The Return: The Dark Stalker Journal

By Byron N. Morrison

You might think Area 51 is full of secrets, but the real secret is all around us. The secret isn't from outer space though it is Out Worldly. Mystical energies were released into our world long ago causing strange, beautiful and deadly things to arise.

Chaos entered into our realm with the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bookside Press
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9781778833939

Byron N. Morrison

Byron Morrison lived in Reading, Pennsylvania for the better part of 40 years. Writing has been an interest for a long time. It took a good friend to encourage me to publish. His favorite authors are R. A. Salvatore, Robert Jordan and Anne Rice.

Book preview

Cover of The Return: The Dark Stalker Journal by Byron N Morrison

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Dark Stalkers

Introduction

Back in the mid 1960s, in a remote area, a plague was introduced to the world. This plague was like no other, only the dead were affected. The dead would rise and feed on the living, and any of the living wounded by these reanimated corpses eventually died and then became undead corpses themselves.

This undead plague had the potential of wiping out the entire human race. Some thought that may have been the actual purpose of this plague, though no one ever discovered the true nature behind this atrocity. In time, there were those who discovered how the disease was transmitted, and how to defend against the undead. But the unliving army’s numbers began to swell, over-running parts of third-world countries who had only primitive weaponry.

There were those who banded together to, not only defend against the undead, but hunt them in whatever part of the world they were. These ‘Dark Stalkers’ as they came to be called were relentless in their search of the undead as well as the root cause of this zombie virus. But something was discovered during these battles.

Some soldiers showed they were more than human. Some began demonstrating the ability to destroy the undead with some kind of out-worldly energy and abilities. The rise of psychics and witches in their different categories became apparent. The armies of man alongside these supernatural witches and psychics, or psys, fought back the undead.

Discovered during the investigation of the source of the virus, various witches were found using some of the zombies to gain power in these third-world countries. These actions eventually lead to the three-year Witch/Psy war, which spread throughout much of Africa, Asia and then Europe. While the witches and psys were battling each other the undead numbers again began to grow, spreading across the globe to the Americas.

In the 1970’s and early 1980’s areas in the south of the United States had become overrun by the zombie plague. Also, by then a special strike force for zombies and witches was developed, consisting mainly of military personnel. That was when they officially adopted, ‘Dark Stalkers’ as their name. To minimize the possibility of widespread panic, stories were fabricated to feed the public about attacks such as drug-crazed gangs or fanatical religious groups.

The Dark Stalkers were growing in numbers, being sought after and recruited. The Dark Stalkers began to find psys and witches among their military ranks and quickly moved them to the forefront of the battle. Some of them hunted the undead, some hunted the Dark Witches who tried using the zombies as their own personal army. Some of the Dark Stalker units, (DS units), were used as ‘clean up crews’ to aid in keeping the conflict away from the general public as well as keeping the public ignorant of it. The organization of the Dark Stalker once again began to diminish the undead numbers.

A feud of hatred and prejudice developed between most Psys and Witches. The witches argued that only witches should hunt the Dark Witches. Psys began distrusting their witch counterparts saying that the witches were pretending to hunt the Dark Witches only to band with them later. So, in 1981, the Dark Stalkers organization formed special units that had at least one witch and one psy to demonstrate a united front.

Afterwards, all sorts of different preternatural beings began to emerge from the shadows, the most prevalent being the Fey. The world governments could not decide whether these other groups should be welcomed with open arms or be terminated. The World Counsel decided not to try to battle these other creatures and the undead, therefore the secret Registration Act was invoked. The Fey, Lycanthropes, Vampires, and other creatures were permitted to live among humankind. Any of them using their abilities to step outside of the law will be hunted, detained, and executed.

This story is about a man, a special man. A man who seeks to know who and what he is, a man that has lost his family, his mother, father, and unborn sibling. He is trying to make sense of his existence as he moves from crisis to crisis. The man is Maximus Barillius Jordan. For all his past, he is the Dark Stalker Omega. He, his best friend Switch and the rest of his team battle the evils both outside the organization and within.

