The Gunslinger and the Hippie (Trog)

A BUILDING IN NEW YORK ...

The door of the security department opened, and they dragged her into the security room, gagged and hands ziplocked behind her back. The security team also had to help one of their mates, Hudson, onto a sofa, ice pack on a bruised jaw.  

"Sarge, here's the troublemaker who held up Hicks." two big men put her in a chair. At this point, she'd stopped struggling, her mechanical arm hanging limp.

"Let her talk. Frost, keep her on the chair. Crowe, Take her guns." The two big men oblige and relieve the western gunslinger of her rifle and revolver, holsters and bandolier. They bring the guns to a plastic table. Then they stand by the woman.

"Alright. Who are you? why'd you try to take my man's bullets? Your piece needs .45 ACP? why not use our guns?" The sergeant asked straight away, the action much too specific to be a mere robbery.

"Cuz yer fancy toys ain't gon' do squat 'gainst what's comin' for y'all." She replied, the Texan accent laid on pretty thick.

"That right Tex? Hey Sarge, we should call the police and put this gunslinger in the looney bin."  The security camera operator wheeled over to look at their captive.

The sergeant was not so hasty to such actions. "What's coming for us? Tell us who you are."

"The name's Diane Agatha Van Helsing. Dracula sent his hunters to find and kill me. We ain't got time to-"

The other security staff laughed. Out loud. "Dracula?! And you're a Van Helsing? What netflix show did you come out of, some kind of horror western show? " Vasquez asked mockingly.

Sergeant Albert "Al" Apone was a former member of the Marine Corps and now ran private security for their employer, Robert Temple. He was an all American boy from Harlem, and had seen metahumans duke it out in the streets, and superpowers laying waste to entire neighborhoods... here and abroad. When a looney old lady in a cowboy get up claimed that demons and undead were coming to get her, by what logic did he have to not believe her?

He checked the Repeater rifle and revolver his men had taken off the gunslinger, and almost marveled at them, being a fan of all those old Spaghetti Westerns. He had to struggle to hide his admiration, as the craftsmanship of the weapons was unmatched, the feel of the guns just... so right. It made him feel like John Wayne or Clint Eastwood.  She even had leather holsters with silver accents, empty bandoliers.

He turned to his security outfit, much as he did when they were still his squad in the marines. "We'll let Bob make the call to get the police involved." Al chimed in on the two-way radio that was a direct line to their employer Wonderful Bob. "Bob? We've got a situation here. A... costumed individual... doesn't seem to be metahuman... broke into the building, threatened one of our guys downstairs, punched Billy Hudson in the face. She's being hysterical. Think you might want to talk to her."

Bob was lying in a couch reading an article about vintage thunderbirds whilst enjoying a spot of tea, whilst making light conversation with very uptight looking woman sitting in a chair opposite him. She was pleasant in all the right ways, just like all the corporate drones that had booked him during this lecture-tour. His telepathy he could pick up the fact that even though she thought he was an obvious kook, she was rather relieved that todays lecture had gone well. He had already decided not to call her on it, as needlessly being a shlong had never helped anyone with anything. Besides, he was in high spirits as he had just finnished off a seminar on the benefits of mediation in todays fast-paced corporate enviroment and by doing it he had earned quite a bit of money. It also helped that he could 'put on a show' with his mind-power he had to deal with a difficult crowd. He could not help but to feel a tad dirty due to the class of people and the money involved, as it didn't really ring very well with his antimaterialistic views he espoused but antimaterialistic business-practices did not pay the bills, and he had promised to take his daughter and her kids to the maldives in a few months.

"So anyways, I says to mabel, I says. . ." He continued his story when his phone rings. He quickly looks down on the phone and sees the name "Apone", the security-guy that his manager found for him. Of course, being a hero he had objected, but apparantly even a telekinetic powerhouse needed to have bodyguards for insurance-reasons. He didn't Object. Apone had been pretty easy to work with for the most part, and his crew obviously knew what they were doing.

"Uh, like sorry man, but I Need to take this. It's Security." he said and answered the phone, as the woman in the couch muttered something about never being mistaken for a man before.
"Uh, so like, hey man. What's up?" he naswered in a slovenly, rather relaxed manner
"Bob? We've got a situation here. A... costumed individual... doesn't seem to be metahuman... broke into the building, threatened one of our guys downstairs, punched Billy Hudson in the face. She's being hysterical. Think you might want to talk to her." the professional voice in the other end of the phonecall told him.
"Aw, man, that's like, total bummer man. I'll come down right away to see what's up" He responded in an exasparated manner. and with a few old-man-noises he got out of the couch, his conversation-partner shooting him a curious glance as he did so
"This is a very complicated case Maude. You know, a lotta ins, a lotta outs, lotta what-have-yous." he explained as he went down the stairs to see what had happened

He was pretty sure that this had something to do with his hero-gig. He hadn't had to deal with many weirdos due to the fact that his heroing hadn't really gone anywhere yet. The few crazies he had to deal with he had calmed using his telepathy and chatted with for a while before sending them on their way, and provided she hadn't hurt Hudson too badly he was prepared to do the same with this one as he entered the room.

