magnumversumcrimes

[magnumversumcrimes]

TRIGGER WARNING: EXTREME BLOOD/VIOLENCE, CURSING, AND MAFIA THEMES. MORE-SO THAN OTHER STORIES PUBLISHED. COVERS SERIOUS TOPICS SUCH AS LOSS AND DEATH. DO NOT READ IF HIGHLY SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THESE.

WRITERS

COOLGUY80101

ITSJCUBING

LOCATION: CAMP STRAWFORT

Kid-Spud uttered slowly, “And our hunted men become the hunters, and those slaughtering are killed, and the slaughtered kill. Artala, my ancestor, carried the grudge. Then Artala’s ancestor, Markus, carried the grudge. Then Jebine, Artala’s descendant, then his son, Keshin, then I, Marten De Brosse, his descendant and his relentlessly fighting son, carried and still do carry the man’s grudge.” Thunderous applause erupted. Kid-Spud hushed the audience, then spoke with the vicious energy of a cougar. “From the dawn of time we swore an oath. We were damned here to hunt and hunt only. Humanity has engaged too much in technology, and we have been granted blessings. But it is time to return to the primitive era of the golden Paleolithic ages, when mankind knew no more than to poke the horses, mules and donkeys, slice their throat and claim their meat prizes from their esophaguses, and gut and chop their intestines.”

FIVE HOURS LATER

“We’re approaching you for a reason,” said Lady Daggers. “We need your help in a train heist.”

Marten asked, “What train heist?”

“We’re sabotaging a train across the border of the United States and Mexico. Hanzai capos hijacked the train and are taking the passengers hostage. We need your help taking it down.”

“Will there be guns?”

“Yes,” Lady Daggers said, confused. “There will be guns.”

“Count me in.”

“Good. We go in the morning.”

LADY OF THE BLADE SEASON 1 EPISODE 6: PEACE

FIVE HOURS LATER

The dormant train did not hustle nor make a roaring noise. It was slumbering quietly. Lined against the windows and the leather sofa chairs were passengers, shot up and bleeding out. A baby lay frightened in her motherly figure’s lap, weeping and mourning for her mother, stagnant and unmoving, a husband and his future bride embracing him tightly, and the conductor, whose body was smothered, and whose head was nailed to the fire pit. The train scene was gruesome hostage crisis turned bloody murder. Lady Daggers muttered, “What the hell…”

“You’re overreacting,” Kid-Spud commented, unfazed. “Just a couple dead bodies. Plus, this train’s asleep. It won’t make a peep.” Just then, the engineer cabin let out a blistering roar. “What the hell? Someone’s alive.” Lady Daggers and Kid-Spud hurried cabin to cabin towards the engineer’s quarters, across dispositioned bodies and hacked throats. Revolvers drawn, they burst into the quarters, sans-life.

“It’s empty.”

“What’s this joke?” Cautiously, Lady Daggers pried open a drawer.

Inside it were six Tarot brand cigarette packets, five pencils, four erasers, three highlighters, two ocean-blue notebooks, a bible, a folder labelled, “SECRET CONNECTIONS,” a notebook labelled, “DIARY” on the leather cover, a rosary, a cell-phone, a dial-up phone, a saxophone, a pet rock, a crucifix, and a spare light-bulb.

“What in the name of God almighty is this joke?” said Lady Daggers, again.

“It’s my joke,” said Diogene Cappiello. “I’m the Thane of Sarmane now, thus another territory claimed in the name of The House of Spades. But I promise I won’t make them suffer. But for traitors I cannot say the same. Fair is tragic. Foul is just. Don thy wings. Try if thou must. My elder-ones wishes shalln’t go in vain, wishes to see enemies pained, to see bodies sprawl, their faces turn blood-red like turned-autumn leaves in the pouring fall.” Diogene produced a shotgun from his belt. “Sadly, thy fleeting lives are like a ticking clock, a fuse crackling slowly towards the end of the bomb, and your scarred, drained souls won’t live long enough to tell yours, and your relatives who care deeply will end up like the mourning infant in the morning begging for their loved one to journey forthward from the badinages in the pleasant afterlife in the heavens. So farewell, and safe journeys to the beyond. But I apologize. You won’t engage in the badinages where and when you’re damned. Your damnation entails saccharin smiles from horned brethren. The sweltering gatherings of withered demonic entities and smoky fiery demonstrations of purging of sins, and the response to your unpleasant grovelling to be uninviting. I pray the Devil and his eager spawn treat you well. But even The Trinity of thine above, Father, Son, and Spirit so divine, cannot redeem the damned, not quench the thirst or calm your tortured squeals. Let it be known, Amen.” Diogene lowered the rusted, antique pistol to her stomach. As he poked her stomach with the pistol, he felt a chilling sensation. The cold barrel of a shotgun poked his knee. Diogene crumpled, the gunfire sent scorching pains into his knee, sending him into a deep paralysis.

“I had to do this,” said Kid-Spud. “He’s dangerous.” The gunshot drained him until he bled out from his wounds. Charred gunpowder and molten blood drew breathless sighs. Runny blood slithered, painting his clothes a red redder than Saint Nick’s nose. His blood ran dry and flaky, coagulating with his calcium bones into a rich and thick, creamy broth.

Lady Daggers muttered, “We were assigned here to save the hostages, but they’re all dead.”

“They’re all dead because the law isn’t doing its duties. The way I see things, the officials take no part in society’s troubles, leaving us common men and women to keep the peace.”

“I have duties,” Lady Daggers replied, quietly eyeing the soulless Diogene. “I have duties to attend to.”

LOCATION: HANZAI HEADQUARTERS.

Beneath the grandiose chandelier, the table of grandeur was littered with delectable feasts. Beneath it, thriceful members of Crime United. Genevieve, of House of Jones, Damian Spade, of House of Spades, Benjamin Hanzai, of the Hanzai crime ring, Krvondel, The Stakeholder of Crime, and leader of the alien crime syndicate Kanuzen. Krvondel’s centerpiece throne was decorated with golden trinkets. Margaritas in golden chalices paired with assorted hors d'oeuvres lay before their seatings. He proudly boasted, “My throne is very great, as is my image which it and the people in this room stand in the midst of.”

Ben Hanzai said to Genevieve, “To keep the peace we’ve had to form alliances during World War 3.”

“I say we keep these alliances,” replied Krvondel. “Why not relish in our victories?”

“Dopamine cannot suffice as a reason for crime,” said Genevieve, sipping her margarita. “Crime is blood-spill. Kill for the red, not for the green.”

Ben harshly responded, “Then they will bleed. For crime.”

“For crime.” shouted Krvondel.

Genevieve shouted, “For crime.” Benjamin thrusted his golden chalice towards the shimmering, crystallic bronze chandelier adorned with silvery sparkles and beaming down glimmers of light.

“I propose a toast-” Ben shouted. “-for the downfall of the wealthy, and for an everlasting criminal multi-empirical domination spanning the ages. Amen!”

Genevieve cried triumphantly, “Amen!”

“I shall call inward the hired guns. Let them tell forth of the successes of Diogene with the hostages.” Ben cried forth, “Oh! hired guns!” Two bulky mercenaries hunched under the doorway. “Joran, Dester, tell us of the triumphant and victorious, regale unto us his successes.”

Dester nervously stammered, “The thane has fallen and rests with his hostages. Surely though, while the hostages see eternal flame, he is crowned with the wings of the archangels for his heroism.”

“He’s no damn hero,” said Ben. “He’s gotten himself killed, the damn fool.”

“What shall we do, my highness?”

“Dester, new Thane of Sarmane. You bring new and good tidings to Sarmane. I pray for your successes. Joran is your satrap, and will collect debts from the Sarmanese and bring them to my banking corporations. Dester the Fool sees Hades. Do not fail me as he has.”

[magnumversumcrimes]

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY HAS MILD AMOUNTS OF USAGE OF THE F-WORD, A-WORD, AND S-WORD, AND CONTAINS COVERAGE OF DARK TOPICS SUCH AS SUICIDE AND DEPRESSION. IF YOU ARE EVER FEELING THOUGHTS OF DEPRESSION, SUICIDE, OR SELF-HARM, TEXT THE CRISIS-TEXTLINE AT 741-741 OR CALL YOUR LOCAL OR KNOWN SUICIDE HOTLINE.

“What’s your name?” repeated the man.

Another lady repeated, “What’s your name?”

“What’s your name?” the bartender repeated.

“Yes. What is it?” She repeated again and again, “Your name, ma’am, what is it?”

Drawing his wallet, the bartender said carefully, “Agent Fenslay Bark of the FBI. You’re under arrest, Dorothy Hoffs.” Lady Daggers muttered curses under her breath.

Calmly, she asked, “Why’re you bringing me in, officer?”

“You’re violating your parole rules. You cannot leave the city working for The Archives.” replied Agent Bark. “I’m afraid this is the third time. We’re tossing you back into the brig with the other sailor-mouthed inmates.”

Lady Daggers uttered drunkenly, “Damn. Well- sorry officer. I’ve really crossed the line this time.”

“Damn right. Be happy Officer Armstrong is on Air Force duty. You’d be a mealworm inching away from a sparrow.”

