Getting the Band Together: Difference between revisions
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==<big>'''Getting the Band Together'''</big>== | |||
=='''First Impressions'''== | |||
==='''Arrival'''=== | |||
=== | She had walked into town six months earlier. It was a busy place, unlike anything she had seen in her travels. Certainly, it was unlike her home. That was something she could never explain to the people she met here. They would think she had just arrived. Her explorations had been low-key, like a lost puppy. Other cities. Learning languages, manners, cultures. She had to fit in when she got where she was going. Little things went away or were replaced. In time she was ready for the job at hand. | ||
The heavy guitar case needed to look like it was once well cared for, but time and rough living had stained it. Covered in travel stickers she had collected. It was unusually thick since it carried her 6 string bass guitar, a 6 string Fender lead, a ukele, a recorder, and a piccolo. It carried more then that but no one was going to see that. | |||
Her backpack looked like something used a decade ago, large and deep, a grown man's hiking backpack but its hidden depths made it worth it. It was big enough for the beatup gear it carried as well as its necessities and treasures. Paper money and a few gold coins. Her pack had a few practical items. Notebooks filled with songs and music. A cellphone with more music than she had ever heard, but her father had insisted. If she had left it behind, she would have been running away from home. If she took it, she was just traveling. | |||
Her | Her jeans were patched and fraying, her loose shirt faintly smudged with dirt. Her hair—that was a crime, cut and dyed blue, but it was necessary. Less bathing. Her mother would have been annoyed to see her. | ||
The careful disguise had worked well enough: she looked the part of the drifter, the runaway. But under the surface was something sharper, something the average observer wouldn’t see. A hunting knife hung on her belt, and deeper in her pack rested her father’s . | The careful disguise had worked well enough: she looked the part of the drifter, the runaway. But under the surface was something sharper, something the average observer wouldn’t see. A hunting knife hung on her belt, and deeper in her pack rested her father’s .45 and ammo—a weight she carried with purpose. She didn’t plan to use it. But then again, planning wasn’t always her strong suit. | ||
She didn’t plan to use it. But then again, planning wasn’t always her | |||
She found a shady spot under an oak tree where she could see the musicians take turns performing. The crowd’s reactions told her everything she needed to know—who played for passion and who played for desperation. Gadget leaned against the tree, watching, listening, and feeling the pulse of the park. | She found a shady spot under an oak tree where she could see the musicians take turns performing. The crowd’s reactions told her everything she needed to know—who played for passion and who played for desperation. Gadget leaned against the tree, watching, listening, and feeling the pulse of the park. | ||
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She hesitated. “Yeah.” | She hesitated. “Yeah.” | ||
“Well, just so you know, in this stretch, Tiffy’s up now, then I’m next, and Jax gets lunch. Cali is missing and we are worried about her. | “Well, just so you know, in this stretch, Tiffy’s up now, then I’m next, and Jax gets lunch. Cali is missing, and we are worried about her. Holden would be after her, but he hasn’t shown up today. After that, it’s you, if you’re still here. We’ve got a system.” He smirked faintly, but his eyes were serious. “We all gotta eat.” | ||
“Got it,” Gadget replied, her voice measured. She didn’t need to explain herself yet. | “Got it,” Gadget replied, her voice measured. She didn’t need to explain herself yet. | ||
“I'm Eddie. Edwardo, technically,” he said with a half-grin. “Parents thought it was funny. | “I'm Eddie. Edwardo, technically,” he said with a half-grin. “Parents thought it was funny. And you?” | ||
“Do I find it funny?” | “Do I find it funny?” | ||
“What’s your name, new girl?” | |||
“Gadget.” | |||
“Really? That’s what you’re going with? People usually pick something easy, like Gail or Ginger.” | “Really? That’s what you’re going with? People usually pick something easy, like Gail or Ginger.” | ||
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Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself, Gadget. You new to the city?” | Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself, Gadget. You new to the city?” | ||
She nodded. | She nodded. “More or less. Wandering mostly. Stayed at the mission for a night.” She paused, shuddering. “That place isn’t what I expected.” | ||
Eddie gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, the mission’s rough. Better to stay in the open if you can. But, you know, stay visible. Shakers come out when you’re alone.” | Eddie gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, the mission’s rough. Better to stay in the open if you can. But, you know, stay visible. Shakers come out when you’re alone.” | ||
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She nodded, filing away the warning. | She nodded, filing away the warning. | ||
Eddie continued, “Listen, you can wander off if you need to, but be back when Jax is done, or someone else’ll jump in. Holden’s been known to push his way in, but if you stand your ground, he’ll back off. He respects the system, even if he pretends not to.” | Eddie continued, “Listen, you can wander off if you need to, but be back when Jax is done, or someone else’ll jump in. Holden’s been known to push his way in, but if you stand your ground, he’ll back off. He respects the system, even if he pretends not to.” | ||
“And Cali?” Gadget asked, catching the name from the murmurs earlier. | “And Cali?” Gadget asked, catching the name from the murmurs earlier. | ||
Eddie frowned. “Cali’s...well, she hasn’t been around. Missed a whole week. She’s in trouble, and we haven't been able to find her. | Eddie frowned. “Cali’s...well, she hasn’t been around. Missed a whole week. She’s in trouble, and we haven't been able to find her. Till we hear something, she’s gotta sort it out herself. That’s how it works.” | ||
Gadget didn’t reply, but her mind turned. Trouble had a way of finding people like her, and she wasn’t sure yet if Cali’s story would intersect with her own. For now, all she could do was wait. And watch. | Gadget didn’t reply, but her mind turned. Trouble had a way of finding people like her, and she wasn’t sure yet if Cali’s story would intersect with her own. For now, all she could do was wait. And watch. | ||
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The guitar case at her side felt heavier now, but not with dread. With purpose. If the park was a stage, she’d play her part soon enough. | The guitar case at her side felt heavier now, but not with dread. With purpose. If the park was a stage, she’d play her part soon enough. | ||
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=== '''First Day at the Plaza'''=== | |||
She listened to Eddie play for the mid-morning crowd as they cut through the park, going from one tall building to another. He was as good as she remembered. Though maybe not quite as good yet. Style would come in time. Besides, it was Tiffy who blossomed, if they survived. | |||
Eddie had come over to her earlier. “Ah, Gadget. You said you’ve been wandering around? Don't wander south of here. Bad area. Forty Thieves... Actually, the Forty Threes, 43rd Street gang. Fucking takers. Over by the river is a nice place in the summer. Cold as hell this time of year, but there’s a more or less permanent encampment of old timers there. The city comes through and cleans it up sometimes. Gives them time to get their valuables out, then trashes whatever they had been living in. Twice a year. Shows the uptowners they are cleaning the place up. After that, some do-gooders come by and drop off new tents, mattresses, and blankets. The hawks stay away from there because the police got no concern if one or two kiddie pimps end up in the trainyard. Some of those old timers are ex-military and ain’t shy about it. But, some are almost as bad as the hawks. They won’t rent you out, but they will trade warmth for wetness, ya know. Better off finding a squat.” | |||
“You and Tiffy got a squat?” Gadget asked. | |||
“Yeah...but...it’s tight...sorry...I can't help with that. The East industrials by the train-yards have a lot of junkies and packs of wild dogs... You can sleep there, but the temptation is too strong for people. Temptation to use, temptation to steal.” The usual crowds went back and forth with little or no regard for the desperation they passed through. They thought themselves generous if they tossed the change from a six-dollar cup of fifty-cent coffee. | |||
Eddie wandered over to sit as Tiffy finished her set. Gadget wondered if they thought of it in terms of 'Set' yet. | |||
Eddie | Eddie started playing. Riffing really. Loud, to get attention. He had endurance, Gadget thought. | ||
A couple of hours went by, and Gadget spent it looking over the place, walking around, and getting a feel for the square and its regulars. | |||
A | A coffee shop, a waitress looked out the window at the buskers sadly. Grief and gratitude. She had escaped the life. A newsstand. No reading. A fat man watched a little TV and collected money. He thought he was sly to slip alcohol from a flask into what was probably coffee. | ||
A | A Little Caesar’s Pizza. Classic cardboard pizza. The clerk. Another survivor. A paycheck away from being on the street again. Squats. Can’t make rent. | ||
A | A laundromat. Customers only. A walkway to the parking lot. | ||
A | A liquor store that looked like a prison with bars and locks. | ||
A | A big youth came running like he was being chased through the plaza. No one behind him. | ||
He ran past Eddie and Tiffy. Jax had already gathered his blanket and put his arm through loops and was moving. He jumped down stairs only to stop. Tiffy and Eddie were almost up when the runner came walking over to them, hangdogged. | |||
Up the stairs came four guys and a girl. Toughs. Shakers for sure. Their clothes only looked a small bit better than the people they shook down. They walked straight for the three. | |||
Suddenly, she felt a shoulder hitting her from behind, walking past. A big guy, 19, scared and cruel. A follower. He looked back at her, saw the guitar, “I don’t know you. Tax ya later.” | |||
He walked to the top end of this part of the plaza. Another coming in from the parking lot. Jax walked ahead of him, being pushed. | |||
Behind her, two more. The ones the runner was fleeing from. Into their trap, it seemed. | |||
Gadget touched a knob on her hearing aid, and she heard better. | |||
The big guy in front. Army boots. New. “I don’t give a fuck, Eddie. Starve. Fork it over. Hey, Tiffy, you can keep your money for a little help with handsome.” | |||
Eddie scowled, stepped between him and Tiffy, bravely but foolishly. He handed over a wad of bills. | |||
“That’s both of ours...a day’s work, Wart.” | |||
Big Wart... Good. Now I’ve seen him. “Not for me, it wasn’t. All fun. Maurice will fork over a couple hundred for a couple hours with Tiffy.” | |||
Eddie said nothing, smart for once. | |||
Eddie | Jax said he hadn’t played yet, he didn’t have any money. Wart’s number two grabbed Jax’s bongo drums, and the two struggled. Eddie intervened and got a punch in the face from Wart. Little Wart held Jax’s drums. | ||
Jax | “That was stupid, Eddie. Jax, five bucks, and you can have your drums back for tomorrow. Or wet trade. You know where we will be.” | ||
Lastly, Wart turned to the runner. “Holden, you are the stupidest fuck I know. You got taxed, and instead of just playing elsewhere, you tried to warn Eddie and the Stone Benches group.” He said it with an air of mockery. | |||
Gadget smiled for other reasons when she heard Wart’s jab. She was in the right place and time. | |||
Wart laid a smack across Holden’s face, and Little Wart punched him twice in the belly as he fell. | |||
The shakers moved along, laughing. This couldn’t be the only way they made money. Shaking down buskers. Cali... They had her someplace. Making money off her. | |||
Tiffy started crying after the gang had gone. Jax, probably only 13 himself, started sniffling, trying to be tough. Tiffy must have been 14. Eddie would have been 16. Holden 17. Cali would have been 13, if she lived. | |||
Walking over, Gadget heard without the spy ear. | |||
“Those assholes,” Eddie said. | |||
Jax said, “Let’s see if Dearly will spot us a blue plate special or two... it’s been long enough.” | |||
Eddie shook her head, “Can’t. Bossman is there.” Jax whimpered. | |||
She walked up, “Those are the takers?” | |||
Eddie nodded, “Not their name... Just Wart’s guys. They got you, too?” | |||
She shook her head, “That big guy said he would tax me later.” | |||
Holden said, “That’s Waldo. Wants people to call him Eastwood, but Waldo is his name. Big, tough, strong, and mean. One of Wart’s muscles.” | |||
Eddie put his arm around the whimpering Tiffy. | |||
“We ate yesterday. Holden? Jax?” They both shook their heads. | |||
Gadget said, “You all squat together?” Eddie looked at her, confirming, thinking they had to find Cali. | |||
She said, “If I can squeeze into your squat, I’ll get pizza. A couple from that place.” Pointing to Little Caesars. Jax looked at her, then Eddie. Holden looked too. Silent agreement. | |||
“Alright. We should go. If we set up again and start playing, they’ll come back. Today is over.” | |||
Gadget said, "Where do I meet you? I have an errand to run before getting food.” | |||
Eddie gave her directions for four blocks away. “You’ll see a tall water pipe on the side of a building. Painted blue. Hit it a few times, and one of us will come get you.” | |||
She nodded. “An hour at most.” | |||
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==='''Observations'''=== | |||
Gadget walked back into the square to get her gear, the familiar rhythm of the park unbroken by the earlier scuffle. People moved about as though nothing unusual had happened, their lives tuned to a frequency that filtered out the kind of trouble she had just witnessed. | |||
Gadget walked back into the square | |||
She had seen this before in other cities: a practiced indifference to the small tragedies that played out in the corners of urban life. The regulars had walked past the shakedown, unconcerned. Not their problem. Not worth their notice. Even the lack of music didn’t seem to faze anyone. The world kept spinning, and the square moved with it. | |||
Her first stop was a liquor store tucked into a crumbling block of mismatched businesses. The door jingled as she entered, and she felt the clerk’s eyes snap to her immediately. His stare followed her down the rows as she browsed. Gadget ignored him, picking out a flask-sized bottle of whiskey first, then a larger one to refill it. She added a handful of tiny bottles at the register, their colorful labels gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light. | Her first stop was a liquor store tucked into a crumbling block of mismatched businesses. The door jingled as she entered, and she felt the clerk’s eyes snap to her immediately. His stare followed her down the rows as she browsed. Gadget ignored him, picking out a flask-sized bottle of whiskey first, then a larger one to refill it. She added a handful of tiny bottles at the register, their colorful labels gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light. | ||
The clerk leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Are you high or just stupid?” he sneered. “Alright, let’s do this. Everyone sing along— *La la la! I have to see some ID!*” | The clerk leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Are you high or just stupid?” he sneered. “Alright, let’s do this. Everyone sing along—*La la la! I have to see some ID!*” | ||
Unbothered, Gadget pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and laid it on the counter, meeting his gaze with a calm, steady intensity. “Even if I kept the change,” he added, “it’s not worth it without ID.” | Unbothered, Gadget pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and laid it on the counter, meeting his gaze with a calm, steady intensity. “Even if I kept the change,” he added, “it’s not worth it without ID.” | ||
She sighed, pulling a slim wallet from her jacket. Opening it just enough for the clerk to see, she watched his eyes widen. The disdain melted into something closer to disbelief. | She sighed, pulling a slim wallet from her jacket. Opening it just enough for the clerk to see, she watched his eyes widen. The disdain melted into something closer to disbelief. | ||
“Ah... really?” he asked, his tone shifting. | “Ah... really?” he asked, his tone shifting. | ||
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She tilted her head slightly. “I can depend on your keeping it a secret?” | She tilted her head slightly. “I can depend on your keeping it a secret?” | ||
He nodded quickly, his earlier bravado gone. He took the money without another word, bagging the bottles with | He nodded quickly, his earlier bravado gone. He took the money without another word, bagging the bottles with newfound precision. Gadget took the bag without a thank-you, already moving on. | ||
Her next stop was Little Caesar’s, the faint smell of grease and cheap cheese filling the air before she even entered. The bored teenager at the counter barely glanced up as she ordered four $5 pizzas. She stacked the boxes into | Her next stop was Little Caesar’s, the faint smell of grease and cheap cheese filling the air before she even entered. The bored teenager at the counter barely glanced up as she ordered four $5 pizzas. She stacked the boxes into a canvas bag, not bothering to align them perfectly. As the bag settled, the pizzas slid, the cheese and toppings undoubtedly pooling at one end of the boxes. She didn’t care. These weren’t about taste. | ||
The park waited as she walked back, her steps deliberate and her mind turning over what came next. Her earlier encounter had shown her more than she expected—not just about the park’s pecking order but about the invisible lines drawn between those who were struggling to survive and those who chose to ignore them. She wasn’t sure yet where she fit into this city, but she’d carve out a place soon enough. | The park waited as she walked back, her steps deliberate and her mind turning over what came next. Her earlier encounter had shown her more than she expected—not just about the park’s pecking order but about the invisible lines drawn between those who were struggling to survive and those who chose to ignore them. She wasn’t sure yet where she fit into this city, but she’d carve out a place soon enough. | ||
The liquor and the pizzas? They were tools, not comforts. Small investments in goodwill, in leverage. She wasn’t here to play by the rules. Gadget didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own. | The liquor and the pizzas? They were tools, not comforts. Small investments in goodwill, in leverage. She wasn’t here to play by the rules. Gadget didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own. | ||
The alley was narrow and quiet, save for the distant hum of city noise. The faint tang of rust and damp concrete filled the air, mingling with the aroma of greasy pizza wafting from the canvas bag Gadget left on the ground. Her ears tingled with the primal electricity of the moment, a sensation she had come to trust. The hunter had become the hunted, and she was more than ready. She set down her guitar and her bag. | |||
[[File:Waldo.jpg|200px]] | |||
Waldo | Waldo strode into view, his swagger full of self-assurance, the kind that only came from countless successful shakedowns. He grinned as he saw her, his eyes scanning her up and down like she was already his. | ||
“Well, I didn’t think taxing you would make me rich! Booze and food. Fork it over. And any cash you got,” he | “Well, I didn’t think taxing you would make me rich! Booze and food. Fork it over. And any cash you got,” he said, closing the distance without hesitation. Gadget stepped toward him calmly, her expression unreadable. She didn’t flinch as he reached for her with both hands, his grin growing wider as he added, “Maybe a kiss or a fu—” | ||
Gadget | |||
The rest of the word | The rest of the word was swallowed by a sharp, guttural cry as Gadget grabbed his wrists and drove the steel toe of her boot into his groin with the force of a sledgehammer. The sound he made was almost pitiful as he doubled over, but she didn’t stop. Another swift kick sent him crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll. | ||
Before he | Before he could recover, she shoved him onto his back and straddled him, delivering two quick punches to his stomach with precision. Waldo gagged, his breath coming in choked gasps. Gadget leaned in close, her voice a low, dangerous growl, her mind reaching out to touch his, instilling fear of her deep in his memory. | ||
“Now, don’t you throw up,” she | “Now, don’t you throw up,” she warned, her tone ice-cold. “All it’ll only make you messy and me pissed off. Look me in the eyes.” | ||
Waldo’s watery gaze | Waldo’s watery gaze met hers, and for the first time, his bravado cracked. Her psyche slammed into him as hard as she could force it. | ||
“You think you’re tough?” she | “You think you’re tough?” she continued, her voice steady but sharp as a blade. “The universe is filled with monsters that wouldn’t blink about squashing you like a potato bug. And I am goddamned well one of them, Waldo. I the apex predator monster around here now. So... you belong to me. Unless you want me to make sure you never get an erection again. We understand each other?” | ||
He | He nodded frantically, his face pale. | ||
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gadget | “I’ll take that as a yes,” Gadget said, sitting back slightly. “Where’s Cali?” | ||
“Wart has her,” Waldo | “Wart has her,” Waldo croaked, his voice hoarse. “He’s got her up at the Station… Passed out last I saw.” | ||
Gadget | Gadget studied his face for any sign of a lie, then nodded. “The Station. Eddie knows where that is?” | ||
Waldo | Waldo nodded again, his head bobbing weakly. | ||
“Good.” Gadget | “Good.” Gadget stood, brushing herself off. “Now, you go away. Not to the station. It won’t be safe there tonight. Do you understand me?” Waldo nodded once more, trembling as he scrambled to his feet. | ||
Waldo | |||
She | She stepped back to her bag and pulled out a pizza box. Opening it, she pulled out three slices and held them out to him. “Here. Just to show I’m not… well, totally a bitch. Remember: don’t go to the station. Don’t tell Wart. And don’t piss me off. Now go.” | ||
Waldo | Waldo hesitated for a split second before grabbing the slices. He staggered off, clutching the greasy pizza with both hands, his steps uneven but quick. He didn’t look back. | ||
Gadget | Gadget watched him disappear down the alley, then picked up her bags. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she murmured, “Everyone’s gotta eat.” | ||
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=== | === '''Squatting'''=== | ||
She found the pipe and knocked on it. She waited only a few moments until Holden peeked his head out. | |||
“We were worried you were followed.” | |||
“I was, but it’s okay. Let’s go inside.” | |||
She followed Holden down a short alley to a pried-open side door of an industrial building. The interior showed a lack of traffic. The path made several turns before ending at a dead end. Above were large pipes passing through. Water pipes, probably. On the west wall was a concert poster in a language Gadget did not know. | |||
Those huddled near each other were Eddie, Tiffy, and Jax. A single candle put out light if not warmth. They shivered under blankets, and their breath came out in fog. | |||
They looked up as Gadget entered. Eddie said, “Glad you made it. We were worried.” They looked at the pizza boxes in anticipation. | |||
Eddie went on, “Cali is usually between Jax and Holden, if you don’t mind.” | |||
Eddie | |||
Gadget moved close to Holden, between him and Jax. She couldn’t tell herself yet, but her pack nature was already forming, even after so little contact. Holden might be the lucky one. | |||
Gadget | Gadget nodded, taking the top pizza box with the missing pieces, slipping the other three to the group. She pulled out a large bottle of Tabasco that she liberally put on her pizza. The others eagerly grabbed the other boxes. They relished the pizza, a good meal for them. Jax reached for the Tabasco, looking to Gadget for permission. She smiled and handed it to him. | ||
Looking around, the dead end had much to recommend it. Defensible but without an escape route. Out of the elements, sort of. Frigidly cold. Too cold, as she thought about it. It was winter, but the weather outside was hardly cold enough to warrant the cold inside. | |||
“What’s on the other side of the building?” | |||
“Meatpacking plant. It’s why it’s so cold in here. But the squat is too good. Out of the elements and deep enough not to be easy for takers to find unless led here. Holden used to squat here before.” | |||
She | She reached into her pack and pulled out a small backpacking ring of stainless steel to curious eyes. Popping the lid, she pulled a lighter out and a bit of newspaper. She wrapped coal with the paper and lit it, starting the stove’s fire. The flickering fire caught and warmed the area slowly. | ||
They | They turned to huddle around the fire in gratitude and surprise. “I’ve been camping a lot,” she explained. | ||
The small area began to heat as they returned to eating. | The small area began to heat as they returned to eating. Silence filled the room as they ate. She looked around the space. A bright poster on the wall was in Russian, she thought. Rafe might know what it said. Being a music aficionado, he might know the band anyway. Maybe someone else in the huge Adventure’s Society would know. Time would tell. | ||
While they huddled under blankets that had seen better days their | While they huddled under blankets that had seen better days, their overcoats were neatly hung for drying. The candle put out light but little heat. Looking up, the ceiling must have had vents somewhere. It was why the space had so little heat. This place wouldn’t do. Not for seven or eight people, as her plans for the group developed. | ||
Gadget | Gadget stood after they finished eating. “Eddie? Can I speak to you for a moment?” | ||
The two | The two walked out to turn down the hall, out of sight of the others. | ||
“I spoke to Waldo. | “I spoke to Waldo. He tried to tax me, and we came to an understanding. He says Cali is at someplace called the Station. Strung out and in trouble.” | ||
Eddie | Eddie cursed, “Damn... damn. The Station? Shit... SHIT!... That’s an abandoned gas station at the edge of the industrial area. There’s a huge dog pack that lives there. Used to be security dogs that went wild when the plants closed. Abandoned warehouses mostly. No one squats there because the dogs are vicious. Probably a hundred of them. The city gave up on that whole part of town. South of the railroad and the freeway. Shit... this sucks.” | ||
“Dogs, you say? | “Dogs, you say? Vicious ex-guard dogs and their get, I imagine. Good to know. How many people would he have there, this Wart guy?” | ||
“Five maybe, a couple more. Depends where they are in their raiding.” | “Five maybe, a couple more. Depends where they are in their raiding.” | ||
“How do they handle the dogs | “How do they handle the dogs? Will you show me where this is?” | ||
“Carefully | “Carefully, I imagine. Sure, I can show it, but why? Do you have an idea? If we could get them to come out chasing me, you might be able to get her out.” | ||
“Do any of you people fight?” | “Do any of you people fight?” | ||
“Holden can land a punch. | “Holden can land a punch. Jax can fall down and take them for a while. Tiffy, not so much.” | ||
“How tough are these guys? How long have they been around?” | “How tough are these guys? How long have they been around?” | ||
“Tiffy and I have been here about | “Tiffy and I have been here about a year. Holden a couple of years. Not sure about Jax and Cali, but longer then Tiffy and I. Wart and his guys have been terrorizing people since grade school, I hear. He’s beat us up several times. Beat Tiffy and I pretty bad when we first got here 'cause she wouldn’t put out. Holden hates them. I think he had run-ins with them before. I know some of the businesses in the plaza lock their doors when they wander in. One of their parents is a cop.” | ||
“Okay, show me this station.” | |||
“Ah... okay... if you’re sure.” | |||
She | She nodded and followed him as they crossed town. | ||
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=== | ==='''Dogs'''=== | ||
Looking over at a vacant gas station tucked between industrial buildings | Looking over at a vacant gas station tucked between industrial buildings, Gadget saw lights on in the building but none outside. The walls were covered with graffiti. The windows were covered in newspaper on the inside. | ||
Gadget asked, "Will they have a lookout, you think?" | |||
"No idea. But they probably depend on the dogs. When I start running, I’m going to run back the way we came in. Stay away from the dogs. I'm going to circle around and see if any of them are outside." | |||
Eddie headed off, walking far to the east. . | |||
She pulled out her cell phone and made a call. “Gadget. Wants and warrants on a Wart and known associates. Especially wants and warrants on an associate named Waldo. Police tours in the area of Third Street and Hunsiker Avenue. Yes.” She lit a cigarette and puffed it while she waited. | |||
“Yes. Alright. Route police at least a mile from this location. Okay. Okay. Okay. And Waldo... Okay. Gadget down.” | |||
She watched for any of the gang members returning. | |||
The air around the vacant gas station grew heavier, the tension palpable as Gadget watched her surroundings with predatory focus. The graffiti-covered walls seemed to close in, the windows’ newspaper coverings adding a claustrophobic feel to the eerily quiet industrial zone. As Eddie vanished into the distance, her instincts prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched—or perhaps stalked. | |||
Then she smelled them. Dirty dogs. | |||
The | The dogs were close, their musky scent mingled with the faint metallic tang of rust and oil. Gadget pivoted, slipping behind a building with a crumbling wall, her heart steady but her senses sharpened. From the shadows, three shapes emerged: large, muscular dogs, their eyes reflecting the dim light like embers in the gloom. | ||
The leader—a scarred, thick-furred savage with torn ears—moved forward first, his posture radiating dominance. Behind him, two slightly smaller dogs fanned out, their growls rising in anticipation. The pack began to circle her, their intent clear. | |||
Gadget exhaled slowly, her father's teachings resonating in her mind. She didn’t run. Instead, she dropped to all fours, her movements fluid, deliberate. She raised her hips, her posture bold and challenging. Her eyes locked onto the leader’s, refusing to break the connection. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the primal, unspoken dialogue between her and the animal. | |||
The | The leader snarled, testing her, his hackles raised. Gadget bared her teeth and growled low and deep, channeling every ounce of her willpower into the sound. It wasn’t just noise; it was intent, a projection of dominance and confidence that tapped into the primal currents of the canine psyche. | ||
The other two dogs faltered, their growls cutting short as they glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. The leader hesitated, his head lowering slightly, torn between instinct and her overwhelming presence. Gadget growled again, a commanding sound that brooked no argument. The leader stepped back, his defiance faltering under the weight of her gaze. | |||
Then it happened. With a whimper, the leader dropped to his belly, his body language one of submission. Gadget moved forward on all fours, her movements deliberate and measured. She sniffed at the leader, solidifying her claim. The two remaining dogs quickly followed suit, rolling over with their tails tucked. | |||
Gadget straightened and rubbed the leader’s belly, her touch firm but acknowledging his surrender. He rolled to his haunches, sitting obediently, awaiting her command. She rubbed her cheek against him, radiating love of him. Love he had never known till now. "I'll call you Savage." | |||
She greeted the other two the same, feeling them give up their devotion. | |||
Gadget | Focusing her awareness, Gadget channeled her intent, pushing it outward like a wave. Her thoughts took form, her message clear: “Tell the rest I am coming soon for them. Tell the pack leader.” | ||
The dogs responded instantly, bolting into the shadows without hesitation. Gadget stood and dusted herself off, exhaling slowly. The pack was hers now—or at least, they knew better than to challenge her again. | |||
As the shadows settled once more, Gadget turned her attention back to the gas station. It was time to finish what she started. | |||
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=== '''The Station'''=== | |||
A few minutes later, Eddie returned, carrying a half-full 40oz bottle. “No one there. The door is on the west side. Okay... probably won’t be locked. We sneak up. I’ll open the door and yell at them. I’ll throw this bottle of... beer... piss... at them. They’ll chase me out. Especially if I hit Wart. While they’re chasing me, you go in, find Cali, and get her out of there. I’ll run them as far as possible. I’m pretty sure I can outrun them.” He said it uncertainly but with determination. | |||
“Sounds good. Let’s go.” | |||
They sneaked up to the station, going around to try peeking in the windows, finding them taped shut. The industrial buildings surrounded the station and shadowed it from the sun. She looked it over and figured it must have several rooms inside. Two bays in the garage. Six empty gas pumps. A good squat. | |||
Eddie shook his head, looking terrified but determined. He reached up and grabbed the door handle, opening it quickly and stepping in. | |||
Eddie | Eddie looked around the room and saw the surprised look on Wart’s face. "Look! Eddie’s come to sing for us!" | ||
Eddie | Eddie yelled raspingly, “YOU FUCKERS!!!!! WHERE’S CALI!!!????” He threw the bottle and hit Wart in the chest, splashing him liberally. | ||
Behind him, Gadget stepped in. | |||
The men jumped up as one to chase Eddie. Eddie turned and bumped surprisingly into Gadget. | |||
Gadget put her right hand on his chest, pushing him hard against the door jamb. With her left hand, she raised a .45 automatic. | |||
The young men stopped. Wart said, "I don’t know you, but pointing a gun at me is going to get you slung up in our back room, Blue." | |||
She looked around the room at the squalor. Cigarettes, beer, takeout boxes. The smell of sweat and male testosterone. Somewhere was the smell of desperation and semen. Her hackles rose. | |||
She | She regarded the men. She could feel their anger. She looked at Eddie, as her hand pressed him to the door-jam. Fear. Shock. Uncertainty. | ||
"That thing looks like a cannon in your hand, you stupid slit. Put that down, and I might let you walk to the bedroom rather than beat you down and make Eddie watch us." | |||
The loud crack of the gun echoed in the room, shocking everyone except Gadget. | |||
Gadget tracked from left to right, putting a round into each of the chests of the gang members. Eddie’s eyes went wide in shock. | |||
Gadget | Gadget stepped into the room, slowly walking to each man, kicking them for life signs. Wart was last, looking up in despair. "No!!! Please!!! No!!!" Gadget fired again. | ||
She turned to Eddie, “Find Cali.” He staggered past her, walking past the dead into other rooms. | |||
Gadget moved among them, taking wallets, cash, and jewelry and stashing them in her pack. Weapons she quickly put into plastic ziplock bags and put them into her satchel. She looked over the table and grabbed several bags of green herbs. She walked around the room and found a backpack, looking in she found several kilos of pressed powder. | |||
She stood and went to each of the dead and took a picture of each with her cell phone. | |||
She | She made a call. "Gadget. Targets Neutralized. Send in the Cleaners." | ||
She | Eddie came out carrying a limp girl. She was bruised and sweaty, dirty, and clearly had been abused. Nude, of course. He was white as a sheet, a mixture of awe and terror. Gadget stepped to a couch and shook off a comforter. They put her into it, wrapping her. | ||
Eddie | "You killed them," Eddie stammered, his voice cracking as his mind struggled to reconcile the woman beside him with the efficient, lethal force he had witnessed moments ago. "How could you?" | ||
Gadget didn’t flinch at the accusation. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, her steps even and deliberate. Her voice, when it came, was calm, devoid of the chaos that lingered in Eddie's mind. "How? Efficiently," she repeated, her tone as cold and deliberate as her actions. | |||
The weight of her words struck Eddie harder than the gunshots, leaving him speechless. The horrors of the room behind them—the blood, the screams, the sharp finality of death—clung to him like a suffocating fog. But there was no hesitation in Gadget, no regret in her stride. To her, it was necessary. Clean. | |||
They crossed the empty road, the cracked asphalt beneath their feet a reminder of the desolation that surrounded them. The industrial skyline loomed like a graveyard of forgotten ambitions. Gadget kept her hand on her satchel, its contents jingling faintly—a collection of stolen wallets, weapons, and evidence now safely in her possession. She knew every item had a purpose. Every detail served a larger goal. | |||
Eddie's steps faltered as he glanced down at Cali. Her face, bruised and streaked with grime, remained slack and lifeless. But there was a faint rise and fall to her chest, a fragile confirmation that she was alive. It was enough for now. | |||
Eddie | "You didn’t have to kill them," Eddie murmured, his voice barely audible. | ||
" | Gadget stopped abruptly, turning to him with a gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. "Yes, I did," she said firmly. Her tone left no room for argument. "They were predators, Eddie. They thought they were top dogs, apex predators of the scene here. But that’s what happens to beasts when a new hunter shows up. I am the apex predator around here now. I'll do what needs to be done. They preyed on people like you, like Cali. You think they would’ve stopped? Changed? That girl in your arms is living proof of what they were willing to do." | ||
Eddie swallowed hard, unable to look her in the eye. He knew she was right, but the sheer brutality of what he had witnessed gnawed at him. His grip on Cali tightened, as if holding her closer might make sense of the chaos. | |||
"We’ll get her back to the squat," Gadget continued, her voice softening slightly. "She needs rest. Food. Medical attention. And you all need to keep your heads low for a while. This isn’t over." | |||
" | "What do you mean?" Eddie asked, his voice trembling. | ||
" | "I mean that there will be repercussions," Gadget said. "Wart’s crew isn’t the only threat out here. There’s always another predator waiting to take their place. But I’ll deal with that when the time comes." | ||
They resumed their walk, the squat just a few blocks away now that offered a distant promise of safety. Eddie held on to that thought, clinging to it as tightly as he clung to Cali. | |||
Behind them, the gas station stood silent, its sordid history now marked by the finality of Gadget’s intervention. Whatever demons she carried, she had made one thing clear: in her world, survival meant making hard choices. And she was prepared to make every single one of them. | |||
Unseen by the pair and their rescued companion, a pair of white vans pulled up to the station. Men in hazmat outfits got out, entered, and began to work. | |||
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== | =='''Necessities'''== | ||
The squat | The squat was cramped with the six people in it, but warmer as they kept the little stove burning. Cali slept hard the first day, but Gadget wasn’t sure she was recovering. Jax never left her side and worried constantly. Gadget went and got pizza again, though only two pies, suggesting that her money was drying up. | ||
The group fervently refused to take her to the hospital. | The group fervently refused to take her to the hospital. Eddie explained, “Cali’s home life was little better than the way Wart’s people treated her. Her mother and a stepsister beat her regularly enough that she let her stepfather, two stepbrothers, and a couple of their friends treat her like a sex toy so they would defend her. If she turns up at an ER, the best she can hope for is to go into foster care. The worst is being sent home. That happened once before.” | ||
Jax, who Gadget had heard speak in single words till now, said, “She and I | Jax, who Gadget had heard speak in single words till now, said, “She and I ran off together the first time. I had to go back and get her that time. Her idiot brothers kept her in one of their beds every night. Hard to sneak her out.” | ||
Gadget asked, " | Gadget asked, "How did you manage it?" | ||
Looks around the room showed it was a sore subject. | Looks around the room showed it was a sore subject. Jax returned to Cali and his silence. Tiffy put her head down. Eddie looked at Gadget as if to convey that it was none of her business. Holden smiled, and with a nod from Jax, he told the tale. | ||
“Jax lit the house on fire then called 911. | “Jax lit the house on fire, then called 911. In the confusion of police, firefighters, and ambulances, Jax stole an ambulance they put Cali in. Drove it for an hour, then stole a car so he could ditch the ambulance. He stripped the thing of meds and supplies. Blankets and stuff. He drove a couple of days, swapped cars, and drove here. Dropped off Cali and the swag, then drove the car another day to ditch it. Good chance that the police are looking for them.” | ||
Jax looked embarrassed but kept next to Cali. | Jax looked embarrassed but kept next to Cali. | ||
Gadget commented, “Resourceful. | Gadget commented, “Resourceful. Decisive. I respect that.” Jax looked up with a hint of a smile. | ||
Gadget | Gadget stood, “I’m going to stretch my legs.” | ||
Walking out to the front she | Walking out to the front, she was confronted by a large, beefy cat with a mouse in its sights. | ||
Gadget froze momentarily, her eyes widening at the sight of the large beefy cat perched atop the windowsill, its amber eyes fixed intently on the tiny mouse scurrying across the ledge. The cat’s fur was a patchy mix of brown and black, giving it a rugged, almost untamed appearance that contrasted sharply with the orderly chaos inside the squat. | Gadget froze momentarily, her eyes widening at the sight of the large, beefy cat perched atop the windowsill, its amber eyes fixed intently on the tiny mouse scurrying across the ledge. The cat’s fur was a patchy mix of brown and black, giving it a rugged, almost untamed appearance that contrasted sharply with the orderly chaos inside the squat. | ||
“Hey there, big fella,” Gadget whispered softly, taking a cautious step forward. The cat didn’t seem threatened; instead, it watched her with an air of quiet curiosity, perhaps fear at Gadget's canine nature. The mouse, sensing the tension, darted | “Hey there, big fella,” Gadget whispered softly, taking a cautious step forward. The cat didn’t seem threatened; instead, it watched her with an air of quiet curiosity, perhaps fear at Gadget's canine nature. The mouse, sensing the tension, darted toward the edge of the window, where it paused, twitching its nose before making a desperate leap for the safety of a nearby drainpipe. | ||
As Gadget reached the window, she noticed a small tag hanging from the cat’s collar: “Shadow – | As Gadget reached the window, she noticed a small tag hanging from the cat’s collar: “Shadow – Rescued.” A surge of empathy washed over her. Despite the rough exterior, Shadow clearly had a story of his own. | ||
“Looks like Shadow’s been with you for a while,” Gadget remarked, hoping to break the ice. | “Looks like Shadow’s been with you for a while,” Gadget remarked, hoping to break the ice. | ||
Line 458: | Line 451: | ||
Jax watched the interaction with a mix of relief and lingering worry. “Shadow’s got a good heart. Just like Cali.” | Jax watched the interaction with a mix of relief and lingering worry. “Shadow’s got a good heart. Just like Cali.” | ||
Gadget felt a pang of admiration for Jax. Despite his rough methods, his intentions were clear. “You all are handling things better than I expected.” | Gadget felt a pang of admiration for Jax. Despite his rough methods, his intentions were clear. “You all are handling things better than I expected.” | ||
Eddie shook his head. “We’re just trying to keep Cali safe and give her a chance to heal. She deserves a second chance.” | Eddie shook his head. “We’re just trying to keep Cali safe and give her a chance to heal. She deserves a second chance.” | ||
Line 466: | Line 459: | ||
Stepping out into the chilly evening air, Gadget took a deep breath, the scent of rain lingering in the air. She glanced back at the squat. | Stepping out into the chilly evening air, Gadget took a deep breath, the scent of rain lingering in the air. She glanced back at the squat. | ||
Walking away she considered her options. | Walking away, she considered her options. She didn’t want to involve her police contact in this, but he was her first call anyway. | ||
Calling, "Gadget. Wants and warrants. Names. Photos coming. Out." | |||
Lighting a cigarette, she wandered off a block, looking around. She pondered. She couldn’t involve her police contact more than absolutely necessary. But she needed to know if anyone was looking for those in the squat. They didn’t want to take Cali to the hospital. She couldn’t call home without getting a ton of judgment and, in the end, only getting medical help with strings attached. There was another option, though. | |||
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=== '''Gateway and Allies'''=== | |||
She pulled out a couple of decks of cards, tarot cards by their size and shape, looking through them. A Trump card was more than a picture—it was a door. Hold it in your hand, focus, and the image became real. Like calling someone on the phone, except you didn’t just hear their voice—you could step into their world. She remembered her introduction to the cards with Lord David. The card grew cold in her hands, the painted image shimmering like water. Slowly, the air around her twisted, colors bleeding together until she could have stepped through—no longer in the Hub of Mandalay, but in a sunlit courtyard of the Dramaturge. | |||
Shadow was vast, infinite in its possibilities, with worlds ranging from medieval kingdoms to high-tech dystopias. Mandalay was just one of them, a central one of balance—her home, a place of green fields and shimmering towers, where wolves roamed as kin. | |||
She looked over her King Random's deck. That would mean calling Dalt directly. She looked over her Green Deck, the deck of her homeland, Mandalay. David would help her, but that was a nuclear option. She considered the wolves of her pack. Dwarf would come if she asked. That was a lot of trouble, but she might need someone to oversee this massive dog problem. There were hundreds of wild dogs in the area. Generations of wild dogs, hungry and hunting. Capturing a dozen was just a start. Dwarf and the triplets could herd them easily. | |||
"Maybe later...." Putting away her Green deck and her King Random's deck. | |||
She thought carefully. Dalt was a nuclear option. David was a nuclear option. Dwarf was a blitzkrieg on his own, and if he brought the triplets, the humans of this world were likely to freak out at the sudden organization of the dog packs in this part of the state. | |||
Raphael, she thought, would probably come himself if it sounded adventurous, but then this would be his show and not hers. She didn’t need the whole guild. But maybe just a couple. Yes, Wrecker and Reggy. Tough, dangerous, creative, and probably willing to listen to her. Doc Len would be too noticeable. Colette, though, would fit in perfectly. Call Rafe and ask. | |||
She concentrated on her magical inscription for the realm of Pocai and opened a contact with Raphael. | |||
"Who?" came the response to her call. "Gadget," she answered. | |||
The voice at the other side of the mystical barrier seemed surprised, "Hey, Gadget! Great to hear from you. Didn’t know you had a Trump for me. So where’ve you been? Whatcha up to?" | |||
She | She responded. "I don’t have a trump, Rafe. I have an imprint of Pocai. I am.... I have a situation. I have someone who is hurt. I’m in a world that I can’t use magic openly. I need a doctor and maybe some muscle. I was hoping I could borrow Colette and Wrecker and Reggy. The time ratio is favorable to Ang Ri." | ||
" | "Yeah, Gadget, no problem. Whatever you need. You know you just have to ask. Give me a sec; they’re actually right here with me." Rafe turned to his companions at the Ludus on the world of Ang Ri. "Colette, Wrecker, Reggy; Gadget needs your help, now. Colette; someone’s hurt, get what you need. Wrecker, Reggy; you’re the muscle. She said she can’t use magic openly, so I suggest human forms for the both of you." | ||
He focused back on Gadget. "Can you transport with this Pocai connection? Or do I need to bring them to you?" | |||
"I’m in the King Random Trump Deck and on I’m in an earth world." | |||
Rafe said, "Right. Hang on a sec." | |||
He looked over to Dalt. "Dalt, can I borrow Gadget’s Trump from your KRD? I’ll give it right back." | |||
He was looking over at the trio as they prepared. "She says it’s an earth world; dress and equip accordingly." | |||
Dalt asked, "Can you use Amber trumps?" | |||
"I’m pretty sure I can...? If not, could you contact her and pass these three through? Please and thanks." | |||
He | He nodded, "Ah... Sure...I suppose." | ||
"Thank you, Dalt. It’s appreciated." | |||
"Thank you, Dalt. | |||
"Is there anything else you need, Gadget? How serious is the situation?" | "Is there anything else you need, Gadget? How serious is the situation?" | ||
"Wooow... sounds like a great adventure. Hope it turns out well. I look forward to hearing the tale one day. Safe Travels, my Friend. Adventure Abounds. You ready for your support team?" | "It’s a complicated and musical. We all have our favorites. Shadow is filled with them...I’m here to rescue one set of them...and bring them to the Dramaturge eventually." | ||
"Wooow... sounds like a great adventure. Hope it turns | |||
out well. I look forward to hearing the tale one day. Safe Travels, my Friend. Adventure Abounds. You ready for your support team?" | |||
He looked over to Dalt and the trio to see if they were ready. | |||
Wrecker said, "Were we traded to Cleveland?" As he was putting on his earth boots. | |||
Rafe chuckled. "Don’t think so. Probably just temporary....? But time will tell." | |||
He gave Wrecker a few moments to wonder, then chuckled and said, "She said she’s only going to need you for about a month." | |||
Wreck said, "It’ll be a letdown after the Buffet at the Hall of Water..." He stepped through. | |||
"Everything’s going to be a letdown after that buffet," Rafe said as the portal closed. | |||