"Good work, Al! How's Hudson doing? Is it serious?" he asked as he looked around. He didn't cut a very impressive figure compared to the people in his security-detail. He was tall and managed to be gangly, yet have a potbelly, Balding yet longhaired. he was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, an old T-shirt and what could best be described as an uholy union between a bathrobe and a coat.

He then turned to the woman in the chair, nudging frost to move aside a bit. after which he just stands there sheepishly for a bit as he is trying to figure out what to say to her.
So, uh, Why did you punch Hudson? This agression will not stand, man! he said rather lamely to her, whilst discreetly using his mindpowers to make sure everyone in the room keep calm and civilized until this whole thing can be resolved

SECURITY OFFICE (2ND FLOOR)

By the time Bob arrived, Diane had calmed down enough to speak calmly. Or maybe it was the blood loss and fatigue setting in. She was too tired to object to Bob’s horrendous appearance.

“You in charge here, mister? Listen close. My name is Diane Van Helsing, and I’m bein’ hunted by the dark forces of the dark lord, Dracula.” The name always evoked terrible memories in Diane, a vortex of despair seething under her steely façade. Her entire family had lived and died by this one being’s pettiness, cruelty. Diane had buried those feelings again and again, but couldn’t help the tears start flowing from her eyes. She dared not sob though, and looked at Bob with steely conviction.
She composed herself and stated what she wanted. “I mean none of y’all any harm. Let me have ammunition and I will gladly take my troubles elsewhere. Before it’s too late.”

Vasquez interrupted the moment, when on the lobby cam, a stranger came in. “Guys, Wierzbowski just pushed audio. We’ve got company in the lobby.”

LOBBY (GROUND FLOOR)

Meanwhile, down at the lobby receptionist desk, Trevor Wierzbowski sat at his desk, eating oatmeal with fresh blueberries and an herbal tea to help with his weight problems. He had lost 10 pounds and was going to lose more.

"Wierzbowski here. Looks like we've got some old dude in a robe." He pressed a button that would let the security room hear their conversation. He also lightly touched his sidearm for assurance.

The old bespectacled man approached, hands clasped together, signaling that he definitely wasn't from New York. "Greetings, Trevor Wierzbowski. I come to make you an offer you cannot refuse."

“Wh… What do you want?” Oh no. He knew his name. Trevor’s gut instinct told him he was in the wrong place. But he had a job to do.

“I am Rupert Renfield, and I seek the one called Van Helsing. She is a dangerous renegade you see, she has killed many of my associates. She is a dire threat to all around her. We seek her custody for the safety of all.” He began holding out his hands, in symbolic gesture of offering.

“In one hand, you will call your companions to bring Van Helsing to me. You carry on with your life, and I leave peacefully. You will even receive recompense for your effort.” Renfield simply waved his hands and a pouch of gold coins materialized before him on his desk. Gold! Trevor had never seen so much in his life, and the possibilities were racing through his mind. No more relying on shitty Veteran pensions. No more working these outfits for rich old geezers. He could pay for his wife’s insulin and kid’s college with enough to retire to Fiji…

His daydreaming was interrupted when Renfield opened his second hand. A small pack of very vicious looking canines, strode in, jaws exposed in a vicious snarl. Their skin and muscles had rotten away, revealing their bones. They very quickly positioned themselves on both sides of Wierzbowski, cutting off any escape. “In my other hand, you… do not bring Van Helsing to me.” He gave a most sadistic grin. The implication was clear.

At the moment the hounds slowly strode in, Wierzbowski knew the situation he was in. He was a Mexican border guard and Renfield was Pablo Escobar. This was Plata or Plombo.

Nervously, Trevor motioned for his two-way radio to talk to the people in the security office. With clear nervousness, he spoke slowly and precisely. “Guys, there’s a … Rupert Renfield down here, he says that cowboy we caught is a… uh… wanted criminal. He wants you to bring her down here to... hand her over. We’ll ah… even get paid.”

Bob lazily leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as she started to explain herself. He could sense that at least she believed what she told them. The surge of emotions when she told them seemed as genuine as could be. Of course, it could  be a false memory or something like that. Bob had never really dealt with false memories, but he was pretty sure he could identify them when he saw them. He wasn't that surprised she was from an alternate dimension. Heck, in his stint as a hero he had met people claiming to be possessed by demons, regular idiots, people from other worlds and minor deities. Still, the fact that she was a Van Helsing from a dimension where Dracula seemed to have won the equivelent of World War 2 in what was most likely the some variety of the Wild West was a rather hard pill to swallow. It sounded like the sort of movie that was really out weird and appeared when a franchise was at the end of it's ropes. Like "Mulder and Scully meet Godzilla" or something along those lines

"She's telling the truth. Like, at least she think she does. I think so to." Bob said matter of factly as he took out a cigarette from the rumpled recesses of his coat and ignited the tip. He had gone the whole day without a smoke, and whilst there was quite a few regulations about not doing it in the building, Bob was a free spirit and since he had just met a woman from another universe who insisted that Dracula was after her. That was when he felt the presence downstairs in the lobby. It was Wierzbowski of course, but there was someone else down with him. Before he reported it Bob had gotten a read on the newcommer, and found that he was mostly a big full of nothing. He had dealt with people being mindcontrolled by super-roaches before, but this was different. It was as if someone had taken away what  made this person himself, he was more or less a meatpuppet, completely deferential to another presence, something that existed deep within him.