LADY OF THE BLADE SEASON 1 EPISODE 5: REPENTANCE

“Officer, My parole ends in thirty-two hours, fifty-four minutes, and sixteen- fifteen- now fourteen seconds and counting.” Lady Daggers frustratedly slacked away from the bar counter. “Cut me some damn slack and reduce my punishment for a parole-violation a dozen years or so, and throw me out homeless onto the streets in my damn car. Hell, throw me out with nothing but a marker and a cardboard box to write on- I don’t give one. I prayed to the gods I wouldn’t have to break parole rules, but with a gods-forsaken pandemic going on, and a can’t-work-for-shit economy, where us high-paid assailants in need of therapy, can’t get our damn work hours to count-for-shit, we’d expect the peeps in blue to allow us in the spy service some wiggle room. So please, cut it with the bullshit, and let us do our damn job, for one time, you Kentucky-fried finger-licking spud-stuffing chicken-spanking big-bird looking-ass.” Lady Daggers hobbled off to her Volo Surfing-Blues minivan, and slipped into the driver seat. She pulled up her car window, as policemen behind her drew shotguns, blades, and other kitchen utensils. Lady Daggers slammed the accelerator, her car zooming off onto the busy roads of New York. Police-cars chased her as she swerved right and left. She hit the brakes as she ran into the sidewalk. Pedestrians dropped like wasps dropped to fly-swatters.

Armaments ready, a policeman hollered, “STAND DOWN!”

“DAMN IT!” cried Lady Daggers. “I’M HEADED INTO A HIGHWAY!” Lady Daggers left the car awry, removing the holstered shotgun-rifle. “PREPARE TO DISEMBARK!” Blood stained her bumper. Skulls dismembered against her side-view mirror. Sirens rang. Her heart raced as she crossed a red-light, and slammed into a Volkswagen.

Zipping furiously across the freeway in their police-cars, officers hollered, “FLANK HER VOLO! DON’T GIVE HER A CHANCE TO THINK!”

“AW HELL- TOO LATE! I’M THINKING!” Lady Daggers caught a glimpse of the crystal clear waters below as the Volo sped off the road, into the side of the magnificent rusted-green Statue of Liberty. “AW HELL- NOT THIS AGAIN!” Sirens rang louder. Lady Daggers climbed onto the roof of her Volo, rifle in arms, policemen armed.

“This is Agent Fenstray Bark, FBI.” shouted Agent Bark. “You will stay on your mode of transportation until we escort you to headquarters.”

She hollered back, “Job’s difficult enough for you agents. Mosey on home and we’ll just say you lost me mid-chase. I won’t allow myself to be captured. You know this. We both know when your boss asks you how the apprehension turns out you can chalk it up to her drowning in the ocean.” The sounds of wailing sirens were a humpback whale’s cry. You can throw my car into the deep blue Pacific, my husband into the lakes of New York, and my fortunes into the Grand Canyon for all I care- couldn’t give a damn- but I won’t take being arrested as how I’m gonna go.”

“That’s not how the law works madam.”

Lady Daggers eyed the cops carefully, and said, “There was no damn law. All the laws in this country were broken fifty times over, and what did you do about it?”

“You killed people. Innocents. Mind you- if these were corrupt officials and nosy officers I wouldn’t give one bit. I wouldn’t bat an eye if it weren’t innocents being killed because you tried to escape a parole violation sentence.”

“I didn’t kill an innocent. The way I see it, there are no pure monsters in a world full of sinful people. We all make mistakes. Yes, I couldn’t submit myself because submission to other deities is a sin. Giving into the authority of anyone but your Lord is a sinful act of blasphemy and purely traitorous. I don’t submit to authorities because only God is my authority.”

“You slaughtered innocents.” shouted the agent. “You killed plenty. Not just in this skirmish, but thousands of collateral and civil casualties from all your missions and it outnumbers even the kill-rates of the greatest and most notorious hired-guns.”

“I see my acts as fair.” Lady Daggers holstered her gun, and said, “I see what I do, collateral included, unintended casualties and civilian deaths included, as fair and only fair. Because if we don’t punish society, who will then?”

“Society doesn’t need punishment.”

“What it needs is a lesson- because frankly, I’ve suffered long enough. I decided long ago instead of putting myself out permanently, to take others’ lives of others who did me dirty.”

Agent Bark holstered his shotgun, and said, “And why then is that?”

“Because one day I saw the sunshine glimmering outside my window and the pleasant meadows awaiting bare feet and decided, ‘If I’m going to burn down, the whole world will fucking burn with me.’”

“And it’s done. The coronavirus pandemic and World War 3 between the countries of America, Eldebe and Malzamar, and their allies have burned the world to a hellscape. Nothing is recognizable except for very few icons- including New York. The world is burning. You got what you wanted. Now can you get down?”

Lady Daggers thought for a moment, then said brutally, “No.” She produced two pistols from her side, and shot up the cops from her position on the crashed minivan. They dropped quickly. Blood puddled up in the havoc-wrought freeway. Calcium remains clustered by the roadside. Lady Daggers crumpled. Only she and Agent Fenstray Bark remained.

“I understand your pain,” said Agent Bark, calmly. “And I want to help you. But I cannot do that if you won’t cooperate.”

“I can’t cooperate, Fenstray. You or the authorities will toss me back in my cell along with the other scum.”

“I won’t do that today.” Agent Bark radioed in a chopper, now approximately five miles off the shores of the island wherein the statue perched. “I won’t toss you back in the brig. I remember how terrifying the jailhouse was. I was a convict.”

Nervous still, she asked, “What’re you locked in for?”

“For committing murder and cyberware distribution. Luckily the government noticed my killing skills- and hacking skills- and put them to good use constantly tracking you down and keeping you down. I’m glad they helped me make a new friend.”

“We’re not friends. We never were.”

“Nobody was my friend as a kid,” said Agent Bark. “I get it. I was bullied a lot as a kid for being short as a short dwarf.”

“All dwarves are short-”

“-Not all of them…” Agent Bark grew unsettled. “Wish I could say the words told to me as a kid to the people who told me them. If I could make them take it back, I would. But I can’t- and I learned to move on.” Agent Bark crafted his next words decisively. “You just can’t make this shit up. You sometimes just gotta let go of everything that hurts you. It’s the best way to handle things in life- to let go and to forget, not to hold on and remember- Sometimes you’re forced into situations and all you want to do is cry, and that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with shedding tears.” Agent Bark recollected, “Amidst all my cutting of my flesh and petty bullies with their ignorant threats, crying was the only thing that returned to me in my darkest hour, and cleansed me. Laughing processes joy. Crying processes loss. You are loved, whether you will come to fully grasp it in this life or the next. My uncle once said ‘Your fruit will never come to fruition if you never water it. You’ll never see your true, full, uncensored worth with a closed heart but open eyes. It takes the soul and mind to see value, and the heart to appreciate it. Fire off empty shots and you’ll still stumble.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“Sometimes it’s worth living just to see another sunlight glimmering outside your second-story window, another pleasant meadow, your parents calling you downstairs, being pampered in kisses by your siblings, and drowned in love and comradery by your friends. Sometimes the only person you need to tell you to live is you.”

[magnumversumcrimes]

LOCATION: NEW YORK ALLEYWAYS

The music blasted from the long, narrow streets of New York, patrons flocking into bars and casinos rather than tiny flea markets and fruit vendors. She patrolled the streets, two pistols concealed in her ocean-blue jacket. Lady Daggers slipped into a back alleyway, where a bloody man in a coat awaited. The man asked, “You got the stuff?”

“If you got the stuff,” said Lady Daggers. She slipped a pistol into the his palm.

“There’s a policeman around the corner.”

“What’re you doing?” the policeman shouted.

“Nothing to your concern.”

“I said what’re you doing-” shouted the policeman. “Krivash?” Tension boiled.

Krivash hollered suddenly, “SHOOT.” Krivash and Lady Daggers unholstered their pistols. They shot bullets into the man’s leather vest, blood splattering onto their coats with every shot, and every ringing bang, until their guns drew near emptiness. Victoriously boasting over his corpse, they emptied their pistols. The policeman croaked, unconscious, bleeding out on the pavement, on the streets of New York. The moonlight shone on his violent violet badge.

LADY OF THE BLADE SEASON 1 EPISODE 4: STREET FIGHT (FINALE PART ONE OF THREE)

DATE: DECEMBER 25, 1999

TIME: TWELVE O’ CLOCK ANTE-MERIDIEM

The rain poured down on the homes of Brady Street. Jessie’s father searched through the rain for her child, carrying a lamp and a bloody pitchfork. The father cried, “Jessie, come home!” A soaked Jessie darted through the forests, panicked. “Jessie! Mommy’s waiting!” Jessie hurried through the woods. A pack of wolves stormed off in the other direction. The moonlight was concealed by gray storm clouds. Terrified, Jessie darted into Lady Daggers’ arms.

“Who’re you?” cried Jessie.

Hilting her blades, Lady Daggers spoke calmly, “I’m your father’s friend. Come with me. I’ll protect you.” Jessie hesitated. “I’m a friend. Not a foe. Come with me.”

DATE: FEBRUARY 29, 2022

TIME: APPROXIMATELY TWO O’ CLOCK POST-MERIDIEM

LOCATION: MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES

Jessie cried, “I was attacked by a strange character. I couldn��t make out who it was.”

“Rest assured the attack will not go unnoticed,” Lady Daggers said through the radio. “TASK will investigate this thoroughly.

“But there’s one more thing. Your doppelganger’s recruiting me on a mission.”

“Then go. I will monitor closely.”

“You heard them, Keys,” said Jessie. “We’re still doing this.” Jessie and Keys crept around the block, armed with pistols and flashlights. “Target spotted. Lock in, Keys.” The robot limped warily through the alleyway.

Kuya Omar said, “I expected Lady Daggers to swarm me with visitors.”

