Utterly Mad

Catnip reached out her window and fished around until she found what she'd hung outside to finish. Meanwhile, Minx was telling her about current events. It seemed these days that Catnip went out less, and so wasn't getting the news. In reality, she wasn't going out when other people were so thick in the streets. The episode in the Howling Tower had a profound effect on her. Where large groups of people had been Catnip's jam back in new england, making her feel somewhat safe, here in Arizona there was a kind of unease. Mix that with the threat of infection that seemed so common among Pricetowns Misling residents, Catnip couldn't bring herself to go out. When the sun had retreated in the sky a bit and the mazey heat haze of day had receded to something that baked off of everything, unseen. She could move around easily then and get away with much more than she normally could.

She tested the enamel on what she'd made, tapping it with a small dental hook to make sure it didn't take a mark. "Yeah, it was a disaster alright." Minx went on as though Catnip had given her any input on what she was saying. "Draft is on now I guess. Lucky you and I are safe from that stuff."

"What's a draft?" Catnip asked. Her only experience with "draft" was in making rough plans or beer.

"Uh, It's a thing where you have to be in the military against your will. You and I are safe because we work here." Minx explained incredulously. Catnip nodded slowly at that, unsure of what to make of it. Personally, she moved a lot and said little, but heard much. She was unsure because she had heard the negotiations that went on behind Pinky's closed door. There was nothing to worry about, but it still gave her pause. Since escaping the Howling Tower, Pinky had been made many offers for Catnip. Nothing for L though. Technically, L didn't belong to anyone except Catnip and Catnip wasn't willing to say that she "owned" her. Catnip on the other hand was an accomplished and proven master mechanic and craftsman. The Shattered Helm wanted her for their maintenance crew, the owners of the aeroponics plant wanted her for the line, and many many water merchants and bullet farmers wanted her for their own profit making schemes. Since the attack on the Shattered Helm barricade a few days before, and the sudden overt aggressive moves from Pricetowns northern neighbor, Algol, The Shattered Helm and Aeroponics facility had doubled down in a desperate attempt to give themselves the upper hand in their branches of Pricetowns hierarchy.

Catnip wouldn't bother with it. She wouldn't be here much longer anyway, or so she thought. There were plans above her table, rough schematics using her newly recovered holy relic. She'd once seen a helicopter and it had been the basis for her plan. Build herself a flying machine and fly all the way home. The real problems were finding somewhere to build it safely, and finding her way home once it was built. Minx passed her a boiled egg which she took with thanks before the talk went on for awhile. When the day grew dim, Minx would leave and Catnip would put the final touches on her gift for a certain knight out of time. Then she would go out. After, sleep Then...

---

Catnip woke early the next day to Pinky screaming at someone up the hall, and an envelope sliding it's way under her door.

Bolt tapped his foot rapidly as he waited for the foreman to go down the line. He already knew what he was going to be  doing but the last time he’d gone straight to work the foreman had been less than pleased. So he waited, tapping his feet and ignoring the other mislings that were to either side of him.

Finally he got his instructions: dismantle and salvage. Turning and walking away Bolt made his way to where the mislings used to disassemble various things for salvage and parts. He’d not been here long but already knew that the walk was simply a hundred steps, give or take twenty to avoid people or jams of foot traffic.

Once he reached the area he opened the locker that had been designated as his and retrieved his tools. Unlike the others his tool belt included an air tank that connected to his special tools. As he filled the tank nearby he couldn’t help but smile as he recalled how much easier his tools made his work.

He’d made them himself for the express purpose of his salvage job. Of course none of the others believed that he’d made them. Not that he cared if they believed he could build things, he was fine with everyone believing he was only capable of dismantling them. Life was easier when people didn’t expect much from you after all.

Humming to himself Bolt set to work now that his equipment was fully operational. His first task was to cut some pipe down for the construction crews.Nodding to the foreman of the ‘pit’ Bolt retrieved his cutter. Turning on the tool and inserting the pipe, sliding it along so that it was the proper length, Bolt squeezed the handle. The saw blade attached to it was designed for cutting metal so the pipe was taken care of quickly as he slid the next section into place.

Once the pipe was done, which lasted maybe a half hour of work, Bolt was told to just work on the pile. This was what they called the heap of items that had been left in the pit to be disassembled for any sort of use they could make of them. This usually involved stripping items for useful materials or parts such as circuit boards or valves or what have you.

