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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 14, 2018 19:08:55 GMT -5
Then Winslow shifted through some papers and continued, trying to find something positive in all this. "Well... to be honest sir, we didn't find one arm sir... we found several, scattered over the house" Winslow began.
"Then why aren't they in this report?" Gent asked.
"Well... we found 10 others, but... but the writing on them was extremely vulgar" Winslow began.
"It couldn't have been THAT bad" Gent said.
"actually..." Winslow said as he showed them the paper with the sentences.
"Good lord! What a foul tongue!" Gent said in disgust.
"There is some good news though" Winslow pointed out.
"Yes?" Gent asked.
"All 11 arms matched 11 of the victims, meaning only only 4 are missing now" Winslow pointed out.
"Anything else?"
"Indeed- it proves Blaze is a nutcase. What rational minded person would purchase a run-down property just to stash a dozen dismembered arms, failing to consider the smell of death that would result"
"That's... actually a very perceptive observation" Gent concurred.
"Oh; and the guy was clueless; we found fingerprints and shoe prints. We just didn't find anything meaningful that gives us a lead" Winslow explained
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 14, 2018 19:31:24 GMT -5
Elsewhere...
"Eleven arms, you say?"
"Aye," said the bum. "Eleven arms they found in that building, all belonging to someone named Blaze or something. Coppers are real worried now."
"I see," said The Man. "Thank you for the info," and he gave the bum a guinea.
"Interesting," he thought. "This Blaze is a smart piece of work. Stashing most of the arms there as a bluff so the police would find it... knowing them, they probably think that the Blaze character made a mistake. I doubt that, I doubt it very much. England is dealing with a far superior criminal than most of the scum we've see so far - and I aim to find them."
............
Walton was still dead on leads as far as the J.J.E. case went. He sighed, wondering where The Man was and why he hadn't struck in a while.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 14, 2018 21:16:48 GMT -5
Indeed, it had been nearly two months at this point... J.J.E. did not strike once during the debacle involving Blaze. Granted, this fit perfectly with the M.O.; J.J.E. was almost never random or spontaneous; Colver was an exception after all. But the period was usually 3-5 weeks; not months. Granted, a couple theories were being tossed around. Some proposed he died at the hands of a target, others that he had given up.
Walton wasn't so sure though; J.J.E. wasn't the kind of person who would give up so easily, it seemed. He was out there, definitely, but where? Several minutes of musing was interrupted by his phone ringing.
"Hello? Oh, Bertie, how goes it?" Walton said, recognizing the voice of one of his many informants.
"Hey Walton, so you know that house of arms that was raided earlier? Well, I was just sticking around seeing what was going on, when this guy came up to me and asked about the house. I never say no to a guinea and I told him about it. I couldn't quite place it, but based on his clothes and his eyes... he seemed to resemble J.J.E." Bertie explained.
"You sure?" Walton asked, confused.
"Aye; something seemed off about his face though. Couldn't place it though. It wasn't like he shaved or had a haircut... he literally had a different face shape" Bertie continued.
"Different face shape? What are you talking about?"
"Don't know... something about him seemed off from the papers; almost like he made himself a new face" Bertie pointed out.
"Now you're just talking nonsense, how can you change a fa..." Walton looked up and saw that one of his fellow detectives was reading Frankenstein... that was when it hit him.
He began thinking about a movie he saw when he was younger... the movie adaption of Frankenstein, with Boris Karloff. He thought how impressive it was that they made Karloff look so... different from his usual self. And the effects on his face were accomplished by very practical means...
"Hold on, I gotta go" Walton said as he hung up the phone. He slammed his fist against the table in frustration. "That son of a b****! No wonder we can't find him! He hides in plain sight!" He declared.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 14, 2018 21:55:09 GMT -5
Meanwhile, The Man had done some investigating around the house. There were no officers there so he had free range, pretty much. While there, he found a clue that the police overlooked - a single feather.
"This looks like it came from that rare peacock they have at the Hammerhill Zoo," he thought. He decided to go investigate. Under cover of the night, he strolled along the alleyways of Hammerhill. Disgusting stench, plenty of people rotting away with every breath. Suddenly one of them reached out and touched him. "Penny for your troubles?"
Before The Man could say another word, everything went black.
.......
Meanwhile...
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 14, 2018 23:00:12 GMT -5
Walton had turned his attention away from J.J.E.; since he wasn't doing anything he wasn't a threat for the time being. Walton began looking over some past cases, musing on the work he had done over the past couple years alone.
"Blade's operations... the Irish mob... been one heck of a ride" he mused. Compared to what he had been through, J.J.E. was not nearly as great a threat or as dangerous as the big bads of this "generation" as Gent put it, but he could not help but feel frustrated; did J.J.E. not realize the hypocrisy of his actions? Killing criminals made him no better than the ones he hunted. Besides, if he wasn't striking, then he wasn't worth focusing on for now. Therefore, Walton decided to do what he did best... detective work. Going to the phones, he began contacting his network of informants, and spent the next hour getting a steady stream of intelligence to give to his fellow officers. If any criminals had plans that night... they had another thing coming.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 14, 2018 23:27:22 GMT -5
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the famous J.J.E...."
The Man opened his eyes upon hearing the voice. He was in a dark room, with no light, no windows, no nothing. Nothing except him and an unknown figure of the dark. His head smarted. He looked up. Suddenly a light clicked on. Small. Not much power. But it was enough for the moment.
"Who's there?" asked The Man. He heard feet clatter, as someone entered the room. He looked up.
Before him stood a short young woman with fiery red hair. She had her back turned to The Man. "Blaze, I presume?"
Blaze turned and looked at the man, a smile plastered on her face. The Man recoiled. Where her left eye should be was nothing but a black hole.
"We meet at last, J.J.E.," said Blaze. "A long time coming, I should say."