“This isn’t personal,” Jessie daringly responded. “I’m the brave pilot and you’re the enemy target.”

“But this is a misunderstanding,” Kuya Omar replied unfazed. “The Hanzai put me up to this. I’ve been framed. I’d like a mediator.”

“You’re not getting a lawyer,” said Keys. “They’re throwing you into the GRAIN mental institution.” Jessie bound his arms with handcuffs. “Alert Agent-Z. We’ve apprehended the suspect, and we’re going home.”

DATE: PRESENT DAY

LOCATION: CAMP STRAWFORT, TWENTY MILES OFF SHORE OF HAWAII

DESCRIPTION: CAMPING SPOT OF THE MAN’S GRUDGE HUNTING CLAN

“Hunting is our business,” Kid-Spud noted. “Not dealing with vile gangsters. Why should we get involved in something we’re not fighting for? In the endgame it’s pointless.”

“You are like gangsters yourselves,” said Jessie. “You plunder and wreak havoc.”

“We kill the boars in the name of Skadi, hunting goddess of Norse religion.”

“It’s a myth.”

Kid-Spud uttered, “A mythos made true.”

“It’s be good if you helped,” Jessie said again.

“Know this, Jessie,” Kid-Spud grumbled furiously. “Should any delegate of The Archives or their subsect The Archives Spy Korps attempt any form of contact with me or my people, whose sacrosanct traditions span to the creation of Man’s Grudge in the times of Artala my ancestor, and amen I say to you, and may the gods help their soul, but they won’t live to see the light of day and the Sun rising steadily over the horizon. So if you don’t want to send them to see the heavens.”

“Your father and I settled our fair share of differences peacefully. I was hoping you’d convey the same sentiment.”

“Financially Man’s Grudge is struggling. I’d steer clear of myself if I were trying to beat around the bush.” Kid-Spud looked through the seeps, past the boundary of ink and paper, glimpsing at the peering set of eyes, and said, “That includes you.”

LOCATION: ANCHORSTONE CASINO, NEW YORK

DESCRIPTION: MASSIVE THREE FLOOR CASINO AT THE CENTER OF NEW YORK CITY

Neon lettering flickering off and on read, “ANCHORSTONE CASINO, HOME OF GAMBLING & THE CENTER OF NEW YORK.”

She quietly shuffled through crowds of eager gamblers, towards an uncanny, shrewd man in a yellow trench coat, yellow boots and wearing yellow sunglasses, a yellow necktie and fedora. “Count Dracula,” whispered Lady Daggers. “This you?”

Count Dracula whispered back, “It’s me. Hand the files.”

“You’re looking for this suspect. Bystanders described a tattered green zombie-like man wearing an orange prison jumpsuit. The suspected creation of Melissa Stein and Benjamin Franken.”

“What do we call this suspect?”

Lady Daggers blurted quickly, “Steinfranken- Franken- Frankenstein.”

“Got it,” said the count. “Initiating search for Frankenstein immediately.” Lady Daggers’ eyes wandered. She lingered around a bar stool.

A bartender asked her, “Want a margarita?” Lady Daggers snatched it. She stirred the contents of the margarita, whilst removing a cigar from her purse, and proceeding to smoke the cigar.

“Is that a real cigar?” questioned a man nearby.

“No,” said Lady Daggers. “It’s something else. electric cigar.” As she had sworn when inaugurated, she told no lies. The cigar was a Carbon-dioxide Activated information-dispensary Device, shortened to CAD by many agents in the business.

One of the many panels read, “SUSPECT INFORMATION LOG. SUSPECT CODENAME: MYSTERY-MAN. PROCEEDING WITH LENSE-ACTIVATED PHOTOGRAPHY NOW. BLINK TO SEND PHOTOS TO THE ARCHIVES PHOTOGRAPHIC DATABASE-MEMORY SYSTEM.”

“What’s your name?” questioned the man suddenly. “I’ve never met one as fine as you.” Lady Daggers eyed the man warily, then blinked.

The panel read; “PHOTO TAKEN. MAN IDENTIFIED AS KIGGEN YURASSIS.”

“Oh what a dumb name,” Lady Daggers thought quietly to herself. “Oh what a dumb name.”

“What’s your name?” repeated the man.

Another lady repeated, “What’s your name?”

“What’s your name?” the bartender repeated.

“Yes. What is it?” She repeated again and again, “Your name, ma’am, what is it?”

END SCENE

[magnumversumcrimes]

LOCATION: HOFF HOUSEHOLD, BATHING ROOM

The bubbly waters slithered down her wrinkly arm, drowning her in scents oily and unknown. As she let the perfumes of the bath salt odorize his wrinkly arms, he soaked in the fragrances. Candles nearby emanated incense near Lady Daggers’ cotton robes. Truly, she lived the life of royalty. A servant snuck up on her and stammered, “Mistress Hoffs, your shogun has returned from his journey.” Impatiently she left the tub, retrieved her articles, and clothed herself in a golden sundress, a yellowed tunic, and a reddened scarf matching her curly rose hair. “Your shogun awaits you. Shall I fetch him as well as a suitor. Shall you meet in the dining room with the suitor or shogun?”

“Please,” said Lady Daggers. “Suitors first.”

LADY OF THE BLADE SEASON 1 EPISODE 3: ALLIANCE

LOCATION: HOFF HOUSEHOLD, DINING ROOM

The quenched man was dressed in an uncanny attire: his beige hair was groomed in rugged curls, with a crisp aquamarine bowtie, a greenish Aloha-shirt, a slick white vest, turquoise sneakers and azure trousers. Lady Daggers said, “You made quite the entrance from what I’ve heard. Pranced around like a drunk horse. Sadly I am not into your type.”

“I am not your suitor,” said the man. “I am your shogun.”

“Then you’re really not my type, but I digress. Have a seat.”

LOCATION: JAKE MORRISON HOSPITAL

He wore a black suit, a wristwatch, denim jeans, a belt, a pair of loafers, a fedora, some sunglasses, and a tee under his suit. He bathed in a pool of rotten guts and blood and bones and skin. The sharp odor of lobster bisque permeates from the stains on the man’s tattered suit and fedora. A burning light drew shadows from their hiding. Medical staff tended to his wounds. “Patient name?” asked a nurse.

“Archie Shozan,” answered a doctor. “Injuries include a dispositioned face, bleeding out. Gutted and impaled, and lungs are crushed, severe blood loss. No matching blood types, and we need lung donors, fast.”

A patient asked, “Sorry to interrupt, madame,” The nurse eyed her down carefully. He wore a red suit and tie, red jeans and gauze. “When will you tend to my broken leg?”

A doctor replied to him, “When we have time.”

“My leg injury requires more care than his wounds.”

“His wounds are more serious than your leg,” said a nurse. “Besides, this is an Intensive Care Unit. We have priorities.”

“You haven’t even heard my name,” said the man. He adjusted his tee and unzipped his jacket. “Benjamin Franken, at your service. I have a wife named Melissa Stein. We’re famous entrepreneurs.”

“Sir Franken and Stein. Strange names, I never heard those.”

“Course you haven’t. We’re not entrepreneurs in the way you’ve heard of them.”

LOCATION: HOFF HOUSEHOLD, DINING ROOM

Lady Daggers sipped the margarita. “The Hanzai crime syndicate has escalated conflicts to hostage-taking,” said the shogun. “The Archives Negotiation Korps operatives report negotiations are unsuccessful.”

“Apologies shogun, but priorities are in order,” whispered Lady Daggers. “My date is Dester Abbetts himself.”

He whispered back, “You flirt, Dester’s a perverted, criminal man. Don’t let him touch you.”

“Apologies, Dester. I stalled you a minute too long.”

“No worries,” he responded kindly. “Now interruptions aside, where do we start?”

Lady Daggers spoke pleasantly, “Quite frankly, I’ve fallen in love with your charms. A proposal is in order.” Dester blushed at her words. “I propose a union with House of Spades, an infamous crime ring owned by Damian Spade. They’ve acquisited the power required to hold even against Hanzai’s forces- and more. I suggest a proposal followed by offerings to their kingpin.”

“All crime lords are like their spouses- cheaters and hogs,” Dester said harshly. “You can’t be sure they’ll commit to an agreement.”

“Muscle precedes loyalty. Should they grant The Archives assistance, we’ll consider it done. They stay out of their hair, we’ll stay out of their criminal business.”

The shogun uttered, “Human muscle is impractical and cheap. What you need is canine strength and mobility.”

LOCATION: HOUSE DMARANI

DESCRIPTION: TALL FORTRESS, BURIED IN THE WOODS

She navigated the perimeter of House Dmarani, a mighty achievement for her pack. “Krivash,” muttered Rena. “Lady Daggers’ shogun. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m making penance,” Krivash shouted to her. “I know I once betrayed your people and allied myself with the infamous hunting clan Man’s Grudge. I’ve informed myself of pack folklore archived by your tribal witch. It regales tales of evil energies and misfortune going to those who betray their pack. You accepted me as one of you, and I betrayed your trust, and now I ask you for forgiveness.”

“Direct. Straight to the point. I respect that. I am the nabob of the wolf clan, and I will make our alliance work. Expect your muscle to arrive shortly as well as within your desired timeframe. Penance is granted.”

