes. They stood in doorways with empty hands, silently surveying the scene. One of them, a gaunt looking crusty in a denim vest covered in ‘77 spikes walked up to me purposefully. He offered a hand. “We’re always happy to see new faces. How did you hear about the show?”
“A flier,” I said, suddenly uneasy. I felt like I had a throat full of glass.
The man nodded. “My name is Roger, friends call me Rot. I’m one of the comrades at the Red and Black—it’s what we call roommates—I helped put on the show.”
“Oh, cool,” I said. “Used to come here a lot, but times changed. Jobs, work, girlfriends, all of that.”
He nodded like he didn’t believe me. “We all have different priorities, I guess.”
Peter cast me a sidelong glance.
Rot, the crust punk extraordinaire followed our expressions with antagonistic grace. “Don’t look so hurt. Some of us are here to revolt, some of us are here to suck at the teat, you know, man?”
“Uh, fuck you, man?”
Rot shrugged, adjusted his vest. “Be a good prole and enjoy the music. Maybe buy a T-shirt, drink the bottoms of whatever beer you can find, enjoy your night out, really.”
Peter stepped in and said, “Are you trying to make a point?”
That made him laugh, and it seemed an easier laugh. I looked around me and I realized that others were surrounding us. Some of them had the face of eager-beaver punks, ready to scream “Fight, Fight, Fight!,” some of them were like Rot. Black eyes and thin lips. I felt like leaving, but I didn’t really wanna take shit from a dude who called himself Rot, so I stood in the center of the circle and curled my fists into balls.
“The Red and Black is a punk house based on the values and virtues of anarcho-capitalism, you dig?” He seemed put out to even have to explain it.
From behind me, a young kid screamed, “Fuck the free market!”
Rot and the others turned to him, pure disgust rimmed their eyes. “Get that piece of shit out of here.”
As soon as he said it four of his crusty comrades grabbed the kid and hauled him out. He turned to us, as if to apologize, and said, “We take our politics very seriously here. We believe in the power of capitalism, in the power of an unregulated free market.”
“Punk Reaganites, cool. Got it. Fascinating.”
“It’s the free market that allows the Red and Black to exist. We sell something that people need.”
“Alright, alright, man. You do you.”
He smiled that thin, smug smile. The kind of face that says a thousand things but they’re all annoying and they’d all be better left unsaid. “Hey, man. I’m trying to challenge you,” said the crusty. “I’m trying to get you to think.” For emphasis he put his fingers to his head, miming a suicide by gunshot. “I want you to be on our side.”
And suddenly, all the crust punks with credit cards and predator eyes converged behind Rot.
Peter said, “Hey man, maybe we should just leave. Maybe grab a beer somewhere.”
Rot held out his hand, shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry. Wait.” I was about turned around when he said it. I cocked my head back and there he was, shit-eating grin and an outstretched hand. “Please, it’s late, friends. Stay awhile.” His aw-shucks laugh was back. “Seriously, seriously, seriously,” the words fell in cascading steps. “We can come off as a little strong sometimes. It’s a side-effect of living in this echo chamber. Stay a little longer, until you sober up, at least.”
Well, I didn’t think of myself as drunk, but there I was, mouthful of yeast and sand, wobbling like a dashboard ornament. I didn’t want to admit it, but Rot was making sense.
A chick, dreadlocks and plugs the size of tea plates, same predator eyes said, “If we ever open a new branch we should call it the Echo Chamber.” Then, awkwardly, they all wrapped their arms around each other and threw back their heads, laughing like deranged hyenas.
Peter was already at the door, but I wasn’t sure if I would be following.
“You guys drove here, right?”
I could answer for myself. “Yeah.”
A crusty touched Peter’s arm, gently, but with an unmistakable firmness. “We really can’t let you leave,” said Rot.
And then a kid in camo-pants and a pitiful beard added, “In this state.”
“Right!” amended Rot. “Can’t let you drive drunk! That just won’t do. As long as our wasteful government still polices personal morality, it’s just not safe. Stay the night. Party with us, let us change your mind after our dreadful first impression.”
Peter let the crusty’s arm guide him back to the room. I suddenly remembered all the other people here, the ones who were just the hanger-ons of the Red and Black. They stood around as if they’d seen it all before. Meanwhile, I stared at the cracked walls and imagined myself disappearing into their blackness.
A group of punk women, with face tattoos and bare midriffs walked up to me and Peter.
“We fuck here sometimes.”
“What?”
“You know,” then she started humping her hips into the air. “We fuck. Like orgies and shit. If you guys ever wanna fuck, come here sometimes and we can, all, you know. Fuck.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Rot put a hand on my shoulder. “These lovely ladies are part of the sex positive feminist hardcore group Finger Bang-Bang. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? No? Well, they’re a very talented group of women.”
They nodded in unison and then one of them, short black hair and eyes to match, said, “We fuck for revolution.”
“Gotcha.”
“It’s an interesting position,” Peter said.
Rot took me by the shoulder and mercifully led me away. From behind us we heard one of them say, “We ass fuck too.”
“The Red and Black is a safe harbor for any radicalism worth selling. Anarcho-capitalism is our most... sophisticated philosophy.”
Well, at this point I was feeling pretty weird. Like really fucking weird. But, I had to say, the night did its job. I was renewed with purpose in that I wanted very badly to leave.
“Isn’t an-cap kinda bullshit though?”
Oh shit was the vibe. The words came from Peter with a bemused smirk.
Rot’s head spun on a swivel.
“Well, you know. Its just one of those kinda bullshit things right? Its like saying you’re radical without really being radical. More like a fun way to dress up the status quo. You’re basically advocating for the current system, with no regulations, and the driving force is still consumerism. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Rot.” He then said, in a low and comically angry voice, “Fugazi would be ashamed.”
There’s certain things that can’t be unsaid. And apparently, Peter knew the buttons all too well. Fugazi was sacred territory.
“Fugazi!” someone hissed. Predator eyes flushed and I saw red fissures spread across them in earthquake cracks.
Peter shrugged, slurring, “Fuck all y’all, Repeater is dope.”
“Fuck Dischord!” howled Rot and I saw his teeth extend in his mouth, sharp yellow spikes where his incisors should be.
Red eyes and sharp teeth.
“It’s survival of the fittest,” Rot clicked.
Peter was drunk enough he didn’t see the fangs and the eyes, so he talked to carpet, “Sounds more like feudalism, Ripper.”
It was all very odd.
“I guess it’s out of the bag now,” said the chick with massive gauges.
