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Triple Murder in Riderside, Rebooted


Dr Archeville

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Scarab's mind reaches out to one of the demon hounds. The mind is dark and decidedly unpleasant, though not 'gooey' -- she easily and firmly grabs hold.

Slamdance lands with a THUD, feeling slightly invigorated as the shock tremors travel up him. He zips past the Vulture-Man and the five demon dogs (and the cowering hobo/raggedy man); almost all of them turn slightly to look at the speeding teen.

Three of the demon dogs turn towards their master, and all growl in his direction. It is soon very apparent, though, that two are growling at something behind him (and they move towards whatever it is they sense behind him), while one is actually growling at him -- and pounces! Surprisingly, though the screeching/squawking sounds he made indicates that he in no way expected such a turn of events, he avoided any danger, perhaps due to some deeply-ingrained training. Or maybe these dogs are just clumsy.

The other two demon dogs look up at Scarab, open their mouths wide, and vomit forth gouts of dark hellfire at her. Both blasts go wide, crossing before her.

The Hobo cowers.

Avenger appears, as if a ghost materializing into the world of the living, and places Vulture in an impossibly fast (and, judging by his struggles, inhumanly strong) headlock.

At the same time, the two Demon Dogs who''d been sniffing in Avenger's general vicinity attack him. Both hit, one getting Avenger's left ankle and the other savaging his right thigh, nearly severing the femoral artery!

"Owww!," Vulture-Man whines, then quickly snaps to a different tone as he hears his dogs tearing into his assailant, "Ha! Not so easy to get the drop on me, is it, hero? And as for you," he say, looking up to Scarab, then jerks to the side as Avenger keeps pressing his grapple, breaking his concentration.

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Though both hounds found purchase in Avenger's flesh with eerily audible chomps, they broke off quickly, looking up at the seemingly-uninjured champion of darkness with confused looks on their monstrous faces. For his part, Jack was triumphant and alarmed all at once, adrenaline pumping as it never had before. The dogs hadn't pressed their attack when they'd sensed no live flesh beneath their teeth! A good thing, surely, but he doubted his good fortune could repeat itself. He met Vulture-Man's taunts by grabbing him by the arms and pulling as he sought to unsocket his arms like a Ken doll.
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Floating above the battlefield, The Scarab pressed her advantage over the hell-hound. YOU ARE THE HUNTER. HE IS PREY. She turned to one of the hounds locked in a deadly embrace with Avenger. HE IS NOT YOUR PREY. TURN UPON YOUR MASTER. HE IS WEAK. STRIKE HIM DOWN, AND TAKE YOUR PLACE AS PACK ALPHA. The strain of maintaining such a level of concentration in so many directions gave her a splitting headache, and a few drops of blood began to trickle down her nose under her helm.

That should relieve some of the pressure. Now let's just hope Slamdance hasn't bitten off more than he can chew.

Then she pointed down at the Vulture-Man, summoning up as imperious and resonant a tone as she could manage."Call off your dogs, or the last meat they ever consume will be your own."

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Slamdance whizzed past the Vultureman as fast he could hoping that he had distracted the ominous looking guy.

"Call off your dogs, or the last meat they ever consume will be your own."
He heard Scarab direct the villain.

Turning, he charged forward at one of the Hellhounds that had a grip of the dark avenger. As he blurred forward, head first like the proverbial ram, he lost visual contact with his target. It was enough for him to miss the fiend moving out of his line of attack as he almost stumbled in anticipation of hitting something solid. He spun back around trying to look menacing while not looking foolish. He hoped it worked.

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Scarab reaches out to one of the demon dogs attacking Avenger, gripping its mind tight.

Slamdance rushes by.

One demon dog tries to attack its former master again. And, again, goes wide, missing completely.

Two breathe more hellfire up towards Scarab... and again miss, filling the area in front of her with crossed beam of too-dark flame.

The hobo continues to cower.

