Pale King's Disciple

"Look. You fucking pig fuck. I'm doing what YOU asked me to. I'm fucking checking in, you don't like it you can suck my non-existent cock." The woman damn near shouted into the flip-phone in her hand, her Texan accent bleeding through her speech as she did it. She was tired. Tired of this fucking job, tired of this fucking place.

Tired of smoking a fucking pack a day.

"Detective McCray...You know you need to call in more than once a month, if something..." A voice replied on the other side of the phone, sounding defensive and apologetic.

"What you think I'm fucking dead? What difference does it make, you dumb fucks going to send SWAT to get me out if that's the case?"

"...Look it's procedure for undercover..." the voice replied again.

"Yeah. Fucking procedure. Here's my check. Bye." She hung up the cellphone and flicked it across the room onto the table of her run down apartment in frustration. Sighing deeply, she ran her fingers through her wavy raven black hair and with a grunt she stood up, heading into her bathroom and started the shower. Stripping her clothes off damn near gleefully, as if she were tired of being in them, looking herself over in the mirror.

"Mgh..."

She sighed, looking at her own deep Sapphire blue eyes and the dark rings that hung under them. She hadn't slept well in weeks, and the fucking shit stains she was working under wouldn't give her any time off from being some pet girl security.

She'd been working with the pieces of shit for the better part of four months and still hand't gotten what she needed to stick any kind of meaningful sentence to the bastards. In fact she'd gotten nothing at all, nothing but a shitty drug ring that wouldn't hold any real weight.

This wasn't a fucking shadow of the shit she'd read -- what she agreed to do UC to bust up. There were allegations of not only drug trafficking, but human trafficking, gun running, extortion.

The whole shebang.

But most notably of all however, the ringleader of the shit she was now knee-deep in -- she didn't even know his first name, just "Boudreaux" or "Mr.Boudreaux" She hadn't even seen his fucking face.

And searching the last name alone wasn't getting her anything, likely an alias of course.

She reached up moving her hair away from her face, looking at herself close.

McCray was a good looking woman, her skin was damn near milk white, naturally, from the Irish in her. She had freckles on her shoulders and some across her nose, not too many...but enough to remind her about her heritage every time she dared look into a mirror. Her eyes were a deep Sapphire blue, brilliant enough to make someone look twice at her just due to the color.

She hated it.

As such, she wore contacts while undercover to make them brown.

She didn't need any of these scummy fucks knowing too many details.

She continued to look herself over, a permanent downward slope to her eyebrows as she inspected herself, squeezing her own C-cup breasts and bounced them a bit as she turned, looking at them in the mirror, pursing her lips a little with her messy hair, trying to emulate a fashion model or something.

She honestly wasn't far off.

With a grumble she shook off the "sexy" act and pulled her bra off and stepped out of her panties, getting into the shower, letting the water hit her and run off of her body.

She stood about 5'8", 140 pounds with around 13% body fat...she was quite an athlete, and strove to maintain it, running at least 5 miles a day, even with her shit undercover duty. She went to the gym to lift when she could.

Because of her efforts, her body was pretty well put together, and she was proud of it, she often got under-estimated because of her size. Which meant she could often fight her way out of shit situations using some of the martial arts she'd learned through her time, Taekwondo and Judo mostly.

The woman let out a relaxed sigh, beginning to shampoo her hair, working it into her scalp with her black painted fingernails and rinsing it clean well after a few minutes of scrubbing. In the next instant she was washing the rest of her body briskly with soap and stepping out of the shower drying herself in a half-assed manner, walking to her bed with heavy and slow foot falls.

She leaned forward and flopped into bed.

She closed her eyes and within minutes she was out like a light, naked on top of her blankets in the middle of the afternoon, the sounds of the city flooding in through the windows only serving to give her some white noise. She slept like a rock today for some reason, unknown to her why...but it was welcome.

Until she was forced awake by the screeching of her alarm clock.

9PM.

Time to go to work.

She silently forced herself up to her feet, slipping on a pair of panties and heading to the bathroom, popping the contacts in and taking a moment to glance at herself in the mirror to check out her new brown eyes. After exiting the bathroom some slim-fit but well worn jeans went on, a pair of Doc Martins following, the jeans tucked into the boots.

Then her old brown belt.

Then a bra...and a plain black tee shirt over that.

She pulled her hair up into a loose bun and fitted her old Casio watch to her left wrist and grabbed her cellphone for her UC work, leaving her actual department line tucked away neatly amongst other personal belongings.

With a small sigh she also grabbed her Glock 19 off the table nearby, press checking it and then tapping the back of the slide once she sees the familiar shine of brass return her gaze, slipping it into the waistline of her jeans and pulling her shirt down over it, pocketing a spare magazine.

She locked her door behind her as she left, heading down the stairs, spryly, her keys jingling in her hand as she bounced her way down the staircase to the shitty, dimly lit parking garage down below, approaching the piece of shit Jeep she'd chosen from the impound lot as her UC vehicle.

The drive out to the woods was always shit.

Damn near 45 minutes of pure nothing, followed by more nothing. She sighed, staring at the back woods road through her Jeep's aging headlights, finally making a turn and pulling onto a very well hidden path, pulling through some waist high grass and turning off her headlights. She rolled up the path using just her parking lights, the trip about 3/4's of a mile, eventually opening to a small clearing where another two trucks were parked, stopping and getting out, turning the Jeep off, staying on the driveway, avoiding the grass for a very specific reason.

There were fucking mines planted in it.

The entire 300 yards from the driveway into the clearing to the shitty building at the far edge was lined with Soviet era mines, all except for the very clearly maintained driveway, which blended into obscurity the further toward the roadway proper you got.

She had assumed it was just bullshit until an unlucky deer ran across the field 3 weeks ago and turned into a red mist, the guts and skin and bones that flew were still sort of in the same spot as the blast; not that it mattered.

"Ey, there she is, Vi's here." Ritchie spoke, standing out front of the relatively large building smoking, turning his head over his shoulder as he did it, talking to someone inside, the door open.

She rolled her eyes a bit, letting her UC name sink in for what felt like the 600th time.

Viola Briggs

Most just called her Vi or Vio, not that she cared either way, but the difference from her given name of Morgan would always play hell on her senses for the first few minutes of being around these guys and their rifles.

Ritchie was a chubby guy that liked to crack jokes a bit too much, and it was obvious to everyone, including Morgan, that he liked her. Though, none of the guys dared give her a try after the first week. She was put on to work with them and she broke some dickless drug runner's nose for grabbing her ass. She established dominance quickly enough to let the guys around her know she wasn't some fuck-doll; like the women they usually fucked around with.

She was there for business.

A rough, displeased sounding voice spoke from inside the building, echoing off the walls inside the fluorescent light bleached interior.

"Vi, Get your fucking floozy ass in here!"

"Rgh..." She growled a bit, approaching the door, brushing past Ritchie on her way in, her usual scowl on as she walked in, the smell of chemicals smacking her square in the face the moment she set foot inside the building, the meth set up bubbling away, a few guys in respirators working with the current cook happening in the background.

"The fuck is this shit, you dumb cunt. How many fucking times do I have to tell you to fucking seal this shit right, look, it's all fucking oxidized now."

The man spoke again, his voice dripping with anger as he eyeballed her, holding a tray of meth that had gotten exposed to air for too long at the end of the pouring process. She hated this asshole, nobody knew his actual name, but the all called him 'Bishop'. He was tall and lanky, tattoos covering his body from face to toe, all of them rather dark in nature, namely an upside down cross between his eyebrows on his forehead, a partial Glasgow smile cut onto his right cheek. His graying hair was a fucking mess, and his eyes were bloodshot, he was probably high.

And worst of all.

He was her boss.

"Look man, I'm here to be a gun, you can't dump this cook shit on me and expect me to get it right." Morgan replied defensively, holding a hand up.

Bishop stormed over to her and grabbing her by the back of the head and dragging her by her hair over to the table, shoving her face into the oxidized meth with a sharp force, crushing her cheek against it.

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU. IF YOU COULD FUCKING COOK. I TOLD YOU. THAT IF YOU FUCK IT UP AGAIN, THIS IS FUCKING /NICE/ COMPARED TO WHAT'S HAPPENING TO YOU. YOU FUCKING GET ME, YOU CUNT?"

She only groans in pain, trying to tune out the screaming voice in her head telling her to shoot this faggot in the dick, taking his abuse. The pain of the crystallized chemicals digging into her face, namely around her eye socket starting to get uncomfortable.

"Yesh shir..." She croaked.

"Say it again." He pressed her head down a bit harder, groping her chest with one hand, sneering as he did it.

"Yes. Fucking. Sir." She growled her words, her anger starting to boil over, her leg coiling back a little for a knee to his stomach, stopping short as he let go of both her head and her chest, letting her stand upright and wipe the drugs off her face.

"This shit is fucking expensive. Don't fuck up again. Or so fucking help me, bitch." He growled at her, shoving her with his shoulder as he stormed out of the building, ducking out of the door and marching to his truck, starting it and peeling out of the driveway, thundering out of the facility's grounds.

Morgan sighed, rubbing her face a little bit, slamming the tray of meth into the garbage can in a fit of rage, Ritchie slowly taking the opportunity to step in to help cheer her up.

"Hey...Vi. What do you call a faggot on roller skates?"

She doesn't say anything, slamming the empty tray on the table and brushing herself off, fixing her hair, finally turning around and looking at him, responding.

"What..."

"Rolaids."

He smirked a bit as he gave her the punchline, starting to laugh and point at her when a smile curls across her lips, a small chuckle escaping her mouth until she laughs softly at it, the joke soaking in. The smile faded from her face after a short moment, rubbing her face a bit as he steps over, gently putting a pair of fingers on her cheek, turning her head softly.

"Lemme see."

She shook her head, brushing his hand off almost a bit too roughly.

"I'm fine. I'm going to go wake up the asshole and get geared, you coming?"

"Yeah."

Ritchie sighed about striking out and followed Morgan past the trio of cooks in the first room. They moved through the even larger room next door with multiple stations set up for Cocaine in various stages of repackaging, no less than 20 workers fussing over bags, boxes and tape, most all of them totally naked and wearing masks as they work with the powder, a rather strong barrier between the Meth production room and the Cocaine room in the form of about 10 sets of those Industrial flap door covers.

She avoided making eye contact with the packers, passing a room with an insanely heavy door and about six locks on it. That was the only room in the entire facility she hadn't been inside of, but she didn't dwell on it,  making a turn into the armory.

The armory was no slouch either, they'd massed a shit ton of guns, AK's, AR's, Shotguns of just about any type you can imagine, pistols, SMG's, LMG's...the list went on, racks and racks of them. The stink of drugs mixed with the scent of gun oil and ammunition in this room, it wasn't a bad smell at all, in her opinion.

She approached the small locker with her 'name' scrawled on it, marker on a piece of duct tape, opening it briskly, producing a holster for a Glock, clipping it onto her belt. In one smooth motion drew the handgun from the waistline of her jeans and firmly holstered it, a dull click signifying it's positive retention.

She reached in again silently, pulling out an SADF Pattern 83 chest rig, loaded with six AKM magazines, dropping it onto her shoulders and clicking the straps into place, she wore it lower than she needed to, the top of the carrier below her breasts, just avoid them being constricted by it all night and getting more uncomfortable than it had to be. There was a single M67 hand grenade stuck into the small pouch on the upper left, an AK bayonet had been grafted to the shoulder strap using paracord and some hopes and dreams. On her left side in the lower pouch there was a small medical kit and to the right of that in the spare pouch was a small radio, the antennae sticking out of the flap cover. A single Glock 17 magazine stuffed into the pouch near the grenade and the medpack.

"Hey, asshole." Morgan spoke, reaching in and slapping the AK racked inside the locker, a male voice echoing from inside it, very faintly Russian accented.

"Fuck off you lousy bitch, I'm sleeping."

"Nah, fuck you, get up." Morgan replied angrily, sneering at it, a man standing up before her as she blinks, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

He was tall, well groomed, and muscular. A full, dark beard on his face, it was about 2 inches or so long. His hair undercut around the sides and back, the top was long and slicked back neatly like they used to do back in the day, but he had a more modern look to him.

For example, he wasn't wearing a uniform at all, Just jeans and a grey waffle thermal shirt, the sleeves pushed up over his elbows.

He was a '72 Tula AKM, and he was in great shape, and she, being unimaginative called him "Tula" Not that he gave much of a shit.

Morgan, nor anybody else that were familiar with geists could figure out why this particular rifle was a guy, or why he wasn't uniformed. What she did know, was that his mere presence made female geists not want to be anywhere near her, not because he was particularly disgusting -- which he was, but more like they were scared of him for some reason. It took Ritchie's rifle almost 2 months to get used to the idea of him even being out with them, let alone come out into her human form at the same time, which she had yet to do in Tula's presence.

Regardless of whatever the fuck it was, he was off.

He seemed broken deeply, unstable, even.

There'd been male geists before. Morgan had researched them out of curiosity, and found they were volatile, but none of the stories she read were anything like Tula's.

He was DEEPLY disturbed, he liked to discharge on her while she was walking with the safety on, just to laugh at her freaking out about the ND that came from nowhere. He'd jam when they'd train, on purpose, of course, to make her times longer. He'd bite her fingers when she'd chamber check, closing the bolt on her hands.

Who knows what he'd do if she were faced with someone that was looking to hurt her.

But, oddly enough, out of all the guys here that come and go every day and night, picking and choosing from the various Waffegeists, she was the only one that could even hold him, he'd just turn on a man that picked him up and punch him or shove him away, or just flat out refuse to work, seizing his bolt carrier and safety to make them give up on trying.