Stepping through the portal, the three looked around. | |||
Colette said, "We are not really dressed for it here." | |||
Gadget said, "It’s morning. There is a Walmart about four blocks from here. Here’s about a thousand dollars. Get clothes. Doc, come back here, knock on that blue pipe, and I’ll come to get you. They need stuff. Get some blankets, six sleeping bags. Cheap folding chairs. Medical supplies. Food—bread, peanut butter, jam. Lunch meat for today. Fruit. An ice chest. A bag of cat kibble. These people have been living like wild animals. When they ask, we’ll tell them you’re a friend from home. Leave where vague. I don’t know if they’ll believe me, but they will be grateful for the supplies." | |||
She said, "Runaways? I know the streets. Was on them myself in Chicago as a kid. The charity angle won’t work. Tell them I’m a family friend. I brought this stuff because you called and asked for help. I’ll talk shit about your 'Parents.' I’ll leave off giving you some money. If there is any change." | |||
She nodded and pulled out another thousand. Then decided to give Wrecker and Reggy each a thousand dollars of the money from Wart’s stash. | |||
"Wrecker, Reggy, there is a heavy crime problem here. Take a few days looking the place over and get a sense of things. I have a police contact that can help. When you have a sense of things, let me know, and we’ll decide how to handle it." | |||
She sighed, "Sorry.... It’s good to see you all." She exchanged hugs. Then the three headed off to Walmart, and she went back into the squat. | |||
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Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly. | |||
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==='''Call a Friend'''=== | |||
Gadget sat in the squat for a bit, treating Cali. The blankets under her were threadbare and dirty. "I called a friend for some help. She’s a doctor. She doesn’t hate my parents as much as I do, but it’s close." | |||
"You gave her where we are?" Jax asked, looking wildly. | |||
"I told her to hit the pipe. Leave her car a ways away. Bring some supplies." | |||
Eddie said, with a look of fear in his eyes, "Gadget.... You really shouldn’t do stuff like that without asking us. We vote as a group." | |||
Tiffy held the cat close. "You say she’s a doctor? Can she help Cali?" | |||
" | |||
" | "That’s why I called her. She treated me after one of my father’s parties. She was kind to me. After that, she was there when I needed her." | ||
A couple of hours later, the silence was broken by the banging on the pipe. Holden stood and looked to Eddie, who nodded. He followed Gadget out to the pipe. | |||
Colette was there with three shopping carts filled with supplies. Gadget caught the sense of Wrecker and Reggy a ways away. She hugged Colette. | |||
"Holden, this is Colette. Let’s get off the street." They pushed the carts into the corridors and turned through the labyrinth. Holden said, "What is all this.. There’s food in here." He looked at the basket in front of him with naked longing. | |||
Getting to the tight squat, Gadget started unloading the carts as Colette knelt over Cali. | |||
"Guys, this is Colette, a friend of mine. She’s a doctor. She treated me years ago for....family stuff. We’ve been friends ever since." | |||
Colette | "Hiya, glad to see Gladys has made friends." Gadget growled, "Gadget!!" Colette nodded. Eddie looked at Gadget and silently mouthed "Gladys?" | ||
Eddie then came over to look over the carts. "What’s all this?" | |||
Colette looked over the devices she set out next to Cali. "Gadget told me you guys were living tight. This won’t solve everything, but it can’t hurt. I figured I owe her this. Gadget, get me a couple of those chicken broths. Bring some of the chicken chunks. Get a pot on that burner going. There’s a pot in there somewhere. Heat the broth. There is a cot on there too. Set it up there. Get a sleeping bag open." | |||
" | "You, m’lady," looking to Tiffy, "ah, come here. We have to undress her and clean her. She has no broken bones. But there are cuts.. and.. she’s been doped up." | ||
Holden and Eddie set up the cot and spread a sleeping bag out open, laying a towel down in the bag. Colette directed them to put Cali in the cot. | |||
After a few minutes, Colette stood, "Ok, I need the room. Gadget, why don’t you sort out the stuff I brought." | |||
The guys and Gadget went and looked over the supplies. While they were concerned about Cali, the sudden riches gave them all wide eyes. Gadget took a loaf of bread, slathered mayonnaise and mustard on them, with meat and cheese, slipping each sandwich into a zip-lock bag. Despite their hunger, Holden and Eddie helped while Jax stood by the makeshift curtain for Colette and Cali. | |||
Eddie asked, "No ketchup?" Gadget chuckled. "Colette knows I hate ketchup!" | |||
Colette looked out at Jax as he hovered, "You are?" He said, "Jax. How is she?" "She’s asking for you. You can help me." | |||
She looked to Gadget and whispered mentally to her, "She has a lot of bruises. Signs of repeated rapes. A lot of scratches and cuts. Can you get them to play some while I use the Total Warrior Medical stuff?" | |||
Gadget, Eddie, and Holden fixed 20 sandwiches and tucked them into the ice chest. They set up chairs and sat, and Tiffy, Eddie, Holden, and Gadget sat after Gadget slipped a sandwich to Jax. They ate in silence. | |||
Eddie | Gadget got her guitar out and started strumming. After a few moments, Eddie and Holden picked up theirs. Tiffy picked up her violin and leaned it against her chair as the cat resettled in her lap. She opened the bag of cat food and brought a handful of kibble for the cat to eat. | ||
Colette | Behind the curtain, Cali was cleaned and settled in the sleeping bag. Colette gave her an injection from a Total Warrior device with a broad-range antibiotic as well as pain medication. Secretly, she cast her High Order Healing Spell and the Clean cantrips. Jax brought over broth and spoon-fed her. Colette told him to cover her up when he was done and to eat his sandwich. He smiled at her gratefully. She then left to join the others. | ||
She | She opened a chair and sat, listening to the jam session. | ||
Eddie finally asked, "How is she?" | |||
Colette said, "She’ll heal. She mostly had bruises and a few cuts. It’s pretty clear she was beaten with a belt, but probably as part of the rapes. She was starved for several days to be sure. Dehydrated. The physical stuff will heal. She will have psychological damage to be sure. That will take a long time to get over, and she’ll need help. Did you call the police?" | |||
Eddie lowered his head. Holden said, "Wouldn’t do any good. They always get away with shit. Police connections." | |||
Gadget signaled to Colette to change the topic by using the hand sign language. "How long can you stay, Colette?" | |||
"I’ll leave in a few days. I want to watch her." | |||
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=== '''Finding Their Sound'''=== | |||
Several days passed as the band remained in hiding. The band spent the time playing music, getting to know each other’s playing rather than the singular sounds the busking they had been doing taught them. They ate well, finishing off what Colette had brought. She stepped out to make another food run on her last day before she left. | |||
Cali sat beside Jax, silently, her hurts mended as best as medications could, but the memories went deeper. Those scars might never heal. | |||
During that week, the group played for each other as they never had before. They shared the squat but had never shared their music. Now they did. The hallways echoed as they developed rhythms, harmonies, and solos. They sang all the songs they knew and shared the ones they wrote. Gadget sat back a lot, playing her bass guitar and lamenting that the only thing she missed from home was her piano. She let Eddie take the lead on guitar, playing his beloved surfpunk renditions. Holden played rhythm. Tiffy was a virtuoso on the violin, weaving her sound among the others, playing counterpoint and solos. Gadget nearly cried. | |||
Gadget would go out at night alone. She met with groups of dogs that had heard about her, and she bound them to her, as her father and mother had taught her. Her skill at the bonding grew quickly. | |||
The streets were eerily quiet, the distant hum of a generator the only sound as she walked through the deserted industrial areas near the Station. Gadget’s boots scraped against cracked pavement, her mind drifting to Mandalay. In her world, shadows whispered secrets; here they only swallowed sound. She tightened her grip on the Trump card in her pocket. No magic here to guide her—only instinct. | |||
Jax was pretty good on the bongos. He told them about the music store at home that let him play their drums. The school he and Cali had gone to had shut their music departments. Eddie talked about the private school he and Tiffy had attended. It was wonderful to them, but their homes were hells. | |||
The | The group opened up to each other, sharing their lives. Something they had never done before. | ||
Gadget told a tale that paled to the others, but hers was fiction. They were not ready to learn her truth. Mandalay, Fleece, Snack, the Dramaturge, her pack—the Hounds of Mandalay, Raphael, Ang Ri, Fort Garland. | |||
After four days, Cali was walking, Jax supporting her arm. She carried her bass guitar but didn’t play it. The closest she came was quietly tapping out the beats Jax played. | |||
Jax told a story, "This one time, we played for an audience of zero. Just me and the drums, Cali and her bass in some crummy bar in Wisconsin. Felt like a rehearsal—until the bartender started crying." | |||
Gadget smiled faintly, "Why cry over a song?" | |||
Jax | Jax said, "Said it reminded him of his son. Music’s like that—it hits people in ways you don’t expect." | ||
Gadget | Gadget stared into the camp stove flames, silent. Music and magic weren’t so different. Both were bridges. | ||
Gadget reveled in the experience. Eddie Black and the Stone Bench Group, here, before the fame, before the glory. And in this shadow, Cali lived and didn’t become the inspiration for Jax’s sad ballads and his descent into alcoholism and self-destruction as happened in so many shadows. She knew shadow was vast, and there were places this group never suffered their tragedies. Those shadows sometimes had weaker groups, without the passion. Bands that played at State Fairs, not the Coliseum or Madison Square Gardens. It was a gentle process, but Gadget coaxed them into sharing their tragedies and building on them. After all, they all had horrors in their pasts. Things that brought them together. | |||
She knew one day she would leave them. Leave them to their glory. But till then, she became a member of the Stone Bench Group. She wished she could stay. She also knew that if at all possible, her goal was to guide them past a few roadblocks and eventually bring them to the Dramaturge in Mandalay. If, if... | |||
Eventually, the claustrophobia began to grow on them, and a time came when they returned to the plaza and reclaimed their stone bench. This time, when they took turns leading, singing, solos, the rest of the band played to back them up. | |||
Now the strollers stopped more often. They bought pizza and ate while listening. Some started taking their regular lunch breaks from offices and businesses nearby to come and listen. They might even be the seeds of the fandom that would one day follow them online as well as from city to city. | |||
After a week on the plaza, Waldo showed up. He was apologetic, but Cali couldn’t stand the sight of him. She admitted that Waldo had never touched her, but he had | |||
been part of Wart’s group. He was a shadow of his former swaggering self. Gadget knew Wrecker and Reggy had taken to correcting his attitude while getting all the information out of him they could. It showed. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. In time, Waldo started helping carry things and set things up. Pignoses, a few cables. A mic-stand. Gadget’s eyes nearly popped one day when Waldo brought chalk and drew a half-circle around the front for whoever was doing their lead. The famous singing circle. The cover of their epic first album before her eyes. | |||
Somewhere in there, he and Cali made peace, but Gadget knew that in most of the shadows, Cali was known to hate the chief roadie. She guessed in this shadow that would be Waldo. She never saw Holden exchange more than a few words at a time to Waldo, and he always managed his own amp. | |||
Eddie started to develop the stage presence that would make him famous. Tiffy, on her rock and roll violin, matched his every note, making his voice sound musical. His fingers danced on the strings, while she held the back line steady and soulful. Gadget closed her eyes as the melody washed over her. Each note was a heartbeat, a reminder of what they were fighting for—a world where music didn’t fade into static, where hope lingered in the chords. She could see Cali’s fingers matching her own. It wouldn’t be long till the two of them developed the dual bass sound the group would be famous for. Then Gadget would be replacing stray bassists the band would pick up for a gig or two at a time. Maybe, just maybe, she could stay. | |||
A few days into their second month, Gadget saw Wrecker and Reggy stroll through the plaza. They listened and threw a wad of bills in the guitar case. | |||
Gadget slipped away and met them behind Little Caesar’s. | |||
Wreck lit a cigar as she approached, half offering it to Gadget, who declined. "What’s up?" | |||
Wrecker, the brains of the two such as they were, said, "We have a target. Your contact helped sort it out. The Blind Reapers. A motorcycle gang. They have deep pockets and deep protection. They have a bunch of cops on the payroll." | |||
Reggy said, "Hey! That doesn’t make them bad cops, just realists." | |||
Wrecker, | Wrecker looked at him incredulously, "Really, Officer Clifton?" Reggy shrugged. | ||
Wrecker continued, "They are middlemen for sure. They get good product from the people down at the port. They stomp on the stuff at their clubhouse out in Daniville. We’ve looked the place over. Ten targets at least, including two high-value targets. From what we have learned, drug running is top, but they run guns and girls. Slave trade. The gang leaders are Black Carl Smalter and Dale Genkin. They have contacts all over the place. Permission to scrub them." | |||
Gadget asked, "What did Lisha say?" | |||
Wrecker | Wrecker told her, "They are unofficially untouchable by the cops." | ||
She nodded. "Conditionally, permission granted. We need to know more about them. Talk to them first. See if we can flip them." She turned and returned to the band. | |||
Wrecker | Wrecker nodded, "Infiltration it is." | ||
The pair left, and Gadget went back by way of Little Caesar’s for a few $5 pizzas. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
=='''Places'''== | =='''Places'''== | ||
The | === '''At The Ugly Ferret Tavern - Chapter One'''=== | ||
The duo sat on their stolen Vespas, looking at the grungy tavern. Reggy said, "Good fields of fire. Perches all over. Not good planning." | |||
Wrecker looked around, "They are a biker gang, not strictly speaking a military unit. They didn’t plan on us." | |||
“Welp,” Reggy muttered, glancing at the peeling wallpaper and overturned chairs. “Home sweet home.” | The air inside the bar was thick with smoke and hostility. Neon lights buzzed weakly over stained pool tables, and a jukebox in the corner played a half-hearted country tune. A dozen leather-clad figures turned to watch as Wrecker and Reggy stepped through the door. Tired-looking girls in blank leather sat out of the way, drunk, stoned, or worn out. | ||
“Welp,” Reggy muttered, glancing at the peeling wallpaper and overturned chairs. “Home sweet home.” His Broncos football jacket did not make any friends this far east. Ravens, Jets, Commanders. Maybe Cowboys for the Cheerleaders. | |||
“You know, if they ever power-washed this place, the health department might faint,” Wrecker replied with a grin, his voice carrying just loud enough to draw a few glares. | “You know, if they ever power-washed this place, the health department might faint,” Wrecker replied with a grin, his voice carrying just loud enough to draw a few glares. | ||
At the bar, Dale Genkins, the VP of the Blind Reapers, leaned back on his stool, his leather vest stretching over his broad shoulders. Beside him, Smiley, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, cleaned his nails with a knife that looked sharp enough to gut a deer. | At the bar, Dale Genkins, the VP of the Blind Reapers, leaned back on his stool, his leather vest stretching over his broad shoulders. Beside him, Smiley, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, cleaned his nails with a knife that looked sharp enough to gut a deer. The bartender looked worn and tired, the result of having these criminals claim his bar without so much as a "If you please." | ||
From a shadowy corner, Black Carl, a mountain of a man with a dark history, watched with quiet intensity, his dark eyes narrowing as the newcomers approached. | From a shadowy corner, Black Carl, a mountain of a man with a dark history, watched with quiet intensity, his dark eyes narrowing as the newcomers approached. | ||
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“You boys lost?” Dale asked, his voice calm but loaded with menace. “This ain’t exactly tourist country, Peacock.” | “You boys lost?” Dale asked, his voice calm but loaded with menace. “This ain’t exactly tourist country, Peacock.” | ||
“Nah, we’re right where we need to be. | “Nah, we’re right where we need to be. It’s been a long ride.” Wrecker said, swaggering up to the bar as though he owned the place. He slid into a stool and gestured to the bartender. “Two beers. Cold, if that’s a thing here. Got any pretzels or peanuts?” | ||
Reggy stayed on his feet, leaning casually against the bar and nodding at Smiley. “Nice knife. Compensating for something?” | Reggy stayed on his feet, leaning casually against the bar and nodding at Smiley. “Nice knife. Compensating for something?” | ||
Smiley’s grin widened, showing off a row of uneven chipped teeth. “Keep talking, string bean. We'll see how funny you are when I carve my initials in your forehead.” | Smiley’s grin widened, showing off a row of uneven, chipped teeth. “Keep talking, string bean. We'll see how funny you are when I carve my initials in your forehead.” | ||
“Smiley, enough,” Dale said, raising a hand. He turned his attention to Wrecker, his eyes scanning him up and down. “You got a lot of nerve walking in here unarmed. Either you’re real stupid, or you’ve got a death wish.” | “Smiley, enough,” Dale said, raising a hand. He turned his attention to Wrecker, his eyes scanning him up and down. “You got a lot of nerve walking in here unarmed. Either you’re real stupid, or you’ve got a death wish.” | ||
He | He shrugged, "Having both has worked for me. What makes you think I’m unarmed?” Wrecker replied, taking a slow sip of the beer the bartender slid his way. “I see a bottle of Old Crow down there. Crack that bird and pour two glasses of 6 ounces. Run us a tab." He pulled a roll of bills and stuck it on its bottom. The bartender opened it and counted it. He didn’t wear a cut, so he looked to Black Carl, who gave a slight nod. The money disappeared, and he poured two tall glasses. Wrecker said, "Leave the bottle, Lucky." | ||
Smiley | Smiley eyeballed Reggy, "What about you, Stretch? You packing?" | ||
Reggy | Reggy nodded, "Ya, I’m packing, but you’ll only see it if we were in prison, princess." Smiley started moving, and Dale put his hand on his chest. "I said enough." | ||
"So, something on your mind, such as it is?" | "So, something on your mind, such as it is?" | ||
Wreck | Wreck poured a chug of whiskey into his beer and took a drink, nodding his head, "We got a proposition.” | ||
Dale chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Oh, this oughta be good. What’s your pitch, tough guy?” | Dale chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Oh, this oughta be good. What’s your pitch, tough guy?” | ||
Wrecker leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “You boys run this area, right? But I bet the profits could be better. We know how to move goods, no questions asked. We have a great connection for military arms. And we’ve got a knack for... creative problem solving.” | |||
Wrecker leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “You boys run this area, right? But I bet the profits could be better. We know how to move goods, no questions asked. | |||
“Creative problem solving,” Dale repeated, his tone flat. “That what you call sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?” | “Creative problem solving,” Dale repeated, his tone flat. “That what you call sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?” | ||
Reggy smirked, chiming in. “Hey, we’re just trying to make a buck the American way. | Reggy smirked, chiming in. “Hey, we’re just trying to make a buck the American way. You know, cash businesses and criminality. Maybe add a little... somtha-somtha on the side? No offense, but subtlety doesn’t seem like your strong suit.” | ||
Smiley growled and took a step forward, but Dale held up a hand again, stopping him in his tracks. | Smiley growled and took a step forward, but Dale held up a hand again, stopping him in his tracks. | ||
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“Fair enough,” Wrecker said, finishing his beer in one long gulp. “Just thought we’d offer. Seems a shame to waste all this... potential.” | “Fair enough,” Wrecker said, finishing his beer in one long gulp. “Just thought we’d offer. Seems a shame to waste all this... potential.” | ||
Reggy | Reggy grabbed his glass and matched his friend. Smiley stared at him with naked hatred, showing his broken teeth. Reggy grinned, letting his upper and lower Orc canines show. Smiley blinked in uncertainty. | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker nodded at the bikers staring daggers at them. “Yeah, real welcoming crowd. I feel the love.” | ||
Dale stood, towering over Wrecker, and leaned in close. “The only reason you’re walking out of here in one piece is because I don’t feel like mopping up the mess. But don’t mistake that for an invitation to come back.” | Dale stood, towering over Wrecker, and leaned in close. “The only reason you’re walking out of here in one piece is because I don’t feel like mopping up the mess. But don’t mistake that for an invitation to come back.” | ||
“Understood.” Wrecker said, standing and dusting off his jacket as if he’d just finished a casual lunch meeting. He | “Understood.” Wrecker said, standing and dusting off his jacket as if he’d just finished a casual lunch meeting. He slipped a photo over on the bar. | ||
Looking down Dale | Looking down, Dale said, "What are these?" | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker said, "McMillan TAC-50, Heckler & Koch PSG1, and my personal favorite, the Barrett M82. We can get these reliably. We can get as many AR’s as you’d need. Our selection of handguns is diverse. Street walker prices for courtesan service. Pleasure doing business with you. We’ll be around.” | ||
Wrecker and Reggy | Wrecker and Reggy polished off their beers and whiskey in gulps. Wrecker looked at the bartender. "Don’t forget our tab, Lucky." He grabbed the half-empty bottle as they left. | ||
As they walked to the door, Reggy couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Hey, Smiley—next life, try flossing. Keeps it from scratching johnsons.” | As they walked to the door, Reggy couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Hey, Smiley—next life, try flossing. Keeps it from scratching johnsons.” | ||
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“Let ’em go,” Dale said, watching as the two men strolled out like they hadn’t just walked through the lion’s den. | “Let ’em go,” Dale said, watching as the two men strolled out like they hadn’t just walked through the lion’s den. | ||
Reggy | Reggy turned at the door, looking back in, "Why Smiley, does this mean we’re not friends anymore? You know Smiley, if I thought you weren’t my friend... I just don’t think I could bear it!" Wrecker chuckled outside. | ||
From his corner, Black Carl’s eyes followed them to the door, his expression unreadable. | From his corner, Black Carl’s eyes followed them to the door, his expression unreadable. He whispered to a confederate beside him, "Find out who they are. Call K." | ||
Outside, under the flickering neon sign, Wrecker turned to Reggy with a grin. “That went well.” | Outside, under the flickering neon sign, Wrecker turned to Reggy with a grin. “That went well.” | ||
“Yeah, if your definition of ‘well’ is not getting stabbed in the spleen,” Reggy replied, shaking his head. | “Yeah, if your definition of ‘well’ is not getting stabbed in the spleen,” Reggy replied, shaking his head. | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker laughed, "I was amazed at Genkins’ self-control. And I thought Smiley was going to snap! Johnsons... " | ||
Reggy | Reggy laughed, "Hey, I tried to break him, but he was just too tough for me, I guess." sighing sarcastically, "So, next round’s on you, genius. Pizza or Sushi?"” | ||
They laughed as they disappeared into the night on their stolen Vespas, the tension of the encounter already fading into the rhythm of their camaraderie. | They laughed as they disappeared into the night on their stolen Vespas, the tension of the encounter already fading into the rhythm of their camaraderie. | ||
==='''Gadget Visits the Station'''=== | <div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | ||
=== '''Gadget Visits the Station'''=== | |||
As the weeks went by, Eddie and the Stone Bench Band developed their sound. It had gone well after they realized the takers were not around. Eddie wouldn’t talk about it, changing the subject if it was brought up. A few thugs wandered by, but they didn’t bother the buskers in this neck of the plaza. A pair came to the chalk line but shivered and lost their nerve, tossing their money in the guitar case. One caught Gadget’s eye, a street name of Billy, someday known as Billy Sharp. The shadows played tricks. | |||
Eddie worked out a new schedule for the other buskers, keeping the best time for himself and the group. The others liked the situation fairly well. Players before seemed like warmup acts. The ones afterward got the benefit of the people that started having their lunch in the area. Gadget appraised two musicians probably in their 20s, playing saxes; Mack something & Danny Dean. They were familiar to her from other shadows. Maybe they would add the bang the group could use... | |||
Waldo began filling a shopping cart with the group’s supplies as they went out each day and parking it in the increasingly crowded squat. A month had passed, and nerves started getting frayed. Eddie, Tiffy, Jax, Cali, Holden, Gadget, and now Waldo filled the space extremely tight. | |||
Gadget went out on a walk one night, greeting the new dogs. She met with Wrecker and Reggy. “How’s the Station look now?” | |||
Reggy said, “Like a shithole covered in industrial waste. Your dogs are creeping me out. But it doesn’t smell like rotted cheese, takeout, pot, and stale semen. We cleaned out the front room enough to live there. Fixed the plumbing and set up some solar cells. It’s pretty messy. You still thinking of burning it down? We have a few ideas about that. Or are you going to use it?” | |||
Gadget | Gadget pondered for a moment. “It is just about the same distance of a walk from the Station to the plaza as it is from the plaza to the squat, isn’t it?” | ||
Wreck nodded, “Close enough.” | |||
“Start cleaning it up for us. Leave enough junk so they feel like they clean it out when I get there. Nothing fancy. Clean cantrips and elbow grease. Do something creative in the rape room. It’s going to be hard to convince Cali. Let’s go take a look.” | |||
Gadget looked across the street at the Station, remembering her last time there. Eliminating the lowest rung of the predatory hierarchy. The smell of damp concrete, refuse, dogs, and old grease lingered in the air. | |||
Entering the former convenience store, she wrinkled her nose. "Seriously, guys? This place is a biohazard. You’re telling me you’ve been sleeping | |||
in here? Without even a basic cleaning spell or... I don’t know, a mop?" | |||
Wrecker shrugged, "What can I say? I’ve got low standards. I lived in a truck cab for years—it smelled better than this, but not by much." | |||
Gadget turned at Reggy, who said, "I’m an orc." | |||
Gadget | Gadget looked at him deadpan, gesturing at a pile of broken furniture. "That explains the piles of ‘decorative garbage.’ What is this? An art installation called ‘Despair in Concrete’? You’ve been here a month." | ||
Wrecker: "Hey, don’t knock it. That’s vintage junk. Wart’s crew left it here—it’s practically historical." | Wrecker: "Hey, don’t knock it. That’s vintage junk. Wart’s crew left it here—it’s practically historical." | ||
Gadget | Gadget rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, history needs a pressure washer. Clean this place up. If we’re going to use it, I want it livable. Like, at least one rung above ‘feral.’" | ||
Raising his eyebrow, letting his orc canine teeth show, "‘Use it’? | Raising his eyebrow, letting his orc canine teeth show, "‘Use it’? You’re really thinking of moving your whole band here? I thought that was a joke." | ||
"Yeah. The squat’s too crowded " | "Yeah. The squat’s too crowded." | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker grinned. "I mean, sure. If you’re cool with the charming ambiance of ‘industrial wasteland chic.’" | ||
Reggy | Reggy settled on the east sofa, casting several Clean cantrips out of courtesy. "We’ve been thinking of getting more than a crash pad anyway." | ||
"Oh? Elaborate." | "Oh? Elaborate." | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker said excitedly. "We’ve been charging up the car—dumping extra power into it. It’s still back in Ang Ri. We think we can use it to anchor something here. At some point, we won’t be able to disguise ourselves." | ||
Narrowing her eyes. | Narrowing her eyes. "Something? Be specific, Wrecker." | ||
Reggy | Reggy grinned slyly. "We’ve got a rough sketch for a place." | ||
"And by ‘rough sketch,’ you mean...?" | "And by ‘rough sketch,’ you mean...?" | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker shrugged, "A few napkins. Bells on the doorknobs. Some runes drawn in oil stains. New graffiti. It’s solid, though. There is a bar we are familiar with. The Ugly Ferret. It’s been invaded by that biker gang. We tried to make a deal with them, but no luck. They were Wart’s suppliers. They are next, if you approve, on our hit list." | ||
Gadget | Gadget sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why am I not surprised? Fine. Clean this place up first. If I bring the others here and they take one whiff of this dump, I’m blaming you two." | ||
Reggy | Reggy made a mock salute. "Yes, boss. Operation Mop and Hope, commencing." | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker smirked. "And hey, once we’re done, it’ll be the classiest industrial ruin on the block." | ||
Gadget: "Not exactly a high bar, but I’ll take it. Get to work. I’ll check in soon." | Gadget: "Not exactly a high bar, but I’ll take it. Get to work. I’ll check in soon." | ||
== | <div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | ||
[[File: | Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly. | ||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==='''Biker's Barbeque'''=== | |||
Sitting on a rooftop with their backs to a wall, Wrecker and Reggy contemplated their options. | |||
Wrecker | Wrecker was a stocky, husky man with broad shoulders covered in tattoos. He wore a short, neatly trimmed Mohawk in red, green, purple, blue, and white. He had a camouflage jacket over his lap and camouflage pants, having gone through an army surplus store and picked patterns from different countries. He sat on a Belgian rucksack and smoked a small cigar, exhaling multicolored smoke. | ||
Reggy | Beside him, Reggy snored softly, wearing a Denver Broncos sports jacket and blue jeans, his head on a Belgian rucksack. He seemed fairly relaxed, snoring his relaxation. | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker crawled over and slipped up to look down over the roof edge at the ground with a rifle scope. | ||
Reggy, | Reggy mumbled, “How many? Is he there?” | ||
Wrecker said, “About seven in cuts. Couple of girls. They’re barbecuing.” | |||
Reggy, "Yeah, I can smell it. I’m fraking hungry." He rolled over and fell deeper asleep. | |||
Time passed as Reggy slept, and Wrecker checked the ground. | |||
Wrecker looked over a computer tablet, checking many details. He mumbled. | |||
“Murder, murder, murder, armed robbery, vandalism, vandalism, rape, rape, rape, assault, assault, assault, assault, assault, drug running, gun running. Theft, cleared, cleared, cleared. Payoffs, payoffs. Twelve targets. No female targets. Black Carl... the president of the MC. Dale Genkin, Vice Pres.” | |||
As dusk started, Wrecker looked over the edge of the roof. He laid back and kicked Reggy to wake him. | |||
“Black Carl and Genkin just arrived. Take a look.” | |||
Reggy and | Reggy crawled over and looked down. He nodded. “I see them. Say when.” | ||
Wrecker said, “Thirty seconds.” | |||
Wrecker | Reggy and Wrecker both pulled up M4 rifles, racked rounds, checked the clip, and pulled two extra clips out for each of them. | ||
They turned around and knelt by the roof's edge, putting the four clips between them. | |||
Wrecker said, “I don’t see Smiley. Maybe he’s inside. So let’s both hit Dale and Black Carl, then you get everyone to your right. I’ll get everyone to my left.” Reggy nodded, "Heads are yours, chests are mine." | |||
“One, two, three," Wrecker whispered. | |||
On three, the two swung up and aimed their rifles, taking targets. | |||
The firing lasted fifteen seconds, then there was screaming down below, and the women fled the backyard, running and jumping into two cars and fleeing quickly. | |||
Wrecker surveyed the damage. He and Reggy pulled up their bags and slung their weapons over their shoulders. They leapt off the roof and landed on the ground. Walking through the backyard, they took low-order pictures of the dead. Then they went through pockets, collecting money, wallets, and pocket lint. They piled weapons in a duffel bag. | |||
Dale moaned in pain, and Wrecker looked into his dying face. "Should have made a deal, Dale. Such wasted potential." He drew his Glock and issued the coup de grâce. | |||
Going into the house, they walked through, seeking others. | |||
Reggy | Reggy stood by the door. "All the listed targets except Smiley were outside. Didn’t see that Prospect either. Hey Wrecker, you realize we’re psychopaths?" | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker nodded. "It’s crossed my mind. I became convinced on the streets of Ahyk. Let’s see what’s inside." He raised his hand, and a small glowing symbol rose in front of it. He moved the glowing symbol around the room. “Something... Move the couch.” | ||
Reggy | Reggy pulled the couch, pushing it over on its back with ease. | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker knelt down, running his hand along the floor. Stopping, he punched the floor hard, pushing his hand through. He pulled hard, pulling up a large secret door. Looking down into the hole, the first thing they saw were two girls who crouched in fear. Beside them were bags of packed powder. A large collection of guns. Grocery bags of cash held together with rubber bands. | ||
Reggy raised a symbol similar to Wrecker's. He cast a sleep spell, and the two girls went to sleep. | |||
Wrecker removed a cell phone and called. “Wrecker. Targets neutralized except Smiley Russel. Two captives asleep. Weapons in a hole. Drugs. Send in the Cleaners.” Reggy pulled out several bags of the pressed powder, the bags of cash, and a couple of fancy pistols and stashed them in the duffel bag, smiling at Wrecker. | |||
“That was rough out there. Mostly rough on them, of course. So... Pizza?” Reggy said. | |||
A few minutes later, a van showed up at the Motorcycle Club's house. | |||
The | The black van screeched to a halt outside the motorcycle clubhouse, its headlights cutting through the fading twilight. The Cleaners stepped out—a team of five, clad in nondescript dark clothing, each carrying specialized gear. Among them, a tall woman named Iris took charge, her presence commanding as she assessed the scene. | ||
Inside the house, Wrecker’s phone pinged with a message: “Operation secure. Proceed to drop point.” He nodded to Reggy as he raided the biker’s half-stocked fridge. “Let’s move,” Wrecker said. | |||
The Cleaners began their work. They cataloged the weapons, retrieved the drugs, and carefully extracted the unconscious captives. Iris paused to look at the crude bunker beneath the floor. “They knew what they were hiding,” she muttered to one of her team members, who nodded and bagged up a stash of ledgers. "Any trouble outside?" | |||
Wrecker | Wrecker shook his head. "A few building code violations..." | ||
Wrecker | Walking away from the scene, Wrecker with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Reggy stopped and grabbed steaks and sausages from the BBQ, tossing them in his gun bag. | ||
Reggy | Wrecker and Reggy cut through a side alley. The city’s glow contrasted with the grimness of their mission. Reggy chewed on a cold slice of leftover pizza he found at the clubhouse. “So,” he said between bites, “how long we gotta stay under the radar now?” | ||
Wrecker smirked. “Not long. Couple of days. Iris's Cleaners know what to do. Black Carl and his crew were overdue for a reckoning. The streets are better off without them.” | |||
Reggy grunted. “Still. It’s a slippery slope. We’re not the law.” | |||
“No,” Wrecker said, pausing. He exhaled multicolored smoke from his cigar. “But sometimes, we’re all that stands between order and chaos.” | |||
Back at their safe house, Wart's Station, a dingy flop in the industrial district, Wrecker checked their spoils. Among the wallets and cash, he found a photo of a young girl tucked into Black Carl’s wallet. Frowning, he set it aside. “Even monsters have something to lose,” he muttered. | |||
Reggy | Reggy looked over. “You getting soft, or just tired?” | ||
“Neither,” Wrecker said. He locked the photo in a drawer. “This fight isn’t clean. It’s never clean. Gadget really picked a messy place to come. Crap load of thugs. Crime rate higher than the cops can manage. Cops on the criminals' payrolls.” | |||
This | They turned their attention to the drugs they retrieved. Wrecker pulled out a small vial from one of the bags and examined it under a desk lamp. “This is good stuff. High quality. Got a good connection. This stuff hasn’t been cut yet.” He looked at the rest of the take; cash, pistols, sausages, steaks, herb. Counting cash, sorting it, "About 15 grand of operating money. The pistols look OK, got a nice Desert Eagle. One of their pretty guns. Couple of bags of weed. You had to throw meat on all? The cash smells like grease." | ||
Reggy pulled over the sausages and steaks, setting them on top of an empty pizza box as he listened to his partner. "I learned my lesson, daddy. Eat a good meal before mass murder." | |||
Reggy leaned over, looking at the cut-open bundle. He scooped out a cup full with a coffee cup, cast a Clean cantrip on the table, poured out a pile of powder, and started cutting lines. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==Surprise== | =='''Surprise'''== | ||
Holden emerged cautiously from beneath the deep shrubbery, his gaze flickering left and right before tilting upward toward the pale glow of the moon. His tangled hair clung to his damp forehead, a testament to the effort that had left him breathless. Slowly, he wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled. | Holden emerged cautiously from beneath the deep shrubbery, his gaze flickering left and right before tilting upward toward the pale glow of the moon. His tangled hair clung to his damp forehead, a testament to the effort that had left him breathless. Slowly, he wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled. | ||
Rising to his feet, he scanned the empty park. Moonlight bathed the space, casting a soft sheen on his lightly fuzzed chest, still glistening from exertion. His wide-eyed expression held a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if caught between dream and reality. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, smoothing it back as his fingers came away moist. | Rising to his feet, he scanned the empty park. Moonlight bathed the space, casting a soft sheen on his lightly fuzzed chest, still glistening from exertion. His wide-eyed expression held a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if caught between dream and reality. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, smoothing it back as his fingers came away moist. | ||
A glance downward brought a flicker of self-awareness. Though he had never considered his manhood much to boast about, it stirred again, responding in a way that surprised even him. Seventeen years old and hardened by life on the streets, he had spent four years scraping by with odd jobs and busking. Opportunities for intimacy had been rare, fleeting luxuries he could hardly afford to dream about. | A glance downward brought a flicker of self-awareness. Though he had never considered his manhood much to boast about, it stirred again, responding in a way that surprised even him. Seventeen years old and hardened by life on the streets, he had spent four years scraping by with odd jobs and busking. Opportunities for intimacy had been rare, fleeting luxuries he could hardly afford to dream about. | ||
Tonight, however, was different. Bliss and awe coursed through him, leaving his mind adrift in the memory of what had just transpired—the highlight of his life thus far. | Tonight, however, was different. Bliss and awe coursed through him, leaving his mind adrift in the memory of what had just transpired—the highlight of his life thus far. | ||
Then, a firm hand, insistent and unyielding, brought him back to the moment. Startled, he glanced down. Mismatched eyes, one green and one hazel, shimmered in the moonlight, framed by vibrant blue hair. Her mischievous smile captivated him, demanding his full attention. | Then, a firm hand, insistent and unyielding, brought him back to the moment. Startled, he glanced down. Mismatched eyes, one green and one hazel, shimmered in the moonlight, framed by vibrant blue hair. Her mischievous smile captivated him, demanding his full attention. | ||
Wordlessly, he knelt back into the shadows of the shrubbery, surrendering to her unspoken desires, ready to continue their shared exploration of the night. | Wordlessly, he knelt back into the shadows of the shrubbery, surrendering to her unspoken desires, ready to continue their shared exploration of the night. | ||
== | <div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | ||
=== '''Calling The Car'''=== | |||
Wrecker and Reggy had finished clearing the garage of the Station. | Wrecker and Reggy had finished clearing the garage of the Station. Years of disuse and misuse had made various squatters throw everything into the garage. Reggy kept joking with things, a doll, a bent bicycle, a fur seat cover. Wrecker had kept them in beer. The smell of mundane cleaning supplies filled the air of the mid-winter day. | ||
One of the advantages that they had gained from the Day of the Change was they had gained greater strength and endurance. | One of the advantages that they had gained from the Day of the Change was they had gained greater strength and endurance. Their adventures since had improved them dramatically. Their passage through the Sigil of Fort Garland had changed them even further. Power has its privileges. | ||
They had spent several hours hauling debris from the garage to reveal the cement below. Sweeping got the last of the clutter. | They had spent several hours hauling debris from the garage to reveal the cement below. Sweeping got the last of the clutter. That was followed with Clean cantrips to remove decades of oil, gas, grease, and blood. | ||
Reggy | Reggy said, “Well, that wasn’t too bad. The two storage rooms won’t take long. Though the one with the mattresses is going to take something more than cantrips. Do you remember the Low Order sorcery Clean spell?” | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker shook his head. “No, I didn’t pay attention to the Low Order Sorcery stuff. Too much finger-waving time, lynchpins, and stuff. I always feel like I might be casting something, sneeze, and blast off half my head. Let Gadget clean them when she brings her little band here. We can’t do everything. We don’t need those rooms. The living room has two couches. Those the Clean cantrips can manage till we can get some help.” | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker said, “Then we are ready to see if the summoning will work.” | ||
Reggy | Reggy nodded, “After some sleep and some beer.” | ||
A few hours later the two soldiers had stripped down | A few hours later, the two soldiers had stripped down and cast Clean cantrips on their clothes. They had sat in the living room that had once been a convenience store lobby and cast Mend cantrips on their clothes and Chill cantrips on the beer. Getting dressed again, they returned to the garage. | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker chuckled. “When I was a truck driver, I never imagined that one day I would be some kind of half-wizard. OK, the Army made me a soldier for a time, but the rest is just bizarre.” | ||
Reggy | Reggy nodded, “When I was Denver Police, I thought people who dressed up like elves and orcs were crazy. Now I’m an orc. The Sigil of Fort Garland made me able to become a human again if I want as well as a weird deer thing with wings. I’m not sure I know what a normal life is anymore. But I am enjoying wrecking these thugs.” | ||
Wrecker opened the garage door out to a silent street that rarely saw traffic. | Wrecker opened the garage door out to a silent street that rarely saw traffic. Outside, two large dogs looked in at the pair. They felt Gadget's bond urge them to obey the pair. They walked in and settled against a wall out of the way. | ||
The soldiers of Gadget's army | The soldiers of Gadget's army settled down to business. “Let’s get our ride.” | ||
Wrecker and Reggy knelt on the cold, cleaned cement, the faint scent of ozone lingering from their earlier | Wrecker and Reggy knelt on the cold, cleaned cement, the faint scent of ozone lingering from their earlier cantrips. With careful precision, they drew glowing chalk sigils into twin circles, their lines pulsing faintly with otherworldly energy. Wrecker’s form rippled as he shrank into the squat, rugged shape of a dwarf, his beard thickening like wildfire. Across from him, Reggy’s skin darkened to a deep emerald hue, tusks jutting slightly as his orc form took shape. With synchronized movements, they raised shimmering symbols, their edges crackling like firelight. The garage filled with a low hum, as if the walls themselves held their breath. | ||
Time | Time passed as the two concentrated on the sigils before them, glowing blue and white. Small sparks appeared at junctions where lines crossed. | ||
Soon after the stroke of midnight a horn | Soon after the stroke of midnight, a horn bleated as a purple and white 55 Bel-Air turned off the street into the space between the odd pair of friends. Moments later, its exquisite paint scheme changed to a scratched black and a rusty white with a satisfied hum. The car's license plate said, “Strut.” | ||
The pair put a hand on the car's hood. | The pair put a hand on the car's hood. They smiled. Wrecker said, “Hello, boy. You ready to rock and roll?” The engine roared, and the pipes belched a burst of fire. | ||
Reggy | Reggy stood, “Let’s cruise.” | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker held a door open, and the two dogs leapt into the backseat. He climbed behind the steering wheel with a big smile. Reggy lit a cigar as they backed out of the garage. Three dogs of Gadget's pack skipped in to guard the open garage door. | ||
==='''Lucky and the Ugly Ferret | <div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | ||
=== '''Lucky and the Ugly Ferret'''=== | |||
Wrecker and Reggy walked into the quiet, darkened bar, thick with the despair that clung to the place once dominated by the Riders. The bartender, whom Wrecker had dubbed Lucky, was sitting backward on the bar, pouring himself a pint. He looked up and slipped down onto the ground, his expression shifting to one of suspicion as he remembered the last time the two had been there. | Wrecker and Reggy walked into the quiet, darkened bar, thick with the despair that clung to the place once dominated by the Riders. The bartender, whom Wrecker had dubbed Lucky, was sitting backward on the bar, pouring himself a pint. He looked up and slipped down onto the ground, his expression shifting to one of suspicion as he remembered the last time the two had been there. | ||
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"Ah... what can I get you... fellas?" he asked hesitantly. | "Ah... what can I get you... fellas?" he asked hesitantly. | ||
Wrecker took a seat. "Well, you had a bottle of Old Crow. I know because I took it. Do you happen to have any more?" | Wrecker took a seat. "Well, you had a bottle of Old Crow. I know because I took it. Do you happen to have any more?" | ||
Reggy wandered over to the dark booth once inhabited by Black Carl. He peered closely at it before stepping to a doorway covered by a ragged cloth, glancing beyond it. | Reggy wandered over to the dark booth once inhabited by Black Carl. He peered closely at it before stepping to a doorway covered by a ragged cloth, glancing beyond it. | ||
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Lucky brought up a bottle and pushed it toward Wrecker. "Is my tab still good?" Wrecker asked. | Lucky brought up a bottle and pushed it toward Wrecker. "Is my tab still good?" Wrecker asked. | ||
Lucky nodded. "It is. You gave me a grand. Not that I got to keep it." | Lucky nodded. "It is. You gave me a grand. Not that I got to keep it." | ||
Wrecker raised an eyebrow. "Those guys still own the place?" | Wrecker raised an eyebrow. "Those guys still own the place?" | ||
Lucky shook his head. "I own it, but they sort of... well, *own it*. They must be on a long run. | Lucky shook his head. "I own it, but they sort of... well, *own it*. They must be on a long run. It’s been a month since they were here." He glanced at Reggy, who chuckled. "Ah, you looking for something?" | ||
Reggy smirked. "Just looking around. Seeing if any of the guys are back there, you know, hiding? That a storeroom? | Reggy smirked. "Just looking around. Seeing if any of the guys are back there, you know, hiding? That a storeroom? It’s sure full of stuff." | ||
Lucky stiffened. "No one’s here but me. I | Lucky stiffened. "No one’s here but me. I haven’t had more than a couple of customers a day for a month. Like I said, they’re on a run. Yeah, that’s their stuff, and you should stay out of there. They don’t take kindly to people messing with their stuff." | ||
Wrecker glanced at Reggy, made a hand sign, and spoke to him in Ang Rin—the language of Ang Ri, where the pair had recently spent significant time. "What’s back there?" | Wrecker glanced at Reggy, made a hand sign, and spoke to him in Ang Rin—the language of Ang Ri, where the pair had recently spent significant time. "What’s back there?" | ||
