Rotten To The Core

"I'm just messing with you," Doug said, amicably patting her shoulder.

Laura pulled her sword from the bike's saddlebag and removed the gun from its holster, swaddling the weapons in her jacket. Followed by Doug, she entered the station. The desk sergeant looked up. "Can I help you?"

"Hi. I'd like to register my weapons. Who do I speak to?"

The sergeant, a jovial man in his fifties, looked from Laura to Doug and rolled his eyes. "You again? I told you last time -- you need to call ahead to check the formalities! Registering guns - and especially swords -- is no walk in service!"

"Hey to you too," Doug rumbled. "Is Detective Goldbaum in?"

The sergeant sighed. "Yeah, she is. Give me a moment." He picked up the phone. "Hey detective, there's that biker from last week. Uh-huh, that guy. Has a girl with him who wants to register her weapons. I'm pretty sure she's carrying a broadsword or the like. I've told them but they don't look like they're going to come back later."

He listened for the answer then replaced the handset. "She'll be right over."

A few moments later, a tall, athletic blonde woman left an office across the hall and joined them at the front desk. She shook Doug's hand before doing the same with Laura. "Hi. I'm Detective Kelly Goldbaum. Follow me, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Let's get this farce over with."

"You don't sound too thrilled," Laura said. "Laura Stürmer, by the way. Nice to meet you."

They followed Detective Goldbaum into a small, crowded office. She closed the door behind them and sighed. "Okay, let's hear it then. What do you have and why do you need to carry it?"

Laura placed her sheathed sword on the desk, followed by her gun. "In accordance to the Inquisitorial Appendix of 1692, I need to be able to carry both the gun and this sword while working as a church volunteer at Black Lake Chapel."

The detective crumpled into a chair behind her desk and woke up her computer. "Slow down, slow down. Let's get your personal data first. Name?"

"Laura Stürmer."

"Birthday?"

"March 15th, 2001. The Ides of March," Laura said, grinning weakly.

"Are you a Massachusetts citizen?"

"No. I'm German. But I do have a working visa." She pulled her wallet from her back pocket and flipped it open. "I also have all required paperwork in order."

"Let me see that," Detective Goldbaum said, leaning across the desk. She took it and inspected the stack of cards and certificates tucked into it. "A European Firearms Pass, alongside French and German gun ownership papers?" She rolled her eyes. "You're the third in two weeks flashing these 'Briou Academy' training certificates at me. I've called the captain and he called the higher-ups in the State Office and they told me I have to accept these as legit." She exhaled slowly. "This Order of Martinius of yours has to be some damn special sect within the church, to be allowed this much special treatment," she complained. "What is it you do exactly?"

"You asked me the same question and didn't like the answer," Doug said, grinning.

"Can you blame me? Maybe this time there will be less madness and something a bit more sensible." Kelly attacked her keyboard and filled out some electronic form, her otherwise cute face distorted into a sour mask of displeasure.

"The Order protects humanity from the darkness and what lurks within," Laura said with conviction. "We fight what most can't even imagine."

Kelly shook her head. "Still the same gibberish." She flipped Laura's wallet shut and handed it back. "I'll tell you what I told your co-workers: You will get your licenses in accordance to that blasted Appendix but if I catch you knee-deep in the blood of the citizens I'm sworn to protect, I'll bring down the full force of the law and then some, are we clear?"

"Totally."

Kelly hit the Enter key on her computer as if she had a very special grudge to settle with it then she produced a digital camera. "Give me your best smile," she grumbled. Laura decided that professionalism was the better approach here and offered a neutral, stern expression as Kelly took the shot. The detective worked her mouse and a moment later, a printer under her desk fired up. She fed the slip of paper into a laminating machine.

"Where I come from, most police officers are quite happy to have an Order member around once... mysterious deaths occur," Laura said, trying to fill the tense silence. "Don't tell me this place only has the usual muggings, armed robberies and marital disputes."

"Don't try to be clever," the detective growled. "I'm not at liberty to discuss ongoing cases with you. Unless you magic some official paperwork into existence requiring my cooperation, your license is all you will get from me." She pulled the finished license from the machine and handed the still warm plastic sheath to Laura. "And now you have to excuse me, I should have been at a crime scene ten minutes ago."

* * * *

"I've seen dragons with less temper than her," Laura said, stuffing her weapons license into her wallet. "And I can't believe she hasn't seen one supernatural corpse yet -- especially given this place's reputation."