"Uh, like, The person down there with Weirzabowski is mutilated in the head somehow. this is bad, bad news, man. Really bad. It's got something in it's mind controlling it." Bob said to the people gathered in the room. The condition of the mans head had him somewhat rattled, because he knew exactly what it took to make someone like that, and he was most likely able to replicate the process, and that scared him. He quickly turned to Diana, looking her straight in the eye

"Does that sound like someone you know, man?" He asked Diana with a steelyness in his voice that surprised even him

SECURITY OFFICE SECOND FLOOR

“That there is Renfield. My Pa said he was the first to turn. Now he’s the harbinger. Lots of folk rather take his gold and look the other way than fight- sell out their neighbors, sell out their friends, sell out family- all that gold don’t mean nothin’ once he come for you.” Diane explained grimly, watching and listening intently at the screen, which she grasped somehow as some kind of crystal ball that permitted scrying.

“Yeah. And he’s got zombie wolves. Only Bad guys have zombie wolves.” Al pointed out the obvious threat Weirbowski faced. Judging from their bloodthirsty disposition, Renfield was not the type to take no for an answer. Still, he had a man down there, and Al thought long and hard, a stranger for the life of his man. He closed his eyes to think, and he recalled those tumultuous years abroad, all those morally questionable things they did for ‘freedom’ and ‘justice’.

He also turned to Bob to listen to their boss’s opinion, and it was not a happy picture. “Mind controlled? A puppet? Damn that’s just some messed up metahuman shit. Uh, no offense Bob.”

He picks up the microphone to speak with Renfield from the security room. “Now listen up, mister Renfield… or whatever you call yourself. You can’t just walk in here and demand we hand over someone because you’re trying to pay us. Especially when you threaten us otherwise. Now, you let us call the police, and we’ll let you and the Helsing lady sort out your differences down at the precinct. Without the zombie dogs.”

= = =
REcEPTION

Trevor was perspiring when the sergeant spoke to Renfield. In retrospect, selling out a stranger to another stranger for money reeked of evil. He might’ve lived with it, but not for his wife and kids.

“Well you heard him. You’ll wait here, and I’ll call the police.”
“I am disappointed in you Trevor. I truly am. I thought you could have been my new friend. If you will not serve me in life, then you shall slave for me in death!” He gestured the wolves to close in and attack.

Without another word, Trevor quickly drew his gun. If he was going down, he may as well make it count. “Say hello to my little friend!”

= = = = =

Wordlessly, the team watched as Weirbowski began fending off the undead wolves. He puts up a good fight, punching one in the jaw as it lunged for him, then emptying his machine pistol in the other, turning its brains to pulp. A third wolf lunged over his table to get at him immediately. His dying screams filled the security room, so Apone cut the feed.

So that was how it was going down. The veteran sergeant turned toward Deitrich, their team medic, waiting by the supplies.

“Deet, secure Bob and get this cowboy on her feet pronto.” Apone called over to the medic, and then went to a crate to retrieve some body armor and a helmet.

“Here you go Bob.” Sergeant Al prioritized their primary client, equipping him with medium body armor, protecting most of his torso and a stiff collar to guard his neck. His arms and legs were also given forearm and shin guards. Deitrich offered him a helmet as well. “Might wanna keep that noggin safe, sir.”

Once the client was wrapped up, Dietrich came over and emptied a small plastic pouch onto a table for Diane. She quickly explains the contents as Diane was untied. “Here. These’ll get you on your feet and fighting shape in a few minutes; Pills for the pain, pills for the bleeding, a chocolate bar for sugar and Mountain Drew to wash it down.”

“Really.” Diane was skeptical for a few seconds, but seeing that these people had just resolved to stand their ground moved her to gulp down everything, the chocolate lasting only a few chews and then washing it down with Dew. Diane had to take a moment to stop and admire the taste of it. “…that’s the sweetest hooch I ever did tasted. Mountain Dew, you call it?” She gulped it down quickly, and the unfamiliar sensations of a sugar rush washed away her fatigue. She then looked at the rest of the pack’s contents.

She held up a small white bar, which she mistook for soap. Deet filled her in. “That’s fuel for field cooking. Are you going to cook yourself some grub right now?”


It was the strangest kind of coal Diane had ever seen, more like a bar of soap than fuel. She opened the receiver in her mechanical arm and placed the K-fuel in it, and used the pilot light to ignite it. In moments her limp arm came back to life. “That’s some strong coal.”