This was work Bolt was particularly good at. That was mostly due to the fact he’d done it so much he could do it without really thinking about it. And so he sat there gutting computers and appliances until he came to a few gas tanks that had made their way into the pit. Inspecting them yielded the reason that they were down here, they’d been punctured here and there. If he were to hazard a guess the holes were small enough to have been caused by something akin to a screwdriver.

Taking off the valves and seals Bolt pocketed a few while the Foreman wasn’t really paying attention. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done such a thing even when the foreman was paying attention. The two had simply come to an understanding. ‘Dont pocket everything and I wont have a problem’ was the gist of it.

After that he just let himself slip into work. Which left his mind to wander. He was curious about the new person, TJ. He’d never seen anyone wearing that many bandages before. And there was an odd mixture of curiosity and sadness about him that clashed with how he tried to act happy. Or maybe Bolt was just misreading him.

Still the pair were outsiders among what appeared to be their own people, they had that much in common. The other mislings had decided that Bolt was unlucky, some due to the marks on his fur and others simply because he’d received more than a handful of opportunities after the misfortune of others. As such he often found himself on his own. So he’d made himself content with his lot in life.

Before long, well at least before it felt like it had been a long time, the bell rang. Bolt finished his cut and walked over to the lockers. Stowing his gear Bolt slid the lock into place and decided to go find something to eat. A bit early for dinner but he’d not eaten lunch.

So he made his way to the community center that Isaac had built. He’d never met the man but had heard from the other mislings they gave food for free. And they were nice people. He’d check and see then go and find TJ.

Entering the place he could smell food cooking and spotted Alice setting some out onto the serving trays. Isaac spotted Bolt and waved as he said “Hey right on time! Let me go get some plates and we’ll let you grab some grub.”

After a moment Bolt had his meal and was sitting down to eat. As he was used to no one really sat next to him. This gave him time to muse over his various projects at the very least.

At the same time as all of this TJ had been wandering around. He’d stopped to talk to some of the mislings here and there but none could really point him towards work that could earn him anything. As Bolt had put it “there isn’t any scrip here yet.” was the general consensus.

As such TJ had found himself sitting with an older misling in what appeared to be some sort of rug stall. The misling wore an old vest, dress shirt, pants and a pair of leather shoes along with a rather long and well kept and trimmed beard of grey hair. The pair had talked over a home mixed and brewed tea that the elder misling had made. “So you say you don’t know your past? Perhaps it matters not where you came from, perhaps you have yet to fulfill your purpose in life? Perhaps you have yet to even determine what that purpose is.”

The way the elder was watching him made TJ somewhat uncomfortable as he sat cross legged across from the man. Taking a moment to sip his tea and collect his thoughts TJ finally admitted “I don’t know, I guess I haven’t really had time to figure out what my purpose is.”

The elder simply nodded as he drank from his own cup. A younger misling had entered the stall and spoke a few words. “Oh for that design you should use that pattern there. It will look lovely, take the roll and bring back what you don’t use.”

From what TJ had gathered this man organized quite a few of the odds and ends for the construction crews. Some of the young mislings under his employ kept things organized in this stall and the others in the area where things like rugs, cloth, and other such items were kept. It also was built like it was going to be turned into a market at some point. Regardless the elder looked at him and said “That is okay child. Many do not find their purpose for most of their lives. What matters is that you carry yourself in a manner that is respectable, one that anyone could admire and look up to. Of course..” he paused for a moment to show that the vest concealed a blade “..sometimes one must act in unsavory manners to protect himself and others. That too is understandable.”

TJ shrugged. He’d killed once and found the act..distasteful himself. Before he could say anything the elder smiled and said “Ah, a pacifist? Admirable I must say but you need to be willing to defend yourself should the need arise.”

TJ nodded and said “I know, I really do. I just hope it doesn’t come to that. That’s why I’ve been trying to find a place like this where I don’t have to fight people.”

For a few minutes the pair sat in silence as the elder inspected TJ.  Finally he stood and retrieved a long dark blue piece of cloth from a table. “I have known many men. Some wear these for the purpose of worship. Others because it means something to them as a symbol of things such as pride and courage. To me it is worn as a symbol of dedication and self worth not for some religious reason.”