The cavern was dark and cold and deep beneath the earth. The cavern housed stalactites reaching down from its roof and stalagmites growing from the ground, some connecting to form columns. Several rock formations spotted the cavern floor ranging in size from a few feet tall to monumental size. Torches set into the walls supplied a dim, dismal light. The torches’ flames did nothing to take the bite of dampness from the air. A haze of condensed moisture settled on the ground, thick enough to hide one’s feet. Any movement caused the mist to swirl for a few moments before it settled back into its slow natural rolling state. It was cool enough for one’s breath to condense in the air and become visible in the dim light. Of course, that only applied to those that drew breath.

In this cavern was an assembly of dark forces. The torches on the wall were for the humans that aligned themselves with the dark creatures in attendance. The lycanthropes, a species of shape shifters and vampires, those that survived on blood and fear, existed here with the government’s blessing although if the government knew what the denizens of this place were discussing this evening, Dark Stalker units would be dispatched to annihilate all in attendance. The humans would be taken into custody but the lycanthropes and vampires, the undead, would be destroyed.

Lycanthropes are considered undead because the virus that brings on their transformation shuts down all brain, circulatory, and respiratory functions for a few seconds up to forty minutes. A rewriting of DNA occurs during this time, and then the virus jump-starts the body’s systems with several changes. The most common of these are a hunger for raw meat, increased sensory perception, increased strength, increased speed, an acute chemical imbalance to silver, and in most cases a mandatory shape shift during a full lunar stage. Lycanthropes are extremely hard to kill but silver will kill them as will massive trauma. Most lycanthropes can get hungry, but they will never starve. They can breathe but will never suffocate.

The horde of humans, lycanthropes and vampires stand in the very damp, very cool cavern while their leader speaks.

We have all seen the power the Western District is able to wield. But there is more power to be had.

The man speaking is a vampire named Saahus. He sits on a rock formation resembling a throne. Vampires are the true undead. They can breathe if they want to, they can start their hearts beating if they wish but most don’t bother with such travesties. Once a person becomes a vampire, they gain numerous traits including a severe chemical imbalance to low levels of ultraviolet light which causes internal combustion. The chemical imbalance to silver is also present but it’s a more complex version of the imbalance lycanthropes possess. Hence, silver acts quicker and more violently on vampires. The imbalance also gives vampires a very severe anaphylactic reaction to garlic.

For over three decades, in earnest we have chased this power, this Triune artifact. For some of you, three decades is half a lifetime. But we are very close to retrieving the Triune. Abandoning our goal now is not an option. Death, true death will come to those working against us.

A man is brought up to the front of the assembled group by two other vampire guards. The prisoner is struggling, yelling, and even pleading, but the vampires pay him no attention. The three men take up station behind and off to one side of the rock throne. Then Saahus begins to speak again.

This man was working with our enemies, the organization known as SWARM. He was to relay information to them about our goals and why we have suddenly come out in force to this area. He has already been bitten twice. For his treachery he will face the torment of an eternity.

Saahus stands and motions for the vampire guards to bring the traitor forward. The man struggles against the vampires, but they lift him off his feet while bringing him forward. The man begs for mercy, promising that he was not the informant they believed him to be, but then in the same breath swearing that he would never do it again. None of the vampires gives any attention to his cries. Saahus glares into the man’s eyes. Moments later, the man quiets and goes limp. Turning back to the audience Saahus then gives the final warning.

"This is not a reward. I will turn this man, only to have the pain of the Thirst eat him away forever. This is the reward for being an enemy to our Vampire Nation."

With that Saahus turns the man’s head to one side to reveal the full length of the pulsing artery just underneath the flesh of his neck. It was a quick but clean bite. Saahus then slices his own wrist allowing blood to flow. Holding his bleeding wrist to the mouth of the prisoner, Saahus urged him to drink. The man latched on the outstretched arm like a leech, but after a moment the man is roughly pushed away.

