Wolves of 4th Street

Summary:
November 23, 2014: Werewolves have been going missing in Gotham. Hellboy investigates. Vorpal is knocked unconscious.

Otisburg - Gotham City


Characters

NPCs

  • Silver Syndicate
  • Various mobsters

Mood Music:


Nights in Gotham are getting cold and foggy and it lends a creepy ambiance to everything about the the old city. People have been going missing. That's not unusual for Gotham or indeed any other large city. But if one is paying attention - and one has to have the right info to do so - there's a pattern. The missing are all young or budding lycanthropes. And where they're going? Well, no one at all knows that.

There's an abandoned warehouse down on 4th and Victor that's a known mob drop location. The fog is particularly thick here and Vinny the Mask is arranging an exchange with a local group that calls itself the Silver Syndicate. They're willing to sell some… he doesn't know what they are really. Old crap from other countires. Egypt, he thinks. But his boss wants them and is willing to pay, so here they are.


Vorpal heard of the lycanthrope abductions only a few nights ago. As far as research goes, he hasn't had the time to do that much… but he does know Gotham and he does know how the criminal underground goes. If 'goods' are being traded or exchanged illicitly- whether those goods are people or things stolen or not- there'll be a warehouse at the heart of it.

It may appear cliche, but in truth warehouses are excellent places for clandestine meetings because of the size, the catwalks that can be used to post guards that can look out the windows and over the entrances, and the ample storage space.

Vorpal, therefore, has been doing a tour of Gotham's Warehouses for the last few nights. The one on Victor is one that he hasn't gotten to yet. Next on the list, though… and so, he jumps from rooftop to rooftop, approaching the building from a block or two away.


"Heeeeeeere, doggy doggy. Here, boy," a surprisingly deep voice calls out, its source obscured in the fog. A wayward basso profundo, looking for a missing pet? "There's a steak in it for ya, if you come on out." A towering silhouette appears, throwing some kind of powder onto the ground. Wherever the powder falls, he follows, his shoes making an odd, almost equine click with each footfall. Maybe a homeless person looking to turn a stray into a meal? His purpose isn't clear, but he's definitely heading toward Vinny's warehouse, and the mobster's enforcers are going to have to do something about him sooner rather than later.


The meeting looks about like most all meetings do. Tense. There's a line of Syndicate enforcers on the one end and a line of Mob enforcers on the other all pointedly not pointing weapons at one another. Crates are being exchanged for a couple of gym bags full of money.

Hellboy's entrence gets… stares subtle it's not. Also, anyone with any magical senses at all can tell that something in those crates is magically active. Not super active, but enough to register. And whatever Vorpal and Hellboy notice… they're not the only ones. Something's moving in the fog outside. And Vorpal in particular might recognize the feeling of creeping dread that accompanies the heralds of the Devourer.


The nearer he gets to the warehouse, the more that basso voice distracts him. Now there's someone with a good set of pipes. The cheshire cat focuses on the source of the sound, and-

~Christ, he's got to be a giant! Look at that build~
++There is something very unusual about this one++
~I'm going to get a better lo-

He doesn't, though, because the cheshire senses something out there, in the fog.

It's them.

Cursing, he dashes to the roof of the warehouse to try and find a way in through one of the upper windows, as he goes invisible.


Seemingly oblivious to the stares, Hellboy just strolls right into the middle of the meeting, still sprinkling his werewolf-tracking powder onto the ground, where it seems to sparkle ever so slightly more than the bits of quartz mixed into the asphalt. "Hey, fellas," he greets the assembled criminals. At this proximity, it's hard not to spot his size and coloration, even in the fog and lousy light. "I'm helping the humane society get the local strays their rabies shots. Any of you seen either a big hairy wolf monster or a very confused-looking naked kid?" He glances upward. "Not really sure which — kinda hard to tell what the moon's up to in all this fog."


The gathering of criminals gives back. The Mob is obviously out of their depth. They're falling back in a panick toward one of the doors. The Syndicate folks… are also falling back, but a number of them have produced rosaries and prayer beads attached to, you know, uzi's and submachineguns. "The hell?" Someone snarls. It's not clear who.