A nubile boy of about sixteen trotted out, thin and emaciated, the kind of kid that you’d think had been sucked down the meth drain. He stripped off all his clothes and stood in the center of the crusties. “Hungry?” he asked.
They were. My jaw dropped as I saw the open wounds all over his body. I turned to Peter, who was now slumped in a corner, eyes shut tight—solemnly repeating every drunk’s mantra: please don’t throw up, please don’t throw up. I stared in disbelief. Strong arms held me still, forcing me to watch. The crusties ran their teeth over the kid’s half-healed injuries, re-puncturing them with their long teeth, lapping the blood like dogs at the water bowl.
“What the fuck,” I mumbled.
Rot walked over to the boy, holding his head as the others feasted. “Survival of the fittest,” he laughed.
“We’re not all fit to survive,” groaned the boy, dying.
Peter was slumped against the wall.
The members of Finger Bang-Bang gathered around to watch the boy get drained. “The elite class need not be men,” one informed me, as they watched the boy.
Rot nodded. “Yes, the elite are not measured by gender, only buying power.”
The hanger-on with his hands on me let me go, he smiled at me good-naturedly. I started to back away, the boy was squirming. I heard one of them murmur, “Should we kick this one tonight?”
There were no responses but vigorous slurping.
My hand was on the doorknob—I’d seen what they wanted me too—I turned for a second and I saw Peter open his eyes, watching the men and women surround the young boy. The ones who did not drink from him raised their glasses to the affair, smiling the smile of the possessed and privileged. Peter screamed, he choked out a cough and I saw his watery eyes come alive with terror, because they were not just drinking the boy’s blood, they were tearing him apart. They ripped chunks of flesh from his neck, his legs; the boy was moaning and squirming submissively as they robbed him of his life. But soon, his instinct kicked in. He began to kick limply at the dark-eyed predators. A scream rose up in his throat, but because of his weakness, it sounded no more than a hollow whistle. Eventually, he stopped fighting.
And I don’t think I’d ever felt as alone and powerless as I did in that moment. We all get wrapped up in bullshit when we’re kids. Hell, I got wrapped up in punk rock, and love it or hate it, there’s a lot of bullshit. But here, I was watching the bullshit win. Whatever the kid let people pump into him, it trumped everything his body knew and treasured. The bullshit superseded his life, he let himself die in a camera-flash of absolute horror—and that’s how he would be remembered.
There was Peter watching. He looked about how I imagined myself looking.
Black-hair-black-eyes said, “I wouldn’t have fucked him.”
“Me neither.”
“Weak stock. Low capital.”
“Our gain,” finished Rot.
I wanted to go back to grab Peter, to haul him on my shoulder, to never see the Red and Black again, but I was weak. I was a coward. So, when the blood-red mouths of the Red and Black turned to me, I ran. I ran hard. I ran alone.
From behind me, in the black of the doorway, I heard them laughing. Calling after me with slogans that all faded into the night.
I got home and I was slick with sweat, unable to sleep, OD’d on nervous energy. I paced the living room.
The boy died.
Peter will die.
The Red and Black is run by vampires.
I wasn’t going to kid myself on this one. Rot and the gang were vampires. I said the word out loud to see if it made it any more real.
“Vampires.”
Nope. Didn’t work.
I tried it a dozen more times and I just came up with a whole lot more fucking crazy. I was lost.
A footstep creaked outside and I yelped. I listened closely, legs jittering.
There was no breathing. But I could see shadows shift under the door. No words.
I stood up, staring at the doorway, the small fragile door that was the wall between me and something unspeakable. I felt as fragile as the door, probably more so. I wouldn’t just splinter, I would break. I would die.
“Robert,” the voice cooed.
It was a woman’s voice.
Stupidly, I responded. “Yes?”
Dead air, static. Then, “I think we should talk. I think there was a misunderstanding.”
“I don’t think there was,” I said.
“The free market is a beautiful, natural thing, Robert. Survival of the fittest. Don’t hate us because we’re the fittest.”
My eyes were darting around the living room. There was no hiding now. I heard her fist at the door. I watched the boards shake and I thought of Peter.
I went to my record shelf and deftly selected an old favorite.
The record player whirred to life and I called to the door, “Don’t you need an invitation in?”
“The Red and Black is a conglomerate of investors. We’re in real estate too.” She cackled like a witch and I heard her fists pound the door. It shook and rattled, threatening to fly off its hinges. “We own the building.”
“Well, fuck you then,” I said and turned the volume knob to its limit.
Static as the needle caught, a low rumbling bass line, then:
“I AM A PATIENT BOY—”
I hear a hiss at the door, a scream. The soundwaves became molten and whatever was on the other side slithered away.
I kept the music in constant rotation till daylight broke.
Vampires were real, and no matter how many times I thought about the fact, I felt stupid. But I knew I could hurt them. Modern problems require modern solutions.
I could harm them with sacred symbols. But not just any sacred symbols, punk sacred symbols. I went through my closet and started to sew.
These weren’t regular humans, they weren’t even regular punks. They were corruptions. Human beings that had succumb to some inky blackness, crusties who would never sell out but decided to buy in. They were walking blasphemies. And I had my battle armor against them.
I cut out squares of old t-shirts, painted slogans on scraps of fabric. I sewed them to my vest.
I tied a bandanna around my head and grabbed my last defense, a battered vinyl record.
When, I exited the door, I saw a pink slip of paper. Evicted. More bullshit. I didn’t care. My steps had purpose, I was practically fucking strutting. For Peter, for all the kids who got wrapped up in bullshit just to be sucked dry.
Before I made it down the hall, I came back and grabbed one last thing.
That old battered dreadnought. Covered in notches and stickers. My ultimate symbol. My vehicle for shitty songs that meant something to me because I wrote them and nothing else.
With my axe strapped to my back and records in hand, I headed to the Red and Black.

It looked different in the early morning air. That’s where everyone fucks up in vampire movies, you know? I’m no expert, really, but I’ve seen enough. Why the fuck does everyone wait to kill these super-strong, ultimate predators right before they are at their most powerful? If you want to kill a vampire, you don’t wait for five o'clock traffic to settle and then head on down to the lair. You cancel your plans and go first thing in the morning. When it comes to killing vampires, unemployment is a virtue.
Even as I walked up to it, I could taste a hint of iron. The ground in front of it was torn up. It looked like it had been hoed. Mass grave or community garden, I couldn’t tell.
The door wasn’t locked. Figures. Some things never change. Keeps people coming and going. Makes the place look alive. Small details bring lies to life.
There’s people passed out on the floor. The hanger-ons, the bloodsuckers in waiting. Probably dreaming of capital, of being the ultimate consumer.