“…Now that’s not something you see every day.” Dietrich was genuinely intrigued by the steampunk prosthetic.

“Boys and girls, one of ours just got compromised by an extreme hostile. Wierbowski bought us time with his life. You know what that means. Hudson, Vasquez, Frost, we hold the second floor Atrium. Hicks, Dietrich, you keep an eye on Bob and whatever civilians are left to the roof. It’s time to put your war face on.” The command seemed to elicit great excitement from the crew, as they eagerly bring out large crates hidden under big sheets. It was time for a gearing up montage.

Bob was rather concerned by the fact that there was a literal character running around downstairs with a bunch of zombie dogs. If what this woman was telling was true, he was facing off against the Honest-to-god Renfield, who had apparantly been mischaractered quite a bit. He didn't look like a somewhat demented, bug-eating mental patient, rather like some variety of evil wizard, a dark lord in his own right. The fact that he could seemingly conjure gold from out of nowhere and had zombie dogs with him only enhanced that fact. Bob glanced back at the monitor before once again turning his attention back to Van Helsing. He was more or less convinced that this person was the sort of guy that wouldn't take no for an answer if Wierbowski decided to ask him to go away. In fact he felt very worried about Wierbowski's wellbeing right now.

"Apart from like, making gold, zombie dogs and being wrong in the head, what can we, like, expect from this guy? Does he have powers? Just how dangerous is he?" Bob asked, his intense gaze masked somewhat by his black sunglasses. He figured that although this rather unsettling fellow was Diane's problem, it was nigh-inevitable that he would become everyone's problem in the very immediate future

As Apone commented on the fact that this was some freaky meta-human shit, Bob could not help but to agree. After all, this 'Renfield' Downstairs would definately qualify as a Metahuman with his gold-based magic-trick. The jury was out when it came to the zombie-dogs, because it was impossible to know wether he made those himself or not. No matter the answer the guy was definately bad news.
"None taken, man. There are some like, seriously sick squares out there, man. Sick squares with scary powers." Bob responded, before puffing on his cigarette.

Through the monitor the group could keep up step by step on how Renfield got the first blood of this skirmish. Wierbowski's fate was grisly, but nobody could deny that it was more or less a foregone conclusion. To his honor he went bravely, nobody could take that away for him. His thoughts about the Lobby was interrupted by Apone who handed him a set of armour. In his heroing-career he had worn armour, but it was nothing like this. It was just a pair of knee-pads and a bullet-proof vest. This armor however made his old one pale in comparison. Bob removed his bathrobe-coat and started to put them on, and if this was a badass gear-up montage, he would have ruined it, by at first trying to put on one of his Forearm-guards back-to-front, before Dietrich quietly pointed this out to him. He also had a hard time getting on the shinguars, and nearly fell over whilst strapping the first one on. The vest and helmet was quite a bit easier, however, and the helmet fit like a charm. Even though he was alot bulkier now than before he put the armour on, he managed to put on his bathrobe-coat over the whole affair. luckily it was made so baggy that it's presence had no adverse effects on his mobility.

In all honesty he wasn't really sure he needed armor. After all, he tended to rely on his Telekinetic shields for protection, but he was in no hurry to argue with Apone. The man had proved his competence and then some already. He just hoped that their experience and weapons were a match for whatever malevolent machinations Renfield brought to the table. However, his thoughts about the upcomming fight was interupted when he noticed the fact that Diane had an artificial arm that apparantly ran on coal somehow. That was seriously in a league of it's own in terms of coolness

"Wow, you got a robot arm! That's like totaly tubular, man!" Bob exclaimed, probably losing another few points of coolness in the eyes of everyone present.
"Does it run on coal? How does that work? Is it super-strong? Can you like, crush a rock to dust in it?" he asked excitedly

For a private security team, they were packed with top grade military hardware. They opened them all up to reveal a wealth of toys, starting with heavy body armor painted with the names of each one.

Each member of the team was outfitted for a specific role. The sergeant put on a backpack with grapnel launcher, as well as a sheathed blade with wires in it. He wielded a battle rifle with barrel-mag, a modest weapon compared to the rest of his squad.

“Hey Hudson, wake up! I don’t pay you to be sleeping beauty.” Hudson had been awake awhile and decided the shut-eye was a wonderful bonus to this tedious job. A knee to the nose changed that straight away. “Ow! What? We fighting a meta? Whoo hoo! Yessir, that’s what I done signed up for!” He headed over to his crates, and brought out an automatic shotgun with a barrel magazine. He also wore a wrist-mounted tablet that served to control a quartet of battle drones which had just come online.

Vasquez had an entire rig assemble itself into some kind of personal frame that she didn’t so much wear as walk into. The powered frame allowed her to heft an extremely dangerous looking minigun, attached to two large backpacks of ammunition by an ammo belt. “Hell yeah.” If that wasn’t enough overkill, two mini-rockets were mounted on each of her arms. Her barrels started spinning, giving a very satisfying whirrr.