"Most certainly," said The Man. "You've been most clever. I'm a fool to have gone to Hammerhill when my guard should have been highest."
"Yes, I knew you'd be snooping around the house sooner or later... taking down a criminal of my caliber would be too much of a draw for your moth to flame, wouldn't it?"
"You may be right. It certainly seems like it's been my undoing," said The Man, chuckling.
"Yes... Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Blaze, reaching out her hand. The Man grasped and shook it, before standing to his feet.
"So what's the plan then? Just kill me here?"
"Heaven's no!" laughed Blaze. "Kill you? Why, you'd be my biggest asset. You see, my dear sir, England simply isn't big enough for the two of us. Two killers in the public eye? Why, the rivalry would be enormous! No, I think it's time we team together in alliance."
"You must know that I don't agree with your method of killing," said The Man.
"Of course you don't, it's understandable, not many would," said Blaze. "But I don't care. I think we can be of great help to each other. Tag team, y'know?"
"Sounds interesting, but I still don't know what your method of operation is, what makes you tick, why you do what you do."
"And yours is so obvious, correct?" asked Blaze. "Judge, Jury, and Executioner - you purge the London underworld of its criminals to mop up our beloved city. Well the crime rates were certainly starting to go down until I hit the scene."
She paused. "I was a happy young girl once. Carefree. Shit like that, y'know? Life seemed so simple... and then I was beaten, downtrodden, and cast aside to die by the true scourge of our society... men. Oh not all men, certainly. You for instance. Great admirer of your brains. And Blade, too," she said, pulling out an old newspaper. "Never forget the feeling of hearing the arms washing up on shore. That's what the bodies without arms was a reference to, y'know? Just kinda inverted it."
The Man shifted his legs. Blaze continued. "But besides an elect few, men have always been the root problem of our society. I don't need to kill them all, but I will scare the living shit out of them one by one as more and more bodies pile up on the beach and more and more males die like fly. I will rape them all mentally until they're too scared to walk down the streets alone and unarmed. I will fuck them all until they are weaker than they ever expected they could be. And then I will have had my revenge."
The Man was smiling. "An interesting story. Yes, I will happily align myself with you for the time being. I have but one final question - police found eleven arms in the house; what happened to the other four?"
"Oh," said Blaze, "I ate them. The bones may still be here somewhere."
The Man stretched out his hand and the pair shook hard.
..............
Walton and Winslow were ripping out hairs as Blaze victims continued to fall by the dozen and J.J.E. began to strike again.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 15, 2018 0:01:22 GMT -5
At least, Winslow was anyway... Walton maintained his composure because during his time in the SAS in the war, he saw things that made this look like Child's play; the brief period where his mission took him to Bergen-Belsen was one of the few stories he could not bring himself to talk about. At any rate, Blaze needed to be stopped before it was too late.
"It doesn't make any sense... the bodies always end up on the same exact stretch of beach, so why hasn't he been caught yet" Walton pointed out.
"The killing pattern is too erratic; the 12 new victims were killed very inconsistently over the last 3 weeks. It's hard to catch them when the behavior is hard to pin down" Winslow pointed out.
"Well, this has gone on long enough; here's what we are going to do..." Walton said as he began laying out a plan.
......
J.J.E. had just finished the scouting of his next target for the day when he looked into a nearby house and saw the occupant. He scanned the face and grinned. No time for scouting... for a scoundrel like this, he'd risk going right at it. The occupant was reading a book in his chair when he heard his door get forced open. The next thing he knew someone was looking over him.
"Fredrick Quincy... retired contractor for assassinations, I presume?" J.J.E. asked as he stood.
"What do you want? What are you doing in my house?!" He asked.
"You may not have killed anyone yourself, but much blood is on your hands for enabling others to take life. For that, you must suffer" J.J.E. said as he began to walk towards Quincy.
"Leave me alone!" the older man shouted as he clutched the arms of his chair.
"I think not... you will suffer gravely for your sins" JJE declared.
"That, "m'lud", is out of the question" a voice said as J.J.E. suddenly peeked over to the door, where a well dressed man just walked in.
"Who the heck are you?" J.J.E. asked
"Pick your next move very carefully, my friend; I'm not one to be trifled with" he said as he entered the room.
"I said who are you" J.J.E asked more forcefully.
"Now now, I'm just here on business. My employer has a business proposition for Mr Quincy here, and he would rather have him alive and unharmed" the gentleman explained.
"Who...are...you?" J.J.E. asked again, growing impatient at this man's interference.
"No one you need to worry about... for now. However, know this- I know who you are, and so does my employer. Lord Bury had taken notice of your little spree and has a warning for you: do not interfere with his operation, or his associates. Should even one of our own be harmed by you... be warned that when the hydra loses a head, two more take its place" he said with an intensity J.J.E. never felt before.
"I should kill you right now" J.J.E. said as he reached into his jacket. But in a flash the assassin had already partially restrained him.
"I'd like to see you try"
......
Hours later, coming to his new home base, J.J.E. opened his door, staggered in a few steps, and was able to turn on a light. He was a total mess... battered, bruised and utterly beaten, the assassin was beyond his league. "I could not even leave a mark on him... who was that man?" He asked himself before falling to the ground and fainting.
When he finally came to, he looked over to the clock... it was nearly afternoon... of the next day.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 15, 2018 0:16:46 GMT -5
"What was all that about...?" He met up with Blaze later to discuss it with her. "I don't like it," she said, "but there's nothing we can do at this point in time. Just stay away from the Rippers for now, would you? Maybe we'll get another chance soon. In the meantime, I'm sending in a letter to the paper." "I see," said The Man. "Wait... the paper?!" .......... "TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: The bodies on the beach are just the beginning. Watch society crumble as little Jack is out for his money. No time like the present. I'll be here long after your rotting corpses send in their exit ticket. Welcome to hell. Enjoy it.