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Wrecker turned back to Lucky. "You don’t miss them, I bet. They tax you pretty heavy?" | Wrecker turned back to Lucky. "You don’t miss them, I bet. They tax you pretty heavy?" | ||
Lucky let out a bitter laugh. "No, they take *everything*. Luckily, I skim enough to live on. I sent my wife to Alabama—kin—three years ago, after the | Lucky let out a bitter laugh. "No, they take *everything*. Luckily, I skim enough to live on. I sent my wife to Alabama—kin—three years ago, after the Reapers moved in on me. For her own sake. Look, they really hated you guys. You don’t want to be here when they come back." | ||
Wrecker | Wrecker smiled. "Having no visible means of support makes us hard to find." | ||
Reggy | Reggy said, "Anyway, Lucky, if they come back, it’s fine. We know necromancers." He rapped his knuckles against the bar. "Beer, any time I knock." He grabbed the beer Lucky passed him, taking a long swig. Wrecker chuckled. | ||
"My name’s Wrecker. My mother had an attitude. He’s Reggy. You’ve got a nice place here, if it weren’t filled with scumbags." | "My name’s Wrecker. My mother had an attitude. He’s Reggy. You’ve got a nice place here, if it weren’t filled with scumbags." | ||
Lucky scowled. "You making a joke, Wrecker? The place is a shithole. I bought it from the previous owner, who didn’t tell me he had these... scumbags squatting here. I put my life savings into buying the place and did some cleanup. I was hoping to have a nice little spot. At first, I didn’t know why the locals avoided it, and I couldn’t get anyone to tell me what the problem was. | Lucky scowled. "You making a joke, Wrecker? The place is a shithole. I bought it from the previous owner, who didn’t tell me he had these... scumbags squatting here. I put my life savings into buying the place and did some cleanup. I was hoping to have a nice little spot. At first, I didn’t know why the locals avoided it, and I couldn’t get anyone to tell me what the problem was. | ||
“We moved in upstairs. The back was full of junk—boxes, trash, a couple dozen motorcycles in pieces. I was looking through things and found a trunk full of weed. I couldn’t decide if I should go to the police. Then they showed up. Refused to leave, refused to lock up. Hit on my wife hard. Made it clear they owned the place and everyone in it. Made it clear my wife was their whore now. Pretty sure one raped her, but she wouldn’t say anything." | “We moved in upstairs. The back was full of junk—boxes, trash, a couple dozen motorcycles in pieces. I was looking through things and found a trunk full of weed. I couldn’t decide if I should go to the police. Then they showed up. Refused to leave, refused to lock up. Hit on my wife hard. Made it clear they owned the place and everyone in it. Made it clear my wife was their whore now. Pretty sure one raped her, but she wouldn’t say anything." | ||
Wrecker polished off his glass and poured another. "That’s when you sent her south?" | Wrecker polished off his glass and poured | ||
another. "That’s when you sent her south?" | |||
Lucky nodded. "Yeah, and took a hell of a beating for it. They all wanted a taste, I guess. Look, I appreciate you guys coming in and all, but if the Riders find you here, they’ll kill you." | Lucky nodded. "Yeah, and took a hell of a beating for it. They all wanted a taste, I guess. Look, I appreciate you guys coming in and all, but if the Riders find you here, they’ll kill you." | ||
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Lucky looked around, weighed his options, and said, "I’ll stick with Lucky." | Lucky looked around, weighed his options, and said, "I’ll stick with Lucky." | ||
== | <div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | ||
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
=='''Moving Day at the Station'''== | |||
The next day, Gadget returned to the squat and explained the situation to Eddie. He groaned about the extra work but eventually agreed. Cali would take the most convincing, of course. At first, Gadget gave up on the move and started thinking of finding someplace else, maybe even taking over the bar Wrecker and Reggy found. In the end, though, the Station made more sense. | |||
Busking had been good for months. The band had started playing together during peak traffic hours in the plaza and had started getting quite a following. | |||
That | One day, a young woman had asked them how many songs they could do and if they were interested in playing a party. That led them to a backyard on a Saturday evening, playing everything they could think of to a crowd of around sixty partygoers. Cali wouldn’t look at the crowd, but otherwise, the group had a heck of a time and ate well. They got $300 in pocket and another $300 in tips. Afterwards, the squat was a celebration as all six members of the band got $90, and Waldo got $60. Not a fortune, but they talked about months when they wouldn’t get $10 a day busking. To top the evening off, they had another gig the next weekend and a possibility of a second one. | ||
Waldo, who rarely talked anymore, suggested they go to Walmart and buy two or three folding wagons. The group looked at him with uncertainty, but he explained that they all hauled gear to the plaza and back almost every day, but going to a gig might take a bit more work. It wasn’t as if any of them had a car. Eddie looked at Gadget, then Tiffy, then around the group to a general agreement. It was agreed that three wagons would carry most of their gear more easily than they could carry it. It was then they realized it had been four months since Wart’s guys disappeared, and no one was taxing them in their place. Tiffy asked how much money everyone had. They had been eating well since they started chipping in from their take from busking. Sometimes they played as a group, sometimes they played on their own. | |||
The amount was surprising to them, despite the $90 each had got from the gig. The total was over a thousand dollars. For buskers, this was a fortune. The habit of hiding away change was deeply ingrained in them. The total had crept up on all of them. | |||
That was when Gadget made the suggestion that caused the real uproar. The squat had always been tight, and with the addition of Colette's supplies—cots, sleeping bags, ice chest, blankets—the place had become a cozy maze for the group, building and bonding them, but the time for a change was coming. Her suggestion of taking over the Station was met with horror by Cali and Jax, rightly so, but the others wanted to at least see the place. | |||
Eddie | After an expedition to the dog town the Station was in, Eddie and Holden both agreed it was worth considering. Gadget had to talk Cali into considering it and used a subtle mental push to make her forget parts of the nightmare she had experienced. | ||
As they discussed the move, the fateful question was asked. Cali asked it. | |||
"What do we do if Wart and his guys come back?" Eddie looked at Gadget, passing to her the lie she would tell. Gadget said, "They got in trouble with a biker gang, the Blind Reapers." Holden nodded, "Yeah, they supplied them. Could they have...killed them?" | |||
Eddie told him, "We may never know." Nodding to Gadget, knowing. | |||
Moving into it took a straight run of gear. Holden and Eddie rounded up six shopping carts and the three folding wagons. They packed their meager belongings and made their way across the plaza. People barely glanced at them, so used they were to people living out of shopping carts that they had become invisible to them. | |||
The sun hung low over the city just after dawn as the group filed out of the Station, their spirits buoyed by the new wave of success that came with their latest gig. But beneath the euphoria, the same gnawing fear lingered. Eddie felt it most acutely. His hands were steady, but there was a weight to his thoughts. Since the gig, the extra cash had gone straight to his head. The first drink | The Station was still a mess. Gadget saw the strategic mess Wrecker and Reggy had left. Piles of debris in the garage mostly pushed aside. A new garage door opener was installed and purposefully distressed. The Station had no electricity, and that would have to wait. Wrecker had explained to her what it would take to connect the place to the local line, and it had seemed prohibitively risky. It was Reggy who suggested they get a power source from the TW guys in Ang Ri. A conversation with Dalt, Rafe, and the Total Warrior medic ended up with them getting a power generator the size of a pair of decks of cards. The TW guy explained that it would be easy to install and explained the process to Wrecker. Gadget knew it would just take stringing the wire. Time enough later. | ||
The bedding where Cali’s ordeal occurred was gone. Gadget shook her head but admired her companions' creative efforts. They had clearly used Fire Cantrips to burn the room once they had emptied offending details. A chest of drawers, tool chests, and various debris had been left to fuel the blaze. She could feel the magical residue of Fire Cantrips and Extinguish Cantrips they had used. For two warriors, they were showing considerable ingenuity in using the few magical talents they had. | |||
After a couple of days, the debris was gone, and conversations about what to do with the place had filled the time in between practicing. Jax made the uncharacteristic comment that they shouldn’t miss too many days of busking, or someone else would take their stone benches. There was general agreement, and it was decided to return to the plaza the next day. | |||
The sun hung low over the city just after dawn as the group filed out of the Station, their spirits buoyed by the new wave of success that came with their latest gig. But beneath the euphoria, the same gnawing fear lingered. Eddie felt it most acutely. His hands were steady, but there was a weight to his thoughts. Since the gig, the extra cash had gone straight to his head. The first drink at the backyard party felt like a celebration, the second like relief, but now… now it was becoming a crutch, an itch he couldn’t scratch fast enough. He caught Holden’s eye as they walked down the street toward the plaza, eyeballing the Goodwill as they went by, trying to ignore the gnawing in his chest. Holden didn’t say anything, but he could tell—Holden could always tell. The old man, at seventeen, had more successfully kicked his habits long ago, but the silence between them now spoke volumes. | |||
“Everything alright?” Holden’s voice was low, careful. | “Everything alright?” Holden’s voice was low, careful. | ||
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“Yeah. Just thinking,” Eddie muttered, kicking a loose stone down the sidewalk. | “Yeah. Just thinking,” Eddie muttered, kicking a loose stone down the sidewalk. | ||
Taking their usual spot Waldo made more complete efforts laying out their instruments, Eddie and Holden's pig-amps, and putting blankets on the stone benches. | Taking their usual spot, Waldo made more complete efforts laying out their instruments, Eddie and Holden's pig-amps, and putting blankets on the stone benches. Passersby in the early morning air noticed them setting up. Some exchanged comments with the group. Several who had bought breakfasts to go decided to sit and listen to them. Their morning was musical and productive. It was also profitable. But they were still at heart a bit nervous. | ||
Among the small crowd Gadget saw Wrecker and | Among the small crowd, Gadget saw Wrecker and Reggy sit, each with a breakfast pizza rolled like a burrito. They nodded at her gaze. | ||
Afternoon the Goodwill store was busy as usual, but today the crowd felt heavier, more pressing. They’d come for furniture—a couch, a few chairs, anything that could make the Station feel more like a home and less like a hollow shell. Tiffy and Cali meandered through the aisles, their eyes glazed with the same detached exhaustion that had become their default since moving into the Station. Cali's face was pale under the | Afternoon, the Goodwill store was busy as usual, but today the crowd felt heavier, more pressing. They’d come for furniture—a couch, a few chairs, anything that could make the Station feel more like a home and less like a hollow shell. Tiffy and Cali meandered through the aisles, their eyes glazed with the same detached exhaustion that had become their default since moving into the Station. Cali's face was pale under the fluorescent lights, her gaze darting away from the other shoppers. She hadn’t spoken much since her encounter with Wart's gang, her mind still replaying the sharp edges of that time, the familiar terror twisting her gut. | ||
“I don’t know about all this…” Tiffy murmured as she ran her fingers along the chipped edge of a secondhand armchair. “It feels… wrong. Like we’re just asking for trouble.” | “I don’t know about all this…” Tiffy murmured as she ran her fingers along the chipped edge of a secondhand armchair. “It feels… wrong. Like we’re just asking for trouble.” | ||
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“You can’t just pretend trouble’s not gonna find us,” Cali snapped from the far side of the store, her voice tight. She was still raw, still haunted, and the old patterns were creeping back in. | “You can’t just pretend trouble’s not gonna find us,” Cali snapped from the far side of the store, her voice tight. She was still raw, still haunted, and the old patterns were creeping back in. | ||
Gadget said, "We | Gadget said, "We aren’t. We are ready to manage whatever happens. Otherwise, we live in fear." | ||
Waldo shuffled up next to them, his eyes scanning the aisles, but his attention was elsewhere. He’d lived through things that none of them could fully understand—not just the streets, but the darker alleyways of the criminal world. He knew how easy it was for someone to slip into their lives, offering help only to tighten the noose around their necks later. | Waldo shuffled up next to them, his eyes scanning the aisles, but his attention was elsewhere. He’d lived through things that none of them could fully understand—not just the streets, but the darker alleyways of the criminal world. He knew how easy it was for someone to slip into their lives, offering help only to tighten the noose around their necks later. He hoped that wasn’t how they saw him. He picked up a book and glanced at the cover. | ||
“You know, these gangs don’t just stay in the shadows forever,” Waldo said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warning. “They’ll come looking for us. Not yet, but soon. We’ve got money now. Not a lot, but enough to make us targets.” He glanced at Gadget, his eyes unwavering, a silent vow there. He was dedicated to her, to keeping her safe and | “You know, these gangs don’t just stay in the shadows forever,” Waldo said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warning. “They’ll come looking for us. Not yet, but soon. We’ve got money now. Not a lot, but enough to make us targets.” He glanced at Gadget, his eyes unwavering, a silent vow there. He was dedicated to her, to keeping her safe and helping her plans, despite knowing firsthand how dangerous she was, but even he knew that safety was just an illusion in a city like this. | ||
They left Goodwill with a pair couches and some mismatched chairs, enough to make the Station feel less like a forgotten corner of the world and more like a place where people lived. The place still smelled like stale air and gasoline, but now there were splashes of color, the start of a life growing in the space. | They left Goodwill with a pair of couches and some mismatched chairs, enough to make the Station feel less like a forgotten corner of the world and more like a place where people lived. The place still smelled like stale air and gasoline, but now there were splashes of color, the start of a life growing in the space. | ||
Back at the Station, they spread out and got to work. Eddie carried the old couch inside with Holden, while Tiffy and Cali tried to paint the walls. It was grueling, tedious work, but it was something they could control. Something tangible. Each brushstroke against the cracked walls was a step toward owning their own future. It didn’t change the fact that they were in the middle of a city teeming with danger, but at least it was something real. | Back at the Station, they spread out and got to work. Eddie carried the old couch inside with Holden, while Tiffy and Cali tried to paint the walls. It was grueling, tedious work, but it was | ||
something they could control. Something tangible. Each brushstroke against the cracked walls was a step toward owning their own future. It didn’t change the fact that they were in the middle of a city teeming with danger, but at least it was something real. | |||
“I used to do this in my old life,” Waldo said, taking a break from hauling furniture to help lay a fresh coat of white paint over the yellowed walls. His hands were steady, even if his mind was racing with darker thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long they could keep their heads down, but they had a few months, at least. It was better than nothing. Tiffy asked, “Paint?” | “I used to do this in my old life,” Waldo said, taking a break from hauling furniture to help lay a fresh coat of white paint over the yellowed walls. His hands were steady, even if his mind was racing with darker thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long they could keep their heads down, but they had a few months, at least. It was better than nothing. Tiffy asked, “Paint?” Waldo shook his head, “Move furniture.” He blanched, not wanting to remind them that as part of Wart's crew, he would have been in a lot of their burglaries. | ||
Waldo shook his head, “Move furniture.” | |||
The sound of scraping brushes and the occasional burst of laughter filled the Station as the group worked. It was strange, being here, a place that didn’t feel like home but was starting to. Maybe it was the familiar mess, the clutter that had once represented their survival now becoming part of their new normal. Maybe it was the way they laughed at little things that shouldn’t be funny, or the fact that they had enough money to paint the walls and buy furniture. | The sound of scraping brushes and the occasional burst of laughter filled the Station as the group worked. It was strange, being here, a place that didn’t feel like home but was starting to. Maybe it was the familiar mess, the clutter that had once represented their survival now becoming part of their new normal. Maybe it was the way they laughed at little things that shouldn’t be funny, or the fact that they had enough money to paint the walls and buy furniture. They had a place of pride to hang Eddie's beloved Red Elvisis Ukrainian Rock group poster. He had even joked about getting it framed. | ||
But as the walls of the Station took on new life, so did their dreams of what it could become. Even with the growing danger, even with the looming threat of the gangs and predators that prowled the city, they were starting to see that this might be their chance at something more—something they had been denied for so long. And the price of that dream? They’d have to face down whatever came for them, together. | But as the walls of the Station took on new life, so did their dreams of what it could become. Even with the growing danger, even with the looming threat of the gangs and predators that prowled the city, they were starting to see that this might be their chance at something more—something they had been denied for so long. And the price of that dream? They’d have to face down whatever came for them, together. "Alright," Holden said, wiping his hands on his jeans as he surveyed the room. "Let’s get some more work done tomorrow. This place is gonna look like a real home soon enough." | ||
"Alright," Holden said, wiping his hands on his jeans as he surveyed the room. "Let’s get some more work done tomorrow. This place is gonna look like a real home soon enough." | |||
Tiffy and Cali exchanged looks, both of them still unsure, but it was a step forward. It had to be. | Tiffy and Cali exchanged looks, both of them still unsure, but it was a step forward. It had to be. | ||
Line 1,138: | Line 1,152: | ||
Waldo stood off to the side, eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows outside the garage door. It felt like they were waiting for something—waiting for it all to fall apart or waiting for the other shoe to drop. But at least for now, they had their Station. At least for now, they were alive and together. But that was more than they had yesterday. | Waldo stood off to the side, eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows outside the garage door. It felt like they were waiting for something—waiting for it all to fall apart or waiting for the other shoe to drop. But at least for now, they had their Station. At least for now, they were alive and together. But that was more than they had yesterday. | ||
In the distance he saw the dogs, behaving oddly some how. | In the distance, he saw the dogs, behaving oddly somehow. Some were disturbingly close. He began to wonder if Gadget had something to do with that? | ||
Then in the distance, he saw Gadget's two friends, the guy with the Mohawk and the guy with the Denver jacket. Gadget passed him going out. | |||
“Keep a lid on things, Waldo. I'm going for a walk.” She walked directly to them as if she knew they were there. | |||
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Got it! I’ll revise the text you provided to ensure all tense inconsistencies are corrected to past tense. I’ll go through it systematically and make the necessary adjustments. Here's the corrected version: | |||
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Gadget walked a few blocks from the station with Wrecker and Reggy to slip into an industrial warehouse that had walls trashed and falling away. Looking into the shadows, she asked, "So what’s the plan, guys?" | |||
Wrecker said, "We’ve taken over the Ugly Ferret. Its owner is Benjamin Ross, wife Imelda. He’s from Amarillo, Texas. She’s from El Paso but grew up south of the border with family. He goes by Lucky now. The place has a small dive bar area in front and a good-sized side room. The bikers had been storing junk there. It’s got two small stages. It looked like it was a club of some kind a couple of decades ago." He pulled out a Cuban cigar and lit it, inhaling its strong scent. "They kept about 20 boxes of Cuban cigars at the Ferret. Lucky was happy to hand them over." | |||
Gadget took the cigar and tested it, giving Wrecker a look. He chuckled and pulled out another and lit it. | |||
Reggy added, "He also has warehouse space east of the club, part of his back room. Lots of clutter in there as well as a sort of garage area. It looked like they had some medical issues at some point. Dried blood, bandages. Just pushed into a corner. Years old. The place is a fucking mess. He has a floor over the warehouse with a few crappy apartments. Lucky and his wife started renovations there but stopped when the wackos took over the place. It looked like it was abandoned with the rest of the place decades ago, just leaving the bar open. Lucky bought the place at a steal. If we weren’t taking the place over ourselves, I’d be inclined to find the realtor that sold it to him and shoot a toe off him. As it is though...." | |||
Gadget nodded, "Ok, how long till it’s ready for the group? We did a backyard party, have one on Saturday and another next week." | |||
Wrecker and Reggy looked at each other for a few moments, then Wrecker nodded, "Week after. Let us haul out the junk. Check the wiring and the lighting. The place needs a coat of paint, but that would take a while....." | |||
Gadget chuckled, "You know what, how about this? The Opening Night show could be a paint night. Get a couple dozen cases of spray paint and give them to customers. Let them paint the walls. If Lucky is OK with it, of course." The three chuckled. | |||
"It’s a start. I’d say we need to drop a few hundred grand into general renovations throughout, but we need professionals for that. In the meantime, the crappy look is perfect for a rave space. Expand into the big space once we sort the place out. You’re planning to push your group hard, it seems. I thought they did in the other shadows on their own?" | |||
"I’ve done some exploring. They had a manager and three diehard roadies, plus a brass section that backed them in most shadows. Here, that manager and two of the roadies are dead. The 5-piece brass only has 3 in this section, still in high school, but they were at the backyard party. I’ll make sure they’re there for the Ferret opening..." | |||
Gadget raised her hand, sniffing the air. She was being hunted. Wrecker and Reggy knew her look and flipped their Glocks to their hands, Wrecker putting the handle of his lightsaber in his left. | |||
She looked around, trying to find the cause. After a few moments, she saw a group of dogs slowly spreading out in the dark. | |||
Wrecker said softly, "I’m guessing these aren’t yours?" | |||
Gadget said, "No.... I’ve gotten about 70 or so of the local pack. From them, I’ve learned that’s around half. And the leader... I think it’s the brute in the center." | |||
Reggy, Glock in his left hand, said, "I count about 25, but there are more in the dark. It’s your ballgame, Gadg. Fight or flight?" | |||
Wrecker said, "The car isn’t far. Dash distance." | |||
Gadget said, "If I run, I’ll lose the rest of the pack. I need to make it clear to this guy who’s in charge." | |||
She stepped away from her friends, inhaling deeply, growling, centering her psyche. Standing, she watched the big brute come away from the others, who spread out behind him. | |||
"I don’t want to kill you. I can tell you’ve been hurt. Beaten. Tortured. Come to me. Join me." She emitted the sensation of love offered, of healing offered. She sent thoughts of the pack, her pack, a great pack. | |||
From him, she felt anger. Fear. Desperation. The insistent demand that she submit. That she roll her belly over. Let him mount her. Be his bitch. | |||
She almost chuckled. He had to learn or die. She felt the moment approaching. She growled and lowered to her hands and knees. Arching her back and raising her hackles. The brute started to circle, but Gadget was unmoved. | |||
Her shape shifted, her clothing falling away, stepping out of shoes, slipping out of trousers, and pulling shirts up and off. Nude for a moment, her skin grew fur, bright white, her eyes bright blue. The brute looked on uncertainly, growing angry. He leaped, clearing Gadget the wolf, who rolled under the leap. | |||
The brute had fought thousands of battles in its long, tortured years, but it had never faced an actual wolf like his father. But this wasn’t an actual wolf. Its scent was terrifying and different. Unlike anything he had ever met. Worse than the cruel men whose hot blood he had drunk to free himself. This was... something else. | |||
Gadget had rarely fought in this form. But this was a challenge. And it began. The brute ran hard rather than leaping, grabbing her fur and trying to sink his teeth into her flesh. She twisted beneath him, grabbing his claws and tearing them with her great strength. He howled in shock at the sudden pain. | |||
Pouncing away, he turned on her, going low, growling. Gadget curved to face him. She felt his desire to die rather than lose. She couldn’t destroy this ancient warrior. | |||
The brute lunged again, this time aiming for Gadget’s throat. She sidestepped with the grace of a predator, her movements fluid and precise. His teeth snapped shut on empty air, and she retaliated with a swift, powerful swipe of her paw, catching him across the muzzle. The brute stumbled back, shaking his head, blood dripping from his nose. But he didn’t retreat. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and desperation, and Gadget could feel his resolve hardening. He wasn’t just fighting for dominance—he was fighting for survival, for the only life he had ever known. | |||
The brute charged again, this time feinting to the left before darting to the right, trying to catch her off guard. Gadget anticipated the move, her heightened senses giving her an edge. She met him head-on, their bodies colliding with a force that sent a shockwave through the air. They grappled, teeth snapping, claws slashing, each trying to gain the upper hand. The brute’s strength was immense, his muscles coiled like steel springs, but Gadget’s agility and cunning gave her the advantage. She twisted and turned, using his momentum against him, forcing him to overextend. | |||
With a sudden burst of speed, she broke free and circled him, her icy blue eyes locked onto his. The brute growled, low and guttural, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze now. He had never faced an opponent like her—a creature that was both wolf and something more. Gadget took a step forward, her hackles raised, her teeth bared in a silent snarl. The brute hesitated, and in that moment, she struck. | |||
She lunged, her powerful jaws clamping down on his shoulder. He howled in pain, thrashing wildly, but she held firm, her grip unyielding. With a fierce shake of her head, she threw him to the ground, pinning him beneath her. The brute struggled, his claws raking at her sides, but she ignored the pain, her focus unwavering. She released his shoulder and placed a paw on his chest, her weight pressing him down. Her muzzle dipped close to his, her breath hot against his face. | |||
“Submit,” she growled, her voice a low rumble that reverberated through the air. The brute’s struggles slowed, then stopped. His body went still, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a whimper, he lowered his head, exposing his throat in a gesture of surrender. Gadget stepped back, releasing him, and watched as he slowly rose to his feet. His eyes met hers, and she saw the change in him—the fear and anger replaced by a grudging respect. He laid his belly to the ground. Gadget stepped over, laying a paw on his hip. She laid over him, letting her body warm him. Accepting him. He shuddered beneath her uncertainly, unsure. Not since his littermates had he felt the warmth. He felt his body surrender to her. He was her Brute. | |||
She stepped back, raising to her feet. She shimmered, and her fur started shifting, her size increased. It had been years since she held her true form as a Hound of Mandalay, a Lady of Mandalay, and blood of Amber. Her size increased to the size of a large Clydesdale horse. Small for her race, small compared to her father Fleece, son of Oberon, but still greater than any wolf this world had ever known. Seated on her haunches, she howled at the moon, a sound heard for miles around. They needed to see her, who they followed. | |||
The other dogs, who had been watching the fight in tense silence, began to approach, their tails low, their heads bowed. Gadget stood tall, her white fur gleaming in the dim light, her presence commanding. She had won not just the fight but their loyalty. The brute stepped forward, his movements stiff and pained, and bowed his head once more. Gadget reached out, her muzzle brushing against his in a gesture of acceptance. The pack was hers. | |||
From far and wide, her part of the pack came in response to her howl and joined in, seeing their former comrades now joined into Gadia's Pack. Gadia, called Gadget, though they would not understand the name. | |||
She stood, walking among the dogs, greeting them, Brute beside her, | |||
soon joined by Savage, now the Second of Gadget's pack behind the Brute. Toward the other dogs, they fell in submission, the Brute beside her. She gathered them around her. They howled together. | |||
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As the howls of the pack echoed through the industrial wasteland, Gadget stood tall, her massive form radiating authority. The brute, now named Brute by her, stood at her side, his earlier defiance replaced by a quiet loyalty. Savage, the scarred leader of the smaller pack she had already tamed, took his place as her second-in-command, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. The rest of the dogs—some mangy, some scarred, all survivors—circled her, their tails low but their spirits lifted by her presence. | |||
Gadget’s voice, a deep, resonant growl, carried over the pack. “You are mine now. Together, we are strong. No more fighting among yourselves. No more fear. We protect each other. We hunt together. We survive together.” The dogs whined and yipped in response, their instincts recognizing her as their alpha. | |||
Wrecker and Reggy watched from a distance, their expressions a mix of awe and unease. Reggy holstered his pistol, his hands still trembling slightly. “I’ve seen some crazy shit in my time,” he muttered, “but that? That’s next level. I think I'm going to need a change of pants.” | |||
Wrecker nodded, his cigar dangling from his lips. “She’s not just a wolf. She’s something else entirely. She’s an Amberite after all.” He exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he watched Gadget move among the dogs, her presence commanding yet strangely nurturing. “We’re lucky she’s on our side.” | |||
Gadget turned to them, her glowing blue eyes piercing through the dim light. “We’re done here,” she said, her voice shifting back to its human tone as her form shimmered and shrank, fur receding, limbs reshaping until she stood before them, fully human once more. She grabbed her discarded clothes and began dressing, her movements calm and deliberate. “The pack will keep watch over the Station and the Ferret. They’ll alert us if anyone—or anything—tries to cause trouble.” | |||
Reggy raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously going to have a bunch of dogs as your security detail?” | |||
Gadget smirked. “Not just dogs. A pack. And they’re more loyal—and more effective—than most humans I’ve met.” She glanced at Brute, who sat obediently at her feet, his massive frame still trembling slightly from the fight. “Besides, they’ve got a leader now who knows what it means to survive.” | |||
Wrecker chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, boss. Whatever you say. But if I wake up to a bunch of dogs licking my face, I’m blaming you.” Gadget laughed, the sound sharp and bright in the otherwise grim surroundings. “Deal. Now, let’s get back to the Station. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the Ferret’s opening night.” | |||
As they walked back, the pack followed at a distance, their presence a silent but powerful reminder of Gadget’s growing influence. The industrial zone, once a place of danger and decay, now felt like territory under her control. The dogs patrolled the edges, their sharp eyes and keen noses alert for any threat. | |||
When they reached the Station, the rest of the Stone Bench Group was waiting, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. Eddie was the first to speak. “What the hell happened out there? We heard howling—like, a lot of howling.” | |||
Gadget shrugged, her expression casual but her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Just a little pack bonding. Nothing to worry about.” | |||
Cali crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “Pack bonding? You mean you went out and tamed a bunch of wild dogs?” | |||
“Something like that. I tamed two. They tamed the rest,” Gadget replied, her smirk widening. “Let’s just say we’ve got some new friends watching our backs now.” | |||
Jax, who had been quietly tuning his bongos, looked up with a grin. “Dogs, huh? That’s kinda cool. Can they play drums?” Gadget laughed. “Not yet. But give me time.” | |||
The group chuckled, unsure how serious she was, the tension easing as they returned to their preparations for an upcoming party gig. But as Gadget settled into a chair, her mind was already racing ahead. The pack was just the beginning. With their help, she could secure the area, protect her friends, and build something lasting. And when the time came to face whatever threats lay ahead, she knew they’d be ready. | |||
Behind her, Brute lay down at her feet, his massive head resting on his paws. Savage curled up nearby, his scarred face calm for the first time in years. The pack was hers, and together, they were unstoppable. The rest of the band looked at them with concern. "Are they safe? They look vicious." | |||
Gadget regarded her two new friends. Standing, she clucked her fingers, and they came to her. She walked around the room, holding each band member around the shoulders and guiding a hand for the dogs to smell, lick. Eddie looked as if he was going to pop his eyes out of his head, but he knew well what Gadget was capable of. Holden and Tiffy managed the introductions well. Jax petted them eagerly, apparently a fan of dogs. | |||
When she came to Cali, her bag shook. Buster stuck his head out, and the dogs instantly thought prey. Gadget slammed her thought into the two warrior dogs that the cat Buster was part of the pack. They looked at her and accepted it with uncertainty. But she was the alpha. Cali let them sniff her hand and smell Buster on it. Gadget was satisfied. | |||
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Reggy, still looking a little shaken, leaned over to Wrecker and whispered, “You think she’s done surprising us yet?” Wrecker shook his head, his grin widening. “Not a chance. With Gadget, the surprises are just getting started.” | |||
The two left the place of battle, followed by a dozen dogs who knew what their duties were. Several liked the two rough friends of the wolf. | |||
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==='''It’s All About the Basses'''=== | |||
Cali sat cross-legged on the floor of the Station, her bass resting across her lap. She ran her fingers lightly over the strings, plucking out a slow, melancholic rhythm. Her bass was a classic Fender Precision Bass, a 4-string with a deep, resonant tone that had been her companion through countless performances. It was simple, reliable, and familiar—a grounding force in her chaotic life. | |||
Gadget walked in, her 6-string bass slung over her shoulder. It was a battered Ibanez BTB686SC, its polished wood barely held together by polish under the dim light. She sat down beside Cali, setting the bass across her knees. Cali glanced at it, her curiosity piqued. “That thing looks like a spaceship compared to mine,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, a smile still a new thing for her. | |||
Gadget chuckled, running her hand along the neck of her bass. “Six-strings. Two extra strings—a low B and a high C—give it a wider range. It’s like having a bass and a guitar rolled into one.” She plucked the low B string, the deep, rumbling note vibrating through the room. “This one’s for those earth-shaking lows,” she said, then shifted to the high C, producing a bright, almost guitar-like tone. “And this one’s for when you want to soar.” | |||
Cali tilted her head, listening intently. “It’s a whole different sound.” | |||
“Exactly,” Gadget replied. “With a 4-string, you’re locked into that classic bass role—holding down the low end, keeping the rhythm tight. But with a 6-string, you can step into the spotlight. You can play chords, melodies, even solos if you’re feeling bold.” She demonstrated, her fingers dancing across the strings as she played a complex, melodic line that wove seamlessly between low and high registers. | |||
Cali watched, her eyes wide with admiration. “That’s… incredible. But doesn’t it make things harder? More strings, more to think about.” | |||
Gadget nodded. “It can be overwhelming at first. The neck is wider, and you’ve got to be precise with your fingering. But once you get the hang of it, it opens up a whole new world of possibilities.” She handed the bass to Cali. “Here, give it a try.” | |||
Cali hesitated, then took the bass, adjusting it in her lap. She plucked the strings tentatively, her fingers fumbling slightly on the wider neck. “It feels… different. Like I’m learning all over again.” | |||
“That’s the beauty of it,” Gadget said, her voice soft but encouraging. “It challenges you. Pushes you to grow. And when you find your groove, it’s like nothing else.” She reached over, guiding Cali’s fingers to the frets, extending her psych to guide the hands, pushing for strength she did not understand she had. “Start slow. Feel the strings. Let them tell you where to go. Play the middle 4 you know, then step up, step down.” | |||
Cali closed her eyes, letting the vibrations of the bass guide her. Slowly, she began to play, her movements growing more confident with each note. The low B string added a richness to her sound, while the high C allowed her to explore melodies she’d never attempted before. When she opened her eyes, Gadget was smiling. | |||
“See? You’re a natural,” Gadget said. “The 4-string will always be your foundation, but the 6-string? That’s your wings.” | |||
Cali smiled back, a rare spark of excitement in her eyes. “Maybe one day I’ll get one of these. Till then, I’ll stick to what I know.” | |||
Gadget nodded. “There’s no rush. Music’s a journey, not a race. But… I am thinking we can almost afford getting a pair of new basses. And no matter what you play, it’s your voice that matters.” | |||
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==='''The Pawnshop'''=== | |||
The Baltimore Subway Metrolink rattled through the tunnels, its fluorescent lights flickering as Gadget and Cali sat side by side. Cali fidgeted with the strap of her bag, her eyes darting to the passing stations. “You sure this place is worth it?” she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism, her mind just a touch in fear. | |||
Gadget leaned back, her arms crossed, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Trust me. This pawnshop’s got a reputation for musical gear. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something special.” | |||
When they stepped off the train, the neighborhood was a mix of faded brick buildings and graffiti-covered storefronts. The pawnshop was tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, its window cluttered with guitars, amplifiers, and other instruments. A bell jingled as they pushed the door open, the smell of old wood and dust greeting them. | |||
Cali’s eyes widened as she took in the rows of instruments lining the walls. “This place is like a treasure chest,” she whispered, her fingers brushing against the neck of a vintage Fender Stratocaster. | |||
Gadget headed straight for the bass section, her eyes scanning the lineup. She paused, her gaze locking onto two instruments hanging side by side. One was a dark brown Ibanez GSR206 6-string bass, its sleek design and polished finish catching the light. The other was a Dean Edge 6-string bass in a stunning blue quilted maple, its body shimmering like the ocean. | |||
“Cali, come here,” Gadget called, her voice low but excited. Cali hurried over, her eyes widening as she saw the basses. “These are perfect,” Gadget said, lifting the Ibanez off the wall and handing it to Cali. “Feel that. Solid construction, smooth neck. And the Dean? That’s a beauty.” | |||
Cali strummed the Ibanez, the low B string rumbling through the shop. “It’s amazing,” she admitted, her voice tinged with awe. But then she glanced at the price tags and frowned. “Two hundred for the Ibanez? Three-fifty for the Dean? That’s way too much. We’re buskers, Gadget. We can’t afford this.” | |||
Gadget shook her head, her expression firm. “These are worth every penny. A good instrument isn’t just a tool—it’s an extension of you. And you deserve something that can keep up with your talent. These are beat up looking, but I’ll check the works and the sound before buying them. Looks we can fix.” | |||
She walked to a chair by the amps and plugged each in by turns, strummed, picked, and looked them over closely. Cali watched in anticipation. Then Gadget let her sit and handed her the Ibanez. Gadget whispered, "Nothing wrong with them we can't fix." | |||
Before Cali could protest further, Gadget flagged down the shop owner and handed over the cash. “We’ll take both.” | |||
Cali stared at her, stunned. “You’re insane,” she muttered, but there was a hint of gratitude in her voice as she slung the Ibanez over her shoulder. | |||
As they went to leave, Gadget stopped. She walked to a dusty corner of the store where boxes had a wide variety of items, most unsorted. She dug through them, chuckling with delight. She found four plastic recorders, a dozen toy kazoos, three harmonicas, finger cymbals, and some small rattles. Such potential. Gadget thought of her flute, the fine mithril silver flute sitting in Mandalay, shadows away. Recorders and harmonicas would have to do. | |||
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==='''Yard Sale'''=== | |||
On the subway ride back, Cali couldn’t stop glancing at the basses, her fingers twitching as if she were already playing them. But when Gadget suddenly stood up and motioned for her to follow at an unfamiliar stop, Cali hesitated. “Where are we going now?” she asked, her brow furrowed. | |||
Gadget just grinned. “You’ll see.” | |||
They walked a few blocks to a quiet residential street, where a yard sale was in full swing. Tables were piled with clothes, books, and household items. She looked to a man coming over to her, "You the one who called?" Gadget nodded, and the man led them into the back of the garage. In a corner, a 5-piece starter drum set sat gleaming in the sunlight. The sign taped to it read: $100 – OBO. and another Sold. He said, "I'll be glad to see that go. My son whined and whined for it for a year. He played it for about a month, then it sat in his room for a couple of years, then in the garage till he left for college. Get it out of my garage, please. I saw ya walking? You can have the red wagon over there for free." | |||
Cali’s jaw dropped. “No way,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She turned to Gadget, her eyes wide. “Is this why we stopped? For Jax?” | |||
Gadget shrugged, her smirk widening. “He’s been playing on bongos and makeshift kits long enough. He deserves something real.” | |||
Cali’s eyes welled up with tears, but she quickly wiped them away, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? First the basses, now this? How do you even know about this stuff?” | |||
Gadget chuckled, pulling out her wallet. “Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for finding stuff.” She handed the cash to the seller, who helped them load the drum kit into a red wagon he threw in. | |||
Cali stood silently as she watched Gadget's back while she looked through the piles on the tables. | |||
Cali squinted at the pile in Gadget’s arms as they walked back to the car, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, I get the shirts—they’re kinda cool in a retro way—but what are you gonna do with a thousand loose sheets of sheet music and a couple hundred random Polaroids of strangers?" | |||
Gadget grinned, adjusting her grip on the stack of faded photographs. "I have an idea." She tossed the shirts into her backpack. "The music—some of it’s bound to be interesting. We can play around with the arrangements, maybe mash some things up. And these photos?" She held up a random shot of a man in oversized sunglasses standing next to a station wagon. "They’ve got stories. Even if we don’t know them, we can make them up. Give them new lives." | |||
She asked the guy about the Polaroids. "I bought a storage unit. It had some good furniture. But there were boxes of those. Someone's whole life, forgotten." Gadget asked him, "You have more?" He responded with, "Boxes and boxes. Not here though." Gadget told him she would take them all and would come back later to pick them up. | |||
As they made their way back to the subway, Cali walked in silence for a while, her mind racing. Finally, she turned to Gadget, her voice soft but sincere. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how we’re ever going to repay you.” | |||
Gadget waved her off, her tone light but firm. “You don’t have to repay me. This is out of our busking fund. Just let me handle Eddie when we get back. He put me in charge of group money, and this is what I did with it. Just keep playing. With both of us on good pieces finally. That’s all I want.” | |||
Cali shrugged, shaking her head as they walked into a parking lot. "You’re weird, you know that?" | |||
"Yeah, but admit it—it’s an interesting kind of weird." | |||
Gadget smirked before disappearing into a hardware store by the subway's stop. Ten minutes later, she came out with a bag full of spray cans. Paint and adhesives. | |||
As they made their way back to the subway, Cali walked in silence for a while, her mind racing. Finally, she turned to Gadget, her voice soft but sincere. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how we’re ever going to repay you.” | |||
Gadget waved her off, her tone light but firm. “You don’t have to repay me. This is out of our busking fund. Just let me handle Eddie when we get back. He put me in charge of group money, and this is what I did with it. Just keep playing. With both of us on good pieces finally. That’s all I want.” | |||
"Deal," she responded. | |||
Back at the Station, Gadget wasted no time. She took spray paint cans and started painting designs on the walls. Holden and Eddie joined in while Eddie grilled her about the money. | |||
Jax filled the room with a heavy loud beat on the new-to-him drums, dusting off the years of loneliness from the forgotten instrument. It soared under their new owner's sticks. Cali grew a wide smile seeing her beloved happy. | |||
She cracked open a can of aerosol adhesive, shaking it with a satisfying rattle before coating a section of the wall. "Alright," she said, handing out stacks of Polaroids and sheet music around, "help me stick this stuff up." | |||
The others got to work, pressing the yellowed sheets of music against the walls, overlapping them with faded Polaroids—snapshots of birthdays, vacations, blurry party moments, and forgotten faces frozen in time. The effect was chaotic, a collage of unknown lives and untold melodies. | |||
Gadget stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying the growing wall of history. "Not bad," she murmured, picking up a random photo from the pile still in her lap. She studied it—the faint outline of a woman sitting on a porch, caught mid-laugh, a glass in her hand. | |||
She smirked. "Alright, lady—what’s your story?" | |||
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==='''The Ugly Ferret - Used Gear'''=== | |||
The garage of the Ugly Ferret smelled like motor oil, old leather, and stale beer. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a sickly glow over a collection of battered equipment: Marshall stacks with torn grille cloth, Peavey and Fender amps that had seen better days, a tangled mess of cables, and microphones with dented grilles. It was a graveyard of rock and roll relics. | |||
Gadget, her electric blue hair tied back, crossed her arms and surveyed the lineup. She stepped over a coiled snake of dusty XLR cables and knelt by a beaten-up Ampeg SVT bass amp. She tapped the side, and a loose panel rattled. “This thing gonna hold up, or is it gonna catch fire the second I plug in?” | |||
Reggy, a thick-built man with sleeves of faded tattoos, grinned around a toothpick. “Ah, don’t be a wuss. It’s just a little character.” | |||
Wrecker, his wiry counterpart with a permanent scowl, ran a hand over the torn tolex of a Marshall JCM800 half-stack. “Most of this stuff’s better than what you’ve been using,” he pointed out. “We can get better, sure, but it’ll cost, and kinda break character for us, wouldn’t it?” | |||