LOCATION: HOFF HOUSEHOLD, DINING ROOM

DATE: ONE WEEK LATER

“Renowned guests,” said Lady Daggers. “My friend Jessie Armstrong, of Doomsday Legion. Everaine, Stink’n’fart and Malcolm Loudmouth, of The Superpeople. And Genevieve, of House of Jones, as well as Damian Spade, of House of Spades, as well as the esteemed Nabob Rena of Dmarani. As you all know a dangerous threat is rising: the biggest criminal empire this generation will ever know. The Hanzai just minutes ago robbed a bank down the streets, and crashed the Blue Gala 2022 Banquet. What I need is muscle, and you, my beloved guests, can provide that. Our alliance will be fulfilling. You give your muscle and all you’ve got, I give you unimaginable wealth and riches from TASK’s fortunes.”

Everaine replied silently, “Mariq and Ezio have other commitments, so we’re what you’re dealing with. He’s promoted me to team leader. We can’t be sure you’re going to pay us, unless you pay us upfront.”

“I will pay you what I deem your pay should be, and you will respect it.”

“Guts,” Stink’n’fart whispered to Everaine quietly. “She’s cute.”

Lady Daggers replied, “You are a flirt and an idiot.”

“Golly, real guts.”

“I cannot demand your following nor swear your death, but know this, the battle I’m fighting will soon erupt into a war. Your loyalty is a gift and will be compensated for.”

“I have no disagreements,” said Rena. “You have my loyalty, and the loyalty of Dmarani.”

“As you do mine,” Damian Spade added. “The House of Spades is at your command.”

“While Ezio is busy-” said Everaine. “-and so is Mariq, you have our loyalty.”

Jessie cried out, “The pilots of Doomsday Legion stand with you.”

Lady Daggers asked them, “Then we agree?”

“We agree,” said Genevieve.

“It is settled.”

[magnumversumcrimes]

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS VIOLENCE, HORROR, AND COARSE LANGUAGE. YOU ARE ADVISED NOT TO READ IF ANY OF THE FOLLOWING AGITATES YOU.

DATE: FEBRUARY 29, 2022

TIME: APPROXIMATELY ELEVEN FIFTEEN O’ CLOCK ANTE-MERIDIEM

LOCATION: RAINESTON, IDAHO

Jessie Armstrong huffed the cigar, then sipped the margarita. She was sleepy and defenestrated. Her eyes drowsily wandered, as she crawled to her rusted monster truck, parked in the middle of the dampened, dimly lit, and busy alleyway. She gripped her daggers holstered at her belt, as a shrouded figure hunched over, and grumbled, “You didn’t follow the rules. You didn’t play the game how it was supposed to be played. Now I’ll have to kill you.” The figure sniffed the acidic scent from the cigar. “Game’s over, bud.” The figure leaned in and snatched the cigar from her. “You a smoker?”

"I’m a smoker,” said Jessie. “What’s your problem?”

He muttered, “You’re a noisy one. Stuffing your nose into personal affairs you shouldn’t concern yourself with. Stay out of my business.” The figure hobbled away, leaving Jessie in the damp alleyways.

LADY OF THE BLADE SEASON 1 EPISODE 2: EAGLE

TIME: TEN O’ CLOCK ANTE-MERIDIEM

President Torres hollered to the eager reporters at the noisy press meeting, “And the kapamilya terrorized the innocent and violated policies. And they robbed us of people and sought terror. Histories date these hoodlums back to the turn of the twenty-first century, 1900-1901, when the corrupt President Damian Torres, my great-grandfather, was in power. He was a notable ancestor shrouded in inseparable debt. But he said something on his inexpensive deathbed that resonates, and he whispered it into my ear, ‘Charity comes second. Power precedes.’ And I agree.” The reporters shouted out with confused questions.

“What’re your new policies?” one reporter asked.

Another asked, “Will your policies retire churches?”

“What’s the most favorable outcome in the pandemic?” asked another.

“Silence!” shouted the president. “I will answer these questions in due time. But today we look to the future, and to its possibilities, and we abolish the detrimental past and the sins of ruthless street gangs and unfavorable criminal acts, and the unchanging dissenters among us punished.” The reporters cheeree, immediately halting before cold, raging guns. “Responsibility and integrity replace kindness and warmth, and a fallible ‘democracy’ is replaced by infallible democracy. Power is presented to our strong, patriotic people, and glory is presented to the infallible gods whom the blasphemous deem sacrilege. And the coldest of hearts will cast shame upon them, and the liars will come to light.” Amongst the crowd of reporters, was Lady Daggers, masked, and cloaked, and a radio concealed in her jacket.

She muttered into the radio, “Armstrong- come in.”

“What’s it like?” asked Jessie Armstrong.

“Enemy snipers line the rooftops in the dozens. Wind currents shouldn’t be a hurdle. Kaz Champagne is positioned at the rooftop adjacent to President Torres, and the SWAT team is four blocks down.”

She uttered quietly, “Where’s Danny?”

“Danny Danielson’s on ground level with American law enforcement,” said Lady Daggers. “If the president’s snipers try to pull a fast one, the boys in blue will surely gun them down.”

“Be on the lookout for thugs. Some crooks robbed a bank nearby, stole five billion pesos. That’s ninety-seven thousand dollars.”

“Jesus, that’s the cost of my monster truck. Crooks know no mercy.” Lady Daggers swatted a red dot off her neck. She produced a blade from her coat, and hurried swiftly.

Harshly she grunted, “Sniper on the roof. Our cover’s blown. Danielson better fire because it’s now or never.”

“Duty calls,” explained Jessie, quickly. “You’re in charge.” Jessie’s voice fizzled out, replaced by a calm static.

Lady Daggers cowered behind shrivelled green shrubs, produced her sniper rifle from her jacket, steadying as she aimed it at the president, and said, “Danielson, on my mark.” Danny produced a magazine from his jacket pocket and attached it to the barrel. His awkward breath fogged up the scope attachment. The president’s elaborate, patriotic speech drew thunderous applause. “Danielson. Prepare to fire.”

Danny uttered, “Just say the word ma’am.” His fingers squeezed the trigger halfway. His hands quaked, his palms sweat rain. Three-fourths through the trigger-pull, Danny hesitated.

The president shrieked, “And the cold-blooded murderers will be gutted and the blood of criminal masses will be spoiled. Our country’s image will not be tainted, nor these hoodlums spoiled.”

TIME: APPROXIMATELY ELEVEN FORTY-FIVE O’ CLOCK POST MERIDIEM

The dim lamp shade illuminated a figure in the corner of the room. Jessie’s hazy eyes darted from the window to the shrouded figure hunched over her. The figure muttered, “Glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Dester Abbetts,” Jessie said harshly. “You’ve returned from the grave.”

“Perception is where the eyes cross the soul. Death is disillusionment from deceptive, ignorant, and false perceptions of life. Then I was reborn.”

LOCATION: THE SUPERPEOPLE HEADQUARTERS

The thunderous, roaring skies turned a gloomy gray hue. Rushing through the pouring hailstorm, a hulking, but panicked man with a white and black suit, black denim jeans, and black loafers, and a black fedora. A neatly clothed deity in layered golden robes, a red velvet scarf, and fine bronze sandals chased him through the storms Ezio screamed vengefully, “I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL YOU FOR KILLING MY FATHER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

The fearful man cried back, “I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT! I SWEAR!” Panicked, the man in the black fedora stumbled into a shed, and barricaded the gate.

Ezio shrieked, “FUTILE!”

“PLEASE! SPARE MY LIFE!” The man hobbled away in trepidation. Ezio stalked after him.

“I WILL TEAR OFF YOUR FINGERS AND CRUSH YOUR THROAT AND GOUGE YOUR EYES. I WILL TEAR YOUR INTESTINES APART AND RIP OUT YOUR HEART. I WILL MAKE YOU SCREAM IN TERRIBLE AGONY, AND YOU WILL BE STARVED AND THIRSTED. YOU WILL REPENT OR THERE WILL BE HELL.” Fear burgeoned, his bones fractured, and the man’s tainted and pale face splintered into webs akin to a spider’s fragile designs at the behest of Ezio’s willpower. The man’s final, tortured screams echoed in the thunderous, roaring skies, turned gunmetal-gray hue.

[magnumversumcrimes]

LADY OF THE BLADE SEASON 1 EPISODE 1: PERSPECTIVE

“Did you miss me?” Lady Daggers said into the radio.

“Lady of the Blade,” said Jessie, relieved. “Very nice to hear your voice again.”

“I dropped by to inform you of a recent resurgence in crime in the streets of New York. It might be worth checking out.”

“I’ll be right on it.” Lady Daggers fiddled with the controls of her fighter craft, and punched in a deliberate set of numbers and letters. A panel flickered on her screen. She gripped the joysticks and swerved the craft beneath the clouds. The fighter was descenting at immense speeds. Jessie’s fighter dissipated into the fog, and Lady Daggers’ jet grazed the sands of Eldebe, an island country neighboring the United States of America.

“Greetings,” said General Marlen Kanos. “I’ve been expecting your company, and so has Viceroy Bryce Challenor of the ZBC, famed entrepreneur and stock investor- but I digress. He’s popular on the market and with women. The kapamilyas of Eldebe welcome you.”

“I’m here for business, so let’s get straight to it.” Marlen guided her into his office. Piles upon piles of books were stacked on his table, and in a drawer was a specially labelled file.

He stated, “Since the outbreak of crime, alongside the global crises we’re facing, the pandemic, and the lack of protections as such due to masks, hand sanitizer, and other valuables due to wartime shortages, we’ve resorted to other means of protecting ourselves from enemy countries, and the virus.” He rifled through the file, then revealed a specially labelled set of documents. “This means warfare.” He spread the documents across the table. “Strategic warfare. But the crime rings of the Americans, the Malzamese, and the Filipinos must remain neutral in order for TASK to succeed.”