Hicks brought out his own sealed war frame, but in place of mini rockets and double-barelled submachine guns, and a very special weapon – an experimental, glowing plasma rifle. The heat alone from three feet away was palpable, which made an enclosed suit necessary.

The largest man on the crew, Crowe wore even thicker looking armor, and was prepared for close quarters combat by hefting a large, transparent combat shield and a compact SMG. He also had a black alloy tomahawk at his side. “I’m gonna crack some skulls in, Sarge. for Weirbowski.”

Frost wore armor as heavy as Crowe, though for different purposes. The thick insulating suit would protect him from the flamethrower he carried. “Barbecue time.”

Before the groups split up, Apone asked every man to fork over a magazine of their side arms. Diane suddenly found herself with over 200 rounds of .45 ACP, more than enough to fill her bandoliers and she had to carry 3 magazines to hold the rest.

= = = =

BOB AND CO.

A power armored Hicks led Diane, Dietrich and Bob to the express elevator that would send them up to the roof. Hicks occupied half the elevator, and given everyone but Diane were in bulky armor it was a bit of a squeeze. The elevator dinged and everyone piled in.
Their conversation was carried over in the elevator, as the car was shunted upward at express speed. Diane was loading her guns in front of Bob’s face at this point, squeezing the rounds in one by one into the tube magazine of the repeater. “Renfield. He’s sometimes called the beast caller. Often he hunts with his pack of undead wolves… and his fell bats.”
Diane was a bit surprised at Bob’s finding her prosthetic. “It is a steam work prosthetic, yes, it burns coal or a similar material to drive the steam and gears within.” Taking the question a bit literally she then answered rather dead pan. “I would rather use a hammer to crush stones, Bob.”
The elevator then abruptly came to a halt. Far from the roofdeck. The lights flickered out.
“…Hell was that.” Hicks asked, three of them unawares that several giant mutant bats had quickly assailed the engine room on the roof, disabling the elevator. Then they were crawling into the shaft. The situation began to deteriorate when some sharp fangs started chewing through the ceiling.
“Aw crap!” Unwilling to discharge inside the confined space, the two bodyguards opted for a more practical approach. Hicks used his power armor to slowly pry the doors open, while Dietrich was working the panel to achieve the same effect.
The elevator car’s ceiling was peeled away, and they came face-to-face with a giant bat screeching for blood. Diana shot at it, the elevator definitely not a place for guns to fire. The bat was killed, sure, but now everyone had their ears ringing.
Diane looked at Bob, trying to pat him on the shoulder and shout despite the ringing in everyone’s ears. “Bob, do something!”

Bob squeezed into a corner of the elevator as best he could, it was cramped and crowded and far from comfortable. Bob wasn't normally claustrophobic, but the combination of adrenaline, fear and the sense of imminent danger definately didn't help at all, in fact he couldn't help feeling trapped. The thoughts radiated from the minds of his companions did not help matter either. Hicks was terrified, yet he seemed to keep those feelings in check with a self-controll made of iron. Like a raging inferno inside a steel cage. Diane was frightened as well, but he had a feeling that she was right in her element, running on instinct more than anything, Dietrich was definately the weakest link, even though she kept the coolest head of the four, she would break before she bent, and when she did, she would break bad. Bob looked upward, as he felt minds, primitive minds but minds nonetheless up above them somewhere. They didn't feel angry per se, if anything they felt rabid and bloodthirsty. He felt a hint of Renfield in there too, directing their blind fury.

He was about to notify his companions of his discovery when suddenly a set of oversized claws ripped through the roof of the elevators as if it was made of tissue-paper Bob was shocked by just how monstrous the thing up there was. It did put the Zombie-wolves to shame, that was for sure. The worst thing was that it was more than one of them up there. Bob was temporarily paralyzed with fear, as the elevator stopped
"We can't stop here. This is bat country!" Bob muttered in a strangely calm and collected manner as if he was saying 'we just missed our exit, the next one is two miles' He was knocked out of his daze with a deafeningly loud ring followed by a persistant ringing in his ears. Just like that time where he had tossed a bomb into the heavens to save a city. It was true what they said, history does repeat itself after all. Even though he could barely hear her over the ringing, Diane's words shocked him out of his shock, and he decided that yes, She raised an excellent point, he had to do something.

"Alright, alright. Uh, go low!" he shouted as he rose through the air, telekinetically pushing the bat diane had shot aside and widening the hole the bat had made jut enough to get through. He could see the Bats in the elevator-shaft, illuminated by the emergency-light. Most of them were climbing down the wall rather than flying, but one of them had detatched from the wall and tried to glide down the shaft, despite not having enough room to stretch his wings, trying his best to glide down towards the elevator. Bob raised his hands, closed his eyes and pushed.