~Blaze" Needless to say, the police were flipping over themselves when they read it.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 15, 2018 2:00:32 GMT -5
The less experienced members, at least. The more experienced members were left to calm them down. After meeting with other top officials of Scotland Yard, Gent declared that to flush out Blaze, they needed to essentially "cut them off"
It only took a couple days for Blaze to figure out that it had become much harder to operate. The beaches where she dumped the bodies were now patrolled at night, and Scotland Yard ran ads in the papers and the radio encouraging people, for the time being, to stay home after night fall and travel in groups if night travel was unavoidable.
Blaze, who could only prey on single victims for obvious reasons, found no eligible targets. And breaking into homes was out of the question, since so many of the men she despised were also former soldiers of the war who still had their weapons...
Needless to say, the police had taken their first effective steps at stopping her.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 15, 2018 2:22:56 GMT -5
That being said, the rest of the country was starting to sweat. Reports of Blaze's monstrousness were posted and reposted in the country's papers, and the fact that all of the victims were male had caught on fast.
"So if you're a man out alone tonight, best be on your guard!"
Such was life now. Many men were terrified of stepping foot outside their rooms. Some, however, had a bit too much bravado as was good for them.
"Do you think it's safe to walk around here?" one man said to his friend on a dark night as they were walking home through the alley.
"Yeah," his friend replied. "Why shouldn't it be? The Blaze fuck ain't nothin' but a showoff. Heh."
"That's what you thought," said a voice. A woman burst from the shadows and whipped out a pair of spikes. "Let's see how much this showing off feels like embedded in your gut." And Blaze punctured them right in the stomach and neck until they were dead. Dragging the bodies over to a car, she threw them in and drove off into the distance, but not after severing an arm each.
................
Winslow was already feeling the affects of a migraine before he got the call, but it only worsened as the day went on. He drove to the scene. "You say that they're what now?" he asked the officer.
"See for yourself," the man replied. "Hanging from their remaining arms from the bells themselves," he said. "Vicar was most distressed this morning."
"I see," Winslow said thoughtfully.
"We've also found a car, crashed in a ditch, which has blood all over it. It's registered to a Mr. Harold R. Hodgeson, and has prints corresponding with its owner."
"Do you think he could be Blaze, sir?" asked another officer.
"Something to consider," said Walton slowly, before heading inside to speak to the vicar.
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 15, 2018 2:48:34 GMT -5
But of course, the police weren’t idiots, and it didn’t take much to tell that it was Blaze’s work. “This is getting out of hand; next thing you know they’ll have to declare curfew” Walton quipped.
But Walton didn’t realize how much weight his words carried. Indeed, realizing that that Blaze needed to be stopped, all police departments were forced to issue curfew; no one was allowed outside after nightfall besides uniformed officers and “essential municipal staff” ... who were protected by armed officials.
Blaze found it impossible to do any meaningful work on her mission. Almost no one was in the streets at night anymore, and attacking a police officer was out of the question. The few times she thought she had targets... she had to quickly run away after they started shooting at her.
Needless to say, her little rampage had grinded to a halt with everyone safe at home, armed, or both.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 15, 2018 23:18:24 GMT -5
But meanwhile, she decided it was time to devise some new ideas - putting her name to good use. If individuals were to be off-limits, maybe it was time to literally set all of London ablaze.
The Man, meanwhile, was busy in his own line of work. He had set his eyes upon a priest named Michael Walts, who had been accused of the rape of a minor, but had been rescued thanks to the church's influence. The Man looked upon him as scum, but he didn't want him killed - just given his just deserts.
He made his way towards Lincoln Cathedral in London where Walts was occupied. He looked up at the impressive structure. It towered high into the sky. People walked in and out of it during the day, but right now there was a lull in 'business' and just the right time for the Judge, Jury, and Executioner to begin his work.
The Man knew that there were many other priests in the building, but it was a risk worth taking, he thought. Walking into the building, he looked down the corridors to try to figure where Walts might be. As luck would have it, he saw the man himself coming out of a room at that very moment. He was leading a young boy, around six years of age, by the hand.
"Hallo, Father," said The Man. "I wish to speak with you."
"Not now, my good sir," said the man of God. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy. Young Jimmy and I are going for a stroll. I wish to show him the sights of the cathedral spires today. But I'm sure someone else may help you." Priest and child walked away.
The Man sensed something was up. "If I didn't know better..."
But there was no use in alarming suspicions. The Man knew where they were going - to the top of the cathedral. There would be no easy witnesses there, would there? No one to see what Walts was up to. No one except The Man, that is, and he would have to get there first.
He watched as the pair disappeared from sight around a bend, and then he went to find the stairs. He ran as quickly as possible... he only hoped that he was going the right way.
Meanwhile, Walts and Jimmy had finished the stroll along the bottom floor. "Come now, my child," said the priest. "Follow me to the top of the cathedral. There are many sights to behold up, high in the sky. You can reach the face of God himself..."
"But Father," said the boy, "I'm rather scared."
"Nonsense," soothed Walts. "I'm right here. Trust me... you're safe with me..."
As they continued to climb, they made their way further and further from ground... further from safety... further from the arms of a friendly neighbor. The spires loomed above.
Far below the spires was a young woman with fiery red hair who no one knew was here...
"There we are," said Walts. "See? We've reached the top."
The wind nipped at young Jimmy. His heart was beating faster. "Afraid, are you?" asked the priest. "Well, well, lad, come inside this door right here..."
The boy went inside. The priest gave a quick glance around. No one. It was secure. He shut the door upon them both and locked it. It was pitch-black. Walts clicked on a light switch. The room was barely illuminated by the dim bulb, but it was enough for Jimmy to see that something was awry. Before he had time to scream, the priest had tied his hands together and put a bib round his mouth. Then he tied the child to a pole near the wall and began taking off his clothes.