As such, Bishop forced her to keep him, because a gun was a gun, and if it worked when she held it, it was good enough.

"You're with fatso again?" He rubbed the back of his head yawning, eyeballing Ritchie across the room getting his gear on.

"Can you not be an asshole for one night?" Morgan replied, lighting a cigarette, taking a drag from it and blowing smoke at her rifle's face.

"'Fraid not. It's in my nature." He replied nonchalantly, snatching the cigarette from her mouth and taking a drag of his own, blowing it back in her face before jabbing the filter back into her lips.

"Right...So why /do/ you work for me, anyway?" She asked dismissively still getting her gear to sit right, checking it all over without looking at him.

"You'd be happy about a woman touching you too if all you saw were sweaty red necks." He replied enigmatically, crossing his arms, clearly not the /only/ reason why, but it was a good enough answer.

"Whatever you say, princess." Morgan spoke, grabbing his wrist, nothing happening as she does it, the man just staring at her.

"What, trying to hold hands?" A smirk curled over his lips.

"Fuck you." She squeezed harder, forcing him into rifle form, getting a small string of Russian swears, of which the only word she understood was "Cyka."

Her forcefully snatching him up into a rifle when he was resistant could be described as 'unpleasant' for lack of a better term, like being forcefully stuffed into a box much too small for you without time to prepare.

A low growl sounded from the rifle as she loaded him, chambering a round and popping his safety up into the safe position, coming over to Ritchie. He was talking to his rifle, wearing a simple chest rig and holding an FNC with a red dot settled neatly on top of it, attached using one of those screw-on rails for the top of the upper receiver.

Ritchie stopped talking as his rifle did, turning to see Morgan and Tula standing nearby, his FNC, named Michelle, ultimately refused to speak when Tula was near by. She was petrified of him, much like the others. But she was strong willed enough to agree to function with him around as a bare minimum, which was all you could really ask.

Michelle would talk to Morgan, but...only if Tula was gone. She seemed like a nice girl, and she was happy to be used by Ritchie despite what she was actually being used -for-.

The two of them were sentries for the property the Cocaine and Meth facility was on, they walked the woods all night checking key points for break-in, "Persuading" anyone that might have the idea of snooping that it wasn't worth it to be here. They'd shot at a pair of hunters only 3 nights before, but intentionally avoided hitting them, just to scare them off. No cops showed up afterward, mostly because the land they were hunting on was illegal for them to be on. Just the same as the drug prep they were doing on it. And most normal folks were too scared shitless of the drug runners out here to do anything about them.

There was a lot of stress surrounding the guys out here, though...they seemed to be agitated. Morgan had heard rumors the pair of cops that went missing from the local PD had gotten killed by a pair of sentries like them to the west at the Heroine rig. In fact everyone from that particular part of the woods, a good 15 miles away always seemed spooked about something.

Something in the woods they said.

Morgan didn't buy it, she was far too old to be scared of the dark. Besides, the moon was bright tonight, she could see where she was going with ease, even without her flashlight.

They were probably some delusional fuckwits that were probably shooting up before their shifts anyway.

But, she did have to admit, it made her curious.

"Hey Ritiche." She spoke lowly, the two of them stepping into the woods, leaves crunching under their footsteps as they walked.

"What's up?" He replied in a similar tone.

"What's all this shit I'm hearing about something being out in the fucking woods over at the Heroine op? That just bullshit?" She sniffed a bit, finishing the cigarette she'd been smoking, stomping it out.

"Uhh...I'll be honest...It don't feel right over there. I was there 'fore it got dark. Shit feels all kinds of fucked up over there, I don't know what it is. Boys over there talkin' bout something watching them from the woods or something. I dunno what the fuck they're on about there, but...it definitely ain't a good feelin' over there that's for damn sight." Ritchie replied, keeping Michelle held close to his shoulder.

"Heh." Tula chuckled just a little bit, going quiet again right after.

His rough almost scaly sounding voice practically splitting the air between the two.

"The fuck is funny?" Morgan shot back, briskly.

"Nothing at all. There is nothing to fret in the dark wilds, my child." Tula replied dryly with his faint Russian accent, she could tell he was wearing some kind of smug expression just by the way his voice sounded.

But...there was something underlying in the way he talked, deep under there.

It honestly disturbed her, she felt the hairs on her neck bristle just a little with the way the words came from him.

"The fuck..." She replied slowly, looking down at her rifle.

"Fear is unbecoming on you, you know. Not unlike the weight you carry." Tula spoke again, his words still holding that menacing, heavy, dark tone.

And the /way/ he was talking.

It was like he wasn't the same 'person'.

"Quit fucking with me." She spoke sternly, frowning angrily, Ritchie speaking up.

"Who are you talking to, Vi?" He spoke with concern.

"Tula." She replied.

"...But he hasn't said anything since he laughed at us." Ritchie answered, his tone sounding a little worried.

"...Shut the fuck up." Morgan replied, shaking her head some, refusing to believe she'd been talking to nothing.

This was wrong.

Whatever the fuck that was...That voice, that tone.

That mannerism.

That wasn't Tula.

It sounded similar to him, like something was mocking him directly...if someone listened to the two voices on a tape recorder they wouldn't know the difference.

But she did.

She'd known this asshole for four months now.

She knew what his voice sounded like.

It was different...fucked up.

Like something was digging into the back of her mind and curling it's fingers around her grey matter -- as if there were a passenger in her head.

But it was gone now though, as if it were never there, the feeling making her shiver just a little bit, her mind racing trying to make sense out of it.

"You alright...?" Ritchie spoke again, reaching out and touching Morgan on the shoulder, the sense of his touch snapping her out of her intense thought, shaking her head some.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." She answered, sounding noticeably shaken, Tula uncharacteristically quiet.

Usually he'd take a chance to dive right in on her for being awkward, or laugh at her.

But he was silent.

The two of them moved on, patrolling, Morgan taking the opportunity to light up another smoke to calm herself down. She huffed just a bit, blowing the smoke from her nose in a pair of uniform jet-streams, her hand still around the pistol grip of her rifle, her mind still lingering on that voice. Was it Tula..? Was it something else? She chewed on her cheek walking silently in thought, finally opening her mouth and talking again. Evidence of her pondering coming through as she spoke.

"Hey Ritichie. Do y'all do anything else out here? Like. More than drugs?" She didn't sound much like herself when she spoke, the question itself practically dripping "I'm a fucking cop." but Ritchie had gone too far with her around to consider her a cop, answering the question cautiously.

"Uh...well. I don't know anything for myself. But. A buddy of mine has been real close to Mr. Boudreaux's operation. He said they been...playing with uh...Shit...I can't talk about this out here." He shook his head, clearly getting uncomfortable with the discussion, like something was spooking him about it.

"Don't bitch out on me...What else does Mr. Boudreaux do?" She asked, pressing a bit more.

"Alright...look....I unno if it's true, I heard the bunch of em fuck around out here...doin' some kinda devil worship." Ritchie shook his head some his grip tightening on the rifle, speaking again after a pause.

"Heard that they uh...Fuck it, I can't talk about this shit, Vi. It fucks me up, alright...Just know, the further up the chain you go with these guys. The more fucked up shit gets...That's all I know. I heard stories, but you sure as hell can't make me tell them to you, I'm fucking never saying a fucking thing about what I heard."

Ritche spoke again, fear was in his voice now, the usually jovial man totally shaken, refusing to utter another peep about it.

"How do I move up?" She asked again, looking over to Ritchie, finding him shaking his head.

"You don't wanna...I heard they make you do some 'loyalty' shit to get in with them...and you can't back out." He replied lowly, shaking his head some more.

"Do it. Do it. Do it. Do itDoitDoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoit"

"Cassilda"

Tula's 'voice' again...that strange sickening tone to it, ringing through her head, slowly getting faster and faster as if someone gradually sped up an old cassette tape.

Then that word.

The pain surged through her, enough to make her drop the rifle, falling to her knees, holding her temples.

"NGH! Stop! Stop it, Tula!" She shook her head, the sensation of a vicious migraine tearing her head to pieces, suddenly dropping away as she begged using his name, the pain disappearing again...Reality returning to her.

She was still standing on her feet, holding her rifle.

Did that actually happen?

Is this...real?

What the fuck was going on...

"Hey." Tula spoke finally. It was him this time...

"You're feeling that aren't you?" He spoke, more serious than usual.

"Something isn't right out here tonight. You should get back." Tula spoke again, whispering even, as if he didn't want Ritchie to hear.

Tula, ...the real Tula, was advising she get back to the building, it was unlike him to care about her.

Or to even concern himself with her at all.

It had to have been something noticeable for him to flip his personality so hard.

Morgan answered her rifle, whispering back lowly.

"What do you mean..."

"Just do it. Now. Tell fatso you're feeling sick, he'll be fine." Tula spoke commandingly.

"Leave him...? But--" She resisted a bit.

"Stop being such a fucking retard and do it. Now. Go." Tula growled his words, a heavy rasp to it, blending with urgency.

Morgan called out to Ritchie.

"Hey uh...Ritchie...Think you can finish this sweep on your own...? I'll come out with you on the next one." She faked sounding a little sick or uncomfortable.

"Uh...I mean I can, you sure you're okay?" He turned looking at her, Morgan waving her hand, dismissing him before he even approached.

"Yeah it's uh...lady things." She put her hand on her abdomen, immediately making him stiffen up, realizing what she meant and nodded.

"Y-yeah I got it, go ahead." Ritchie turned and kept walking into the dark woods, leaving Morgan and Tula there, turning and heading back.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on." Morgan spoke with a raw tone as soon as Ritchie was too far away to hear her, Tula growling a bit and cursing her for constantly asking so many questions.

"Fuck you, Cyka. I'm not telling you what's happening. I'm looking out for you, now get the FUCK back into the building." Tula damn near screamed at her, stripping her usual sense of authority, making her silently go along with what he barked at her. A strong sense of agitation sweeping over her as she briskly walked back through the woods, holding him closely.

She'd be lying if she said she weren't a little bit scared after what happened.

Honestly any excuse she could use to get out of these fucking woods right now was good enough, eventually clearing the woods and stepping into the clear cut driveway. The sense of dread and oppression instantly disappearing the moment she wasn't walking among the trees. It felt normal outside again, just by stepping onto driveway.

"Gone huh?" Tula spoke, noticing.

"Yeah...but...why do you kno--"

"Stop asking me questions and get inside." Tula commanded again, cutting her off, his voice not bearing any kind of negativity, again, extremely uncharacteristic of him.

She wasn't 10 steps back toward the building before a truck pulled up behind her, flashing it's lights at her.

"Hey. Get your ass over here."

Bishop spoke, leaning out the window of his truck, calling Morgan over, the sound of it's engine idling filling the dead night air.

With a heaving sigh she turns around, walking over to him, the man smoking a joint agitatedly, there was something on his shirt...was that blood? His face looked pale as he spoke to her, the smell of pot wafting over her as he spoke. He seemed scared, but he also had an air of "business as usual" about him.

"Yeah...?" She looked him over, the man staring at her.

"Get in. You're coming with me." He spat his words out.

She tipped her head just a little bit, seeming confused, but she wasn't going to tell him no, not after she was apparently on thin ice with him after the whole 'meth' thing. Rounding the truck and getting in the passenger's seat, Tula minding himself around Bishop, not saying a word. The inside of the truck was dingy, laden with drug paraphernalia, Two handguns within reach that she could see, one in the cup holder, another on the dashboard up near Bishop above the steering wheel, crammed up against the A-pillar. There were various tools and cables and wires on the floor of the passenger seat by her feet.

The truck started moving again heading up the driveway and to the building, Bishop hopping out and going inside, coming back with something in a bag, throwing it into the bed of the truck and getting back into the driver's seat. Only the sickly green glow of the instrument cluster and the radio illuminated the interior as he turned around and drove back up the pathway, leaving the Coke/Meth Building behind, heading out to the West.

"So what did you need me for...?" She finally split the awkward silence.

"Just shut up and do what I tell you when I tell you." He barked back, his hands gripping the wheel tighter.

"I also...uh had a question." She spoke again, cautiously, minding her tone.

"What." He growled a bit.

"How do I...get up higher in this shit. I'm not looking to be a sentry for the rest of my life, I don't want to be stuck in a shit apartment if I can help it." She spoke straight, laying out her 'concerns' about her living situation to Bishop, her words hanging in the air without a response for a minute.

"I ain't good with drugs anyways...but you know I'm fucking dependable to defend your shit, so you think I could be put on with something more serious or mayb--"

"Alright, alright. Shut the fuck up. Okay. You want to do some more raw shit, that it?" He turned, glancing at her while driving, puffing the joint again.

She nodded as he looked.

"Atta girl, I knew you were fucking smart. Come out here tomorrow night. We'll take care of you." He chuckled just a little bit, his words holding some kind of eerie mysticism to them, Morgan's eyes wondering once the talking stopped, her mind still dwelling on what happened before, and the tone of voice Bishop had spoken with. Her eyes surfing the interior of the truck, falling on something hanging from the rear view mirror.

Bobbing and swaying with the movements of the truck.

It was a small pyramid made from twigs, the long ends of each twig overlapping, tied together with a thin fiber, coiling around and around, thick enough to see, even in the dark.

Hair.

It was human hair.