Wrapping it around TJ’s head the elder hummed softly to himself. After a moment he finished wrapping the turban and tied it off, leaving a trail of the blue cloth hanging behind TJ’s head. “May it take on whatever meaning you assign to it however. You can always change the style as well, perhaps add layers or shorten the tail of it. That is ultimately up to you, just as all paths ultimately lead to the same place in the end.”

Reaching a hand up TJ touched the turban as the elder misling provided him a mirror to inspect himself. It was a deep blue and unlike the mislings it was only wrapped around his head a couple times to keep it on without really protruding from his head. “Thanks. I don’t really have anything to pay you with though.”

The elder waved the thought of payment away. “All I ask is that you remember our conversation today. I hope that it helps you find your way in life.”

The elder misling bowed and TJ returned the gesture after standing up. “I will. Thank you for the tea.”
The elder smiled as he said “Of course, and as I said whenever we figure out money here I’ll be more than happy to have you working with me.”

TJ departed with that. Some of the younger mislings that worked for the elder waved and nodded to him as he went. The snug feeling of the turban wasn’t dissimilar to his bandages and was oddly comforting. Checking the time he realized it was almost six pm and decided to see if Alice and Isaac needed any help.

The walk there didn’t take very long and he spotted only a handful of mislings making their way in. Walking in he took a look around and spotted Bolt sitting by himself and decided to walk over. Sitting down he couldn’t help but smile at Bolt jumping slightly at his presence. “Hi Bolt, how was work?”

Swallowing a mouthful of mac and cheese Bolt shrugged “Was work. Same thing I did yesterday, same thing tomorrow.” Fishing in his bag Bolt pulled out the valves and seals “But got parts for air gun. Can take time to work on it tomorrow before shift if you’d like.”

TJ nodded as he leaned back and said “That works for me. I’m not gonna have much of anything to do anyway, at least that I know of. Maybe going out to look for parts or books.”

Bolt scratched his nose as he said “You read books? Could teach?”

TJ again nodded and leaned back in his chair “I could.  We could start tonight if you want too.”


Bolt nodded eagerly as he took another bite of his food. As they sat there it dawned on TJ that Bolt was pretty small for his age, standing at thee foot four inches. The pair were both sixteen(well Bolt was Sixteen in misling years) and here they were living the farthest things from what they’d heard described as the life of someone their age. Instead of studying and dating they were disassembling salvage and working on a weapon that could kill both zombies and people while one of them taught the other to read.

Once Bolt had finished his meal he returned the plate to a receptacle and walked back over to TJ. Reaching over TJ pulled a seat out next to him and waited for Bolt to sit down as he retrieved a book from his bag. “This one should be pretty easy to start with.”

As they sat there TJ was surprised at Bolt’s eagerness to learn. The constant stream of questions made him imagine a child if he were honest. But he did his best to stay patient with Bolt as they sat there.

2 months ago

The sound of the air tight seals popping open filled the room as the first sounds to greet the silence in nearly fifteen years. The heavy footsteps that followed echoed as the five men stepped out of the stasis pods and shook the drowsiness from their heads.

Once they were able to fully avail themselves of their faculties they moved to the lockers in the room to retrieve their uniforms. Each man donned a grey uniform that was accompanied by a pair of black boots, a metal Sallet helmet and a black chest rig. Walking over to a console one of them switched it back on and inserted his thumb into a slot.

‘ID confirmed: Alexander Sokolov. Rank: Crusader. Status changed: Active’

Moving to another console Sokolov connected a wire to a small port in his neck. ‘Adjusting bionic liver. Tuning bionic eye. Calibrating…’

All of them went through the same process of having their bionics calibrated and getting their gear in order. When all was said and done they approached the door and waited as one of their number stepped forward and read the instructions on the door console. Tapping a button the man started to speak “Howard R. M., Captain of the order speaking. Stasis pods were deactivated, alert from Secure Compound Zeta under the..local bank. Present with me is Alexander Sokolov, survival specialist.” He rattled off the rest of the names and jobs of the men with him before signing off and walking out of the facility with his men in tow.

1 week ago

Sokolov watched his captain stare through a pair of binoculars at the men in the building in front of them. Tilting his head back Sokolov finished the mickey of vodka as he waited. Finally his captain spoke “There’s gotta be thirty of them, maybe more. Heavily armed and looking twitchy from here. You still ready for this Sokolov?”