The problem with this was not pushing hard enough, he knew he could do that. Heck, he was pretty sure he could push the roof of the entire building if he needed, but that would only result in the elevator crashing and burning. Not to mention that all the people above them would meet a sudden and grissly end. No, his greatest problem would be making sure he did not go overboard. The bat sailing down towards him was the first that notice. It did no longer fall down, but had instead started to fall upwards at increasing speeds. The blood and brains leaking out from the head of the deceased bat also started to rain upwards, though the corpse were just outside of the range of Bob's push. The bats lining the walls of the elevator-shafts were flung upwards, crashing into one another, forming a pile against the cealing, many of them breaking their wings as the fell. They scretched and tried to move, but the force holding them in place were too strong. The metal in the shaft groaned from the preassure, and the occasional pang could be heard as rivets broke under the preasure, as well as the noise of splintering concrete as the metal started to malform and bend outwards as the whole shaft was swelling. However, the bats was no longer in a position to notice as their bones cracked and crumbled like sticks under a boot and their liquids were squeezed from their bodies like wine from a grape. Fortunately Bob was spared most of this grisly sight due to the fact that one of the wall,panels disloged and flew up into the roof, and slamed into the bats.

However, this meant that the instant he would stop focusing, it would all rain down and most likely land on the elevator with enough force to break the already damaged dable and cause the elevator and passanger to make a quick descent downwards.

APONE AND CO.

While the escape party made their way to the roof, the welcome party turned the second floor into a veritable warzone. Frag mines, killer drones, and their considerable arsenal blunted the advance of the dire wolves. Vasquez's minigun reaped a truly gruesome toll, turning any flesh it was pointed at into a fine mist.

The undead wolf bodies were knee deep. How Renfield smuggled these many monsters into the city was a mystery the soldiers cared little for. They had been pushed into a corner, practically fighting back to back in a single hallway to funnel their enemies.

"Scanner says... No further contacts." Hudson reported, his combat shotgun's barrel smoking hot.

The sergeant reflexively reloaded before even breathing a sigh of relief. Did they win? Did they hold the line and survive? He almost dared, and pulled out a cigar to smoke it.

The lights were understandably on the fritz. Hudson looked at their heavy support. "Vasquez? you alright?"

There was no way any of them could notice the figure of a woman materializing and disappearing in the blink of an eye between them all.

"Shit did anyone see that?" Apone asked.

"No..." Vasquez responded, before falling quiet.

She turned her minigun on Frost, who was torching the dead bodies that Crowe was axe-checking for activity. It happened so quickly. A single pull of the trigger. A short burst of BRRRRRRRRRT. Frost was instantly consumed in a conflagaration as the bullets ripped into his tank, taking Crowe with him as well.

Apone and Hudson turned to see the explosion; the last thing they saw were the barrels of Vasquez's minigun, and the ghostly face that had hijacked Vasquez.

= = =

BOB AND CO.

The two war vets managed to open the elevator door at last, and the sight of an open hallway breathed some relief to Hicks and Dietrich. Diane peered through the torn roof of the elevator car to see that Bob was doing something indeed, holding the bats back and popping them like water balloons.

With the elevator stopping halfway between floors, He boosted the medic first up into the hallway, then Diane, the finally Bob, who had the cowboy pull him into the hallway. Hicks proved quite agile even in the power armor.

"...You didn't say you were a wizard Bob. Can't you just... open a magical gateway to your sanctum?" Diane asked him, definitely not quite grasping the concept of superpowers quite yet.

"Sergeant, we ran into bats in the elevator but Bob took care of it. What's your status down there?" Dietrich checked in with their lead, but was quickly concerned when there was a long silence.

Deitrich sighed in relief when she heard Vasquez pick up. But the news was grim. "...Deet... everyone... dead... barely made it... elevator... meet... roof..."

The news brought the medic to a standstill. They knew this job was dangerous. But Dietrich couldn't help but start weeping. "Copy that. see you up top."

The giant bat-creatures were well past the point of being dead, their bodies reduced to sacks squished icky goo and bone-meal. However, Bob had realized that he could not stop ushing until everyone had gotten out of the elevator, because all of the stuff that had gathered up in the roof of the shaft would come crashing down when he did. Even if he could not see them, he could feel the minds of the others leave the elevator one after the other. Dietrich was the first, then He felt a tug on his leg as Diane pulled him back into the elevator, and subsequently he was boosted up so he could inelegantly climb out on the floor, with Hicks close after him. As the party left the Elevator Bob finally released his grop on thee things on top of the elevator, and with a crash it all fell down onto the elevator, metal wall-panels, bit's of elevator and most nociably, the squishy, throughly crushed, icky, remains of the bats. It was a miracle that the cable of the elevator hell for all that weight, but it did. And even if it had not, it wouldn't matter, they were safe.

Bob has been accused of being all sorts of things during his long and eventful career. From the top of his mind he could remember being called a hoax, a hoax, in league with the devil, in league with cthulhu, in league with the illuminati in league with fox broadcasting, an alien and a half-alien. However, this was the first and only time someone had accused him of being a wizard. For some reason it amused him and it might have been the adrenaline, but he couldn't help but to let out a chuckle
"A wizard? Uh, like, I'm not a wizard, man. I'm just a psionic. Not a magical bone in my body." He explained as they moved forward.
"And I don't have a sanctum. What's a sanctum anyway?" He added.