Gadget sighed and rolled her shoulders before slinging her six-string bass over her shoulder. “Let’s see if this junk actually works.” She plugged in, twisting the worn-out input jack until it settled in place with a crackle. The amp gave a brief hum of protest before Reggy stepped in, adjusting the settings. He turned a few dials, knocked the casing, and muttered something under his breath. | |||
She played a few deep, resonant notes, testing for dead spots. The sound was rough, but not completely unusable. “Eh,” she grumbled. “I’ve played worse.” | |||
Reggy nodded, stepping back with his arms crossed. “I’ll clean up the electrical. Most of it’s just buzz and loose connections. The rest—well, looks are just vanity at this point.” | |||
Gadget exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fine. But buy two small, inexpensive amps—one dedicated for Tiffy’s electric violin and the uke, another for Eddie’s mic. The rest of our mics can pop off occasionally, but lead vocals have to be dependable.” She gave him a pointed look. “And get a good mic. None of this garage sale shit.” | |||
Reggy smirked. “Demanding, huh?” | |||
“Just making sure we don’t sound like total garbage.” | |||
She looked around, thoughtful. “Also—get a couple outside security cameras in here. I’ll put one of my great cameras up, but the security cams are for show and B-roll. We’ll throw some video clips on the CD. Never can tell.” | |||
Wrecker nodded. “Yeah, not a bad idea. Might as well milk this gig for all it’s worth.” | |||
Gadget slung her bass back over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Wrecker. “And while we’re at it—talk to Lucky. Tell him to water down the band’s booze. Especially Eddie’s. He’s getting too much of a habit, and I don’t need him falling off the damn stage.” | |||
Wrecker sighed, rubbing a calloused hand over his face. “Yeah, I figured. I’ll have Lucky keep an eye on him.” | |||
Reggy clapped his hands together. “Alright then, sounds like we got ourselves a damn plan.” | |||
Gadget gave the amp one last skeptical look before finally nodding. “Let’s hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces.” | |||
Wrecker grinned. “Wouldn’t be rock and roll if it didn’t.” | |||
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=='''The Night at the Ugly Ferret'''== | |||
The night of the Stone Bench Group’s first performance at the Ugly Ferret had a strange energy—equal parts excitement, nerves, and underlying tension. The word had spread fast among the people who had seen them play at backyard parties, and a fair number had shown up, eager to see if the SBG could bring that same magic to a real venue. But there were also others in the crowd—some curious, some skeptical, and a few who made the air feel heavier just by being there. | |||
Lucky worked the bar, keeping a close eye on the crowd. He was the kind of man who had seen enough trouble in his life to know when it was creeping in, and tonight, trouble might be lurking in the shadows. He was scared as hell. Maybe it was Wrecker and Reggy and their constant cheerfulness, the jokes they told. The money they had. But he also knew they were easily as bloodthirsty and ruthless as the bikers had been. Maybe worse. But his side room with its two stages had been cleaned by the pair, of the motorcycles, junk, boxes, and years of trash. They had put in lights, wiring, and even passed the city's inspection to get a venue permit. | |||
Ominously as well was the warehouse space. They cleaned it and talked about extending the side area to the back. In the meantime, they had their incredible '57 coupe in there and seemed to live out of its trunk. A pair of cots, a coffee maker, and a fridge. A keg of beer and bottles of booze. A coffee table and their ever-present cigars. The two were not just weird rich killers. They were something beyond his ability to understand. That was scary. But they wanted a dance club and this band to play, so they got it. | |||
Smiley, though unrecognizable in his disguise, sat in a corner nursing a drink, a couple of the old biker girls with him, chatting in low voices. Scattered through the room were members of local gangs, their eyes sharp, assessing, waiting to see what kind of place this would become. | |||
The SBG huddled in the back before their set. Gadget could see the nervous energy in them—Eddie was bouncing on the balls of his feet, Holden kept checking his guitar, Jax had a protective arm around Cali, whispering to her. Tiffy, usually the loudest, was oddly quiet, biting her lip as she adjusted her mic. “You guys got this,” Gadget said firmly, making eye contact with each of them. Holden said, "It really isn't the plaza. This ain't busking." | |||
“Yeah, it’s playing in front of people who might stab us if they don’t like the music,” Eddie muttered. | |||
“Then play like your life depends on it,” Waldo said with a smirk. | |||
Time came, and the Ugly Ferret was packed to the brim, the air thick with the buzz of anticipation and the faint hiss of spray paint cans as the crowd added their own colorful chaos to the walls. | |||
Waldo walked to the front of the stage and sprayed a yellow semicircle in front of the stage, the crowd stepping back as he did. Behind him, the Stone Bench Group took the stage, their instruments gleaming under the dim, flickering lights. Eddie stepped up to the mic, his first time in a real joint. “Alright, Ferrets,” he called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “Let’s make some noise!” | |||
The set started rough—Cali's hands were shaking, and Eddie missed some chords in the first song. Gadget did a bass ZINGER noise for each fumble, to the amusement of the crowd. Jax dropped his sticks. But then something shifted. Maybe it was the way the crowd responded, the way the backyard party crowd cheered them on, drowning out the murmurs of the skeptics. Maybe it was the spray paint event happening around them—cans hissing as people tagged the walls in wild, chaotic bursts of color, marking over the old grime and the ghosts of the bar’s past. The energy in the room changed, and so did the music. | |||
The third song changed it all. A high-energy cover of '''''The Stray Cats’ “Rock This Town,”''''' Eddie’s guitar slicing through the room with razor-sharp precision. Tiffy’s violin wailed like a siren, weaving in and out of the melody, while Jax pounded the drums with a ferocity that had the crowd bouncing. But it was Gadget and Cali on their new 6-string basses that stole the show. Gadget’s fingers danced across the fretboard, her low B string rumbling like thunder, while Cali’s high C added a bright, melodic counterpoint that lifted the song to new heights. The audience erupted into cheers, swept up in the infectious energy. | |||
Next came a surf medley, starting with '''''The Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ USA.”''''' Gadget and Cali locked into a tight, driving rhythm, their basses intertwining to create that iconic surf sound—deep, resonant lows paired with shimmering highs. Eddie’s vocals soared, and Tiffy’s violin added a haunting, reverb-drenched edge that had the crowd swaying like waves. The transition into '''''Dick Dale’s “Misirlou”''''' was seamless, the rapid-fire picking on Gadget’s bass sending shockwaves through the room. Cali, still getting used to her 6-string, held her own, her confidence growing with every note. Try as she could, Gadget could barely get Cali to look at the audience. | |||
Next up was '''''Red Elvises’ “Red Lips, Red Eyes, Red Stockings,”''''' a raucous rockabilly number that had the room shaking. Eddie’s vocals were full of swagger he hadn't known he had, and Tiffy’s violin added a wild, Eastern European flair that perfectly complemented the song’s infectious energy. | |||
Tiffy stepped into the spotlight for her haunting original, '''''“Black Road Away from Home.”''''' Her voice sang with a mournful beauty, weaving a tale of loss and longing that left the crowd spellbound. Gadget and Cali’s basses provided a dark, brooding foundation, their 6-strings adding layers of texture and depth that elevated the song to something truly special. | |||
The mood shifted slightly as they launched into '''''Duane Eddy’s “Peter Gunn,”''''' the iconic riff ringing out with a fresh, gritty edge. Tiffy played the sax line on the violin, giving the piece a fresh, bright note. Holden’s rhythm guitar was rock-solid, while Jax’s drumming added a punchy, almost primal intensity. Gadget took the lead on this one, her 6-string bass adding a deep, resonant growl that gave the classic tune a modern twist. | |||
Midway through the set, Eddie introduced a surprise. “Alright, folks, we’re gonna slow it down for a minute. But don’t worry—it’s still gonna get weird.” He stepped aside as Gadget and Holden walked to the front of the stage, each holding a kazoo. The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers as they launched into a hilariously heartfelt rendition of '''''“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”''''' Holden’s kazoo playing was surprisingly soulful, while Gadget’s added a playful, almost comedic flair. By the end, the entire room was singing along, their voices rising in unison. | |||
A surprise awaited them after the kazoos as Gadget and Holden jumped into the '''''Time Warp from Rocky Horror Picture Show'''''. Tiffy jumped in to sing for Little Nell's part. The dance number was a classic even after so many years, and the crowd of Ferrets loved it. | |||
Jax got his moment to shine with '''''“Thumpa Thumpa,”''''' a percussive, high-energy Buddy Rich-influenced solo that showcased his incredible drumming skills. | |||
The energy ramped back up with an original track, '''''“Stone Bench Blues,”''''' a rockabilly-infused number that showcased the group’s growing chemistry. Eddie’s vocals were raw and impassioned, while Tiffy’s violin solo brought the house down. Gadget and Cali’s basslines locked into a tight, driving groove, their 6-strings adding a richness and depth that elevated the song to another level. The crowd was on their feet, dancing and clapping along, completely swept up in the music. | |||
With a blistering cover of '''''The Stray Cats’ “Built for Speed,”''''' the room exploded into chaos as the audience sang along at the top of their lungs. Eddie’s vocals were raw and impassioned, while Tiffy's voice in unison with Eddie’s practically brought the house down. | |||
As the set drew to a close, Eddie grabbed the mic, his face flushed with excitement. “You’ve been an incredible crowd tonight! Let’s end this with a bang!” The group launched into a raucous cover of '''''Red Elvises’ “Surfing in Siberia,”''''' the room exploding into chaos as the audience sang along at the top of their lungs. Gadget and Cali’s basses thundered through the room, their 6-strings adding a wild, untamed energy that perfectly matched the song’s frenetic pace. Jax’s drumming was relentless, and Tiffy’s violin screeched like a banshee, driving the song to its explosive finale. | |||
When the last note faded, the room erupted into deafening applause, the crowd chanting for an encore. The Stone Bench Group exchanged grins, their faces glowing with sweat and triumph. They had done it—they had turned the Ugly Ferret into a place of magic, even if just for one night. And as they launched into their encore, a soulful rendition of '''''“Stand by Me,”''''' Gadget couldn’t help but smile. This was just the beginning. | |||
By the time they finished, the crowd erupted in cheers. Even the ones who had been skeptical at first seemed to have been won over. Smiley, still hidden in his disguise, gave a slow nod of approval. The gang members in the back exchanged looks, their interest piqued. Money to be made. | |||
The Stone Bench Group had made their mark. The Ugly Ferret was no longer just a relic of its past—it was becoming something new. | |||
Lucky looked to Wrecker. "We are going to need a staff. This could get messy." Wrecker nodded, "I know a guy." | |||
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==='''Meeting on the Street'''=== | |||
Smiley and his two girls walked the four blocks to where he had parked their battered van. | |||
When they reached it, Reggy stepped out in front. "Smiley, I love what you've done with your hair. Washed it, right?" | |||
Smiley put his hand on his hip, clipping open his draw holster. "Yeah, I wanted to look my best for you." The girls started backing away, the black-haired one slipping a hand in her jacket. | |||
"Lady, I have no qualms about shooting a woman if you draw on me. Let’s take a deep breath and show your hands. If I wanted you all dead, we wouldn’t be talking." | |||
"So, what are we talking about?" Smiley asked. "And you know there is only one of you against the three of us." | |||
"Is that what you think? Look at blondy there." They turned to look, and the green dot on her chest moved a bit, signaling that Wrecker was somewhere nearby. | |||
Reggy said, "Wrecker wanted to talk to you, but he really wanted to drill a .50 caliber BMG through your front teeth much more. Now, in respect to a friend who prefers accommodation to bloodshed, I want to talk about our situation." | |||
"Our situation? You mean you two killing my chapter? I’ve killed my share of dudes, but that was mass murder, you psychopath!" | |||
"Yeah, we did that, but that’s done. So... How do you feel about taking your prospects and your ladies and moving to, say, New Orleans? New York is too close. Toronto? By the way, where are your prospects?" | |||
"I don’t know. They disappeared after your massacre. Did you kill them too?" | |||
Reggy shook his head, "No, we missed them as well as you. Till now. So... What will it be? New Orleans or Toronto?" | |||
Smiley looked up to the roof line where Wrecker swung the green dot to flash in his eyes. He scowled, his hatred growing deeper. | |||
"New Orleans." | |||
Reggy nodded, "Good. You lost your Baltimore privileges. Let the girls know we don’t have wanted posters on them, but finding new places to live can be liberating." | |||
"Can we go?" | |||
Reggy backed away, nodding, letting Smiley have the last word. | |||
As the van drove away, Wrecker came scaling down to the ground and crossed the street, cradling the M82. | |||
"I really should have drilled him." | |||
"After Gadget didn’t kill that huge monster dog, it seemed a little awkward thinking of killing Smiley without at least giving him a chance to flee." | |||
"Sure. Sure. But you know he’ll be back." | |||
"Of course. No chance he’ll stay away. Then he’s fish food." | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==='''Forty Threes'''=== | |||
Looking out from the shadows at the Ugly Ferret, the boys of the 43rd Street gang, often called the Forty Thieves as an homage to the movie *Gangs of New York*, watched the crowds of people going into the crappy old bar for a performance of the weird twangy group called the Stone Bench Group. | |||
The bar had belonged to the Blind Reapers for years until their sudden disappearance. The boys didn’t know why but knew they couldn’t find as good a source for their habits. Sucked for them, but life went on. The new popularity of the old Ferret was an opportunity. They had gone to a few of the shows and didn’t understand why people liked these freaks. But money was money. | |||
After the music was going and the people had all gone in, they moved. Running low to avoid cameras recently installed on the outside of the building, they ran past parked cars, sticking long sharpened screwdrivers into the tires on the street side, dragging them along the paint, and occasionally breaking a window. They laughed as they went by, peeking in the cars occasionally. Toward the end, two slipped into minivans and, popping the ignition, hot-wired them, filling the vehicles. They drove away, laughing. | |||
Inside, Reggy watched the screen of a widescreen TV set up in the garage area he and Wrecker used as living quarters for now. The feed was from security cameras set up with a great deal more skill to be hidden from sight. He smoked a Urala cigar and listened to the surfpunk sound from the other room. | |||
"Well?" he said. | |||
Wrecker said, "Yeah. Let them make their play. Maybe we can use them. Twenty-two of the rattlings in the gang. Ten out there. Two stolen cars. Ask Lucky who he would call to fix flats. Talk to Gadget. There are going to be some angry people after the show. She and the group should go out and help change tires, meet the fans, pitch in. Hand out kazoos. Order a thousand kazoos." He handled a kazoo, the top emblazoned with the letters SBG, tooting on it with amusement. Reggy wandered out to talk to Lucky. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==='''Later That Night'''=== | |||
Later that night, the Stone Bench Group was outside, leading a kazoo-a-thon as a dozen garage workers helped car owners replace tires. | |||
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=='''A Few Days Later'''== | |||
A few days later, it was an afternoon when Reggy and Wrecker were taking a break in the bar and chatting with Lucky when two guys entered. They were dressed in casual clothes with an urban chic, but were clearly gang members. Tattoos with the numbers 43 on their necks were telling. Their haircuts were overly detailed, as if it was someone’s hobby to cut them. They wandered to the bar and took seats, looking at Lucky. | |||
"What can I get ya guys?" he asked. | |||
One said, "Tequila, a couple shots each." They collected the shots, taking one each quickly. | |||
The tall one said, "You’ve been getting pretty good business lately, friend. Where did the Reapers go?" | |||
Lucky shrugged, "No idea. They cleared out of here and out of their place over in Dani. I don’t miss them." | |||
Tall guy said, "Without the Reapers around, there sure has been an upturn in crime, don’t you think? Like at the show nights?" | |||
Wrecker and Reggy looked at each other, a small smile on their faces. | |||
Wrecker stood and joined Lucky at the bar. "Lucky, double Old Crow, and a frosty." He sipped the whiskey before looking at the Hispanic gang member. "Yeah, we had some trouble on Saturday. What about it?" | |||
The man shrugged, "Shit happens. Could happen again, maybe even worse. Might be more than just tires." | |||
Wrecker nodded, "And what will it cost to keep you from hassling our customers?" He finished his whiskey, and Lucky poured another. | |||
He drank the other tequila, "10% of the profits on show night. Or next time it’s windows." | |||
Wrecker said, "You know, we could do this differently, but it really depends on your interest in doing nothing for pocket change or doing something for big money." | |||
Wrecker took the tequila bottle and poured each of them another shot, holding the glasses while pouring, letting a tiny slip of rice paper slide into the glass and dissolve before passing them over, talking over the handwork. | |||
"What kind of work?" | |||
Wrecker leaned over the bar, pulling out a small wood box. Opening it, he pulled a medications bottle out and poured the contents on the table. A tablespoon of white powder. Wrecker took a driver's license out of the box and started cutting lines in the powder. Laying the card down face up, he leaned over with a straw and drew in a pair of lines. | |||
The two became very interested and eagerly inhaled the drugs that had been in the Blind Reapers' hiding hole. The first of the two, Juan, inhaled without looking, but the second looked at the card, picking it up. He read, "Nick Haskin, he’s a Reaper.... How did you get this?" | |||
Wrecker said, "I got it after I drilled a hole in his forehead. Keep it. I have others. Lots of others. It is important that you consider just how angry you want to make me, Juan." | |||
"How do you know my name?" | |||
"Ya see," Wrecker said, "That’s something else you should think about. Now, I have a lot of this powder. It used to belong to the Reapers. I’d like to unload it. 10k a kilo. Pure stuff. You stomp on it carefully, it could retail for 35k easily. Or, you let my partner and I do the mix, you take the packets, and we want 17k a kilo. Sell it for what you want." | |||
Juan, starting to feel a slight bit disoriented from the LSD in the tequila, said, "The Reapers always bundled it for us. We paid them out of profits." | |||
"You ever short them?" | |||
"Hell no. Those guys are animals," Juan answered. | |||
"They *were* animals," Wrecker smiled at Juan’s wide eyes. | |||
From the table, Reggy cast the Anatomics cantrip, causing Juan’s companion to start yawning repeatedly, uncontrollably. | |||
Juan nodded at the inevitable, "Ok. Deal." | |||
"Lay off our customers, or your ID will join my collection. Savvy?" | |||
Juan nodded. | |||
Wrecker looked to Lucky, who brought a leather zippered bag out from behind the bar, opening it to reveal bundles and packaged packets. Wrecker pulled out a pewter coin pressing with an X marking, its unnaturally warm. The packets were sealed like sugar packets with Norse runes on them. | |||
"Hold on to the coin. If you get hassled by the police, show them the coin. The fix is in. Now don’t screw me. If you want more, you know where we are." | |||
The two left as the acid started kicking in. | |||
Lucky asked, "What’s with the coin?" | |||
Wrecker answered, "It’s a tracker. Lets us know where Juan is. We’ll follow him and learn about their processes. In the meantime, they’ll leave our customers alone." | |||
Lucky nodded, "Smart. Diabolical but smart. What happens if they get pinched and show the coin to the cops?" | |||
Reggy, coming up, said, "Then we see how well Juan can dance. The cops have never heard of us." | |||
Lucky went on, "Then what happens if they don’t pay off the fronted stuff?" | |||
Reggy knocked on the bar, and Lucky poured the beer the knock ordered. "Well then, Lucky, think of it as evolution in action." | |||
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==='''The Acid Trip'''=== | |||
Juan and his companion, Gustov, stumbled out of the Ugly Ferret, the world around them shifting and warping. The neon sign above the bar flickered, its letters melting like wax. Juan clutched the pewter coin, its surface pulsing with an otherworldly glow in his vision. | |||
“What the hell did they give us?” Gustov slurred, his voice echoing as if from a great distance. | |||
Juan’s vision blurred, and he saw the faces of the Blind Reapers staring at him from the shadows. Their eyes were hollow, their mouths twisted in silent screams. He shook his head, trying to clear the hallucination, but it only grew more vivid. | |||
“We need to get out of here,” Juan muttered, stumbling toward their car. But the vehicle seemed to stretch and distort, its doors sliding out of reach. | |||
"It’s going to cost us a lot to get out of their way. Mano, this didn’t work out. But I think if we didn’t take the bag, they would have killed us right there. Fuckers gave us acid. Homicidal fuckers." | |||
As they drove away, the city streets twisted into a labyrinth, the buildings leaning inward as if to crush them. Juan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The coin in his pocket hummed softly, a reminder that the SBG was always watching. | |||
Gustov mumbled, "They own us...." | |||
Juan growled, "There are only three of them. How hard could they be to kill?" | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==='''Next Steps '''=== | |||
Back at the Ugly Ferret, Wrecker and Reggy watched the security feed, their expressions calm but calculating. The screen showed Juan and Gustov stumbling into their car and driving off, their movements erratic and unsteady. | |||
“Think they’ll stick to the deal?” Reggy asked, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigar. | |||
Wrecker smirked. “For now. The acid will keep them paranoid for a while. And if they try anything stupid, we’ll know.” He tapped the monitor, where a small blinking dot represented the pewter coin’s signal. | |||
Lucky, who had been quietly polishing glasses behind the bar, spoke up. “You two are playing a dangerous game. Those guys aren’t just small-time thugs. They’ve got connections.” | |||
Reggy shrugged. “So do we. And ours are a lot scarier.” | |||
Wrecker chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Besides, Lucky, this is just the beginning. Once the Forty Threes realize how much money they can make working with us instead of against us, they’ll fall in line.” | |||
Lucky shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” | |||
Wrecker looks at Reggy who shrugs. | |||
He says, “About half the time. The other half, well, its been said its all in the reflexes. Hey, Lucky, close up. Join us in the garage. Its time we tell you some stuff that will make you dig in or freak out. Either way, bring a bottle Old Crow when you come back. You'll need it. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
=='''Double Bass '''== | |||
Meanwhile, Gadget and the Stone Bench Group were busy preparing for their next show. The success of their first performance at the Ugly Ferret had boosted their confidence, but they knew they couldn’t afford to get complacent. Gadget sat cross-legged on the floor of the Station, her 6-string bass resting across her lap. She plucked at the strings, experimenting with a new riff. | |||
Cali walked in, her own bass slung over her shoulder. She winced slightly as she flexed her fingers. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding toward Gadget’s instrument. | |||
“Just something I’m working on,” Gadget replied, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. “Thought it might be a good riff for the next show.” | |||
Cali listened for a moment, then grinned. “I like it. It’s got a dark, edgy vibe. Kind of like you.” | |||
Gadget smirked. “Thanks, I think.” | |||
Cali set her bass down and shook out her hands, grimacing. “Ugh, my hands are killing me. This 6-string is a beast. I’m not used to the wider neck, and my fingers feel like they’re about to fall off.” | |||
Gadget nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, it takes some getting used to. But there are ways to make it easier. Here, let me show you.” | |||
She scooted closer to Cali and gestured for her to pick up her bass. “First, you’ve got to adjust your grip. You’re pressing too hard on the strings. You don’t need to crush them—just enough pressure to get a clean note.” Gadget demonstrated, her fingers lightly grazing the strings as she played a quick run. “See? Less tension in your hands means less pain.” | |||
Cali tried it, her brow furrowing in concentration. She played a few notes, then shook her head. “It still feels awkward. My fingers keep getting tangled on the extra strings.” | |||
“That’s because you’re thinking about it too much,” Gadget said with a chuckle. “Don’t focus on the strings individually. Think of them as zones. The low B is your anchor—use it to ground your playing. The high C is your flourish—use it to add color. The middle four are your home base. Start there, then branch out.” She played a simple riff, her fingers moving effortlessly across the fretboard. “Here, try this. It’s a basic pattern, but it’ll help you get comfortable with the extra strings.” | |||
She reached to Cali's hand gently extending the fingers to the proper positions on Cali's sixer but also extending her psyche to channel healing into the hand, a purple stone on a chain hidden around her waist warmed, adding its potent magic. As Gadget rubbed the hand Cali felt the stretching become more comfortable without knowing why. Just Gadget's touch. | |||
Cali mimicked the riff, her movements slow and deliberate at first. Gradually, she picked up speed, her fingers finding their rhythm. “Okay, that’s not bad,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But my wrist still hurts a bit.” | |||
“That’s because you’re holding the neck too high,” Gadget said, adjusting Cali’s posture. “Lower the bass a bit. It’ll take the strain off your wrist and give your fingers more room to move.” | |||
Cali adjusted the strap on her bass, lowering it slightly. She played the riff again, her movements smoother this time. “Hey, that does feel better,” she said, her smile widening. “You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” | |||
Gadget grinned. “Years of practice. Now, let’s try playing in unison. It’ll help you lock into the groove.” | |||
The two fell into an easy rhythm, their basses intertwining as they played. At first, Cali struggled to keep up, her fingers fumbling on the wider neck. But Gadget was patient, slowing down when needed and offering tips along the way. Gradually, Cali’s confidence grew, her playing becoming more fluid and precise. | |||
The rest of the group soon joined in, and before long, the Station was filled with sound. It was rough and unpolished, but there was something raw and powerful about it—a reflection of the band itself. Eddie’s guitar added a sharp edge, while Tiffy’s violin wove in and out of the melody, creating a haunting counterpoint. Jax’s drumming provided a steady backbone, his rhythms driving the song forward. | |||
As they played, Gadget kept an eye on Cali, offering encouragement and guidance when needed. “You’re getting it,” she said, her voice barely audible over the music. “Just relax and let the bass do the work. Don't over think it, but don't think of anything else.” | |||
Cali nodded, her focus unwavering. She could feel the music flowing through her, the pain in her hands fading as she lost herself in the rhythm. For the first time since switching to the 6-string, she felt like she was in control. | |||
When the song ended, the group erupted into cheers, their faces flushed with excitement. “That was awesome!” Eddie said, slapping Cali on the back. “You’re really getting the hang of that thing.” | |||
Cali grinned, her earlier frustration replaced by a sense of accomplishment. “Thanks. It’s still a work in progress, but I’m getting there.” | |||
Gadget smiled, her eyes gleaming with pride. “You’ll be a pro in no time. Just keep practicing, and don’t be afraid to experiment. The 6-string opens up a whole new world of possibilities. If it helps when we play, think of my bass as the lead and yours as rhythm. We can practice matching it with Eddie and Holden. Same riffs, different keys.” | |||
Cali nodded, her determination renewed. “I will. And thanks, Gadget. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” | |||
Gadget shrugged, her tone light but sincere. “That’s what friends are for. Now, let’s run through that riff one more time. I think we’ve got something special here.” | |||
The group launched into the song again, their energy infectious and their bond stronger than ever. As the music filled the room, Gadget couldn’t help but smile. It was coming together | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==='''The Ukulele '''=== | |||
The group’s impromptu jam session was in full swing when Holden, ever the quiet observer, wandered over to Gadget’s large guitar case. Being a couple now he didn't ask permission when he crouched down, flipping open the latches with a curious grin. Inside, nestled among an assortment of instruments and gear, was a well-worn ukulele. He picked it up, strumming a few experimental chords. The bright, cheerful sound cut through the room, drawing everyone’s attention. | |||
“Since when do you play the ukulele?” Gadget asked, raising an eyebrow. | |||
Holden shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Since forever. My grandma taught me when I was a kid. She was born in Hawaii. It’s been a while, but I think I’ve still got it.” | |||
He launched into a simple, upbeat melody, his fingers dancing across the strings with surprising skill. The ukulele’s bright, twangy tone added a new layer to the music, giving it a distinctly surfpunk vibe. Eddie’s eyes lit up, and he quickly adjusted his guitar, playing in harmony with Holden. The two instruments intertwined, creating a sound that was both nostalgic and fresh. | |||
Tiffy, never one to be left out, grabbed her flute and joined in, her high, lilting notes weaving through the melody like sunlight on waves. The room filled with the sound of their combined efforts, the music growing richer and more complex with each passing moment. | |||
Gadget and Cali exchanged a glance, then joined in, their basses providing a deep, resonant foundation. Gadget leaned over to Cali, murmuring, “Try this,” and played a simple but effective bassline that anchored the song. Cali followed her lead, her fingers moving more confidently now, the pain in her hands forgotten as she lost herself in the music. | |||
Jax, ever the multitasker, passed around plastic cups of whiskey before settling behind his drum kit. He tapped lightly on the snare, his rhythms subtle but precise, adding just enough structure to keep the jam session from spiraling into chaos. The whiskey made its way around the room, the warm burn adding to the camaraderie. | |||
Waldo, the silent, ever-present muscled roadie, lay on a bedroll by the wall, seemingly uninterested in the music. Gadget’s two huge dogs, Brute and Savage, curled up beside him, their massive forms making him look like a sleeping packmate. Shadow, Cali’s cat, ignored everyone, dozing peacefully next to her owner, unbothered by the noise. | |||
The room was alive with energy, the music flowing effortlessly as the group played off each other. Eddie and Holden dominated the surf tunes, their guitars and ukulele creating a sound that was both playful and intense. Tiffy’s flute added a whimsical touch, while Gadget and Cali’s basses provided a steady, grounding rhythm. Jax’s drumming tied it all together, his light taps gradually building into a more complex beat. | |||
As the song reached its peak, the group fell into a natural harmony, their individual styles blending seamlessly. The whiskey and the tray of green weed on the table added to the relaxed, almost euphoric atmosphere. It was clear they had been drinking more recently, but the music was too good to care. | |||
When the song finally wound down, the room erupted into cheers and laughter. Eddie clapped Holden on the back. “Man, I had no idea you could play like that. The ukulele’s a killer addition. We’ve got to work that into the next set.” | |||
Holden grinned, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a rare moment of pride. “Yeah, it’s fun. I forgot how much I missed playing it.” | |||
Gadget leaned back, her bass resting across her lap. “This is what we needed. A little experimentation, a little fun. We’re onto something here.” | |||
Cali nodded, her cheeks flushed from the whiskey and the excitement. “Yeah, this feels right. Like we’re finally finding our sound.” | |||
Jax raised his plastic cup in a toast. “To the Stone Bench Group. May we never stop surprising each other.” | |||
The group clinked their cups together, the sound of laughter and music filling the room once more. Even Waldo cracked a smile, though he didn’t say a word. The dogs stirred slightly, their tails thumping against the floor, while Shadow stretched lazily before settling back into her nap. | |||
As the night wore on, the music continued, the group experimenting with new sounds and ideas. The ukulele became a permanent fixture in their jam sessions, its bright tones adding a unique flavor to their surfpunk sound. And though the whiskey and weed flowed freely, the music remained the focus, a testament to their growing bond and shared passion. | |||
Gadget couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she watched her friends. They were more than a band—they were a family. And with every note they played, they were building something truly special. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
==='''Exploring Musical Knowledge'''=== | |||
As the jam session wound down, Eddie leaned back against the wall, his guitar resting across his lap. He looked around at the group, a thoughtful expression on his face. “So Holden plays the ukulele, and I assume Gadget does too because it’s hers. It’s funny; we’ve been playing around each other and now with each other for a while. What other things do we play? I play guitar, obviously, played standup bass in Jazz Band, as well as tuba and French horn in the orchestra back in junior high. Tiffy’s tried teaching me violin. I can mostly not embarrass myself on harmonica. What else?” | |||
Tiffy smirked, setting her flute down. “Violin, viola, cello, flute, and a number of those like recorder, fife, some woodwinds. Some brass, but I couldn’t get the hang of them. And… ah… well… the piano.” | |||
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You never mentioned most of those, but… the piano? Are you any good at it?” | |||
She nodded, a small, proud smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.” | |||
Jax chimed in, tapping lightly on his snare. “I toyed around with sax but left before I did a lot with it. Played the xylophone a few times. Just like they’re drums, ya know. Did a bunch of other percussion before Cali and I ran off the first time. Ya know, any of us could play stuff like tambourines, maracas, other percussion noise makers.” | |||
Holden added, “Guitar, ya know. Some bass. The ukulele and ah… banjo. I actually started as a little punk on the banjo. But Mom loved that, and Dad hated it. When she died, he got rid of all her stuff, including the uke and the banjo. After that, it was guitar.” | |||
Cali shrugged, her bass resting against her leg. “Bass, some guitar, but I loved the low sound. Jax taught me bongos pretty good.” | |||
They all turned to Gadget, expectantly. | |||
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Well, mainly kazoo.” The room erupted into laughter and good-natured goading. | |||
“Bass. Lead guitar. Ah… Irish folk harp. Dulcimer. Flute was my first love, but it brings back memories for me I avoid. But recorder, piccolo, fife, a few of the woodwinds. Ya know, a conch might be a good addition to our sound. I’ve tooted them.” | |||
She paused, as if hesitant to go on. “And damn… I’m pretty good on the piano. Spent some time on the road with a hell of a jazz piano player. Learned a lot from him… ah, too much… too much drinking… too much… well, he was the first I let. Not my first, but the first I let…” Her voice trailed off, and Cali reached over, gripping her hand, understanding now why she felt so comfortable with the wild girl; shared grief and experiences. | |||
Holden put his hand on her shoulder. “I hope I get to meet him someday, if he was kind to you.” | |||
Gadget nodded, implying he was. “Holden, if you ever meet him, we will know a hell of a lot more about each other than you could possibly imagine.” She chuckled, thinking of her piano man, the Lord of Chaos. | |||
They talked for a bit longer, sharing stories and jamming a little more before eventually drifting off to their respective corners. Brute, Gadget’s massive dog, wandered over to lie near Holden, while Gadget herself settled down with a thoughtful expression. | |||
<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">[[File:Musicline1.jpg]]</div> | |||
--- | |||
==='''Eddie and Waldo’s Conversation'''=== | |||
[[File:Holden and Uk.jpg|150px]] | |||
Eddie stepped outside, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the heat and noise of the jam session. After a few moments, Waldo and Savage, Gadget’s other dog, joined him. Savage disappeared into the night, running off to patrol the area, while Waldo leaned against the wall, lighting a joint. He took a hit and passed it to Eddie. | |||
“Trombone,” Waldo said suddenly, his voice low and gravelly. | |||
Eddie looked surprised. “Really?” | |||
“Yeah. Long arms, ya know. Big sax some. And… tuba.” | |||
Eddie nodded, passing the joint back. “Well, damn, Waldo!” | |||
“It’s Earnest Bluebonnet Pavlovich. Mom called me ''Ernie''; Dad called me ''Pasha''. I like Waldo better, but it was Wart’s idea. Ya know… ‘Where’s Waldo? Go get me some smokes, Waldo…’ I had to make my own way among Wart’s guys. I was never one of his favorites. Got cut out of everything. That probably saved my life because I never touched Cali, and she knows I argued with Wart about her. I got beat down twice telling him to let her go. Gadget killed him, didn’t she?” | |||
Eddie looked at him hard, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “Why do you think that?” | |||
“I tried to tax her that last time Wart got you all. She put me down hard. Like, *hard*, man. I’m a big fucking guy, and she put me down like I was a toddler. Called herself an ‘apex predator monster.’ I had to look that up online to know what she meant. Later… I met Wrecker and Reggy before I came around you guys. They work for her, you know, not the other way around. There’s something just not right about her. Those guys, they’re hard men. Bad hard, like nothing Wart ever was, more like the Blind Reapers were. The Reapers were mean, cruel… killers. Wrecker and Reggy, though? They’re terrifying. And they answer to your bassist. Just so you know, man; there’s something seriously dangerous-crazy about her.” | |||
Eddie nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. He knew firsthand how right Waldo was. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.” | |||
“You saw the Station a couple times while Wart used it. It was a pit. I’m not saying it was clean when we got here, but I lived there. It was a slum-filled torture house out of a movie. Her tied down back there. The place smelled like… you know. It was professionally cleaned, then made to look dirty so *we* could clean it. Dirty, messy, but not Andy Gump, cumdump, rotted meat, sweaty dirty. It was cleaned and staged, man.” | |||
The two stood in silence for a while, the joint passing back and forth between them as the night stretched on. Somewhere in the distance, Savage howled, a long, mournful sound that echoed through the darkness. | |||
“Then there are the dogs,” Waldo said, breaking the silence. | |||
Eddie shivered. “Brute and Savage? I thought you liked them?” | |||
Waldo nodded. “I do. A lot. I had a big dog when I was a kid. My dad killed it. But it’s not just them.” | |||
“Huh?” | |||
“Dude, this is dog land. Wart never left the place except in a group, and he killed more than a few dogs coming and going till they left him alone. I also got around pretty good, but I knew when to walk and where to run. And there were hundreds of them, ya know. The cops stayed out of this area. The city abandoned it. Wart said some guy named Kane told him the owners of the buildings around here were all dead or corporations that everyone had given up on. Cheaper to let them fall apart than tear them down.” | |||
“So the dogs owned the place. Where are they now? We’ve been coming and going for weeks now. I’ve seen a few here and there. You heard Savage a few seconds ago. He wasn’t alone. He had more howling with him. Why aren’t they here? It’s fucking weird. Creepy. Like horror-show creepy. Like in the movie where the group decides to split up and you howl at the screen to stick together creepy. Am I the only one who noticed?” | |||
Eddie looked around, as if for the first time. “Maybe… I never thought about it. I guess I thought Wart had handled them…” | |||
“Look,” Waldo said softly, “I like Gadget. Hell, she saved my life, so I may love her, and I’m grateful. But there’s something just fuckin’ weird about her. That’s all I’m saying, dude.” | |||
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, okay.” | |||
Waldo nodded and went back inside, leaving Eddie alone with his troubled thoughts and his last cigarette. | |||
===''in progress- Holden gadget, hotel''=== | |||
Here’s a small scene for you: | |||
The neon light from the motel sign outside flickered against the thin curtains, casting restless shadows across the dingy room. The place smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant, the kind that never quite covered up the history of bad decisions made between its walls. It was the bands first out of town gig but the perks didn't include rooms at the Hilton. | |||
Holden sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress, pulling on his jeans while Gadget lounged on the bed, still tangled in the sheets, her electric blue hair fanned out over the pillow. He moved around, picking up their scattered clothes from the floor. | |||
“Here,” he said, tossing her shirt onto the bed before bending down to retrieve her pants. As he lifted them, something tumbled out and hit the threadbare carpet with a soft *thud*. A wallet. It had landed open, revealing something that made his stomach drop. | |||
The badge gleamed under the flickering motel light. *Federal Bureau of Investigation.* Holden’s hands clenched around it as his breath caught. He flipped the ID up, staring at the picture—her picture—next to the name: **Special Agent Rowena Kessler.** | |||
“What the hell is this?” His voice was sharp, disbelief coloring every word. | |||
Gadget, still stretching lazily, turned her head toward him. When she saw what he was holding, her entire body tensed. The playfulness in her eyes vanished, replaced by something colder, more calculating. | |||
“Holden,” she started, voice low, but he was already on his feet, badge still in hand. | |||
“You’re FBI?” His jaw clenched. “What the actual fuck, Gadget?” | |||
She sat up, the sheets slipping down her bare shoulders, but she didn’t reach for the badge. Instead, she sighed, rubbing her temple. “It’s real,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I’ve been undercover for a while.” | |||
Holden took a step back, his mind racing. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time?” | |||
“No,” she said firmly, finally swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes steady. “What you and I have? That’s separate from my work. I never lied to you about us.” | |||
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Then tell me. What the hell are you doing?” | |||
Gadget hesitated for only a second before deciding. “I’m here for Victor Kane.” | |||
Holden’s brows furrowed. “The city council guy?” | |||
“The underworld boss,” she corrected. “He’s running half the crime in Baltimore, and I’m getting close to exposing him.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “I need you to keep this quiet, Holden. No one can know. Not Eddie, not Tiffy, not Waldo—no one.” | |||
Holden’s hands tightened around the badge. His world had just tilted sideways, but the way she looked at him—steady, honest, and completely serious—made it clear she wasn’t playing him. | |||
Finally, he exhaled, tossing the wallet onto the nightstand. “You could’ve told me.” | |||
She gave him a small, almost regretful smile. “No, Holden. I couldn’t.” She paused, then exhaled. “But just so you know, Wrecker and Reggy don’t run me—I run them. They work for me, not the other way around.” | |||
Holden’s eyes narrowed, his grip on the badge tightening. Gadget crossed her arms and leaned against the nightstand. “I’ve got a senior agent overseeing things, Lisha. We have… a lot of freedom to operate however we need to.” She glanced away for a second, then back at him. “The original plan was simple: track down Wart’s guys, follow them up the chain, and get a clear line to Kane.” | |||
She gave a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Didn’t work out that way. I got a little… sidetracked. The music, the band—it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a cover, a way to blend in. But then, I actually started *liking* it. The guys, the gigs, the late-night jams—it became real. Saying that its different then what i'm used to is a humongous understatement. Reminded me of my dreams before things got complicated. Music. Performing. And for a while, I let myself forget why I was really here.” | |||
Holden swallowed hard, trying to process everything. “And now?” | |||
Her expression hardened. “Now, I’m back on track but i want the music too.” | |||
She stepped closer, voice lowering. “Those guys who have been pushing Lucky around? They’re Kane’s. Low-level enforcers, but still connected. That means we’re already in the game. I just have to work my way up, get closer to Kane’s inner circle.” Her fingers drummed against the nightstand as she thought. “Once I’m in, things change. I stop being the one looking for an opening, and I *become* the opening.” | |||
Holden’s stomach twisted. “And then what? You take him down? Just like that?” | |||
Gadget gave him a long look. “It’s not going to be that simple, but yeah. That’s the idea.” | |||
He let out a slow breath and rubbed his face. “Jesus, Gadget… This is dangerous. Kane’s not just some street thug. He’s got politicians, cops, hell—probably half the damn city in his pocket.” | |||
“I know.” Her voice was calm, steady. “That’s why I need to be careful. And that’s why I need you to keep this secret. No matter what happens.” | |||
Holden looked at her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Just that same fierce determination that had drawn him to her in the first place. | |||
Finally, he sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. “You’re asking a lot, you know that?” | |||
She sat beside him, bumping her shoulder against his. “I know.” | |||
He let out a dry laugh. “Figures I’d fall for a fed.” | |||
Gadget smirked. “Figures I’d fall for a guy who could keep up.” | |||
A moment of silence passed between them. Then, softly, Holden said, “Just… don’t get yourself killed, alright?” | |||
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Not planning on it.” | |||
But the weight of her words hung between them, a silent acknowledgment that plans didn’t always go the way they should. | |||
==Cast of Characters== | |||
''Click to Enlarge'' | |||
{| class="wikitable" | |||
| Gadget, Bass, Lead guitar, Irish folk harp, Dulcimer, Mandolin, Balalaika, Flute, recorder, piccolo, fife, woodwinds, conch, piano, orgaan, accordion, harpsichord. | |||
[[File:Gadget6.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Eddie-Lead Guitar, Vocals | |||
[[File:Gadget Story Eddie.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Tiffy-Violin, Flute,Vocals, viola, cello, flute, recorder, fife, woodwinds. piano. | |||
[[File:Tiffy5.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Jax -Drums, Percussion, xylophone,tambourines, maracas, other percussion noise makers.” | |||
[[File:Gadget Story jax.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Cali- Bass, Guitar. Bongos, Tambourine, Percussion. | |||
[[File:Cali-.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Holden- Rhythm Guitar, ukulele, Kazoo | |||
[[File:Gadget Story Holden.jpg|50px]] | |||
|- | |||
| Waldo -Roadie. Trombone, Bass Sax | |||
[[File:Waldo.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Wrecker- Promoter | |||
[[File:ADV-Wrecker.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Reggy- Comic Relief | |||
[[File:ADV-Reggy.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Lucky-Owner of the Ugly Ferret | |||
[[File:SbG-Lucky7.jpg|50px]] | |||
| Colette -Doctor | |||
[[File:ADV-Colette.jpg|50px]] | |||
| 12 | |||
[[50px]] | |||
|- | |||
|} | |||
==''' | =='''Album Covers'''== | ||
{| class="wikitable" | |||
| Stone Bench Group | |||
[[File:Stonebench Group2.jpg|300px]] | |||
| Baltimore Times | |||
[[File:SBG-Bt1.jpg|350px]] | |||
| Call of the Wolves | |||
[[x]] | |||
|- | |||
| Night at the Ugly Ferret Live | |||
[[x]] | |||
| The Hollyhock Sanitarium Tapes | |||
[[x]] | |||
| 6 | |||
[[x]] | |||
|- | |||
|} | |||
--------------------------- | |||
=='''[[working pages]]'''== |
Latest revision as of 21:22, 19 February 2025
Getting the Band Together[edit]
First Impressions[edit]
Arrival[edit]
She had walked into town six months earlier. It was a busy place, unlike anything she had seen in her travels. Certainly, it was unlike her home. That was something she could never explain to the people she met here. They would think she had just arrived. Her explorations had been low-key, like a lost puppy. Other cities. Learning languages, manners, cultures. She had to fit in when she got where she was going. Little things went away or were replaced. In time she was ready for the job at hand.