“The kapamilyas decided against fighting when Joran and I paid them a visit. Rest assured their full support lies in neutrality.”

With authority Viceroy Challenor spoke, “Medical shortages due to the pandemic enticed authoritarian dictators to pull large sums of money from the Zamar Banking Corporation. Taxation of my business once funded by the great Zamar himself is violating my freedoms. I’ve had to send out satraps to regain my wealth.”

“Excuse me, but I must interrupt,” Lady Daggers said to General Kanos. “I’m receiving intelligence from a safety officer in Manila. They’re apprehending The Pinuno as we speak. I’m receiving live footage of the encounter right now.” Lady Daggers set her phone on the table, and a video played. Men and women in blue uniforms kneeled before the rickety hideout.

A fearful officer shouted, ““Hindi! Walang makatakas at walang matutulungan! Only chaos and fighting! Sakim at barilin lang!” The phone screen fizzled out.

“What the hell’s happening?” she cried. “My phone power died.”

“Did you charge it?” asked the viceroy.

“It was fully charged when I brought it. I never used it. The hell’s going on?”

“Someone’s hacking,” General Kanos assumed. “I’ve received intel about security breaches in nearby military armories, nearby prisons, GRAIN security databases, and nuclear storages. The same one shutting off your phone.”

Lady Daggers replied, “They’ll have access to top-secret TASK catalogues.”

“They cannot have access to those catalogues-” he angrily replied. “-or some of my exploits will be exposed.”

“What exploits?”

“I’ve gotten myself into some trouble with the mafias, specifically with one of the capos, specifically Diogene Cappiello, of the Drop-Dead Motorcycle Gang, DDMG, and more importantly, a crime ring known as Hanzai, when I allied with The Archives and its daughter company, The Archives Spy Korps. Should he or one of his apprentices under his tutelage find out about my alliance with you, he’d send one of his best marksmen to kill me off. I’m in a debt crisis.”

“Your debt to the rings are not our responsibility,” said Lady Daggers. “However it is imperative we speak to the other capos of Hanzai and see if they can talk Diogene out of blowing your head off.”

Viceroy Bryce suggested, “I can speak to them. We have good relations.”

“And I have a call to make.”

“With whom?” asked the viceroy.

“A good pilot.”

LOCATION: TASK SPACE FORCE HEADQUARTERS

General Kanos produced a radio from his belt and whispered harshly, “Can anyone read me?” He repeated, “Is anybody there? Please respond as soon as possible. I have a hunch. I have a clue that they’re onto our plans.” Unbeknownst to him, what remained on the other end was a spill of bodies and a pool of blood. “Please respond. Officer Mikey, do you copy? Officer Mikey.” The radio buzzed frantically into an eerie static. He said again, “Officer Mikey… Officer Mikey do you copy?” He frantically spoke, “Officer Mikey, I need your reply. Where is Manuel Torres? Officer Mikey-”

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP

A gun clicked against his chin, and a raspy voice muttered, “Think of your next words carefully. Who’s Officer Mikey?”

“Agent-Z… I should’ve expected you to be the assailant the criminal network founded on Ben Hanzai’s crime sprees would kill me.”

“Tell me who Officer Mikey is.”

Nervously, General Kanos resumed, “Officer Mikey is my accomplice in Manila. But he turned on me- You have to understand that The Pinuno murdered Officer Mikey in cold blood because he wasn’t needed.”

Agent Z spoke harshly, “Tell the truth.” He led General Kanos outside the facility, and into an alleyway, and backed him up against a dumpster bin, and pitted the cold metal of the barrel against the of his neck. He spit cherry seeds and whispered harsh words. “Bleeding out is easier than lying for raggedy, maggot-infested dirtbags like you. Tell the truth.”

“You’re a double-crosser too,” said General Kanos. “You’ve allied with The Archives.”

“I ally with Joran and Lady Daggers.”

“You mean Dorothy Hoffs, and your ridiculous insults won’t frighten me. We both knew what we were doing being double-agents.” Agent-Z stowed his gun.

Agent-Z explained, “We’re different- you and me, we’re not the same. Because what makes you and I different is special, you’re special because you work for what is right. I work for cash.”

General Kanos said, “Cause you’re a greedy dirtbag.”

“Because we all work for something, Kanos. Because we all work for something.” Agent-Z produced his revolver again and shot down General Kanos in cold blood.

[magnumversumcrimes]

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND PART THREE OF A THREE PART FINALE

EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 6

EXTENDED/REWRITTEN

“I’m a psychopath,” The Grandmaster whined. “I’m a terrible psychopath.”

Jessie cried, “You’re a murderer. That can change.”

“Anything can change, Jessie. Because change is inevitable.”

“I’ve considered once or twice scraping together the resources to create an empire that would make the vastly multiplying number of kapamilyas under The Pinuno seem weak when compared. I’ve already arranged the funds to start the empire as it’s hari. Now all I need is a reyna.” The Grandmaster extended his hand to Jessie. “If you ally with me we will have grand thrones. And when we hold court, we shall be the center of attention. And we shall be paraded around like the true magulang of the family we are.” Jessie reached for his hand, then hesitated, her teeth clenching, and her hand drawing back. The Grandmaster harshly questioned, “Why don’t you reciprocate?”

“Because I cannot join your empire,” said Jessie, drawing her two revolvers from their holsters.

“Your choice then,” he barked, guns drawn. A visceral feeling told Jessie to retreat. “Listen to your guts. You won’t win.” Jessie holstered her guns momentarily.

“The winner is deemed by trial, not a stalemate of words.”

“Do you forfeit?” asked the humored Grandmaster. “I find it hilarious. You, Jessie Armstrong, great fighter pilot of Doomsday Legion, forfeit in a duel.”

Jessie admitted, “I didn’t forfeit. I was simply making a call for help.” Gunfire rang. Fighters soared through the clouds. Pushing against the strong currents of the downpouring storm. Lady Daggers manned one of the cockpits. She gave a valiant cry, as the jets forced the demonic entities swarming them, peppered with jalapeno red eyes, into a fearful retreat. The Grandmaster reeled.

He growled, “Now you’ve asked for it.” The pale man holstered his pistols and drew a long, electrifying blade. “Let’s play a game of laser tag.” Jessie holstered her revolvers and produced something from her coat: another blade of plasma.

Jessie barked, “Your move.” He struck first, Jessie blocking.

“You’re a failure,” said The Grandmaster. “Just an obstruction in my plans.” Jessie slashed harshly.

“What does that make you then? What’ll you do once you form this empire?” Jessie followed her taunt with a quick flurry of bashes.

He cried to her, “I’ll do things the right way.” Jessie halted her blows. The Grandmaster hissed. Sparks emanated from his crimson blade. Jessie’s blade emanated blueberry and grape embers.

“Explain.”

“A new police force is formed, and the primitive slaves of simple democracies are damned and their systems are abolished, replaced by a simpler but systematic and effective autocracy.” The Grandmaster slashed her arm. Jessie momentarily staggered. “The burden of ten-billion lives and counting is lifted from your shoulders, and the new police force cracks down on the rebellious, scoundrels and mobsters of the syndicates, and those eager for a fair and united government should have their way.” Jessie cut his arm, cauterizing his wound.

“That’s a dictatorship,” she told him. “Not freedom, and not a united government.”

“It’s the only thing that works for the scumbags and rebels. War is the only method they believe is right. War is how they tame others, and it is what tames them.”

“You cannot fight fire with flame,” said Jessie. “You’re corrupt.”

He mumbled impatiently, “This isn’t corruption,” The Grandmaster and Jessie locked blades. “This is your death.”

“I wouldn’t make any promises.” Their blades met in a staccato rhythm. Jessie and The Grandmaster dueled into a stalemate.

“Atone for your sins. Submit yourself to order. We know your secret.”

“What secret?” The Grandmaster gagged. He scoffed in disbelief, their blades met again.

He cried, “Your past as a bounty hunter. Holo-blades were presented to honorary guild members.”

“I’m no bounty hunter,” said Jessie. “I’m a pilot for The Archives.”

“Perhaps you weren’t honorary,” said The Grandmaster. “Perhaps you stole the blade and haven’t seen disillusionment. Or you falsified a résumé to look honorary, perchance?” The Grandmaster chuckled at her with a disdainful look. He said finally, “Dispense of the pleasantries, let’s talk honesty. What sins brought this blade to you?”

She admitted, “I murdered her sister. I murdered Lady Daggers’ sister, Alma Hoffs.”

“Oh- oh shit.”

“I murdered her in cold blood. When she found out my secret.”

He questioned, “Does she know this?”

“No.” Jessie said, ashamed. “She’s unaware.” The Grandmaster disarmed her, as Lady Daggers burst from the shrubbery, armed with a shotgun. She asked, “Unaware of what?”

He told her, “That Jessie Armstrong murdered your sister in. That she snatched the holo-blade to conceal her cold-hearted act. Who knew- America’s sweetheart turns out to be a clueless, irresponsible liar.”

FLASHBACK

Jessie stuffed the pistol into her jacket. She read the numbers as she strolled down the hallways. “Room two-o-five,” she thought to herself. “This is it.”

The doormat read, “LOVE OTHERS, REVERE ARCHANGELS, REBUKE SATAN, WORSHIP GOD.”

She thought, “Fancy doormat.” Loudening footsteps haunted the lonely doorstep of the apartment room. Alma responded. Jessie slowly drew the pistol, to Alma’s confused reply. The cold pistol barrel ended her breathing.

END OF FLASHBACK

“I’ve been lied to,” Lady Daggers cried scornfully. “You lied to me.”