He noticed that Dietrich had tears streaming down her face, and he didn't need to be a telepath to know that her little chat over the coms had given her some bad news. Bob did not know what to say, but instead just put a comforting hand on the medic's shoulder, telepathically sending her feelings of comfort and calm. He knew that this was a quick fix. Like, repairing a wall with duct-tape and chewing-gum. It would be able to hold for a while, but if you stopped taping, it would only be a question before it all collapsed.

"Alright, dudes, so, uh, What's the plan?" he said as he turned to the others. Apone and his men were one of the best outfits money could hire, and he was sure that they had all sorts of contingencies in place in case things started to go librarian-poo. He briefly considered just blasting a hole in the wall and flying off, but the problem was that he couldn't take the others with him. Sure, he could easily lift them, but it would be like transporting eggs across the road by throwing them, and he had a feeling that having the rest of the party go "splat" against a wall or the round wouldn't really qualify as rescuing them. Besides, even if that was a possibility he wouldn't want to leave before Apone and his guys got here.

Diane was eventually stopped in her tracks once Dietrich heard some bad news on her radio. Maternal instincts put Diane's hands on Dietrich's shoulder, trying to get "Come on partner, stay with us."

Deitrich quickly found herself in a hug. She was going to cry it out, yet, thanks to Bob, found the ability to speak coherently right away. "They... only Vasquez made it. We have to get to the chopper."

"The choppa?" Hicks parroted, as he kicked an emergency stairwell door open.

"Yeah, the chopper." Dietrich.They were actually only four floors away from the roof now, but after that elevator fiasco they didn't want to risk it.

"Right. Come on Bob, you don't mind a little cardio do you?"

= = = =

ROOF

After four flights of stairs, the crew finally reached the roof deck. The sight of the flying machine struck Diane in awe.

"Like some kind of... gyromatic flying machine." She muttered under her breath. Such a thing had lived only in illustrated books to Diane. She was uneasy with the thought of actually flying; she hadn't even been able to process the cityscape yet. Between them and the helicopter, Vasquez stood still, vigilant, between the mechanical room and some condenser units.

"Vasquez. Thank god you made it!" Dietrich said, relief washing over her. Maybe they would make it after all.

"Alright people, let's get Bob on the choppa, let's get him out of here before more of those things show up." Hicks said, nodding to Bob to keep moving. He didn't have time to worry if he was keeping up.

They began walking past Vasquez, now downrange of that gatling gun "...Considerin' how many bullets that cannon must spew out, you definitely did a number on them. Any sign of Renfield?" Diane asked.

"No." Vasquez replied a bit tersely, not being her boisterous self. Then again, after all that's happened tonight, no one would be so enthusiastic. Dietrich could barely contain her relief as she hopped into the pilot seat to get the choppa warmed up.

"Vasquez?" Hicks bumped past their heavy gunner, wondering why she hadn't moved. But once Diane was within arm's reach, the gunner swiftly revealed that not all was right. A swift left sucker punch sent the unaware gunslinger to the ground, her repeater falling out of her hands. Nobody could have reacted to that...

The chopper? Bob didn't even know they had a chopper. Still, this was most likely his own fault for leaving these kinds of things to his agent. Still, right now he was very grateful that they did have one. What he was not grateful for however, was their little trek up the stairs. It was exhausting, and it was too enclosed to let loose and simply fly telekinetically. Before long Bob was wheezing as they climbed the stairs towards the roof access, He was too old for this shit. as they ran, he couldn't help but to lag behind a bit. He could still see the others, but the fact that they were too high-end security-people and one cowboy they had probably done a better job keeping their up with their cardio. Also, there was the fact that he was in his 50s. You can't expect someone that old to run up stairs with the best of them! It's just not fair!

The others had already dissapeared through the door when he reached it. as he had definately felt better, His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. When he got out of the door, he wasn't running any longer, but more stumbling quickly. However, he arrived just in time to see the choppers and the rest of the party. Dietrich was already climbing in and getting the whole thing started, whilst Hicks was talking to Vasquez. He remembered how she looked from earlier. However, his telepathy picked something up. She was not herself, and not in that 'acting out of character' way either. She was literally not herself anymore.

"Watch out!" he cried, running towards them as the danger of the situation made him forget just how exhausted he was but to no avail as The woman formerly known as Vasquez decked Diana like a professional boxer.

Bob reacted reflexively, setting off a telekinetic explotion between Diane and Vasquez. It was not enough to explode, but it was enough to send Diane's unconscious form rolling towards the chopper, as well as knocking Vasquez back before she had time to use that big ol' gun of hers. Bob then quickly got between the two
"This foe is beyond any of you. . ." He muttered quietly in an uncharacteristically low manner to Hicks, none of his usually stumbles or ideosyncracies present
"You! Shall not! Pass!" he roared at the posessed woman and focused his power, creating a telekinetic shield between Not-Vasquez and the rest of them.