She stared at it for a few moments, blinking a few times, soaking up the details of the small fetish hanging from the mirror, what looked like the rib cage of a small bird carefully interwoven into the center. Great care was taken in the construction of the odd little object. But staring at it made her feel as if part of her mind was losing it's grasp on what was real, the odd sensation swirling through her head again. Not unlike the way she felt in the woods...but there was no passenger, just the mysterious and sickening feeling that pushed her to her limit as she forced herself to break eye contact with it, the feeling subsiding promptly after.

Morgan stayed totally quiet for the rest of the trip, her eyes fixed on Tula's receiver, idly rubbing her thumb over the exposed fire selector notches.

Tula could tell she was nervous, not just because she was with Bishop--which was bad enough, but...because of what had happened to her earlier. And to top it all off now she was going toward the supposed hot bed of 'activity' in the woods, and she didn't know for what reason. He could tell she was ready for tonight to be over so she could go home.

The truck bobbed a bit as it drearily pulled into the obscured pathway for the Heroine operation.

Ritchie wasn't joking.

Even through the windows Morgan felt like something was sitting on her chest, confining her breathing. It felt as if there were hundreds of eyes from unknown creatures bearing down on the truck through the trees, all of the hairs on her neck stood up.

Her breathing spiked a bit.

What the fuck was this fear...

She tightened her grip on Tula carefully, her palms sweating, glancing at Bishop, whom appeared totally unconcerned.

As if it were just another patch of woods to him.

Morgan inhaled deeply as they came to a stop, the building was shrouded by massive trees, a few of which were draped with Spanish moss, eerily blowing in the wind like lost souls dancing lazily. The treetops here were so thick they blotted out the moonlight, obscuring the entire clearing for the small operation into total darkness.

The Heroine building was much smaller, there was only an RV parked nearby the building, draped with some camouflage webbing, the interior lights of the pick up truck blaring on as Bishop opened his door, Morgan slowly doing the same, staying on her side of the truck.

Tula took a moment to speak.

"Keep your head clear."

He almost sounded compassionate.

He could sense her unease.

The thought of him actually showing empathy for her almost enough to make her forget about the situation for a moment...almost.

The pressure crushing down on her was so sickeningly close to unbearable she had to fight the urge to get back into the truck and lock herself in. That feeling of being stared at, every nerve ending of her body responding to the sensation that she wasn't welcome here. She shook her head clear and kept in stride behind Bishop, catching up to him, the lanky man reaching the door of the building and shoving it open.

The stench of Heroine smacked her directly in the face. That anti-septic band-aid-y smell crossed with the strong nostril burning sensation of vinegar, it made twitch just a little, rolling her eyes in mild disgust.

Another smell was mingling with the drugs...It stank of rot.

It got stronger and stronger as she walked in, Bishop reaching up and flicking on a light, the entire building illuminating, rows upon rows of tables in the careful stages of being packed and loaded for transport.

It was dirty, dingy...sickly in here.

And that fucking smell, where the fuck was it coming from. She couldn't shake it.

Bishop turned and looked at her, smirking some.

"Stink?" He laughed a bit.

"Fuck...what the fuck is that...?" She choked her words pulling her teeshirt up over her nose like a mask.

"See for yourself." Bishop laughed a bit, grabbing a 'freezer' door and yanking it open, the stink surging into the room, smacking Morgan in the face like a sledge hammer, making her gag even through her shirt. He shined a light inside the freezer, illuminating a humanoid shape.

It was a cop.

He sat there in the freezer, that obviously wasn't fucking working...his skin was grey...bloating. Flies were swarming his rotting corpse. She could see the maggots dancing in his spoiled flesh, black necrotic juices running down the sides of his "Face"...or what was left of it. The only eyeball he had left bulged from it's socket, yellowing and clouding over. His jaw hanging, crooked to one side, the place where the jaw SHOULD be connected was blown away, his dried tongue swollen and turning a shade of brown, lolling out of his macabre smile.

The right side of his skull was split open, the back of his head mushroomed out like someone had put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The massive splatter on the freezer wall and all of his broken teeth a decent indication that her assumption was correct, birdshot holes peppering the ceiling, the blood long since having dried and gone sour.

Morgan shook her head staring at the body, turning and stumbling outside, dropping her shirt and voiding her stomach on the ground, Bishop laughing from inside the building at her, the stink burned itself into her memory, coupled with visage of the rotting body.

She puked again.

"Get it together." Tula admonished her, his words making her shake her head, spitting and wiping her mouth clean she turned and walked back, Bishop smoking with a smirk on his face as she returned.

"You fucked up my meth. You get to help me get rid of mister piggy." He laid his terms down, crossing his arms. The stink didn't bother him at all. It almost seemed like he liked the smell of it...the way he smiled.

"Ugh...fucking A....couldn't you have fucking done something with it earlier...the fuck..." Morgan shook her head as she talked, doing a good job of covering the dread and anguish she felt at the current moment.

"Bacon's no good if you leave it out in the fucking sun." She added, smirking a bit, keeping her character in check.

Bishop bought it, grinning back at her reply.

"Go get the bag I brought." Bishop waved his hand at her dismissively, going inside the freezer and grabbing the dead cops ankles, pulling him down to his back from his slouched sitting position in the freezer floor.

Morgan nods, turning and scurrying out of the building toward the truck, her composure starting to crumble as she gets a moment to herself, her emotions taking over, and starting to control her thought. She started to breathe heavy, her steps getting awkward.

Tula spoke calmly as she started to melt down.

"Keep your cool."

"Fuck...fuckfuckfuck...fuck..."

She whined, tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes, dwelling on the cop's body.

Tula admonished her again.

"Keep. Your. Cool."

He drilled the point home, demanding she don't lose it at the sight of a body.

"Yeah...Yeah."

She sniffed, wiping her face with her sleeve and reached over the side of the truck bed, grabbing the bag and lifting it. The contents jingling and jittering inside.

Then she heard it.

Rustling in the woods, just at the edge of the treeline. Her body froze like prey being loomed over by a predator.

Fear washed over her as she slowly turned to look.

She stood rigid, her eyes reading the environment to her right, the woods as inhospitable as they always were. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was staring.

Right.

At.

Her.

She could feel the weight of it's gaze, as if it were practically in front of her, breathing down her throat.

Her mind began to twist and contort reality as she stared straight ahead, racing at the possibilities.

The invisible tendrils of fear induced madness gripping her being as she kept staring, reaching down to her belt almost as if by instinct and pulled her flashlight, aiming it into the woods.

She clicked the tail cap.

There.

Hanging in the trees.

Another six of the twig fetishes, all wrapped with different colored human hair, a large bone in the center of each of them --suspended by the hair.

They all hung from varying levels ranging from about 8 feet up to 3 feet, all of them were of varying design, some with the twigs intersecting in V patterns, others in X shapes.

They were much, much bigger than the one in Bishops truck.

Her whole torso could fit inside of the largest, her hand in the smallest.

Morgan's mind exploded into wild thoughts, twisting and warping the reality around her in a sickening spiral, garish images flooding her mind.

The visions were of an alien looking city-scape, unlike any she'd ever seen before, far in the distance, burning with a bright yellow blaze, like a sun had ignited itself in the center of the city, immolating everything, yet...somehow keeping everything solid.

As if everything were simultaneously burning to ash and rebuilding itself like cells.

There were milk white, yet, dead trees lining a single path all the way to the city--miles from her location, far in the horizon.

On either side of the trees swept an endless expanse of swampland, the grasses swaying.

From the perfectly white trees hung rotting child's corpses suspended from brass hooks in their wrists, arms spread wide in a Y shape above them.

A corpse was in each tree.

Every tree, as far as she could see.

Dead children.

A triangular fetish just the same as all the others she had seen was encasing each of their heads.

She felt a warm, heavy, humid breeze blow over her body...It felt as if it was blowing -through- her.

Listening closely she could hear the sounds of low agonized moans and a single powerful heartbeat faintly, as if they were emanating far from the distance, yet circling her in the swampland.

She could hear a woman singing, but she couldn't make out the words, like pleasant sounding mumbles.

Her head felt like it was on fire.

"What the FUCK are you doing out there!?"

Bishop shouted from the building, snapping her out of her stupor.

She looked around, finding that Tula had fallen from her grip, along with the tools in the bag, and she had wandered all the way into the woods and was about 4 feet from the closest twig sculpture, her hand outreached toward it.

"A...ahhhh..." She shook her head, making an apprehensive sound, slowly backing away. She shook her head more, speeding up her movements as she did it, damn near bursting from the woods in a feverish rampage, slipping and falling to the ground as she cleared the woods into the clearing, sliding a little bit as she made contact with the dirt.

She shook the pain off quickly, jumping to her feet as swiftly as she could manage in her frightened state, scooping up the bag and Tula.

She sprinted back to the Heroine building, being in there with Bishop and the corpse was better than being out here with...with...

Whatever the fuck that shit was.

"What the fuck is wrong with you...? Didn't you hear me?" Tula spoke as she ran, not getting a response from the panicked woman carrying him, not pressing and keeping his mouth shut the moment Bishop was within earshot.

"You fucking hear me, you dumb bitch? The fuck were you doing?"

Bishop growled, a cigarette still burning in his mouth.

The cop's body had been stripped of it's clothes, Bishop was wearing the officer's equipment belt, fiddling with the pair of handcuffs.

"Sorry I...Bathroom."

She sighed a bit, formulating the quickest excuse she could muster, failing miserably at hiding her horror at the vision of that place burned into her head.

"What the fuck ever."

Bishop growls, shoving her aside and grabbing the bag, unzipping it and tossing her a hacksaw and some rubber gloves, as well as a smock made of black trash bag.

"Put that shit on and get to work on his arms. I'll do his legs."

Bishop did as he said, taking his saw and beginning to viciously hack the cop's legs off at the knees.

Morgan watched for a second and hesitantly began to do the same to his arms, closing her eyes, slowly drawing the saw across the cop's arm, feeling the blade bite into his distended greying flesh, cutting a bloodless fissure into the crease of his arm where his elbow bends.

She clenched her teeth a bit behind her tightly inward curled lips, drawing the saw again, deepening the cut, striking bone not a moment later, letting out a low sickened groan, and beginning to cut into the elbow...the joint...the tendon...

Pull and push.

Pull and push.

She quietly continued, turning her mind off, trying to tune out the sensation of the bite of the blade cleaving his rotting body to pieces.

She tried, anyway, but her body was going to remember the feeling of this sensation in her muscles until the day she died.

However, she had honestly forgotten what she was doing, like her mind was transporting her to a safe, clean place to save her from any more damage.

Trying to keep her from falling off the edge.

Hell, she'd even forgotten about the smell.

Until the saw scraped against the cement floor, grinding roughly, prompting her to move up to his shoulder and start the whole process over again.

Her hands were shaking, but she kept going, faster this time.

Her hands met a groove, sawing back and forth, her eyes averted the entire time, just trying to get the task over with.

She was going fast...

Maybe a little too fast.

She didn't notice the...juices...splattering on her gloves and smock until it was too late, a sizable amount finding it's home directly on her face, immediately sending her into a spitting sputtering fit, dropping the saw and shaking her head wildly, unable to wipe her own face due to the gloves.

"Fuck! Ah! Ah my fucking god!"

She flailed her arms a bit, unable to do anything about it, Bishop only laughing at her plight.

"Shut up and finish. I've got shit in the truck for that."

He chuckled a bit, turning his eyes back down to his work, hacking away again, finishing shortly, Morgan doing the other arm in record time as if she -wanted- to do this shit.

"One more, Chica."

Bishop moves his boot forward, tapping the dead cop on top of his head, making it move a little bit.

"Urgh..."

She rebelled a little, closing her eyes and turning her head as she met the blade to the corpse's neck, groaning a bit and sawing as quickly as she could to end it. She felt her stomach turn as the fibers and tubes of the neck met the blade, finally ending up in a stiff cut at the back of the neck, eventually meeting the floor with a much welcome "SCRKKK" on the concrete.

"There. All done. Help me bag 'em up and we can finish this bullshit."

Bishop sighed, flapping open a trash bag, grabbing body parts and bagging them up, transferring them into the duffel bag, a second bag for the torso and head.

"Alright, get your ass in gear, lets go."

He lifted both bags almost effortlessly, only a small grunt escaping his lips as he hoisted it up, Morgan pulling her gloves off and grabbing Tula, following bishop out to the truck, shedding the smock and stuffing it into the bag Bishop had put his in.

She hastily dropped Tula into the passenger seat and rummaged the truck finding a small package of wet one's wipes, immediately going to work on cleaning her face off, acting almost frantic as she did it, going through half the package, scrubbing as hard as she could...she could still smell it on her skin.

The foul stench.

"Stop fucking wasting my shit and get in the fucking truck!"

Bishop growled, forcing the woman into the passenger's seat, her hands finding Tula's grip and fore-end again almost magnetically as she sat in the truck staring blankly ahead out of the windshield.

"Fuck me! You stink! Haha~...You can go home after we get rid of him."

She just nodded flatly at Bishop's words, as if she'd gone totally despondent, focusing every fiber of her being to keep herself from breaking down into a fit of tears, squeezing Tula as tight as she could muster.

It was uncomfortable for him, being squeezed by a desperate woman, but he took it in silence.

She didn't let up her grip, not for a second, just staring out the window, watching the woods give way to fields, giving way to more woods. The pathway disappeared into the forest's natural environment, trees of all types sprouting from all kinds of locations. She didn't even see if there was a turn he'd failed to take.

She didn't care.

Bishop stopped the truck, a small pit was in the ground, pre-dug.

He got out of the truck with a silent grunt, Morgan staying totally dead still. The feelings of dread and fear and sadness and anxiety feeling as if they'd become the norm for her...her mind was losing it's grip on her ability to function, Bishop slammed his fist down on the hood of the truck.