"Cut her some slack. It takes some time for the truly stubborn to see the world as it really is. On the flip side, she probably won't lose her shit the moment she sees the truly weird and mysterious." He waited until Laura had claimed her seat then slid onto the saddle. "Now, where do you want to go?"

"Show me some sights. And then I'd like to replenish my snack supply. Maria mentioned there's a GobCo in town."

"Roger that," Doug said, firing up the Harley again. "Sights and snacks. I can do that." He turned onto Howard Road. "My gut says you'd want to look into mysterious deaths in the area." He slowed down and pointed to the right. "That's the Greenbury Examiner building. Has a fantastic library going back to the town's founding in 1762. For all the dirty headlines. That's the place to go."

"Might come in useful. Is it the only library in town?"

Doug accelerated the bike. "Are you kidding? There's two more I know about -- one's the Municipal library and the other one belongs to Kelly Goldbaum's grandma. Also, there are way too many dusty curio shops and small galleries for a town this size. Speaking of which, there's one." Doug pointed to the left.

Laura's gaze followed his gloved finger. As they cruised past "Winter's Gallery," she saw a picture of a woman in the window. She was naked from the waist up, her purple evening gown and coppery tresses pooled around her atop a white grand piano. She looked frighteningly life-like, about to sit up and gather her garb around her flushed chest. The onlookers around her were drawn with mixed expressions, some openly ogled her, others were utterly disgusted by the lewd display.

Laura shook her head. "That was... weird," she muttered. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the woman moved."

"The shop's owner asked Maria to see if the picture was haunted," Doug said. "Her tests came back inconclusive. The only thing we know for sure is that it's a genuine Redburn."

"Never heard about him," Laura admitted. "I kinda zoned out when it came to art education. What's that, to the right?"

"That's the Basement Club, the only thing which passes for a nightclub in these parts. Only opens on the weekends and only hosts goth nights. Rumors say some vampire noble from Boston runs this joint, to supplement his blood quota."

"Any plans to shut down the operation?"

"Not yet. Once we've settled in for real, we might poke around. Do you have anything black to wear?"

Laura laughed softly. "Only my tactical cat suit for night ops. You won't catch me donning a flimsy black dress anytime soon."

"A shame. I bet it would look kinda fetching on you. Wait... you have a cat suit?"

"Yup. It's right next to my chain mail bikini," Laura said, grinning wickedly.

Doug chuckled and turned a corner. The orange-and-green shop branding of GobCo, complete with a grinning floppy-eared mascot, was hard to miss. It seemed to shine brighter than the other shops along the same road -- those which hadn't been locked up behind rusted shutters or rotting plywood. Doug stopped in front of the main entrance and sniffed. "Ugh, something reeks." He got off the bike.

Laura followed suit. "Maybe something in the sewers. I hope we don't plan to go down there anytime soon. It would take months to wash the stench away."

"Unless we have good cause, I'm pretty sure Jenna won't send us into the shit and piss and whatever might lurk down there." He made a warding gesture against his chest. With renewed purpose, Doug walked towards the shop and the doors hissed open.

Inside, soft music played. Save for a few kids hogging the Playstation demo kiosk and two employees in their red uniforms, the large shop was deserted. Big monitors in the back advertised several name-brand products, from shampoo to junk food to telecom services.

A female goblin with a long, inky-black ponytail intercepted Doug and Laura. "Hey, welcome to GobCo. I'm Jessie. Can I help you?" She offered a wide grin.

Laura picked a green basket. "Thank you. We know our way around."

"Okie dokie. Just holler if you need anything."

Doug sniffed. "Say, do you have a problem with your plumbing?"

Jessie turned an alarmed shade of light green. "No, why?"

"It... smells rather ripe in here," the half-orc murmured so only Jessie and Laura could hear him.

"Funny you'd say that. I don't smell anything," Jessie sputtered. "But I'm going to double-check the restrooms. Mr. Gobson will have my head if I missed something." She dashed off.

"I don't smell anything either," Laura said, inhaling.

"Curse my sharpened senses," Doug said. "I mean, I can smell if any of you girls is aroused from ten feet away."

"That's... kinda personal," Laura stammered, blushing.

"Relax. I won't tell anyone that riding my bike got you all hot and bothered. You're by no means the first girl to feel that way," Doug said. He walked up an aisle, checking the cheap digital cameras and navigation systems on display.