Avenger pulls on Vulture's arms. Two loud pops were heard, followed by a very high-pitched shriek, and then Vulture collapsed like a ragdoll.

All five demon dogs vanish in puffs of brimstone.

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"Do not taunt me," Avenger instructed the unconscious man as he dropped him heavily to the floor. "Irritating." His hands balled into fists, Avenger stared down at the man, then over at the cowering hobo, before calling up to Scarab. "Scarab! Can you read his mind? Find the source of his power?" he asked, pointing to the fallen Vulture-Man.

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The Scarab reeled back on her heels. "Well...that was quick. I didn't realize the sheep would disperse so easily once we dispatched the shepherd."

"Scarab! Can you read his mind? Find the source of his power?"

The Scarab nodded. "I can. And I intend to."

She floated down to the ground directly adjacent to the Vulture-Man, knelt down, and placed her hands upon his temples.

"The source of his power. His involvement, if any, with the Riverside killings. Is there anything else you want to know while I'm in there?"

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Sandro turns and gets ready to charge again as he realizes the melee is over.

"I'll go check on the victim." he says.

He walks over to where the hobo is still cowering, extending his hand while keeping his voice under control.

"It's ok, this is over. Do you know why that... man and his dogs were chasing you? Seemed personal." He asked while waiting for the hobo to reach for assistance.

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"Infernalism. Knowledge about demons." Avenger knelt down by Vulture-Man and pulled on his head, trying to unseat the helmet he'd heard so much about. Don't look at the hobo, he thought to himself. Don't look at his blood. Don't think about his blood. "Can attempt private interrogation if there are telepathic difficulties."

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Avenger manages to remove the Vulture's head, though doing so is accompanied by a few slight tearing sounds as he rips rather than unfastens certain concealed clasps. The Vulture head is not a helmet per se, the wearer's head was not in it -- the suit is designed to make the wearer appear taller than he really is, and the wearer's own head is in the chest part of the outfit. Peering into the Vulture head reveals cables and wires linked to cameras and speakers in the head that connect to monitors situated in the chestplate interior.

Peering in, you can see that the wearer appears to be a young man, perhaps a high school senor or college freshman, with short blonde hair and fairly pale skin. He smells like incense and dogs.

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"His mind is strong. The fact that he's unconscious doesn't help. Makes it significantly difficult to focus on any one piece of information. Like trying to catch coins in moving water..."

Suddenly, the fabric and armored plates of The Scarab's costume began moving, retracting and folding and morphing and condensing, until they retreated underneath her clothes altogether. A small Latin woman knelt before them, her hands pressed against the sides of the boy's head so hard her knuckles were white. Her eyes were shut tight, and blood began to drip, then flow freely down her nose. Her eyes sprang open. Her pupils faded behind milky-white clouds. Tears of blood leaked down her cheeks.

"He didn't kill the Dicksons...had nothing to do with it, doesn't know anything about it...but he is a thrill-killer...went after this poor man for sport...for fun...lives in The Fens...250 52nd Street...calls himself 'Vulture'...taught himself how to summon demons...made the suit with help from friends...'Fox,' in Hanover, and 'Shark,' in Riverside..."

The Scarab's voice trailed off. Her eyes rolled up and fell closed. She collapsed onto the ground beside Vulture.

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"Scarab!" Jack was startled enough to forget the voice for a moment. He dived to the fallen hero's side, the blood there right in front of his face an incredible distraction. How does your immortal blood taste, Scarab? Will it give me power? Can't think like that. No time. He pulled off his heavy glove, his hand white as he checked the fallen heroine's pulse. She was alive, good. He knew the difference. It was hard to think. One thing helped; running his fingers across her bloody face and then licking up the sweet juices across his fingers. He got the last bit out of the corner of her eye by dint of licking it off directly, his tongue sliding against her face. Scarab's life's blood was actually...actually pretty foul! Good thing she's out of it. So this is what psychic blood tastes like! Better not try this again. "Slamdance. Take...take Scarab back to the murder house. Give her time to recover. I will do what I can to deal with this."