This so-called traitor shakes his head, wiped his mouth before checking his neck. Realizing he had been turned he groveled at Saahus’ feet. Thank you master, thank you, the man sobbed.

Take him. That is all Saahus says. The man obviously did not understand his fate. He would soon find out. He would be taken to a cell where he could watch other vampires feed on human cattle but wouldn’t be able to feed himself. In a few hours the hunger would give him pain he’d never imagined. In a few days the pain would get worse. In a few weeks he would be delusional and probably begin to lose all sense of self. In a few months all he would have is the Thirst, no other desire would exist. In about a year he’d be insane with only the Thirst to drive him. Saahus would not allow that; he would feed him enough blood to keep his sanity. This way the man would know the pain and remember how he earned it. This man was once Richard Smith, an accountant for Wachovia bank.

The two vampire guards take the man away. Saahus spits the blood of his victim from his mouth to disappear in the roiling mist. He would have no part, including the blood, of a traitor to the Nation.

The traitor is dealt with in the only way a traitor to the Nation can be dealt with, as a vampire. He will forever know what it is to be a traitor to our Nation. He will not share in the power we will obtain. He will never know what it is to be a god. When we have found the Triune artifact, those of you that are the lesser here will be greater than the so-called demon Num-Ra’. Now go and bring back our future.

Lord Saahus… Trocas walked to Saahus as the rest of the audience leaves the cavern silently.

Yes Trocas.

My lord, do you think it wise we have all of our forces leave the embassy?

No Trocas. That’s why I wish you to hold your guards back. Your clan has often proven their worth as guards. Also, keep a third of the Palace Guards. Your clan is formidable, but numbers are needed for security.

Yes my lord. What of this new man they have placed in charge of these so-called Dark Stalkers?

That one, he seems quite challenging. His team took Da’mar into custody. What Da’mar lacks in raw power, which is not much, he makes up for in ferocity and ruthlessness. And yet these Dark Stalkers with their new leader took Da’mar with relative ease. They did not even bother to kill him. They merely, took him. I have personally seen Da’mar easily crush ten of our best people, easily. The demon is no weakling.

Saahus shakes his head as if lost in thought and disbelief. He has been here just over a month’s time and Da’mar is captured. I have heard that he was called the Bane of vampires. I refused to believe the fantastic stories that were told to me. Bane to vampires, I think probably not. But there is always some kind of truth to a story. That young man, that new leader of theirs will have to have special attention given him.

The cavern becomes quiet, void of the multitude that had filled it only minutes ago. During a brief pause between the two a drop of water falling into a puddle is heard in the distance. An unheard thought float between the two. Both men stand as silent as stagnant water and as motionless as gravestones. After a long moment the silence is broken.

Do you want him dead my lord? Saahus takes an additional moment to ponder the question before answering.

No Trocas, not at this time. Chaos is our way but there is no reason to bring unwanted attention to ourselves. But I want to know what he is doing and where he is at all times.

It will be as you say my lord. Trocas bows before leaving.

Saahus walks to the back of the throne and begins chanting a few words in a language long since forgotten. As a result, a golden orb, the size of a large man ignites in the air a few short feet in front of him. A few more words are spoken before Saahus drops to take a knee. A shimmering image of a cloaked man appears within the golden orb.

Master, Saahus bids.

What news do you have for me Saahus? The voice from the image is rough and old. But the voice is also strong and fierce with intensity.

Your plan master, it continues as you have said.

And what of the youngling? The voice came through the orb crystal clear, as did his disgust for Maximus Jordan, the ‘youngling’.

Provisions are being made as we speak, to keep close watch on him. As Saahus speaks he stays rigid and as unmoving as the earth beneath him.

Good, good. If he is who I believe him to be we will need him alive. If he begins to discover the true nature of his existence, we may need to take him sooner than scheduled.