They had a record player in the living room. Rigged to a PA, it’d be the de facto entertainment when the roads were too bad to tour. More than enough wattage to shake the house. I crept over the sleeping bodies—just another capitalist looking to take a piss—and laid an old beat up LP on the turntable. The needle dropped.
The bass rumbled and brought forth screams like I’d never heard.
The roof shook and I almost ran. Far away from all this bullshit.
I stood my ground and the howling continued. For a moment, I thought I heard angry shouts, arguing vampires, bitching through their teeth.
And then, the music died.
I guess this was the day it happened.
I figured they must have had a way to kill it from upstairs. A breaker box or maybe just a well placed yank through a rotting wall.
The hungover groupies of the Red and Black were awake, rubbing their ears, confused—staring at me.
There were five of them. A hodge-podge of age, gender, and dress. All unified by their love of substances and rhetoric.
“I thought you left?”
“He’s back.”
“Fuck, man... The night about killed me.”
“Rot wants him dead.”
“Well, no shit.”
“Should we kill him?”
“Yeah, probably.”
That was basically how it went down. A slurred conversation among groggy punks determined my fate. It felt about right. I had a Hail Mary, or maybe a Hail Fugazi, depending on how you looked at it. When shit hits the walls you grab a putty knife and go to work.
“Guys,” I began, petrified of the red, but not demonic red, eyes staring back at me. “Maybe we should all just cool off, you know? Don’t you think we’re all taking this a little too far? We’re all punks, right? We have the same core values, I mean—yeah, we can dress them up and politicize them but let’s get back to basics here-—living punk isn’t about squatting or drinking malt liquor or smoking rocks of meth or anything like that. It’s about the simple pleasure of making do-it-yourself rock ‘n roll. It’s about playing loud and giving yourself a voice because you sure as fuck can’t trust someone else to—is this really what you guys wanna get into? Murder? Murdering me? I’m just a dude, guys. I’m just a dude who likes music, respects other people, and likes to support others that do the same as me. That’s it. Now, if you can’t get behind that, then yeah, do it, take your used needles that I, oh shit, see you producing right now, and—fuck, fuck, fuck, start stabbing me until I became another big city obituary for a weirdo to tack to his wall.”
By the way they were holding me down and stabbing me, I figured my speech didn’t hit.

It took me being stabbed with used needles to understand that I was already wrapped up in a lot of bullshit. Punk rock is bullshit, you know? That’s just how it is. Not all bullshit is bad, but its always another layer on top of another layer. We all have a little bit of that, you know, and some people get one piece of gauze and decide they like the look, and then they decide they need more, then another one, then another one, ad infinitum. Soon, you’re covered in so much gauze you look like a fucking mummy.
That’s how we get conspiracy theorists, Democrats, Republicans, Rastafarians, and Anarcho-Capitalists. We internalize ideas until they become ideologies.
It’s bullshit.
Sometimes though, shit goes your way.
Look at me for example: lucky for me those crusties weren’t shooting up straight dope. Whatever they had was fine stuff. Otherworldly stuff. And no, not like ha-ha Bob Marley is great, man stuff. This stuff fries your mind like an egg, splits you open and sends tiny snakes slithering over your muscles. It’s fucked up.
It also lets you see through walls. I looked up at the ceiling and saw Rot holding his ears, his face buried in Peter’s veins.
I felt bad for him, but I felt good too.
If you don’t let the bullshit get to you, it won’t bother you too much. So, I tried to ignore the great open mouth that was bent on swallowing me at the corner of my vision. Totally went with the flow. I tried to ignore how the psyco-punk crusties looked (their eyes had split into many different, tiny eyes, split by threads of skin, deathly pale, lipless—the whole she-bang). I put my nose to the grind and just: Made. This. Shit. Work.
Because I just got traces of whatever the shit was on the needles, I figured I wasn’t getting the full experience, which was one of the reasons I felt lucky. I had glimpses, but they faded in and out, there were seconds where I felt normal, just in pain from all the pinpricks, and then it’d be like a gunshot in my temple and my ears were hearing a choir of screams, people boiling, kids getting vivisected. Bad stuff. Really bad stuff. No amount of glibness does it justice, nor does any description. That’s why I had to keep moving. That’s why I can’t dwell on any of it.
I managed to throw them off of me, it was a surprise, but they took it like champs—right against the wall. Cut through the bullshit, as my new mantra, I grabbed my acoustic guitar and smashed the body into an ancient punk’s skull. The guitar broke, the skull didn’t. I hit again and again, until the guitar was just shards and broken steel strings. And then I jumped on the ‘77 stalwart and I saw him for what he was—maybe it was my new sense of clarity, maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was both, but now I saw him as an old man. A dude on the bad side of the timeline... and that’s when I brought a sharp shard of laminated wood down through his mouth. Blood boiled in his throat as he tried to scream.
A chick behind me said, “Dude, what the fuck?”
There were a couple other responses too, but I like to think that summed it up the best. I wasn’t listening to their words. I wrote it off to dead air and stamped it all as justified. Whatever terror and surprise they were feeling was probably true. But moreso: deserved.
He was still dying when the others left. He was still choking on his own blood, he made gurgling noises for help, but I just stood and watched, frozen.
Eventually, I got the balls to get on my knees and touch him. His skin felt like old rubber; flakey, warm. His eyes were normal eyes now and I didn’t know if he had a son or a daughter and if he did if they remembered those eyes. They didn’t look like they were looking at anything, the wider his pupils got, the more it looked like he saw something. I hoped he did anyways. His tongue coiled the wood in his mouth until it fell limp to the side.
I stood up and felt sickened.
As if on cue, the ceiling above me shifted. Looking up, I felt like a kid, laying underneath the trampoline while Kenny Wu does front flips. And then a voice:
“Come upstairs,” called Rot. He sounded far away, as if he called it from a mountaintop. “You killed Wombo. You need our help.”
I did what anyone would do.
“Go fuck yourself!” I yelled up at the roof.
Whenever you go for a confrontation, any type of confrontation, whether that be a fight with a friend, a conversation with an ex, or revenge on some crusty vampires, you carry a weapon. I mean, I had music, and I brought my guitar—but those are romantic weapons, those are symbolic. Sometimes symbolic weapons win the war. But sometimes, you need to bring a gun, or a hacksaw, or a hammer. There will be times when you need to douse a beer-bloated floor with kerosene and light a match.
“We are the elite! We are the drivers of the free market!” I heard the screams through the ceiling.
“Burn with your bullshit,” I said, and then I lit the match.

