“Thank you for meeting us at such a late hour,” She-Wolf said, stepping into Bonum Vibes Solum with Lady NightRaven, “I was told you could help us identify memetic hazards.”
“I can indeed,” Victor Vibes said, dressed in the same hippie garb on his business card, “Can you define the hazard?”
“Gold coins,” She-Wolf said, eyeing the various incense burners and statuettes littered about Bonum Vibes Solum, the whole place had a smell that She-Wolf couldn’t quite place.
“And gold bars,” Lady NightRaven added.
“One moment,” Victor Vibes said, stepping down a hallway with bead strings blocking entrance, “Just a few pieces of equipment I need to grab.”
Lady NightRaven started counting the golden lucky cat statues around Victor Vibes’ office while She-Wolf sniffed at incense plates filled with ash.
“You smell that?” She-Wolf asked.
“The weed?” Lady NightRaven asked, “Of course I smell it.”
“That’s what weed smells like?” She-Wolf asked.
“It is,” Lady NightRaven answered, “How many porcelain unicorns do you think this guy has?”
“No idea,” She-Wolf said, “Less than his dream catcher collection? Not sure Mr. Vibes is going to be any help with memetic hazards.”
“Alright,” Victor Vibes said, hauling heavy equipment into the cluttered room, “This is the heart rate monitor.” Victor set the monitor down with a heavy “clunk” before plugging the thing in and setting a clip onto his finger. “And this is a lie detector. Lady NightRaven, I’ll need you to watch the lie detector for any major changes. The change you’re looking for is usually very even speech, if I seem a bit too relaxed that’s a good indication that we have ourselves a memetic hazard.”
“Can we get a sobriety test first?” Lady NightRaven asked.
“Oh, no need for that,” Victor Vibes assured her, “Memetic hazard will be notable changes in heart rate. Typically it gets slower and more relaxed, even in moments when the subject appears passionate, excited, stressed or tense. Supposedly, memetic hazards override normal brain activity, changing outward appearance but suppressing inward.”
“I’d like to test it all the same,” Lady NightRaven said.
“Madam, I assure you I do not work under the influence,” Victor Vibes said, “But if you insist, I will happily oblige. She-Wolf, I heard about the new-”
“I will hunt you like a chicken,” She-Wolf said evenly, her eyes digging into Victor, “And gut you like a fish.”
Lady NightRaven watched as the line on the polygraph swung wildly in what she guessed was fear.
“Does that prove my control of my mental faculties?” Victor Vibes demanded.
“Sure,” Lady NighRaven said, “So, should we get to business?”
“Yes,” Victor Vibes said, “But know this, Miss She-Wolf, threaten me like that again, and you both will be making for the door.”
“Just don’t bring that up again,” She-Wolf said, “And I’m sure I can restrain the beast within.”
“Then let me see this memetic hazard,” Victor Vibes said. She-Wolf pulled the gold coin from her pocket and placed it on the table in front of Victor. The man looked down at it, studying the face and unknown language that covered the rim.
“Is this,” Victor Vibes guessed, “Cursed pirate treasure? What were those called? Doubloons?”
“Let me just dim the lights,” Lady NightRaven said. Victor Vibes watched as the lights drifted into a dim glow, but the gold coin retained its tempting shimmer. It was a gleam that could be heard just as well as seen. Victor looked closer at the coin, letting it fill his vision. Light danced across the coin’s surface, beckoning Victor close and whispering of all he could accomplish with riches untold. The tinkle of gems and clatter of coin filled Victor’s head, all he needed was-
She-Wolf grasped Victor’s wrist tightly, shoving him back.
“-ctor!” Lady NightRaven shouted, “Victor Vibes!”
“Miss She-Wolf,” Victor said, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to gather his thoughts, “I think it’s best if you took your pirate coin back. Are you by chance keeping a journal?”
“I am,” She-Wolf said, pocketing the coin once more, “It should be safe now. What happened?”
“My family has a history with alcoholism,” Victor Vibes explained, “My sister had terrible self control. I believe the hazard used that weakness as some kind of angle for control. Augh. Are you two by chance familiar with memetic hazard ratings?”
“It hasn’t come up before,” Lady NightRaven, “We don’t usually handle cases of this magnitude.”
“Then perhaps I should explain them,” Victor said, “A level one memetic hazard can be something as simple as recreational drugs, one beer too many, or a significant sum of money. An example of this, Miss She-Wolf, is what you would do for, say, fifty thousand dollars?”
She-Wolf choked back a growl.