Setting the bottle down and grabbing his rifle Sokolov shrugged. In the past month he’d watched one of his friends shoot himself in the head because of this apocalypse and two more get gunned down by scum. The way he figured it the pair of them would either complete their objective or die trying. “We go quiet and stay quiet.”

2 days ago

Sokolov sat in Haps bar sipping his drink. And waiting. He’d  been waiting for the past two days. His armor was stowed in a large carryall bag sitting next to him. Pulling his hand from his pocket he sorted through the coins he had, palming one and dumping the rest back into his pocket.

The man he’d been waiting for had entered the building and sat down. Standing up Sokolov walked towards the door. As he passed the table he flipped the coin onto it. Before the man could question it Sokolov was out the door.

“I do not enjoy work. I do not relish a piece of paper being handed to me. I do not savor the moment before action. I do my work as is my duty. When I pass may the Lord forgive my soul. If he does not then may I take my place at Lucifers right hand. Please oh lord hear this sinners prayerr.” Sokolov said to himself as the man picked the coin up to inspect it.

Sokolov didn’t need to hear the gunshot that came quickly after, nor did he need to see the blood stain on the window of the bar.  Sliding the Salet helmet onto his head Sokolov stared down at the coin that had returned to his hand as he walked. The only thing Howard would know of what had happened is that the man whom had been giving the orders to the men that had held the bank was dead. He would never really know how it happened.

For a brief moment the hooded figure walked beside him. He’d been told the man was an old gun who’d wagered his soul for one of the devil’s coins. The Templars wanted to destroy it, the Order had smuggled it away from the Catholics. Then they’d hidden it from the Cleansing Flame.

The Archival Order of Holstadt, a long destroyed town, had hidden many things of historical and religious importance in their eyes. Most of their catalogue were mundane items, glasses of some historical figure, a pair of pants that a crusader had worn, things of such mundane nature. But every once in a while they got their hands on something special.  Along with their modern public facing cover they’d changed the name simply to The Archival Order.

Sokolov had broken a long standing agreement among the high ranking members of the Order when he’d taken this coin. Anything abnormal was supposed to be left in a secure room in the Order’s headquarters. But it had served him well in his work as an assassin of the Order.

When he returned to Howard he informed him that their target was dead. Then he received the news. Some cultists  had taken over. Ones that liked to eat the flesh of the undead and other humans.

Present day

Sokolov had seen the group at the bank and knew no matter what they brought two men wouldn’t be able to take them on. So he’d started his journey to where the friends of an old enemy of the cult lived. Walking down the abandoned road he spotted a handful of the undead here and there but not enough to cause him any problems.

Of course he needed to sell something to these people. After all why did he care that these were the men that killed their friend? So he took a moment to settle back into his old accent. It had been years since he’d spoken like this, since he was a teenager if he recalled correctly. After his mother took him to her homeland of Ireland she’d taught him how to hide the accent of his homeland. “My name Alexander Sokolov, pleasure to meet you. I have news concerning mutual friend Alexei’s killers. I know where man that gave order is located, but I need help to kill.”

Even with practice speaking in broken english was painful at this point. And that was assuming they would be interested in getting revenge on the men. Assuming his intel was accurate. But that was all he had to go on while Howard kept sketch on the old bank.

Shooting a zombie that had been running at him Alexander also wondered about just who this Alexei had been. Why had these men been so angry that they were still partying and celebrating this man’s death? But that and all of Alexander’s other questions about the man would have to wait. He was getting near his destination, Walkerville.

Meanwhile TJ had finished helping Alice and Isaac with the lunch rush and was currently sitting outside leaning against the wall. He’d gotten enough parts to start working on the air gun he wanted to make so he set to work. Sliding the pieces into place and fastening them as best he could onto the frame he’d made TJ soon had the rough outline and basics of it down. Actually getting it to work would take quite a bit more work.

Looking up from his work he spotted a young misling watching him. Scurrying over upon realizing he’d been seen the young misling grabbed the makeshift air rifle and inspected what was built. “Needs seals. Barrell will only work with large bearings or darts. A padded stock would also make it more comfortable.” Handing it back the misling scratched at it’s damaged right ear and said “Could probably scrounge the parts you need, but it’ll take a while.”

TJ blinked, stunned for a moment, before saying “Wait you..want to help me? How much?”

Shaking his head the misling said “No charge. No real scrip around here so it doesn’t matter anyway. Scratch your back now you scratch mine later?”

