My dream had completely unnerved me. Rather than mull over its possible implications, I went out for a pre-dawn run. I let my mind go blank as I put one foot in front of the other. I could feel the morning chill in my hands and feet and my fingers were numb when I trotted back into my driveway. The warm water of the shower felt rejuvenating and I turned my thoughts toward the day ahead. It was a two-hour drive to San Paso. Teddy and I would intercept the Black Mesa truck carrying illegals to the abandoned warehouse that the Sleeper used as a home base. What happened from there would greatly depend on what happened with the truck. I hoped to make an arrest or two and get some information from the survivors. Or, Teddy and I could be torn apart by Werecoyotes. Either way, it promised to be an exciting day.

I put on a pair of dark jeans and a cream-colored long-sleeve button-up. Over that, I wore a dark beige vest with navy trim. I skipped the tie and rolled up my sleeves. I added both my pistol belts and both New Vaqueros. I loaded up the guns and belt ammunition slots with the silver rounds, and sprinkled in a few of the “shield busters” and stun rounds. I prepped my OD Green tactical vest with my body armor and ballistic plate on both the front and the rear. I made sure I had plenty of extra ammo, including some spare cylinders for the Rugers attached. Finally, I attached Ben’s bowie knife to one of the molle straps, handle down. I put on a pair of dark tan boots and looked at myself in the mirror. The reflection looking back at me still seemed to be missing something. I attached my father’s pince-nez. That wasn’t it. I still felt lacking but it was time to head into the office.

My partner was already sitting at his desk when I arrived. He stood up and greeted me with his usual smile. He was wearing tan Patagonia hiking pants and a navy blue sheepskin vest over a grey zip-up shell. It looked very comfortable and practical while still radiating wealth. Quite an accomplishment.

“Good morning Cash, did you have a pleasant evening?”

I told Teddy about my visit from Zhang, I left out the part about Alicia.

“So, I just let her have them. I didn’t think actual possession of the items was going to prove our case either way.” I finished.

Teddy scowled and nodded his head at the same time. “I don’t approve of the methods, but I suppose the results are inconsequential to our current predicament. Unless they make the items disappear.”

Together, we looked over at Chief Northcutt’s dark office. “Even then, the fact that the items in the vault are most likely fakes should be enough.” I posited.

Teddy rubbed his chin, “I suppose they could try to replace the fake items with the real ones, but based on your conversation with Zhang, that’s highly unlikely. In any case, we need to focus on the task at hand.”

“About that,” I started, “are we going to have any more backup?”

Agent Ruthersford frowned and looked around at the empty office. “Unfortunately, no. Lucas and Alicia are busy and couldn’t be ‘in the area’ to help us anyway. We can’t go to Northcutt and ask for more agents because we aren’t supposed to be working on the tattoo mage case. We also don’t know if he is compromised somehow.”

“Can we get any more help from the locals?” I asked.

“I doubt it. I believe they are crooked. I would be worried about them trying to hinder us directly if we forced their involvement.”

“So it’s just me and you,” I said with finality.

“Oh, don’t be so glum!" Teddy slugged me in the arm. "We will have surprise on our side, and I don’t think we will face much resistance, at least initially. They have been making this run for months and have the cops in their pockets. They will be surprised and confused. Hopefully, we can take advantage of that.”

I was unconvinced. A handful of the Black Mesa pack had almost killed Teddy and me when we had the drop on them. This time, we would be more prepared for combat, but so would they. I kept my concerns to myself. I doubted they ran human cargo without armed security and ready to ice a few Federales.

“Besides,” Teddy looked around conspiratorially, “I have arranged with young Daniel to pick up some new toys.”

I raised an eyebrow and my partner glanced at his watch. “He should be in by now, why don’t we take a little stroll?”

When we entered the armory, Dan greeted us with a smile and seemed to vibrate in place.

“Good morning Daniel! Were you able to put together the things I asked for?” Teddy asked with a knowing smile.

“Yes sir, Agent Ruthersford, sir. Stay right there, I’ll be back.” Dan returned a moment later carrying a plastic rifle case. He passed it through the window. Teddy clapped his hands together and gave them a little rub before popping the latches. Inside was some kind of hybrid submachine gun.

“It’s a Sig Sauer MPX Noctis. It’s basically a pistol-caliber carbine with an extended sixteen-inch barrel. I changed the sear out so it’s select fire. No pew, pew, and pew-pew. Full auto.” Daniel explained, pointing to the select-fire switch.

The weapon looked like someone had grabbed a regular MPX and stretched out the barrel like it was silly putty. Or if an MP5 submachine gun and M4 carbine had a sexy, sexy baby. It had an angled foregrip and a Romeo red dot sight.

“What’s it shoot? “ I asked.

