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Arick Huebris: Aftermath
Played By: ThePoet

Arick Huebris: Aftermath by ThePoet

TEAM: Reavers

SECTOR: LOWTOWN

KIT CLASS: Master Training


Master Training Arch Lord

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 14 wins!

Brutal - 2 fatalaties!

Fight Record
League Wins: 10
League Losses: 2
Out Of League Wins: 4
Out of League Losses: 1
Total Wins: 14
Total Losses: 3
People of Khazan - Loss 4-6
Shadow of a Dream - Win 9-2
The Trigod of Destruction - Win 9-3
The Fashion Police - Win 7-3
Samuel Hunt in GTL: Khazan City - Win 7-4
Xaxxor - Win 8-4
Isaac W. Rodownski - Loss 3-7
Capuxxx Omara - Win 7-6
Mercury - Win 7-6
The Magnificent Teleotype - Win 8-5
Solarwind - Win 8-6
The Victorian - Win 9-5
Nurse Helia - Win 12-2
Discriminals Begin - Win 10-5
Who killed Landon Morisato? - Win 28-20
Marjus Vocye - Loss 10-14

Well I'm back in reality, at least for the most part. This looks like the Khazan I knew. I didn't love it, but I knew it. And it wasn't fucked up beyond even Quietus's wildest dreams. This Khazan, in all of its chaotic and unending weirdness, is so benign that I've actually stopped hearing voices in my head. Small wonder, and after all the shit I went through in that Mindsplatter reality, I really deserve more. At least a clean trench coat and a paper shredder in my office that works. I should be grateful to be alive by most peoples' standards, but I'm really not. Maybe if that Baron of Ether fellow had erased my memories as well as get me out of there. Ah well, it wasn't meant to be. Anyhow, for those of you that missed it all completely, here's what happened.

Quietus linked a bunch of Psychics and unleashed their mind waves on all of Khazan. The vast majority of people were converted to Fallen or killed instantly. A select fortunate few, or unfortunate by my calculations, remained intact for the most part. There were some nasty side effects like those goddamned voices in my head. Anyhow, I still did business. Then Evelyn Grey came to me. I wish I'd never met that bitch. Her case led me throughout Khazan trying to find a murderer. In the first place, the murdered party was a Fallen, so no skin off my back. Second, shortly after I got involved, I knew the Fallen would most likely kill me once I figured it out. Third and most importantly, that chain of events showing me things I never thought were possible and in a very disgusting way. For God's sake, I absorb body energy and make it decay rapidly. 1,000 years of aging boiled down to about 15 seconds. It's not exactly pretty to look at or feel. But it seemed tame, fit for a toddler's television show, by the time I was finished. I found the killer, escaped from the Fallen plot to kill me which it turns out Evelyn was in on, and managed to stay in hiding long enough for the self-proclaimed Baron of Ether to get me. I wasn't planning on him rescuing me, but opportunism has always been a strong suit of mine, so no big deal.

So there's where I've been. Like I said, there are no voices now, but mental images of all that shit from the Mindsplatter are burned into my brain. I don't think I'll ever forget. Believe me I've tried, but I can't. It was all too real, too vivid, too detailed, and too enveloping from a reality that I'm not even sure truly existed. On the other hand, I can't be sure that it didn't exist either. Seriously, those memories are too fierce to be a dream. Another paradoxical quandary, the story of my life. Fuck it all. Life goes on I guess, if you can call it that.

 

Personality: People say to celebrate similarities in life. Bullshit. Then again, they haven't done what I've done and been where I've been. Regardless, I say celebrate the differences. For instance, in this Khazan Marc Dollar's face does not appear in the sky during a lightning storm. And the lightning storm here isn't constant either. Who would have thought I'd be grateful for sunshine? In this reality, the stream trickling by my office in the alley below is water. Dirty water to be sure, but water. Not the unholy mix of blood, puke, slime, poison and God knows what else of the Mindsplatter. No more Elephant's Back casino that I owe money to. I will thank the Creator or whatever higher power for that because that place scared me more than the damn Fallen Throne District. Plus, owing them money for longer than a day was like signing your own death warrant.