As my master speaks, so let it be done.

Yes Saahus. The man in the orb bobs his head slowly to emphasize the words. Your power will be second only to mine when the three are united. The Western District will rule over all the Vampire Nations including the All-Powerful Central District. The young will rule the old. You will unify the five Nations and I will sit as the power base of it all. The image’s voice cackled but became more intense.

What of the rest of his organization? More specifically, the beings he chooses to hold audience and to be surrounded. Saahus seeming to speak to the ground.

The image in the man-sized orb paused for a few moments.

Yes, his beloved Omega team, the image says. We may be able to use them. Don’t make any special attempts to kill them. Allow them a bit of grace. But if they interfere, eliminate them! The emphasis put on the last two words shows no other solution would be acceptable.

Yes, my master. Saahus tilted his head down a little further when he speaks his last words. The orb of golden light dims until it vanishes completely. Only then did Saahus raise his head. I too know what you seek ‘my master’ and at the opportune time, I shall seize all power, and then I will crush you under foot like dried leaves. Not only will the Vampire Nation be mine but also the world will bend knee and bow heads to me. It was foretold, ‘the slave will become the master and the master will become the slave…’

Saahus raises to his feet and exited the large empty cavern.

Chapter One

Nothing but darkness, blackness surrounded me as I tried to claw my way to the light. My left hand finally bursts into the open air of the August night. I dug the rest of my body out of the coal and coal dirt, coughing up a lung it seemed. I talked to myself. Actually, I yelled at myself, a lot.

That was careless! Sometimes I understate things, and sometimes I really understate them. This time was the latter.

That vamp could have killed you Max. ‘Max.’ That’s what I call myself. Maximus Barillius Jordan is my name. I don’t know where my parents got that name. I’m a government employed, federally licensed Dark Stalker. Dark Stalker is what the locals called us in the old days, so we made it official, ‘We’, meaning the Federal Government.

What I do is hunt evil: witches, warlocks, lycanthropes, demons, and in this case, vampires. Any supernaturally charged baddies, I track down, bring in, or take out. Ever since the time of the Walking Dead, around my pre-teenage years, Dark Stalkers were used to clear the world of unwanted evil. Of course, this is Reading, Pennsylvania and much of the evil comes from the gun-toting gang members here. And even some of them have a supernatural ‘something’ backing them.

Well, sittin’ here ain’t getting the vamp got! Again, I talk to myself a lot and with poor grammar. They say talking to oneself is a sign of intelligence. Riiight!

I dug my hand into the pile of coal where I was sitting, instinctively knowing where my cap was. I pulled it out of the pile, slapped it across my pants to dust it off, pulled it down over my head, and then turned it backwards. Blowing some dust from my handy-dandy modified Glock 37 I took off after the she-vampire.

She was a class D vamp, made evident by her ability to knock over a coal-filled railroad car, and that meant I still had a good chance to catch her. D class vamps are slow, that’s slow for vampires. But they’re incredibly strong, possibly due to a pact with a demon, a mystical artifact or through technology, but probably the former was true. Tech enhancements for vamps are strictly regulated and only exist to make better ways to kill vamps. In this country there are only three legal establishments to find enhancements and around here isn’t one of them.

I ran out from under the Front Street Bridge to find the intersection of Front and Buttonwood Streets jammed with traffic because of a car accident. And the accident was caused by a telephone pole crashing down on top of a few cars.

This vamp isn’t very smart. The only reason I haven’t already caught her is she’s been throwing obstacles in my way to stop me. Her strategy is working against her because the only thing she’s accomplishing is pinpointing her trail.

After hurdling the traffic jam, I went after her. Yes, I said hurdled the traffic jam, I forgot to tell you, I’m not just another pretty face. I seem to be gifted with some type of off-worldly power. I don’t know what, how or why, but I am. Ok now. Enough about me, let’s find this vamp.