Teddy took a magazine out of the bag. “Nine millimeter. Thirty-round mags.”

“The longer barrel will give a bit more energy and accuracy. Standard runic enhancements.” Dan frowned. “Were you able to get more ammo commissioned? I could only do a hundred rounds without raising any red flags.” Dan set two boxes of fifty rounds on the counter.

“That’s fine, Daniel. I was able to source more silver ammunition in nine millimeter.” Teddy took the boxes and placed them in the case before closing it.

“Oh good,” he looked relieved. “And I didn’t forget about you Agent Renshaw”. He pulled a fabric case from beneath the counter and pushed it through the slot. “I was already working on it when Agent Ruthersford asked. Seemed appropriate.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

I unzipped the case. Inside was a modern reproduction of an 1887 lever-action shotgun. It was stamped with “Taylor and Company”. I took it out of the case and whistled. I pumped the action open with a satisfying snap.

“That there is a certified Chiapa 1887 finished by Taylor and Company into the tactical masterpiece you see before you.” Young Daniel had adopted a slight western twang as he spoke.

The gun was matte black. The short pistol grip was made of rubberized plastic. I noticed some new holes drilled into the frame. I pointed them out to Dan and he smiled.

“I rigged it up with a custom fitting. You can switch out the pistol grip with that tactical stock in the bag by knocking out those pins. I also fabricated an extended magazine. Why shoot five when you can shoot seven? Go ahead and spin it. I know you are dying too.”

I checked that the chamber and magazine were clear and pumped the action closed. I then held the shotgun in one hand and spun it around so that the lever pulled before snapping the pistol grip back in my palm. This fancy maneuver would allow me cock and fire the gun one-handed. I performed the action perfectly and much faster than seemed humanly possible.

“Whoa.” Dan stammered. “I knew that would be cool, but I wasn’t ready for how cool.”

I looked at the short shotgun. It didn’t have the nice wood furniture or engraving my pistols or Henry rifle did. There were some small, utilitarian looked runes inscribed into the metal of the barrel in silver, but no other decoration. This was a tool made for killing and nothing else.

We signed for our new toys and headed back to our floor. It was still empty, except for Agent Greyson who was working at his desk, as usual.

“Agent Greyson, have you seen Chief Northcutt?” Teddy asked.

The agent looked up from his work with a bored expression. “Haven’t seen him.”

“What about Tina,” I asked looking at her empty desk. It was almost ten in the morning.

Agent Greyson shrugged.

“That’s odd,” Teddy said. “Well, it can’t be helped, we have to leave now to be in position in San Paso on time.”

I threw a second glance toward Tina's desk. It didn't look like it had been disturbed since last night. Had she not come in this morning? Maybe she had the day off? I realized how little I actually knew about the woman, despite our intimate conversation.

Agent Ruthersford and I gathered up our gear and headed down to the garage level. We packed up the Hellcat and I pointed her west toward Mexico. We spent most of the drive in silence. Teddy was working on his laptop, reading.

The passing miles peeled the earth like an onion. First, it was the shining high-rise buildings and massive sports stadiums of downtown. Then, we left the homes, strip malls, and daycares behind. The connective concrete tissue was whittled away until we drove on a single two-lane road. The trees gave way to thirsty grass which gave way to scrub which gave way to drab rocks and shining sand. Far off mesas rose in the distance, orange, and red under light azure. The sky was a blue balloon overfilled. Pale and taut. The sun was high and bright, but waning as the world turned its autumnal shoulder. I watched the centerline zoom past. The onyx asphalt absorbed all the light and heat on offer while radiating mirage upward into the far-off desert. The Hellcat hardly made a sound as she ate up the miles, always hungry.

Teddy broke my reverie. “I’ve discovered some interesting things about the Dreamer.”

“My father’s last case.”

“Seemingly so. He wasn’t called The Dreamer because he had any special powers over the mind. Rather, he fancied himself a humanist. His dreams were instead of a human race that had access to superhuman abilities, putting them on an equal footing with the meta world.”

“Sounds like he was well-intentioned at least.” I speculated. “I assumed it was his execution that went off the rails.”

“Indeed. His initial focus was to ‘pierce the veil’ and find a way to allow mundane humans to manifest magic.”

This got my attention. “That sounds a lot like our runic tattoos.”

“I thought so too. But apparently, he became frustrated with this approach as it proved difficult, maybe impossible. He turned instead to less seemly methods, ones that brought him to the attention of the authorities.”

“Am I gonna need a barf bag?” I asked.

“Depends on how strong your stomach is, I suppose. He started with crossbreeding efforts. At first, he found willing subjects but eventually, he turned to kidnap and rape. This proved unfruitful as well, or at least unpredictable. Then he approached the problem from a new angle. He began to transplant parts from metas and graft them onto human hosts.”