The heavy guitar case needed to look like it was once well cared for, but time and rough living had stained it. Covered in travel stickers she had collected. It was unusually thick since it carried her 6 string bass guitar, a 6 string Fender lead, a ukele, a recorder, and a piccolo. It carried more then that but no one was going to see that.
Her backpack looked like something used a decade ago, large and deep, a grown man's hiking backpack but its hidden depths made it worth it. It was big enough for the beatup gear it carried as well as its necessities and treasures. Paper money and a few gold coins. Her pack had a few practical items. Notebooks filled with songs and music. A cellphone with more music than she had ever heard, but her father had insisted. If she had left it behind, she would have been running away from home. If she took it, she was just traveling.
Her jeans were patched and fraying, her loose shirt faintly smudged with dirt. Her hair—that was a crime, cut and dyed blue, but it was necessary. Less bathing. Her mother would have been annoyed to see her.
The careful disguise had worked well enough: she looked the part of the drifter, the runaway. But under the surface was something sharper, something the average observer wouldn’t see. A hunting knife hung on her belt, and deeper in her pack rested her father’s .45 and ammo—a weight she carried with purpose. She didn’t plan to use it. But then again, planning wasn’t always her strong suit.
She found a shady spot under an oak tree where she could see the musicians take turns performing. The crowd’s reactions told her everything she needed to know—who played for passion and who played for desperation. Gadget leaned against the tree, watching, listening, and feeling the pulse of the park.
It wasn’t long before someone noticed her. A boy, maybe the age she portrayed, with unruly hair and a guarded expression, walked over and sat down beside her, uninvited but not unkind.
“Hey,” he said, nodding toward her guitar case. “You looking to play?”
She hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Well, just so you know, in this stretch, Tiffy’s up now, then I’m next, and Jax gets lunch. Cali is missing, and we are worried about her. Holden would be after her, but he hasn’t shown up today. After that, it’s you, if you’re still here. We’ve got a system.” He smirked faintly, but his eyes were serious. “We all gotta eat.”
“Got it,” Gadget replied, her voice measured. She didn’t need to explain herself yet.
“I'm Eddie. Edwardo, technically,” he said with a half-grin. “Parents thought it was funny. And you?”
“Do I find it funny?”
“What’s your name, new girl?”
“Gadget.”
“Really? That’s what you’re going with? People usually pick something easy, like Gail or Ginger.”
“Gadget’s fine,” she said, unmoving. “Nice to meet you.”
Eddie shrugged. “Suit yourself, Gadget. You new to the city?”
She nodded. “More or less. Wandering mostly. Stayed at the mission for a night.” She paused, shuddering. “That place isn’t what I expected.”
Eddie gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, the mission’s rough. Better to stay in the open if you can. But, you know, stay visible. Shakers come out when you’re alone.”
“Shakers?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Shakers are takers,” he said, gesturing toward the park’s edge. “They roll in, act like they belong, and take what’s ours. They don’t care if you’ve got a spot or if you’re trying to eat. Stay sharp, Gadget.”
She nodded, filing away the warning.
Eddie continued, “Listen, you can wander off if you need to, but be back when Jax is done, or someone else’ll jump in. Holden’s been known to push his way in, but if you stand your ground, he’ll back off. He respects the system, even if he pretends not to.”
“And Cali?” Gadget asked, catching the name from the murmurs earlier.
Eddie frowned. “Cali’s...well, she hasn’t been around. Missed a whole week. She’s in trouble, and we haven't been able to find her. Till we hear something, she’s gotta sort it out herself. That’s how it works.”
Gadget didn’t reply, but her mind turned. Trouble had a way of finding people like her, and she wasn’t sure yet if Cali’s story would intersect with her own. For now, all she could do was wait. And watch.
The guitar case at her side felt heavier now, but not with dread. With purpose. If the park was a stage, she’d play her part soon enough.
First Day at the Plaza[edit]
She listened to Eddie play for the mid-morning crowd as they cut through the park, going from one tall building to another. He was as good as she remembered. Though maybe not quite as good yet. Style would come in time. Besides, it was Tiffy who blossomed, if they survived.
Eddie had come over to her earlier. “Ah, Gadget. You said you’ve been wandering around? Don't wander south of here. Bad area. Forty Thieves... Actually, the Forty Threes, 43rd Street gang. Fucking takers. Over by the river is a nice place in the summer. Cold as hell this time of year, but there’s a more or less permanent encampment of old timers there. The city comes through and cleans it up sometimes. Gives them time to get their valuables out, then trashes whatever they had been living in. Twice a year. Shows the uptowners they are cleaning the place up. After that, some do-gooders come by and drop off new tents, mattresses, and blankets. The hawks stay away from there because the police got no concern if one or two kiddie pimps end up in the trainyard. Some of those old timers are ex-military and ain’t shy about it. But, some are almost as bad as the hawks. They won’t rent you out, but they will trade warmth for wetness, ya know. Better off finding a squat.”
“You and Tiffy got a squat?” Gadget asked.
“Yeah...but...it’s tight...sorry...I can't help with that. The East industrials by the train-yards have a lot of junkies and packs of wild dogs... You can sleep there, but the temptation is too strong for people. Temptation to use, temptation to steal.” The usual crowds went back and forth with little or no regard for the desperation they passed through. They thought themselves generous if they tossed the change from a six-dollar cup of fifty-cent coffee.
Eddie wandered over to sit as Tiffy finished her set. Gadget wondered if they thought of it in terms of 'Set' yet.
Eddie started playing. Riffing really. Loud, to get attention. He had endurance, Gadget thought.
A couple of hours went by, and Gadget spent it looking over the place, walking around, and getting a feel for the square and its regulars.
A coffee shop, a waitress looked out the window at the buskers sadly. Grief and gratitude. She had escaped the life. A newsstand. No reading. A fat man watched a little TV and collected money. He thought he was sly to slip alcohol from a flask into what was probably coffee.
A Little Caesar’s Pizza. Classic cardboard pizza. The clerk. Another survivor. A paycheck away from being on the street again. Squats. Can’t make rent.
A laundromat. Customers only. A walkway to the parking lot.
A liquor store that looked like a prison with bars and locks.
A big youth came running like he was being chased through the plaza. No one behind him.
He ran past Eddie and Tiffy. Jax had already gathered his blanket and put his arm through loops and was moving. He jumped down stairs only to stop. Tiffy and Eddie were almost up when the runner came walking over to them, hangdogged.
Up the stairs came four guys and a girl. Toughs. Shakers for sure. Their clothes only looked a small bit better than the people they shook down. They walked straight for the three.
Suddenly, she felt a shoulder hitting her from behind, walking past. A big guy, 19, scared and cruel. A follower. He looked back at her, saw the guitar, “I don’t know you. Tax ya later.”
He walked to the top end of this part of the plaza. Another coming in from the parking lot. Jax walked ahead of him, being pushed.
Behind her, two more. The ones the runner was fleeing from. Into their trap, it seemed.
Gadget touched a knob on her hearing aid, and she heard better.
The big guy in front. Army boots. New. “I don’t give a fuck, Eddie. Starve. Fork it over. Hey, Tiffy, you can keep your money for a little help with handsome.”
Eddie scowled, stepped between him and Tiffy, bravely but foolishly. He handed over a wad of bills.
“That’s both of ours...a day’s work, Wart.”
Big Wart... Good. Now I’ve seen him. “Not for me, it wasn’t. All fun. Maurice will fork over a couple hundred for a couple hours with Tiffy.”
Eddie said nothing, smart for once.
Jax said he hadn’t played yet, he didn’t have any money. Wart’s number two grabbed Jax’s bongo drums, and the two struggled. Eddie intervened and got a punch in the face from Wart. Little Wart held Jax’s drums.
“That was stupid, Eddie. Jax, five bucks, and you can have your drums back for tomorrow. Or wet trade. You know where we will be.”
Lastly, Wart turned to the runner. “Holden, you are the stupidest fuck I know. You got taxed, and instead of just playing elsewhere, you tried to warn Eddie and the Stone Benches group.” He said it with an air of mockery.
Gadget smiled for other reasons when she heard Wart’s jab. She was in the right place and time.
Wart laid a smack across Holden’s face, and Little Wart punched him twice in the belly as he fell.
The shakers moved along, laughing. This couldn’t be the only way they made money. Shaking down buskers. Cali... They had her someplace. Making money off her.
Tiffy started crying after the gang had gone. Jax, probably only 13 himself, started sniffling, trying to be tough. Tiffy must have been 14. Eddie would have been 16. Holden 17. Cali would have been 13, if she lived.
Walking over, Gadget heard without the spy ear.
“Those assholes,” Eddie said.
Jax said, “Let’s see if Dearly will spot us a blue plate special or two... it’s been long enough.”
Eddie shook her head, “Can’t. Bossman is there.” Jax whimpered.
She walked up, “Those are the takers?”
Eddie nodded, “Not their name... Just Wart’s guys. They got you, too?”
She shook her head, “That big guy said he would tax me later.”
Holden said, “That’s Waldo. Wants people to call him Eastwood, but Waldo is his name. Big, tough, strong, and mean. One of Wart’s muscles.”
Eddie put his arm around the whimpering Tiffy.
“We ate yesterday. Holden? Jax?” They both shook their heads.
Gadget said, “You all squat together?” Eddie looked at her, confirming, thinking they had to find Cali.
She said, “If I can squeeze into your squat, I’ll get pizza. A couple from that place.” Pointing to Little Caesars. Jax looked at her, then Eddie. Holden looked too. Silent agreement.
“Alright. We should go. If we set up again and start playing, they’ll come back. Today is over.”
Gadget said, "Where do I meet you? I have an errand to run before getting food.”
Eddie gave her directions for four blocks away. “You’ll see a tall water pipe on the side of a building. Painted blue. Hit it a few times, and one of us will come get you.”
She nodded. “An hour at most.”
Observations[edit]
Gadget walked back into the square to get her gear, the familiar rhythm of the park unbroken by the earlier scuffle. People moved about as though nothing unusual had happened, their lives tuned to a frequency that filtered out the kind of trouble she had just witnessed.
She had seen this before in other cities: a practiced indifference to the small tragedies that played out in the corners of urban life. The regulars had walked past the shakedown, unconcerned. Not their problem. Not worth their notice. Even the lack of music didn’t seem to faze anyone. The world kept spinning, and the square moved with it.
Her first stop was a liquor store tucked into a crumbling block of mismatched businesses. The door jingled as she entered, and she felt the clerk’s eyes snap to her immediately. His stare followed her down the rows as she browsed. Gadget ignored him, picking out a flask-sized bottle of whiskey first, then a larger one to refill it. She added a handful of tiny bottles at the register, their colorful labels gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light.
The clerk leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Are you high or just stupid?” he sneered. “Alright, let’s do this. Everyone sing along—*La la la! I have to see some ID!*”
Unbothered, Gadget pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and laid it on the counter, meeting his gaze with a calm, steady intensity. “Even if I kept the change,” he added, “it’s not worth it without ID.”
She sighed, pulling a slim wallet from her jacket. Opening it just enough for the clerk to see, she watched his eyes widen. The disdain melted into something closer to disbelief.
“Ah... really?” he asked, his tone shifting.
She tilted her head slightly. “I can depend on your keeping it a secret?”
He nodded quickly, his earlier bravado gone. He took the money without another word, bagging the bottles with newfound precision. Gadget took the bag without a thank-you, already moving on.
Her next stop was Little Caesar’s, the faint smell of grease and cheap cheese filling the air before she even entered. The bored teenager at the counter barely glanced up as she ordered four $5 pizzas. She stacked the boxes into a canvas bag, not bothering to align them perfectly. As the bag settled, the pizzas slid, the cheese and toppings undoubtedly pooling at one end of the boxes. She didn’t care. These weren’t about taste.
The park waited as she walked back, her steps deliberate and her mind turning over what came next. Her earlier encounter had shown her more than she expected—not just about the park’s pecking order but about the invisible lines drawn between those who were struggling to survive and those who chose to ignore them. She wasn’t sure yet where she fit into this city, but she’d carve out a place soon enough.
The liquor and the pizzas? They were tools, not comforts. Small investments in goodwill, in leverage. She wasn’t here to play by the rules. Gadget didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own.
The alley was narrow and quiet, save for the distant hum of city noise. The faint tang of rust and damp concrete filled the air, mingling with the aroma of greasy pizza wafting from the canvas bag Gadget left on the ground. Her ears tingled with the primal electricity of the moment, a sensation she had come to trust. The hunter had become the hunted, and she was more than ready. She set down her guitar and her bag.
Waldo strode into view, his swagger full of self-assurance, the kind that only came from countless successful shakedowns. He grinned as he saw her, his eyes scanning her up and down like she was already his.
“Well, I didn’t think taxing you would make me rich! Booze and food. Fork it over. And any cash you got,” he said, closing the distance without hesitation. Gadget stepped toward him calmly, her expression unreadable. She didn’t flinch as he reached for her with both hands, his grin growing wider as he added, “Maybe a kiss or a fu—”
The rest of the word was swallowed by a sharp, guttural cry as Gadget grabbed his wrists and drove the steel toe of her boot into his groin with the force of a sledgehammer. The sound he made was almost pitiful as he doubled over, but she didn’t stop. Another swift kick sent him crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll.
Before he could recover, she shoved him onto his back and straddled him, delivering two quick punches to his stomach with precision. Waldo gagged, his breath coming in choked gasps. Gadget leaned in close, her voice a low, dangerous growl, her mind reaching out to touch his, instilling fear of her deep in his memory.
“Now, don’t you throw up,” she warned, her tone ice-cold. “All it’ll only make you messy and me pissed off. Look me in the eyes.”
Waldo’s watery gaze met hers, and for the first time, his bravado cracked. Her psyche slammed into him as hard as she could force it.
“You think you’re tough?” she continued, her voice steady but sharp as a blade. “The universe is filled with monsters that wouldn’t blink about squashing you like a potato bug. And I am goddamned well one of them, Waldo. I the apex predator monster around here now. So... you belong to me. Unless you want me to make sure you never get an erection again. We understand each other?”
He nodded frantically, his face pale.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gadget said, sitting back slightly. “Where’s Cali?”
“Wart has her,” Waldo croaked, his voice hoarse. “He’s got her up at the Station… Passed out last I saw.”
Gadget studied his face for any sign of a lie, then nodded. “The Station. Eddie knows where that is?”
Waldo nodded again, his head bobbing weakly.
“Good.” Gadget stood, brushing herself off. “Now, you go away. Not to the station. It won’t be safe there tonight. Do you understand me?” Waldo nodded once more, trembling as he scrambled to his feet.
She stepped back to her bag and pulled out a pizza box. Opening it, she pulled out three slices and held them out to him. “Here. Just to show I’m not… well, totally a bitch. Remember: don’t go to the station. Don’t tell Wart. And don’t piss me off. Now go.”
Waldo hesitated for a split second before grabbing the slices. He staggered off, clutching the greasy pizza with both hands, his steps uneven but quick. He didn’t look back.
Gadget watched him disappear down the alley, then picked up her bags. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she murmured, “Everyone’s gotta eat.”
Squatting[edit]
She found the pipe and knocked on it. She waited only a few moments until Holden peeked his head out.
“We were worried you were followed.”
“I was, but it’s okay. Let’s go inside.”
She followed Holden down a short alley to a pried-open side door of an industrial building. The interior showed a lack of traffic. The path made several turns before ending at a dead end. Above were large pipes passing through. Water pipes, probably. On the west wall was a concert poster in a language Gadget did not know.
Those huddled near each other were Eddie, Tiffy, and Jax. A single candle put out light if not warmth. They shivered under blankets, and their breath came out in fog.
They looked up as Gadget entered. Eddie said, “Glad you made it. We were worried.” They looked at the pizza boxes in anticipation.
Eddie went on, “Cali is usually between Jax and Holden, if you don’t mind.”
Gadget moved close to Holden, between him and Jax. She couldn’t tell herself yet, but her pack nature was already forming, even after so little contact. Holden might be the lucky one.
Gadget nodded, taking the top pizza box with the missing pieces, slipping the other three to the group. She pulled out a large bottle of Tabasco that she liberally put on her pizza. The others eagerly grabbed the other boxes. They relished the pizza, a good meal for them. Jax reached for the Tabasco, looking to Gadget for permission. She smiled and handed it to him.
Looking around, the dead end had much to recommend it. Defensible but without an escape route. Out of the elements, sort of. Frigidly cold. Too cold, as she thought about it. It was winter, but the weather outside was hardly cold enough to warrant the cold inside.
“What’s on the other side of the building?”
“Meatpacking plant. It’s why it’s so cold in here. But the squat is too good. Out of the elements and deep enough not to be easy for takers to find unless led here. Holden used to squat here before.”
She reached into her pack and pulled out a small backpacking ring of stainless steel to curious eyes. Popping the lid, she pulled a lighter out and a bit of newspaper. She wrapped coal with the paper and lit it, starting the stove’s fire. The flickering fire caught and warmed the area slowly.
They turned to huddle around the fire in gratitude and surprise. “I’ve been camping a lot,” she explained.
The small area began to heat as they returned to eating. Silence filled the room as they ate. She looked around the space. A bright poster on the wall was in Russian, she thought. Rafe might know what it said. Being a music aficionado, he might know the band anyway. Maybe someone else in the huge Adventure’s Society would know. Time would tell.
While they huddled under blankets that had seen better days, their overcoats were neatly hung for drying. The candle put out light but little heat. Looking up, the ceiling must have had vents somewhere. It was why the space had so little heat. This place wouldn’t do. Not for seven or eight people, as her plans for the group developed.
Gadget stood after they finished eating. “Eddie? Can I speak to you for a moment?”
The two walked out to turn down the hall, out of sight of the others.
“I spoke to Waldo. He tried to tax me, and we came to an understanding. He says Cali is at someplace called the Station. Strung out and in trouble.”
Eddie cursed, “Damn... damn. The Station? Shit... SHIT!... That’s an abandoned gas station at the edge of the industrial area. There’s a huge dog pack that lives there. Used to be security dogs that went wild when the plants closed. Abandoned warehouses mostly. No one squats there because the dogs are vicious. Probably a hundred of them. The city gave up on that whole part of town. South of the railroad and the freeway. Shit... this sucks.”
“Dogs, you say? Vicious ex-guard dogs and their get, I imagine. Good to know. How many people would he have there, this Wart guy?”
“Five maybe, a couple more. Depends where they are in their raiding.”
“How do they handle the dogs? Will you show me where this is?”
“Carefully, I imagine. Sure, I can show it, but why? Do you have an idea? If we could get them to come out chasing me, you might be able to get her out.”
“Do any of you people fight?”
“Holden can land a punch. Jax can fall down and take them for a while. Tiffy, not so much.”
“How tough are these guys? How long have they been around?”
“Tiffy and I have been here about a year. Holden a couple of years. Not sure about Jax and Cali, but longer then Tiffy and I. Wart and his guys have been terrorizing people since grade school, I hear. He’s beat us up several times. Beat Tiffy and I pretty bad when we first got here 'cause she wouldn’t put out. Holden hates them. I think he had run-ins with them before. I know some of the businesses in the plaza lock their doors when they wander in. One of their parents is a cop.”
“Okay, show me this station.”
“Ah... okay... if you’re sure.”
She nodded and followed him as they crossed town.
Dogs[edit]
Looking over at a vacant gas station tucked between industrial buildings, Gadget saw lights on in the building but none outside. The walls were covered with graffiti. The windows were covered in newspaper on the inside.
Gadget asked, "Will they have a lookout, you think?"
"No idea. But they probably depend on the dogs. When I start running, I’m going to run back the way we came in. Stay away from the dogs. I'm going to circle around and see if any of them are outside."
Eddie headed off, walking far to the east. .
She pulled out her cell phone and made a call. “Gadget. Wants and warrants on a Wart and known associates. Especially wants and warrants on an associate named Waldo. Police tours in the area of Third Street and Hunsiker Avenue. Yes.” She lit a cigarette and puffed it while she waited.
“Yes. Alright. Route police at least a mile from this location. Okay. Okay. Okay. And Waldo... Okay. Gadget down.”
She watched for any of the gang members returning.
The air around the vacant gas station grew heavier, the tension palpable as Gadget watched her surroundings with predatory focus. The graffiti-covered walls seemed to close in, the windows’ newspaper coverings adding a claustrophobic feel to the eerily quiet industrial zone. As Eddie vanished into the distance, her instincts prickled with the unmistakable feeling of being watched—or perhaps stalked.
Then she smelled them. Dirty dogs.
The dogs were close, their musky scent mingled with the faint metallic tang of rust and oil. Gadget pivoted, slipping behind a building with a crumbling wall, her heart steady but her senses sharpened. From the shadows, three shapes emerged: large, muscular dogs, their eyes reflecting the dim light like embers in the gloom.
The leader—a scarred, thick-furred savage with torn ears—moved forward first, his posture radiating dominance. Behind him, two slightly smaller dogs fanned out, their growls rising in anticipation. The pack began to circle her, their intent clear.
Gadget exhaled slowly, her father's teachings resonating in her mind. She didn’t run. Instead, she dropped to all fours, her movements fluid, deliberate. She raised her hips, her posture bold and challenging. Her eyes locked onto the leader’s, refusing to break the connection. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the primal, unspoken dialogue between her and the animal.
The leader snarled, testing her, his hackles raised. Gadget bared her teeth and growled low and deep, channeling every ounce of her willpower into the sound. It wasn’t just noise; it was intent, a projection of dominance and confidence that tapped into the primal currents of the canine psyche.
The other two dogs faltered, their growls cutting short as they glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. The leader hesitated, his head lowering slightly, torn between instinct and her overwhelming presence. Gadget growled again, a commanding sound that brooked no argument. The leader stepped back, his defiance faltering under the weight of her gaze.
Then it happened. With a whimper, the leader dropped to his belly, his body language one of submission. Gadget moved forward on all fours, her movements deliberate and measured. She sniffed at the leader, solidifying her claim. The two remaining dogs quickly followed suit, rolling over with their tails tucked.
Gadget straightened and rubbed the leader’s belly, her touch firm but acknowledging his surrender. He rolled to his haunches, sitting obediently, awaiting her command. She rubbed her cheek against him, radiating love of him. Love he had never known till now. "I'll call you Savage."
She greeted the other two the same, feeling them give up their devotion.
Focusing her awareness, Gadget channeled her intent, pushing it outward like a wave. Her thoughts took form, her message clear: “Tell the rest I am coming soon for them. Tell the pack leader.”
The dogs responded instantly, bolting into the shadows without hesitation. Gadget stood and dusted herself off, exhaling slowly. The pack was hers now—or at least, they knew better than to challenge her again.
As the shadows settled once more, Gadget turned her attention back to the gas station. It was time to finish what she started.
The Station[edit]
A few minutes later, Eddie returned, carrying a half-full 40oz bottle. “No one there. The door is on the west side. Okay... probably won’t be locked. We sneak up. I’ll open the door and yell at them. I’ll throw this bottle of... beer... piss... at them. They’ll chase me out. Especially if I hit Wart. While they’re chasing me, you go in, find Cali, and get her out of there. I’ll run them as far as possible. I’m pretty sure I can outrun them.” He said it uncertainly but with determination.
“Sounds good. Let’s go.”
They sneaked up to the station, going around to try peeking in the windows, finding them taped shut. The industrial buildings surrounded the station and shadowed it from the sun. She looked it over and figured it must have several rooms inside. Two bays in the garage. Six empty gas pumps. A good squat.
Eddie shook his head, looking terrified but determined. He reached up and grabbed the door handle, opening it quickly and stepping in.
Eddie looked around the room and saw the surprised look on Wart’s face. "Look! Eddie’s come to sing for us!"
Eddie yelled raspingly, “YOU FUCKERS!!!!! WHERE’S CALI!!!????” He threw the bottle and hit Wart in the chest, splashing him liberally.
Behind him, Gadget stepped in.
The men jumped up as one to chase Eddie. Eddie turned and bumped surprisingly into Gadget.
Gadget put her right hand on his chest, pushing him hard against the door jamb. With her left hand, she raised a .45 automatic.
The young men stopped. Wart said, "I don’t know you, but pointing a gun at me is going to get you slung up in our back room, Blue."
She looked around the room at the squalor. Cigarettes, beer, takeout boxes. The smell of sweat and male testosterone. Somewhere was the smell of desperation and semen. Her hackles rose.
She regarded the men. She could feel their anger. She looked at Eddie, as her hand pressed him to the door-jam. Fear. Shock. Uncertainty.
"That thing looks like a cannon in your hand, you stupid slit. Put that down, and I might let you walk to the bedroom rather than beat you down and make Eddie watch us."
The loud crack of the gun echoed in the room, shocking everyone except Gadget.
Gadget tracked from left to right, putting a round into each of the chests of the gang members. Eddie’s eyes went wide in shock.
Gadget stepped into the room, slowly walking to each man, kicking them for life signs. Wart was last, looking up in despair. "No!!! Please!!! No!!!" Gadget fired again.
She turned to Eddie, “Find Cali.” He staggered past her, walking past the dead into other rooms.
Gadget moved among them, taking wallets, cash, and jewelry and stashing them in her pack. Weapons she quickly put into plastic ziplock bags and put them into her satchel. She looked over the table and grabbed several bags of green herbs. She walked around the room and found a backpack, looking in she found several kilos of pressed powder.
She stood and went to each of the dead and took a picture of each with her cell phone.
She made a call. "Gadget. Targets Neutralized. Send in the Cleaners."
Eddie came out carrying a limp girl. She was bruised and sweaty, dirty, and clearly had been abused. Nude, of course. He was white as a sheet, a mixture of awe and terror. Gadget stepped to a couch and shook off a comforter. They put her into it, wrapping her.
"You killed them," Eddie stammered, his voice cracking as his mind struggled to reconcile the woman beside him with the efficient, lethal force he had witnessed moments ago. "How could you?"
Gadget didn’t flinch at the accusation. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, her steps even and deliberate. Her voice, when it came, was calm, devoid of the chaos that lingered in Eddie's mind. "How? Efficiently," she repeated, her tone as cold and deliberate as her actions.
The weight of her words struck Eddie harder than the gunshots, leaving him speechless. The horrors of the room behind them—the blood, the screams, the sharp finality of death—clung to him like a suffocating fog. But there was no hesitation in Gadget, no regret in her stride. To her, it was necessary. Clean.
They crossed the empty road, the cracked asphalt beneath their feet a reminder of the desolation that surrounded them. The industrial skyline loomed like a graveyard of forgotten ambitions. Gadget kept her hand on her satchel, its contents jingling faintly—a collection of stolen wallets, weapons, and evidence now safely in her possession. She knew every item had a purpose. Every detail served a larger goal.
Eddie's steps faltered as he glanced down at Cali. Her face, bruised and streaked with grime, remained slack and lifeless. But there was a faint rise and fall to her chest, a fragile confirmation that she was alive. It was enough for now.
"You didn’t have to kill them," Eddie murmured, his voice barely audible.
Gadget stopped abruptly, turning to him with a gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. "Yes, I did," she said firmly. Her tone left no room for argument. "They were predators, Eddie. They thought they were top dogs, apex predators of the scene here. But that’s what happens to beasts when a new hunter shows up. I am the apex predator around here now. I'll do what needs to be done. They preyed on people like you, like Cali. You think they would’ve stopped? Changed? That girl in your arms is living proof of what they were willing to do."
Eddie swallowed hard, unable to look her in the eye. He knew she was right, but the sheer brutality of what he had witnessed gnawed at him. His grip on Cali tightened, as if holding her closer might make sense of the chaos.
"We’ll get her back to the squat," Gadget continued, her voice softening slightly. "She needs rest. Food. Medical attention. And you all need to keep your heads low for a while. This isn’t over."
"What do you mean?" Eddie asked, his voice trembling.
"I mean that there will be repercussions," Gadget said. "Wart’s crew isn’t the only threat out here. There’s always another predator waiting to take their place. But I’ll deal with that when the time comes."
They resumed their walk, the squat just a few blocks away now that offered a distant promise of safety. Eddie held on to that thought, clinging to it as tightly as he clung to Cali.
Behind them, the gas station stood silent, its sordid history now marked by the finality of Gadget’s intervention. Whatever demons she carried, she had made one thing clear: in her world, survival meant making hard choices. And she was prepared to make every single one of them.
Unseen by the pair and their rescued companion, a pair of white vans pulled up to the station. Men in hazmat outfits got out, entered, and began to work.
Necessities[edit]
The squat was cramped with the six people in it, but warmer as they kept the little stove burning. Cali slept hard the first day, but Gadget wasn’t sure she was recovering. Jax never left her side and worried constantly. Gadget went and got pizza again, though only two pies, suggesting that her money was drying up.
The group fervently refused to take her to the hospital. Eddie explained, “Cali’s home life was little better than the way Wart’s people treated her. Her mother and a stepsister beat her regularly enough that she let her stepfather, two stepbrothers, and a couple of their friends treat her like a sex toy so they would defend her. If she turns up at an ER, the best she can hope for is to go into foster care. The worst is being sent home. That happened once before.”
Jax, who Gadget had heard speak in single words till now, said, “She and I ran off together the first time. I had to go back and get her that time. Her idiot brothers kept her in one of their beds every night. Hard to sneak her out.”
Gadget asked, "How did you manage it?"
Looks around the room showed it was a sore subject. Jax returned to Cali and his silence. Tiffy put her head down. Eddie looked at Gadget as if to convey that it was none of her business. Holden smiled, and with a nod from Jax, he told the tale.
