WAR: What Is it Good For 4 (Patreon)

His mouth worked not-so-silently, the sound of crunching and lips smacking echoing loud in the cold stone gut of a basement. The delicious poisonous taste of chemically-created cheese did a good job at masking the scent of air thick with old incense and bleach-thick antiseptic.Honestly, if that was all this place smelled like, Ken was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind that much, but no… the smell of what had to be the sweat of at least a hundred years worth of bodies, it was that thick. He had to wonder if nobody ever took a shower down here or something, because… why?

Caged work lights sat on the concrete floor, the same kind they used for construction work, full yellow bodies and frames and all. Each one of them blasted him on all sides with harsh industrial light that made it pretty much impossible to see all the other people standing near the walls of the basement. Slow and shallow. Kenneth sat on a rickety folding chair, metal cold through his shirt, mindlessly shoving another Cheesy Poof into his mouth.

The bag was some kind of miracle. Or just bullshit. 

He wasn't sure which yet and he also wasn’t sure he cared either way. 

The pouch that had appeared out of nowhere after the vamp girl got poofed had been by his side since then, the small little thing a portal to a seemingly endless supply of snacks and drinks that defied every law of physics he'd learned in the last three science classes he hadn't slept through. He should know, considering he'd shoved his whole arm in there a minute ago, right up to the shoulder, until his fingers just barely scraped bottom.

Barely.

It was whatever, though, not as weird as almost getting killed by a vampire because all the blood in his body had vacated to his dick. The thought drifted past, about as useful as a piece of trash floating down the bay, but he was too numb to grab onto it.

His fucked-up hand barely even hurt anymore, the grinding and pain he heard and felt pretty much gone… somehow. The rest of him, all the parts that'd been slammed into walls and floors by Booberella, just felt... muted. 

Bruised but distant, like watching someone else get beat up on TV.

Shock, probably. 

That's what Ma would call it, that clinical word she used for the shell-shocked patients in her ward. But the word felt wrong in his head. He felt too good for shock. Too calm. 

A strange humming energy buzzed under his skin, Ken feeling real good, almost like he'd downed five of the new Soder Cola Rush Xtras, only without the hard crash that came after an hour.

Whatever. Right now, things were so far past real he might as well be on another planet. Another vampire. He'd thought it was a one-and-done thing, thought he'd somehow stumbled through the big threat, the Bludhaven Butcher. But nooooo…. 

Apparently there was a whole damn infestation crawling around the city, a whole ecosystem of these fang-faced freaks, and for some reason they'd decided to make him their personal chew toy.

His eyes flicked over to the three stooges who'd saved his ass. 

All younger than he'd expected, way more normal-looking too. After they'd dusted the vampire goth who nearly drained him dry (and not in the way he'd been hoping for), they'd grabbed him despite his protests and shoved him into the back of a beat-to-shit minivan. Interior had smelled like stale cigarettes, old sweat, and something that reminded him of Harry's gym socks after a week-long bender.

They'd driven him here. To this... basement? Murder dungeon? Underground vampire-hunting clubhouse? Kenneth wasn't sure what the hell to call it, but it sure wasn't anywhere Ma would approve of him hanging out.

The three of them were still milling around, acting like kids called to the principal's office but trying to look tough about it. His rescuers. His kidnappers. He was still working out which term fit better.

The big one, the only nigga in here other than him, stood off to the right of him with his arms crossed. Big ass brolic for no reason, a little jealous part of him grumbled, taking the older guy in. He was too damn big, though; at least six-foot-three and built like one of the Bludhaven Brawlers, the exact same guy who had slammed Bella against the wall like she weighed nothing. Bella aka the vampire who threw him across a room like it was a joke.

Ken blinked over at him, another Cheesy Poof finding its way into his mouth.

The big guy hadn't said a word since they'd arrived, just watched Kenny with flat eyes and a bored look. He’d pulled his mask down a while back, showing off a face that looked way younger than he was big. 

The girl had called him Tyrell. The little white dude had called him Tyke. 