Jessie said to her, “And I resent that.”

“You’re a bilking rat.”

“But I forgive you.” The Grandmaster gently holstered his crimson blade.

He cried urgently, “But she killed your sister!”

“Alma is a stage name Kaz Champagne adapted following an attempt on her life by The Pinuno’s thugs.”

FLASHBACK

Jessie shot Alma down. Blood trailed her as she stumbled down the lonely hallways of the apartment. She left with an inky photo of the body. She said into the radio, “Staging was successful.”

Kaz said lazily, “Wouldn’t call it successful.”

“You should be the one shooting me down.”

“I can’t. I’m not the one with a gun.”

“Good work anyway,” replied Jessie. “And I armed myself with one of your prized possessions. You wouldn’t mind this.” She clutched her belt, and the holo-blade. “You wouldn’t mind?”

END OF FLASHBACK

“I have friends,” said Jessie.

“I can take ‘em!” The Grandmaster shouted.

“Not The Superpeople.”

He repeated, “They’re gangsters.”

“What’d you call us?” asked a hunchback elf.

“I said nothing.” said The Grandmaster.

Ezio grumbled, “Not what I heard. I heard you saying you could take us all at once, and that we were all gangsters and scumbags. What I heard was an intolerant fool spouting his mouth off when he shouldn’t’ve spouted off, and poking his nose in places where he shouldn’t’ve poked his nose into, and making assumptions about people he shouldn't’ve made assumptions about.”

Everaine apologized to Jessie, “I’m sorry. Ever since the death of Ezio’s father, Ezio’s turned to vigilante justice as a vicious means of settling the score with his enemies. He’s seemed unhinged as of late.”

“I understand,” said Jessie. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of vigilantes.” She cautiously approached the God of Strength. “Ezio. Back off.”

Ezio said, “You understand his motives. He thirsts world domination.”

“Sorry again,” Everaine repeated quietly. “Things might get bloody if he gets pissed off.”

“Ezio. Back off.” repeated Jessie. Ezio threw a jab. The Grandmaster wheezed harshly. Ezio’s shoulder fit uncomfortably around his throat. The Grandmaster choked.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill him right now,” said Ezio. “Tell me why he deserves a second breath.”

Malcolm suddenly retorted, “YOU’RE A BRATTY ASS.” Ezio slowly growled.

He stalked over to Jessie, and huffed, “What’d the shrieking ass say to me?”

Jessie uncomfortably repeated, “He said, ‘You’re a bratty ass,’ sir.”

“He said, ‘You’re a bratty ass,’ no?”

“That’s what he said sir. His words, not mine.”

Guttural, Ezio muttered, “And don’t call me sir.”

“And don’t call you sir,” she remembered softly. “Got it.”

Ezio hunched to Malcolm and said, “Don’t cross me.”

“Bratty ass,” Stink’n’fart said quietly. Then he said aloud, “The Grandmaster will be taken into our custody. Consider his actions judged with the gavel of integrity and honesty, and prosecuted in the eyes of justice.” The Superpeople plodded off with The Grandmaster in cuffs. Jessie sighed, relieved.

[magnumversumcrimes]

“I’m a psychopath,” The Grandmaster whined. “I’m a terrible psychopath.”

Jessie cried, “You’re a murderer. That can change.”

“Anything can change, Jessie. Because change is inevitable.”

“Atoms attract when they must supply each other with electrons,” explained The Grandmaster. “Because of the need for stability, the atoms bond. One becomes a cation, one becomes an anion. Both fill each other’s valence shell.” He flinched as a waterfall of spiritual entities clustered from nothingness. “Because of the need for stability, they bond. Sodium chloride, magnesium sulfate and sodium bicarbonate: salt, bathing salt, and baking soda, all ionic bonds.”

“Get to the point,” said Jessie.

“Simply put, because of the visceral need for stability, atoms bond and form compounds. One atom gives, another takes. And as a result, they form connection.”

“Get to it.” Jessie barked.

“A new police force is formed, and the primitive slaves of simple democracies are damned and their systems are abolished, replaced by a simpler but systematic and effective autocracy. The burden of ten-billion lives and counting is lifted from your shoulders, and the new police force cracks down on the rebellious, scoundrels and mobsters of the syndicates.”

Jessie spoke in accusation, “The police force will be summonings from Hades.”

“The police force will be what I deem it to be.” He flinched again as the clusters of entities swarmed them. The swarms were peppered with raspberry eyes and licorice teeth. Then the swarm cleared back into the dissipating nothingness The Grandmaster yelled, “Where the Hades?”

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND PART THREE OF A THREE PART FINALE

STARRING JESSIE ARMSTRONG AS JESSIE ARMSTRONG

STARRING THE GRANDMASTER AS THE GRANDMASTER

JORAN SEASON 1 EPISODE 6: EYE OF THE TIGER

Mariq cried heroically, “We won.”

“Damn right,” said Stink’n’fart, dwarf ears perked up.

Malcolm Loudmouth shrieked, “WE WON GODDAMN IT.”

“We’ve forced them back,” Everaine told them surely. “Their retreat is final,” Ezio said. “Andrew Madrickson’s empire shouldn’t come to fruition.”

Joran complimented Ezio, “The Superpeople’s first mission was a success.”

“I apologize but I must intrude,” replied The Grandmaster.

Jessie said threateningly, “Speak while you have breath."

“I’ve made commitments and I’m obliged to keep them.”

Jessie questioned, “Your commitments to the formation of a dictatorship?”

“My commitment to becoming the World Chairman. I must fulfill on my promises.”

“Suppose you do ascend to power, the position of World Chairman is void and null. The UN decided so.”

The Grandmaster said, “The security theater of the United Nations is a damn hoax.”

“WE CAN TAKE YOU ON,” shouted Mariq.

“Try it then.” The mighty dragon crowed.

“Get ‘im, crew!” Mariq hunched down. Acidic fire spewed from his salty tongue. The Grandmaster conjured a magical shield. Malcolm shrieked subconsciously, replacing The Grandmaster’s thoughts with a pervacious noise.

Ezio said, “What were you saying about you taking us on?”

“I wasn’t saying nothing,” said The Grandmaster. “I didn’t say a damn thing. Lemme go.”

“Not what I heard. I heard you saying you could take us all at once.” Ezio punched him in the gut. He gasped. “What I heard was an intolerant fool spouting his mouth off when he shouldn’t’ve spouted off, and poking his nose in places where he shouldn’t’ve poked his nose into.”

Everaine apologized to Jessie, “I’m sorry. Ever since the death of Ezio’s father, Ezio’s turned to vigilante justice as a vicious means of settling the score with his enemies. He’s seemed unhinged as of late.”

“I understand,” said Jessie. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of vigilantes.” She cautiously approached the God of Strength. “Ezio. Back off.”

Ezio said, “You understand his motives. He thirsts world domination.”

“Sorry again,” Everaine repeated quietly. “Things might get bloody if he gets pissed off.”

“Ezio. Back off.” repeated Jessie. Ezio threw a jab. The Grandmaster wheezed harshly. Ezio’s shoulder fit uncomfortably around his throat. The Grandmaster choked.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill him right now,” said Ezio. “Tell me why he deserves a second breath.”

Malcolm suddenly retorted, “YOU’RE A BRATTY ASS.” Ezio slowly growled.

He stalked over to Jessie, and huffed, “What’d the shrieking ass say to me?”

Jessie uncomfortably repeated, “He said, ‘You’re a bratty ass,’ sir.”

“He said, ‘You’re a bratty ass,’ no?”

“That’s what he said sir. His words, not mine.”

Guttural, Ezio muttered, “And don’t call me sir.”

“And don’t call you sir,” she remembered softly. “Got it.”

Ezio hunched to Malcolm and said, “Don’t cross me.”

“Bratty ass,” Stink’n’fart said quietly. Then he said aloud, “The Grandmaster will be taken into our custody. Consider his actions judged with the gavel of integrity and honesty, and prosecuted in the eyes of justice.” The Superpeople plodded off with The Grandmaster in cuffs. Jessie sighed, relieved. Lady Daggers hurryingly banged on the closet door.

She hollered, “Hello- I’m still in here!” Jessie unstrapped an ax from her belt.

LOCATION: DOWELL KING PENITENTIARY

The Pinuno hunched over a bouquet of roses left at his cell door. The note read,

“Dear Pinuno,

I have been made aware that one of our contacts has had their life of freedom cut short. I’m writing this note to tell you the shortcomings of The Grandmaster are not roadblocks to the bigger picture. He was a good person, but he had to go.

Since his passing, I’ve been in search of a new client, and I believe I’ve found him. His name’s Doctor Brian Cosmos, and he’ll be an asset in the next steps of our plan. He’ll provide all The Grandmaster once did, and more.

Termination of The Grandmaster’s freedom was a necessary step, an needed and effective sacrifice in the bigger scheme of things. Some may call it selfish, sacrificing a man’s right to live for one’s being, but I call it vengeance. But sacrifice will not be in vain.

He will be replenished for what he did. He will receive proper treatment, as the death he caused will surely return to him. Hopefully what awaits him is equally as malicious as he is.

Signed, KDB”

The Pinuno grunted, and crossed his arms. He shuffled over to his bench, covered in a raggedy blanket and a feather pillow. He tidied his brows with a comb, and sat on the bench. A police officer unlocked his cell door with jingling keys. He followed the officer into the commons. A lunch man asked him, “We have broccoli and gunk for you. Want it?”

He said, “Yes.” The Pinuno quickly gobbled down the broccoli and gunk, and returned to his cell. Blood dripped from his knuckles.