“Jax lit the house on fire, then called 911. In the confusion of police, firefighters, and ambulances, Jax stole an ambulance they put Cali in. Drove it for an hour, then stole a car so he could ditch the ambulance. He stripped the thing of meds and supplies. Blankets and stuff. He drove a couple of days, swapped cars, and drove here. Dropped off Cali and the swag, then drove the car another day to ditch it. Good chance that the police are looking for them.”
Jax looked embarrassed but kept next to Cali.
Gadget commented, “Resourceful. Decisive. I respect that.” Jax looked up with a hint of a smile.
Gadget stood, “I’m going to stretch my legs.”
Walking out to the front, she was confronted by a large, beefy cat with a mouse in its sights.
Gadget froze momentarily, her eyes widening at the sight of the large, beefy cat perched atop the windowsill, its amber eyes fixed intently on the tiny mouse scurrying across the ledge. The cat’s fur was a patchy mix of brown and black, giving it a rugged, almost untamed appearance that contrasted sharply with the orderly chaos inside the squat.
“Hey there, big fella,” Gadget whispered softly, taking a cautious step forward. The cat didn’t seem threatened; instead, it watched her with an air of quiet curiosity, perhaps fear at Gadget's canine nature. The mouse, sensing the tension, darted toward the edge of the window, where it paused, twitching its nose before making a desperate leap for the safety of a nearby drainpipe.
As Gadget reached the window, she noticed a small tag hanging from the cat’s collar: “Shadow – Rescued.” A surge of empathy washed over her. Despite the rough exterior, Shadow clearly had a story of his own.
“Looks like Shadow’s been with you for a while,” Gadget remarked, hoping to break the ice.
Eddie stepped forward, his expression softening. “He’s a survivor, just like Cali. Came into our lives a few months back. Helps keep the rat population down around here.”
Tiffy glanced up from her corner. “Shadow’s more than just a cat. He’s a bit of a guardian for us.”
Holden nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he senses when things are off. Last week, he kept me awake all night when we had that break-in attempt.”
Gadget smiled, feeling a connection not just with the people but with their silent protector. “He’s a good cat. Reminds me that even in the darkest places, there’s still something worth protecting.”
Before anyone could respond, Shadow leapt gracefully down from the windowsill, landing softly on the floor. He approached Cali cautiously, circling her before settling beside her side. Cali reached out a tentative hand, and Shadow rubbed his head against her palm, purring softly.
Jax watched the interaction with a mix of relief and lingering worry. “Shadow’s got a good heart. Just like Cali.”
Gadget felt a pang of admiration for Jax. Despite his rough methods, his intentions were clear. “You all are handling things better than I expected.”
Eddie shook his head. “We’re just trying to keep Cali safe and give her a chance to heal. She deserves a second chance.”
As Gadget turned to leave the room, a sense of camaraderie filled the space. The squat, though cramped and imperfect, was a haven for those who had nowhere else to go. She felt a renewed sense of purpose, understanding that their struggles were intertwined, each supporting the other in their own ways.
Stepping out into the chilly evening air, Gadget took a deep breath, the scent of rain lingering in the air. She glanced back at the squat.
Walking away, she considered her options. She didn’t want to involve her police contact in this, but he was her first call anyway.
Calling, "Gadget. Wants and warrants. Names. Photos coming. Out."
Lighting a cigarette, she wandered off a block, looking around. She pondered. She couldn’t involve her police contact more than absolutely necessary. But she needed to know if anyone was looking for those in the squat. They didn’t want to take Cali to the hospital. She couldn’t call home without getting a ton of judgment and, in the end, only getting medical help with strings attached. There was another option, though.
Gateway and Allies[edit]
She pulled out a couple of decks of cards, tarot cards by their size and shape, looking through them. A Trump card was more than a picture—it was a door. Hold it in your hand, focus, and the image became real. Like calling someone on the phone, except you didn’t just hear their voice—you could step into their world. She remembered her introduction to the cards with Lord David. The card grew cold in her hands, the painted image shimmering like water. Slowly, the air around her twisted, colors bleeding together until she could have stepped through—no longer in the Hub of Mandalay, but in a sunlit courtyard of the Dramaturge.
Shadow was vast, infinite in its possibilities, with worlds ranging from medieval kingdoms to high-tech dystopias. Mandalay was just one of them, a central one of balance—her home, a place of green fields and shimmering towers, where wolves roamed as kin.
She looked over her King Random's deck. That would mean calling Dalt directly. She looked over her Green Deck, the deck of her homeland, Mandalay. David would help her, but that was a nuclear option. She considered the wolves of her pack. Dwarf would come if she asked. That was a lot of trouble, but she might need someone to oversee this massive dog problem. There were hundreds of wild dogs in the area. Generations of wild dogs, hungry and hunting. Capturing a dozen was just a start. Dwarf and the triplets could herd them easily.
"Maybe later...." Putting away her Green deck and her King Random's deck.
She thought carefully. Dalt was a nuclear option. David was a nuclear option. Dwarf was a blitzkrieg on his own, and if he brought the triplets, the humans of this world were likely to freak out at the sudden organization of the dog packs in this part of the state.
Raphael, she thought, would probably come himself if it sounded adventurous, but then this would be his show and not hers. She didn’t need the whole guild. But maybe just a couple. Yes, Wrecker and Reggy. Tough, dangerous, creative, and probably willing to listen to her. Doc Len would be too noticeable. Colette, though, would fit in perfectly. Call Rafe and ask.
She concentrated on her magical inscription for the realm of Pocai and opened a contact with Raphael.
"Who?" came the response to her call. "Gadget," she answered.
The voice at the other side of the mystical barrier seemed surprised, "Hey, Gadget! Great to hear from you. Didn’t know you had a Trump for me. So where’ve you been? Whatcha up to?"
She responded. "I don’t have a trump, Rafe. I have an imprint of Pocai. I am.... I have a situation. I have someone who is hurt. I’m in a world that I can’t use magic openly. I need a doctor and maybe some muscle. I was hoping I could borrow Colette and Wrecker and Reggy. The time ratio is favorable to Ang Ri."
"Yeah, Gadget, no problem. Whatever you need. You know you just have to ask. Give me a sec; they’re actually right here with me." Rafe turned to his companions at the Ludus on the world of Ang Ri. "Colette, Wrecker, Reggy; Gadget needs your help, now. Colette; someone’s hurt, get what you need. Wrecker, Reggy; you’re the muscle. She said she can’t use magic openly, so I suggest human forms for the both of you."
He focused back on Gadget. "Can you transport with this Pocai connection? Or do I need to bring them to you?"
"I’m in the King Random Trump Deck and on I’m in an earth world."
Rafe said, "Right. Hang on a sec."
He looked over to Dalt. "Dalt, can I borrow Gadget’s Trump from your KRD? I’ll give it right back."
He was looking over at the trio as they prepared. "She says it’s an earth world; dress and equip accordingly."
Dalt asked, "Can you use Amber trumps?"
"I’m pretty sure I can...? If not, could you contact her and pass these three through? Please and thanks."
He nodded, "Ah... Sure...I suppose."
"Thank you, Dalt. It’s appreciated."
"Is there anything else you need, Gadget? How serious is the situation?"
"It’s a complicated and musical. We all have our favorites. Shadow is filled with them...I’m here to rescue one set of them...and bring them to the Dramaturge eventually."
"Wooow... sounds like a great adventure. Hope it turns
out well. I look forward to hearing the tale one day. Safe Travels, my Friend. Adventure Abounds. You ready for your support team?"
He looked over to Dalt and the trio to see if they were ready.
Wrecker said, "Were we traded to Cleveland?" As he was putting on his earth boots.
Rafe chuckled. "Don’t think so. Probably just temporary....? But time will tell."
He gave Wrecker a few moments to wonder, then chuckled and said, "She said she’s only going to need you for about a month."
Wreck said, "It’ll be a letdown after the Buffet at the Hall of Water..." He stepped through.
"Everything’s going to be a letdown after that buffet," Rafe said as the portal closed.
Stepping through the portal, the three looked around.
Colette said, "We are not really dressed for it here."
Gadget said, "It’s morning. There is a Walmart about four blocks from here. Here’s about a thousand dollars. Get clothes. Doc, come back here, knock on that blue pipe, and I’ll come to get you. They need stuff. Get some blankets, six sleeping bags. Cheap folding chairs. Medical supplies. Food—bread, peanut butter, jam. Lunch meat for today. Fruit. An ice chest. A bag of cat kibble. These people have been living like wild animals. When they ask, we’ll tell them you’re a friend from home. Leave where vague. I don’t know if they’ll believe me, but they will be grateful for the supplies."
She said, "Runaways? I know the streets. Was on them myself in Chicago as a kid. The charity angle won’t work. Tell them I’m a family friend. I brought this stuff because you called and asked for help. I’ll talk shit about your 'Parents.' I’ll leave off giving you some money. If there is any change."
She nodded and pulled out another thousand. Then decided to give Wrecker and Reggy each a thousand dollars of the money from Wart’s stash.
"Wrecker, Reggy, there is a heavy crime problem here. Take a few days looking the place over and get a sense of things. I have a police contact that can help. When you have a sense of things, let me know, and we’ll decide how to handle it."
She sighed, "Sorry.... It’s good to see you all." She exchanged hugs. Then the three headed off to Walmart, and she went back into the squat.
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.
Call a Friend[edit]
Gadget sat in the squat for a bit, treating Cali. The blankets under her were threadbare and dirty. "I called a friend for some help. She’s a doctor. She doesn’t hate my parents as much as I do, but it’s close."
"You gave her where we are?" Jax asked, looking wildly.
"I told her to hit the pipe. Leave her car a ways away. Bring some supplies."
Eddie said, with a look of fear in his eyes, "Gadget.... You really shouldn’t do stuff like that without asking us. We vote as a group."
Tiffy held the cat close. "You say she’s a doctor? Can she help Cali?"
"That’s why I called her. She treated me after one of my father’s parties. She was kind to me. After that, she was there when I needed her."
A couple of hours later, the silence was broken by the banging on the pipe. Holden stood and looked to Eddie, who nodded. He followed Gadget out to the pipe.
Colette was there with three shopping carts filled with supplies. Gadget caught the sense of Wrecker and Reggy a ways away. She hugged Colette.
"Holden, this is Colette. Let’s get off the street." They pushed the carts into the corridors and turned through the labyrinth. Holden said, "What is all this.. There’s food in here." He looked at the basket in front of him with naked longing.
Getting to the tight squat, Gadget started unloading the carts as Colette knelt over Cali.
"Guys, this is Colette, a friend of mine. She’s a doctor. She treated me years ago for....family stuff. We’ve been friends ever since."
"Hiya, glad to see Gladys has made friends." Gadget growled, "Gadget!!" Colette nodded. Eddie looked at Gadget and silently mouthed "Gladys?"
Eddie then came over to look over the carts. "What’s all this?"
Colette looked over the devices she set out next to Cali. "Gadget told me you guys were living tight. This won’t solve everything, but it can’t hurt. I figured I owe her this. Gadget, get me a couple of those chicken broths. Bring some of the chicken chunks. Get a pot on that burner going. There’s a pot in there somewhere. Heat the broth. There is a cot on there too. Set it up there. Get a sleeping bag open."
"You, m’lady," looking to Tiffy, "ah, come here. We have to undress her and clean her. She has no broken bones. But there are cuts.. and.. she’s been doped up."
Holden and Eddie set up the cot and spread a sleeping bag out open, laying a towel down in the bag. Colette directed them to put Cali in the cot.
After a few minutes, Colette stood, "Ok, I need the room. Gadget, why don’t you sort out the stuff I brought."
The guys and Gadget went and looked over the supplies. While they were concerned about Cali, the sudden riches gave them all wide eyes. Gadget took a loaf of bread, slathered mayonnaise and mustard on them, with meat and cheese, slipping each sandwich into a zip-lock bag. Despite their hunger, Holden and Eddie helped while Jax stood by the makeshift curtain for Colette and Cali.
Eddie asked, "No ketchup?" Gadget chuckled. "Colette knows I hate ketchup!"
Colette looked out at Jax as he hovered, "You are?" He said, "Jax. How is she?" "She’s asking for you. You can help me."
She looked to Gadget and whispered mentally to her, "She has a lot of bruises. Signs of repeated rapes. A lot of scratches and cuts. Can you get them to play some while I use the Total Warrior Medical stuff?"
Gadget, Eddie, and Holden fixed 20 sandwiches and tucked them into the ice chest. They set up chairs and sat, and Tiffy, Eddie, Holden, and Gadget sat after Gadget slipped a sandwich to Jax. They ate in silence.
Gadget got her guitar out and started strumming. After a few moments, Eddie and Holden picked up theirs. Tiffy picked up her violin and leaned it against her chair as the cat resettled in her lap. She opened the bag of cat food and brought a handful of kibble for the cat to eat.
Behind the curtain, Cali was cleaned and settled in the sleeping bag. Colette gave her an injection from a Total Warrior device with a broad-range antibiotic as well as pain medication. Secretly, she cast her High Order Healing Spell and the Clean cantrips. Jax brought over broth and spoon-fed her. Colette told him to cover her up when he was done and to eat his sandwich. He smiled at her gratefully. She then left to join the others.
She opened a chair and sat, listening to the jam session.
Eddie finally asked, "How is she?"
Colette said, "She’ll heal. She mostly had bruises and a few cuts. It’s pretty clear she was beaten with a belt, but probably as part of the rapes. She was starved for several days to be sure. Dehydrated. The physical stuff will heal. She will have psychological damage to be sure. That will take a long time to get over, and she’ll need help. Did you call the police?"
Eddie lowered his head. Holden said, "Wouldn’t do any good. They always get away with shit. Police connections."
Gadget signaled to Colette to change the topic by using the hand sign language. "How long can you stay, Colette?"
"I’ll leave in a few days. I want to watch her."
Finding Their Sound[edit]
Several days passed as the band remained in hiding. The band spent the time playing music, getting to know each other’s playing rather than the singular sounds the busking they had been doing taught them. They ate well, finishing off what Colette had brought. She stepped out to make another food run on her last day before she left.
Cali sat beside Jax, silently, her hurts mended as best as medications could, but the memories went deeper. Those scars might never heal.
During that week, the group played for each other as they never had before. They shared the squat but had never shared their music. Now they did. The hallways echoed as they developed rhythms, harmonies, and solos. They sang all the songs they knew and shared the ones they wrote. Gadget sat back a lot, playing her bass guitar and lamenting that the only thing she missed from home was her piano. She let Eddie take the lead on guitar, playing his beloved surfpunk renditions. Holden played rhythm. Tiffy was a virtuoso on the violin, weaving her sound among the others, playing counterpoint and solos. Gadget nearly cried.
Gadget would go out at night alone. She met with groups of dogs that had heard about her, and she bound them to her, as her father and mother had taught her. Her skill at the bonding grew quickly.
The streets were eerily quiet, the distant hum of a generator the only sound as she walked through the deserted industrial areas near the Station. Gadget’s boots scraped against cracked pavement, her mind drifting to Mandalay. In her world, shadows whispered secrets; here they only swallowed sound. She tightened her grip on the Trump card in her pocket. No magic here to guide her—only instinct.
Jax was pretty good on the bongos. He told them about the music store at home that let him play their drums. The school he and Cali had gone to had shut their music departments. Eddie talked about the private school he and Tiffy had attended. It was wonderful to them, but their homes were hells.
The group opened up to each other, sharing their lives. Something they had never done before.
Gadget told a tale that paled to the others, but hers was fiction. They were not ready to learn her truth. Mandalay, Fleece, Snack, the Dramaturge, her pack—the Hounds of Mandalay, Raphael, Ang Ri, Fort Garland.
After four days, Cali was walking, Jax supporting her arm. She carried her bass guitar but didn’t play it. The closest she came was quietly tapping out the beats Jax played.
Jax told a story, "This one time, we played for an audience of zero. Just me and the drums, Cali and her bass in some crummy bar in Wisconsin. Felt like a rehearsal—until the bartender started crying."
Gadget smiled faintly, "Why cry over a song?"
Jax said, "Said it reminded him of his son. Music’s like that—it hits people in ways you don’t expect."
Gadget stared into the camp stove flames, silent. Music and magic weren’t so different. Both were bridges.
Gadget reveled in the experience. Eddie Black and the Stone Bench Group, here, before the fame, before the glory. And in this shadow, Cali lived and didn’t become the inspiration for Jax’s sad ballads and his descent into alcoholism and self-destruction as happened in so many shadows. She knew shadow was vast, and there were places this group never suffered their tragedies. Those shadows sometimes had weaker groups, without the passion. Bands that played at State Fairs, not the Coliseum or Madison Square Gardens. It was a gentle process, but Gadget coaxed them into sharing their tragedies and building on them. After all, they all had horrors in their pasts. Things that brought them together.
She knew one day she would leave them. Leave them to their glory. But till then, she became a member of the Stone Bench Group. She wished she could stay. She also knew that if at all possible, her goal was to guide them past a few roadblocks and eventually bring them to the Dramaturge in Mandalay. If, if...
Eventually, the claustrophobia began to grow on them, and a time came when they returned to the plaza and reclaimed their stone bench. This time, when they took turns leading, singing, solos, the rest of the band played to back them up.
Now the strollers stopped more often. They bought pizza and ate while listening. Some started taking their regular lunch breaks from offices and businesses nearby to come and listen. They might even be the seeds of the fandom that would one day follow them online as well as from city to city.
After a week on the plaza, Waldo showed up. He was apologetic, but Cali couldn’t stand the sight of him. She admitted that Waldo had never touched her, but he had
been part of Wart’s group. He was a shadow of his former swaggering self. Gadget knew Wrecker and Reggy had taken to correcting his attitude while getting all the information out of him they could. It showed. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. In time, Waldo started helping carry things and set things up. Pignoses, a few cables. A mic-stand. Gadget’s eyes nearly popped one day when Waldo brought chalk and drew a half-circle around the front for whoever was doing their lead. The famous singing circle. The cover of their epic first album before her eyes.
Somewhere in there, he and Cali made peace, but Gadget knew that in most of the shadows, Cali was known to hate the chief roadie. She guessed in this shadow that would be Waldo. She never saw Holden exchange more than a few words at a time to Waldo, and he always managed his own amp.
Eddie started to develop the stage presence that would make him famous. Tiffy, on her rock and roll violin, matched his every note, making his voice sound musical. His fingers danced on the strings, while she held the back line steady and soulful. Gadget closed her eyes as the melody washed over her. Each note was a heartbeat, a reminder of what they were fighting for—a world where music didn’t fade into static, where hope lingered in the chords. She could see Cali’s fingers matching her own. It wouldn’t be long till the two of them developed the dual bass sound the group would be famous for. Then Gadget would be replacing stray bassists the band would pick up for a gig or two at a time. Maybe, just maybe, she could stay.
A few days into their second month, Gadget saw Wrecker and Reggy stroll through the plaza. They listened and threw a wad of bills in the guitar case.
Gadget slipped away and met them behind Little Caesar’s.
Wreck lit a cigar as she approached, half offering it to Gadget, who declined. "What’s up?"
Wrecker, the brains of the two such as they were, said, "We have a target. Your contact helped sort it out. The Blind Reapers. A motorcycle gang. They have deep pockets and deep protection. They have a bunch of cops on the payroll."
Reggy said, "Hey! That doesn’t make them bad cops, just realists."
Wrecker looked at him incredulously, "Really, Officer Clifton?" Reggy shrugged.
Wrecker continued, "They are middlemen for sure. They get good product from the people down at the port. They stomp on the stuff at their clubhouse out in Daniville. We’ve looked the place over. Ten targets at least, including two high-value targets. From what we have learned, drug running is top, but they run guns and girls. Slave trade. The gang leaders are Black Carl Smalter and Dale Genkin. They have contacts all over the place. Permission to scrub them."
Gadget asked, "What did Lisha say?"
Wrecker told her, "They are unofficially untouchable by the cops."
She nodded. "Conditionally, permission granted. We need to know more about them. Talk to them first. See if we can flip them." She turned and returned to the band.
Wrecker nodded, "Infiltration it is."
The pair left, and Gadget went back by way of Little Caesar’s for a few $5 pizzas.
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.
Places[edit]
At The Ugly Ferret Tavern - Chapter One[edit]
The duo sat on their stolen Vespas, looking at the grungy tavern. Reggy said, "Good fields of fire. Perches all over. Not good planning."
Wrecker looked around, "They are a biker gang, not strictly speaking a military unit. They didn’t plan on us."
The air inside the bar was thick with smoke and hostility. Neon lights buzzed weakly over stained pool tables, and a jukebox in the corner played a half-hearted country tune. A dozen leather-clad figures turned to watch as Wrecker and Reggy stepped through the door. Tired-looking girls in blank leather sat out of the way, drunk, stoned, or worn out.
“Welp,” Reggy muttered, glancing at the peeling wallpaper and overturned chairs. “Home sweet home.” His Broncos football jacket did not make any friends this far east. Ravens, Jets, Commanders. Maybe Cowboys for the Cheerleaders.
“You know, if they ever power-washed this place, the health department might faint,” Wrecker replied with a grin, his voice carrying just loud enough to draw a few glares.
At the bar, Dale Genkins, the VP of the Blind Reapers, leaned back on his stool, his leather vest stretching over his broad shoulders. Beside him, Smiley, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, cleaned his nails with a knife that looked sharp enough to gut a deer. The bartender looked worn and tired, the result of having these criminals claim his bar without so much as a "If you please."
From a shadowy corner, Black Carl, a mountain of a man with a dark history, watched with quiet intensity, his dark eyes narrowing as the newcomers approached.
“You boys lost?” Dale asked, his voice calm but loaded with menace. “This ain’t exactly tourist country, Peacock.”
“Nah, we’re right where we need to be. It’s been a long ride.” Wrecker said, swaggering up to the bar as though he owned the place. He slid into a stool and gestured to the bartender. “Two beers. Cold, if that’s a thing here. Got any pretzels or peanuts?”
Reggy stayed on his feet, leaning casually against the bar and nodding at Smiley. “Nice knife. Compensating for something?”
Smiley’s grin widened, showing off a row of uneven, chipped teeth. “Keep talking, string bean. We'll see how funny you are when I carve my initials in your forehead.”
“Smiley, enough,” Dale said, raising a hand. He turned his attention to Wrecker, his eyes scanning him up and down. “You got a lot of nerve walking in here unarmed. Either you’re real stupid, or you’ve got a death wish.”
He shrugged, "Having both has worked for me. What makes you think I’m unarmed?” Wrecker replied, taking a slow sip of the beer the bartender slid his way. “I see a bottle of Old Crow down there. Crack that bird and pour two glasses of 6 ounces. Run us a tab." He pulled a roll of bills and stuck it on its bottom. The bartender opened it and counted it. He didn’t wear a cut, so he looked to Black Carl, who gave a slight nod. The money disappeared, and he poured two tall glasses. Wrecker said, "Leave the bottle, Lucky."
Smiley eyeballed Reggy, "What about you, Stretch? You packing?"
Reggy nodded, "Ya, I’m packing, but you’ll only see it if we were in prison, princess." Smiley started moving, and Dale put his hand on his chest. "I said enough."
"So, something on your mind, such as it is?"
Wreck poured a chug of whiskey into his beer and took a drink, nodding his head, "We got a proposition.”
Dale chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “Oh, this oughta be good. What’s your pitch, tough guy?”
Wrecker leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “You boys run this area, right? But I bet the profits could be better. We know how to move goods, no questions asked. We have a great connection for military arms. And we’ve got a knack for... creative problem solving.”
“Creative problem solving,” Dale repeated, his tone flat. “That what you call sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”
Reggy smirked, chiming in. “Hey, we’re just trying to make a buck the American way. You know, cash businesses and criminality. Maybe add a little... somtha-somtha on the side? No offense, but subtlety doesn’t seem like your strong suit.”
Smiley growled and took a step forward, but Dale held up a hand again, stopping him in his tracks.
“You’re real funny,” Dale said, his expression unreadable. “But we don’t need outsiders meddling in our business.”
“Fair enough,” Wrecker said, finishing his beer in one long gulp. “Just thought we’d offer. Seems a shame to waste all this... potential.”
Reggy grabbed his glass and matched his friend. Smiley stared at him with naked hatred, showing his broken teeth. Reggy grinned, letting his upper and lower Orc canines show. Smiley blinked in uncertainty.
Wrecker nodded at the bikers staring daggers at them. “Yeah, real welcoming crowd. I feel the love.”
Dale stood, towering over Wrecker, and leaned in close. “The only reason you’re walking out of here in one piece is because I don’t feel like mopping up the mess. But don’t mistake that for an invitation to come back.”
“Understood.” Wrecker said, standing and dusting off his jacket as if he’d just finished a casual lunch meeting. He slipped a photo over on the bar.
Looking down, Dale said, "What are these?"
Wrecker said, "McMillan TAC-50, Heckler & Koch PSG1, and my personal favorite, the Barrett M82. We can get these reliably. We can get as many AR’s as you’d need. Our selection of handguns is diverse. Street walker prices for courtesan service. Pleasure doing business with you. We’ll be around.”
Wrecker and Reggy polished off their beers and whiskey in gulps. Wrecker looked at the bartender. "Don’t forget our tab, Lucky." He grabbed the half-empty bottle as they left.
As they walked to the door, Reggy couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “Hey, Smiley—next life, try flossing. Keeps it from scratching johnsons.”
Smiley surged forward with murder in his eyes, but Dale’s bark stopped him cold.
“Let ’em go,” Dale said, watching as the two men strolled out like they hadn’t just walked through the lion’s den.
Reggy turned at the door, looking back in, "Why Smiley, does this mean we’re not friends anymore? You know Smiley, if I thought you weren’t my friend... I just don’t think I could bear it!" Wrecker chuckled outside.
From his corner, Black Carl’s eyes followed them to the door, his expression unreadable. He whispered to a confederate beside him, "Find out who they are. Call K."
Outside, under the flickering neon sign, Wrecker turned to Reggy with a grin. “That went well.”
“Yeah, if your definition of ‘well’ is not getting stabbed in the spleen,” Reggy replied, shaking his head.
Wrecker laughed, "I was amazed at Genkins’ self-control. And I thought Smiley was going to snap! Johnsons... "
Reggy laughed, "Hey, I tried to break him, but he was just too tough for me, I guess." sighing sarcastically, "So, next round’s on you, genius. Pizza or Sushi?"”
They laughed as they disappeared into the night on their stolen Vespas, the tension of the encounter already fading into the rhythm of their camaraderie.
Gadget Visits the Station[edit]
As the weeks went by, Eddie and the Stone Bench Band developed their sound. It had gone well after they realized the takers were not around. Eddie wouldn’t talk about it, changing the subject if it was brought up. A few thugs wandered by, but they didn’t bother the buskers in this neck of the plaza. A pair came to the chalk line but shivered and lost their nerve, tossing their money in the guitar case. One caught Gadget’s eye, a street name of Billy, someday known as Billy Sharp. The shadows played tricks.
Eddie worked out a new schedule for the other buskers, keeping the best time for himself and the group. The others liked the situation fairly well. Players before seemed like warmup acts. The ones afterward got the benefit of the people that started having their lunch in the area. Gadget appraised two musicians probably in their 20s, playing saxes; Mack something & Danny Dean. They were familiar to her from other shadows. Maybe they would add the bang the group could use...
Waldo began filling a shopping cart with the group’s supplies as they went out each day and parking it in the increasingly crowded squat. A month had passed, and nerves started getting frayed. Eddie, Tiffy, Jax, Cali, Holden, Gadget, and now Waldo filled the space extremely tight.
Gadget went out on a walk one night, greeting the new dogs. She met with Wrecker and Reggy. “How’s the Station look now?”
Reggy said, “Like a shithole covered in industrial waste. Your dogs are creeping me out. But it doesn’t smell like rotted cheese, takeout, pot, and stale semen. We cleaned out the front room enough to live there. Fixed the plumbing and set up some solar cells. It’s pretty messy. You still thinking of burning it down? We have a few ideas about that. Or are you going to use it?”
Gadget pondered for a moment. “It is just about the same distance of a walk from the Station to the plaza as it is from the plaza to the squat, isn’t it?”
Wreck nodded, “Close enough.”
“Start cleaning it up for us. Leave enough junk so they feel like they clean it out when I get there. Nothing fancy. Clean cantrips and elbow grease. Do something creative in the rape room. It’s going to be hard to convince Cali. Let’s go take a look.”
Gadget looked across the street at the Station, remembering her last time there. Eliminating the lowest rung of the predatory hierarchy. The smell of damp concrete, refuse, dogs, and old grease lingered in the air.
Entering the former convenience store, she wrinkled her nose. "Seriously, guys? This place is a biohazard. You’re telling me you’ve been sleeping
in here? Without even a basic cleaning spell or... I don’t know, a mop?"
Wrecker shrugged, "What can I say? I’ve got low standards. I lived in a truck cab for years—it smelled better than this, but not by much."
Gadget turned at Reggy, who said, "I’m an orc."
Gadget looked at him deadpan, gesturing at a pile of broken furniture. "That explains the piles of ‘decorative garbage.’ What is this? An art installation called ‘Despair in Concrete’? You’ve been here a month."
Wrecker: "Hey, don’t knock it. That’s vintage junk. Wart’s crew left it here—it’s practically historical."
Gadget rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, history needs a pressure washer. Clean this place up. If we’re going to use it, I want it livable. Like, at least one rung above ‘feral.’"
Raising his eyebrow, letting his orc canine teeth show, "‘Use it’? You’re really thinking of moving your whole band here? I thought that was a joke."
"Yeah. The squat’s too crowded."
Wrecker grinned. "I mean, sure. If you’re cool with the charming ambiance of ‘industrial wasteland chic.’"
Reggy settled on the east sofa, casting several Clean cantrips out of courtesy. "We’ve been thinking of getting more than a crash pad anyway."
"Oh? Elaborate."
Wrecker said excitedly. "We’ve been charging up the car—dumping extra power into it. It’s still back in Ang Ri. We think we can use it to anchor something here. At some point, we won’t be able to disguise ourselves."
Narrowing her eyes. "Something? Be specific, Wrecker."
Reggy grinned slyly. "We’ve got a rough sketch for a place."
"And by ‘rough sketch,’ you mean...?"
Wrecker shrugged, "A few napkins. Bells on the doorknobs. Some runes drawn in oil stains. New graffiti. It’s solid, though. There is a bar we are familiar with. The Ugly Ferret. It’s been invaded by that biker gang. We tried to make a deal with them, but no luck. They were Wart’s suppliers. They are next, if you approve, on our hit list."
Gadget sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Why am I not surprised? Fine. Clean this place up first. If I bring the others here and they take one whiff of this dump, I’m blaming you two."
Reggy made a mock salute. "Yes, boss. Operation Mop and Hope, commencing."
Wrecker smirked. "And hey, once we’re done, it’ll be the classiest industrial ruin on the block."
Gadget: "Not exactly a high bar, but I’ll take it. Get to work. I’ll check in soon."
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.
Biker's Barbeque[edit]
Sitting on a rooftop with their backs to a wall, Wrecker and Reggy contemplated their options.
Wrecker was a stocky, husky man with broad shoulders covered in tattoos. He wore a short, neatly trimmed Mohawk in red, green, purple, blue, and white. He had a camouflage jacket over his lap and camouflage pants, having gone through an army surplus store and picked patterns from different countries. He sat on a Belgian rucksack and smoked a small cigar, exhaling multicolored smoke.
Beside him, Reggy snored softly, wearing a Denver Broncos sports jacket and blue jeans, his head on a Belgian rucksack. He seemed fairly relaxed, snoring his relaxation.
Wrecker crawled over and slipped up to look down over the roof edge at the ground with a rifle scope.
Reggy mumbled, “How many? Is he there?”
Wrecker said, “About seven in cuts. Couple of girls. They’re barbecuing.”
Reggy, "Yeah, I can smell it. I’m fraking hungry." He rolled over and fell deeper asleep.
Time passed as Reggy slept, and Wrecker checked the ground.
Wrecker looked over a computer tablet, checking many details. He mumbled.
“Murder, murder, murder, armed robbery, vandalism, vandalism, rape, rape, rape, assault, assault, assault, assault, assault, drug running, gun running. Theft, cleared, cleared, cleared. Payoffs, payoffs. Twelve targets. No female targets. Black Carl... the president of the MC. Dale Genkin, Vice Pres.”
As dusk started, Wrecker looked over the edge of the roof. He laid back and kicked Reggy to wake him.
“Black Carl and Genkin just arrived. Take a look.”
Reggy crawled over and looked down. He nodded. “I see them. Say when.”
Wrecker said, “Thirty seconds.”
Reggy and Wrecker both pulled up M4 rifles, racked rounds, checked the clip, and pulled two extra clips out for each of them.
They turned around and knelt by the roof's edge, putting the four clips between them.
Wrecker said, “I don’t see Smiley. Maybe he’s inside. So let’s both hit Dale and Black Carl, then you get everyone to your right. I’ll get everyone to my left.” Reggy nodded, "Heads are yours, chests are mine."
“One, two, three," Wrecker whispered.
On three, the two swung up and aimed their rifles, taking targets.
The firing lasted fifteen seconds, then there was screaming down below, and the women fled the backyard, running and jumping into two cars and fleeing quickly.
Wrecker surveyed the damage. He and Reggy pulled up their bags and slung their weapons over their shoulders. They leapt off the roof and landed on the ground. Walking through the backyard, they took low-order pictures of the dead. Then they went through pockets, collecting money, wallets, and pocket lint. They piled weapons in a duffel bag.
Dale moaned in pain, and Wrecker looked into his dying face. "Should have made a deal, Dale. Such wasted potential." He drew his Glock and issued the coup de grâce.
Going into the house, they walked through, seeking others.
Reggy stood by the door. "All the listed targets except Smiley were outside. Didn’t see that Prospect either. Hey Wrecker, you realize we’re psychopaths?"
Wrecker nodded. "It’s crossed my mind. I became convinced on the streets of Ahyk. Let’s see what’s inside." He raised his hand, and a small glowing symbol rose in front of it. He moved the glowing symbol around the room. “Something... Move the couch.”
Reggy pulled the couch, pushing it over on its back with ease.
Wrecker knelt down, running his hand along the floor. Stopping, he punched the floor hard, pushing his hand through. He pulled hard, pulling up a large secret door. Looking down into the hole, the first thing they saw were two girls who crouched in fear. Beside them were bags of packed powder. A large collection of guns. Grocery bags of cash held together with rubber bands.
Reggy raised a symbol similar to Wrecker's. He cast a sleep spell, and the two girls went to sleep.
Wrecker removed a cell phone and called. “Wrecker. Targets neutralized except Smiley Russel. Two captives asleep. Weapons in a hole. Drugs. Send in the Cleaners.” Reggy pulled out several bags of the pressed powder, the bags of cash, and a couple of fancy pistols and stashed them in the duffel bag, smiling at Wrecker.
“That was rough out there. Mostly rough on them, of course. So... Pizza?” Reggy said.
A few minutes later, a van showed up at the Motorcycle Club's house.
The black van screeched to a halt outside the motorcycle clubhouse, its headlights cutting through the fading twilight. The Cleaners stepped out—a team of five, clad in nondescript dark clothing, each carrying specialized gear. Among them, a tall woman named Iris took charge, her presence commanding as she assessed the scene.
Inside the house, Wrecker’s phone pinged with a message: “Operation secure. Proceed to drop point.” He nodded to Reggy as he raided the biker’s half-stocked fridge. “Let’s move,” Wrecker said.
The Cleaners began their work. They cataloged the weapons, retrieved the drugs, and carefully extracted the unconscious captives. Iris paused to look at the crude bunker beneath the floor. “They knew what they were hiding,” she muttered to one of her team members, who nodded and bagged up a stash of ledgers. "Any trouble outside?"
Wrecker shook his head. "A few building code violations..."
Walking away from the scene, Wrecker with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Reggy stopped and grabbed steaks and sausages from the BBQ, tossing them in his gun bag.
Wrecker and Reggy cut through a side alley. The city’s glow contrasted with the grimness of their mission. Reggy chewed on a cold slice of leftover pizza he found at the clubhouse. “So,” he said between bites, “how long we gotta stay under the radar now?”
Wrecker smirked. “Not long. Couple of days. Iris's Cleaners know what to do. Black Carl and his crew were overdue for a reckoning. The streets are better off without them.”
Reggy grunted. “Still. It’s a slippery slope. We’re not the law.”
“No,” Wrecker said, pausing. He exhaled multicolored smoke from his cigar. “But sometimes, we’re all that stands between order and chaos.”
Back at their safe house, Wart's Station, a dingy flop in the industrial district, Wrecker checked their spoils. Among the wallets and cash, he found a photo of a young girl tucked into Black Carl’s wallet. Frowning, he set it aside. “Even monsters have something to lose,” he muttered.
Reggy looked over. “You getting soft, or just tired?”
“Neither,” Wrecker said. He locked the photo in a drawer. “This fight isn’t clean. It’s never clean. Gadget really picked a messy place to come. Crap load of thugs. Crime rate higher than the cops can manage. Cops on the criminals' payrolls.”
They turned their attention to the drugs they retrieved. Wrecker pulled out a small vial from one of the bags and examined it under a desk lamp. “This is good stuff. High quality. Got a good connection. This stuff hasn’t been cut yet.” He looked at the rest of the take; cash, pistols, sausages, steaks, herb. Counting cash, sorting it, "About 15 grand of operating money. The pistols look OK, got a nice Desert Eagle. One of their pretty guns. Couple of bags of weed. You had to throw meat on all? The cash smells like grease."
Reggy pulled over the sausages and steaks, setting them on top of an empty pizza box as he listened to his partner. "I learned my lesson, daddy. Eat a good meal before mass murder."
Reggy leaned over, looking at the cut-open bundle. He scooped out a cup full with a coffee cup, cast a Clean cantrip on the table, poured out a pile of powder, and started cutting lines.
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.
Surprise[edit]
Holden emerged cautiously from beneath the deep shrubbery, his gaze flickering left and right before tilting upward toward the pale glow of the moon. His tangled hair clung to his damp forehead, a testament to the effort that had left him breathless. Slowly, he wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled.
Rising to his feet, he scanned the empty park. Moonlight bathed the space, casting a soft sheen on his lightly fuzzed chest, still glistening from exertion. His wide-eyed expression held a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if caught between dream and reality. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, smoothing it back as his fingers came away moist.
A glance downward brought a flicker of self-awareness. Though he had never considered his manhood much to boast about, it stirred again, responding in a way that surprised even him. Seventeen years old and hardened by life on the streets, he had spent four years scraping by with odd jobs and busking. Opportunities for intimacy had been rare, fleeting luxuries he could hardly afford to dream about.
Tonight, however, was different. Bliss and awe coursed through him, leaving his mind adrift in the memory of what had just transpired—the highlight of his life thus far.
Then, a firm hand, insistent and unyielding, brought him back to the moment. Startled, he glanced down. Mismatched eyes, one green and one hazel, shimmered in the moonlight, framed by vibrant blue hair. Her mischievous smile captivated him, demanding his full attention.
Wordlessly, he knelt back into the shadows of the shrubbery, surrendering to her unspoken desires, ready to continue their shared exploration of the night.
Calling The Car[edit]
Wrecker and Reggy had finished clearing the garage of the Station. Years of disuse and misuse had made various squatters throw everything into the garage. Reggy kept joking with things, a doll, a bent bicycle, a fur seat cover. Wrecker had kept them in beer. The smell of mundane cleaning supplies filled the air of the mid-winter day.
One of the advantages that they had gained from the Day of the Change was they had gained greater strength and endurance. Their adventures since had improved them dramatically. Their passage through the Sigil of Fort Garland had changed them even further. Power has its privileges.
They had spent several hours hauling debris from the garage to reveal the cement below. Sweeping got the last of the clutter. That was followed with Clean cantrips to remove decades of oil, gas, grease, and blood.
Reggy said, “Well, that wasn’t too bad. The two storage rooms won’t take long. Though the one with the mattresses is going to take something more than cantrips. Do you remember the Low Order sorcery Clean spell?”
Wrecker shook his head. “No, I didn’t pay attention to the Low Order Sorcery stuff. Too much finger-waving time, lynchpins, and stuff. I always feel like I might be casting something, sneeze, and blast off half my head. Let Gadget clean them when she brings her little band here. We can’t do everything. We don’t need those rooms. The living room has two couches. Those the Clean cantrips can manage till we can get some help.”
Wrecker said, “Then we are ready to see if the summoning will work.”
Reggy nodded, “After some sleep and some beer.”
A few hours later, the two soldiers had stripped down and cast Clean cantrips on their clothes. They had sat in the living room that had once been a convenience store lobby and cast Mend cantrips on their clothes and Chill cantrips on the beer. Getting dressed again, they returned to the garage.
Wrecker chuckled. “When I was a truck driver, I never imagined that one day I would be some kind of half-wizard. OK, the Army made me a soldier for a time, but the rest is just bizarre.”
Reggy nodded, “When I was Denver Police, I thought people who dressed up like elves and orcs were crazy. Now I’m an orc. The Sigil of Fort Garland made me able to become a human again if I want as well as a weird deer thing with wings. I’m not sure I know what a normal life is anymore. But I am enjoying wrecking these thugs.”
Wrecker opened the garage door out to a silent street that rarely saw traffic. Outside, two large dogs looked in at the pair. They felt Gadget's bond urge them to obey the pair. They walked in and settled against a wall out of the way.