If I were to wait for backup from the local police, I’d be waiting a long time thanks to this mess. In the last four years regular police have been replaced or upgraded to military status. It had been proven that the everyday law officer couldn’t address the preternatural problem. More correctly, they couldn’t deal with the problems that seem to defy all explanation. The abnormal nature of the situations that had come about would throw regular police off track. Police with a military background are better trained to deal with the unexplainable. Even though they didn’t know the ‘unexplainable’ was preternatural. More intense training was needed, so the military stepped in, even they didn’t know what they’re fighting. Though, to the public the police were still the police, nothing more nothing less. Life is grand.

Again, that’s enough dialogue while the vamp is running loose. My watch read 22:38, ten thirty-eight at night the last time I checked back at the overturned railroad car. People were heading for the clubs. When was the last time I’d been out clubbing? Hhumm? Oh, well.

I heard a scream and a crash of glass to my left just as I touched down on the other side of the intersection. Turning, I saw a man landing on the top of a stopped car, though his landing was none too graceful. He’d been thrown out of his house through the front window. My target, me thinks. I get to the house; first one after the alleyway, before the thrown man slid from the car to being completely sprawled out on the street. No time to check to see if he is alive or dead, that vamp could kill more if I don’t stop her.

Touching my earpiece, Traffic accident at Front and Buttonwood, get some help here and an ambulance, Stat!

Copy that, came over the earpiece with the slightest hint of static noise. We should hire this vamp for demolition Omega, this is the third one you’ve called within the last 25.

Jumping through the front window I touch my earpiece again. Yeah Dax, she’s starting to piss me off! If she’s cute I will bring her back for you, if not I’m going to skin her. Now shut up. I have a bloodsucking demolitionist to catch.

As I scanned the room, I saw that all the lights were off, an upset couch sat underneath the window I just entered and in front of me was a small table with a pink vase on it. Old, dried flowers filled the vase.

The next room may have been the dining room; I saw a larger table and chairs surrounding it. Just before the dining room, on the left side were two steps that led to a landing. A post and banister paralleled a set of stairs that went to the 2nd floor. I couldn’t see the steps from where I was standing.

I heard a distant scream from the bottom of the stairs. I quickly moved to the stair’s landing, a man-size hole, or should I say woman-size stood before me. Damned vamp tore through the wall between the houses. I stepped through the hole onto the landing of the other house with the stairs to the second floor on my left. A plaster and wood-dust trail led up the stairs, so I rushed up, (one day that’s going to get me into a lot of trouble.)

I crouched by the doorway to the first room and saw nothing. But advancing to the next room I saw my vamp, Sharon, with her back toward me and bent over a woman lying in bed. The woman was Puerto Rican, many of the folks around here were. She was struggling, well trying to struggle. If Sharon had me pinned like that, I wouldn’t be able to move either, even though I can bench press a car. Sharon was able to knock over a loaded, hundred-ton railroad car.

I shot Sharon in the back of her leg, near her thigh, not a killing blow, at least not right away. That shot would eventually kill her if she didn’t submit and get medical attention. She’d go into a Death Sleep. Her own circulatory system would carry the silver nitrate and liquid garlic through her system burning everything it touched, and then she’d die. Actually, our term is ‘she would become deanimated.’

My ammo was hollow tips, filled with silver nitrate and essence of garlic, I didn’t need much. Garlic worked well on vamps, very well, but only on vamps. I also hunt lycanthropes or lycans, garlic doesn’t do squat to them, but the silver will. Like a good little boy scout, I must be prepared.

Sharon hissed and turned on me. Damn! She ain’t cute. That’s a little term I used when a vamp goes into its Blood Rage. As she turned to me the skin on her face had become death gray and paper-thin. Her platinum blonde hair drew back from the front of her head, her eyes looked like two over-sized black marbles floating in her eye sockets and her inch long fangs looked like eagle talons. She smelled of old graveyard dirt and perfume.