She gasped a bit, shaking her head in shock at the sound, snapping out of her empty stare, promptly getting out, leaving Tula behind in the truck's cab, grabbing a shovel she reported to the pit, watching Bishop dump the cop, and then helping him fill the 5 foot deep hole part way, watching him wander off into the woods and dragging another bag back behind him, dropping it into the hole.

Just one.

It was smaller.

She sat there for a moment her brain trying to formulate what it was, flashing back to all possible angles on what the fuck could be that small, yet fill a whole 50 gallon trash bag.

K-9.

K-9 was on the cop's coat.

She'd glazed over it, her mind too occupied with the officer's current appearance.

"Man...I tell ya, skinnin' a dog an' finding a micro-chip is a real bitch."

Bishop gloated a bit, the subject forcing Morgan to draw up what the poor animal looked like in her head, shuddering a little bit, silently beginning to fill the hole again.

She was moving quicker now, doing anything to get herself out of here, finally running out of dirt, a neat little mound where the two bodies lay, bishop smoothly leveling it out and covering it with the leaves laying around.

"S'get the fuck outta here."

Morgan croaked her words, turning around and carrying the shovel back to the truck dropping it in the bed, getting in the cab to find Bishop sitting there, cross legged on the ground by the grave.

Doing something to it.

She couldn't quite tell what it was...

Until he stood up.

He'd left a small teepee of sticks on the grave, pieces of hair and twine dangling from the top ends, obscure items hanging from the strings, swaying lazily in the empty breeze, she closed her eyes as soon as she recognized it and kept them that way as he walked to the truck and opened the door.

She didn't dare open them, feeling the truck back up and turn around, heading back to the Meth building.

She heard him light a cigarette. She smelled the smoke.

She didn't dare open her eyes.

The ride felt like it took forever as he stopped, about to say something, But Morgan had already grabbed Tula and gotten out, closing the door behind her.

Bishop laughed at her, watching her walk straight to her Jeep, clamoring into it, Tula staying just as he was in rifle form, silently watching her from the passenger seat.

She didn't even realize she'd carried him with her into the car with her.

Morgan kept her face straight for as long as she could, peeling out of the driveway and barreling down the path, hitting the paved road with a chirp of her tires, speeding away from the woods as fast as the old Mopar would take her.

The further away from the woods she got, the less she could control herself.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she kept her composure...reasonably well, small whines escaping her lips every so often as she sped along, finally slowing down when the two lane road gave way to a highway, and buildings larger than two story homes began to litter the streets. Other cars were around still at 3:23 AM.

She was inches from a breakdown as she pulled into her parking garage, her hands were shaking as she got out of the jeep, her mag carrier and all still on, leaving Tula behind.

He watched her quietly, having changed to his human form when she'd left the Jeep, blinking just a bit, a cold expression on his face. She'd forgotten she'd even brought him. He narrowed his eyes, just a little as she stepped out of view and into the starway, following her and keeping his distance, watching the apartment she went to and then going back down to the Jeep, sitting in it without a single word.

You could say the salty bastard was concerned about her.

But not in a friendly way.


She was giving him strange vibes the way she was acting, and he intended on discovering what the fuck her problem was, one way or another.

Morgan sat silently in the shower, letting the scalding hot water run over her body, her knees tucked to her chest. She sobbed just a bit to herself, her eyes wide, staring straight ahead, rocking herself back and forth.

Her mind was blank.

She sat in the shower for what felt like 2 hours, eventually getting out once her skin couldn't take the abuse anymore.

She shed her colored contacts and quietly pulled on some underwear, her eyes totally dry of tears now.

She was totally empty inside.

Sniffing flatly, she grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels off her counter top and carried it with her to bed, her apartment pitch black save for the light pollution coming in from outside.

She curled up in bed, her shoulder was to the headboard, knees to her chest, just as she was in the shower. Drinking directly from the bottle, she stared out of her window at the streetlight down on the corner...Not at the light pole, or the sidewalk...not the road...not the car under it.

The light.

She kept her eyes utterly and completely transfixed on the orangeish yellow street light, blinking only once every 3 to 4 minutes. With a low sigh Morgan finally closed her eyes once the bottle was completely empty, her mind in a haze from the mass amount of alcohol she had consumed, seeing the sky turning a dreary dark purple.

The sun was rising...


She fell asleep.

She slept so hard she didn't notice the sound of an intruder walking into her apartment, rummaging through her things, looking them all over, looking at the way she was living. Her UC apartment was utterly trashed. Tables and chairs were in places that made no sense, there were empty bottles and full ash-trays everywhere. Carry out boxes littered the floor and the kitchen counter, dirty clothes lay on the floor, untouched...

She woke up a few hours later, finding the room had been totally cleaned. Her badge and UC phone, as well as her paperwork credentials were gone from their place on her night stand, arranged neatly in a row on the Kitchen table, her brown contacts in their case resting above everything, her eyes turning to find Tula sitting at the table with his arms folded, fingers drumming on his bicep.

He opened his mouth and spoke with an accusatory tone, his accent a bit thicker than usual.

"You have something to be telling me?"

"..." Morgan stiffened up as she made eye contact with her rifle, a flood of apprehension washing over her seeing him with all of her identifying documents.

A pit grew in her stomach as she squeezed the bottle in her hand tight...

Would he give her up?

Would he tell those that he 'served' about who she was.

What she was...

The pace of her breathing picked up a little, her heart following, nervousness taking over.

"I...uh....um...Tula...I.."

She stammered, trying to find the right words, the Geist standing agressively, knocking the chair out from under him and slamming his hands on the table in front of him, making the items bounce a little bit.

Rage crossed his face as he stared, his hair falling from it's slicked back, neat location, a few locks falling into his face.

"Are you cop?" He spoke, his accent thicker still, as if he were having trouble controlling it.

"Y-Yes..."

Morgan seemed defeated...normally she'd have fought back...blown it into this asshole for being so aggressive...but after last night...

"I'm undercover..."

She spoke softly, her eyes averting from her rifle's frame, back to the window.

"What is name? REAL. Name."

Tula growled, rolling his R.

"Detective Morgan McCray..."

She spoke even softer still, like a child that was being publicly scolded, speaking again.

"W-What....what are you going to do..."

Tula stared at her firmly, his furious stare boring through her for a solid 30 seconds before he turned around, bending down and picking up the chair he knocked over. He let out a calm sigh, crossing his arms while standing, pulling his lips to one side as he thought about his reply, finally speaking.

"Nothing. I will do nothing."

He sounded reassuring, making Morgan unfurl a little bit, turning to look at him, his hair back in place, the fury she'd seen on his face totally gone, back to his usual cool self.

"...You live like shit. I cleaned." He spoke again, sniffing and wiping his nose, nodding a little as if he were proud of himself for it.

"...Thanks...I'm...sorry I lied to you..."

She looked up at him, apologetically, her eyes were hollow, as if part of her soul had been taken last night.

The things she saw...the way she felt...the...thing she helped do...

"Bah." He waved his hand, shaking his head as if he didn't want to hear it, staring at her after a moment.

"You will tell me why you were so shaken by the cop, though." He sat down on the bed with his back to her, slipping his boots off and stretching, waiting for her to say something.

"I...knew him--not well...but he was my contact from the local department, and...I...was supposed to check in with him and the others and I...--"

She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening, the color draining from her face.

"What is it?" Tula turned when she abruptly stopped talking, seeing her expression.

"He'd been dead for weeks...right...you saw that...?"

"Da...he was rotten, why?"

"He just talked to me on the phone that afternoon...I know it was him...he asked...for me to check in more often..."

She sounded panicked, her lungs heaving air a bit faster, cold chills running down her spine her breaths getting short and quick, fear gripping her again.

She thought of it for a moment...remembering his words.

She didn't check in...

So he went to investigate.

But how...how did he call...and talk...he had clearly been dead for much much longer than that...

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her hands curled into fists, squeezing the blankets as she sucked in air, leaning forward...She let out a scream.

"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME!"

She pounded on the bed wildly smacking her fists against it, tears falling from her eyes, her rampage stopping before it could even really get started by the warm hand on the back of her neck.

"Stop. Is fine. Is fine..." Tula spoke softly, his usual asshole way of behaving totally gone.

His words were genuine...

His touch was kind...

"...I...I..."

Morgan shook her head, her hair covering her face as she immediately turned, her face obscured, grabbing Tula and hugging him closely, her head pressed into his broad chest, her face hidden in his shirt. He felt moisture coming through the fabric, but she wasn't losing herself to grief.

She was simply crying softly, a few little tremor shooting through her here and there, sobbing just a little.

He growled just a little at the sensation, holding his hand awkwardly over her head before lowering it hesitantly, touching her and returning the hug slowly, he acted as if he didn't know where to touch her.

Like she was a small dainty animal and his hand would hurt her.

He sighed a bit, laying back and holding her there, letting his 'owner' lay on top of him.

His strong arms around her back made her feel...safe.

She had forgotten what it was like to be in such a position with a man.

Morgan stopped crying a few moments later, falling asleep again, the warmth of another being putting her at peace for a while, his heartbeat carrying her off into an empty sleep.

She woke hours later, the same warm feeling around her.

Tula hadn't moved, a blanket pulled over her body, his eyes staring straight up at the ceiling, half-lidded.

"You are awake?" He asked without looking down, noticing her moving.

"Mmh...yeah..." She nodded just a little bit, but not moving, her mind drifting back to last night...it all felt like a bad memory that had happened years ago, her usual attitude slowly coming back, as if she were recovering slowly.

"I didn't pin you for the caring type."

She spoke with a small smirk curling across her lips.

"Shut up, Bitch. It's one thing to care, it's another thing to not let someone tear themselves apart."

Tula fired back quickly, not giving her the slightest bit of satisfaction--letting her think she got under his skin.

But no matter how much he fought, or denied it.

The stupid bitch had.

He couldn't even stay mad at her for being a fucking cop.

He sighed a bit at the prospect, closing his eyes as he did it his firm chest rising and falling smoothly under her head.

"Mgh..." Morgan groaned a bit, sitting up slowly, acting as if she really didn't want to move, but doing so anyway. Her hair was a mess, her bright blue eyes heavy with sleep, one of the straps to the small black camisole she had on having fallen off her shoulder.

She honestly looked adorable.

Not that Tula would admit it, or that she would believe him if he said it.

"So...What is plan...'officer'" Tula mocked her, but his expression was flat. He pulled himself upright in her bed, looking at her as she stood up, fixing the strap to her small tank-top, adjusting the leg hole of her panties with her thumb, yawning as she did it.

"...Well...I'm supposed to...I was supposed to...Get information on major players so I could bring the organization down from the inside...But now it seems like." She paused and sighed, running her fingers through her hair and closing her eyes.

She opened her eyes after a moment and slowly wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her sides nervously.

"It seems like...I'm...getting pulled under. Like...something's...forcing me to go deeper. Even though I want out. I want to go home...I want to see my dad again..."

She sniffled just a little bit.

Her back was to him, but he could tell she was crying.

That woman that he'd met 4 months ago wasn't here right now.

That powerful, egocentric domineering woman had melted away, long lost to those woods.

She didn't get in that Jeep last night.

What he was looking at now was...a lost little girl, in way over her head in something she couldn't ever begin to understand.

Something he was a part of.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, folding his arms in front of him and letting it go, watching her slowly turn and walk to the bathroom, listening to the shower start.

The constant patter of the water against her body and the shower wall and floor gave the dreary run down apartment a sense of eerie calm, Tula looking it all over carefully, chewing on his tongue a little bit trying to tune out the mild sense of unease he'd had about his 'owner' since he got into this room.

It wasn't that she was a cop, no.

It was something else, like simply being around her caused some kind of oppressive aura that made him feel colder inside than he already was, he couldn't put a finger on just what it was...

Was this what she felt like in those woods?

He thought to himself, hearing the shower stop, breaking his circle of thought.

She came out a moment later, pulling her clothes on still, retrieving her colored contacts and putting them into her eyes, rolling them to get the lenses seated.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She spoke while she was getting ready to go back...to that place, her consciousness actively rejecting that reality, deciding to occupy itself with talking to Tula.

"Yes."

"How did you get into my apartment...?" She seemed almost intrigued.

"I followed you up here. Then I waited in car...Looked through glove box and I found spare key. You should be more careful."

He crossed his arms, and leaned back a little bit, his eyes resting on the TV.

"Why don't you talk around Bishop...did he do something to you?" She held a curious tone as she asked, Tula going rigid.

"I'm not answering that." He was extremely rough in the way he answered her, sounding similar to Bishop himself in his tone.

"The fuck? I'm just asking..." She replied defensively.

"There are things you deserve to know. And things you do not. That is something you do not fucking deserve to know."

He was talking even rougher now, his voice raising a little bit. He wasn't playing games with her.

She opted to drop it, not saying anything more, the calm air between them becoming heavy with tension.

Tula grimaced acting as if he wanted nothing to do with her again, the two of them walking down to her Jeep, his stiff angry demeanor not going away the entire trip out of the city to the woods.

Dread crept it's way back over Morgan as she saw the massive hulk of woodland fill her vision, rolling down the backwoods road. She witnessed the treeline devour her small truck like a hungry colossus in the dark, swallowing it entirely, looking through her rear-view seeing the entrance of the forest seemingly seal up behind her.

It was as if no light existed here apart from her headlights, the faint glow only barely serving to illuminate the road in front of her, even with her high beams on.

