Page 25 - Hunter the Vigil - Mortal Remains

CHAPTER ONE: PIECES OF FLESH

The Ashwood Abbey But this thing — this thing. I fired upon it, and it pitched forward.

It’s about penetration. It always is. It’s not always about being The girl, bloodied and terrified now, ran off into the night, and I do not
know what became of her. But the thing stood again, and it advanced
penetrated or penetrating, but it’s always about penetration. It’s on us. And in a flash of lightning I saw its true form. It was a man
the older men, the ones that are kind of fatherly or grandfatherly. The made of men. Its body was stitched together like a tatterdemalion of
guys who wear shirts and ties, even when they don’t have to — I’m skin and muscle, and I could clearly see the sutures holding it together.
told that used to be more common. But these guys, they can’t get over I reloaded, and I warned it to stop. I confess I was hoping it would run,
their own need for penetration.
as this was far too easy a kill.
It’s not just about the sex. Not just about the sex. It’s about how I shouldn’t have worried. It leapt into the air, and for a moment I lost
they interact with the world. There has to be a power dynamic. Something it amidst the clouds. But then I heard it land nearby. My valet, standing be-
has to be fucking something else. Otherwise, they just don’t understand side me as always, suddenly vanished. I heard him scream as he flew nearly
it. They can’t figure out how to be in the world in any other context; they fifty yards through the air, over the nearby cliff. The monster stood near
have to either be standing there with their figurative hands on the world’s me, bleeding, furious. I raised my gun again, and I should have felt guilt
metaphorical hips, ready to enter, or they have to be the ones on all fours, for leading another good man to his death at my side. Instead I felt only
face in the pillow, slight smile on the face, waiting to be filled up.
gratitude that my heart was once again quickened, that I was free, even for
I get it. I mean, I understand the appeal. But it’s not every a moment, from this crushing thickness in my soul, this terrible boredom.
interaction I have. I don’t go into possible situation thinking,“What’s — dictated by the Reverend Doctor Marcus McDonald Ogilvy
happening — fuck or be fucked?” It sounds exhausting, frankly.
— from the journal of Walter Wilde The Long Night
The Ashwood Abbey hunts monsters for sport. Sometimes He didn’t kill himself. That’s a goddamn lie.
that “sport” crosses the line from thrill-seeking behavior into Yes, I was with him. And I wasn’t as gentle as I should have been.
utter, naked depravity. Where Prometheans are concerned, the I know it was hard for him — his faith told him what we did was wrong,
Abbey is almost bound to cross that line, due to Disquiet. An and I guess maybe I should have been more understanding about that,
Abbey hunter that has time to succumb to Disquiet generally but it felt right. He felt right. But every time we were together, I could
sees the Promethean in question as the ultimate quarry, either tell it bothered him. I tried to joke with him about it. I tried to talk
as a sexual conquest or a trophy. him through it.
The Abbey does not usually care about Wastelands, or But that new church. That fucking church. Midway Church of
takes offense at the seething obsession required to bring dead God? Fuck off. They got into him. He said they didn’t care that he was
matter to life. On the contrary, that kind of passion is extreme- gay, but after he got hooked up with them, he never stopped looking
ly appealing, and rumor has it that Reverend Ogilvy’s original over his shoulder. He never stopped looking for them, even when were
Hellfire Club included a man who was attempting to “build the together and there were no windows. That’s why I left him, but I never
perfect house boy” from spare parts. thought the paranoia meant anything!
What does offend the Abbey is the idea that these creatures Christ. The look on his face. He died in bed, with that needle in the
could become human. Inhuman creatures are for sport, in all Bible on the bedside table. I know what was in that syringe. And the police
their myriad and delightful forms, but upward mobility is not may be idiots, but I’m supposed to believe that he shot himself up with that
allowed. If a Created being can become human, what’s to stop cocktail, and then had enough presence of mind to open the Bible to Revela-
a vampire from doing it? What’s to stop a werewolf from throw- tion 22:5 and stick the fucking needle in as a bookmark? He’d have been
ing off its curse or a witch from putting up her spellbooks? lucky to get the drawer open, much less find a particular passage.
If the supernatural can become human, then the Abbey is a And yet there it was, staring me in the goddamn face. There will
collection of rich perverts hunting down, violating, and killing be no more night. Bastards.
potential people. And that simply wouldn’t do.
— from the journal of Walter Wilde
Fortunately, the Abbey is largely unaware of this phenom-
enon. Some older members, especially those of the Pursuit The Long Night draws a distinction between human mon-
faction, have discovered epistles and notes indicating that crea- sters and inhuman ones. A human monster — a sorcerer or pos-
tures stalking the nights wish to join humanity. They have no sessed human being — deserves a second chance at redemption.
idea, though, that this struggle has been going on as long as it Though a relapse into sin will draw a quick death, the Long Night
has, or that it’s actually possible. If the Abbey ever discovered understands the temptation of power. A former cultist or witch
proof of a Promethean meeting the New Dawn, they might ac- might actually come to join the Vigil, under the right set of circum-
tually get serious about the Vigil for once. stances. Inhuman creatures, though, like vampires and werewolves,
merit nothing but a quick death. They are already gone, their souls
From the Archives: The creature was a man, in all the obvi-
ous ways. It walked like a man, it talked like a man, it rutted like a forfeit, and the hunters need feel no remorse about ending them.
man. Oh, yes, I witnessed such acts. I stood there with my gun trained What, then, of the Created? These creatures are decidedly
on it as it took its pleasure with a country girl. I do not know, to this inhuman, and yet want to be human. Where does that place
day, whether she was willing. I could not tell whether her screams were them with regard to sin and forgiveness?
pleasurable or not. It may be that my ability to differentiate was wan- The question is largely academic; few hunters here know
ing, after so many long nights with creatures that made no distinction. anything about the Pilgrimage. In practice, the Long Night

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