The one thing I will miss is Rock Sugar Baby. Damn bastard turned out to be fake after all. At least, I haven't been able to find him anywhere. I'm a detective, but usually I have a corpse to work with. No traces of him, no nothing, not even a lingering melancholy tune in the air. I don't exactly know why I liked him, but I think is has to do with both of us being so fucked up by the Mindsplatter and yet so unaffected by it at the same time. Hmm, there I go celebrating similarities. That particular similarity made me sad though and the differences I talked about made me happy. Still yet another paradox to study. My head already hurts from all the aforementioned crap, but one more thing inside it probably won't make a damn bit of difference. I could be wrong. I hope I am.

 

Strength:

 

Standard Normal human strength.Agility:

 

Superior This fighter can dodge, weave and move
with the grace of an Olympic gymnast.
Body:

 

Standard Normal human endurance. Mind:

 

Superior Highly educated and ingenious.
A smart cookie.

Notoriety has its Perks

  • Power: Detective
  • Level:Supreme
  • Kit Power Link: Master Training
Clients are a dime a dozen as far as I'm concerned. They're normally distraught, looking for closure over the death of a friend, family member, and in a couple cases their dog. I don't ask too many questions as long as they pay in cash. After all, I'm not really a people person. Someone trying to talk to me about their feelings and emotional baggage inspires me to punch them more than help them. How these fucking idiots think they have a remote clue about emotional baggage is beyond me. I wish I could redirect my gift into them so they can see what I see. I have a hunch most of them would start crying in a catatonic state. Just a hunch.

Every so often though, I get that weird client that intrigues me. That one client that elbows into my already overcrowded brain and sticks something else in there for me to think about. Bastards. In the most recent instance, a semi-burly guy, truck driver by the look of him, brought what looked like a roll of carpet into my office. He plopped it down on my desk and it turned out to be a woman wrapped in cellophane, dead about 6 hours by the look of her. Splattered blood all over my desk, my newly hand-washed and hand-polished desk. Business was slow; I had to occupy my time.

"You're paying for the stains on my desk meathead." I said in a blithe tone.

"Yeah fine." He said in his best tough guy voice. It was strained though. "I need you to find out who killed my girl here. My baby daughter is dead and I want someone to pay."

"Spare me your feelings. We talk price first before I agree to anything. We're starting at five hundred dollars for the desk alone."

"I can pay you one hundred grand. Is that enough?" he said, talking hurriedly and bordering on frantic.

I hope my eyes didn't pop. That's more than I make in a whole damn year. But for this much money, there's always a damn catch, and usually a nasty one too. Images of Evelyn Gray came zinging into my head like popcorn in the microwave. Still, a hundred grand. Money, one of life's blessed certainties. People always need it in some form.

"Agreed. Cash only."

Still the Mortician

"Now, give some info to work with fat-ass. I'm a detective, not a damned magician. I'm not clairvoyant, but I'm damn close."

"My daughter and I run arms, drugs, goods, and anything else criminals want." He began unsteadily. He really looked like he was about ready to cry. As big as he was, it was more amusing and annoying than sympathy-provoking. "Our services go to the highest bidder, so we've worked for a bunch of different bosses. Always delivered, never any complaints. Then earlier today, we were driving to the drop off point for Antonio Carvella's shipment. Out of nowhere some guys ambushed us. All masked, all armed. They took my truck and shot Regina. The lead guy looked at me and said to give his regards to Tony. Didn't give me a name or nothin. I'm in deep here mister. Regina is dead and unless I come up with that shipment, Carvella will kill me himself."

Good enough by my standards. Doubly good considering the police weren't involved yet. Don't get me wrong, those pea-brains have their place in society, but their methods are restrictive, boring, and downright constraining. Besides, doing what I do got me kicked off the police force in the first place, so no love lost. A juicy paycheck and no authorities, that suits me just fine.

I was still waiting for the catch, but his story was good enough to start. "You got a name?" I asked.

"Donald Hickens."

"Ok Donald," I said looking him square in the eye. Strange how that unnerved 99% of people including him. "Stand back."