Tyke. Something about that name felt solid in Kenneth's head. Yeah… solid’s the right word, for real. Tyke was the kind of guy who could probably bench press three of Kenneth and the folding chair he was sitting on. 

Twice. 

Without breaking a sweat.

Another Cheesy Poof hit his palm like Mjolnir and it went right into his mouth, artificial orange coating his teeth. A thumb went into his mouth, tongue cleaning off the dust on the digit he watched the little guy across the room fidget with that nail gun thing. 

Lucky, Tyke had barked his name when they were hauling him over  Yeah, right. Dude looked like someone made the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, made him human, then made him short. The guy was all of 5’4, all sharp elbows and twitchy movements that reminded Kenneth of the crackheads who hung around the Soder machines outside the bodegas.

The guy was crisscrossed on the floor, legs wrapped over each other as he sat in front of a chair like the one Ken was using, only Lucky was using his as a makeshift workbench, fingers moving with the kind of quick confidence Kenneth recognized from somewhere else. The blond kid kept muttering under his breath, just a stream of jargon and engineering stuff he barely tracked.

"Jam the feed, pop the piston, easy money."

Not that it was confusing, not really, the guy just talked too fuckin’ fast.

Kenneth shifted on the folding chair, metal still cold through his shirt, and his eyes drifted over to the girl. “Mey Mey” was the only name he knew her by, Lucky’s big mouth having called her half a dozen times from his house to the van. 

She was leaning up against one of those industrial work lights, cleaning a silver knife that looked big enough to gut a deer. If Lucky was short, she was downright a midget; maybe literally too, considering she definitely had to be at least below five feet tall. 

For a minute, he could have sworn she was younger, but he realized ‘no, she’s just fucking tiny, man’. Frowning a little, he kept his eyes on her; even if height wasn’t fucking with his tell, it was still definitely something about the way she held herself made her seem older than him. 

Old or young, she hadn't said much since they'd dragged his ass down here, just asked once if he was gonna puke again.

He'd lied and shook his head. 

Truth was, he'd already puked in the bucket they'd shoved at him in the back of that beat-to-shit minivan and he knew she knew because she was there, watching him the whole time. The sour taste of stomach acid and cheap weed still coated the back of his throat, mixing nasty with the fake cheese flavor.

Kenneth popped another Poof into his mouth and tried to piece it together. The fight. Bella's fangs in his face. The crossbow popping up out of nowhere in his hands. These fuckers showing up like some kind of supernatural SWAT team.

None of it connected. The world had come unglued and he was just sitting here eating junk food from a magic bag, waiting for someone to explain why his life had turned into a horror movie.

"So." First words he'd said since they'd kidnapped him, voice coming out rough and unfamiliar in the quiet basement. The sound scraped its way out of his tight throat. "You guys gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on, or we just gonna stare at each other 'til morning?"

Lucky looked up from his work, bright bird eyes behind a pair of oil-stained goggles. "Gotta wait for the boss. Protocol." He snickered, voice coming out just a little raspy like he needed a permanent cough drop. “Can't just spill the beans, y'know? Security risk. Loose lips sink... whatever the hell kinda busted-ass ship we're in."

"You guys drive around in a bust-to-shit mommy-van," Kenneth said flat.

"See? That. Exactly that." Lucky shot back without missing a beat. "Can't have that kinda high-level intel gettin' out." He grinned, flashing crooked teeth that needed at least some expensive dentistry,  then his fingers went back to fidgeting in the guts of his weapon.

Maria finally looked up from her knife, silver blade catching the harsh light. "Awwwww, leave him alone, Lucky. Can't you see he's having a moment? Our little damsel in distress." A slow, mocking smile spread across her face. "You gonna need us to carry you to the potty too, chico?"

Heat crawled up Kenneth's neck, words already leaving his mouth before his brain could stop them. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks for the offer though, chica. Didn't know you cared."

Maria's smile didn't change but her eyes narrowed just a fraction, a bit too serious for him to feel safe all of a sudden. "Careful. I bite."