And that's when the wall explodes inward on Hellboy's left. The thing standing there when the dust clears is… huge. Ten, twelve feet tall, bipedal and vaguely lupine but iwth a long lizard like tail and bony spines everywhere.


"You boys should know better than to play with guns."

That is Vorpal, shouting from one of the catwalks as he becomes visible. Another thing that becomes visible, however, are the glowing purple bowling balls that fall towards armed thugs. He's not quite sure who the guy with the reditude is, but if he's here to look for the werewolves, then he's probably either on his side, or against these guys. In either case, it calls for a temporary alliance until he can get more information. Especially when the Beast comes through the wall.

"You take care of Puppy Dearest over there, I'll keep these guys off your back!" the cheshire cat calls, making it rain (bowling balls).


When Hellboy's gaze comes back down to ground level from his amateur moon gazing, he's holding the Samaritan in his left hand, cocked and ready. Normally, this would be an awesome move: glancing upward and mentioning the phase of the moon will cause everyone around you to instinctively check for themselves, which is a perfect cover for drawing a weapon on someone unawares. Of course, in this case, it just means he's the last one to notice the approaching lizard wolf beast.

He glances down at the phial of enchanted bone meal that was supposed to be leading him to missing werewolves, not some Power Rangers monster that nobody wanted to find in the first place. "Damn it. Knew I should have sprung for the warranty," he mutters, drawing a bead on the approaching beast and not giving an inch of ground. "Buzz off, ugly."


The Beast begins to advance, joined a moment later by another beast. The mobsters aren't hanging around for the rain of bowling balls. Honestly, that's it. Hailing bowling balls? Nope. Out.

The Syndicate enforcers begin to shift themselves. They're werewolves too. Smaller more sensible ones (sensible werewolves. Heh) who produce… blades and knives. They're still backing and doging bolling balls. And now firing off at Vorpal, because they no likey the bowling balls.


"Bad move, Fidos!" the Cheshire opens the Rabbit Hole before him, to intercept the shots. Another Rabbit Hole is opened up facing the other direction, to return the love at the Syndicate. "Selling your own kind? Is that what is going on here? You should be ashamed of yourselves!"


"Yeah, you keep goofying those guys to death," Hellboy mutters, casting a jaundiced eye toward Vorpal. "I'll just get eaten over here in the meantime." He points the Samaritan at the closest beast and says in a resonant, commanding voice: "HEEL." He continues, resigned to try this tactic even if it isn't going to work, "I don't know who or what you are, so you can still back off and be okay in my book. Okay?"


The answer Hellboy gets, an enraged roar, is followed closely by a tackle. Either the huge thing doesn't understand him, or doesn't care. The other one is carrying a sword that, let's be honest, is slightly over two Vorpals long. (Yes, Vorpal is now a unit of measurement). And it doesn't seem in the slightest interested in Hellboy. It's advancing on the other wolves… and Vorpal, as if it hasn't decided which one it wants to eviscerate first.

The Syndicate wolves scatter for cover as their fire gets redirected. "What are you stupid? Like we'd do that." One of the crates is knocked over as the sword bearing beast charges, revealing a bunch of egyptian statuary.


"Oh, so you're selling-" he looks at the thing "… okay, so you're fricking Tomb Raiders. That doesn't fly, either!" The Cheshire glowers at the charging beasts and leaps upwards, grabbing onto construct trapezes and swings in the air until he lands by Hellboy.

"See? You didn't need help. You're a big guy, you can punch them into jelly, right?"

Just in case, though, the cheshire snaps his fingers and a glowing purple sword, about two Vorpals in length (standard, not US) appears in front of Hellboy. Just in case he needs something to even the odds.


Hellboy weighs a lot. That doesn't stop him from going flying when the gigantic beast tackles and throws him with a flick of its powerful neck. It does stop any masonry, werewolves, cheshires, or crucial structural supports that happen to be in his way from proving much of an obstacle. Thanks a lot, Isaac Newton.