“Everyday occurrences that change thought processes in a natural way,” Victor continued, “A level two memetic hazard is just a stronger, larger version of a level one. Combat stims and the like. Lady NightRaven, would you, answer honestly now, violently attack your partner for five million dollars?”
“Of course not,” Lady NightRaven answered.
“May I put that to the test,” Victor asked, “A low power mental suggestion, nothing more.”
“Hah. Try me,” Lady NightRaven said. She realized that five million dollars would solve a lot of their problems. Getting a new car would no longer be a worry, and they would have a bit of money to super proof it. They could get bigger offices, better weapons, and besides he never said it was a fight to the death. Just spill some of She-Wolf’s blood. She-Wolf could regenerate anyway. Slit her neck, gouge her tongue, rip out-
“Alright!” Lady NightRaven said, “I give! I’d do it!”
“So would I,” She-Wolf admitted.
“We do regenerate,” Lady NightRaven muttered.
“Well, be glad that you don’t need to put your relationship to the test,” Victor Vibes said, “I don’t have five million dollars to spare. Now, about the coin. I think that would be a level three memetic hazard as it is incredibly attractive money. Normally, money doesn’t reach all the way up to level three, at some point having even more money doesn’t really matter. Perhaps it is level four, it does seem to have supernatural mind altering effects. Where did you find it?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Lawry and Sons,” She-Wolf said, “We’re tracking some very elusive people.”
“And they have more of those coins?” Victor asked.
“Victor Vibes, they had bars of that stuff,” She-Wolf said, “We don’t know how much more of that gold they have.”
“And they’ve been spending it like water,” Lady NightRaven said, “For things like groceries even.”
“Well, it seems that King’s Head is in for a rough time,” Victor Vibes, “Who’s rounding up that gold?”
“If anyone is on the case for that, we don’t know,” Lady NightRaven said, “We’re trying to find the people responsible.”
“Well, I assure you ladies,” Victor Vibes said, “That gold is a memetic hazard. It must be disposed of as soon as possible.”
“What makes you say that?” She-Wolf asked.
“Beyond being a memetic hazard?” Victor Vibes, “Let me just say, when I asked if you would commit acts of gruesome violence in exchange for money, both of you said yes.”
“We’ll contact the local law enforcement,” Lady NightRaven said, “Make sure they know what to look for.”
“Jonathan Lawry isn’t going to be happy about this,” She-Wolf said, “Well Mr. Vibes, thank you for your time. Lady NightRaven and I should be getting back to this case.”
Victor Vibes showed the ladies to the door, and quickly got back to bed. The night air was cold and biting as She-Wolf and Lady NightRaven stepped outside, She-Wolf breath hanging heavily in the air.
“Alright,” She-Wolf said, getting her phone out, “I’ll contact Mr. Lawry, let him know about the memetic hazard. You should call up Chief Maxwell, tell him to get this gold off the streets.”
“Sure,” Lady NightRaven said, “Are you going to tell me what Victor kept talking about?”
“About the memetic hazard?” She-Wolf asked.
“Don’t play stupid, I’m a detective also,” Lady NightRaven said, “Is this about that commercial you did? What was that actually?”
“It was royalties,” She-Wolf said, “From book sales.”
“Pick your next words very carefully,” Lady NightRaven hissed, “If you-”
“I gave Night Walker the rights to my likeness for the book he was writing,” She-Wolf blurted.
“Why would you-” Lady NightRaven started.
“Eighty percent of the gross profit,” She-Wolf answered.
Lady NightRaven’s jaw hung open, her fangs glistening in the moonlight.
“And he took that?” Lady NightRaven asked, rubbing her jaw in thought, “Huh. Wait, I never gave him permission to use my likeness.”
“You are replaced,” She-Wolf said, “By a vampire heroine named ‘Lady NightWalker.’”
“Ugh!” Lady NightRaven groaned, her rant was cut off by an alert on her phone.
“Who’s that?” She-Wolf asked, looking over Lady NightRaven’s shoulder.
“Chief Maxwell,” Lady NightRaven said, tapping away at her phone, “He said his son sent him a breakthrough on the case, something about-”
She-Wolf and Lady NightRaven went dead silent. One Lady NightRaven’s phone was a video of some blonde woman in a thin black shirt playing some video game.
“It can’t be,” Lady NightRaven whispered.
“Of all the- this is so stupid,” She-Wolf growled.
“It can’t be!” Lady NightRaven howled, “Wolf! They’re taunting us! You’ve got money, get us a car now! I’m going to find out where in what forest that woman is!”