"Fly you fools!" he hissed to Dietrich and Hicks, as moved towards Vasquez. If his plan was to work, he had to make sure that the being possessing Vasquez could simply not hop into someone else. He was rather convinced that he would be able to keep the thing out of his head, but he couldn't say the same for the rest of them. His main plan was bombarding the entity with feelings of suffocation and extreme uncomfortability. Like being trapped inside a smelly garbage-bag filled with puke, nails and cockroaches. Hopefully that would encourage her to leave Vasquez alone for long enough for him to get them out of there.

BOB vs. GHOST LADY

Seeing that Vasquez almost nearly shredded them with her gatling cannon, Hicks made no protest as he picked up the unconscious Diane and her old west repeater towards the choppa. Deitrich had to swallow her fear fast as she prepped the helicopter for launch.

While not quite an exorcism, the psionic bombardment worked the same on the possessing force on Vasquez. The air thrummed with clashing energies, as Vasquez visibly struggled to bring her cannon towards Bob, the barrels inching closer and closer, but the ghost, never having been fought like this before, faltered.

The ghostly, translucent outline of a woman slowly extracted herself from Vasquez like a parasite being pulled from its host. With the wraith ripped from her psyche, Vasquez in her power suit goes limp. Such is the suit's failsafes though, is that the suit goes to knee and she stays upright otherwise, head face down.

The wraith fell to her 'knees' and began weeping in pain. "Please... stop... Dracula... made me do it..." she wept loudly, begging for Bob to stop his psychic assault, her form becoming unstable.

Bob could feel it work, the mind of the ghost seemed to disengage more and more from the unconscious yet ambulatory form of Vasquez. It was a ghostly blue-ish cloud of ectoplasm that seemed to take the rough outline of a woman He kept going until she was entirely separated from her host. She fell to her knees and the outline went blurrier as Bob continued his assault. She was definately on the ropes. Then she begged him to stop, claiming that Dracula made her do what she did to Vasquez and the others. He could sense that this was the truth, but he was still concerned about the whole situation. The wraith was obviously dangerous, and she had killed people by possession. However, the fact that she did not seem to have a choice in the matter complicated things. Bob caught himself wishing that she had acted in her own volition, which would have made his decision ever so much easier.

He of everyone knew just how terrifying mind-powers could be if they were misused, and just how helpless the victims of said powers actually were. After all, he had met others with similar abilities in his youth a long long time ago, and even if this Ghost was a possessor she was little more than a slave to the whims of her vampiric overlord.
"I'll give you one chance to clear out, but you better not try anything like this ever again, because If you do, I'll do worse, much, much worse!" Bob threatened in what he hoped was a menacing fashion, before ceasing his mental assault. However, even though he was a fervent, if occasionally somewhat reluctant believer in the first half of "Forgive and forget", he was not about to let his guard down, in case the ghost tried anything.

His next objecive was to get Vasquez to the chopper. Something that would not be easy, considering that she was encased in power-armor. He waved for the people in the chopper to retrieve Vasquez, hopefully they would be able to do so without further interruptions. The faster they could get out of here the better, because if those bats showed up they would have a bad time. or an even worse time if Renfield decided to show up.

The ghost woman continued to weep, continued to despair. In the blink of an eye, she went from ghostly outline to a victorian dressed woman. As she wept she told her sob story to Bob, to distract him if only for a moment.

"I tried... I tried to escape... before he would make me a bride... I drank the arsenic... but he called to me... 'Lucy... death cannot save you from me.' and so I was torn from paradise... a slave... A SLAAAAVE!"

Lucy's form still moved at an unholy alacrity, and reached for Bob's very soul. Against his fortifications Lucy would find considerable resistance. His mind however, would be met with an altogether different power- a spell, a communion, a link between minds.

= = = =

In that one moment of mental connection, time was stretched out. A great astral gray sky above, and the mindscape below. A vast darkness stretched before Bob's mind, as a presence tried to reach him. A baroque stone bridge, lined with sinister gargoyles and braziers of pale blue flames, stretched from within the darkness, trying to reach into Bob's own mindscape, only to find resistance.

A single figure strode forth, a maelstrom following in his wake. He was so far away, a universe away in fact, yet the weight of his presence slammed against the barriers of Bob's mind. A billowing black coat, oxford shoes, an lacquered oak cane, and the finely dressed monster with the face of a man who carried them. Pale, but with red eyes. He sought to see why his quarry was not recovered.

"My, my, my, my. What have we here. A formidable fortress indeed." He paced back and forth, between the threshhold of the bridge, and Bob's mind. He tapped the barriers, testing its strength. "Who are you stranger, to deny me my quarry? I have no quarrel with you, and the troubles of the Van Helsing girl are not yours. Hand her over and I shall see fit to reward you, and I shall overlook this resistance." He demanded, a being so used to having his way.