"So did the last girl," His voice was bone-dry as he kept his eyes on her, unwilling to show even a little bit of nerves against someone only a few hands taller than his little sister. "Didn't work out too well for her."

Lucky let out a loud cackle from his spot on the floor. "Boom! Roasted! See, Tyke? He's got jokes!"

Tyke's grunt rumbled from his chest, more vibration than sound. "Quiet, Lucky." 

As if someone put him on mute, Lucky's laugh died in his throat real fast.

Kenneth took a final Poof, chewing slowly as he crinkled up the empty bag with a sound loud enough to turn a few silent heads his way. Jeez… He’d almost forgotten about all the people on the edge of the room, the harsh lights making it hard to see past the little square around him with the three that brought him here.

Even still, these one were fucked up, all three of them. The weird twitchy blond, the Latina with the attitude and the too-big knife, and of course, the big one who could probably snap him in half. Saved my life, though. 

Killed the vamp-girl before she could turn him into the world’s whiniest Lunchable, too.

Granted, it still didn't explain the magic bag or the crossbow or why vampires kept trying to make him their dinner. Kinda think I know what’s behind 1 and 2.

Before he could think more on that, a sound echoed to his right, far past the lights and all the way to the distant set of steps all the way across the basement. 

Slow, measured steps. 

Kenneth looked up, fully-empty bag of Poofs crinkling even louder in his lap as his good hand tensed around the opening.

Looks like their boss is finally coming. Time to get some answers, hopefully ones that made more sense than anything else that'd happened today.

Orange-stained fingers wiped themselves clean on his jeans as the footsteps got louder, echoing off stone wall after stone wall until finally…

A black habit appeared at the bottom of the stairs, followed immediately by another one. Nuns? 

Nuns.

Their black habits stood out against the grey stone, the both of them obviously nuns. Older nuns, too, easily with at least five years on his mom, maybe a decade. But something told him they weren’t the kind of nuns who taught Sunday school or ran bake sales.

Maybe it was the silver rosary with marble-thick rosary beads wrapped around the first one’s knuckles. Or maybe it was the over-long and heavy looking ruler sharpened to a point in the other nun’s hands.

It could even have been the fact that both women stood at least three inches taller than he was, maybe a solid six feet tall.

Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ was right.

Whatever it was, the identical-looking women had faces carved from something harder than faith. They definitely weren't ladies who spent their days doing anything like regular nuns and he was pretty sure those rosaries and that ruler wasn’t meant for just praying or teaching.

But it was the man who came down behind them that made the whole basement go quiet all of a sudden, all the people standing by the walls and the three who dragged him down here standing straighter.

Kenny wasn’t sure why at first as he took the guy in. The man kept walking down the stairs, wearing a simple black priest robe, the outfit worn at the cuffs but clean. The priest was probably a few years younger than his mom judging by the fact he was already losing his red head of hair pretty badly, a crescent of space stretching back further on his forehead than it should. On top of that, he wore a simple pair of round wire glasses perched on his nose. He looked… soft… kinda like a high-school teacher or maybe even a librarian or something lame like that.

But his eyes... Christ, his eyes were old, almost tired behind those glasses, and they just didn’t match that calm smile on his face.

The priest stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gaze settling on Kenny with a small smile that didn't quite reach those same tired eyes. "Welcome…” His smile widened just a little bit as Ken locked eyes with him, “Welcome to the Sanctuary of St. Jude's Might, son."

Lucky snorted from his workbench, not bothering to look up from whatever he was tinkering with. "We just call it the Sanctuary. Less of a mouthful."

As if he heard nothing at all, the priest's smile didn't change, not a twitch in his lips or even the smallest flicker in his eyes. 

The black-robed priest walked closer, worn leather shoes silent on the stone floor as he made his way past the imposing nuns. "This is Sister Agnes,” one hand went to his left, over at the nun wielding the thick rosaries as she nodded slowly at him, “and this is Sister Agatha,” his hand went to his right towards the nun wielding the heavy ruler. Unlike her twin, she just stared his way, eyes unchanging.Finally, the priest held a hand out towards him. “I am Father Keane. But you can call me Callum, child."