Her present appearance is quite the contrast from her former look. The purple velvet dress she was wearing is short enough that she couldn’t bend over too far without exposing her matching purple panties. Maybe that was the idea. Also, the sheer black nylons she wore seemed to glow against the pale, whiteness of skin on her legs. And they didn’t seem to show any runs in them, even after this evening’s events. I’d always wonder how much of a vamp turned death gray when they went into their Blood Rage.

In a voice that should never come out of a human throat Sharon spoke. You disturb me while I begin feeding, little one. You must die for that. Before I could come back with a witty retort, she turns fully on me. My Glock was quick to answer making blood splatter from Sharon’s shoulder and sending her tumbling over the bed, over her would-be victim then slamming into the far wall. The room was only 10’x 15’ and we’re fighting across the short end.

The woman on the bed was in shock, can’t blame her. She was almost dinner, but I had to calm her down somehow to get her out of the room. Do you have insurance on your house? I spoke. She stopped ranting as if I slapped her in the face. Great it’s working.

Is your house insured? Well, is it? I asked her as I also checked her neck for any bites. There were none. She nodded yes.

Ok, get out of here. There should be police coming soon. Sharon stood up against the far wall, with a right arm that was useless from the shoulder down.

Damn. I said to myself. I had forgotten to switch clips. I was using silver plated bullet, not the hollow tips. The silver nitrate and garlic should have eaten the connecting tissue away from her shoulder like acid; instead, it just did the normal damage and was done.

Damn!" I said again. The woman jumped from the bed and flattened herself on the wall next to me putting me between her and the door.

Sharon, with her good arm, tossed the bed to the far end of the room as if it were a cardboard box. It crashed and sent drywall debris fanning out into the air before collapsing to the floor and splintering some floorboards.

I could finish her right now but if she lunges at me from this distance, I’m going to get very hurt because vamps don’t always die instantly. Sometimes there is a final thrashing especially with class D vamps, and with her strength it could mean a crushed skull for me. But if she lunges at the woman death is a certainty.

Sharon, I don’t want to kill you.

You lie, she hissed! What can I say? She was right. I fire two shots into the floor as she closed the distance between us, she started to walk… no, more like slithered toward us, as a snake stalking its prey.

Sharon, just turn and face the wall and we can all walk out of here alive. I fired two more shots into the floor. She continued to come.

Stay against the wall, I said to the woman. I’m much faster than Sharon is. I fired three shots into the floor, rushed across the room, and slammed into Sharon making stone chips fall from the wall behind her. A dust cloud bellowed throughout the room.

I flipped both Sharon and me to the floor, Sharon first, breaking through it. Everything seemed to slow down. I saw Sharon look below her to the floor we were about to hit; the first floor. It was carpeted, classroom blue with a small table with a vase sitting on it.

Most mammals have a fear of falling and vamps were mammals once. That’s probably why she put her hand down and tried to catch her fall. The fall would have broken a normal person’s arm, I’m betting not hers. I took the opportunity to put two silver bullets into her heart. She turned back to look up at me with her arm still poised to break her fall. Even though her face looked like gray papier-mâché’ covering muscle and bone, she managed to look surprised. I slid the gun into her mouth just as we hit and broke through the floor, heading down to the basement. Two shots rang out.

I crawled out of the hole to the basement. I was covered with dust and ashes. When vamps die, that’s what they burst into. I have never seen a vamp come back from dust and ashes. I began brushing myself off when it occurs to me: How was the woman upstairs doing? I looked up to be greeted by a shocked face; the woman was looking down through the hole in the ceiling.

I brushed myself off a little more, and straightened up my cap. I looked back up at the woman and said, Ain’t you glad that your house is insured? I touch my earpiece to be greeted with the connecting slight sound of static. Dark Stalker Omega, Clear. Vamp is dusted.

Copy that. Sending in the butlers. Dax had a sense of humor like mine, poor guy.