...It wasn't long before she began to feel her personality shift back to where it was last night, a sickening nervousness set in.

She let out a low shaky sigh, gripping the wheel tighter, Tula having long since turned into his rifle form was resting in the front seat, watching her drive, ready to be picked up when he would be needed. She turned and pulled down the roadway for the Meth facility, finding it totally dark, her headlights illuminating a congregation of people standing in a perfect row across the entrance of the drive way, all of them in white robes...with masks on their faces...but not just any masks.

They each wore the head of a deer.

An -actual- head.

She would have thought they were taxidermized...if not for the blood dripping off the heads and onto the white linen robes they were draped in, soaking the necks and shoulders of the fabric.

Looking closely she could make out that each of the people were wearing one of those...little fetishes around their necks with twine.

She stared, totally frozen, breaking her fearful stillness and reaching over for Tula in a lunging fashion and pulling him into her hands.

He spoke as she touched him...that horrifying tone in his voice again...boring a hole into the back of her head, the passenger writhing it's way back into her skull, it's words ringing through the innards of her psyche.

"Do not fear us. You have come to merge into one being as we have, Cassilda."

With a yelp she dropped Tula as if he'd become super heated, sending the rifle clattering down to the floorboard of the Jeep immediately clutching her temples and squeezing her hair, shaking her head in agony, pain shooting through her spine and into her head, like someone had taken a power drill and pressed the bit to the base of her skull, boring a hole slowly through her skin and into her bone.

"The fuck are you doing!" Tula growled a bit, shouting, the 'passenger' in her head going silent, opening her eyes to find that she now has pointed Tula muzzle first straight at her own chest, her thumb on his trigger, his safety off, a mere 2 pounds from putting a bullet right into herself.

Did...she do this?

Was it that...thing?

She immediately adjusted Tula turning him away from her body, a small whine escaping her lips, sitting straighter, tears in her eyes, breathing wildly, a cold sweat soaking her, staring at the cultists in front of her.

A taller figure emerged from the beings draped in white robes with masks...

This one donned a black Ram's head with long curled horns, wearing a black clergy cassock style robe with extremely pale yellow vestment draped over his shoulders, trailing all the way down to the ground.

His body stayed perfectly at the same level as he moved.

He didn't bob up and down as he walked like a normal person...it seemed as if he were floating, or...slithering.

"Morgan. I'm going to need you to stay very calm..." Tula spoke...the real one...

His tone was careful and cautious, reminding her of a guardian of some kind.

He spoke again when she nodded in understanding, her face stricken with panic.

"They call him Bishop for a reason. And it's not because it's his name."

The tall black figure, whom was presumably Bishop hoisted his hands from his sides, revealing gauntlets on his hands made of bone, the "fingertips" sharpened to a point on all 10 fingers, holding both hands out to her, palm up, fingers spread, beckoning her out of the Jeep to them, the sight making her want to throw the Jeep into reverse...

But something inside of her wouldn't let her put her hand on the gear shift.

She took several breaths, exhaling harder with each one, putting her hand on the door handle and opening it, keeping Tula in her grip, She pushed the door open, holding the rifle at her side, slowly step after step approaching the tall figure.

If this was Bishop he'd gotten about six inches taller...

She gulped a bit, walking toward him, letting him place his hands on her shoulders, turning her out to face the headlights of the jeep, speaking loudly and clearly through the Ram head covering his face, as if nothing were obscuring his mouth.

"Ave, Satanas"

He said simple words, The group of at least 20 repeating the phrase.

"We congregate today to bring a very special sister into the fold. She has proven an invaluable asset in the defense of our many functions. She has also proven that the laws of man do not dictate her morality in servitude."

He pauses for a moment...Morgan had had her eyes closed the entire time, opening them to find the circle of white robed ritual goers have surrounded her and Bishop, looking in at her, Immediately making her close her eyes again.

"Our lords have spoken to me in a dream. They speak in glorious riddles. Riddles I have mulled for many a day and night. But I have seen the sign last night! I have found the answer! The girl sees Carcosa! She is to become a Disciple of the Pale King!"

A collective sound of excitement escapes the lips of the congregation, a small clamor flaring up among them.

"Do bear in mind!" Bishop splits the talking with his own words, continuing once everyone stops chattering amongst themselves.

"Do bear in mind. This youngling must complete the trials. It would as such be folly to think her suitable for the King's mantle without first completing them!"

The congregation remains silent, Bishop moving a hand from her shoulder to the top of her head, resting it firmly there to keep her still.

"Prepare her."

Bishop lifts his hand off of her head, fading back and away, the congregation circling Morgan, grabbing her up, ignoring her initial struggle, relieving her grip of Tula, stripping her of all of her protection, draping a robe over her body, followed by a wooden fetish around her neck.

She gasped a bit.

The small, light twig felt as if it weighed 90 pounds on her neck, she could barely stand, it felt as though it were crushing her spine, yet simultaneously weighing nothing.

She could stand and move, but the invisible force around her neck...it was hard to breathe.

She started to panic a bit, her eyes darting around wildly.

She looked and looked...she couldn't see who had taken Tula.

She didn't know where he was...

She bit her tongue to keep herself from breaking down, another of the Congregation stepping over to Morgan, neatly laying a small wooden crown atop her head, flowers woven into the the dried thistle vines, each of the thorns painstakingly removed so that it would be comfortable to wear....

She reached up to touch it....a pair of antlers rose from either side of the crown, her shadow in the moonlight like that of some ghastly beast.

Panic was just about to totally set in before she laid eyes on Tula finally.

The man that had taken him from her grip was holding him flat, across both of his arms as if he were carrying a pillow that supported an extremely valuable object.

The congregation turned Morgan and began to guide her off into the woods, Bishop's eerie tall frame waiting at the mouth of the forest with a small lantern held in his left hand, lighting him up, the flames dancing off of him and the ground and the trees near by, shadows throwing themselves all over his terrifying visage.

The very moment she approached Bishop he reached up, touching her cheek with his bone gauntleted hand, wiping a tear away carefully.

He turned silently, beginning to lead the way through the woods, the only one carrying the lantern, the congregation followed in a perfect line.

Morgan turned and looked, the man carrying Tula was three people back, still holding him in the exact same way as before as he moved forward.

Morgan looked all around, a cold feeling gripping her at the base of her spine as she kept walking, looking up into the trees.

There were the Fetishes.

Hundreds upon hundreds of them, hanging from the trees all over from the branches...on the forest floor, lining the pathway.

Everywhere.

She felt the whirling vortex in her head begin to spin as she closed her eyes to keep it away.

She felt whispers in the furthest reaches of her mind, none she could make out clearly, only that it was happening.

Then a word rang out above all, every single voice in her head speaking in some strange unified hive-mind like way.

"Carcosa."

It was a deep rumbling, as if they melded into one voice.

It shook her to her bones.

Her eyes snapped open as she gasped deeply as if she'd been stabbed in the chest with an adrenaline shot.

That city was much much closer now.

She could see the city now much clearer than before.

It was perched upon an unnatural "island" in the center of an endless stretching lake, which fed the swamp land she was standing in apart from the single dirt path...lined with those trees she couldn't bear to look at.

There was a thick fog engulfing the lower portions of the city, including the "gates" she was approaching, only faint indications of some wrought iron spikes atop some massive stone walls.

Soft waves were lapping against the shoreline of the city she lay her eyes on, the rolling breaks fading from sight into the heavy fog, looking more and more like an ocean with each labored step she took along the path.

The city was no longer burning as it was in her first vision, simply a mysterious and haunting visage of of some other-worldly rendition of some Gothic Pre-Industrial era European architecture. Incredible twisting and sprawling spires twisting up high above the base of the city's street level, she felt as if she were only singular miles away. She could take in the details, she could what appeared to be a myriad of some phantasm-esque stained glass windows. Unnatural shapes stuck together in the buildings as if she were seeing someone's distorted memory of what the city looked like.

She could see basic forms and shapes, but no fine details...like a blurry veil had been pulled over the entire cityscape.

And only the city.

Looking up, she beheld a sky blanketed with black stars, blacker than the night sky themselves. A hollow, swallowing void, each the stars. As if the sky had been inverted and someone had taken the night sky and savagely stabbed thousands of holes into it with a needle. 3 yellowish red moons lazily hung at her north, east and north west, the three of them each different sizes, yet....they seemed to orbit.

Orbit just the city, staying in their orientation with each other.

As if this city were the center of their universe.

Listening her ears picked up the sound of that heartbeat pulsating off in the distance.

The woman's voice from before was singing again...she could make out the words.

"Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa."

She dwelled on the the gorgeous yet haunting melody, a warm feeling flushing through her body, the song becoming louder and clearer.

"Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa."

It was coming through even clearer still...powerful and clear...

"Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa."

She froze, the song freezing with her.

She was the one singing it.

She opened her mouth, letting the rest of it come from her own lips.

"Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa."

A great pain suddenly shot through her chest, as if her heart was tearing itself to pieces...her body breaking free of her control, dropping to her knees on the ground, gasping in pain, blood poured from her mouth, blood beginning to pour from a pinhole in the center of her chest soaking her white robe red.

She twitched violently feeling her muscles spasm under in her death throws, her eyes rolled back into her skull, her tongue lolling out.

She felt every agonizing detail of her organs failing before her consciousness faded into nothingness.

"GYAH!"

She gasped again her eyes snapping wide open with a great panic, grabbing her chest desperately finding it to be perfectly dry.

She was still walking on the path behind Bishop, trailed behind by the congregation...

The visions...

Morgan shivered a bit, trembling and trying to shake off the feeling of what happened.

The sensation of being impaled from the inside out felt all too real...as if she could feel the pike that did it pushing through her torso, stretching her bones apart.

She felt her heart stop, and the cold suffocating feeling of her body's function coming to a halt.

And yet suddenly, as if nothing happened.

Here she was.

Walking.

Just like last time...

She looked around, still the woods having grown even thicker, so much so that branches were now brushing up against her shoulders and the antlers on top of her tiara.

She looked into the trees, seeing shapes darting around between them...

She had convinced herself it was her mind playing tricks, watching them shoot back and forth, but the dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach beginning to burrow it's way back into place as she deepened her breathing, clenching her empty hands into fists, biting her lip to contain her fright.

They walked in a perfect line for what felt like an hour, traversing deeper and deeper into to the heart of the woods, eventually approaching a massive stone building.

The structure was old and worn, as if it had been here for hundreds of years. It was above ground, the moss from the forest as well as saplings and other forms of thistle and vegetation having long attempted to swallow the building and reclaim it, a hollow drone escaping from the open mouth of the entrance.

Morgan stayed dead silent, following Bishop into the odious structure, not daring to use the light from his lantern to look around on the off chance she may see something that scars her for life.

Her eyes stayed down at her feet as she walked, simply following after Bishop, her eyes taking in all the details of the dirt floor, emerging from the interior and back to the exterior, the inside branching open into a sort of courtyard.

The building sprawled through the woods, shoulder high grasses and bushes of all sorts sprouting from the ground, vines wrapping themselves around the decaying brick walls.

She looked around, taking the structure in, gorgeous archways leading back into whatever this fucking place was...definitely a relic of a time long long past.

She could hear the sounds of swamp creatures prattling off in the distance, the low hum of frogs and creaking and crickets chirping painting the sounds of the swamp, an occasional splash here and there indicating the water isn't far away at all.

With each faint breeze she felt she could hear the swamp grasses rubbing against each other in a faint rustle.

She looked up finding the thick canopy of trees was no longer present above them...and likely had stopped being there for quite a while.

Her meekness and lack of desire to move her head spurred on by the horrifying visions she was being force fed by some dark entity forced her hand...namely in the direction of acting like a chastised child, staring at her feet.

Bishop continued to walk, ducking just a bit as he entered an archway, leading the entire group back within the bowels of the impressive and sprawling structure, Morgan emboldened just a little by her look outside.

She dared to look around, biting her lip again as she took in gigantic driftwood erections mimicking the form of those fucking stick periapts; crossed with massive home made ropes of dried grass, so many of them in fact they lined the archways with the driftwood overhead, as well as both sides of the long hallway they were now moving down.

Morgan stayed as quiet as a mouse, feeling the creeping sensation of cold brushing her skin, as if they were descending under ground, noting that the massive structure was in fact heading downward in a very gradual slope, and the only sounds she could hear were the footsteps of Bishop and the congregation behind her, reverberating off of the decaying brick walls.

looking around the passageway in morbid curiosity she took in impressive drawings of black stars lining the entire length of the walk way, detailed drawings of incredibly disturbing satanic icons and cosmic runes, all written in some language she couldn't understand.

Staring at the odd text made her feel as if she were going mad, her mind squirming trying to comprehend what the fuck this text read, and what it all meant.

She opted to look away from it again, turning her face straight ahead and closing her eyes, keeping her same pace, running directly into Bishop's back before long, giving him quite a jolt, to which he stayed totally silent, Turning off at a 3 way forking path and continuing along, finally emerging into a massive rectangular chamber with a very faintly vaulted ceiling, a giant hole in the top center of the ceiling, letting moonlight in.

Bishop went about lighting a single brazier, the flames surprisingly glowing a sickly greenish blue as they washed the entire chamber in their awful light, her eyes rolling over the surfaces of the walls, and the little charms and the like hanging from the ceilings, little bits and pieces of bone suspended by string here and there.

There was tons, of that writing that made her head hurt literally overlapping on the walls so many scriptures of it had been written, jagged spirals and sigils totally covering the surfaces.

It was only when Bishop stepped aside that she saw it.

Their altar.