"Now then, Jimmy," said the priest, "we're going to be playing a little game..."
"That we will," said a voice.
The priest jumped and tripped over a cup he'd left lying there. He fell to the ground with an 'oof'. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"I am the savior of a society controlled by demons like you. I am the last resort for the salvation of the weak among us, preyed upon by the strong in you. I am the one true Judge, blemishless before God. I am the only Jury necessary to convict the damned. And I am the Executioner, who will see to it that His divine judgement are bestowed upon those who are found guilty in the eyes of the Lord. Mr. Michael Walts - you have been found guilty of your sins. May God have mercy upon your soul."
So saying, he drove his fist deep into the stomach of the rotten priest.
"Damn you..." squeeked the man of God as blood shot from his mouth.
The Man untied Jimmy. "Run along, lad," he said, "and never return here again."
Jimmy didn't need to think twice. He bolted quickly and raced down the stairs, trying to find some help.
"Now then," said The Man, clapping his hands for show, "I don't think your life will be necessary for reaping tonight, my dear sir, but I will..." he stopped. Walts was no longer on the floor. That was exactly the moment The Man felt the wood connect with his skull.
"GODDAMN YOUR SOUL!" screamed the defiled priest. "I will make you pay for this!"
The Man reeled. He managed to catch himself enough to dodge the further blow the priest tried to rain upon him. "Stand still you fucking menace!!" screamed the church official.
"I didn't want this to be difficult," The Man said, rolling up his sleeves, "but you leave me with no choice."
And he gave a succinct kick to the crotch. The priest collapsed, grasping for air.
"Give up while you still can," said The Man.
"Fuck you!" screamed Walts, and he grasped for the door handle. It swung up. Cold air rushed into the room, taking away The Man's lungs for a moment. By the time he regained control, the priest had already bolted for the stairs.
"No!" yelled The Man. He ran out quickly. Walts had just started to descend when he was suddenly jerked upright by the collar. The Man was really using all his strength. "Get back here, you worm!" he shouted. "You don't deserve life! All you do is take it from innocent babes!"
"Fuck you!" the priests screamed. "You can't do a goddamn thing to stop me!"
The Man was caught off guard by the pole the priest still had in his hand. It got him right in the ribs. He tumbled over from the blow.
"You wanna fuck with me?" Walts shouted. "I'll teach you to fucking fuck with me!"
He slammed the pole into The Man again, but the latter got the upper hand with another succinct knee to the crotch. Walts reeled, and the two battered and bruised men were left together trying to hold their own might.
Suddenly there was a loud booming noise. Suddenly the building shook. The Man was caught off guard. "What the devil-"
It was Blaze. "This city will burn, piece by fucking piece!" she shrieked. She had run a bunch of gunpowder through the stairwell and poured gasoline on top of it. The gas lead through the front door, where she could ignite it. She struck a match. "Time to begin, London!"
The Man and the priest didn't know this, but it was enough for Walts to grab The Man by the neck and attempt to throw him off the cathedral. "Burn in hell, scum!" he insane leader cried.
But The Man regained sense enough to drag Walts along with him. They were perched on a ledge now. There was enough room to walk, but one false step would mean death. "Damn fool!" said the priest. He began to climb back up to the balcony.
"Don't you dare!" shouted The Man, and he grasped Walts by the leg.
"Let go of me!" screamed the priest. He kicked at The Man, but his grip was too strong. He grabbed the pole from out of his pocket. "And he shall cast away the sinner and plunge him into the fiery pit!" he cried, and swung at The Man's forehead.
He didn't miss.
The Man lost his grip on the ledge, and as feet slipped away, his hands kept a firm grasp on the priest, who had one hand holding on since he'd just used the other to swing at The Man. With this weakened, his one hand came off.
"No!" he screamed as he plunged head over heels to land on the stones below - dead before God and man, blood streaking across the square.
The Man shut his eyes. The end was nigh... and then silence. He'd landed, right in a hay bale of all things. A farmer was just leading his ass by and The Man had connected at the perfect moment at the perfect time. A crowd was beginning to gather, alerted by the smoke pouring out of the cathedral, so The Man lowered himself quickly and slipped away. His job was done.
He met up with Blaze later. She gave him a newspaper. "Look at this!" she said gleefully. He picked it up.
"PRIEST FOUND DEAD AS GAS AND GUNPOWDER TEAR UP THE CATHEDRAL!" read the headline.
"No one was seriously injured outside of your man," said Blaze, "but it's still badass, y'know?"
"Good god!" said The Man. "You were there?"
"'Course I was. Didn't expect to see you there, but y'know how things are."
The infamous J.J.E. decided he needed to lie down...
...................
Walton and Winslow had found there cherry-on-top.