“Here we go. So like a human with werewolf arms? That’s fucking horrifying.”

“Yes. Or demon wings, or succubus horns, or a manticore tail. He hoped that some amount of magic was actually contained in the body parts and that by attaching them, he could give magic to the masses. He used a combination of magical and mundane means. He was a skilled physician, in addition to being a powerful mage.”

“I’m guessing this didn’t work out right either?”

“Not really. A human with Werewolf arms was stronger than a normal human, but they didn’t inherit the natural healing, or speed, or ability to change. His next step was removing the brain of a human and putting it into a meta body.”

“Wait a minute, don’t a lot of creatures already have the ability to turn humans into their kind. Werewolves can make more werewolves. Isn’t a brain transplant a bit of overkill?”

“One would think, but for the Dreamer, it was a matter of control. He wanted humans to be able to choose their own paths, independent of the wants or needs of the meta naturals. Unfortunately for him, his methods put him in the crosshairs of both the magical and mundane communities. He was hunted by both and but proved to be an elusive quarry. Eventually, the US government reached out to your father to end his experiments, permanently.”

“And?”

“And, that’s it. The records end. No more mention of the Dreamer, although some of his creations live on. And shortly afterward, your father and mother died.”

An awkward silence passed between us as the engine droned.

“So my father killed him? He was nothing but an assassin in the end?”

“That would seem to be the most logical explanation, but we can't know for sure. And that doesn’t explain the regret your father has expressed to you in his dreams.”

“Or maybe a cigar is just a cigar? Could my dreams just be regular manifestations of my guilty subconscious rather than having some mystical explanation?”

Teddy looked skeptical. “I suppose. Anything is possible. Here, pull off here.” He pointed to the side of the road.

I edged the Hellcat off onto the shoulder and slowed. Ahead of us was a tiny food cart attached to an ancient pickup truck. Teddy got out and walked up to the food cart. He held up four fingers without speaking. He exchanged five US dollars for four of the most delicious beef birrias tacos I had ever eaten. A Mexican woman that looked older than time herself, fried them up on a hot skillet, taking the meat out of an ancient crockpot. She finished our order with two styrofoam cups filled with broth from the pot and two Mandarin Jarritos. There was no menu and no words exchanged, just paper trays and a stack of napkins. We ate off of the hood of the Hellcat, while the old proprietor looked on, saying nothing and staring at us with her rheumy eyes. The surrounding countryside made for an impressive backdrop for lunch, we stood and ate our tacos in silence. We put our trash in a fifty-five-gallon drum set out beside the pickup. I wondered how the tiny woman moved it every day.

Teddy walked to the back of my car and I opened the trunk. We put on our tactical vests and body armor. I pulled out my Henry rifle and levered a round into the chamber. Teddy loaded his MPX with a fresh magazine of nine-millimeter silver hollow points. And we waited there on the side of the road. We must have looked like quite a pair, but if the old woman had an opinion, she kept it to herself.

“Are we the only ones?” I asked Teddy a question that had been bothering me.

Teddy’s eyes didn’t leave the horizon. “The only ones of what?”

“Archetypes. Am I the only Lawman? Are you the only Gentleman?”

Teddy sighed. “There are entire books written on the subject. Long story short, there is no consensus. Some people think there can be only one of each type at a time. When that person dies, the powers transfer to another likely candidate. Others believe that there are several ‘kinds’ of each Archetype. There might be an American Lawman and a European Detective. A Refined Gentleman and a Nouveau Riche. What are the differences? And even if you pick one, say American Lawman, there can be several subtypes. The Boston Copper, the Western Marshall, the New York Detective, are all stereotypes that could conceivably have power. Are they separate individuals, or are they all a part of one person that encompasses the American Spirit?

“I see,” I said. I didn’t.

“It’s all poorly understood, in no small part because we tend to keep a tight lid on our identities and specific powers.”

“Why?” I asked.

“There are those in the meta community that would seek us out to destroy us. There is a faction that believes that we represent a threat to their supremacy over humanity. We hide the extent of our powers because it makes us harder to combat. No Archetype ability is very powerful on its own and knowing what they are can make them easy to counter. Our powers also tend to evolve over time, growing stronger as we more fully embrace our role."

Now that was an idea I could get behind. “Teddy, I can’t help but notice that we seem to have a lot of enemies.”

“Quite so.” We lapsed back into silence, watching the clouds meld together as we sipped from our bottles, still ice cold from the cooler.

Twenty minutes later, Teddy’s phone chirped and he looked at it. “They’re in position. They will have the truck stopped in about five minutes.”

I finished off my orange soda. “Showtime.”