"Ugh!" he bellows when he finally comes to rest on the far end of the warehouse. "Just once, couldn't the monster come over and give a big, friendly lick, like in a cartoon?" He dusts himself off, levers himself back up into a standing position, and looks for the Samaritan, which predictably went flying in the opposite direction.

The Vorpal sword gets a deeply wary look before Hellboy reluctantly takes a hold of the hilt, holding it at a stiff arm's-length with a look of distaste. "I look like disco King Arthur," he mutters, in defiance of all evidence. Fortunately for the fight, his skepticism of the weapon's appearance doesn't stop him from leaping at the nearest beast and slashing at it with a powerful two-handed grip.


The Warpwolf falls back with a pained howl and it is at this point that Hellboy may note another property of this monster. The cut is long and deep. Not enough to put the beast down but enough to debilitate it, certainly. And it's… starting to slowly close. The wolf throws it's head back and howls loud. The syndicate enforcers all cover their ears and whimper as a wave of concentrated Chaos sweeps through the area, targetting the magical with malicious intent.

The only creature not affected is the other warpwolf who sends that enormous blade slicing through concrete and steel right at Vorpal.


Vorpal feels the chaos sweeping through the area and shudders- his own element, and the reaction to its exposure is always different. In this instance, the wave makes him dizzy and he falls to his knees, causing that blade to miss him by just a hair.

His focus disrupted, the blade in Hellboy's hands disintegrates as the cheshire tries to recover his bearings as his soul vibrates with an infusion of fresh chaos. It's not painful, just overwhelming…


Hellboy's purple blade fizzles into nothingness as the anti-magic wave sweeps across him. But his own biology is designed to counter magical threats that aren't specifically demon-targeted, so he more or less shrugs off the assault himself. "Never liked that color anyway," he growls as he lifts both fists and drops them with an almighty crack onto the howling creature's skull. "Shut up!"


Brute force is absolutely a thing that works on the warpwolf… the creature is smashed to the ground face first… then tries to grab Hellboy by the tail and sling him the other direction across the warehouse. Because ow. Bad demon.
Vorpal's sudden dizzy spell saves him a cut, but maybe not the follow up punch. Yes, oddly, punch instead of claws but the warpwolf clearly means to be done with the annoying cat. The other werewolves have decided that really, this isn't worth it. Demon-boy and Cat-Man can deal with the two huge twisted werewolves. They already know what they are.


The cheshire is, indeed, not ready for the punch that comes his way. He lets out a cry of pain and is sent flying across the room, into one of the set of crates of Egyptian artefacts that were up for exchange.

He is not built to handle superhuman strength. Among the wreckage, he tries to push himself up to a standing position, but finds himself too weak and falls back. He wants to close his eyes, but manages to hold on to wakefulness just enough to—

The unleashed Chaos wave seems almost like a reply to the howling wolf. It is pure, raw, and undirected as Vorpal loses consciousness. What it may do without a driving intention is unknown… and bound to be interesting.


"Hey! Purple!" Hellboy yells at Vorpal when he sees the werewolves starting to flee. "Make yourself useful and catch one of those guys!" Turning to holler at the Titan, unfortunately, leaves him wide open for the warpwolf's grab, and before he knows what's going on, he's being thrown across the warehouse again, in the least dignified manner possible. Crates disintegrate as he flies through them, and thanks to Vorpal's chaos wave, this serves to anger their neighboring boxes. Despite their rectangular shape, the things start attempting to roll across the floor in slow but determined pursuit of the BPRD agent.

Hellboy collapses to the ground, and is slowly picking himself up when something small and metallic clatters across the concrete toward him. He fliches, but it's only the Samaritan, returning to its master like a Jedi's lightsaber. "Hey, cool," the demon says, grabbing the gun and firing three shots at the warpwolf. Silver, white oak, garlic, holy water — these bullets aren't called 'the works' for nothing.