I didn’t go back home. If I had to guess where I went, I’d say it was probably south. Maybe.
By the time the cops came, I was blocks down. I trashed the vest and walked normal. Black, inky track marks ran up and down my arms. Noticeable enough that people avoided me. That was okay. Punks, vampires, people—I’d had enough.
So, I wandered and wandered and wandered. I tried to make peace with what I saw until I couldn’t make peace anymore. When I closed my eyes I saw Peter and Wombo, I heard Rot’s voice. I smelled smoke when I slept. In my dreams, I saw hungry, hungry mouths. But eventually, even bad memories fade. And then, they almost feel like ghosts. Ghosts, I can handle. They're a helluva lot better than the alternative.

I am a Sheriff's deputy in Bull's Heart, Texas. Part 2.

Part one lives here. It'll make more sense if you read it first. https://www.reddit.com/Revblackrage/comments/hxikru/bulls_heart_texas/
I was half way to my car before I knew it, fresh cup of coffee in my hand. Ellie wouldn't let me leave without one.
I set the cup of coffee down on the roof of the Dodge and started digging around in my pockets. Looking for my keys. A scream ripped out of the restaurant behind me. It was long and loud. Sounded like someone had just stuck their hand in a deep fat fryer. Or had it forced into one. It startled me and I jumped, So much so that I dropped my keys.
I heard a snort. Which sounded suspiciously like it was at my expense. I looked over my shoulder as I bent over to grab my keys.
Murray's horse, Pistola, was tied up in a parking spot, about three spaces down from me. It was technically against city ordinance to tie an animal up in a commercial parking lot. Outside of Rodeo season of course, And there was special emphasis on undead mammals.
But if you won't tell, I won't. The skeletal equine was staring at me over a feed bag strapped to his face. I pretended not to notice that the feed bag was stained brown, with a suspicious blackish liquid dripping from the stained burlap. Sometime's in Bull's Heart, the answers just aren't worth the questions.
"Cut me some slack, dude" I said. With a voice that may or may not have registered a bit of annoyance. "I'm not a three hundred year old dead horse. Shit creeps me out sometimes."
I could have sworn that old Pistola, rolled his eyes at that. But that may have been just me giving the horse too much credit.
Another shorter scream erupted from the diner. This one ending suddenly. The context clues I had at my disposal, told me it was Marcel who was doing the screaming in there. Now were I a normal Sheriff's Deputy it would be my job to run into that Diner, ready to get to the bottom of it. But. I already knew the score and felt no need to investigate further. Plus, fuck that guy. Stripers had no protections under the law and I was specifically instructed to ensure their safety at my discretion and i discresified that Marcel was a worthless piece of human wreckage, who should be fed to a wood chipper. His death would truely be a net benefit to humanity as a whole. And that was about as far as I was willing to take it.
Just as I scooped up my keys, I heard a low nervous sound from the undead horse. One of those 'Hey I'm not cool with this' sounds horses make. A rustle of feathers creeping out of the night sky, the horse's call of unease it's only accompaniment.
"Fuck" I swore outloud. A rustle of feathers on a night time breeze could mean only a few things in Bull's Heart and only one of them would creep out a horse. I stood up straight. Looking for it. Resting my paw on the handle of my Smoke Wagon. My fingers wrapping around the checkered grip of the ridiculously large revolver. They always come when the stink of blood is on the air. They bring the cold with them too. As was attested to by the shiver running down my spine and the light steam I was suddenly exhaling. The hairs on my bare arms stood up in response to the suddenly frigid air.
On one level I knew that I was under no immediate threat.... But you tell that to two hundred thousand years of evolutional preservational instincts. Shit was there for a reason. Yes I suppose you could say the thing perched over the door of Earl's diner made me uncomfortable. Just a touch.
The neon lighting from the diner's sign cast an odd neon red hue across it. The light seemed to accentuate the shadows it lurked in. But I wouldn't even have to look at the damn thing to know it was watching me. The whole site of the thing was like watching a demon stalk you.
Nobody was really sure where they had came from. Nobody who'd been to the Great Beyond, or any other such ports of mystical or metaphysical call, could recall such a creature in any of their travels.
I would describe it as a humanoid, with big ragged vultures wings. Bipedal body. Bird's legs. A man's chest. I usually saw a big fuck off beak, that was attached to a face that looked similar to a plague doctor's mask.
But rarely did two people see the same thing when they looked at the creatures. Well for the most part. The going theory was that they were some matter of shape shifters. But that still left a lot to explain. Everyone described the same ragged wings and the same piercing eyes. Orbs of a pure white, that burned with a mix of corruption and malevolent anger. Like spotlights of hate on a greasy black night.
But nobody could agree on secondary characteristics. To me they all looked the same, but if I tried to describe what I saw, you wouldn't know what I was talking about, because you saw a horses head with a seagulls beak for a face, or some other such silliness.
This particular creature's wings were drooped over it like a cloak. I could see the eyes boring into me from the inky black recesses of it's wings. No notion of a head, or shoulders, or anything could be discerned from the shadows.
I glared back at it for a moment, before I took a good weaver style shooting position, drew my smoke wagon and planted it's front site post right smack dab between those dumbass eyes. It did nothing but glare back at me with those huge hate filled peepers. I couldn't even tell if it understood what was happening. But I could make out it's inky black talons flexing on it's perch, as if it was about to throw itself forward and rip my belly clean open in a fit of avian fury. Everything in me told me to pull the trigger on my Magnum Research BFR and send a .45-70 Government Consecrated Exploding Sabot round right into the thing's forehead. Everything in me wanted to send that unearthly thing back to whatever soulless void it spawned from. The things aren't right for this world and everything in me was telling me to send it back where it belonged. To the pit it crawled out of.
But technically........Under Texas department of Fish and Game code, They are classified as an endangered species.
So all I could do was whisper "Bang" like a petulant child and reluctantly holster my weapon. I am not horribly mature, I admit.
Yeah, sure they stole dead bodies. Sure they flew around from Dusk till Dawn creeping the living fuck out of people. Sure they had all the sentience of a learning disabled possum. But some genius decided to call them an endangered species and grant them protected habitats. Like the forests surrounding Bull's Heart. Because where the fuck else would they be able to go?
The thrice cursed things are Illegal to hunt for sport or harvest. And if you kill one by accident, you better have your ducks in a row. Because you are about to be investigated for Poaching. Which in Texas, means you are going to face a lot of Jail time.
Which is some Fucking liberal bullshit, if you ask me.
Our local game warden, a fella named Lingelsou, was very particular about the animals of what he calls 'His Forest.'