The soldiers of Gadget's army settled down to business. “Let’s get our ride.”
Wrecker and Reggy knelt on the cold, cleaned cement, the faint scent of ozone lingering from their earlier cantrips. With careful precision, they drew glowing chalk sigils into twin circles, their lines pulsing faintly with otherworldly energy. Wrecker’s form rippled as he shrank into the squat, rugged shape of a dwarf, his beard thickening like wildfire. Across from him, Reggy’s skin darkened to a deep emerald hue, tusks jutting slightly as his orc form took shape. With synchronized movements, they raised shimmering symbols, their edges crackling like firelight. The garage filled with a low hum, as if the walls themselves held their breath.
Time passed as the two concentrated on the sigils before them, glowing blue and white. Small sparks appeared at junctions where lines crossed.
Soon after the stroke of midnight, a horn bleated as a purple and white 55 Bel-Air turned off the street into the space between the odd pair of friends. Moments later, its exquisite paint scheme changed to a scratched black and a rusty white with a satisfied hum. The car's license plate said, “Strut.”
The pair put a hand on the car's hood. They smiled. Wrecker said, “Hello, boy. You ready to rock and roll?” The engine roared, and the pipes belched a burst of fire.
Reggy stood, “Let’s cruise.”
Wrecker held a door open, and the two dogs leapt into the backseat. He climbed behind the steering wheel with a big smile. Reggy lit a cigar as they backed out of the garage. Three dogs of Gadget's pack skipped in to guard the open garage door.
Lucky and the Ugly Ferret[edit]
Wrecker and Reggy walked into the quiet, darkened bar, thick with the despair that clung to the place once dominated by the Riders. The bartender, whom Wrecker had dubbed Lucky, was sitting backward on the bar, pouring himself a pint. He looked up and slipped down onto the ground, his expression shifting to one of suspicion as he remembered the last time the two had been there.
"Ah... what can I get you... fellas?" he asked hesitantly.
Wrecker took a seat. "Well, you had a bottle of Old Crow. I know because I took it. Do you happen to have any more?"
Reggy wandered over to the dark booth once inhabited by Black Carl. He peered closely at it before stepping to a doorway covered by a ragged cloth, glancing beyond it.
Lucky brought up a bottle and pushed it toward Wrecker. "Is my tab still good?" Wrecker asked.
Lucky nodded. "It is. You gave me a grand. Not that I got to keep it."
Wrecker raised an eyebrow. "Those guys still own the place?"
Lucky shook his head. "I own it, but they sort of... well, *own it*. They must be on a long run. It’s been a month since they were here." He glanced at Reggy, who chuckled. "Ah, you looking for something?"
Reggy smirked. "Just looking around. Seeing if any of the guys are back there, you know, hiding? That a storeroom? It’s sure full of stuff."
Lucky stiffened. "No one’s here but me. I haven’t had more than a couple of customers a day for a month. Like I said, they’re on a run. Yeah, that’s their stuff, and you should stay out of there. They don’t take kindly to people messing with their stuff."
Wrecker glanced at Reggy, made a hand sign, and spoke to him in Ang Rin—the language of Ang Ri, where the pair had recently spent significant time. "What’s back there?"
Reggy replied in imperfect Ang Rin, struggling for words. "Storage, junk. Couple of..." He paused, searching for the term for “performance space.” "...arena...sands." Switching to English, he clarified, "A couple of stages." Then, in Ang Rin again, "Good space. Stairs upstairs."
Wrecker turned back to Lucky. "You don’t miss them, I bet. They tax you pretty heavy?"
Lucky let out a bitter laugh. "No, they take *everything*. Luckily, I skim enough to live on. I sent my wife to Alabama—kin—three years ago, after the Reapers moved in on me. For her own sake. Look, they really hated you guys. You don’t want to be here when they come back."
Wrecker smiled. "Having no visible means of support makes us hard to find."
Reggy said, "Anyway, Lucky, if they come back, it’s fine. We know necromancers." He rapped his knuckles against the bar. "Beer, any time I knock." He grabbed the beer Lucky passed him, taking a long swig. Wrecker chuckled.
"My name’s Wrecker. My mother had an attitude. He’s Reggy. You’ve got a nice place here, if it weren’t filled with scumbags."
Lucky scowled. "You making a joke, Wrecker? The place is a shithole. I bought it from the previous owner, who didn’t tell me he had these... scumbags squatting here. I put my life savings into buying the place and did some cleanup. I was hoping to have a nice little spot. At first, I didn’t know why the locals avoided it, and I couldn’t get anyone to tell me what the problem was.
“We moved in upstairs. The back was full of junk—boxes, trash, a couple dozen motorcycles in pieces. I was looking through things and found a trunk full of weed. I couldn’t decide if I should go to the police. Then they showed up. Refused to leave, refused to lock up. Hit on my wife hard. Made it clear they owned the place and everyone in it. Made it clear my wife was their whore now. Pretty sure one raped her, but she wouldn’t say anything."
Wrecker polished off his glass and poured
another. "That’s when you sent her south?"
Lucky nodded. "Yeah, and took a hell of a beating for it. They all wanted a taste, I guess. Look, I appreciate you guys coming in and all, but if the Riders find you here, they’ll kill you."
Wrecker shrugged. "I’ll risk it. You know them all, their whole chapter? Know about other chapters?"
"Yeah, sure. There are five other chapters—New York, Toronto, Durham, Jacksonville, and New Orleans. Why?"
"How many in their chapter here?"
"Uh, 13 or 14 patched members, a few prospects. About a dozen girls—four are regulars, the others are hangers-on, hooking for them. They provide protection around here. Protection from them, mostly."
Reggy made a tiny hand gesture, and Wrecker nodded. Reggy pulled out a stack of cardstock and laid them on the bar. Lucky’s eyes widened as he saw the photos on the cards. "Who did we miss?"
Lucky stared at the photos, his face pale. "What... what happened to them?"
Reggy chuckled. "Kinetic energy poisoning. They’re not acting. So, who did we miss?"
Lucky examined the photos. "Ah, Gorgie, Little Harold, oh... Smiley. Smiley’s a psycho. None of the girls."
Reggy shrugged. "Yeah... I’ll catch up with Smiley."
"They’re all dead? Uh... look, why are you showing me these?"
Wrecker leaned in, his voice low and deliberate. "Because we need to know how many are loose. We need to know who they got their stuff from, who they did business with, and who else is going to come looking for us. You look scared."
Lucky hesitated. "I don’t want any trouble."
"You’re not in trouble," Wrecker said. "Look, we need a hangout, and you need new customers. What’s upstairs? How much of the building do you own?"
Lucky sighed. "The club extends into the warehouse. A few stories. It’s got a big space back there, but it’s been empty for years. Not a lot going on around here. We’re in the industrial zone but close enough to get foot traffic. With the Riders gone, things might pick up, depending on what you guys are doing here."
Reggy and Wrecker exchanged glances, then nodded.
"Here’s the deal," Wrecker said, his tone casual but firm. "You get protection, money, and a chance to turn this dump into something respectable. We don’t need your money. Keep it. In return, you keep your mouth shut about what we’re doing here. We’ll even pay for our drinks."
He set a roll of bills on the counter. "That’s about five grand. Any questions?"
Lucky hesitated, his gaze darting between the roll of cash and Wrecker’s steely eyes. He thought of his wife in Alabama, safe but far away, and of the Riders’ blood-stained reign. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. But if this goes south, we’ll all be dead."
Reggy asked, "By the way, what’s your name?"
Lucky looked around, weighed his options, and said, "I’ll stick with Lucky."
Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.
Moving Day at the Station[edit]
The next day, Gadget returned to the squat and explained the situation to Eddie. He groaned about the extra work but eventually agreed. Cali would take the most convincing, of course. At first, Gadget gave up on the move and started thinking of finding someplace else, maybe even taking over the bar Wrecker and Reggy found. In the end, though, the Station made more sense.
Busking had been good for months. The band had started playing together during peak traffic hours in the plaza and had started getting quite a following.
One day, a young woman had asked them how many songs they could do and if they were interested in playing a party. That led them to a backyard on a Saturday evening, playing everything they could think of to a crowd of around sixty partygoers. Cali wouldn’t look at the crowd, but otherwise, the group had a heck of a time and ate well. They got $300 in pocket and another $300 in tips. Afterwards, the squat was a celebration as all six members of the band got $90, and Waldo got $60. Not a fortune, but they talked about months when they wouldn’t get $10 a day busking. To top the evening off, they had another gig the next weekend and a possibility of a second one.
Waldo, who rarely talked anymore, suggested they go to Walmart and buy two or three folding wagons. The group looked at him with uncertainty, but he explained that they all hauled gear to the plaza and back almost every day, but going to a gig might take a bit more work. It wasn’t as if any of them had a car. Eddie looked at Gadget, then Tiffy, then around the group to a general agreement. It was agreed that three wagons would carry most of their gear more easily than they could carry it. It was then they realized it had been four months since Wart’s guys disappeared, and no one was taxing them in their place. Tiffy asked how much money everyone had. They had been eating well since they started chipping in from their take from busking. Sometimes they played as a group, sometimes they played on their own.
The amount was surprising to them, despite the $90 each had got from the gig. The total was over a thousand dollars. For buskers, this was a fortune. The habit of hiding away change was deeply ingrained in them. The total had crept up on all of them.
That was when Gadget made the suggestion that caused the real uproar. The squat had always been tight, and with the addition of Colette's supplies—cots, sleeping bags, ice chest, blankets—the place had become a cozy maze for the group, building and bonding them, but the time for a change was coming. Her suggestion of taking over the Station was met with horror by Cali and Jax, rightly so, but the others wanted to at least see the place.
After an expedition to the dog town the Station was in, Eddie and Holden both agreed it was worth considering. Gadget had to talk Cali into considering it and used a subtle mental push to make her forget parts of the nightmare she had experienced.
As they discussed the move, the fateful question was asked. Cali asked it.
"What do we do if Wart and his guys come back?" Eddie looked at Gadget, passing to her the lie she would tell. Gadget said, "They got in trouble with a biker gang, the Blind Reapers." Holden nodded, "Yeah, they supplied them. Could they have...killed them?"
Eddie told him, "We may never know." Nodding to Gadget, knowing.
Moving into it took a straight run of gear. Holden and Eddie rounded up six shopping carts and the three folding wagons. They packed their meager belongings and made their way across the plaza. People barely glanced at them, so used they were to people living out of shopping carts that they had become invisible to them.
The Station was still a mess. Gadget saw the strategic mess Wrecker and Reggy had left. Piles of debris in the garage mostly pushed aside. A new garage door opener was installed and purposefully distressed. The Station had no electricity, and that would have to wait. Wrecker had explained to her what it would take to connect the place to the local line, and it had seemed prohibitively risky. It was Reggy who suggested they get a power source from the TW guys in Ang Ri. A conversation with Dalt, Rafe, and the Total Warrior medic ended up with them getting a power generator the size of a pair of decks of cards. The TW guy explained that it would be easy to install and explained the process to Wrecker. Gadget knew it would just take stringing the wire. Time enough later.
The bedding where Cali’s ordeal occurred was gone. Gadget shook her head but admired her companions' creative efforts. They had clearly used Fire Cantrips to burn the room once they had emptied offending details. A chest of drawers, tool chests, and various debris had been left to fuel the blaze. She could feel the magical residue of Fire Cantrips and Extinguish Cantrips they had used. For two warriors, they were showing considerable ingenuity in using the few magical talents they had.
After a couple of days, the debris was gone, and conversations about what to do with the place had filled the time in between practicing. Jax made the uncharacteristic comment that they shouldn’t miss too many days of busking, or someone else would take their stone benches. There was general agreement, and it was decided to return to the plaza the next day.
The sun hung low over the city just after dawn as the group filed out of the Station, their spirits buoyed by the new wave of success that came with their latest gig. But beneath the euphoria, the same gnawing fear lingered. Eddie felt it most acutely. His hands were steady, but there was a weight to his thoughts. Since the gig, the extra cash had gone straight to his head. The first drink at the backyard party felt like a celebration, the second like relief, but now… now it was becoming a crutch, an itch he couldn’t scratch fast enough. He caught Holden’s eye as they walked down the street toward the plaza, eyeballing the Goodwill as they went by, trying to ignore the gnawing in his chest. Holden didn’t say anything, but he could tell—Holden could always tell. The old man, at seventeen, had more successfully kicked his habits long ago, but the silence between them now spoke volumes.
“Everything alright?” Holden’s voice was low, careful.
“Yeah. Just thinking,” Eddie muttered, kicking a loose stone down the sidewalk.
Taking their usual spot, Waldo made more complete efforts laying out their instruments, Eddie and Holden's pig-amps, and putting blankets on the stone benches. Passersby in the early morning air noticed them setting up. Some exchanged comments with the group. Several who had bought breakfasts to go decided to sit and listen to them. Their morning was musical and productive. It was also profitable. But they were still at heart a bit nervous.
Among the small crowd, Gadget saw Wrecker and Reggy sit, each with a breakfast pizza rolled like a burrito. They nodded at her gaze.
Afternoon, the Goodwill store was busy as usual, but today the crowd felt heavier, more pressing. They’d come for furniture—a couch, a few chairs, anything that could make the Station feel more like a home and less like a hollow shell. Tiffy and Cali meandered through the aisles, their eyes glazed with the same detached exhaustion that had become their default since moving into the Station. Cali's face was pale under the fluorescent lights, her gaze darting away from the other shoppers. She hadn’t spoken much since her encounter with Wart's gang, her mind still replaying the sharp edges of that time, the familiar terror twisting her gut.
“I don’t know about all this…” Tiffy murmured as she ran her fingers along the chipped edge of a secondhand armchair. “It feels… wrong. Like we’re just asking for trouble.”
Holden paused beside her, giving her a quiet nod. “It’s part of it, Tiff. We get things that make our place ours, and we start making it known. But that doesn’t mean we go looking for trouble.”
“You can’t just pretend trouble’s not gonna find us,” Cali snapped from the far side of the store, her voice tight. She was still raw, still haunted, and the old patterns were creeping back in.
Gadget said, "We aren’t. We are ready to manage whatever happens. Otherwise, we live in fear."
Waldo shuffled up next to them, his eyes scanning the aisles, but his attention was elsewhere. He’d lived through things that none of them could fully understand—not just the streets, but the darker alleyways of the criminal world. He knew how easy it was for someone to slip into their lives, offering help only to tighten the noose around their necks later. He hoped that wasn’t how they saw him. He picked up a book and glanced at the cover.
“You know, these gangs don’t just stay in the shadows forever,” Waldo said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warning. “They’ll come looking for us. Not yet, but soon. We’ve got money now. Not a lot, but enough to make us targets.” He glanced at Gadget, his eyes unwavering, a silent vow there. He was dedicated to her, to keeping her safe and helping her plans, despite knowing firsthand how dangerous she was, but even he knew that safety was just an illusion in a city like this.
They left Goodwill with a pair of couches and some mismatched chairs, enough to make the Station feel less like a forgotten corner of the world and more like a place where people lived. The place still smelled like stale air and gasoline, but now there were splashes of color, the start of a life growing in the space.
Back at the Station, they spread out and got to work. Eddie carried the old couch inside with Holden, while Tiffy and Cali tried to paint the walls. It was grueling, tedious work, but it was
something they could control. Something tangible. Each brushstroke against the cracked walls was a step toward owning their own future. It didn’t change the fact that they were in the middle of a city teeming with danger, but at least it was something real.
“I used to do this in my old life,” Waldo said, taking a break from hauling furniture to help lay a fresh coat of white paint over the yellowed walls. His hands were steady, even if his mind was racing with darker thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long they could keep their heads down, but they had a few months, at least. It was better than nothing. Tiffy asked, “Paint?” Waldo shook his head, “Move furniture.” He blanched, not wanting to remind them that as part of Wart's crew, he would have been in a lot of their burglaries.
The sound of scraping brushes and the occasional burst of laughter filled the Station as the group worked. It was strange, being here, a place that didn’t feel like home but was starting to. Maybe it was the familiar mess, the clutter that had once represented their survival now becoming part of their new normal. Maybe it was the way they laughed at little things that shouldn’t be funny, or the fact that they had enough money to paint the walls and buy furniture. They had a place of pride to hang Eddie's beloved Red Elvisis Ukrainian Rock group poster. He had even joked about getting it framed.
But as the walls of the Station took on new life, so did their dreams of what it could become. Even with the growing danger, even with the looming threat of the gangs and predators that prowled the city, they were starting to see that this might be their chance at something more—something they had been denied for so long. And the price of that dream? They’d have to face down whatever came for them, together. "Alright," Holden said, wiping his hands on his jeans as he surveyed the room. "Let’s get some more work done tomorrow. This place is gonna look like a real home soon enough."
Tiffy and Cali exchanged looks, both of them still unsure, but it was a step forward. It had to be.
Waldo stood off to the side, eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows outside the garage door. It felt like they were waiting for something—waiting for it all to fall apart or waiting for the other shoe to drop. But at least for now, they had their Station. At least for now, they were alive and together. But that was more than they had yesterday.
In the distance, he saw the dogs, behaving oddly somehow. Some were disturbingly close. He began to wonder if Gadget had something to do with that?
Then in the distance, he saw Gadget's two friends, the guy with the Mohawk and the guy with the Denver jacket. Gadget passed him going out.
“Keep a lid on things, Waldo. I'm going for a walk.” She walked directly to them as if she knew they were there.
Got it! I’ll revise the text you provided to ensure all tense inconsistencies are corrected to past tense. I’ll go through it systematically and make the necessary adjustments. Here's the corrected version:
Gadget walked a few blocks from the station with Wrecker and Reggy to slip into an industrial warehouse that had walls trashed and falling away. Looking into the shadows, she asked, "So what’s the plan, guys?"
Wrecker said, "We’ve taken over the Ugly Ferret. Its owner is Benjamin Ross, wife Imelda. He’s from Amarillo, Texas. She’s from El Paso but grew up south of the border with family. He goes by Lucky now. The place has a small dive bar area in front and a good-sized side room. The bikers had been storing junk there. It’s got two small stages. It looked like it was a club of some kind a couple of decades ago." He pulled out a Cuban cigar and lit it, inhaling its strong scent. "They kept about 20 boxes of Cuban cigars at the Ferret. Lucky was happy to hand them over."
Gadget took the cigar and tested it, giving Wrecker a look. He chuckled and pulled out another and lit it.
Reggy added, "He also has warehouse space east of the club, part of his back room. Lots of clutter in there as well as a sort of garage area. It looked like they had some medical issues at some point. Dried blood, bandages. Just pushed into a corner. Years old. The place is a fucking mess. He has a floor over the warehouse with a few crappy apartments. Lucky and his wife started renovations there but stopped when the wackos took over the place. It looked like it was abandoned with the rest of the place decades ago, just leaving the bar open. Lucky bought the place at a steal. If we weren’t taking the place over ourselves, I’d be inclined to find the realtor that sold it to him and shoot a toe off him. As it is though...."
Gadget nodded, "Ok, how long till it’s ready for the group? We did a backyard party, have one on Saturday and another next week."
Wrecker and Reggy looked at each other for a few moments, then Wrecker nodded, "Week after. Let us haul out the junk. Check the wiring and the lighting. The place needs a coat of paint, but that would take a while....."
Gadget chuckled, "You know what, how about this? The Opening Night show could be a paint night. Get a couple dozen cases of spray paint and give them to customers. Let them paint the walls. If Lucky is OK with it, of course." The three chuckled.
"It’s a start. I’d say we need to drop a few hundred grand into general renovations throughout, but we need professionals for that. In the meantime, the crappy look is perfect for a rave space. Expand into the big space once we sort the place out. You’re planning to push your group hard, it seems. I thought they did in the other shadows on their own?"
"I’ve done some exploring. They had a manager and three diehard roadies, plus a brass section that backed them in most shadows. Here, that manager and two of the roadies are dead. The 5-piece brass only has 3 in this section, still in high school, but they were at the backyard party. I’ll make sure they’re there for the Ferret opening..."
Gadget raised her hand, sniffing the air. She was being hunted. Wrecker and Reggy knew her look and flipped their Glocks to their hands, Wrecker putting the handle of his lightsaber in his left.
She looked around, trying to find the cause. After a few moments, she saw a group of dogs slowly spreading out in the dark.
Wrecker said softly, "I’m guessing these aren’t yours?"
Gadget said, "No.... I’ve gotten about 70 or so of the local pack. From them, I’ve learned that’s around half. And the leader... I think it’s the brute in the center."
Reggy, Glock in his left hand, said, "I count about 25, but there are more in the dark. It’s your ballgame, Gadg. Fight or flight?"
Wrecker said, "The car isn’t far. Dash distance."
Gadget said, "If I run, I’ll lose the rest of the pack. I need to make it clear to this guy who’s in charge."
She stepped away from her friends, inhaling deeply, growling, centering her psyche. Standing, she watched the big brute come away from the others, who spread out behind him.
"I don’t want to kill you. I can tell you’ve been hurt. Beaten. Tortured. Come to me. Join me." She emitted the sensation of love offered, of healing offered. She sent thoughts of the pack, her pack, a great pack.
From him, she felt anger. Fear. Desperation. The insistent demand that she submit. That she roll her belly over. Let him mount her. Be his bitch.
She almost chuckled. He had to learn or die. She felt the moment approaching. She growled and lowered to her hands and knees. Arching her back and raising her hackles. The brute started to circle, but Gadget was unmoved.
Her shape shifted, her clothing falling away, stepping out of shoes, slipping out of trousers, and pulling shirts up and off. Nude for a moment, her skin grew fur, bright white, her eyes bright blue. The brute looked on uncertainly, growing angry. He leaped, clearing Gadget the wolf, who rolled under the leap.
The brute had fought thousands of battles in its long, tortured years, but it had never faced an actual wolf like his father. But this wasn’t an actual wolf. Its scent was terrifying and different. Unlike anything he had ever met. Worse than the cruel men whose hot blood he had drunk to free himself. This was... something else.
Gadget had rarely fought in this form. But this was a challenge. And it began. The brute ran hard rather than leaping, grabbing her fur and trying to sink his teeth into her flesh. She twisted beneath him, grabbing his claws and tearing them with her great strength. He howled in shock at the sudden pain.
Pouncing away, he turned on her, going low, growling. Gadget curved to face him. She felt his desire to die rather than lose. She couldn’t destroy this ancient warrior.
The brute lunged again, this time aiming for Gadget’s throat. She sidestepped with the grace of a predator, her movements fluid and precise. His teeth snapped shut on empty air, and she retaliated with a swift, powerful swipe of her paw, catching him across the muzzle. The brute stumbled back, shaking his head, blood dripping from his nose. But he didn’t retreat. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and desperation, and Gadget could feel his resolve hardening. He wasn’t just fighting for dominance—he was fighting for survival, for the only life he had ever known.
The brute charged again, this time feinting to the left before darting to the right, trying to catch her off guard. Gadget anticipated the move, her heightened senses giving her an edge. She met him head-on, their bodies colliding with a force that sent a shockwave through the air. They grappled, teeth snapping, claws slashing, each trying to gain the upper hand. The brute’s strength was immense, his muscles coiled like steel springs, but Gadget’s agility and cunning gave her the advantage. She twisted and turned, using his momentum against him, forcing him to overextend.
With a sudden burst of speed, she broke free and circled him, her icy blue eyes locked onto his. The brute growled, low and guttural, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze now. He had never faced an opponent like her—a creature that was both wolf and something more. Gadget took a step forward, her hackles raised, her teeth bared in a silent snarl. The brute hesitated, and in that moment, she struck.
She lunged, her powerful jaws clamping down on his shoulder. He howled in pain, thrashing wildly, but she held firm, her grip unyielding. With a fierce shake of her head, she threw him to the ground, pinning him beneath her. The brute struggled, his claws raking at her sides, but she ignored the pain, her focus unwavering. She released his shoulder and placed a paw on his chest, her weight pressing him down. Her muzzle dipped close to his, her breath hot against his face.
“Submit,” she growled, her voice a low rumble that reverberated through the air. The brute’s struggles slowed, then stopped. His body went still, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a whimper, he lowered his head, exposing his throat in a gesture of surrender. Gadget stepped back, releasing him, and watched as he slowly rose to his feet. His eyes met hers, and she saw the change in him—the fear and anger replaced by a grudging respect. He laid his belly to the ground. Gadget stepped over, laying a paw on his hip. She laid over him, letting her body warm him. Accepting him. He shuddered beneath her uncertainly, unsure. Not since his littermates had he felt the warmth. He felt his body surrender to her. He was her Brute.
She stepped back, raising to her feet. She shimmered, and her fur started shifting, her size increased. It had been years since she held her true form as a Hound of Mandalay, a Lady of Mandalay, and blood of Amber. Her size increased to the size of a large Clydesdale horse. Small for her race, small compared to her father Fleece, son of Oberon, but still greater than any wolf this world had ever known. Seated on her haunches, she howled at the moon, a sound heard for miles around. They needed to see her, who they followed.
The other dogs, who had been watching the fight in tense silence, began to approach, their tails low, their heads bowed. Gadget stood tall, her white fur gleaming in the dim light, her presence commanding. She had won not just the fight but their loyalty. The brute stepped forward, his movements stiff and pained, and bowed his head once more. Gadget reached out, her muzzle brushing against his in a gesture of acceptance. The pack was hers.
From far and wide, her part of the pack came in response to her howl and joined in, seeing their former comrades now joined into Gadia's Pack. Gadia, called Gadget, though they would not understand the name.
She stood, walking among the dogs, greeting them, Brute beside her,
soon joined by Savage, now the Second of Gadget's pack behind the Brute. Toward the other dogs, they fell in submission, the Brute beside her. She gathered them around her. They howled together.
Continuing with the revision to ensure all tense inconsistencies are corrected to past tense. Here's the next section:
As the howls of the pack echoed through the industrial wasteland, Gadget stood tall, her massive form radiating authority. The brute, now named Brute by her, stood at her side, his earlier defiance replaced by a quiet loyalty. Savage, the scarred leader of the smaller pack she had already tamed, took his place as her second-in-command, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. The rest of the dogs—some mangy, some scarred, all survivors—circled her, their tails low but their spirits lifted by her presence.
Gadget’s voice, a deep, resonant growl, carried over the pack. “You are mine now. Together, we are strong. No more fighting among yourselves. No more fear. We protect each other. We hunt together. We survive together.” The dogs whined and yipped in response, their instincts recognizing her as their alpha.
Wrecker and Reggy watched from a distance, their expressions a mix of awe and unease. Reggy holstered his pistol, his hands still trembling slightly. “I’ve seen some crazy shit in my time,” he muttered, “but that? That’s next level. I think I'm going to need a change of pants.”
Wrecker nodded, his cigar dangling from his lips. “She’s not just a wolf. She’s something else entirely. She’s an Amberite after all.” He exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he watched Gadget move among the dogs, her presence commanding yet strangely nurturing. “We’re lucky she’s on our side.”
Gadget turned to them, her glowing blue eyes piercing through the dim light. “We’re done here,” she said, her voice shifting back to its human tone as her form shimmered and shrank, fur receding, limbs reshaping until she stood before them, fully human once more. She grabbed her discarded clothes and began dressing, her movements calm and deliberate. “The pack will keep watch over the Station and the Ferret. They’ll alert us if anyone—or anything—tries to cause trouble.”
Reggy raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously going to have a bunch of dogs as your security detail?”
Gadget smirked. “Not just dogs. A pack. And they’re more loyal—and more effective—than most humans I’ve met.” She glanced at Brute, who sat obediently at her feet, his massive frame still trembling slightly from the fight. “Besides, they’ve got a leader now who knows what it means to survive.”
Wrecker chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, boss. Whatever you say. But if I wake up to a bunch of dogs licking my face, I’m blaming you.” Gadget laughed, the sound sharp and bright in the otherwise grim surroundings. “Deal. Now, let’s get back to the Station. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the Ferret’s opening night.”
As they walked back, the pack followed at a distance, their presence a silent but powerful reminder of Gadget’s growing influence. The industrial zone, once a place of danger and decay, now felt like territory under her control. The dogs patrolled the edges, their sharp eyes and keen noses alert for any threat.
When they reached the Station, the rest of the Stone Bench Group was waiting, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. Eddie was the first to speak. “What the hell happened out there? We heard howling—like, a lot of howling.”
Gadget shrugged, her expression casual but her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Just a little pack bonding. Nothing to worry about.”
Cali crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “Pack bonding? You mean you went out and tamed a bunch of wild dogs?”
“Something like that. I tamed two. They tamed the rest,” Gadget replied, her smirk widening. “Let’s just say we’ve got some new friends watching our backs now.”
Jax, who had been quietly tuning his bongos, looked up with a grin. “Dogs, huh? That’s kinda cool. Can they play drums?” Gadget laughed. “Not yet. But give me time.”
The group chuckled, unsure how serious she was, the tension easing as they returned to their preparations for an upcoming party gig. But as Gadget settled into a chair, her mind was already racing ahead. The pack was just the beginning. With their help, she could secure the area, protect her friends, and build something lasting. And when the time came to face whatever threats lay ahead, she knew they’d be ready.
Behind her, Brute lay down at her feet, his massive head resting on his paws. Savage curled up nearby, his scarred face calm for the first time in years. The pack was hers, and together, they were unstoppable. The rest of the band looked at them with concern. "Are they safe? They look vicious."
Gadget regarded her two new friends. Standing, she clucked her fingers, and they came to her. She walked around the room, holding each band member around the shoulders and guiding a hand for the dogs to smell, lick. Eddie looked as if he was going to pop his eyes out of his head, but he knew well what Gadget was capable of. Holden and Tiffy managed the introductions well. Jax petted them eagerly, apparently a fan of dogs.
When she came to Cali, her bag shook. Buster stuck his head out, and the dogs instantly thought prey. Gadget slammed her thought into the two warrior dogs that the cat Buster was part of the pack. They looked at her and accepted it with uncertainty. But she was the alpha. Cali let them sniff her hand and smell Buster on it. Gadget was satisfied.
Continuing with the revision to ensure all tense inconsistencies are corrected to past tense. Here's the next section:
Reggy, still looking a little shaken, leaned over to Wrecker and whispered, “You think she’s done surprising us yet?” Wrecker shook his head, his grin widening. “Not a chance. With Gadget, the surprises are just getting started.”
The two left the place of battle, followed by a dozen dogs who knew what their duties were. Several liked the two rough friends of the wolf.
It’s All About the Basses[edit]
Cali sat cross-legged on the floor of the Station, her bass resting across her lap. She ran her fingers lightly over the strings, plucking out a slow, melancholic rhythm. Her bass was a classic Fender Precision Bass, a 4-string with a deep, resonant tone that had been her companion through countless performances. It was simple, reliable, and familiar—a grounding force in her chaotic life.
Gadget walked in, her 6-string bass slung over her shoulder. It was a battered Ibanez BTB686SC, its polished wood barely held together by polish under the dim light. She sat down beside Cali, setting the bass across her knees. Cali glanced at it, her curiosity piqued. “That thing looks like a spaceship compared to mine,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, a smile still a new thing for her.
Gadget chuckled, running her hand along the neck of her bass. “Six-strings. Two extra strings—a low B and a high C—give it a wider range. It’s like having a bass and a guitar rolled into one.” She plucked the low B string, the deep, rumbling note vibrating through the room. “This one’s for those earth-shaking lows,” she said, then shifted to the high C, producing a bright, almost guitar-like tone. “And this one’s for when you want to soar.”
Cali tilted her head, listening intently. “It’s a whole different sound.”
“Exactly,” Gadget replied. “With a 4-string, you’re locked into that classic bass role—holding down the low end, keeping the rhythm tight. But with a 6-string, you can step into the spotlight. You can play chords, melodies, even solos if you’re feeling bold.” She demonstrated, her fingers dancing across the strings as she played a complex, melodic line that wove seamlessly between low and high registers.
Cali watched, her eyes wide with admiration. “That’s… incredible. But doesn’t it make things harder? More strings, more to think about.”
Gadget nodded. “It can be overwhelming at first. The neck is wider, and you’ve got to be precise with your fingering. But once you get the hang of it, it opens up a whole new world of possibilities.” She handed the bass to Cali. “Here, give it a try.”
Cali hesitated, then took the bass, adjusting it in her lap. She plucked the strings tentatively, her fingers fumbling slightly on the wider neck. “It feels… different. Like I’m learning all over again.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Gadget said, her voice soft but encouraging. “It challenges you. Pushes you to grow. And when you find your groove, it’s like nothing else.” She reached over, guiding Cali’s fingers to the frets, extending her psych to guide the hands, pushing for strength she did not understand she had. “Start slow. Feel the strings. Let them tell you where to go. Play the middle 4 you know, then step up, step down.”
Cali closed her eyes, letting the vibrations of the bass guide her. Slowly, she began to play, her movements growing more confident with each note. The low B string added a richness to her sound, while the high C allowed her to explore melodies she’d never attempted before. When she opened her eyes, Gadget was smiling.
“See? You’re a natural,” Gadget said. “The 4-string will always be your foundation, but the 6-string? That’s your wings.”
Cali smiled back, a rare spark of excitement in her eyes. “Maybe one day I’ll get one of these. Till then, I’ll stick to what I know.”
Gadget nodded. “There’s no rush. Music’s a journey, not a race. But… I am thinking we can almost afford getting a pair of new basses. And no matter what you play, it’s your voice that matters.”
The Pawnshop[edit]
The Baltimore Subway Metrolink rattled through the tunnels, its fluorescent lights flickering as Gadget and Cali sat side by side. Cali fidgeted with the strap of her bag, her eyes darting to the passing stations. “You sure this place is worth it?” she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism, her mind just a touch in fear.
Gadget leaned back, her arms crossed, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Trust me. This pawnshop’s got a reputation for musical gear. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something special.”
When they stepped off the train, the neighborhood was a mix of faded brick buildings and graffiti-covered storefronts. The pawnshop was tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, its window cluttered with guitars, amplifiers, and other instruments. A bell jingled as they pushed the door open, the smell of old wood and dust greeting them.
Cali’s eyes widened as she took in the rows of instruments lining the walls. “This place is like a treasure chest,” she whispered, her fingers brushing against the neck of a vintage Fender Stratocaster.
Gadget headed straight for the bass section, her eyes scanning the lineup. She paused, her gaze locking onto two instruments hanging side by side. One was a dark brown Ibanez GSR206 6-string bass, its sleek design and polished finish catching the light. The other was a Dean Edge 6-string bass in a stunning blue quilted maple, its body shimmering like the ocean.
“Cali, come here,” Gadget called, her voice low but excited. Cali hurried over, her eyes widening as she saw the basses. “These are perfect,” Gadget said, lifting the Ibanez off the wall and handing it to Cali. “Feel that. Solid construction, smooth neck. And the Dean? That’s a beauty.”
Cali strummed the Ibanez, the low B string rumbling through the shop. “It’s amazing,” she admitted, her voice tinged with awe. But then she glanced at the price tags and frowned. “Two hundred for the Ibanez? Three-fifty for the Dean? That’s way too much. We’re buskers, Gadget. We can’t afford this.”
Gadget shook her head, her expression firm. “These are worth every penny. A good instrument isn’t just a tool—it’s an extension of you. And you deserve something that can keep up with your talent. These are beat up looking, but I’ll check the works and the sound before buying them. Looks we can fix.”
She walked to a chair by the amps and plugged each in by turns, strummed, picked, and looked them over closely. Cali watched in anticipation. Then Gadget let her sit and handed her the Ibanez. Gadget whispered, "Nothing wrong with them we can't fix."
Before Cali could protest further, Gadget flagged down the shop owner and handed over the cash. “We’ll take both.”
Cali stared at her, stunned. “You’re insane,” she muttered, but there was a hint of gratitude in her voice as she slung the Ibanez over her shoulder.
As they went to leave, Gadget stopped. She walked to a dusty corner of the store where boxes had a wide variety of items, most unsorted. She dug through them, chuckling with delight. She found four plastic recorders, a dozen toy kazoos, three harmonicas, finger cymbals, and some small rattles. Such potential. Gadget thought of her flute, the fine mithril silver flute sitting in Mandalay, shadows away. Recorders and harmonicas would have to do.
Yard Sale[edit]
On the subway ride back, Cali couldn’t stop glancing at the basses, her fingers twitching as if she were already playing them. But when Gadget suddenly stood up and motioned for her to follow at an unfamiliar stop, Cali hesitated. “Where are we going now?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
Gadget just grinned. “You’ll see.”
They walked a few blocks to a quiet residential street, where a yard sale was in full swing. Tables were piled with clothes, books, and household items. She looked to a man coming over to her, "You the one who called?" Gadget nodded, and the man led them into the back of the garage. In a corner, a 5-piece starter drum set sat gleaming in the sunlight. The sign taped to it read: $100 – OBO. and another Sold. He said, "I'll be glad to see that go. My son whined and whined for it for a year. He played it for about a month, then it sat in his room for a couple of years, then in the garage till he left for college. Get it out of my garage, please. I saw ya walking? You can have the red wagon over there for free."
Cali’s jaw dropped. “No way,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She turned to Gadget, her eyes wide. “Is this why we stopped? For Jax?”
Gadget shrugged, her smirk widening. “He’s been playing on bongos and makeshift kits long enough. He deserves something real.”
Cali’s eyes welled up with tears, but she quickly wiped them away, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? First the basses, now this? How do you even know about this stuff?”
Gadget chuckled, pulling out her wallet. “Let’s just say I’ve got a knack for finding stuff.” She handed the cash to the seller, who helped them load the drum kit into a red wagon he threw in.
Cali stood silently as she watched Gadget's back while she looked through the piles on the tables.
Cali squinted at the pile in Gadget’s arms as they walked back to the car, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, I get the shirts—they’re kinda cool in a retro way—but what are you gonna do with a thousand loose sheets of sheet music and a couple hundred random Polaroids of strangers?"
Gadget grinned, adjusting her grip on the stack of faded photographs. "I have an idea." She tossed the shirts into her backpack. "The music—some of it’s bound to be interesting. We can play around with the arrangements, maybe mash some things up. And these photos?" She held up a random shot of a man in oversized sunglasses standing next to a station wagon. "They’ve got stories. Even if we don’t know them, we can make them up. Give them new lives."
She asked the guy about the Polaroids. "I bought a storage unit. It had some good furniture. But there were boxes of those. Someone's whole life, forgotten." Gadget asked him, "You have more?" He responded with, "Boxes and boxes. Not here though." Gadget told him she would take them all and would come back later to pick them up.
As they made their way back to the subway, Cali walked in silence for a while, her mind racing. Finally, she turned to Gadget, her voice soft but sincere. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how we’re ever going to repay you.”
Gadget waved her off, her tone light but firm. “You don’t have to repay me. This is out of our busking fund. Just let me handle Eddie when we get back. He put me in charge of group money, and this is what I did with it. Just keep playing. With both of us on good pieces finally. That’s all I want.”
Cali shrugged, shaking her head as they walked into a parking lot. "You’re weird, you know that?"
"Yeah, but admit it—it’s an interesting kind of weird."
Gadget smirked before disappearing into a hardware store by the subway's stop. Ten minutes later, she came out with a bag full of spray cans. Paint and adhesives.
As they made their way back to the subway, Cali walked in silence for a while, her mind racing. Finally, she turned to Gadget, her voice soft but sincere. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how we’re ever going to repay you.”
Gadget waved her off, her tone light but firm. “You don’t have to repay me. This is out of our busking fund. Just let me handle Eddie when we get back. He put me in charge of group money, and this is what I did with it. Just keep playing. With both of us on good pieces finally. That’s all I want.”
"Deal," she responded.
Back at the Station, Gadget wasted no time. She took spray paint cans and started painting designs on the walls. Holden and Eddie joined in while Eddie grilled her about the money.
Jax filled the room with a heavy loud beat on the new-to-him drums, dusting off the years of loneliness from the forgotten instrument. It soared under their new owner's sticks. Cali grew a wide smile seeing her beloved happy.
She cracked open a can of aerosol adhesive, shaking it with a satisfying rattle before coating a section of the wall. "Alright," she said, handing out stacks of Polaroids and sheet music around, "help me stick this stuff up."
The others got to work, pressing the yellowed sheets of music against the walls, overlapping them with faded Polaroids—snapshots of birthdays, vacations, blurry party moments, and forgotten faces frozen in time. The effect was chaotic, a collage of unknown lives and untold melodies.
Gadget stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying the growing wall of history. "Not bad," she murmured, picking up a random photo from the pile still in her lap. She studied it—the faint outline of a woman sitting on a porch, caught mid-laugh, a glass in her hand.
She smirked. "Alright, lady—what’s your story?"
The Ugly Ferret - Used Gear[edit]
The garage of the Ugly Ferret smelled like motor oil, old leather, and stale beer. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a sickly glow over a collection of battered equipment: Marshall stacks with torn grille cloth, Peavey and Fender amps that had seen better days, a tangled mess of cables, and microphones with dented grilles. It was a graveyard of rock and roll relics.
Gadget, her electric blue hair tied back, crossed her arms and surveyed the lineup. She stepped over a coiled snake of dusty XLR cables and knelt by a beaten-up Ampeg SVT bass amp. She tapped the side, and a loose panel rattled. “This thing gonna hold up, or is it gonna catch fire the second I plug in?”