There was a large flat rock that seemed to naturally rise out from the ground they were standing on, totally rubbed smooth.

It lay totally level, small ruts along the outer edges to drain...what she could only assume was blood into a large wooden bowl below.

But what shocked her less than the fact sticky coagulated blood was on the rock formation, was what stood behind it.

There was a massive gnarled, putrid pillar of driftwood standing no less than 10 feet tall.

It was topped by a great moose's skull, rib cage and spine, the antlers stretching and looming out over the rock, deer's antlers transfixed onto the moose skull between it's great scoop like horns.

The Moose's spine stretched down, blending into the driftwood, making it seem as if it were standing on it's hind legs and looking down at her.

Eight great 'arms' stretched off of the moose's carcass from the rib cage, making an X pattern, all made from driftwood and bone, draped with gnarled and even more grisly fetishes than she had ever seen, all of these ones made with what were unabashedly human remains.

On four of the eight arms were tattered pale yellow tapestries, hanging down all the way to the ground of the chamber, flapping just a bit in the breeze, making the beastly monstrosity seem as if it were extending it's arms to it's side in welcome.

Upon the twisting husk were six human skulls, 2 with their jaws still in tact, antlers belonging to another moose strung up to the center most human skull. It was suspended perfectly in the middle of the massive game animal's rib cage, a yellow dusting was thrown onto this skull in particular, the others void of any special features.

There were two smaller skulls to the left and to the right of the prominent human skull, sitting on the driftwood 'shoulders' cocked inward toward the one in the center, about 6 inches lower than the be-horned human head.

From these 'shoulders' two arms made of gnarled wood and bone reached out, a burnt, black, charcoal star hanging from the two appendages, hanging neatly above what she'd now deemed the 'sacrifice' table.

Morgan blinked and shuddered just a bit, her eyes going further down the terrifying image in front of her...

The last 3 skulls were tiny...

Very tiny...

She could hold the smallest of them in one of her hands and it would barely fill it...the owner couldn't have been more than six years old...these three each wearing little dried thistle tiaras.

Each with their own tiny set of antlers.

She let out a small gasp as the realization of what she was looking at set in, beginning to see bits and pieces of children's bones spread about this nauseating construct in front of her.

...It etched itself into her memory permanently, burrowing itself happily into the folds of her grey matter, gladly stripping away portions of her childhood ignorance and bliss at the behest of these dead children in front of her.

Morgan swallowed the urge to turn and run off, away from this place for good...never come back...The only thing keeping her from doing it is the fact she had no idea how to get back to where her Jeep is.

And she wasn't going to run without Tula.

As mind landed on Tula,  she turned to look for the man holding him; and after a second of looking from person to person, there he was.

She felt a small wave of relief brush over her as she took in her rifle's shape being held still in the dancing flame.

Bishop stood neatly, extinguishing his lantern and stepped in front of the altar, the congregation moving into position, a large man in the group, placing his hands on Morgans shoulders, holding her still in front of the altar.

"The time has come to give honor and reverence to the Pale King and his Nine Angels." Bishop began as the congregation hummed an odd sound in response to his words.

"The Demons are, the Demons were,
and the Demons shall be again. They
came, and we are where they sleep,
and we watch for them. They shall
sleep, and we shall die, but we shall
return through them. We are their
dreams, and they shall awaken. Hail
to the ancient dreams."

Bishop held his bone-gloved hands out to his sides as she spoke with a powerful authority, the congregation all following his verse with a line of their own.

"I 'A ry'gzengrho."

Bishop turned, throwing a handful of yellow dust up onto the center most human skull, coating it in a new layer.

"I call now to the unsleeping one, the
black herald, Nyarlathotep, who assureth
the bond between the living
and the dead."

Again the congregation spoke.

"I'a N'yra-I'yht-Otp."

Bishop continued upon hearing their line.

"O dark one, who rideth the winds of
the Abyss and cryeth the night
gaunts between the living
and the dead, send to us the Old One
of the World of Horrors, whose word
we honor unto the end of the deathless
sleep and open unto us the pathway to Carcosa.
Hail, Nyarlathotep."

"I'a N'yra-I'yht-Otp."

"I am that I am. Through the Angels I
speak with the hornless ones, and I
pledge anew the bond of the Demons,
through whose will this world is come
to be. Let us speak the Bond of the
Nine Angels."

The group of them began to speak in unison, all of them matching the same tone.

"Hail, father and Pale King of the Angels,
master of the world of Yellow. We
speak the Bond of the Nine Angels
to the honor of the flutes of the
laughing one, the master of dimensions,
the herald of the barrier, and
the Goat of a Thousand Young."

The group spoke together, powerfully this time, the words they spoke seeming to cut through Morgan like a knife.

"V'ty'h vuy-kn el-ukh'nar ci-wragh

zh'sza w'ragnh ks'zy d'syn."

"From the Second Angel is the master
who doth order the planes and the
Angels, and who hath conceived the
World of Horrors in its tenor and
glory."

Again they spoke together, louder than before, cutting through Morgan, feeling as if someone twisted a blade in her spine.

"V'kresn vuy-kn k'nga d'phron'g
kr-a El-aka gryenn'h p'nseb uer-hga
phragn uk-khron ty'h- u'krevuy-
kin'e rohz."

"From the Third Angel is the messenger,
who hath created thy power to behold
the master of the World of Ho'yoy's,
who giveth to thee substance of being
and the knowledge of the Nine Angels."

"V'huy vuy-kn zhem'nfi d'psy'h
dy-tr'gyu El-aka gryenn'h f'ungn-
ei si'n si-r'a s'alk d'hu'h-uye
rohz."

The pain grew greater and greater, enough to make her cry out, Bishop and the celebrants not stopping for a second to pay her mind.

"From the Fourth Angel is the ram of
the Sun, who brought thy selves to be,
who endureth upon the World of Horrors
and proclaimeth the time that was, the
time that is, and the time that shall be
and whose name is the brilliance of
the Nine Angels."

"V'cvye vuy-kn kh'ren-i kyl-d
zhem'n lyz-naa mnaa r'cvyev'y-kre
Z' -m'h gryn-h'y d'yn'khe cyvaal'k
h'y-cvy-rohz."

"From the Fifth Angel are the hornless
ones, who raise the temple of the five
trihedrons unto the Demons of creation,
whose seal is at once four and five and
nine."

"V uar'n vuy-kn fha'gn Z' -m'h
ki-4yus 4yn- n'ash cvy-knu ukr'n
h-----"

The room fell silent as Morgan felt herself go limp, the pain ripping through her body enough to cause her to faint, the ritual continuing as she fell from consciousness, hearing only the muffled voices reverberate off the brick walls until the blackness overtook her.

A sudden splash of cold liquid was promptly splashed upon Morgans face as she was hoisted to her feet, up and off of her knees, slowly regaining her sensibilities as she realized what had happened, the Congregation guiding her forward firmly to a man kneeling in front of the altar.

Morgan froze as he looked at him, his eyes locked to her.

He recognized her.

She recognized him.

He was another officer from the department she reported to...he looked like he'd been malnourished and beaten for weeks upon weeks...

He likely came to investigate with his partner...when they were caught...

He squirmed against his restraints, trying to get free upon seeing what they'd done to her...

She looked down at herself, noting the fear in his eyes...the cold liquid she had been splashed with, was thick, sticky.

It was blood.

It was soaking her face and robes, drenching her, wetting her hair.

Morgan panicked, immediately beginning to rub and wipe her face clean frantically, trying to get the blood off of her, the officer on his knees in front of her only groaning, as if he couldn't talk.

She looked closer, pausing her fit...

His lips had been sewn shut with that thick twine, the backs of his legs were covered in dried blood and dirty bandages...his tendons had been cut, his legs not working properly.

Bishop spoke above everything once he saw Morgan was capable of continuing.

"We lay upon thee now, future Disciple, the sacrifice that must be given to our father."

He approaches her, holding a long ceremonial blade in both of his gauntleted hands, stopping directly in front of Morgan, clearly wanting her to use it to secure the kill.

"Use me."

A Russian accented voice rang through her head...she was sure it was her head, and not actually spoken due to the lack of echo, and the lack of reaction from the ritual party.

She shook her head just a little, staring at the knife, sputtering out a word suddenly.

"R-Rifle!...ca..can I use my...rifle..."

It was the first thing that came to her mind, she looked up at Bishop, she was clearly shaken, watching him straighten his back a little in contemplation.

"...Unorthodox...But I shall allow it. Sacrifice is thusly given, by knife or by bullet. Bring the rifle."

The man holding Tula quickly scurried over, the rifle being lifted by Bishop and placed into Morgan's hands.

She held Tula shakily, his voice erupting into her mind again.

"Aim me..."

She whined, very slowly turning the muzzle of the rifle to the cop sitting on his knees pathetically in front of her, closing her eyes, feeling her heart-rate speed up violently.

She knew what was going to happen...

She braced, the cop before her struggled harder and harder, screaming behind his permanently sealed lips.

"I'm sorry, Morgan." Tula spoke to her again directly, in her mind, his voice was low and sorrowful.

She whimpered, the small sound reverberating off the walls over the silent party and screaming officer.

BANGBANGBANGBANG

Tula fired.

Four shell casings dropped to the floor, jingling on the stone as they rolled and came to a halt.

She knew she didn't touch the trigger...her right hand was wrapped firmly around the pistol grip, her index finger tucked under the trigger guard...

Tula fired for her...

To spare her...

Tula decided to stay silent as Morgan let out a small sound of distress, her mouth hanging open in pain as she stared at the dead cop in front of her, twisted up on his side from the bullets that tore through his chest.

She began to slowly fall to pieces her eyes wide, her heart pounding, sweat covering her, mixing with the blood drying on her skin.

"A....h.nnh..uhn......"

She slowly began to weep, tears running down her cheeks, dripping onto Tula as she held him.

She sniffed sharply, her knees growing weak, struggling to stand...she fell to them, turning Tula muzzle up....she hugged him close to her body, her chin resting on his magazine as she lost her composure completely, her tears beginning to flow like a faucet.

Her body shook with grief as she burned the sight of the officer laying dead into her mind, tuning out everything else...

They continued the ritual as if she weren't crying there in the middle of the floor, eventually finishing it and extinguishing the flames.

She jolted to her feet suddenly, taking off...

She ran.

She ran and she ran...

Going deeper into the massive bunker, crossing ghastly machinations, sprinting past what she registered as lines upon lines of corpses wrapped in linen.

The fabric was stained a blackish brown as the bodies had decomposed...

And atop each of their heads...

Was a horned Tiara.

She screamed and grabbed the crown off of her head, throwing it to the ground and continued to run, slowing to a jog, she dropped Tula, whom caught himself mid-air, transitioning to his human shape.

He stood, watching her struggle, fighting savagely against the bloody robe on her body, ripping it free, revealing her to be only in her underwear beneath it...She fought and flailed, getting tangled in a few of the stick fetishes hanging from the ceiling of the building.

Tula approached and placed his hands on her shoulders firmly, stopping her from causing more harm to herself, reaching up and removing the rope she had gotten tangled in.

Once she was free he pulled her into a hug as she immediately raged against him, swinging and kicking, pounding, hitting him as hard as she could, eliciting no response from the man that held her still, feeling his hug deepen just a little bit.

The intensity of her punches and kicks died down slowly, going from strikes to weak paws, squeezing his shirt as she dug her face into his chest, screaming as loud as she could.

He held her silently.

"I'm sorry..."

Was all he said, feeling her cry, tears flooding her cheeks as she sobbed, her whole body bouncing with the immense grief she felt.

She kept screaming over and over again, as if what had happened broke her...

Tula tipped her head back, gently placing his lips against hers, kissing her softly.

It was the only thing he could think to do, the surprise of the feeling stopping her cold, her mind racing ten million miles per second.

Tula growled a bit, as he took off his large thermal shirt, draping it over her mostly naked body, exposing himself to the elements, lifting Morgan up into his arms bridal style and began to carry the crying cop out of the brick bunker.

Her sobbing didn't stop as he emerged from the cultist's lair, walking back into the forest, following the same path they took to arrive, having paid attention to every little nuance of the trail to know he was going the right direction.

With an occasional grunt, Tula would hoist Morgan up higher in his arms to adjust his grip on her, not letting her touch her feet to the dirt for a moment. He continued walking forward, noticing she'd gone silent, turning his head down to check on her, finding she'd cried herself to sleep in her duress, hanging limply in his arms.

He growled again seeing her sleeping face, continuing on and emerging from the woods after about twenty minutes of walking, crossing the barren field with steady footfalls.

He approached the Jeep where it was parked and carefully deposited Morgan into the passenger's seat. Rounding the outside of the Jeep and picking up her clothes, still laying where the cultists had stripped her.

With the jeans and shirt in hand he climbed into the driver's seat himself, starting the old vehicle and turning around, driving all the way back to Morgan's apartment without a single sound, pulling into the parking garage and putting the Jeep in park, looking down at his 'owner'.

She was still totally out cold, her eyes shut tight, dried tears on her cheeks.

He felt...

Bad...for her.

The emotions he was feeling were strange and he disliked them -- actually wanting to -care- for someone.

Feeling some kind of compassion.

It felt sick.

He growled again at the thoughts in his head, not sounding unlike a dog threatening an intruder as he did it, lifting Morgan's jeans and fishing through the pockets.

After a moment he produced the keys to her apartment and lifted her back into his arms, taking her inside the building, awkwardly going through the motions of closing and locking everything behind them as he did it, resting the distressed officer down on her bed.

Tula stayed up, watching her.