He also had zero problem running in Deputys for violations to the Texas Fish and Game code. He once arrested a Deputy named Landis for taking one down. Even though he had a good reason for it..... well maybe not a good reason exactly, but a pretty damn good excuse.
About once a month or so, Deputy Landis has a condition that.... Well it's just best that he gets away from people for a couple days or so. He goes a little wild in that time frame. So he goes out to a plot of land he owns out in the woods and just rides it out. Safer for everyone that way.
During one of these..... Fits I guess you could call it. He took down one of the creatures and ate half of it. Warden Lingelsou took him in for it. It didn't matter that Deputy Landis wasn't in his right frame of mind. He still didn't have a population control hunting license, which was the only way to legally hunt them.
Sherrif Onryu had gone to bat for the Deputy, going so far as to site the American's with disabilities act of 1990, trying to point out that Landis had a condition and certain accessions had to be made in order to provide a fair and equal environment for him. Including free reign hunting rights for the thing that lived inside of him. Lingelsou wasn't buying it though.
"Laws be laws" The Game Warden had said. "In my forest and in my jurisdiction, the laws be respected"
Sanctimonious do-gooder Prick.
But the creatures did a good job of keeping their number's low and they didn't really go out of their way to attack people. Unless cornered. Which is a good thing. Because when they are worked up into a good lather, they can take and dish out a lot of punishment before they finally go down. Kind of like a skybourne Armadillo.Only less cute.
This specimen, as if sensing my unease, leaned forward and screeched at me. I got the impression of a beak sticking out from between it's wings. The screech was loud in the frigid silence. It gave off the audio sensation of nails on a chalkboard mixed with a crying newborn. A pretty unpleasant mixing of audible input.
Than the burning eyes turned back to Pistola, and I briefly wondered if the Creature was going to go after the undead horse. I mean they were death eaters and technically the horse was dead after a fashion.
I would legally be allowed to shoot it at the point, as Pistola was technically livestock....Deadstock?..... Anyway, in Bull's Heart, you could defend tame animals from wild Animals. Especially with all of the weird crap that lives in our woods.
But before I could sink much thought into it, the creature reared on it's haunches, gave one last terrifying screech and took wing, quickly disappearing into the night sky. My caveman ego wanted to believe that it was because the Creature was made uncomfortable by my presence.
But more than likely it figured that the staff of Toothy Earl's weren't going to toss Marcel's corpse out the front door, so there was no point in hanging around. Either way Pistola seemed to be okay with the end result, as he let out a sigh of equine relief as the potential predator made it's exit.
I watched the night sky in the direction it flew off for a moment, wondering if it was going to change it's mind and come back.
They have a name.
Like we don't just call them 'Creatures.' I just happen to think the name is stupid. Real fucking stupid. Because it's not a hot chick on a winged horse swinging a sword.
It is in no way shape or form a Valkerye. And yes that is a hill that I am willing to die on.
It's a fucking bird monster, not a chick who escorts dead warriors to the All Father's table. Can't put that shit on the side of a panel van from the seventies. End of discussion.
I just call them 'Shitbirds.'
When I was certain that the Shitbird was gone for good, I turned and gave Pistola a nod.
"You're safe now, Sir." I said with a professional smile. "You're welcome."
The Horse just stared back at me with Milky dead eyes. He seemed super unimpressed.
"Fine" I said with a bit of feigned exasperation "act like that thing didn't have you scared out of your peanut sized mind"
The Horse snorted at me again and again I swear he managed to roll his pupiless white eyes at me. That damn horse was smarter than he was letting on. I shook my head and turned back to the Charger. But as I got into the Dodge, I thought I heard something. Like words floating out of the dark. Scratchy. Raspy. Just at the point of hearing. The point were you aren't sure if it's your inner monolog or your ears, and i definitely wasn't quite sure which one it was.
"The.... Master.... Comes...."
I stared off in the direction the creature had flown. Well that was odd. I couldn't be sure that I had heard it.... But I couldn't completely write it off either.
*
I knew the way to the Miller's house like the back of my hand. We were out there enough after all. The Miller's were two people that shouldn't have been together. But they were also both extremely stubborn. Neither was going to be the one who broke first and left. They also refused to admit they had problems. Even when they were doing their best to rip each other apart. Made conflict mediation between the two parties a royal bitch.
They were one of the reasons I hated this God forsaken town.
I was going to meet up with Gruk and Daliwal at the foot of the Miller's drive and we would go up their property as a group.
It's usually best to go out on calls with as much back up as possible. Especially in this town.
I briefly thought about Gruk's condition. I glanced down towards the Digital Defensive Control Suite sitting in the middle of my Patrol car's center console. The screen showed that the U.V. Defensive lighting rig that sat on the roof of the Uparmored Charger Hell Cat cruiser was off. I reached down and tapped the off button just to be sure. I than reached over and hit the manual safety, locking it out of action.
A lot of citizen's of Bull's Heart had one condition or another that made U.V. light anything from annoying to downright lethal, so much so that the local Government classified U.V. lights as destructive devices. If you had some? You had better have a very damn good reason for having them or you were going to jail. Occasionally certain people would kick up a stink about it, make some noise about it being a violation of the 2nd Amendment, but they usually didn't get much support because.... well it's hard to get people real worked up about lightbulbs.
It would have been a damn shame to take Gruk and possibly Daliwal out of action, due to some avoidable asshatted dipshittery. I actually wasn't sure if U.V. would take Daliwal down or out, but I did know his kind were nocturnal, so better safe than sorry.
I turned down the dirt road that would take me to the Miller's front gate. Something about the way the lights of my cruiser played down the narrow tree lined dirt road gave it an ominous feeling. I was hoping it wasn't a sign of things to come.
"Here the fuck we go" I grumbled outloud.
I saw Gruk's S.U.V. and Daliwal's cruiser parked next to the Miller's cattle gate. Gruk had to drive one of the bigger S.U.V.s due to her massive size.
"More like her massive ass" I said to myself, giving myself a slight chuckle in response, finding myself hilarious. And before you ask, yes I am aware that I am an idiot.
I parked behind the big SUV and got out, but not before I let dispatch know where I was.
"Jen, Whiskey Hotel, 10-23 at the Miller's" I told dispatch over the radio.
"Roger that, Whiskey Hotel, good luck!"
"Roger. Thanks. Out."
Daliwal and Gruk were standing in front of the latter's cruiser, looking up the property. Gruk turned her massive head my way. The black pupils of her eyes seemed to dig right through me as she stared. Her lips parted slightly and she gave me a disdainful sneer.