…
Gorestrike and Ascension picked their way through the abandoned warehouse. Gorestrike crushing litter and garbage scraps underfoot as Ascension strode through the waste with poise and confidence.
“Remind me once more,” Ascension demanded, “Why are we wandering through this tribute to hubris and stupidity?”
“Glorious battle awaits us,” Gorestrike declared, “I shall not be unprepared. I must retrieve my crossbow.”
“I had no idea your own such an archaic weapon,” Ascension groaned, “Though I suppose I should have suspected. Who stole it from you?”
“Ah, no one stole it from me,” Gorestrike answered, “It is rather embarrassing actually. I lost it in a bet. Now, I am here to win my weapon back.”
“You, Gorestrike, gambled away the bow of Gorestrike?” Ascension inquired.
“My famed crossbow, Gorestrike, and yes indeed,” Gorestrike declared, “The challenge seemed so simple at the time, I may have let my ego get the better of me.”
“Then why not just kill whoever took it from you?” Ascension inquired, “Surely they would be no match for you?”
“Because I am a man of honour,” Gorestrike declared, “Someone who only cheats at games cannot truly enjoy them."
"Who did you bet against?" Ascension inquired, "I can't think of anything that would tempt you into losing a weapon."
"My coffers were rather empty at the time," Gorestrike admitted, "The bet was either I sell Gorestrike, my crossbow, or I won a king's ransom."
"Wait," Ascension remarked, "What do you even spend money on?"
"Funding for Castle Gorestrike!" Gorestrike declared, raising a fist in triumph, "My ambitions have finally led me to glory. Ah! We have arrived. Steel yourself, Ascension. Great trials await us."
"Bah! We are Gorestrike and Ascension!" Ascension declared, "Titans of villainy! Masters of our craft! Who dares stand before us?"
“Her,” Gorestrike said, pointing a gauntleted finger. At the end of the rusted, abandoned, dilapidated hulk was a single, lonesome woman resting on a stained, torn, worn out couch. The woman had a gaunt face and long, stringy, black hair. She wore a purple belly dancer’s outfit, the rich silk standing in contrast to the woman’s pasty white skin. She reclined across the couch, needles strewn about the room and a long, fat cigarette burning in her mouth. Smoke puffed in and out of her mouth, veiling the woman in a dull, smoky haze.
“Wait,” Ascension ordered, placing a hand on Gorestrike, “You made a bet with Psychedelika?”
“I did,” Gorestrike declared, “I was desperate, young, and full of ambition.”
Ascension looked at Psychedelika. Bright, neon colored yellows, pinks and blues were brought into sharp contrast around Psychedelika, making the world around her look bright and bizarre. Psychedelika saw Gorestrike and Ascension standing by the entrance, and rolled onto her stomach, smiling coyly at Gorestrike and Ascension.
“Hey big boy,” Psychedelika said, waving to Gorestrike, “Who’s your friend?”
“I am Ascension!” Ascension declared, “Master of biologic augmentation and perfection made flesh!”
“Wow!” Psychedelika said, chuckling to herself, “I’m Psychedelika, drug addict and villainess that everyone is scared of. Oh, and I also have a big and powerful crossbow owned by the big and powerful Gorestrike.”
“I am here for my weapon!” Gorestrike declared, “Gorestrike shall be returned to me!”
“Well, boys will be boys,” Psychedelika muttered, her face dropping, “What are you betting?”
“My greataxe, Gorestrike,” Gorestrike declared.
“Alright, alright,” Psychedelika said, rolling her eyes, “You know the challenge. All you must do is walk over here and touch me.”
“I had a different wager in mind,” Gorestrike declared.
“What? Attacking me?” Psychedelika chuckled, “You’re in for a bad trip then.”
“Oh, nothing of the sort,” Gorestrike declared, “However, I thought it more interesting if I made you walk over to me.”
“Your friend there got magic or something?” Psychedelika asked, “Cause I got a bottle full of pills I could down, we can see what your friend can do then. Trust me, people like that don’t last against people like me. If you think-”
“I am having a lair built,” Gorestrike declared, “And recruiting like minded warriors to battle for fame and fortune.”
“And I get a throne room?” Psychedelika asked.
“If you would join me,” Gorestrike answered.
“So,” Psychedelika said, picking her way down from the couch, “I just want you to know that, even though I can’t lift the thing, I have been taking excellent care of your crossbow. Oiling it, cleaning it, reading it bedtime stories, you name it, I’ve done it.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on,” Ascension grumbled.