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Post by Tug on Oct 16, 2018 0:22:24 GMT -5
Though not much evidence remained after the fire, the farmer, a man named Edwin Wallace, who had "saved" the Man's life had actually gotten a photo of the man in the ensuing chaos. "So how did you come across this picture then sir?" questioned Winslow "I was doing a favor for the reverend who was looking to sample some of my hay for the upcoming Halloween season, and since it's such a nice building and photography's a hobby of mine, I was taking photos of it when lo and behold, a man fell into my very hay cart. When he slipped out of the cart I was able to take a good one of his face, by accident really. I also got a nice one of the cathedral burning, all the papers love it and with the money from it I think i'll be set for the next few harvests..." answered Edwin "Thank you giving this picture to the right authorities, we'll use it to make sure that it's used to get that monster off these streets..." thanked Walton Karma had a struck the man once more, for though he survived an improbable fall, fate had made it harder for even his makeup skills to had his features, since his piercing gaze couldn't be hidden like it had been previously through rough sketches... ..... A boisterous man sat at a bar, larger than most patrons, he slammed his fist into the bar top in anger after hearing the Welsh had beaten the English in a close match once again... "Bloody hell I lost 30,000 pounds this time! Dammit!" shouted the bulky man as he through his half liter boot into the shelf, shattering it inches from the barkeep... "Oi Burgess, you're scaring the customers... Plus you're wasting high quality booze... Barkeep, get him another, on me" said a man as he sat down next to the giant, dropping a size-able wad on the counter to cover the damages and drink "Greaves? Still the money grubber as always... So, what are you today, the boss' errand boy?" glared Burgess as he took a large gulp of his new boot, finishing half in one "sip"... "You could say that... It's just that certain someones are ignoring their proper place in this society, and it's interfering with our plans..." replied Greaves as he revealed a newspaper and dropped it in front of Burgess, the headline: "Hell Hath No Fury - Cathedral Burned, Minister Dead""I guess it's that J.J.E fellow Pierceson was sent after, correct?" asked Burgess
"For all that muscle you sure aren't stupid, what a surprise..." mocked Greaves as he lit a cigarette
"And with all that information locked behind your brain, you should know not to piss me off." growled Burgess as he boot began to crack with fury
"Yeah yeah... But seriously Lucas, the Boss has called a meeting with you Aiden, the ones behind this incident are acting like the saying, 'a big frog in a small pond', and he is putting together strategy to deal with them, much like Blade and O'Connor..." spoke Greaves
"Fine... Well, I'll need whatever he's gonna cough up for this job since those goddamn sheepfuckers keep raping my teams in my damn football league!" shouted Burgess as he topped his boot, then slammed it against the bar counter, smashing it to pieces...
.....
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 16, 2018 0:28:53 GMT -5
On the subject of make-up, The Man was growing quite concerned. His skin was rashing up harder than it had previously and it was become worrisome. Thus, he decided to see a doctor.
"Ah, Mr. Horace Wankerson," said the medic. "What seems to be the issue?"
"Well, sir," said The Man, "I'm a struggling young actor trying to make a living, and I often need make-ups to alter my appearance for productions. However, it's been eating away at my face and I don't know what to do."
"Ah, yes, very strange medical condition. Here, take this cream and rub it on your face once in the morning and once in the evening. If it doesn't help, see me again in two months."
"Thank you sir," said The Man, "I'll do so."
"Person seemed familiar," thought the doctor. "Now where did I..."
Meanwhile...
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 16, 2018 0:39:52 GMT -5
J.J.E. Had returned to his current home base. Going into his bathroom, he took off the makeup... “Dear God... I don’t even recognize myself” he thought to himself. The rash had left his skin so dry and red, it was almost impossible to tell who he was. Heck, at this point the make up was practically moot.
“That doctor better have been worth the trouble” he muttered as he rubbed some of the cream onto his face. Clearly, there weren’t any immediate results, so he shrugged it off and went to bed for the night.
......
Walton was just finishing up his day when he overheard Winslow assessing some of the cases involving Blaze.
“Yes sir... I can’t quite place it, but these long red hairs keep popping up at these scenes, and I have reason to believe they have something to do with who Blaze his” He was explaining
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 19, 2018 23:07:07 GMT -5
"That's very interesting," said Walton. "That seems to narrow down our search a bit. Let's see if we can run some tests on them."
The tests revealed nothing, but the two detectives decided that working on the case with a red-haired person as the identity of Blaze would help going forward. "Winslow," Walton said to the detective, "I'd like to join sides with you in the future of our investigations. Given that J.J.E. was seen in the very same cathedral that Blaze set ablaze, I think there may be a connection here."
"You mean the two are working together?" Winslow asked.
"It's a possibility. That's why I think it's best we team up to stop both in their tracks. I have an idea..."
Gent green-lit the idea, and that's how Scotland Yard's Tactical Armament Patrol came into being. Walton and Winslow led a group of 15 men, each armed with high caliber weapons and wearing a bulletproof vest designed by Walton himself, based on his experiences during the war. These men were given authority to do whatever they saw fit if it should lead to solving the case, and while in future this would end up becoming controversial as it gave them the right to break the law if "necessary", it was deemed fine at the time.
Thus the Tactical Armament Patrol hit the streets on the lookout for Blaze and J.J.E. But no one referred to them as the "Tactical Armament Patrol". From the very beginning of their service entry, this fear-imposing group was referred to as the Hell Patrol, a name which would stick for years to come. They were a force to be reckoned with, and their existence would help lead to Blaze's exit...
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Post by frankthetriviaman on Oct 19, 2018 23:30:53 GMT -5
Walton however, refusing to stop to the level of the nazis he despised during the war, made every member of the patrol swear the following:
1) under no circumstances was their power to be abused
2) they must still act within the confines of the law
3) despite being told that they could break the law if necessary, Walton refused to allow the Tactical Armament Patrol become the Gestapo; the weapons were only to be discharged “in the face of a clear, explicit danger to others” and “if you break the law on my watch, be sure as hell you’ll be held accountable”
Walton personally briefed the men in what the situation was and what could and couldn’t be used. All involved were competent, former military so additional training was not truly called for. Regardless, the team knew their mission and were determined to flush out the two once and for all.
......
JJE and Blaze found themselves backed into a corner; they could not compete with the experienced team Walton and Winslow lead, and due to curfew the streets were empty, leaving no where to hide. For the first time, the two were now on the defensive.
......
From his compound, Lord Bury looked out over the city, frustrated. Curfew was ruining his “business” and it was making him angry. No, not at the police... angry at the two killers who had been a thorn in his side long enough.
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Post by Tug on Oct 20, 2018 0:37:30 GMT -5
So, Bury being a man of action, had such called a meeting with some of his top lieutenants to deal with the situation...
"Lord Bury, Mr. Burgess and Mr. Pierceson are here as ordered sir" said a young woman who had walked into his office
"Alright then Miss Ashton please bring them in." replied Bury as a hulking fellow and darkly caped man approached the mastermind's desk...