"Oh look..." She said said sounding gruff and vaguely British, like a bad guy from a Lord of The Rings Movie "'Ey sent a pathetic little 'Oomie to back us up..."
The look on her face could have frozen fire. She looked like she wanted to rip open my belly and play with what she found there. She squared up her shoulders like she was ready to throw down and raised her hands up to shoulder height. Flexing every muscle she had in her upper body. Her jaw fell open revealing some seriously nasty gleaming white canines. A Threat display if there ever was one. Her Body Armor and her duty belt did nothing except add to idea that she was preped and ready for a real slobberknocker.
She took a step forward, looking every bit of the bruiser she really was. From the top of her pony tail to the soles of her size twenty black Bates combat boots, she was built for war. Literally. Thats what her race had been bred for.
"Only thing 'Oomies is good for is filling bellys...."
Daliwal looked over at her with a 'what the fuck?' Look on his face. He seemed genuinely suprised by her words and aggressive actions. He looked over at me, his big yellow-green eyes going wide. He raised a hand to his beard and stroked it a few times. Looking back and forth between us. I got the feeling that was how his nerves liked to showed themselves.
The palm of his hand faced outwards and his fingers seemed to go backwards like their joints were reversed. He was a transfer from another town like Bull's Heart, somewhere in Florida. Thunder? Or maybe it was Cougar Teeth? Not that it mattered I guess. He had only been with the Sheriff's department a few weeks now, and most of that had been training time. He may have been a veteran. But here in Texas, he was 'The new guy' and he was still trying to figure out what was what.
The look on his face said that he wasn't quite sure what he had found himself in the middle of here, but he wasn't a fan of it.
I wasn't used to the backwards hands thing yet and it was still a little weird for me. Tiger head was off putting too, but that was easier to get used to. Seemed like a hell of a nice guy so far though. Like he was really working hard to dispell the negative views most people had towards free form shape shifters. He didn't need to though. He wouldn't have earned his Star if he were an asshole.
I tried to come up with a witty zinger to shoot back at Gruk, but I was drawing a blank. I almost went with 'ol reliable,' a Shrek reference. But I wasn't feeling it. So I just raised my hands to the waist, making sure not to spill my coffee, and mugged a sarcastically terrified expression at her.
"Ohhhh scary" I said in the most mockingly insincere voice I could muster, rolling my eyes as hard as I could. "Cut the fuckin' shit, Gruk, you're scaring the new guy"
"Watch your language!" Gruk said suddenly, dropping the bad movie Orc accent like a bad habit. Her real voice sounded more like a housewife from somewhere in the mid west. Like Nebraska or some shit. Flat but somehow bubbly. You always had a suspicion that the next word out of her mouth was going to be 'Ope.'
"And besides, He isn't scared he already knows I'm a total sweetie" She said fixing him with a wide smile. Which despite the fact that it showed off her massive fanged canines, still managed to come across as incredibly warm and inviting. Like someone's mom. "I gave him some of my famous oatmeal cookies, would a big nasty evil orc make cookies for the new guy?"
She directed the last question at Daliwal. He looked like he was still in shock at the rapid shift in tones. His eyes were wide and his jaw was still slightly hanging open. I could tell that he wasn't exactly sure if we weren't playing a game of 'fuck with the new guy' His shifted his gaze between our faces. He swallowed, a bit nervously.
"Well...." His voice had that crisp English accent that alot of educated Indian Immigrants had, when they learned their English at a British founded University. You could tell from his tone that he wasn't super comfortable in the situation.
".....The .....'Cookies'--" I got the feeling that he had to mentally restrain himself from saying 'biscuits' "--did have Raisins in them, so the question of your being a 'Sweetie' or something of a malicious sort hasn't really been settled just yet."
It took me a second, but I got the humor. Fucker was just so goddamn dry in his delivery, that it almost didn't land. I gave him a chuckle. I got the notion that he was gonna be an okay guy to work with. Once He got settled that is.
Gruk however stared at him for a moment. She didn't quite give a laugh, but she did give him another award winning smile. She placed her left fist on her waist and pointed at him with her other hand.
"I'm gonna have to keep my eye on you, Mister!" She said with a bit of humor in her voice. "And don't you worry about the Raisins, just my way of messing with the new guy, I guess. But don't worry. They help a body increase blood production. Thats good for you..... and Me."
Daliwal waited a beat before giving Gruk a wide-eyed nervous chuckle, before breaking eye-contact and looking down to make sure his boots were still on his feet.
His timid response set me off. I let lose with a stifled laugh. I squeezed my eyes shut and laughed into the back of my hand. My sides shaking. Now Daliwal wasn't a small guy, he was broad across the shoulders. Had Fangs and Claws of his own. A Gun too. I didn't know him too well, but I would bet that He could take care of himself in a fight. His kind were usually pretty good with their mitts. Or at least thats what I had heard about them. (That might just be a stereotype though. If it is, and anyone of you out there reading this are of the Raksasha people and have a problem with it, please know that I meant nothing by it.)
But when a Person of Gruk's size and ability, friendly disposition or not, makes a mention of your platelet count it could be a little disconcerting.
Especially since Gruk, in addition to being one of the largest specimens of Orc you would ever meet was also afflicted with Vampirism.
She was hell on wheels without the condition. Half the department had called her 'Mama Bear' because if you were down and bleeding and you needed someone to drag your ass out of the fire, she was the one you would want arriving on scene.
Believe me. I know what it's like to be laying on your back, getting the shit kicked out of you, looking up and seeing Gruk come charging onto the scene like a cross between The Incredible Hulk and Jesus Christ. But as to how she came across the Vampirism, It's actually kind of a sweet story.
A few years back she fell for a local gal named Maddie and they got married. Maddie was a vampire. In good standing of course. But than again she had to be, because rogue Vampires get run out of town pretty quick, if not staked down for the morning sun.
A man by the name of Kincade ran the local Vampire Coven and he was a stickler for 'The Rules of Fair Conduct' which 'The United Night Walker Covens and Clans of The United States, Mexico, and Canada' had applied to towns like Bull's Heart.
Kincade ran a tight ship and The Sheriff's Department had rarely if ever had reason to pick a fight with the Blood Suckers. Well.... Except that one time..... But thats neither here nor there. Plus we don't like to talk about it around here. It would be especially impolite to discuss it with outsiders.
Anyway the point is, that with the Vampirism accentuating her already considerable strength and hardiness.... she had gone from Hell On Wheels to a One Woman SEAL Team.
