Another Day at the Office (Wendigo)

[Day]

“I’m telling you Day, the tip is solid.” the voice on the phone assured.

However Day, short for Dayshaun, was unconvinced. He rubbed his jaw, as he replied. “You overhear someone you don’t know.. in a bar, you’ve never been to before, talk about a deal going down in Stag Heath, and I am supposed to trot on over there like a lamb to the slaughter? It could be a set up..” his tone was disgruntled.

“Look man, I got your back. You think I would send you in blind? Give me some ******* credit. I had Simmons check it out. For the last 24 hours, people have been going in there all furtive like. And Simmons swears they were all packing.” the voice paused, “The odd **** is.. at first he thought it was a Rave.. you know.. one of those underground dance-drink-drug-til-you-puke parties..”

“Yes I know what a god damned rave is.. and raves are old school man.. way to keep up on current events, they are called convergences now.”

“Regardless of what they are called.. Simmons said most of the people heading in were young, teens and twenties; but they were gunning for bear. Some even had swords strapped to them. Swords man.. who carries swords now?”

“More and more this is sounding like a convergence.” Day sighed.

“Fine .. maybe it is a fuckin' party.. but what if it isn’t and we lose this guy altogether? Three months of work down the drain.. and no pay day...but maybe this guy likes raves.. and that’s why he’s there. Ever think of that?”

Day took a deep breath and released it slowly. It was true. Their last three leads had fizzled out, and this case had already cost them close to twelve grand of their own money. The only way they were going to recoup their losses was to grab their mark and turn him over to the client. “Fine. I will go scout the place. Tell Simmons to keep surveillance up, we don’t want him slipping out.. if he is there. Have Morrison touch base with the client, maybe they have something new.”

“Right. Check in at 0200. If you miss check in,...”

“Yea I know, Delta plan.” Day killed the connection.

Day prepped and cleaned his weapons and restocked his ammo vest. He honestly thought he was headed into a convergence. He would stick out like mad. Being 6’4” he wasn’t one that could blend into the background well. So instead of dressing in his usual attire, he decided he would go in full leathers. If he couldn’t blend, he might as well intimidate.

Two hours later, he was outside the location in Stag Heath. There was no doorman. He tried the door. It wasn’t locked. Taking the bull by the horns, he strode in.

[Wendigo]

Waves upon waves against the shore... the Hunter numbers seemed unending. Was this the fate of vampires? An unending chain of rooms with more men to kill in each? Generally, he didn't appreciate these hypothetical exercises, but the ennui was somewhat more salient today. The Hunters must realize by now that even when they were capable of bringing down a vampire, it returned in seven days. What drove someone to stand their ground against an enemy that literally cannot be defeated? Better to run.

The irony that the Hunters seemed undefeatable and yet he stood his ground did not escape him.

He withdrew the long, thin blade from behind the man's left clavicle and let the body slump to the floor. Close quarters were not conducive to the use of his rifle nor his broadsword, and the attention they drew was undesirable. He would move room by room... quietly... keep bodies out of doorways. He had to remember that working in enemy territory meant that he was at a disadvantage. Come back as he might, it was preferable not to be defeated in the first place, and that meant not being as reckless as some of his "colleagues".

He searched the body quickly, taking only ammunition and leaving the man's carbine and wallet behind. He wasn't here for material gain or macabre trophies like some of the others. Past experience told him that he wasn't even here to end the threat entirely: plenty of these strongholds fell without his help. He wiped the blade off on the corpse's jacket.

Truth be told, Wendell was never entirely sure why he felt compelled to get involved. He told himself that it was good practice, but that answer never seemed to suffice. Perhaps it was just an instinct to spill blood: maybe Hunters and Vampires would always fight because of some innate drive. Or perhaps the drive belonged to him alone, and the Hunters merely defended themselves.

He willed himself, somewhat wearily, to press on to the next room in the unending chain. After all, he definitely wouldn't find the answers he was looking for by sitting over a corpse contemplating matters.