I undid the cellophane and grabbed the girl's head. After all this time the rush still hits me by surprise, but at least this was innocuous enough. Typical day as far as I could tell. Breakfast, checking the security on their truck, talking with Donald about business and checking the map they'd been given. Then she got shot. No clues, the men in masks had hidden themselves well. This meant asking around for information, and I do despise most people. I hoped word of this had spread enough for Daniel to catch some rumors; otherwise there would be some major legwork involved. I also hate legwork. Looking up, I saw Donald retching violently all over my office. I miss Zoot Suit for that. He was a sick psycho with no qualms about anything, but at least he never made messes for me to clean up.

"That's going on your bill," I said assertively while donning my hat. "Come on, it's time for a drink."

The Salty Dog

"Wha..." Donald said staggering after me, struggling to breathe. "What did you do to her?"

"There's a reason I'm damn good at my job. That was it. If you're done staring in awe at the freak show that my life is, I'd like to track down your daughter's killer."

"Sure." He gasped. "Did you find out where they are?"

"No, but I know a guy who will know. Bartender at the Salty Dog Tavern. We do favors for each other around town and last I checked he still owes me one."

Probably shouldn't have mentioned that place. Donald started retching again. Thankfully we were outside walking in an alley by that point; otherwise I was going to beat the hell out of him.

"For a criminal, you have a damned weak stomach son. Maybe you should consider another line of work. I recommend something actually legal. Even what I do isn't technically illegal." That last bit was only partially true, but truth is what you make it.

Anyhow, we walked on in a state of blessed silence until the bar was in sight. Donald looked catatonic now and just followed me. There were a few fights out front. No matter, I'd seen worse here and not too long ago. Daniel really could care less who hurt or maimed who as long as they didn't screw up his bar. A good many patrons had the scars that showed how much he cared. My normal booth was open. For some reason most people were scared to even walk near it much less sit in it.

"Whiskey and turpentine again?" Jessica asked, walking up to the table.

"Make it a double." I replied stoically. "I'm on the job. And bring my client one as well. He needs a stiff drink. Oh, and get Daniel out here. I need to talk with him."

"Sure hon. But if you punch him again..." her voice trailed off as she raised her skirt a few inches to show off the sleek black pistol she kept there for emergencies as her face quirked into a half-serious, half-amused smile. Ignorant girl. Still, I couldn't question her loyalty. She stood by her man. I would have admired that quality more, but no one had ever been loyal to me and I've survived just fine.

After a few minutes, Daniel stopped by with the drinks. "All right Arick, make it quick. We're busy tonight if you haven't noticed."

"No small talk, I'm hurt." I said in mock sarcasm as Daniel smiled a bit too forcefully for my taste. "This guy drives a truck. He had a shipment for Antonio Carvella. It was jacked earlier today. Know anything?"

"I think so." Daniel lowered his voice. "A few guys came in earlier with fresh cash, probably got a cut of whatever they did earlier. Jessica made a fortune dancing on the bar for them, but they left half-an-hour ago. I heard they work for Sidney O'Halloran."

"One of Carvella's rivals." I mused. "Any word on where they went?"

"O'Halloran has a warehouse disguised as a thrift store about 10 blocks from here. That's the best I can give you."

"Good enough." I said downing the second shot. "Put these on my tab. Come on Donnie, we're out of here." He still looked catatonic, but the drink had at least put some color in his cheeks. Pitiful excuse for a criminal, absolutely pitiful.

Old Dog, New Tricks

  • Power: Magnetism
  • Level:Superior
  • Kit Power Link: Master Training
  • Area Effect This attack causes damage in a large area.
  • Ranged and Melee Attack! Attack is equally effective at range and up close.
It was late, well past closing time for any normal store. Not that I cared, but Sidney O'Halloran had a reputation for not taking any chances. That meant guaranteed security, probably the heavily armed and muscular type. No skin off my back. Walking up to the front door, I tried the handle. Locked. Minor nuisance at best. Any decent detective knows how to pick a door lock. Hmm, I just called myself decent. Regardless, I opened the door and we walked in. Donald was whimpering fiercely. Pussy.