"So Boss what is it this time then eh?" asked Burgess with a smirk as he began to crack his neck in anticipation
"I'm quite curious as well why you would need the two of us for the assignment I'm sure you want to give..." spoke Pierceson as he looked on hollowly
"As you know with the curfews and Hell Patrol, my business is grinding to a halt. Our expansion is being hampered at a time when I know a new age beckons, something which I can't stand for. If we aren't ready for this incoming 'new age' of crime, we will be crushed by our competition with that Sunspot, that Bonaparte wannabe, and the Arachnid. Since I can't risk the new recruits on this assignment, I've decided to let Pierceson handle it, and because I need Charlotte at the moment, Burgess was the only other suitable agent who could be used as backup for this assignment" answered Bury
"So who's the target this time boss, though I can already guess..." question Burgess
"The duo making rounds in the papers recently... That J.J.E. and Blaze duo... We already know roughly where they could go or be, you just have to stop them. I don't really care if you kill them, though that would put the spotlight on us which I don't want right now, so I'll settle with you driving them to the point where they're no longer causing me trouble, alright?" ordered Bury
"As ordered sir, so what say will be the method of payment then?" glanced Pierceson with his usual solemn look
"Payment, ah yes, the thing criminals love more than their lives... Pierceson, it's being transferred to the same account as always, and Burgess... Instead of the usual money I decided to pay off your gambling debts... Can't having you falling out from under my thumb them, correct?" replied Bury as he menacingly stared at Burgess
"Argh... Fine Boss, we'll go deal with the problem then..." huffed Burgess as the duo departed on their latest assignment...
As the office doors closed...
"Miss Ashton, please remind Greaves I would like that next update on J.J.E.'s history, because I do believe Scotland Yard is ready for once again another useful 'anonymous tip'..."
.....
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Post by Toz76 on Oct 20, 2018 22:40:00 GMT -5
A few nights after the cathedral fire, The Man, wearing a new face, met Blaze at a discreet dive in a disreputable coastal town. But Blaze didn't come alone.
"Who's your friend?" The Man asked, eyeing the tall, scrawny man next to Blaze.
"This is really exciting." Blaze said, already slurring her words from drink. "This man is Ethan Müller. THE Ethan Müller."
"I can't say I know that name..." The Man lied.
"This guy was one of Blade's most trusted lieutenants."
"Really? So you're one of the people responsible for enslaving and mutilating hundreds of people?"
"Now listen, they were criminals, and prison labor is completely legal. We just did what you two are doing, except we actually tried to build something rather than leaving a trail of blood."
"Hey now." Blaze interjected. "We don't need to get inta a debate about feckin', uh... ethics."
"How much have you had to drink?" The Man asked.
"Iss fine! Anyway, this guy has a job for us... from Blade! My perchonal hero!"
"Not Blade." Müller interjected. "Blade is busy with other things, so I've been working with the Spider's Web to make ends meet. Their leader has a mark that needs eliminating." The former Blade's Gang Lieutenant slid a sheet of paper to the Man, who took it."
"Erm, I cannot kill this man. He's done nothing wrong." The Man stuttered.
"Hasn't he? He killed his girlfriend and framed it as an accident."
"You have no proof."
"We haven't decided to show you the proof yet."
The Man sighed. "I can't kill this man because he supplies me with my makeup."
"You're not the only one he supplies. Ever wonder why the One-Eyed Man has never been seen? But we've learned the secret to creating this makeup. Eliminate the supplier, and the Spider's Web will be happy to supply you with all you need, in exchange for occasional other services rendered."
"So you want me to become another Spider's Web stooge? I'm not a bounty hunter. I only kill those who deserve it."
"Like it or not, Blaze has already agreed to the job." Müller replied.
"So you're trying to box me into a corner, I see?"
"You've got a lot of people interested in you, J.J.E. Be glad the One-Eyed Man reached out first, rather than, say, Scotland Yard."
"You're really going to trust this job to a drunken pyromaniac woman?"
"Never underestimate women, drunks, or pyromaniacs. We had all three in Blade's gang, and look how well we did."
And with that, Müller stood and left, leaving a stunned Man and giggling Blaze.
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Post by Biblically Accurate Angel on Oct 21, 2018 1:56:47 GMT -5
The Man turned to Blaze. "I will not be a part of that nonsense," he said.
"But," began Blaze, before he interrupted her.
"I only joined forces with you so I could best continue my work. I just want to clean up London for the better, eliminating the criminals who are a risk to public safety, and saving the innocents from their evil clutches. You were a wrench in my system, and-"
"Calm down," hiccupped Blaze nervously. "I'm not liking this new side of yours."
"Talk of not liking something?" snarled The Man. "Lemme sing it to you in song form."
"I don't understand-"
"Let me help you understand. London is a rotting world, falling apart via underground crime lords and solo criminals who are tearing it limb from limb. I've made a vow to annihilate anyone who is a public danger, and I'm not turning away from my ideals now."
"Neither are we," said a voice from out of nowhere.
The Man turned suddenly, losing his train of thought, shocked by the sheer suddenness of the voice.
"Being a little loud on this quiet night, eh?" said a man, stepping out from the shadows. The Man recognized him as the mysterious figure who had stopped him from killing Fredrick Quincy, the contractor.
Another man stepped out of the shadows. "While you worry about the public, we're more worried about you. You see," continued Burgess, "the two of you have been a bit much for us to handle lately. This whole shitfest with curfews and so forth has been hampering us a bit in our business. Lord Bury has been most upset. And so, we've come, rather than you annihilate us, we'll annihilate you."
At that moment the "we" became apparent, as Burgess stepped out of the shadows. "Looks like it's the end of the line, fellas," said Burgess. "Let killing floor burst open."
As the two Rippers moved forward menacingly, The Man and Blaze were nervous. "Blaze is too drunk to engage in this," thought The Man. "If I get out of this alive, it won't be with her..."