Chapter Two

Walking into the City Court House was always a dreaded chore for me, because of one person, Officer Dina Gerri. She was a dirty blonde, her hair cut just above the shoulders, but I normally only see it in a tight bun on the back of her head. Her hair looks so tightly pulled that it seemed to pull at her skin. She was about 50 years old and had a frumpy look to her. Yes, I used the word ‘frumpy.’ It’s the look you have when you wear clothes that don’t fit you correctly, making wide hips look wider and a protruding stomach look saggy and no-ass pants that just had enough wrinkles in them to show there is nothing to fill them out. She looked like that all the time and looked frumpier every time I’d see her.

It wasn’t her appearance that made me not like her, she was a Queen Bitch. Anything that didn’t go the way she thought it should was wrong. She was the type that would smile in your face and stab you in the back, although she was afraid of her own shadow.

Her daughter left home to live in Orange County, California my old district, before I came back here to Pennsylvania. Officer Gerri’s daughter met a man of color that was very much into the Hip-Hop culture and her daughter was his closet groupie. They broke up a few years later when his rap career started to bloom, but Officer Gerri could not stand the fact that her daughter had been with a man of color, especially a Rapper.

Officer Gerri was off duty that evening. That night, an officer was on the door I’ve never met before, or even seen. I swipe my security card to get into the lobby of the building and this new officer approached me.

Hello sir, may I help you? He was one of those well-fed, big, country boy cops. His security badge said Mitchell Hinkel. He was about six feet, three inches tall to my five feet, eight-inch height. He looked to be a healthy 230-240lbs, outweighing me by 30lbs. His hair was dark, maybe not black but dark enough to be called black and was shaved close on both sides of his head with the top gelled into small spikes. He walked like a cowboy as he approached me, or maybe it only seemed that way to me. All his features seemed to fit him, even his voice, being deep enough to get the attention of the common person. His face was without hair, but you could see the shadow where the beard and mustache would grow in. He looked seasoned, like he knew what he was doing and wouldn’t back down from his duties.

Yes, Officer Hinkel. My name is Max Jordan and I have reports and warrant requests to deliver.

Maximus Jordan? You? he replied.

Yes. I said. I knew what was coming next. My face went blank.

I thought you’d be, taller.

Yeah, I get that a lot. I do. I kill a few big, bad nasties and everyone thinks I must be a giant. Stereotypical.

I handed the package of paperwork to him and turned to walk away when Officer Hinkel stopped me with a clearing of this throat.

Is there something I can do for you officer? My face was still blank, but something on his face changed, a look of anticipation maybe. Yes, that’s it.

Sir... Now he was getting formal. He wanted something. I came here from California, followed you here actually. I followed you to California from here too sir. I wanted to work with you and learn from you. I came here to be attached to your DS unit. I’m not exactly sure what is exactly involved but I’m willing to learn and adapt. I know I can learn a lot from you. You’ve inspired me.

How old are you son? He looked at me strangely as if I said something odd.

I’m about your age sir, twenty-seven. That was what the strange look was for. He thought I was his age when I called him ‘son’. I get that a lot too.

Son, how much research have you done on me while you were following me across the country? He gave me that strange look again then stiffened to stand at attention in front of me like I was his commanding officer.

Sir, I know you have an excellent military background. I know you are a decorated Gulf War vet. I know you have never failed a mission, and you don’t leave anyone behind. I know you have more target kills than anyone in the world. I know that you are a medical phenomenon…. sir.

Your research has holes son, I’m 49 years old. Do better research. But I will keep an eye on you. Have a good night officer. I left him standing with his mouth hanging opened. He probably thought he screwed up big time. He knew all those facts about me and didn’t know my correct age. I can’t hold that against him, though. Most didn’t know my correct age or didn’t believe it. Actually, to get most of the info he had meant he did very good research. On paper and in most government databases I don’t exist, long story. He must have kept company with high-ranking people, very high ranking, to get what he got.