TJ nodded after a moment’s thought and said “Sure. I’m TJ by the way, what’s your name?”

“Friends call me Bolt, or Wrench, or Driver. I don’t really care, I do my work and get my food, names don’t affect work. Which I probably need to get back to.” Bolt said before scurrying off into Walkerville.

TJ wasn’t sure what had inspired the young misling to talk to him but he had a feeling Bolt would probably be a good friend to have. Standing up and stowing his project TJ decided to explore the place a bit. Maybe even find some work of his own now that he was thinking about it.

Outside Pinkies Pleasure Palace, Chief street was a dark dead river, lit here and there by the aging arc sodium's that lined it. Pricetown was asleep, but these days Pricetown never slept too deeply. There's was too much to worry about, too much to do, and there was a fight brewing. Cousin emerged from the alley beside Pinkies and approached the side door where he knew Minx would be waiting. He was disappointed to find that she wasn't, but all the same excited to see that she hadn't forgot about him. Minx had been out, and she had left him something. A bowl of heavenly scraps and a little something extra. The extra, the peyote, eased his mind and gave him respite from the many voices, sharpening them into one voice. One soothing voice to ease the aches of his psychically battered brain. With the scraps down and the drugs doing their work, he rested on the step and listened. The voice spoke to him amidst the sound of the distant Howling Tower, graced him with what wisdom he could understand. It was the voice of the vortex, the song of the cyclone, and 'she' had brought it. 'She' was even then sitting in a room high above him, working on the final touches of a gift for a far away friend. Cousin knew that it would see use long before that friend got to see it, but that would be fine all the same. It was being made to be used.

Then he heard it, the thing he had truly come to hear. The humming. It lilted down to him from on high, just as he knew it would. The discordant sing song nothing tune of the inventors humming while she worked. If the peyote soothed Cousins mind, then it was the humming that rubbed the balm of it into every crease of his brain. Catnip created and when Catnip created, others followed suit. Cousin could never look at her though, even if he liked the music she made, Catnip was just too... Brilliant. She made cousin nervous with her strange nature. No one else saw it, but then again no one else had cousins gift. Cousin could see. Cousin knew. He let the ballad of invention wash over him, and let the foreign images play out in his head. A tiny lady with spots, a man in a suit of armor, a train, a farm, a terrifying girl with several arms, chocolate, and so many more faces and things. Beneath it all, deep down, there was the machine. The roiling mass of gears and cogs and steam and boilers. There was a shifting maze of sparks and wires and all manner of invention. The great engine, a young God. More interestingly, there was another younger God present. It flitted formless and weightless, but not presenceless, from place to place. A small thing filled with power. Filled with potential. The song of Catnip was the song of this other.

The door next to him creaked open and bumped him, only shaking him from his musings a little until he heard the voice.

"Hey! Finally decided to show up you old Coy? I see you found what I left for you. Silly old dog." Minx said, splitting the quiet night with her gentle voice. Cousin rolled his head over to look up at her and grinned langorously. The coyote blinked slowly at the images fleeing from his ken in favor of the image above him. She scratched his ear and he rolled over to expose an unusually well kept belly ready to be rubbed. The humming was soothing and the images were enlightening, but the ministrations of his favorite human were just divine. No coyote had ever known such pleasure as the ear scratches or belly rubs of a favored human.

"I see a field of roses in bloom..." He said. Minx hadn't asked for a horoscope, but it seemed he was going to give one anyway. "I see trees of green, a faraway place. An engine which screams and the loss of all hope. Trials begin, blood will flow, resolve will be tested. Victory precipitates a dizzying fall. The outsider stirs, his siblings wait beyond. First will come the Void Star, the council will call him soon. Plague strider will stop him and be reshaped in her despair. My vision dims, and thus the mirror of prophecy is darkened."

Cousin lay were he was for a long time watching Minx with his clouded eyes, and she watched him right back while she sorted through what he'd told her. The prophecy wasn't meant for her but it wasn't really meant for the person it was for either. A general horoscope then? Minx scratched the top of his head again and his eyes cleared. Soon he was grinning up at her with his daffy dogs grin, and asking if there would be anymore food or peyote of, god forbid, "smash." Above, Catnip's humming went on uninterrupted, her work nearly at its end and soon to face all the trials it's future owner would put it through himself.