Laura took another aisle and picked a smattering of her favorite snacks off the shelves. "I didn't know they made regional stuff," she said. "All we had in Briou was paprika and ready salted flavor crisps. I've got to try the Nacho Goblins!"

She stopped in mid-stride. "I think I caught a whiff too."

"Let's check in with the manager, ask him how his dumpsters are doing," Doug said, serious all of a sudden. "This way." He pointed to a small dispensary in the rear of the shop.

A door opened and an older goblin stepped out, bald save for two lush gray tufts behind his frayed ears. "Mr. Martin! I was just about to call the chapel. I think... I think there are men outside wanting to kill me. Or all of us!" He sounded close to a panic, his voice high and reedy.

"Mr. Gobson. Calm down please," Doug said.

The half orc touched his holy symbol. A barely perceptible golden sheen emanated from it, washing over the shop owner and Laura.

She suddenly felt much more relaxed. My hand itches for my blade though and my gut is seldom wrong, she thought.

"What makes you think you're in danger?" Doug asked. The goblin shot Laura a concerned look. "Oh, she's with me," the paladin said, placing a huge paw on her shoulder. "Laura, meet Hank Gobson. Mr. Gobson, our newest recruit, Laura Stürmer."

"Hi there," Laura said. "What's got you so spooked?"

"There are a lot of weird people in the back alley. Come, have a look." He flipped up a part of the counter and waved them through. Doug and Laura followed him into a back office where two rows of monitors showed images from the shop's interior and exterior. Laura immediately spotted the one showing the back alley -- the dozen or so seedy people were hard to miss. Many of them carried bags, there were two trolleys which had seen better days and many carried some manner of improvised weapons, mostly clubs, but Laura also spotted some tools like crowbars or shovels. A handful of bums argued over bits and pieces they had yanked from the dumpsters. Their stances and facial expressions suggested that arguments would soon give way to violence.

The memory of the previous day's drive through downtown stirred. Men digging through a dumpster in broad daylight and roasting some of their findings right on the spot.

The smell was much stronger now. Laura sniffed. It seemed to come from the small hallway connecting the office to the rear exit.

"This looks like a lot of trouble," she shivered. "Maybe we should give the cops a call, to break up this gathering."

"I've already tried," Mr. Gobson said. "Their reply was 'unless they break some laws, we're unable to help.'" The goblin looked none too happy. "And when I told them to scram, they threatened me!"

"What did they say?" Laura asked.

"'Just you wait, we'll come and have a nibble on your green ass,'" the goblin quoted. "That was the point where I locked the back door and was about to call for your help."

"I think we should have a talk to these fine people out there," Doug said. "After we get our gear." He flashed a reassuring grin. "We'll take care of your hobo problem, Mr. Gobson. Let's go, Laura."

"Talk first, slash later?"

"Mother Mercy has few tenets for me to follow. 'Don't start fights' and 'protect others from harm' are applicable here," Doug said, briskly walking back to the entrance. "I can't of course force you to do anything, but-"

"No problem. I know how to de-escalate. 'Let violence be your final option' and all that. Doesn't hurt to be prepared though," she said, heading for the bike. She pulled open the saddlebag and claimed her sword.

"Just so you know, the whole situation stinks to the high heavens and I don't mean that figuratively. You know what that means, don'tcha?" Doug fastened his shield to his left arm then drew a short, wide sword.

"Off the top of my head, I know at least three monsters with a nasty stench. Sewer Horrors, ghouls and-..." She stopped herself. "Please be wrong, Doug."

"It's high noon and I didn't see any tentacles jutting from nearby manholes," Doug growled, dropping his biker helmet on the saddle and touching the collar around his neck. "Cuidame!" he growled. The collar sprouted metal plates which rippled into existence around his body and head, encasing the half-orc in a finely crafted suit of plated armor. Laura followed his example and activated her armor as well. Encased in protective metal, they turned the corner and headed for the back alley.

Only a handful of cars passed them by as they jogged past GobCo. No one seemed to bat an eye at the two armored figures.

"Please no," Laura muttered, crossing herself. "You know what the stench means, right?"

"I could be wrong and it still might be an issue with Gobson's plumbing." He stopped near the mouth of the back alley. A breeze kicked up, blowing dust their way. With it came a stench so horrible, Laura nearly tripped over her own feet. It was like bad halitosis mixed with grave rot, seasoned with an extra helping of sewage for good measure. Doug coughed next to her. "Nope," the half-orc paladin growled, loud enough to draw everyone's attention. "This sure stinks like a herd of roach thralls."