But Blaze wasn't quite drunk enough not to think ahead. She had a pint of gasoline on her. She ripped it out and splashed it in Burgess's face. Then she struck a match and tossed it and him. Ignition was swift, but the Ripper just shrugged it off. "Runt," he boomed, "did you think some cheap fireworks would bring me down?" Blaze had no time to ponder the question, as Burgess simply picked her up and smashed her head through a window, knocking her out.
It was just The Man remaining against the two monsters, and things did not look pretty. "Alright then, come and take me on," he shouted, trying to put on a facade of bravery.
Pierceson laughed. "Not so tough when things aren't going your way, eh? Take this on for size!"
He whipped out a knife. The Man tried to dodge the blow, but it was no good. The Ripper brough the butt of the knife down on the vigilante's skull. The Man fell to the ground, unconscious.
Burgess laughed. "That's that. Almost too easy, really. What an anticlimactic affair."
And so saying, he and Pierceson picked up the two fallen ones and brought them to an empty warehouse where they threw them inside.
"That takes care of them," said Burgess. "If the Hell Patrol is really as good as they say they are, then they'll find the two soon enough. No reason to kill them right now."
"Right," said Pierceson, "they're too messed up to do anything in the near future anyway."
And so the two of them departed into the night, leaving behind a scene which accomplished what some people had believed unthinkable - putting an end to the wrath of Blaze and the judgement of J.J.E.
It wasn't too long after that that our old friend Nicko wandered back into our story. He had been out for a stroll when he came up the scene. Broken glass from the window lay on the ground, and there was a minute trail of blood leading elsewhere.
"Tha's some strange stoof," he thought. "I'd best alert someone o' importance."
But the Hell Patrol were already alerted. It was Nicko that set it off.
"Hey, you there!" called O'Brian. "Don't you know what a curfew is? What are you doing on the streets at this hour?"
Nicko jumped. "Oi!" he said. "There's som'in' 'ere!"
"I'll tell you there is... what the blazes is with that that glass?"
"No idea, guv'na, but look a' t'e blood trail there!"
"Good scott, what have you done?" O'Brian yelped.
"Twasn't me, on the queen's honah."
"Hold on," said O'Brian. "Never mind you. Run along home. This seems suspicious." He dialed up his radio. "Get over here," he told the other members of the Hell Patrol, "this looks like it will be big."
The Man came to with a groan. "Where am I...?"
He looked at his surroundings. He was in a decently sized but not terribly large warehouse, and the only other soul in it was the still unconscious Blaze. The Man rose to his feet painfully. "God, what a headache," he muttered. He moved to a window. That's when he saw a formation of sixteen people moving forward towards the warehouse. They were heavily armed, imposing figures, and The Man realized what had happened immediately.
"Those damn brutes!" he growled. "They've left us to the mercy of the Hell Patrol!"
Blaze stirred at that moment. The Man rushed over. "Wake up, you!" he snapped, anxiety levels rising. Blaze opened her eyes. "Wha...?"
"There's no time to explain! Get to your feet, now!" he barked, practically throwing Blaze in the air.
"Watch it!" she said. "That hurts!"
"Not as bad as it'll hurt if they get to us!" screeched The Man as he pointed to the battalion on a war path towards them.
"Goddammit!" said Blaze. "What are we supposed to do now?"
"We're not gonna surrender, at any rate. Come on, let's see what sort of weaponry we can dredge up in this shack."
Outside, the Hell Patrol had reached the warehouse. Winslow had come and was directing the final stand. "We have reason to believe that Blaze and J.J.E. are in this warehouse," he said. "O'Brian, Haddaoway, Dyken, Halford, you guys will take the front entrance. Tate, Manning, Droste, Walker, you'll take the back entrance. Iscariot, Peterson, Rodgers, Malconnoly, you'll take the side entrance. Sirenian, Benedict, Griffen, you'll be outside with me to keep an eye on things and make sure the others are safe. Everyone know what to do?"
"Yes, sir!" said the motley crew.
"Alright, let's show these villains a thing or two!"
As the Hell Patrol began to kick down the doors, The Man and Blaze had just made an important discovery...
"Holy shit," said The Man, "those bastards actually did us a good turn. Look! This is the Valkyrian Machine Gun warehouse they abandoned for the bigger one in Sutton. I can't believe my eyes, they still have weapons and ammunition here!"
"Goddamn," said Blaze.
"Let's bring them into the office and stage our stand against these demons from there." The two pulled the chest inside just as the first door was kicked in.
"All right, you scoundrels," shouted O'Brian, "it's time for you all to taste a piece of hellfire!"
But the warehouse was empty.
"Fuck," he cursed. "Was this all a dead-" But then he heard the movement coming from above him. "Stairs!" he shouted. "Come on, men!" And he and the other three. Rushed up just as the other broke in the back door.
The Man and Blaze could hear them coming. They were prepared.
"I never thought it would all come to this," said The Man, "but it can't be avoided." He pulled upon the door. "Eat shit, fuckers!" He pressed down on the trigger. Bullets shout out at the four on the stairs. "Christ," said Haddaoway, "they have machine guns!"
"Here's a handy device I was saving for just this moment," said Blaze as she pulled out a trio of grenades from here pocket.
"You mean to tell me that the people who beat us up didn't check us down for weapons?" The Man said. "Not tying us up was one thing, but this is another. Mind-boggling."
"Well thank Christ for the little things. I give you some hell!" shouted Blaze as she pulled the pin and tossed the grenade at the Hell Patrol.
"Retreat, men!" called O'Brian, and the Hell Patrol members rushed outside again to explain to Winslow what had happened.
"A machine gun?" said Winslow. "Don't you have bullet proof vests?"
"Yes, but we can still absorb the bullet trauma," said O'Brian. "It's far to risky. They destroyed some of our weapons too with the grenade. This is infinitely tougher than we expected."
