NECROCITY TIMES - Issue #1 - HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

WPRS Shorts - License to Gill

As written by Godhand

Agent #6 got ready for the mission in his motel room at the seedy structure by the frigid coast.

In lieu of eating him with lemon and dill sauce after yet another 'microwaved fish' break room incident, Agent #2 determined it'd be better to send him to investigate some missing vampires down in Outsmouth. He had protested, saying he normally investigated mermaids and sprites and selkies and sleeping Elder Gods, not missing vampires.

But the Crypt was growing not just worried, but concerned about the vampires that were being taken. All women. All recently turned. And when the Crypt asks a favor of you, you cannot refuse. Besides, it was good for them to owe you favors, because they delivered on their promises. And threats. He was going whether he liked it or not.

#6 sighed and slammed motel door behind him without locking it. He had nothing worth stealing anyway. Winter was cold and wet. He turned his collar to the dark and damp and loosened his scarf so he could suck in a deep breath through the gill slits at his neck. He lowered the fedora over his wide-set eyes to avoid suspicion. As much as a man could avoid suspicion walking alone at night in a trench coat. Still, he liked this time of night. All was silent and still. Ideally.

The streetlamps flickered as he approached, then turned on as soon as he passed. He heard the soft pitter patter of paws behind him. One, then another, as others joined and he had a horde stalking him.

Cats. He hated cats. He just wanted to be left alone, but no amount of drug-store cologne could mask his fish-scent. 

He spotted lights up ahead on mainstreet. Some festival for the locals, likely. He paused his quest to grab some fishballs in a sweet and spicy sauce from a street vendor. Agent #2 would likely gag and call him a cannibal again. He'd counter that while it was heavily discouraged in the WPRS, it wasn't entirely prohibited. I mean, humans ate other mammals all the time. 

But he wasn't at the WPRS HQ anymore...was he?

He licked the last of the red sauce off the sticks and tossed them in a trashcan as he arrived at his destination: a small Gothic church made of black stone out by the edge of town. Tall, dark, and scary. Good. As it should be. Put the fear of God into people. He glanced up as a gargoyle along the edging looked away. What, did #2 not trust him to do the job that she had to send Enzo to check on him?

The black spiked fence was easy enough to leap over. #6 took a seat on one of the more stable tombstones and waited. After an hour of quiet introspection and several levels of Candy Crush, Officer Ed McKinnon stepped out of the dark woods. The men stared at each other, looking the other up and down, then wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace. #6 could feel the man's warmth, feel his heart beat against his, and neither wanted to pull away. #6 felt the officer slip a folder into his oversized trench coat, then Ed pull away with a quick kiss on the cheek. #6 touched his slimy cheek, and wished he could do the same to Ed and feel the scratch of his beard one moment longer.

"How you been, Ed. Still dead inside?" asked #6 as he ran his webbed hands down the front of his trench coat to smooth out the edges of the folder.

"Yup," was the gruff reply.

"Yeah, well. That'll hopefully change soon."

"Got my grave picked out and everything."

#6's heart broke. "Ed, come on. Don't...You got a wife and kids."

"There's your info. Now get out of this graveyard before I have to report you for trespassing."

He couldn't help but turn away. Ed had risked so much to get him this information. They had to keep up appearances.

"I'll always have a home for you, you know."

"I know."

"I love you," he whispered.