In an eerily synchronized manner, heads turned and eyes narrowed. Even those brawling over the trash stopped their squabbling, picking up tools and weapons.

"And we didn't bring any blunt weapons." Laura gasped, trying to breathe in as little as possible. "Are we still trying to parley?"

An almost seven-foot half-orc, armor-plated, casually hefting a large shield and sword accompanied by a slender woman encased in scale armor, nervously fingering the hilt of her own blade sent the wrong message. They barely made it into the mouth of the alley before the first rock came flying. Doug raised his shield, deflecting it with practiced ease. The rock was followed by other projectiles which squelched wetly as they impacted the hardened steel. Laura hoped they were just rotting fruit.

Still, the half-orc refused to raise his weapon. "What's the reason for this gathering?" he boomed over the escalating staccato of projectiles aiming for a gap in his defense.

"We need to feed," someone croaked. "This place has the best trash! We feed here!"

"Feed! Feed!" came a chorus of barely human shrieks. The stench was almost unbearable now, a sickening aura emanating from the people in the alley.

A particularly well-thrown rock skipped over the lip of Doug's shield and hit his helmet, pinging off to the side. He shook his head. "This is my last warning. Disperse please." His tone belied the polite choice of words.

One particularly burly man stepped forward, casually hefting a lump of concrete on an iron rod. "I have better idea," he said in broken English. "How about we kill you and eat what's left?" Without waiting for an answer, he charged Laura, swinging his bludgeon at head height. Doug intercepted him. The hulk casually swatted at him with the concrete mallet, the impact on Doug's shield nearly took him off his feet as the stinking hulk charged past.

Laura was ready for him, sword in hand. She nimbly stepped to the side and followed up with a low slice to the back of his knees. Her blade bounced off something hard and unyielding instead of slicing his tendons and felling him. The others came pouring out of the alley as well, a hissing, yelling tide of rags and improvised murder weapons.

"Meat! Meeeeeeat!" they shrieked.

The hulk had stopped his charge and turned to face Laura, a sick, leering grin on his shaggy-bearded face. "Big knife not good," he slurred.

"Alright, we tried to be civil," Doug muttered. "But enough is enough. In the name of Mercy, I banish thee!" His sword flared up as if the blade was made of lit magnesium. The mob recoiled from the glaring light -- but only for a moment. Three, four bums launched themselves at Doug, reaching for his shield or his weapon. He countered with quick, precise stabs past his shield. Laura heard strange, ticking sounds as the wide tip met some unseen resistance. The enchantment did work though and the wounds burned as if treated with white phosphorous. The attackers stumbled back, their shrieks inhuman utterances of pain as they swatted at their scorching wounds.

Laura dodged another pass of the bludgeon-swinging brute, this time going for his hands. Instead of dodging, he blocked her attack with his forearm. Her blade cut deep near the wrist before glancing along some hard substance and exiting near the elbow, taking most of the sleeve and flesh underneath with it. Instead of a shower of blood and a scream of pain, the hulking brute only snorted and shook out his arm. The rest of the skin peeled away like a badly fitted sleeve, leaving a ridged, green-and-brownish limb topped by a two-pincered claw.

Around them, the creatures who had been touched by Doug's blade were ripping at their wounds, enlarging them. Everywhere she looked, she saw insectoid features appear -- mandibles, carapace plates, extra claws. The noises were ear-shattering, bereft of any kind of humanity. Along with the shrieks, there were sickening, wet tearing noises.

"I'll never leave home without a warhammer again," Laura snapped, going for her opponent's eyes. The massive brute blocked her stab with his chitin-covered forearm, harmlessly diverting the blade.

"Good point," Doug barked, ramming his shield under an attacker's jaw. There was the horrible crunch of pulverized chitin and a shrill, pained shriek. "I knew this town had problems but why roach thralls?"

"When there's trash, there's roach thralls," Laura quoted a passage from the Order's Monster Manual. "And unless we're culling them right here, right now, they will keep on breeding until The Walking Dead is a funny little fairy tale in comparison!" She evaded another lunge from her opponent by the skin of her teeth. "Fuck it," she snarled, pulling her gun with the left hand. The towering roach thrall stopped dead in its tracks as she pointed her glinting weapon at it. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger. The bullet went right between his eyes and exited his skull cavity in a shower of greenish-brown chitin fragments, brain matter and sickly yellowish ichor.