He had intended on waking her if it became clear she was having a bad dream, but...he never seemed to get around to it, his icy eyes just bearing down on her body, etching the beautiful cop's features into his mind.

It was only then she woke up...about an hour after he had laid her to rest on her bed, the time only 3:13 AM, she jolted a bit as she looked around in a panic, instantaneously scuttling up the bed, ramming her back against the headboard and hugging her legs, wildly scanning the room for something to defend herself with.

The details of her environment slowly sank in, her breathing going from erratic to long...slow and deep breaths.

Tears started to roll softly down her cheeks again as she laid eyes on Tula sitting by the bed.

"I should have warned you this was going to happen."

He spoke softly, but in his usual rough tone, still shirtless.

"Warned me...? ...You...You mean you knew about all this?"

Tula nodded once silently at her words.

"I did."

Morgan stayed quiet for a moment, but he could see the rage building up on her face, going from fearful to emotionless, blending into an intense anger, the woman flying across the bed at the rifle, starting to punch his chest with real force...as if she were trying to knock him out by hitting his chest...

For the second time tonight.

"You fucking asshole! You fucking! ASSHOLE!"

She shrieked, punching harder, her rage reaching it's tipping point on her rifle, her fists continuing to slam against him until she tired herself out yet again, sitting down pathetically in the bed with a small whine, Tula sighing and looking at her.

"You should shower..."

He spoke calmly, the girl processing it for a minute, remembering the blood on her body and immediately jolting to her feet and running to the bathroom, turning the shower on without bothering to close the door behind her.

Tula only awkwardly decided to follow her after a moment, concerned why she wasn't being as 'private' as she usually was.

He rounded the corner into the bathroom to find the woman sitting huddled up in scalding hot water, the heat turning her skin red as it washed the blood out, pinkish water running off of her and down the drain, steam wafted out of the shower and into the bathroom, sinking to the floor and roaming through the apartment.

"Morgan."

She didn't respond, just hugging her legs again like before, Tula approached entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He calmly reached up and turned the heat of the shower down, sitting on the closed toilet lid, looking at her wordlessly, his heavy eyes making her feel uncomfortable.

"What!?" She shouted at him, before mousing back up, tucking her face back into her legs.

"I meant it when I said I was sorry." He spoke bluntly, almost as if he were being forced to give her an apology, continuing after a moment.

"I knew what they were going to make you do, and I stayed quiet."

"Why?" She nearly shouts again, the anger in her face washing off when she looked at how serious he was being. These last few days he'd totally dropped his usual punkass demeanor.

He seemed much more...sorrowful and morose.

"Because I knew you wouldn't listen to me anyway. You couldn't stop it, the wheel of fate spun."

He was right...she was going to do this regardless of what he said...even if it terrified her.

Setting aside the way every decision she made seemed to lead to the same event.

Those visions and those bodies...

She still felt some sense of duty...the cops bodies and the children in the bunker...the altar.

It would all be enough to put the cultists away for years...if she knew who they all were...but she still wanted to get at the boss.

The fucking bastard that was making all of this possible for them.

She -NEEDED- it after what happened tonight.

...And she needed Tula.

"I'm sorry, Tula...for...hitting you." Her voice croaked out apologetically as she talked, to which she only got a minor grunt in response.

She looked him over, this was the first time she'd seen him stripped partially, he'd always taken care of his cleaning himself. His upper body was covered in some extreme scarring...VERY deep tissue, as if he or someone else had flayed him to remove something from his skin.

They were all over him.

She could see them on his shoulders, on his back, his chest to the point his right nipple was totally removed, a long streaking gash-like scar from the bottom of his ribs on his right side all the way down to his hip, continuing down below the waistline of his pants.

How did he have these...he was immaculate externally...like every geist their external appearance was mirrored on their human form, but...he...

He didn't look like a brand new, totally unissued rifle.

He had a body like an AK that had been in Africa for 40 years.

She'd seem ones like him in the evidence rooms, the abused and broken geist girls that they tried to care for and keep stable for their court cases.

He didn't make any sense.

Morgan whined, shedding the top that belonged to her rifle, tossing it onto the bathroom floor with a wet 'plap' shimmying out of her bra and panties and beginning to shower as she regularly would, ignoring the fact Tula could see everything.

She scrubbed and scrubbed at her hair to get rid of the blood, but no matter how much she scratched and tried more would rinse out. As if the realization struck her that she were drenched in blood again struck once more.

She could feel it all over her still.

That disgusting sticky sanguine liquid, it soaked into her pores and she couldn't get it off...the water wasn't hot enough, her scrubbing sponge wasn't coarse enough.

She exclaimed an unintelligible noise, cranking the shower's heat all the way back up, scrubbing and scratching until her skin turned red from the force she was applying and the intense heat.

Morgan had been so engrossed in her frantic lunacy driven scrubbing she had ignored Tula calling her name twice, finally freezing when he planted his hands on her naked body.

"Morgan!"

He shook her a little bit, his face turned down into a strong grimace, staring back at the panicked and lost expression on hers, soaking what bit of clothes he still had on, standing in the shower with her at this point.

"...I...can still feel it..." She reaches up shaking her head, her fingertips touching her face, her voice trembling.

Tula growled a bit, turning the water's temperature back down.

He looked down at the top of her head, finding that small fresh cuts were in her scalp and were coursing blood into her hair.

She'd cut herself with her fingernails from the scrubbing.

He sighed, holding his owner quietly, ignoring the fact she was fiddling with his belt and tugging his pants off.

"You're getting everything wet..."

She whispered as she spoke, as if she didn't want to speak openly, the rifle standing still and allowing his owner to strip him for the first time, the two standing naked in the shower together after a brief second.

Morgan kept staring at Tula's body.

The scar that went from his ribs stretched all the way down his entire body, from his hip, along his inner thigh, spiraling around the outside of his leg and back around to the inside...six complete circles from inside to outside in total. It looked like someone treated a knife like sports tape on a baseball bat...the way the scar wound down to the center of his foot where the middle toe was amputated.

It looked like his foot had been bisected and butterflied open.

How was this possible on a Geist...

Her mind raced at the possibilities...the improbability...

"Tula...what...happened...."

She spoke with concern, getting a mild grunt from him again, expressing his unwillingness to talk about what exactly had happened.

"Is nothing."

He silently grabbed her and pulled her into a hug to make her lose focus on what it was she was looking at.

It worked.

"...You don't like me much do you...?"

She spoke again with her face buried in his chest like before.

"I despise you."

He spoke back flatly, feeling her hug him back, she could tell he only half meant it.

"Fuck you too...."

She chuckled a little bit, finding it hard not to laugh at how much of an insensitive asshole he could be, even in this kind of situation.

Morgan silently held her rifle's body to hers, her arms wrapped around his strong back.

They had been standing there together nude for quite a while now...her mind drifted a bit to when he kissed her earlier.

What the fuck did that mean? Did he...love her? Was it just out of pity?

He wasn't the type to just say something as rash as 'I love you'.

She knew that.

She stood still and analyzed it for quite a while, before pulling her head back and looking up at Tula, whom was standing rigid, staring straight ahead, water dripping off his brow.

"Hey, Tula."

"What."

"..."

She stood on her tiptoes, kissing him for a second time, this time of her own volition.

He didn't resist, nor did he act to deepen the kiss whatsoever, simply...standing still and letting her do what she pleased with him.

She moved to deepen it a bit more, feeling his short groomed beard pressing against her skin, his unique taste flooding her mouth...it felt...good.

It all felt so good.

It felt as if for the first time since these past nights of horror that she was feeling something...normal.

Tula silently pressed back against her, just the slightest bit, if not out of willingness to accept the woman's kiss, but to keep her from leaning too much and falling on her face in the wet shower.

What had gotten into her?

He mulled it over, not acting aroused nor repulsed, giving her the odd return, moving his lips in conjunction with hers...again, only to make her feel as if it was welcome.

As if he were coddling her...re-enforcing this behavior, despite being totally indifferent.

Morgan let out a small moan, pulling away from him to breathe after what felt like a small eternity, a blush having worked it's way across her face, blending with her already flushed cheeks brought on by the heat of the shower.

"Tula...Can we..."

She paused, thinking about her next words, deciding not to say them, and just physically act on what she was feeling. She gently grasped his flaccid member, rubbing it just a little bit, causing him to emit a growl.

"Why are you doing this."

He spoke back coldly, as if he'd rather be anywhere else, his body betraying his attitude however, responding to her hopeful tugging.

"...I..."

She paused, her falsified brown eyes falling down to the growing erection in her hand, watching his body present itself to her.

"...need...to feel normal again...not that fucking my rifle is normal, but...please...let me feel like I'm not losing my mind for one night...please?"

He stared back at her, his flat expression unchanging as he grumbled in response to her plea, giving her a tired nod.

"Take the contacts out."

He crossed his arms, bluntly laying down his stipulation.

No matter what his stance on her was, it was undeniable he found her eyes positively gorgeous, deep inside he thought it a sin she hid them, but he wouldn't ever admit it.

At least not to her, anyway.

Morgan nodded with an almost childlike enthusiasm, stepping out of the shower and tracking water all through the bathroom floor, carefully removing the lenses on her eyes and returning to her rifle, her gorgeous sapphires open for him to see again.

"Better."

Tula kept his eyes locked on hers, allowing her to get back to her previous engagement, leaning into him and stroking him, her hand working his now rock hard manhood.

She pressed another kiss onto his lips, leading the entire escapade, it would have been clear to her he wasn't interested if she weren't so distraught mentally.

Hell...it was clear now.

He hated this.

And she knew it...

But she didn't care.

She felt a creeping sensation of terror in the pit of her stomach, but she kept pressing on.

She was fucking done with fear.

She needed this now...and he was willing to let her have something familiar--as unladylike as it was, sex would in fact bring her back down to earth, right?

Besides, his body was being honest...right?

"Mhn..."

Morgan moaned a bit into his mouth, slipping his length between her thighs, ensnaring him in her soft flesh, rubbing him against the outside of her slit, gently moving her hips fore and aft on him, kissing him yet again.

Tula suppressed sounds of distaste for his owner, letting her get the pleasure she sought...

It wasn't that she didn't feel good.

She did.

Her body was fantastic and well maintained, her athletic physique against his like two specimens of perfect genealogy.

Despite this, however.

He despised the entire situation, watching this woman he...idolized reduced to a cock swooning whore, the idea of being used as a tool of sexual relief, not as a rifle.

Something about this was repulsing him to his very core, despite not fully understanding his emotions.

In his mind, what he was experiencing felt akin to forced homosexuality.

It wasn't remotely good enough to express pleasure, her soft flesh and drooling slit working back and forth on his most sensitive parts, despite feeling pleasant, his mind forcibly likened it to being molested with the carcass of a rotten fish.

Tula inhaled sharply, suddenly pushing Morgan away and shutting off the water, grabbing a towel and throwing it over her head, beginning to dry her off, ignoring her sounds of protest.

"Hey! What the hell!"

She flailed a little, easing off when it registered he was drying her off, and then himself, her hair still wet and clumped together, same as his.

"Are you going to lead the way, or not?"

He spoke flatly, trying to feign interest in pursuing the activity further, acting like a parent that begrudgingly gave in to their child's demands for a new toy.

Morgan quickly nodded and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the bathroom and to her bed, throwing him down on it.

She was still drenched between her legs...and he was still hard.

But even so...

Morgan slipped a hand between her thighs and began to rub herself, getting down onto her knees in front of Tula, beginning to lick his shaft carefully for a moment before taking the entire unit into her mouth, sucking firmly and taking it as far into her mouth as she could stand.

He was larger than she first thought...he filled her mouth completely, the further she went the more stress she put on her jaw...

He had to at least be sitting at a comfortable 8" in length...with a sizable girth to match...it was probably one of the most impressive dicks she'd seen, if she was honest...

It wasn't helping her slow down any as she worked him, swirling her tongue around the glans, doing her best to make him moan as he had before...

But he was silent...

She tried even harder, forcing herself further, until she felt his hand against her head pushing her off, taking her wrist and pulling her up into the bed with him.

He watched her crawl up his body, dropping his arms back to his sides when she finds herself positioned right over top of his twitching member, grasping the base and slowly inserting him, she let out a sheepish moan, stifling it, feeling him pierce her folds for the first time.

She bit her lip, feeling full, stretching to accommodate his size, pain mixing with the pleasure of such an incredible cock.

She stayed still and reveled in it for a moment before slowly beginning to ride him.

...Tula remained silent.

It was eerie...it felt like having sex with a corpse.

The oppressive feeling she'd felt in the woods was washing back over Morgan from the inside, threatening to hijack the pleasure she was feeling.

Tula's eyes stayed fixed forward, staring straight up at the ceiling, a glazed look in them.

There was a blank expression on his face.

He was behaving as his soul had stepped out of his body and went for a walk.

He felt everything she was doing, small wet mouth...her tight wet pussy.

The way they squeezed and sucked at him.

She felt simultaneously like the most incredibly pure woman on the face of the earth; and the most gut wrenching harlot, complete with pustules and disease.

He lay still and accepted her riding and bouncing as if it were another autonomous function of his body...or that he had just been reduced to a husk of a 'human', unable to move his arms and legs, providing someone with the only remaining service that he was capable.

Not unlike those sacrifices in the pit.

Their tendons cut, laying pathetically.

Waiting to be killed.

Tula occasionally turned his eyes down, watching her for a moment, out of impatience, or...maybe morbid curiosity, seeing her bouncing atop him eagerly, her breasts moving in time with her hip motions and bucking, pleasure and fear illustrated on her face as she hammered away.