Upon closer inspection, there was a manager's office in the back with a desk, computer, bookshelf, and a trapdoor with a staircase beneath. It sounds cliché, but honestly that's how it usually works. Most smart bad guys aren't going to have their illegal operations out in plain sight. They'll disguise it to look like something legal. Visit Las Vegas if you don't believe me. Anyhow, the staircase led down a ways into an empty, dimly lit hallway with a door at the far end. Being the ungentlemanly and arrogant person I am, I dragged Donald to the door and promptly walked in. Typical warehouse. Massive shelves, crates, forklifts, pallets, lifts, everything a regular warehouse uses plus about a dozen tough looking guys, no doubt armed to the teeth.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them asked as he and two others drew pistols."What are you doing in here?"

"My name's Arick Huebris or The Mortician, take your pick." At that they all looked a bit stunned or at any rate uneasy. "You guys stole a shipment from my pathetic wuss of a client here today, and he wants it back. So give us the shipment and $50,000 and we'll be on our way."

"And if we don't?" the first one asked grinning maniacally; gaining some composure since several more goons had appeared.

"I beat the hell out of all of you; take the shipment and anything else I want."

"Yeah...right." He said, almost as if he was savoring the moment. "Shoot them."

And like idiots they pulled the triggers on their guns. Clearly they did not know who I was. Disappointing really. My reputation is one of the few things I have that I'm truly proud of. Seriously, they thought I would take on eight or so armed thugs without some sort of ace in the hole. I guess Donald wasn't the only stupid criminal I would have to deal with that day.

At any rate, the magnetic fields I created on their weapons did the job. The guns essentially blew up in their hands sending shrapnel flying in several directions. However, the fields I made were so strong, that the fragments simply flew back into the shooters. Polarization is a neat trick when used properly.

I Am What I Am

"Go find your stuff," I told Donald as I checked all the thugs. They were all down, dead or dying. No Kevlar or body armor. I had thought better of O'Halloran and his men, but this knocked them down a notch. "I'll be over there checking the safe."

"Sure." Donald said looking dumbfounded at the growing number of corpses. "Are we gonna catch any backlash from O'Halloran for this?"

"I'll write him a bloody note you big pussy. Now hurry up. It's past my damn bedtime."

The safe had well over $200,000 in it. Petty cash as far as this gang's operations were concerned. Still, I had expenses and I didn't think Donald would actually have the cash on him, so this was easier. I found a bag and loaded it up with all the money. Then I found some paper and wrote O'Halloran a little message about not shooting the middle-man, leaving innocent people out of it, steering clear of me, and a couple other cliché and boring things I didn't want to write. I only wrote the whole thing to get my point of leaving Donald and myself alone across.

"My stuff is still on one of their trucks." Donald said behind me.

"So find the bloody keys and just take the damn truck. Do I look like your fucking babysitter?" For some reason, hanging around this guy was putting me in a foul mood. "Just find the keys and go. There was enough money here to cover your bill for my services, so we're done."

"Thank you," he said, extended his hand for a shake.

"Are you stupid? Did you see what I did to your daughter's body? It works the same on live people. Just go, and don't ever come see me again."

"Ok," he said meekly. Then he left.

What a day. Decent payoff, back in the game, and pissed off almost beyond belief. I needed a drink. So naturally I went back to the Salty Dog. My table was exactly how I had left it, sans drinking glasses.

"Daniel told me not to serve you anymore." Jessica said walking up. "You're tab's over three grand."

"Fair enough," I said fishing a stack of cash from my trench coat. "Here's five grand, it should cover me for awhile. Now I'll take a whiskey and turpentine cocktail, plus some chicken wings."

"Wow, big payday for you." She said. "I'll get those right up for you."

She brought back my drink, and I sipped it slowly. An acquired taste to be sure, but infinitely better than anything else out there. With this much cash I could take awhile off, relax for a bit. Yeah right. Just not in me to do that. I could manage for a day or two, but then I'd get bored. And knowing my luck, those voices in my head would come back. Still, new trench coat, clothes, a cot; I might even splurge and get a computer. I pondered the possibilities as I stared around the bar at the other patrons. They seemed to resist meeting my eyes and some people even left all together. Daniel scowled at me from behind the bar. I just chuckled dryly.