Just then another grenade was thrown out of the window.
"Shit!" cried Winslow as they jumped away in the nick of time. The detonation filled the air with smoke.
"Goddamn," said the officer as he rose back to his feet. "What the fuck is going on here? I thought we were prepared."
"Apparently not," said a voice. It was Walton. He was running up to them after having left his car a few yards away. "What in blazes happened?"
Winslow explained. "It's just too risky, sir," he said. "We're gonna have to pull out."
Back in the office, The Man and Blaze had stopped going on the offensive / defensive and were trying to think of their next course. The Man looked about ready to rip out every hair on his head.
"Goddammit," he said to himself. "This was never supposed to happen. If I had never teamed up with this cunt I would have never come into contact with the police, and all this shit thrown in my way would have never happened."
"So, what are we supposed to do now?" asked Blaze, as she stared out of a window.
"What I should have done all along," said The Man. Blaze turned to in surprise at the tone of his voice.
It was then that she felt the knife impale her stomach.
As Blaze coughed up blood and whimpered a surprised noise, The Man whispered in her ear. "I told you from the very beginning that I was against everything you stood for, didn't I? Why did you think I would let you live? I don't want anything more from you. You have been judged, found guilty of the jury, and are now executed. Enjoy the rest of your life in hell."
He twisted the knife. Blaze tried to scream, but it was no use. As tears started to flow from the pain, The Man pulled out the knife from her abdomen and put it in his pocket.
"Well, Blaze," he said, turning back to her one last time, "it's been fun..."
He picked up the last grenade. He heard footsteps. The Hell Patrol was making one last valiant effort to make their way inside. The Man wasn't in the mood for any more of this nonsense. As they clattered up the stairs, he shouted, "Enjoy your fucking demise!"
He tossed the grenade. It landed in the middle of an ammunition chest.
There was literally no time whatsoever as hearts beat out of bodies and eyes shot out final looks.
And then the entire building erupted into an explosive BOOM!
Parts of the old warehouse caved in on itself, and Hell Patrolers collapsed on each other. Winslow and Walton outside nearly got blown away themselves, were it not for Griffen taking the brunt of the blow. As the smoke cleared, the destruction was evident. Thankfully no one was killed, but there were some severe injuries. Winslow went to call the hospital, as Walton went inside to check what had happened. All he found from the Hell Patrol's antagonists was the bloodied body of Blaze.
"Christ," he said. "The long red hairs... there they are..."
As ambulances arrived, Walton went outside and spoke to Winslow. "Listen," he said, "you stick around and clean this mess up. I'm going out to look for J.J.E."
"But sir," said Winslow, "isn't it risky going out solo?"
Walton turned. "That's just a risk I'm going to have to take." And he walked away...
The Man was limping through alleyways. The blast from the grenade had secured his freedom, but had also incurred much damage. "Fuck," he said, "I'm better than this. Fighting with police was never ever my intention, and now..." He gritted his teeth and collapsed as his leg gave out. "Fuck!" he groaned.
"So this is the great J.J.E., I presume..." said a voice. The Man looked up. It was Walton.
"Goddamn policeman," said The Man. "Come to have your way with me?"
"No," said Walton. "I don't operate like that."
The Man forced himself to his feet. "What then have you come here for?"
"Well, Mr. Judge, Jury and Executioner," said the detective, "I must say I'm impressed. You've evaded us for so long I'm almost sorry to see it end here." Walton pulled out his gun.
"Don't point that at me," said The Man. "We're both better than that. If this is it, then let us do it weaponless. We're both battered from the blow of the grenade, this should be an even match."
"Alright, fine," said Walton, putting away his gun. "I hope you're prepared."
"My entire life has been building up to this moment," said The Man. "Let's go."
Walton decided to take the offensive, shooting out a fist at The Man, who dodged it and struck out himself, catching Walton directly in the ribcage. "Shit!" grunted the detective. The Man tried to strike again, but Walton grabbed his arm and used The Man's own body to his advantage. J.J.E.'s leg gave out again, and he collapsed, pulling Walton on top of him. The latter decided to use this to his advantage.
"You have the right to remain silent," he began. He never finished, because The Man's good leg caught him in the balls at that very moment. Walton was shocked out of his head from the pain, and The Man finally had the upper hand. He rained down blows upon the defenseless detective.
"You... have... been... judged..." he snarled, as his fists grew stronger and his blows heavier with each moment. Walton tried to stop it, but his feeble attempts were no use against this demon in human formed.
"You... are... guilty... this... is... your... ex... e... cu... tion..." The Man had become a machine at this point, and Walton had given himself up for dead.
"Survived the mob, survived the war, as soon as he realizes he can use a weapon on me, I'm finished... oh, Nora..."
But suddenly the blows stopped. Black and blue but not quite dead, Walton opened an eye. The Man was looking towards the heavens in a state of shock and surprise.
"What... have I been doing?" he said. He looked at his hands. He rose to his feet. "What have I been doing? I swore to help the innocent and eradicate the guilty, but instead I've begun to become guilty myself. I am no longer blameless before God. How many innocent souls have been injured by my complacency? I let Blaze live so that I could have an easier job, and now I've started attacking those ordained to guard the city. Setting aside their faults, they are far less pure than what I have turned into. I have been driven insane by belief that I was a holy man, a hand of God... and now I must live with the hell I have caused. Forgive me..."
He started to stagger away. With as much strength as he could muster, Walton pulled himself up. "Hey," he said. "Where are you going?"
The Man turned and looked at the fallen detective. "I do not know," he said. "But I promise you this: I will return again some day, and when my final hours arrive, I promise that you will be the only man who will pull the trigger that takes my life."
Walton couldn't even mumble anything. He just fell back on the ground.
And The Man wandered off into the night, and all of London was quiet again...
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