Reggy, a thick-built man with sleeves of faded tattoos, grinned around a toothpick. “Ah, don’t be a wuss. It’s just a little character.”
Wrecker, his wiry counterpart with a permanent scowl, ran a hand over the torn tolex of a Marshall JCM800 half-stack. “Most of this stuff’s better than what you’ve been using,” he pointed out. “We can get better, sure, but it’ll cost, and kinda break character for us, wouldn’t it?”
Gadget sighed and rolled her shoulders before slinging her six-string bass over her shoulder. “Let’s see if this junk actually works.” She plugged in, twisting the worn-out input jack until it settled in place with a crackle. The amp gave a brief hum of protest before Reggy stepped in, adjusting the settings. He turned a few dials, knocked the casing, and muttered something under his breath.
She played a few deep, resonant notes, testing for dead spots. The sound was rough, but not completely unusable. “Eh,” she grumbled. “I’ve played worse.”
Reggy nodded, stepping back with his arms crossed. “I’ll clean up the electrical. Most of it’s just buzz and loose connections. The rest—well, looks are just vanity at this point.”
Gadget exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fine. But buy two small, inexpensive amps—one dedicated for Tiffy’s electric violin and the uke, another for Eddie’s mic. The rest of our mics can pop off occasionally, but lead vocals have to be dependable.” She gave him a pointed look. “And get a good mic. None of this garage sale shit.”
Reggy smirked. “Demanding, huh?”
“Just making sure we don’t sound like total garbage.”
She looked around, thoughtful. “Also—get a couple outside security cameras in here. I’ll put one of my great cameras up, but the security cams are for show and B-roll. We’ll throw some video clips on the CD. Never can tell.”
Wrecker nodded. “Yeah, not a bad idea. Might as well milk this gig for all it’s worth.”
Gadget slung her bass back over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Wrecker. “And while we’re at it—talk to Lucky. Tell him to water down the band’s booze. Especially Eddie’s. He’s getting too much of a habit, and I don’t need him falling off the damn stage.”
Wrecker sighed, rubbing a calloused hand over his face. “Yeah, I figured. I’ll have Lucky keep an eye on him.” Reggy clapped his hands together. “Alright then, sounds like we got ourselves a damn plan.”
Gadget gave the amp one last skeptical look before finally nodding. “Let’s hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces.” Wrecker grinned. “Wouldn’t be rock and roll if it didn’t.”
The Night at the Ugly Ferret[edit]
The night of the Stone Bench Group’s first performance at the Ugly Ferret had a strange energy—equal parts excitement, nerves, and underlying tension. The word had spread fast among the people who had seen them play at backyard parties, and a fair number had shown up, eager to see if the SBG could bring that same magic to a real venue. But there were also others in the crowd—some curious, some skeptical, and a few who made the air feel heavier just by being there.
Lucky worked the bar, keeping a close eye on the crowd. He was the kind of man who had seen enough trouble in his life to know when it was creeping in, and tonight, trouble might be lurking in the shadows. He was scared as hell. Maybe it was Wrecker and Reggy and their constant cheerfulness, the jokes they told. The money they had. But he also knew they were easily as bloodthirsty and ruthless as the bikers had been. Maybe worse. But his side room with its two stages had been cleaned by the pair, of the motorcycles, junk, boxes, and years of trash. They had put in lights, wiring, and even passed the city's inspection to get a venue permit.
Ominously as well was the warehouse space. They cleaned it and talked about extending the side area to the back. In the meantime, they had their incredible '57 coupe in there and seemed to live out of its trunk. A pair of cots, a coffee maker, and a fridge. A keg of beer and bottles of booze. A coffee table and their ever-present cigars. The two were not just weird rich killers. They were something beyond his ability to understand. That was scary. But they wanted a dance club and this band to play, so they got it.
Smiley, though unrecognizable in his disguise, sat in a corner nursing a drink, a couple of the old biker girls with him, chatting in low voices. Scattered through the room were members of local gangs, their eyes sharp, assessing, waiting to see what kind of place this would become.
The SBG huddled in the back before their set. Gadget could see the nervous energy in them—Eddie was bouncing on the balls of his feet, Holden kept checking his guitar, Jax had a protective arm around Cali, whispering to her. Tiffy, usually the loudest, was oddly quiet, biting her lip as she adjusted her mic. “You guys got this,” Gadget said firmly, making eye contact with each of them. Holden said, "It really isn't the plaza. This ain't busking."
“Yeah, it’s playing in front of people who might stab us if they don’t like the music,” Eddie muttered.
“Then play like your life depends on it,” Waldo said with a smirk.
Time came, and the Ugly Ferret was packed to the brim, the air thick with the buzz of anticipation and the faint hiss of spray paint cans as the crowd added their own colorful chaos to the walls.
Waldo walked to the front of the stage and sprayed a yellow semicircle in front of the stage, the crowd stepping back as he did. Behind him, the Stone Bench Group took the stage, their instruments gleaming under the dim, flickering lights. Eddie stepped up to the mic, his first time in a real joint. “Alright, Ferrets,” he called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “Let’s make some noise!”
The set started rough—Cali's hands were shaking, and Eddie missed some chords in the first song. Gadget did a bass ZINGER noise for each fumble, to the amusement of the crowd. Jax dropped his sticks. But then something shifted. Maybe it was the way the crowd responded, the way the backyard party crowd cheered them on, drowning out the murmurs of the skeptics. Maybe it was the spray paint event happening around them—cans hissing as people tagged the walls in wild, chaotic bursts of color, marking over the old grime and the ghosts of the bar’s past. The energy in the room changed, and so did the music.
The third song changed it all. A high-energy cover of The Stray Cats’ “Rock This Town,” Eddie’s guitar slicing through the room with razor-sharp precision. Tiffy’s violin wailed like a siren, weaving in and out of the melody, while Jax pounded the drums with a ferocity that had the crowd bouncing. But it was Gadget and Cali on their new 6-string basses that stole the show. Gadget’s fingers danced across the fretboard, her low B string rumbling like thunder, while Cali’s high C added a bright, melodic counterpoint that lifted the song to new heights. The audience erupted into cheers, swept up in the infectious energy.
Next came a surf medley, starting with The Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ USA.” Gadget and Cali locked into a tight, driving rhythm, their basses intertwining to create that iconic surf sound—deep, resonant lows paired with shimmering highs. Eddie’s vocals soared, and Tiffy’s violin added a haunting, reverb-drenched edge that had the crowd swaying like waves. The transition into Dick Dale’s “Misirlou” was seamless, the rapid-fire picking on Gadget’s bass sending shockwaves through the room. Cali, still getting used to her 6-string, held her own, her confidence growing with every note. Try as she could, Gadget could barely get Cali to look at the audience.
Next up was Red Elvises’ “Red Lips, Red Eyes, Red Stockings,” a raucous rockabilly number that had the room shaking. Eddie’s vocals were full of swagger he hadn't known he had, and Tiffy’s violin added a wild, Eastern European flair that perfectly complemented the song’s infectious energy.
Tiffy stepped into the spotlight for her haunting original, “Black Road Away from Home.” Her voice sang with a mournful beauty, weaving a tale of loss and longing that left the crowd spellbound. Gadget and Cali’s basses provided a dark, brooding foundation, their 6-strings adding layers of texture and depth that elevated the song to something truly special.
The mood shifted slightly as they launched into Duane Eddy’s “Peter Gunn,” the iconic riff ringing out with a fresh, gritty edge. Tiffy played the sax line on the violin, giving the piece a fresh, bright note. Holden’s rhythm guitar was rock-solid, while Jax’s drumming added a punchy, almost primal intensity. Gadget took the lead on this one, her 6-string bass adding a deep, resonant growl that gave the classic tune a modern twist.
Midway through the set, Eddie introduced a surprise. “Alright, folks, we’re gonna slow it down for a minute. But don’t worry—it’s still gonna get weird.” He stepped aside as Gadget and Holden walked to the front of the stage, each holding a kazoo. The crowd erupted into laughter and cheers as they launched into a hilariously heartfelt rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Holden’s kazoo playing was surprisingly soulful, while Gadget’s added a playful, almost comedic flair. By the end, the entire room was singing along, their voices rising in unison.
A surprise awaited them after the kazoos as Gadget and Holden jumped into the Time Warp from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Tiffy jumped in to sing for Little Nell's part. The dance number was a classic even after so many years, and the crowd of Ferrets loved it.
Jax got his moment to shine with “Thumpa Thumpa,” a percussive, high-energy Buddy Rich-influenced solo that showcased his incredible drumming skills.
The energy ramped back up with an original track, “Stone Bench Blues,” a rockabilly-infused number that showcased the group’s growing chemistry. Eddie’s vocals were raw and impassioned, while Tiffy’s violin solo brought the house down. Gadget and Cali’s basslines locked into a tight, driving groove, their 6-strings adding a richness and depth that elevated the song to another level. The crowd was on their feet, dancing and clapping along, completely swept up in the music.
With a blistering cover of The Stray Cats’ “Built for Speed,” the room exploded into chaos as the audience sang along at the top of their lungs. Eddie’s vocals were raw and impassioned, while Tiffy's voice in unison with Eddie’s practically brought the house down.
As the set drew to a close, Eddie grabbed the mic, his face flushed with excitement. “You’ve been an incredible crowd tonight! Let’s end this with a bang!” The group launched into a raucous cover of Red Elvises’ “Surfing in Siberia,” the room exploding into chaos as the audience sang along at the top of their lungs. Gadget and Cali’s basses thundered through the room, their 6-strings adding a wild, untamed energy that perfectly matched the song’s frenetic pace. Jax’s drumming was relentless, and Tiffy’s violin screeched like a banshee, driving the song to its explosive finale.
When the last note faded, the room erupted into deafening applause, the crowd chanting for an encore. The Stone Bench Group exchanged grins, their faces glowing with sweat and triumph. They had done it—they had turned the Ugly Ferret into a place of magic, even if just for one night. And as they launched into their encore, a soulful rendition of “Stand by Me,” Gadget couldn’t help but smile. This was just the beginning.
By the time they finished, the crowd erupted in cheers. Even the ones who had been skeptical at first seemed to have been won over. Smiley, still hidden in his disguise, gave a slow nod of approval. The gang members in the back exchanged looks, their interest piqued. Money to be made.
The Stone Bench Group had made their mark. The Ugly Ferret was no longer just a relic of its past—it was becoming something new.
Lucky looked to Wrecker. "We are going to need a staff. This could get messy." Wrecker nodded, "I know a guy."
Meeting on the Street[edit]
Smiley and his two girls walked the four blocks to where he had parked their battered van.
When they reached it, Reggy stepped out in front. "Smiley, I love what you've done with your hair. Washed it, right?"
Smiley put his hand on his hip, clipping open his draw holster. "Yeah, I wanted to look my best for you." The girls started backing away, the black-haired one slipping a hand in her jacket.
"Lady, I have no qualms about shooting a woman if you draw on me. Let’s take a deep breath and show your hands. If I wanted you all dead, we wouldn’t be talking."
"So, what are we talking about?" Smiley asked. "And you know there is only one of you against the three of us."
"Is that what you think? Look at blondy there." They turned to look, and the green dot on her chest moved a bit, signaling that Wrecker was somewhere nearby.
Reggy said, "Wrecker wanted to talk to you, but he really wanted to drill a .50 caliber BMG through your front teeth much more. Now, in respect to a friend who prefers accommodation to bloodshed, I want to talk about our situation."
"Our situation? You mean you two killing my chapter? I’ve killed my share of dudes, but that was mass murder, you psychopath!"
"Yeah, we did that, but that’s done. So... How do you feel about taking your prospects and your ladies and moving to, say, New Orleans? New York is too close. Toronto? By the way, where are your prospects?"
"I don’t know. They disappeared after your massacre. Did you kill them too?"
Reggy shook his head, "No, we missed them as well as you. Till now. So... What will it be? New Orleans or Toronto?"
Smiley looked up to the roof line where Wrecker swung the green dot to flash in his eyes. He scowled, his hatred growing deeper.
"New Orleans."
Reggy nodded, "Good. You lost your Baltimore privileges. Let the girls know we don’t have wanted posters on them, but finding new places to live can be liberating."
"Can we go?"
Reggy backed away, nodding, letting Smiley have the last word.
As the van drove away, Wrecker came scaling down to the ground and crossed the street, cradling the M82.
"I really should have drilled him."
"After Gadget didn’t kill that huge monster dog, it seemed a little awkward thinking of killing Smiley without at least giving him a chance to flee."
"Sure. Sure. But you know he’ll be back."
"Of course. No chance he’ll stay away. Then he’s fish food."
Forty Threes[edit]
Looking out from the shadows at the Ugly Ferret, the boys of the 43rd Street gang, often called the Forty Thieves as an homage to the movie *Gangs of New York*, watched the crowds of people going into the crappy old bar for a performance of the weird twangy group called the Stone Bench Group.
The bar had belonged to the Blind Reapers for years until their sudden disappearance. The boys didn’t know why but knew they couldn’t find as good a source for their habits. Sucked for them, but life went on. The new popularity of the old Ferret was an opportunity. They had gone to a few of the shows and didn’t understand why people liked these freaks. But money was money.
After the music was going and the people had all gone in, they moved. Running low to avoid cameras recently installed on the outside of the building, they ran past parked cars, sticking long sharpened screwdrivers into the tires on the street side, dragging them along the paint, and occasionally breaking a window. They laughed as they went by, peeking in the cars occasionally. Toward the end, two slipped into minivans and, popping the ignition, hot-wired them, filling the vehicles. They drove away, laughing.
Inside, Reggy watched the screen of a widescreen TV set up in the garage area he and Wrecker used as living quarters for now. The feed was from security cameras set up with a great deal more skill to be hidden from sight. He smoked a Urala cigar and listened to the surfpunk sound from the other room.
"Well?" he said.
Wrecker said, "Yeah. Let them make their play. Maybe we can use them. Twenty-two of the rattlings in the gang. Ten out there. Two stolen cars. Ask Lucky who he would call to fix flats. Talk to Gadget. There are going to be some angry people after the show. She and the group should go out and help change tires, meet the fans, pitch in. Hand out kazoos. Order a thousand kazoos." He handled a kazoo, the top emblazoned with the letters SBG, tooting on it with amusement. Reggy wandered out to talk to Lucky.
Later That Night[edit]
Later that night, the Stone Bench Group was outside, leading a kazoo-a-thon as a dozen garage workers helped car owners replace tires.
A Few Days Later[edit]
A few days later, it was an afternoon when Reggy and Wrecker were taking a break in the bar and chatting with Lucky when two guys entered. They were dressed in casual clothes with an urban chic, but were clearly gang members. Tattoos with the numbers 43 on their necks were telling. Their haircuts were overly detailed, as if it was someone’s hobby to cut them. They wandered to the bar and took seats, looking at Lucky.
"What can I get ya guys?" he asked.
One said, "Tequila, a couple shots each." They collected the shots, taking one each quickly.
The tall one said, "You’ve been getting pretty good business lately, friend. Where did the Reapers go?"
Lucky shrugged, "No idea. They cleared out of here and out of their place over in Dani. I don’t miss them."
Tall guy said, "Without the Reapers around, there sure has been an upturn in crime, don’t you think? Like at the show nights?"
Wrecker and Reggy looked at each other, a small smile on their faces.
Wrecker stood and joined Lucky at the bar. "Lucky, double Old Crow, and a frosty." He sipped the whiskey before looking at the Hispanic gang member. "Yeah, we had some trouble on Saturday. What about it?"
The man shrugged, "Shit happens. Could happen again, maybe even worse. Might be more than just tires."
Wrecker nodded, "And what will it cost to keep you from hassling our customers?" He finished his whiskey, and Lucky poured another.
He drank the other tequila, "10% of the profits on show night. Or next time it’s windows."
Wrecker said, "You know, we could do this differently, but it really depends on your interest in doing nothing for pocket change or doing something for big money."
Wrecker took the tequila bottle and poured each of them another shot, holding the glasses while pouring, letting a tiny slip of rice paper slide into the glass and dissolve before passing them over, talking over the handwork.
"What kind of work?"
Wrecker leaned over the bar, pulling out a small wood box. Opening it, he pulled a medications bottle out and poured the contents on the table. A tablespoon of white powder. Wrecker took a driver's license out of the box and started cutting lines in the powder. Laying the card down face up, he leaned over with a straw and drew in a pair of lines.
The two became very interested and eagerly inhaled the drugs that had been in the Blind Reapers' hiding hole. The first of the two, Juan, inhaled without looking, but the second looked at the card, picking it up. He read, "Nick Haskin, he’s a Reaper.... How did you get this?"
Wrecker said, "I got it after I drilled a hole in his forehead. Keep it. I have others. Lots of others. It is important that you consider just how angry you want to make me, Juan."
"How do you know my name?"
"Ya see," Wrecker said, "That’s something else you should think about. Now, I have a lot of this powder. It used to belong to the Reapers. I’d like to unload it. 10k a kilo. Pure stuff. You stomp on it carefully, it could retail for 35k easily. Or, you let my partner and I do the mix, you take the packets, and we want 17k a kilo. Sell it for what you want."
Juan, starting to feel a slight bit disoriented from the LSD in the tequila, said, "The Reapers always bundled it for us. We paid them out of profits."
"You ever short them?"
"Hell no. Those guys are animals," Juan answered.
"They *were* animals," Wrecker smiled at Juan’s wide eyes.
From the table, Reggy cast the Anatomics cantrip, causing Juan’s companion to start yawning repeatedly, uncontrollably.
Juan nodded at the inevitable, "Ok. Deal."
"Lay off our customers, or your ID will join my collection. Savvy?"
Juan nodded.
Wrecker looked to Lucky, who brought a leather zippered bag out from behind the bar, opening it to reveal bundles and packaged packets. Wrecker pulled out a pewter coin pressing with an X marking, its unnaturally warm. The packets were sealed like sugar packets with Norse runes on them.
"Hold on to the coin. If you get hassled by the police, show them the coin. The fix is in. Now don’t screw me. If you want more, you know where we are."
The two left as the acid started kicking in.
Lucky asked, "What’s with the coin?"
Wrecker answered, "It’s a tracker. Lets us know where Juan is. We’ll follow him and learn about their processes. In the meantime, they’ll leave our customers alone."
Lucky nodded, "Smart. Diabolical but smart. What happens if they get pinched and show the coin to the cops?"
Reggy, coming up, said, "Then we see how well Juan can dance. The cops have never heard of us."
Lucky went on, "Then what happens if they don’t pay off the fronted stuff?"
Reggy knocked on the bar, and Lucky poured the beer the knock ordered. "Well then, Lucky, think of it as evolution in action."
The Acid Trip[edit]
Juan and his companion, Gustov, stumbled out of the Ugly Ferret, the world around them shifting and warping. The neon sign above the bar flickered, its letters melting like wax. Juan clutched the pewter coin, its surface pulsing with an otherworldly glow in his vision.
“What the hell did they give us?” Gustov slurred, his voice echoing as if from a great distance.
Juan’s vision blurred, and he saw the faces of the Blind Reapers staring at him from the shadows. Their eyes were hollow, their mouths twisted in silent screams. He shook his head, trying to clear the hallucination, but it only grew more vivid.
“We need to get out of here,” Juan muttered, stumbling toward their car. But the vehicle seemed to stretch and distort, its doors sliding out of reach.
"It’s going to cost us a lot to get out of their way. Mano, this didn’t work out. But I think if we didn’t take the bag, they would have killed us right there. Fuckers gave us acid. Homicidal fuckers."
As they drove away, the city streets twisted into a labyrinth, the buildings leaning inward as if to crush them. Juan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The coin in his pocket hummed softly, a reminder that the SBG was always watching.
Gustov mumbled, "They own us...."
Juan growled, "There are only three of them. How hard could they be to kill?"
Next Steps [edit]
Back at the Ugly Ferret, Wrecker and Reggy watched the security feed, their expressions calm but calculating. The screen showed Juan and Gustov stumbling into their car and driving off, their movements erratic and unsteady.
“Think they’ll stick to the deal?” Reggy asked, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigar.
Wrecker smirked. “For now. The acid will keep them paranoid for a while. And if they try anything stupid, we’ll know.” He tapped the monitor, where a small blinking dot represented the pewter coin’s signal.
Lucky, who had been quietly polishing glasses behind the bar, spoke up. “You two are playing a dangerous game. Those guys aren’t just small-time thugs. They’ve got connections.”
Reggy shrugged. “So do we. And ours are a lot scarier.”
Wrecker chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Besides, Lucky, this is just the beginning. Once the Forty Threes realize how much money they can make working with us instead of against us, they’ll fall in line.”
Lucky shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Wrecker looks at Reggy who shrugs.
He says, “About half the time. The other half, well, its been said its all in the reflexes. Hey, Lucky, close up. Join us in the garage. Its time we tell you some stuff that will make you dig in or freak out. Either way, bring a bottle Old Crow when you come back. You'll need it.
Double Bass [edit]
Meanwhile, Gadget and the Stone Bench Group were busy preparing for their next show. The success of their first performance at the Ugly Ferret had boosted their confidence, but they knew they couldn’t afford to get complacent. Gadget sat cross-legged on the floor of the Station, her 6-string bass resting across her lap. She plucked at the strings, experimenting with a new riff.
Cali walked in, her own bass slung over her shoulder. She winced slightly as she flexed her fingers. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding toward Gadget’s instrument.
“Just something I’m working on,” Gadget replied, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. “Thought it might be a good riff for the next show.”
Cali listened for a moment, then grinned. “I like it. It’s got a dark, edgy vibe. Kind of like you.”
Gadget smirked. “Thanks, I think.”
Cali set her bass down and shook out her hands, grimacing. “Ugh, my hands are killing me. This 6-string is a beast. I’m not used to the wider neck, and my fingers feel like they’re about to fall off.”
Gadget nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, it takes some getting used to. But there are ways to make it easier. Here, let me show you.”
She scooted closer to Cali and gestured for her to pick up her bass. “First, you’ve got to adjust your grip. You’re pressing too hard on the strings. You don’t need to crush them—just enough pressure to get a clean note.” Gadget demonstrated, her fingers lightly grazing the strings as she played a quick run. “See? Less tension in your hands means less pain.”
Cali tried it, her brow furrowing in concentration. She played a few notes, then shook her head. “It still feels awkward. My fingers keep getting tangled on the extra strings.”
“That’s because you’re thinking about it too much,” Gadget said with a chuckle. “Don’t focus on the strings individually. Think of them as zones. The low B is your anchor—use it to ground your playing. The high C is your flourish—use it to add color. The middle four are your home base. Start there, then branch out.” She played a simple riff, her fingers moving effortlessly across the fretboard. “Here, try this. It’s a basic pattern, but it’ll help you get comfortable with the extra strings.”
She reached to Cali's hand gently extending the fingers to the proper positions on Cali's sixer but also extending her psyche to channel healing into the hand, a purple stone on a chain hidden around her waist warmed, adding its potent magic. As Gadget rubbed the hand Cali felt the stretching become more comfortable without knowing why. Just Gadget's touch.
Cali mimicked the riff, her movements slow and deliberate at first. Gradually, she picked up speed, her fingers finding their rhythm. “Okay, that’s not bad,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But my wrist still hurts a bit.”
“That’s because you’re holding the neck too high,” Gadget said, adjusting Cali’s posture. “Lower the bass a bit. It’ll take the strain off your wrist and give your fingers more room to move.”
Cali adjusted the strap on her bass, lowering it slightly. She played the riff again, her movements smoother this time. “Hey, that does feel better,” she said, her smile widening. “You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?”
Gadget grinned. “Years of practice. Now, let’s try playing in unison. It’ll help you lock into the groove.”
The two fell into an easy rhythm, their basses intertwining as they played. At first, Cali struggled to keep up, her fingers fumbling on the wider neck. But Gadget was patient, slowing down when needed and offering tips along the way. Gradually, Cali’s confidence grew, her playing becoming more fluid and precise.
The rest of the group soon joined in, and before long, the Station was filled with sound. It was rough and unpolished, but there was something raw and powerful about it—a reflection of the band itself. Eddie’s guitar added a sharp edge, while Tiffy’s violin wove in and out of the melody, creating a haunting counterpoint. Jax’s drumming provided a steady backbone, his rhythms driving the song forward.
As they played, Gadget kept an eye on Cali, offering encouragement and guidance when needed. “You’re getting it,” she said, her voice barely audible over the music. “Just relax and let the bass do the work. Don't over think it, but don't think of anything else.”
Cali nodded, her focus unwavering. She could feel the music flowing through her, the pain in her hands fading as she lost herself in the rhythm. For the first time since switching to the 6-string, she felt like she was in control.
When the song ended, the group erupted into cheers, their faces flushed with excitement. “That was awesome!” Eddie said, slapping Cali on the back. “You’re really getting the hang of that thing.”
Cali grinned, her earlier frustration replaced by a sense of accomplishment. “Thanks. It’s still a work in progress, but I’m getting there.”
Gadget smiled, her eyes gleaming with pride. “You’ll be a pro in no time. Just keep practicing, and don’t be afraid to experiment. The 6-string opens up a whole new world of possibilities. If it helps when we play, think of my bass as the lead and yours as rhythm. We can practice matching it with Eddie and Holden. Same riffs, different keys.”
Cali nodded, her determination renewed. “I will. And thanks, Gadget. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Gadget shrugged, her tone light but sincere. “That’s what friends are for. Now, let’s run through that riff one more time. I think we’ve got something special here.”
The group launched into the song again, their energy infectious and their bond stronger than ever. As the music filled the room, Gadget couldn’t help but smile. It was coming together
The Ukulele [edit]
The group’s impromptu jam session was in full swing when Holden, ever the quiet observer, wandered over to Gadget’s large guitar case. Being a couple now he didn't ask permission when he crouched down, flipping open the latches with a curious grin. Inside, nestled among an assortment of instruments and gear, was a well-worn ukulele. He picked it up, strumming a few experimental chords. The bright, cheerful sound cut through the room, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Since when do you play the ukulele?” Gadget asked, raising an eyebrow.
Holden shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Since forever. My grandma taught me when I was a kid. She was born in Hawaii. It’s been a while, but I think I’ve still got it.”
He launched into a simple, upbeat melody, his fingers dancing across the strings with surprising skill. The ukulele’s bright, twangy tone added a new layer to the music, giving it a distinctly surfpunk vibe. Eddie’s eyes lit up, and he quickly adjusted his guitar, playing in harmony with Holden. The two instruments intertwined, creating a sound that was both nostalgic and fresh.
Tiffy, never one to be left out, grabbed her flute and joined in, her high, lilting notes weaving through the melody like sunlight on waves. The room filled with the sound of their combined efforts, the music growing richer and more complex with each passing moment.
Gadget and Cali exchanged a glance, then joined in, their basses providing a deep, resonant foundation. Gadget leaned over to Cali, murmuring, “Try this,” and played a simple but effective bassline that anchored the song. Cali followed her lead, her fingers moving more confidently now, the pain in her hands forgotten as she lost herself in the music.
Jax, ever the multitasker, passed around plastic cups of whiskey before settling behind his drum kit. He tapped lightly on the snare, his rhythms subtle but precise, adding just enough structure to keep the jam session from spiraling into chaos. The whiskey made its way around the room, the warm burn adding to the camaraderie.
Waldo, the silent, ever-present muscled roadie, lay on a bedroll by the wall, seemingly uninterested in the music. Gadget’s two huge dogs, Brute and Savage, curled up beside him, their massive forms making him look like a sleeping packmate. Shadow, Cali’s cat, ignored everyone, dozing peacefully next to her owner, unbothered by the noise.
The room was alive with energy, the music flowing effortlessly as the group played off each other. Eddie and Holden dominated the surf tunes, their guitars and ukulele creating a sound that was both playful and intense. Tiffy’s flute added a whimsical touch, while Gadget and Cali’s basses provided a steady, grounding rhythm. Jax’s drumming tied it all together, his light taps gradually building into a more complex beat.
As the song reached its peak, the group fell into a natural harmony, their individual styles blending seamlessly. The whiskey and the tray of green weed on the table added to the relaxed, almost euphoric atmosphere. It was clear they had been drinking more recently, but the music was too good to care.
When the song finally wound down, the room erupted into cheers and laughter. Eddie clapped Holden on the back. “Man, I had no idea you could play like that. The ukulele’s a killer addition. We’ve got to work that into the next set.”
Holden grinned, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a rare moment of pride. “Yeah, it’s fun. I forgot how much I missed playing it.”
Gadget leaned back, her bass resting across her lap. “This is what we needed. A little experimentation, a little fun. We’re onto something here.”
Cali nodded, her cheeks flushed from the whiskey and the excitement. “Yeah, this feels right. Like we’re finally finding our sound.”
Jax raised his plastic cup in a toast. “To the Stone Bench Group. May we never stop surprising each other.”
The group clinked their cups together, the sound of laughter and music filling the room once more. Even Waldo cracked a smile, though he didn’t say a word. The dogs stirred slightly, their tails thumping against the floor, while Shadow stretched lazily before settling back into her nap.
As the night wore on, the music continued, the group experimenting with new sounds and ideas. The ukulele became a permanent fixture in their jam sessions, its bright tones adding a unique flavor to their surfpunk sound. And though the whiskey and weed flowed freely, the music remained the focus, a testament to their growing bond and shared passion.
Gadget couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she watched her friends. They were more than a band—they were a family. And with every note they played, they were building something truly special.
Exploring Musical Knowledge[edit]
As the jam session wound down, Eddie leaned back against the wall, his guitar resting across his lap. He looked around at the group, a thoughtful expression on his face. “So Holden plays the ukulele, and I assume Gadget does too because it’s hers. It’s funny; we’ve been playing around each other and now with each other for a while. What other things do we play? I play guitar, obviously, played standup bass in Jazz Band, as well as tuba and French horn in the orchestra back in junior high. Tiffy’s tried teaching me violin. I can mostly not embarrass myself on harmonica. What else?”
Tiffy smirked, setting her flute down. “Violin, viola, cello, flute, and a number of those like recorder, fife, some woodwinds. Some brass, but I couldn’t get the hang of them. And… ah… well… the piano.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You never mentioned most of those, but… the piano? Are you any good at it?”
She nodded, a small, proud smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.”
Jax chimed in, tapping lightly on his snare. “I toyed around with sax but left before I did a lot with it. Played the xylophone a few times. Just like they’re drums, ya know. Did a bunch of other percussion before Cali and I ran off the first time. Ya know, any of us could play stuff like tambourines, maracas, other percussion noise makers.”
Holden added, “Guitar, ya know. Some bass. The ukulele and ah… banjo. I actually started as a little punk on the banjo. But Mom loved that, and Dad hated it. When she died, he got rid of all her stuff, including the uke and the banjo. After that, it was guitar.”
Cali shrugged, her bass resting against her leg. “Bass, some guitar, but I loved the low sound. Jax taught me bongos pretty good.”
They all turned to Gadget, expectantly.
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Well, mainly kazoo.” The room erupted into laughter and good-natured goading.
“Bass. Lead guitar. Ah… Irish folk harp. Dulcimer. Flute was my first love, but it brings back memories for me I avoid. But recorder, piccolo, fife, a few of the woodwinds. Ya know, a conch might be a good addition to our sound. I’ve tooted them.”
She paused, as if hesitant to go on. “And damn… I’m pretty good on the piano. Spent some time on the road with a hell of a jazz piano player. Learned a lot from him… ah, too much… too much drinking… too much… well, he was the first I let. Not my first, but the first I let…” Her voice trailed off, and Cali reached over, gripping her hand, understanding now why she felt so comfortable with the wild girl; shared grief and experiences.
Holden put his hand on her shoulder. “I hope I get to meet him someday, if he was kind to you.”
Gadget nodded, implying he was. “Holden, if you ever meet him, we will know a hell of a lot more about each other than you could possibly imagine.” She chuckled, thinking of her piano man, the Lord of Chaos.
They talked for a bit longer, sharing stories and jamming a little more before eventually drifting off to their respective corners. Brute, Gadget’s massive dog, wandered over to lie near Holden, while Gadget herself settled down with a thoughtful expression.
---
Eddie and Waldo’s Conversation[edit]
Eddie stepped outside, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the heat and noise of the jam session. After a few moments, Waldo and Savage, Gadget’s other dog, joined him. Savage disappeared into the night, running off to patrol the area, while Waldo leaned against the wall, lighting a joint. He took a hit and passed it to Eddie.
“Trombone,” Waldo said suddenly, his voice low and gravelly.
Eddie looked surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. Long arms, ya know. Big sax some. And… tuba.”
Eddie nodded, passing the joint back. “Well, damn, Waldo!”
“It’s Earnest Bluebonnet Pavlovich. Mom called me Ernie; Dad called me Pasha. I like Waldo better, but it was Wart’s idea. Ya know… ‘Where’s Waldo? Go get me some smokes, Waldo…’ I had to make my own way among Wart’s guys. I was never one of his favorites. Got cut out of everything. That probably saved my life because I never touched Cali, and she knows I argued with Wart about her. I got beat down twice telling him to let her go. Gadget killed him, didn’t she?”
Eddie looked at him hard, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “Why do you think that?”
“I tried to tax her that last time Wart got you all. She put me down hard. Like, *hard*, man. I’m a big fucking guy, and she put me down like I was a toddler. Called herself an ‘apex predator monster.’ I had to look that up online to know what she meant. Later… I met Wrecker and Reggy before I came around you guys. They work for her, you know, not the other way around. There’s something just not right about her. Those guys, they’re hard men. Bad hard, like nothing Wart ever was, more like the Blind Reapers were. The Reapers were mean, cruel… killers. Wrecker and Reggy, though? They’re terrifying. And they answer to your bassist. Just so you know, man; there’s something seriously dangerous-crazy about her.”
Eddie nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. He knew firsthand how right Waldo was. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
“You saw the Station a couple times while Wart used it. It was a pit. I’m not saying it was clean when we got here, but I lived there. It was a slum-filled torture house out of a movie. Her tied down back there. The place smelled like… you know. It was professionally cleaned, then made to look dirty so *we* could clean it. Dirty, messy, but not Andy Gump, cumdump, rotted meat, sweaty dirty. It was cleaned and staged, man.”
The two stood in silence for a while, the joint passing back and forth between them as the night stretched on. Somewhere in the distance, Savage howled, a long, mournful sound that echoed through the darkness.
“Then there are the dogs,” Waldo said, breaking the silence.
Eddie shivered. “Brute and Savage? I thought you liked them?”
Waldo nodded. “I do. A lot. I had a big dog when I was a kid. My dad killed it. But it’s not just them.”
“Huh?”
“Dude, this is dog land. Wart never left the place except in a group, and he killed more than a few dogs coming and going till they left him alone. I also got around pretty good, but I knew when to walk and where to run. And there were hundreds of them, ya know. The cops stayed out of this area. The city abandoned it. Wart said some guy named Kane told him the owners of the buildings around here were all dead or corporations that everyone had given up on. Cheaper to let them fall apart than tear them down.”
“So the dogs owned the place. Where are they now? We’ve been coming and going for weeks now. I’ve seen a few here and there. You heard Savage a few seconds ago. He wasn’t alone. He had more howling with him. Why aren’t they here? It’s fucking weird. Creepy. Like horror-show creepy. Like in the movie where the group decides to split up and you howl at the screen to stick together creepy. Am I the only one who noticed?”
Eddie looked around, as if for the first time. “Maybe… I never thought about it. I guess I thought Wart had handled them…”
“Look,” Waldo said softly, “I like Gadget. Hell, she saved my life, so I may love her, and I’m grateful. But there’s something just fuckin’ weird about her. That’s all I’m saying, dude.”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Waldo nodded and went back inside, leaving Eddie alone with his troubled thoughts and his last cigarette.
in progress- Holden gadget, hotel[edit]
Here’s a small scene for you:
The neon light from the motel sign outside flickered against the thin curtains, casting restless shadows across the dingy room. The place smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant, the kind that never quite covered up the history of bad decisions made between its walls. It was the bands first out of town gig but the perks didn't include rooms at the Hilton.
Holden sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress, pulling on his jeans while Gadget lounged on the bed, still tangled in the sheets, her electric blue hair fanned out over the pillow. He moved around, picking up their scattered clothes from the floor.
“Here,” he said, tossing her shirt onto the bed before bending down to retrieve her pants. As he lifted them, something tumbled out and hit the threadbare carpet with a soft *thud*. A wallet. It had landed open, revealing something that made his stomach drop.
The badge gleamed under the flickering motel light. *Federal Bureau of Investigation.* Holden’s hands clenched around it as his breath caught. He flipped the ID up, staring at the picture—her picture—next to the name: **Special Agent Rowena Kessler.**
“What the hell is this?” His voice was sharp, disbelief coloring every word.
Gadget, still stretching lazily, turned her head toward him. When she saw what he was holding, her entire body tensed. The playfulness in her eyes vanished, replaced by something colder, more calculating.
“Holden,” she started, voice low, but he was already on his feet, badge still in hand.
“You’re FBI?” His jaw clenched. “What the actual fuck, Gadget?”
She sat up, the sheets slipping down her bare shoulders, but she didn’t reach for the badge. Instead, she sighed, rubbing her temple. “It’s real,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I’ve been undercover for a while.”
Holden took a step back, his mind racing. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time?”
“No,” she said firmly, finally swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes steady. “What you and I have? That’s separate from my work. I never lied to you about us.”
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Then tell me. What the hell are you doing?”
Gadget hesitated for only a second before deciding. “I’m here for Victor Kane.”
Holden’s brows furrowed. “The city council guy?”
“The underworld boss,” she corrected. “He’s running half the crime in Baltimore, and I’m getting close to exposing him.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “I need you to keep this quiet, Holden. No one can know. Not Eddie, not Tiffy, not Waldo—no one.”
Holden’s hands tightened around the badge. His world had just tilted sideways, but the way she looked at him—steady, honest, and completely serious—made it clear she wasn’t playing him.
Finally, he exhaled, tossing the wallet onto the nightstand. “You could’ve told me.”
She gave him a small, almost regretful smile. “No, Holden. I couldn’t.” She paused, then exhaled. “But just so you know, Wrecker and Reggy don’t run me—I run them. They work for me, not the other way around.”
Holden’s eyes narrowed, his grip on the badge tightening. Gadget crossed her arms and leaned against the nightstand. “I’ve got a senior agent overseeing things, Lisha. We have… a lot of freedom to operate however we need to.” She glanced away for a second, then back at him. “The original plan was simple: track down Wart’s guys, follow them up the chain, and get a clear line to Kane.”
She gave a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Didn’t work out that way. I got a little… sidetracked. The music, the band—it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a cover, a way to blend in. But then, I actually started *liking* it. The guys, the gigs, the late-night jams—it became real. Saying that its different then what i'm used to is a humongous understatement. Reminded me of my dreams before things got complicated. Music. Performing. And for a while, I let myself forget why I was really here.”
Holden swallowed hard, trying to process everything. “And now?”
Her expression hardened. “Now, I’m back on track but i want the music too.”
She stepped closer, voice lowering. “Those guys who have been pushing Lucky around? They’re Kane’s. Low-level enforcers, but still connected. That means we’re already in the game. I just have to work my way up, get closer to Kane’s inner circle.” Her fingers drummed against the nightstand as she thought. “Once I’m in, things change. I stop being the one looking for an opening, and I *become* the opening.”
Holden’s stomach twisted. “And then what? You take him down? Just like that?”
Gadget gave him a long look. “It’s not going to be that simple, but yeah. That’s the idea.”
He let out a slow breath and rubbed his face. “Jesus, Gadget… This is dangerous. Kane’s not just some street thug. He’s got politicians, cops, hell—probably half the damn city in his pocket.”
“I know.” Her voice was calm, steady. “That’s why I need to be careful. And that’s why I need you to keep this secret. No matter what happens.”
Holden looked at her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Just that same fierce determination that had drawn him to her in the first place.
Finally, he sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. “You’re asking a lot, you know that?”
She sat beside him, bumping her shoulder against his. “I know.”
He let out a dry laugh. “Figures I’d fall for a fed.”
Gadget smirked. “Figures I’d fall for a guy who could keep up.”
A moment of silence passed between them. Then, softly, Holden said, “Just… don’t get yourself killed, alright?”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Not planning on it.”
But the weight of her words hung between them, a silent acknowledgment that plans didn’t always go the way they should.
Cast of Characters[edit]
Click to Enlarge
Gadget, Bass, Lead guitar, Irish folk harp, Dulcimer, Mandolin, Balalaika, Flute, recorder, piccolo, fife, woodwinds, conch, piano, orgaan, accordion, harpsichord. | Eddie-Lead Guitar, Vocals | Tiffy-Violin, Flute,Vocals, viola, cello, flute, recorder, fife, woodwinds. piano. | Jax -Drums, Percussion, xylophone,tambourines, maracas, other percussion noise makers.” | Cali- Bass, Guitar. Bongos, Tambourine, Percussion. | Holden- Rhythm Guitar, ukulele, Kazoo |
Waldo -Roadie. Trombone, Bass Sax | Wrecker- Promoter | Reggy- Comic Relief | Lucky-Owner of the Ugly Ferret | Colette -Doctor | 12 |
Album Covers[edit]
Stone Bench Group | Baltimore Times | Call of the Wolves |
Night at the Ugly Ferret Live | The Hollyhock Sanitarium Tapes | 6 |