I walked out of the Reading Court House to my metallic red, fully loaded Isuzu Rodeo. And I mean fully loaded. It had been modified by our weapons team a little and it still rides like I just picked it up yesterday. Oh yeah, I did just pick it up yesterday.

The color is great, it looks like a shiny, metal cranberry but with a flip of a switch the chemically treated paint of the SUV absorbs all light and turns black. I can access the Internet, the Pentagon’s Intranet, and uplink to satellites across the globe. I can listen to am/fm and XM radio and even watch VH1 if I wanted. The onboard computer system will even drive the vehicle on its own.

And then there is the defensive systems. Sonar helps me to find bloodsuckers and other creepy-crawlies. With another flip of a switch the windows can tint so dark even a vampire couldn’t see into it. And a lighting system around the Rodeo can emit ultraviolet light, doubling as a vamp trap. Vamps don’t like that at all, UV rays will kill them.

I never have to worry about traction. The specially designed wheels have 2 to 3-inch steel spikes that would spring out when activated. When the tech guy told me about them, he said, This truck can actually take a bite out of the road. I laughed to be nice.

The windows and the rest of the body were bulletproof; it was the chassis’ clear coat that was bulletproof. That way the solar panels could do their job. A nice feature if I get mixed up in gang violence but a vamp or were-bear might just flip the truck over. The engine runs on electricity which allows silent driving. Powered by the sun with a backup hydrogen tank was also installed. It wasn’t a racecar, but it had a lot of street speed to it. If I were buried in it or submerged under water alone, I could survive for five hours before running out of air.

I felt a little jaded because I didn’t have a rocket launcher or ejector seats. But why complain, I have a new toy to play with. And hey, it’s got a moon roof.

Many of my coworkers were angry that I got more than just ‘the company car.’ I knew this car was a bribe to come back here to Pennsylvania. I was born and raised here. I watched my mother kill my father here, my parents tried to kill me here. My heart was crushed here. I swore never to come back. I think I’ve grown past that, at least a little. Had they given me the papers to come back here on assignment, I would have done my duty. I would have come, no questions asked. They thought that it was necessary to butter me up first. I got a raise in pay and a bonus to relocate. I didn’t tell my superiors, but all that they gave me, wouldn’t have been necessary.

Pennsylvania had become a hot spot for the undead and demonic activity, and I’m here to find out why and then dissolve the problem. The vamp I killed tonight proved demonic activity was way too high. Demons and vampires don’t get along at all. Vamps and lycans have problems working together but demons and vamps are like cobras and mongooses. If left in a room alone, one will eat the other.

The demon that gave Sharon her boost had to be found and banished or destroyed. Giving that type of power to a vampire was like selling nukes to one gang to fight another gang in a highly populated area. I had to wonder what this demon got out of the deal since demons did nothing for free. It got or will get something from the bargain and if Sharon would’ve surrendered, we may have been able to get some clues as to which demon was involved.

Demons are still illegal and must have government authorized human sponsors which meant a human sponsor was usually after something to allow a demon to do such a thing. Authorization is not given lightly, many times taking up to five years for it. Killing a demon needs to be justifiable, (resistance, self-defense or exhibiting emanate danger), warrant issued, or it must be in or able to take human form. I’ve met some demons that were no worse than some people I know. I would swear that Officer Dina Gerri is a demon, but she passed the background and medical tests.

Leading scientists have documented theories that demons are born from wicked humans that saw the error of their ways and turned away from their misdeeds, or the death of a very evil human. The more-evil the human was, dictated how evil the demon created. Also, the more powerful the evil person was meant the more powerful the demon. Either way, demons are outworldly energy that takes the form, many times chaotic, of something from this realm.

Dax, David Xavier, my Omega 3 told me about it. He heads the preternatural end of the department. He can fight, he can shoot, but he’s a preternatural nerd. He knows everything