That does something the warpwolf flinches back, clearly in pain and the wounds don't seem to be closing up. It stares at Hellboy (soon to be buried in mobile crates) and then flees, making another hole in the warehouse wall. The sword wielding other wolf is caught at the epicenter of Vorpal's chaos wave and rather suddenyl finds it's blade is made of foam rubber. This is… much less effective and with it's packmate fleeing it also sees no reason to stick around.

Particularly when a tear in reality opens up and a huge black wolf - not werewolf, wolf - steps through.


Hellboy is too busy smashing animate, angry crates to pursue either faction of mystical, lupine jerkwads. Under other circumstances, actually, he would probably find this really fun. Sadly, these are not those other circumstances. These are these circumstances. As yet another box of cheap wood disintegrates in the path of his stone fist, he bellows, "If I get a splinter, Purple, I swear to God…"


"Which one?" Fenris notes dryly as he observes the chaos around him. Now the Old Wolf throws his head back and howls. Fenris' howl is one of the most underrated tools in his arsenal and he can throw a lot of power behind it. In this case that power pulses out from him in a wave, turning the crates back into regular crates. "Your purple friend is down."


Hellboy certainly wasn't expecting to see Fenris here. That doesn't stop him from snapping back with a snarky reply: "Not your dad, that's for damn sure." He glares at the now-pacified crates, then kicks one across the room vindictively. He stares after the Silver Syndicate, but they're long gone, so he trudges over to Vorpal, hooves clicking on the concrete. "Never met him before in my life," he says as he inspects the fallen Titan. He nudges the recumbent purple cat with one cloven toe.


"Vorpal. Current partner slash prison of the Cait Sidhe." Fenris provides as he walks over. "Who presently looks like he needs to ask for the licence plate of the truck that hit him." The great black wolf turns to look at Hellboy. "I felt the chaos go out. What happened here?"


"Well, Kate Sithy should find a prison with a less tacky paint job," Hellboy answers, picking up Vorpal by the collar of his vest with surprising ease. "Werewolves happened here," he says, meandering around to answering Fenris's question. "Two packs: one, part lizard; the other, part mobster."


"Mmmmm… part lizard you say…" Fenris looks at the holes in the walls. "That's troublesome. Mmmm… you look like someone with a card for a good library. May I recommend De Lupis Mysteriis. If you can find a copy, I think you'll find it instructive."


"Yeah, I'm a big reader," Hellboy says dryly, throwing Vorpal over one broad shoulder effortlessly. "You gonna try to bite off my right arm in exchange for that tip?" he asks, his tone confrontational. He raises his stone hand and flexes its fingers. "You might end up with a toothache." It's pretty obvious that he is challenging the Wolfson to deny that he is the monstrous Norse myth.


"Not unless you try to tie me up." Clearly. The Old Wolf quirks a canine eyebrow. "Going to take the Cat home with you? He may need some medical attention. And a spanking. I get the feeling his friends will be upset with him. Maybe he needs one of those kid leashes."


"I'm a pretty crappy babysitter," Hellboy answers. It's a total lie; kids love him. "I figure I better drop him off at a hospital or something, yeah. I don't suppose you know the nearest one?" GPS is out of the question; Hellboy is so bad with technology that some are starting to wonder if he is quite literally cursed.


"About five miles away on Canal, I believe." Fenris rumbles. He usually just teleports around but he's been in the area long enough that he's got a fair head for city Geography. "I'll inform his friends. I'm sure they'll appreciate that." The wolf turns and tears a Way open. "Be careful, Hellboy. The things you encountered today have a lot of… history."


Hellboy actually laughs: a gravelly, underused sort of sound. "Oh yeah? Well, the last monsters with a lot of history who messed with me are history. I'm not scared of old people smell." As if to prove that he is not intimidated by strong odors, he pulls a rank cigar out of a coat pocket and lights it with an antique zippo. "I'll read that book. Thanks for the tip, but don't think that means you're off the hook if you go starting trouble."


"If I start trouble…" Fenris chuckles as he vanishes. "You'll need a very large hook indeed. Good day, Child of the Seven. And good luck."


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