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Sandro turned to look at the Vulture as Avenger removed his headgear.

"His mind is strong. The fact that he's unconscious doesn't help. Makes it significantly difficult to focus on any one piece of information. Like trying to catch coins in moving water..."

'She's pretty hot' he thought before catching himself. 'Focus on what is at hand.'

"He didn't kill the Dicksons...had nothing to do with it, doesn't know anything about it...but he is a thrill-killer...went after this poor man for sport...for fun...lives in The Fens...250 52nd Street...calls himself 'Vulture'...taught himself how to summon demons...made the suit with help from friends...'Fox,' in Hanover, and 'Shark,' in Riverside..."

He watched as the Scarab collapsed, hesitating from helping her and helping the hobo.

"Slamdance. Take...take Scarab back to the murder house. Give her time to recover. I will do what I can to deal with this."
Avenger growled at him.

He thought for a moment before answering "Make sure he's safe." He then turned to the hobo and spoke briefly to him, trying to make his voice sound gravelly and older "Once you are done here, you should go over to Southside. Near Cyrus and Adams. People there will help you out."

With a quick nod to Avenger, he scooped up the comatose heroine in a fireman's carry took off as quickly as he could back to Richie's house.

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As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Jack dragged the unconscious teenager in the Vulture suit down into the sewers. Once there, after smacking him a few times to make sure he was still unconscious, Jack used his claws to cut the suit the rest of the way open and sink his teeth into the boy's side. When he was done, he beat the kid soundly about the midsection, leaving bruises enough to cover the lingering signs of what he'd done. Afterwards, he threw him over his shoulder, carrying battered Vulture over one shoulder and suit over the other, and made his way back towards the murder house underground. Egyptian food tastes nasty. The joke was terribly unfunny, but Avenger laughed anyway all the way back.

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When Avenger comes back out of the sewers with the freshly-beaten Vulture, the Hobo is gone.


Scarab sees the two-story house in Riverside, at the corner of Orlando Ave. and Berger Blvd. From her vantage point, she's apparently standing on the sidewalk across the street from the house.

Suddenly, a tremor is felt, then a more violent shaking. The roads begin to buckle a bit, and at the intersection a crack appears, falling open into a gaping chasm out of which a foul black smoke rises.

A movement out of the corner of her eyes causes her to turn back to the house, and atop it she now sees a great dark red fox-headed spider, so large it barely fits on the roof. Its massive head turns and glares at Scarab with solid black eyes, and it growls, revealing rows of yellowed shark-like teeth. Black silken filaments shoot out from it, from all sides, forming the scaffolding of a great web; some attach to the grounds of the house, some along the street, some stretch out further than she can see. It turns its head slightly, keeping one eye on her, as its spidery legs reach behind the house and pull forth great golden discs (like coins, but the side of dinner plates), which it tosses out. The discs land on the web lines, and where each one lands filaments stretch out between the existing threads, completing the web/net.

Now people start appearing, people from all walks of life, all ages, approaching from all sides. They climb up the strands anchored to the ground, towards the golden discs. None fight over them, each person goes for a specific disc. Once they reach their chosen disc, they grab onto it as if it were the most precious thing in the world to them, and smile placidly. When a disc is claimed, more filaments sprout from it, out to those who have yet to start climbing up into the web, making their ascent easier.

After a few moments, the claimed discs melt and engulf their handlers, shifting into lead straitjackets. The people keep smiling placidly, seemingly unaware of any change.

The fox-headed spider laughs, a demonically deep and throaty sound, and begins to reel in some of the snared people. As it does, when a person is about halfway to it, they stop smiling and begin to shriek, finally realizing their horrible predicament. And they keep screaming even as the monster devours them.

