On The Road Again

Some days a reputation can be more trouble than it's worth.

I bet you're wondering where I've been.

I got a visit from a government boy back near the end of May. It seems someone had just been in their office causing quite a stir about some fishy business in a seaside town not far from here, and demanded they investigate.

Well, I don't need to tell you that the government boys don't much like these little poverty stricken hovels, and if they can get someone else to check it out, they will. (Side note: Matthews once told me about how back in the mid-90s the Clinton administration contracted him to single-handedly get rid of a Likho that had somehow wandered out of the forests of Eastern Europe and set up camp in the Oval Office. For two whole weeks not a single government agent would go near the White House, he says, and they were keeping Clinton in a bunker somewhere. Though how far you're going to trust Matthews on that should be proportional to how far you can throw him.)

It just so happened this field agent of theirs had heard about my little golem stunt, and a bit about all the boneys I put in the hurt locker, and decided to pay ole Jonesy a visit.

Now you all know me as a calc hunter first and foremost, but business has been a little dry, (heh), rent was coming due, and I am also a licensed Adventurer.

I took the job.

Catch was, I had to keep it real hush-hush, not tell anyone about it. That's big government for you.

A day's journey by dirtbike saw me in the old dilapidated town, and I was none too impressed from the start. The buildings were falling down, many abandoned, the streets were shockingly empty and the few people I did see were downright ugly, and thanks to the local fishing trade, the whole town STANK.

These folk never blinked neither. Creepy.

So I found my way to The Gilman, the only hotel running in this dump, and unpacked my stuff. Let me tell you, this place was a wreck. No pool, no cable, no internet (looks like keeping quiet for Uncle Sam wouldn't be a problem), one dingy old electric light in the room, no running water, and a lot of scuffling around and muffled noise at night.

All I got out of the locals were stares and general avoidance, and I didn't even dare go near that god awful factory of theirs. Who knew smoke from a GOLD REFINERY would smell so damn disagreeable?

Anyhow, all these people were downright rude. Nearly two months there and the only words that pass between me and the hotel owner, for Pete's sake, is a "Good morning" on my part and and some kind of bubbly grunt on his part. An old drunk was the only company I found when he accosted me one day as I came out of the grocery with a newly purchased fifth of whiskey.

Now, recall that I'd been hanging around this forsaken place without so much as a lead for about a month. I mean, they have a GOLD REFINERY, remember, so if anything's going to attract the stick-body no-meats it's probably THAT. But so far there'd been nothing, no hint of calc or golem or what-have-you, just a quiet little fishing village with a population that didn't take too kindly to outsiders.

I was understandably starting to feel like a fish out of water, so you'll understand how I reluctantly gave the old drunk a belt of my whiskey with his promise of information. Not a sparkling gem of a plan, as it turns out. He spilled out a long and boring story in a terrible accent about only God knows what. I couldn't understand a word he was saying. At one point I thought I actually caught him talking about having sex with fishes. Wonderful.

Anyway, time went on, things stayed pretty boring, and the whole town stank of fish.

I never saw the bum again, but it's just as well, because after a while, even booze stopped being a distraction from the mind-numbing boredom.

Once my investigatory period was up, I gathered my belongings, went home with the paltry sum I got for my services rendered, and told the Feds in my written report the only problem with the town was the uppity people and the smell.

Their man on the inside didn't keep quiet, though. From what I understand, they went in and bombed some reef off the coast of the town just to shut the guy up. I guess the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but what do I care.

It's not all high adventure.

The Golem Fight

A golem. I think I'm spelling that right. I'm not really trained to take on these things, having majored in Calc Studies, so I'm not even really sure what the hell they are. All I know is that it was like 3 storeys tall, built like the Michelin Man but made out of rock, and pissed off.

It was walking down the strip, well, THROUGH the strip, destroying everything it touched. I had only one plan and it wasn't a great one, as Matthews repeatedly let me know. The Bat was useless, of course, so it stayed behind. But I still had my dirtbike and several sticks of dynamite that I'd hauled up from some Calc-ridden crypt. And Matthews had the set-up for the ramp in my van. It was a perfect idea, but it also had to be executed perfectly.

And the plan was to ramp off with the lit dynamite strapped to the bike and hit the golem right in the throat, while I backflipped off the bike to safety. I've been practicing the backflip for a while now (ok, ATTEMPTING the backflip, it's hard to do) so I thought I was ready. I didn't know the timing on the fuses so I just eyeballed it.

Before I jumped, I gave my wallet to Matthews; I'm not sure why. There's not a lot in there but maybe it'd make it easier to identify me afterwards. We set up the ramp ahead of the thing's trail of destruction, so I just had to wait until I got a clear shot. And soon enough, that stony bastard's head was right in my sights. I only lit one stick of dynamite, thinking that the rest would go easy enough. I counted to 5 and then revved the engine.

I was airborne before I knew it and aimed right on the neck. It was perfect. But as I tried to dismount, my pant leg got caught up on the kickstand, so I was fighting that in free fall. I managed to get free but now I was just flying straight at the rock monster's crotch. I curled up into a little ball but still hit it pretty hard. And the bike was right behind me as I fell to the ground. I'd aimed it up dead on, apparently, but mis-timed the fuses. They were still lit and ready to blow as the bike landed right next to me.

I'm not sure exactly what happened next but I woke up in the sewer. I guess I rolled into a grate. Afterwards, I learned that the blast took out the bastard's legs and he fell over, so part of my plan worked. But then it just kept on crawling through the city until some other Adventurers finished it off with backhoes and bulldozers. Should've thought of that.

Live and learn. Earned enough from the city to finish paying off that old bike and start paying off a new one.