Part of the lovely couple's wedding vows had been Maddie converting Gruk into a Vampire. Maddie had taken Gruk's name and Gruk had taken on Maddie's condition. I had to admit. It twanged on the dusty strings of my heart. For some reason, it struck me as beautiful. To not only tell someone you want to be with them forever, but to take steps to actually do so? Well, I'm not gonna lie. I shed a few happy tears at the wedding.
I guess I'm a bit of a softy.
"Senior Deputy Gruk" I said, doing my best to come to Daliwal's rescue "if you could quit subtley terrifying the New Guy for a moment? I think we got us a wellness visit to make, if you would like to take charge and lead your valiant warriors on a crusade in the name of public safety? Now would be a good time for that."
"Oh, party pooper" Gruk said. But she drew up to her full height and turned to look up at the Miller's House. It was a white ranch style sitting on top of a slight hill. The lights were off and nobody appeared to be home.
"Okay" She said looking down at me "First things first, Cowboy."
She pointed down at the Magnum Research BFR in my Holster.
"Go to the trunk of your car and get a gun that isn't stupid"
"Goddamnit" I grumbled.
* Five minutes later we were walking up the Miller's Driveway. A fifth Generation Glock 40 sitting in my Holster. We had to hoof it up the property. Because the cattle gate across the driveway was locked. Which wouldn't have mattered.
Because once a car crossed the Miller's gate, it tends to experience engine trouble. Never getting more than twenty feet before shutting down completely. Radios had issues too. Hell the 3D RMR Night Site on my pistol was probably dead. Like it's 10 year battery was burnt out. It was something to do with the Nature of the Millers..... and the Magic they threw around. Electronics hated the stuff for some reason. So normally we just left anything that had a battery in the car.
I was staring up at the House as I walked. It was odd. Usually at this point we could hear them screaming at each other, the pop and fizzle of Magic spells going off. Inhuman roaring as demons were summoned. Not to attack, but to help bolster arguments. Dishes breaking.
Tonight though? It was different. Dead silence. Like the house was a tomb. My eyes were going from window to window. Looking for any sign of life and finding none. No fluttering curtains. Lights popping on and off. No nothing.
Just the crunch of our boots on old asphalt. I almost didn't notice the temperature drop, until I was exhaling steam. I shivered inside my uniform. I was just about to ask 'Where the fuck did that come from'
When Daliwal spoke up.
"We are being watched" He said quietly.
"I see them too" Gruk said. All merriment lost from her voice. She was switched on now and jokes would be unprofessional. She eased the AR Pistol she carried off of her belt. It was chambered in .458 Socom, and of course the entire lower was custom made to fit her gigantic hand. Including a massive grip that resembled the handle of a 1911 Pistol rather than the traditional AR group. Making it the next best thing to a Bolter.
"I count twelve in the trees on the West side of the clearing"
"I count eight on my side" Daliwal replied, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I can't see shit" I said, wishing I had some form of natural night vision, like my creature of the night comrades.
"Valkerye" was all Gruk said.
"Shit" I muttered.
"Language" Gruk gently admonished, without taking her eyes off of the Trees on the edges of the clearing.
I followed her eyes out to the trees. I could just barely make out the little pinpoints of white light, that would have been the eyes of the Shitbirds.
I whistled lowly. There were a bunch of them out there. I had never seen so many in one place. Usually when there is more than two or three in one spot, they would fight each other. It looked like these assholes were just coping a squat and having a watch. Very odd behavior for Shit Birds.
"I've never seen so many..." Daliwal said, a tremor of discomfort in his voice. I noticed that his tail was held down, close to his leg. That might have been a good tactical decision to keep the appendage out of the way....... or it might have been an involuntary fear based response.
"Don't let them get to you" Gruk said, her voice soaked in matronly concern. "They never come for us..... just for the dead."
"Yeah" I said, turning my attention to the house.
"Boss Lady is right. Pay them no mind."
I took a sip from the Coffee cup I was still holding. I was intentionally trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Partially for the new guy, partially for the fact that I wasn't going to give the Shit Birds the satisfaction of spooking me twice in one night. I did my best to walk like I didn't have a care in the world. Daliwal looked over his shoulder at me. His eyes widened slightly when he recognized the stylized Alligator on the cup. Toothy Earl's logo.
"You were at Toothy Earl's earlier?" He asked me, his ears perking straight up "Was.... Um.... Was Miss Ellie working?"
"Yup" I Responded "She was breaking in a New Striper. Didn't go so hot for him"
"Ah" The new guy said "Do you happen to know if.... If.... She is...uh... talking to anyone?"
"She talks to a lot of people" I said playing dumb "it's part of her job, silly boots"
"Oh... Uh... No..." He said, turning back to watch his side of the clearing, and the Valkerye in the Trees beyond. "I meant is she.... In a relationship with anyone?"
"Well" I said continuing on in the playing dumb vein "I'm sure she has a lot of relationships, with a lot of people--"
"Oh be nice" Gruk grunted at me "You know what he meant." She said to me. To Daliwal she said "Yes there's a fella she talks too, but I don't know if it's serious. Tall, blonde, human, a lot of people think he might really be that one lightning guy, the one with the hammer.... oh what is his name.... oh it doesn't matter." Her voice picked up a little more Growl as she went on. Apparently remembering that we were supposed to be focusing on the task at hand "Both of you need to pay attention to your sectors. Or I'll treat you both like a couple of juice boxs and call out another couple of Dumb Dumbs to back me up, when I've sucked you both dry."
"Yes ma'am!" Daliwal said, responding to the matronly authority in her voice.
"Yeah" I said, properly scolded, not even attempting to go for the obvious joke there. "Sorry, Boss."
She was right. Now wasn't the time for jaw jacking. She had left it unsaid, but there were more Shit Birds out here than anyone had ever seen in one spot. They were acting strangely. This was the quietest 'Millers Call' I had ever been out on. I would wager that it was Gruk's quietest one too. It was too weird of a night to be acting like a dumbass rookie. There was a time to fuck with the new guy and this wasn't it clearly.
I followed Gruk's lead and drew my Glock. I checked the RMR site and noticed that my Dot was in fact no longer illuminated on the glass. Like the battery was dead.
Fucking Miller's and their spooky ass hoodoo. The rest of the short walk was quiet. I watched the front, where the house was. Gruk and Daliwal watched the sides. They stayed quiet.
I would occasionally peek off to the side, at the trees in the distance. White Eyes Beamed back at me, making them look like under dressed sparsely decorated Christmas Trees.
I kind of wished we were talking more. As the feeling of all those eyes on me was driving me crazy. Felt like ants skittering up and down my spine. Some light conversation would be great to take the mind off of current events.