She could see him.

She saw how he was reacting.

She wanted to scream from the pleasure and the emptiness inside.

But she was close.

Cumming was all that was on her mind now, she wouldn't let herself be distracted.

She closed her eyes tight, shaking the thoughts out.

She felt him inside...she wanted his cum too.

She wanted it all.

Faster.

Faster...

Morgan grabbed his hands, pulling them up off the bed. Entwining her fingers with his she bounced even faster still, suddenly slamming down hard on top of Tula, her body squeezing him tightly as she came, her toes curling as she awkwardly lurched forward on top of him, gently jerking her hips, feeling him pulsing inside.

He had came with her, almost as if subconsciously, she felt him twitching and throbbing, an expression of dread creeping across his face as it set in.

She moaned and rode her orgasm, squeezing his hands before looking up at him.

Tula was seething with anger, his jaw clenched tightly.

But he said nothing.

"...Tula...did you not..."

She feigned ignorance, as if she hadn't noticed that he wasn't actively participating.

"Pizda."

He spoke harshly, not allowing her to interpret it any other way, apart from negatively.

"..."

"Get off of me."

He growled his words, clearly doing his best to keep from hurting her, his fists slowly clenching as she removed her hands from his, lifting herself off of his member, his seed drizzling out of her as she did so, a distraught expression on her face.

He threw himself up to his feet, going back into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, leaving Morgan in bed, the sound of the shower starting again filling the quiet room.

She silently lay back, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like forever, tears beginning to well up in her eyes, dread creeping it's way back over her and wrapping it's gnarled fingers around her throat, constricting her breathing as the reality of what happened sunk in.

She cried hopelessly to herself, covering her chest with her arms as her grief intensified.

She spiraled into a hopeless depression.

Tears soaked her cheeks yet again.

She processed her options for a few moments, standing up and crossing the room, her eyes fixed wide open, pulling the Glock from it's holster and staring at it for another short eternity...

Anything was better than this pain...

What fucking difference did it make...

What she did to the officers she was supposed to be working with...

And the only person that she had left to hold her up...

She'd seen hell already.

Her mind was ripping itself to pieces, visions of those brain twisting Sigils and the child corpses rushing through her head as she lifted the handgun, pressing it to her temple, the scene of the officer begging for his life through his sealed lips playing over and over again in her head.

The bathroom door swung open just in time for Tula to see what she was doing.

"SHTO TY DIELAESH!"

His infuriated voice split the air, the shock almost enough to make her pull the trigger in surprise.

Tula dashed over and grabbed the pistol, re-directing it toward the window before she could finish, pulling the slide out of battery just enough to avoid a discharge as he changed the angle away from her head.

He growled, hearing her pathetically pulling the dead trigger, the plastic-y click of it actuating uselessly sending him into an even heavier rage, his free hand screaming forward at her face, slapping her across the cheeks not once, not twice, but three separate times, marking them bright red.

Morgan yelped pathetically, her ears ringing from the strikes, stars dancing in her eyes as the sting washed over her cheeks, her grip relinquishing from the handgun as she stumbled back, collapsing onto her bottom in a teary eyed heap.

"F..fuchk...ju-jusht...lemme die..."

She whined, unable to speak clearly through her crying, red hand prints showing up on her face as she retched miserably.

Tula disassembled the pistol and set it down, looking at his owner for a moment, feeling a pang of Disgust,

Anger,

Contempt,

Guilt...

"..."

He growled kneeling down and lifting her into his arms, like a father hoisting up his daughter he'd just disciplined.

He may be mad at her...but he couldn't hate her.

Not completely, anyway.

After all, Tula understood the confusion and fear Morgan was feeling better than anyone.

He'd felt it before.

Tula silently lay with his trembling owner, his arms cradling her smaller frame, brushing the tears from her face.

He may be an insensitive prick, but he certainly wasn't going to let the woman cry because she wanted release...

Even if it was release he didn't want to provide.

He was a tool after all, and being a tool to satisfy her desires was no different than being a tool to defend her life with...

Even if he didn't agree with that particular purpose.

"I'm all fucked up..."

Morgan squeaked her words out between her yelps and sobs, mumbling something else unintelligible, blurting out clear words after a moment.

"I'm sorry Tula!...I'm sorry...im sorryimsorryimsorry...."

She whined pathetically, letting her grief and fear consume her again in front of the only man she had that she could confide in, squeezing the sheets in her hands tightly.

Tula could only stiffly do his best to offer comfort...she'd put a live gun to her head and even tried to pull the trigger...she /was/ going to go through with it had he not interrupted.

There wasn't a shadow of doubt in his mind as he carefully held her, running his fingers through her hair.

"I am not upset."

He said the only words he thought she would want to hear, attempting to comfort awkwardly her for what felt like hours...

To an onlooker it would have been something like watching a stranger try and calm down a crying child that they'd never met before.

The sunrise finally breaking past the hazy dawn sky and radiating light seemed to give her enough solace to fall asleep in his arms again.

Tula sighed deeply once the crying girl passed out, letting her emotions stop controlling her for a while so she could reset and get some rest...hopefully waking up realizing what she did and handle it like an adult instead of a scolded child.

But that would be wishful thinking.

Tula let out a cold grunt, softly pulling the sheets over Morgan's still nude body to give her some decency and rolled onto his back.

He stared at the ceiling as he had before during the unwanted sexual encounter, his arm wrapped around her to keep her close to his body and warm.

He closed his eyes slowly, basking in the darkness they provided...he slept

It was a flat sleep.

The kind of 'sleep' you would get at a crowded airport by leaning back in one of the terminal chairs and closing your eyes, miserably drifting off, but not actually losing consciousness.

Laying there with his eyes closed pretending to be asleep was the best he could do.

There was no place for enjoyment in a common human function like sleep in him.

The morning sun peeking from behind the clouds and shining directly on his face didn't make the ridiculous act any easier to deal with, forcing him to turn his head or close his eyes tighter.

Morgan seemed to revel in the sunlight though, as if it were the only other thing that could release her from the terror she'd been subjected to.

The childish belief that once the sun was out nothing else bad would happen.

She /was/ like a child, and she had been for quite some time now.

Though, nobody could really blame her for breaking the way she did given the circumstances...the shit she'd gone through would be enough to put a normal person in a mental ward, or at least give them a permanent shrink.

Tula decided if the two of them got out of this he was going to force her to look into some kind of special help.

They had that for cops right?

He thought on it blankly for a while before shaking his head.

He was getting soft again...

Actually caring for her as a person beyond her being his owner.

Hours ticked by seemingly slower and slower, morning fading into noon, noon into evening.

Morgan finally opened her eyes, sitting up in bed, the motion instantly prompting Tula she was awake, forcing him out of his falsified state of rest.

"...I'm not going there tonight."

She spoke clearly, her eyes fixed at her feet under the sheets, like a war veteran staring through a worn picture of his family.

"Fine. I am not going to take you by force."

Tula spoke vaguely, standing and cracking his back a couple of times, looking at her holding the sheets to herself, hiding her shame.

"Look..uh...last night I was..."

She made an effort to explain what he already knew, getting cut off.

"I said I am not angry. Let it die."

He was cold, not like usual...or rather, what had become usual.

It was colder than even that, like he was holding a grudge but being forced to play nice.

She missed it when he would mock her and laugh at her for being slow.

Or mess up her hair...

Or snap her bra strap while she was trying to focus.

Hell, she even missed the way he'd just fire rounds off once in a while while she wasn't paying attention to scare her shitless.

He was an asshole then, a devious asshole, but he was at the very least kind of fun to be around.

Now...he was like a ghost, as if the moment she found out about what was really happening with this...coven, or whatever the fuck you'd call it, a switch inside him got flipped, and it would never be un flipped.

Was he afraid?

Could that be it...?

He didn't seem like it.

She stared at him stretching, trying to pick him apart now that her mind wasn't fogged with wild emotions.

She was going to figure out what the fuck he really was if it killed her.

He wasn't a fucking geist.

But what was he...?

Morgan's thoughts were cut off by a growl in her stomach.

It hadn't occurred to her how fucking hungry she was...did she even eat last night...or at all this week for that matter?

She couldn't remember.

"Hey I'm pretty hungr--"

"Get dressed then, lets get something."

Tula cut her off, silently looking her over, turning as she stands to put on some clothes.

He waited until she was finished getting dressed to make total eye contact with her, Morgan stepping out of the bathroom with her hair done up in a pony tail and her brown contacts in, simple jeans and a tee shirt with a black and grey checkered button down, the sleeves rolled up.

She stepped across the room to her disassembled Glock and stared at it for a bit, leaving it untouched she turned to Tula.

"M'ready."

He silently stands and steps over to her, following her down the decrepit stairway to the Jeep, tucked away in the dim parking garage.

There was still dried blood in the interior, the seat had been pushed back from when Tula drove.

Morgan gets into the driver's seat and silently adjusts it, Tula brushing some of the blood up with a small wetnap before taking his seat and tossing it aside, staring out the window as Morgan begins to drive.

The two share no words or glances at one another, simply riding in complete silence to a small old-timey diner on the edge of town.

The high polished space-aged building finally rolled into view, it's chrome siding had long since lost it's luster, faded and aging.

The bright neon letters that made up the name "Chauncey's Diner" partially burnt out, making it read 'C a nc y's Die r'.

There were a few cars lined up outside, Morgan could see almost all of the patrons through the windows, the sun having dropped behind the earth, bathing the sky a gradient from deep blue into deep orange, street lights bleaching the sidewalk a pale fluorescent white.

One of the parked cars was a police cruiser, Morgan could see the officer inside, sitting at a table with a teenage girl, most likely his patrol rifle.

Her seeing Tula might be trouble, considering how other Geists seemed to react to him...

Morgan had second thoughts, but he was already opening the door, the glazed look in his eyes void of all concern for what he may be seen as by a fellow rifle.

"Tula I don't think this is..."

Morgan trailed off as he stepped into the establishment ahead of her, ignoring her words, prompting his owner to speed up and reach his side.

Inside smelled nice, strong coffee mixing with the smell of burgers and fries, steak, syrup and pies, the sound of sizzling coming out from the kitchen loudly, the two obeying a sign that read "Please seat yourself."

Tula took the lead again, deliberately walking past the table with the officer and his rifle.

Morgan scurried after him, trying to slow him down without causing much of a scene.

The moment the patrol rifle lay her pale green eyes on Tula she immediately jolted back, the table under her legs jumping, forks and knives clattering, a drink toppling over and spilling all over the table.

Her pretty face with a straight expression had contorted into an unhinged terror.

Her mouth was open, she was leaning back, matted against the back wall of the booth, kicking her feet up in the bench to scramble away from him as if he were there to steal her soul.

She looked as if she were trying to scream, but no sound was coming out, her pupils dilated, transfixed on Tula, whom had done nothing but walk past and turn to look at her commotion; yet she perceived him to be the most abhorrent thing she had ever experienced in the entirety of her existence.

She was so beside herself with fear that she looked like she was about to bust the window down to escape his presence.

This of course, made the officer react, mostly with concern, reaching across the table and resting his hand on his rifle's shoulder, the touch making her belt out a shriek that stopped the entire diner's function.

All eyes turned to the officer and his patrol rifle, her eyes wide and panicked, still stuck on Tula as he silently strode over to a vacant booth and sat, staring at the wall across from him and not anywhere but.

He must have looked a bit odd in the way he was behaving, but the officer and his rifle were absolutely outlandish to the other patrons, and Morgan was still standing there in the middle of the scene.

What the fuck was that about...

She knew Michelle and the other rifles at the compound were scared of him, but nothing like this...

Were they all just used to seeing how he really looked?

Would this be the normal reaction for a geist unaccustomed to him?

Morgan's mind wandered a bit as she dreamily moved out of the way of the officer and his rifle and toward Tula.

The officer's patrol rifle promptly dove to her feet and exploded out of the booth, slipping on the ground once she got traction and slamming into the bar in a heap, scrambling to her feet and making it a few feet before running into a display of newspapers, knocking them everywhere as she burst forth from the diner, running all the way to the cruiser.

"Sadie! What the hell is your problem!" The young cop shouted after his rifle, growling and placing more than enough for the food on the table, jogging out after her, apologizing to the staff and patrons as he left.

Morgan sat down across from Tula blocking his line of sight at the wall, her eyes looking up at his, she was wearing a sheepish expression.

Most of the eyes that were on the cops had turned to her and Tula only for a moment before going back to their food, conversations continuing from where they left off, a heavy-set waitress coming by and taking the couple's order after a bit.

Morgan had sprung for the largest bacon cheese burger money could buy, with a side of fries and a chocolate shake...and a coke.

She didn't care about her figure right now with as starving as she was...

Tula on the other hand, ordered only a coffee, a dull 'fuck off' expression on his face as the waitress gave him a questioning "you sure" glance.

After a moment she stepped off, putting the order in, leaving the two alone once again, Morgan fiddling with her thumbs under the table for a bit before breaking the heavy silence between them.

"Tula..."

He doesn't react, just staring a hole though her, the emptiness of his gaze giving her that hopeless feeling yet again.

Tula was present but not here, leaving her to mull things over herself until he moved again, cracking his neck once after keeping that silence in place for a bit longer.

"What."

It was declarative, not so much a question.

"...What can you tell me about...what's happening to me, Tula..."

Morgan spoke back to him quietly, keeping a hush to the discussion, as if every one of the patrons would be listening close, like an insect burrowed into her ear.

Tula only wore a flat grimace, his expression seeming to strip the 'Humanity' from him.

"Everything."