[magnumversumcrimes]

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS STORY DEALS WITH MATURE TOPICS SUCH AS DEATH, SUICIDE, AND THE OCCULT. THESE TOPICS MAY NOT BE SUITABLE TO SENSITIVE AUDIENCES. READ WITH CAUTION.

Kaz Champagne explained through the comms, “The real Lady Daggers is being held hostage by The Grandmaster. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to rescue Lady Daggers and kill The Grandmaster. Right now on your tablet you should see a panel that says ‘Do you want to open the tab?’ Tap ‘yes’ and on your screen you’ll see all the data about The Grandmaster that you’ll ever need to know.”

Just like Kaz has said, a panel popped up on Jessie’s tablet that said, “Do you want to open the tab?”

She tapped the button that said, “yes” and all of the information popped up.

Kaz Champagne read, “The Grandmaster, real name: Andrew Madrickson, dangerous magician, practices in the art of the occult. Also a wanted criminal on many databases, including our own. I repeat, your mission, find and terminate Andrew Madrickson, The Grandmaster. Once confirming your understanding of the mission, this message will self-destruct in five seconds.”

Monotonous, a fragile, robotic voice asked, “Do you confirm understanding of the task at hand?”

“Yes,” replied Jessie.

“Then this message will self destruct in five- four- three- two- one-”

BOOM.

The comms ignited embers, the skies aflame.

“What the hell…” Jessie mumbled, rifling through her backpack. She had a rifle, a cigar, a revolver, a deck of cards, and a grilled cheese and ham sandwich. “Crap.” She loaded the revolver, and zipped her backpack shut. “Hell.”

LOCATION: DMARANI LODGES

DESCRIPTION: HOME OF THE DMARANI WOLF PACK

Rena questioned, “I’ve met many estranged. Who’re you?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Veram. “You wouldn’t understand if I explained.”

“Then make me understand.” Rena eyed him warily. Deep, smoky burns left his thick, grizzly mane rolled back and ash-gray, lined with charcoal-black fur, his eyes a deep marine-blue and talons merely a dull blade, his paws muddied and damp, and his belly fattened and an exhausted grin on his lips, an exasperated exhale. “Make me understand who you are.”

“I’m a friend long lost,” told Veram warily. Rena’s fur was peppered with the sticky dew from fallen pines and rotten oaks. “One you wouldn’t remember.” Veram’s cuticles were splintered, azalea fractures rooted in his bleeding nails. Veram’s hind right bones, reducing him to a stumbling grump. “I lost the will to go on.” Veram sighed hesitantly.

“And where did that get you?” asked Rena.

“All of my attempts failed.” Veram gave out an insecure huff. He spoke with a degree of anger, “This prosthetic leg: I scraped the parts together by being in a circus, working for clowns. For every damn hoop-jump trick at every damn performance, one of the clowns named Pennywise- funny- the clown from It- slowly ‘restored’ my leg. The fixes didn’t work. I’m an ugly mess. Just goes to show that when you try to reach out for help, nobody understands. It felt like decades ago: the day I hobbled off the terraneous valleys of the Himalayas, rendering myself a drunken, useless slob. I attempted to end my own life because of these clowns, and look where it got me.”

“Those clowns don’t get to tell you what to be,” said Rena.

“I am a clown myself,” Veram replied.

“You’re a friend.”

Veram argued, “You never said that when you knew me.”

“I’m saying it now.”

Veram hollered, “And you won’t say it again. Because maggots like you spout insincerities.”

She repeated, “Because maggots like me spout insecurities,” Rain drizzled then poured onto them, soaking their fur, dampening it. They drowned in regretful insults. “I love you.”

“You should’ve said that when you were given the chance.” With the clashing of lightning, the illusion of Veram’s liveliness dissipated. Rena dipped her tongue into the empty lake, slurping its contents. She drowned in regret.

LOCATION: DOWELL KING PENITENTIARY

DESCRIPTION: HOME OF THE PINUNO, KALLEN NORELL, ALEXANDER CORN, OLIVER POSSUM AND MANY OF THE UNITED STATES’ HIGH-RANKING CRIMINALS

The Pinuno sipped his margarita in his jail cell. Keys jingled in the perimeter, but he had sealed his fate. Years passed and he had come to accept his fate as being no more than a slave of the guards of the Dowell King Penitentiary and their warden, Sheriff Harrison King. He took another sip of his margarita, then rifled through his duffel bag inconspicuously, as a guard approached his cell. “You have a visitor,” the guard cried. The Pinuno stalked to the cell door, and stared down the guard. He was tiny but well dressed, his shoes laced neatly.

“Who is it?” he questioned.

“J-Jessie Armstrong,” stammered the guard, quickly unlocking the cell.

The Pinuno hunched down the eerie corridor, to a rickety and stained wooden frame harshly inscribed with the words, “VISITOR CENTER.”

As he sulked in, Jessie said, “Your connections with The Grandmaster seemed to have proven ineffective, considering how quickly you were apprehended. We knew you’d end up here.” The Pinuno mumbled something quietly. “You gotta tell us something or we’re removing the possibility of your parole.” The Pinuno grumbled unsettlingly. “Your participation could entice us to tip the scales of the courtroom in your favor. Consider reduced prison time a favor returned in exchange for your cooperation.”

“You let me out now,” The Pinuno muttered. “I give you the details later.”

“Deal.” Jessie set off an alarm. The wailing sirens cried. “You in?” asked Jessie. “You’d be doing us a big favor.” Shots rang. The sirens loudened.

“You have guts.”

“Exit’s this way. Let’s go.” Jessie drew her revolver, and pedaled around a corner. She backpedaled. “Policemen just around the block! We’re headed to the sewers!” Jessie ripped away a shag rug.

“What now?” cried The Pinuno. Jessie hurried down the ladder, The Pinuno too.

“Simple, really. We blow ‘em up.” They furthered through the complicated regions of the filth-ridden sewage labyrinth. Jessie smoked the prison.

BOOM.

STARRING JESSIE ARMSTRONG AS JESSIE ARMSTRONG

STARRING THE GRANDMASTER AS THE GRANDMASTER

GUEST STARRING RENA AS RENA

AND VERAM AS VERAM

AND THE PINUNO AS THE PINUNO

AND KAZ CHAMPAGNE AS KAZ CHAMPAGNE

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND PART TWO OF A THREE PART FINALE

EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 5: THE GRANDMASTER RETURNS

LOCATION: THE GRANDMASTER’S HIDEOUT

DESCRIPTION: HIDING LOCATION OF THE GRANDMASTER AND HIS VAST NUMBER OF ALLIES IN THE REALMS OF CRIME AND DARK MAGIC

The Grandmaster mumbled cautiously, “I’ve long awaited to reveal my return, but the scumbag Jessie beat me to it. Now the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Central Intelligence Agency, and the National Bureau of Investigation, and The Archives, and its subsidiary The Archives Spy Korps are after me. I’m in hot waters with many governments. So I’ve assigned you to take out my enemies.”

“I’ve awaited this moment, my lord,” said Armani Davidsen. “Armani Davidsen, expert assassin, at your service.”

“I’m aware your brother once ruled over the International Press Banking Corporation and the International Press Broadcasting And Communications. Leadership runs in your family, humility clearly does not.”

“I apologize,” replied Armani. “My liege-”

“Apologies are a sign of weakness. Clearly you aren’t a leader either, or perhaps you would know not to apologize for your mishappenings.”

“My liege, I apologize again. It appears the scumbags Jessie and The Pinuno have infiltrated our systems.”

The Grandmaster spoke with intolerance, “You hired those guards to do their job and clearly they aren’t doing their job. What have you brought to my name but dumbness and impatience?”

“My liege,” said Armani. “Patience is the way. You said that yourself.”

“Patience is your effort. Not my job. Deal with the two imbeciles for me. I have personal matters to tend to.”

As Armani parted, The Grandmaster dialed a number on his old dial-up, and said, “Oh my. This is a terrible decision. I’d advise you don’t go on with this. Lady Daggers locked in the closet behind me, and be warned I will shoot if you take a step further.”

Jessie whispered, “Behind you.” The Grandmaster turned around slowly.

“I remember when my mother used to call me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘goody-two-shoes’ as if I could do no wrong. I’ve sinned my sins. I’ve committed my crimes and I’ve killed my fair share of innocents. I’ve removed people of their families, and families of their people.”

“Like Veram,” said Jessie. He jokingly gasped in reply.

“How unwarranted of you to draw a quick conclusion from an ambiguous statement. You are correct in your assumptions, however. Veram was collateral in my true goals though.”

Jessie questioned, “And those are?”

“Elimination of competition and the ascent to World Chairman. Another feather in my cap, trophy in my collection. The last World Chairman was my ancestor, Tiel Madrickson, leader of The Palkire during what has been dubbed as The Gunslinger Ages. As I have completed the last step in the path to becoming the world Chairman, the glories and riches it beholds shall now be bestowed upon me after performing this ritual.” The Grandmaster conjured a pit of emptiness and depression and wrongdoing and all things mischievous. Into the nothingness he shouted, “HELP ME SPIRITS. DO ME WELL. RISE ABOVE THE DEPTHS OF HELL. STRENGTHEN ME, SPIRITS. SHOW ME THE PATH. UPON THE WORLD, LET THERE BE DARKNESS. LET THE WORLD FEEL MY WRATH.”

The spirits chanted in reply, “GLORY. STRENGTH. POWER.”