When we reached the house, Gruk mounted the steps to the porch and paused. She looked around. She tilted her head up to the side and sniffed the air around her. She suddenly tensed up
"What?" I asked her.
"Blood" She responded "Lots of it. Human."
Now were this the movies. The Vampire would look at me like I was a pot roast and get a strange look in her eye. But this isn't the movies and Senior Deputy LaVonda Gruk is a goddamn professional and I'll not have you imply otherwise. She treated it like a call for help and instantly got ready to run into an unknown situation to potentially save a life.
She raised her massive pistol and trained it on the door. She motioned to me with her head, telling me to kick the door for her. She looked at Daliwal and patted herself on the backside, wordlessly telling him to stack on her. He nodded and did as he was instructed.
I leaned against the opposite side of the door, back against the wall. I raised my leg and swung it back, giving the door a solid donkey kick. The door flew open in an explosion of cheap trim and paint flakes. Gruk and Daliwal flowed into the house. Gruk having to duck down in the doorway, so she wouldn't bang her head on the door jamb.
"Sheriff's Department!" She yelled.
The living room was empty of life. There was a stone table set up where a coffee table would be in a normal house, with stone bowls and unidentifiable powders in them. Jars full of God knows what lined a massive book shelf that covered an entire wall. Candles lit the space, some burned all the way down. Looked like they had been going for a while. Strange symbols were painted everywhere. I recognized a couple of them, just from being on the job so long.This looked like a Wizard's lab or a Witch's brewery. It probably was too, knowing the Millers.
"Clear!" I heard Daliwal yell. His voice a bit more of a roar, with the adrenaline surging through his veins. Gruk looked over at me. She pointed to her nose and than pointed towards a door leading off the living room, she than patted her backside again. I got behind her, ready to go wherever she would take me.
Gruk always took point. She was the most likely to survive a Shotgun blast to the face and stay in the fight. So it made good tactical sense. But it was also just the way she led. From the front.
We left Daliwal in the living room. To hold our only known exit, in case someone squirted past us. Gruk and I cleared the rest of the house, finding nothing. We came to a stop at a closed door at the end of the main hall. She looked at me and tapped her nose again. I got her meaning. This was where the smell was strongest.
I nodded and reached down for the door knob, i jiggled the handle finding it unlocked. I shoved it open and in went Gruk, pistol at the ready. I flowed in behind her. The smell of tangy copper hit me in the snout like a bag of hammers. I involuntarily gagged. I couldn't see anything. It was pitch black. But I knew it was bad. Room smelled like a badly run slaughterhouse. I felt around for a light switch. Found a candlebra instead.
'Good enough' I thought to myself as i dug in my pocket for a lighter. I gave the bic a couple of test flicks.
"Wait" Gruk said from somewhere in the darkness. "It's bad. It's real bad."
"Yeah" I said. I had gathered that much from the smell. "But how bad can it be?"
I lit the candle. It must have been a candle with some magic to it. Because it lit that room like a surgery ward and Gruk was right. It was bad. It was real bad. It was a bedroom. You could tell because a massive California King-size bed occupied the center of the room.
The comforter was soaked in reddish brown blood. There was a lump of meat in the center of the bed, that I slowly realized was a woman's torso. On one night stand there were ten neatly severed fingers. In two columns of five each. On the other night stand was a head. Devoid of a face. Just ragged skull staring at the doorway. At the foot of the bed were two legs, crossed over each other like an X. I realized that various organs and bits of body were arranged around the torso in a circle.
I looked over at Gruk. She was staring wide eyed at the wall above the headboard. I followed her gaze. The face of Giselda Miller stared back at us from the wall, where it had been nailed up like a trophy on display. Eyeless of course, because the eyes were still in the skull. But I knew that face. It had screamed all matter of venom and curse at me before.
There was something weird about this. Well, yeah no shit it was weird. But there was a strange sort of order to where everything was placed in the room. I looked over at Gruk. She looked back at me. I saw her swallow a few times, like she wasn't sure what to make of this all. Her face looked almost helpless and I felt bad for the Giant Orc.
"We...." She started to speak. Her voice a little unsteady. She paused and closed her eyes. She swallowed a few more times.
"We need to get out of this room" she said, more in control of her voice.
"Yeah" I said moving towards the door. I had seen this level of carnage before. Part of the job. People say when you see shit like this enough, eventually you get used to it. Well I'm still waiting on that fucking day.
"Forensics will have our butts" Gruk said, command voice firmly back in place "if we mess something up"
"Yeah" I said. Not particularly giving a shit why we got out of the room, but just happy to do so. We pulled Daliwal out of the House with us. Gruk closing the door behind us, to preserve the crime scene. We spun him up on what we had seen. His eyes narrowed in thought.
"What?" Gruk asked.
"Back in Florida. We had a Necromancer in town....."
"Awww fuck" I interrupted with a sigh, knowing where this was going. Necromancers were bastards and I didn't want to deal with chasing one down. I had one throw a dead cat at me once. It bit me. Shit was weird.
Gruk did that hand-shake shushing thing that mom's do when you were interrupting their shows. She wanted me to stick a sock in it. Probably had a problem with the cursing too.
"What you describe...." Daliwal went on "sounds like a ritual she did. We never found out why she did it. We figured out who it was and showed up at her door step with a lot of firepower. She did not come peacefully." The look on his face, and the way he stroked his beard, said it was a bad memory. Gruk had an uncomfortable look on her face too. I couldn't say as I blamed Her.
This could be real bad. If somebody was going around killing people for some silly necromancer bullshit..... well my week was about to get a lot fucking busier.
It's always something with this fucking town.
"Okay" Gruk said "So let's get down past the Gate and see if we can get some back up out here."
"Gonna have to wake up the Sheriff" I sighed.
"She'll be pissed if we don't. But in the mean time, we need to get people out looking for Mark Miller. His whereabouts are unknown, so that makes him our only suspect at this point."
And since the power's that be have a sense of fucking humor......
I heard a rustle of wings above our heads. Right before about two hundred pounds of meat was dropped right in the middle of our little pow-wow. It was a body. The legs caught me square in the chest, knocking me on my ass.
The face attached to the body's head, sure looked a lot like Mark Miller's face. Albeit a little more battered and beaten than usual. Dead bodies have a certain look about them and Mark Miller was rocking the fuck out of that look, broken neck and all. All three of us looked up. A Valkerye hovered about twenty feet above us. It's wings wide open, like it was riding a thermal. It's eyes blazed as it glared at us from on high. I had never seen one not skulking in shadows. I had never seen one this brazen.
"THE MASTER COMES!" It screeched down at us

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