And then she wakes up.

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When the deed was done, Avenger snuck all the way to the murder house. His undead strength meant that Vulture's weight was nothing; his uncanny mastery of stealth meant the eyes he passed on the way failed to notice him. He was a vampire full of blood, a helpless human in his arms. The night was his.He headed in the back door, keeping eyes and ears open for Scarab and Slamdance as he went.

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As her eyes snapped open wide, Elena's arm shot out and grabbed Slamdance's arm, squeezing it firmly as she gasped.

"Evil. This place...this place is Evil."

She turned to Slamdance. "Sorry," she muttered as she drew her arm back to her side, using it to drag herself up to a sitting position.

"I don't know how extensive your Judeo-Christian mythology background is. But in case you didn't know, a crossroads is the traditional place to meet a Devil if you're looking to borrow against the equity of your own soul. And that simple-looking suburban intersection is going to play host to all sorts of sub-prime soul mortgaging in the near future. Our little terrible trio is involved somehow, but I don't know how directly. We have to stop them. We have to take them down, hard, before they destroy more lives. What we've seen up to this point is child's play, compared to the atrocities they'll commit if we don't intervene now..."

Elena trailed off mid-sentence, ran her hands across her own face, and looked down at her body. Then she slapped her forehead, shook her head, and smiled at Slamdance. "Must have accidentally tripped the morphic molecules. Oh well. I was planning on doing this anyway. Just not under quite these circumstances." She extended a hand to Slamdance. "Hi. In case you haven't already checked the ID in my pocket, I'm Elena Guerrero. Nice to 'meet' you."

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"Nice to meet you." was his response as he extended his hand to help her up. "I didn't get a chance to go through your things. Maybe next time." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I hope you aren't offended but I'm pretty new to all this and I'm not quite ready to reveal... me to anyone." 'Of course, she could probably just read my mind... or force me to reveal it and make me forget.'

Before she could answer he continued "My dad would call us very lapsed Catholics. I know about as much as you can while not paying attention in Catechism or watching The DaVinci Code." He paused again but continued on before she could say anything, "What do we do know? Can you get in contact with Avenger and find out what he uncovered?"

While he waited for her to answer, he thought about what she said. If this were child's play, what would the real thing be like? 'I'm pretty sure I don't want to find out.'

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"Appreciate the compliment to my abilities," Avenger replied from the corner of the room, "but have been unable to interrogate yet." Avenger carried the unconscious, battered teen over his shoulder like a ragdoll, the big man hardly stooping before the weight. "Scarab. You have recovered." It was not really a question. "Any new information?"

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"What do we do know? Can you get in contact with Avenger and find out what he uncovered?"

"Avenger? Ask him yourself. He's already here."

"Appreciate the compliment to my abilities," Avenger replied from the corner of the room, "but have been unable to interrogate yet."

Elena chuckled. "Lucky guess."

"Scarab. You have recovered."

Elena stood up, staggered a few steps, then collapsed back onto the couch. "Honestly? Not really." She held a hand up to her face. "I'm awake, though."

"Any new information?"

"Just that this area will become the staging ground for a big-budget remake of Needful Things in the near future, unless we stop Vulture-Boy here and his jolly little club of sociopaths."

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Elena jumps to her feet with a start as Vulture moans. In an instant, the morphic molecules bleed out from under her shirt, oozing up and over every inch of her body. The armored plates take shape and unfold with a series of clanking noises.

Good thing his face was hanging behind Avenger. That was close.

"That's right - it wasn't just a bad dream. You don't get to wake up until we let you, you sick little bastard."

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"Patience beginning to expire." Avenger grabbed the young man by the left ankle and twisted it until he heard bones crack. "Stop what you're doing." The look of cold menace in his flat blue eyes, the only visible part of his face, was palpable as he stared down at Vulture, his odd, menacing voice a flat, emotionless growl. "Am capable of worse."

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