He cried back, “SPIRITS, SPIRITS, AWAKEN NOW. LET THE WORLD SEE, AND LET THEM BOW.”

“Oh hell,” Jessie muttered. “We’re in the middle of a third World War. We can’t be dealing with this.”

“HEAR ME SPIRITS,” shouted The Grandmaster. “HEAR ME NOW. LET THEM HEAR MY SHOUTS.” Thunder rolled on in the skies. Jessie looked on in terror, as the dead rose again.

TO BE CONTINUED IN EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 6: EYE OF THE TIGER

[magnumversumcrimes]

“You speak of courage,” said Jessie Armstrong. “All I see is a lying arrogant.”

“This is a matter of setting personal relationships aside from business affairs” explained Erwin Fictus.

“This is an affair regarding the Joran clone.”

He added, “Which isn’t mine.”

“You are a lying scoundrel. You’ll admit to the creation of the clone or we will render severe punishments for you.”

“I never created a single clone!��� Erwin cried. “I’ve been framed for its creation.” He paused. “-yes- I’ve been framed- but that hideous clone- it isn’t my making. Had I made the thing, I would’ve done a better job.”

“Tell that to the canines.” A hulking wolf wandered in.

“R-r-Rena of Dmarani?”

Rena told Jessie, “Leave. I’ll make him confess.” Jessie crept out, as Erwin screamed.

EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 4: AMONGST OUR RANKS (FINALE PART ONE OF THREE)

Jessie asked, “Did you get him to confess?”

“What do you think?” asked Rena. “Fool told me everything. He created the clones. He also admitted to a lot of other things.” Jessie cleared some files off her desk.

“What did you do to him?” she asked.

“Easy,” said Rena. “I brutally forced the words from his mouth.” Jessie chuckled.

“I see we’re having lots of fun.” Lady Daggers said. “Care to explain?”

“Our investigation’s a success,” she replied. “The fool Erwin confessed to everything. His associations with The Pinuno and Kallen Norell.” Jessie chuckled again. “He’s a real fool. Real fool.”

“That’s the thing,” Rena said in disbelief. “He isn’t dumb. I’m sure he snuck a lie or two past us.” Jessie turned against Rena.

She said, “What’re you spouting on about? You said that Erwin said it himself. You said he said and I quote, ‘I’m behind everything. I really am. I confess it now: I’m behind it all.”

Rena explained, “Amidst my investigation, he caught himself in his own lie. He said he’s seen what’s behind the curtain. He’s had a ‘backstage pass’ and found The Puppetmaster behind this whole operation. The ‘Dark Lord of the Sith’ of sorts.”

Lady Daggers told her suddenly, “I have a hunch.”

“About who The Puppetmaster is?”

“Yes,” said Lady Daggers, sweating anxiously.

“Tell us then.”

“It’s a man named The Grandmaster. He’s been the one funding this illusion.”

“The Grandmaster’s dead,” she replied. “He got beaten down in a rally in 2016 or 2018 or something.”

“He’s not,” Lady Daggers repeated. “I saw him, and I know he isn’t dead.” Jessie shuffled towards the interrogation room and peeked through the window at Erwin, nervously shuffling through his backpack.

“We should confront The Grandmaster then,” suggested Jessie. Then she questioned Lady Daggers, “what’s your first name?”

Startled, Lady Daggers replied, “Dorothy Hoffs. I got the name Lady Daggers because my math teacher said I was ‘sharp as a dagger’ when it came to trigonometric functions.”

“I see.” Lady Daggers formed tears in her eyelids, as Jessie asked her, “There’s another reason you got the name, you told us. What was that?”

Lady Daggers explained calmly, “The acronym DAGGER stood for Defense, Attack, Grip, Gesture, Ensue, Rebuttal. It was a fencing technique my father taught me.”

“The other one.”

“What other one?” she asked.

“The other story,” Jessie Armstrong said again.

Rena mumbled, “You really cannot remember The Crisis of Muudil?”

“Crisis of Muudil,” uttered Lady Daggers, “Crisis of Muudil.” Her eyes darted from Jessie, to Rena, then Jessie again. “The Crisis of Muudil was terrible. I remember when the chali of Muudil, Chali Sogaw, declared war against Eldebe. Terrible day, that was.”

Jessie Armstrong wondered aloud, “Where were you then?”

“I was at a fortification,” said Lady Daggers. “At the time I recall working for Malzamar’s ground forces. Didn’t we serve in the same unit?”

“Malzamar had their air and ground forces paired that day, so we did work together.”

“Then you were called back to The States.”

“Wrong,” said Jessie. “I was restationed a mile off with General Kanos, who’s sadly been arrested for treason against The Archives.”

“He’s been arrested?”

“One of our new recruits ratted him out. Currently said new recruit is stationed at The Grandmaster’s old shack. You did mention he’s on the No-Travel List, yes?” Lady Daggers urgently nodded.

“He is,” she agreed.

“Then if he is to leave his cabin, Agent-Z has been granted The Archives’ and the United States license to take him out- if he is in his shack, as you said.

Lady Daggers repeated, “Which he is.”

Rena noted, “His rickety hunk of bark and crap.”

“You’re smart,” admitted Jessie. “I’ll give you this- you had me fooled into thinking you’re the real Lady Daggers. Mhm, you really act. Excluding some foibles in your alibi, you’re seemingly realistic. Except riddle me this, how’re you here if you're on a business trip in Idaho?”

Lady Daggers urgently yelled, “I gotta go!” She scuttled hurryingly to the doorstep.

Rena barked, “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“You have three words,” said Jessie. “Choose ‘em wisely.”

“Let me explain,” said Lady Daggers.

“Now’s your chance.”

“I’m not Lady Daggers,” she blurted quickly. “I’m a clone just like that Joran look alike. You have to understand…” Unconvinced, Jessie drew her revolver. “Wait! I’ll prove it! The Grandmaster’s holding the real Lady Daggers in Idaho, and demands thirty-thousand dollars in ransom if she’s to see the light of day.”

Jessie questioned her, “Where in Idaho?”

“Earlier this week it was entrusted to me the secret coordinates of a shelter which is believed to house The Grandmaster and his hostages. I signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement.”

“NDA?” asked Jessie.

“I swore on my life and crossed my heart,” she said anxiously. “Unlike the rusty trash can on the corner of Gammins Street and Sixth, I have value. I didn’t keep to the Non-Disclosure Agreement for morals. Ethics are boring. I held to my side of the agreement for the big greens. Not lettuce: cash. Fat stacks of untaxed cash, fresh off the printing press. Until now, I could’ve received my check by the end of this month.”

“The coordinates: tell us where.”

“I didn’t say I’d tell a damn.”

“Didn’t say you had a say” Rena barked impatiently. “Tell us the coordinates.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 5: THE GRANDMASTER RETURNS

[magnumversumcrimes]

Lady Daggers explained, “Your next mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate an enemy base and assassinate their leader.” She pulled up a file on the tablet, and enlarged a blurry, pixelated photograph. “Their leader’s name is Erwin Fictus. And they’re a noteworthy ally of The Pinuno.”

“I’m not a spy,” said Jessie Armstrong.

“You’ll have to be today.” she replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Joran is out on a recruitment mission,” explained Lady Daggers. “While he’s out, you’ll be filling in.”

“Wish me luck then.”

Lady Daggers said, “Good luck.” As the screen on her tablet flickered out, so did the image of Jessie Armstrong. She reached for a coffee mug, shelves high. The mug scooted, revealing a compartment and a flashing red button. “I’m so sorry.” She considered, then pressed the button vigorously. The desk shifted aside, revealing a lair. She climbed into the lair, barely hunched below the low-standing ceiling. In front of her was a tank. The tank was filled with slime, and in the ooze was a slimy figure, twenty tentacles for arms and a cyclops eye, and one leg. “The world’s been waiting for a new Joran. Seems you don’t have the right parts.” Lady Daggers pulled a curtain, revealing a man strapped to a desk, shaking violently. “Let’s fix you up.”

LOCATION: BORACAY, PHILIPPINES

Will Zeranan ordered another margarita, then laid down in the wet sands. “What do you need me for?” he asked politely.

Jessie spoke firmly, “We need you.”

Will dusted the sand from his Hawaiian shirt, looked Jessie in the eye and said, “You don’t need me.”

“We do need you.” said Jessie again.

“With that- yes, you might.” Will pointed to a hulking figure behind the bewildered pilot.

Jessie Armstrong turned around and cried, “Joran!” Joran hissed back.

“I don’t think that’s Joran.”

“Joran it’s me! Jessie Armstrong!” The outre assassin growled, resembling the uncanny tune of a canine. “Joran, what the hell is wrong with you?” The puzzling noise it made befuddled Will Zeranan and Jessie. “Run!”

“On it!” shouted Will, drawing his gun. He shot the atrocity assailant twice. His magazine emptied out.

“What the hell was that? What the hell was that?” Jessie repeated over and over. “What in the bloody hell was that?”

Will cried, “A big ass not-Joran, that’s what!”

“If that’s not Joran-” Jessie screamed, as wind drew sands from the shore, weaving it into complex dust storms. “-if that’s not Joran- what in the name of all names is that thing?” The growing tempest of dunes drew furor from the townspeople of Boracay, whose shops once lined perfectly against the shores were drowned in the storms of sand and floods.

STARRING JESSIE ARMSTRONG AS JESSIE ARMSTRONG

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

PART THREE OF SIX

EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 3: ANGER

Joran chased them against the gust of the wild storms. The rising tides nearly swallowed him. But he pursued further. “We can’t outrun him!” cried Jessie.

“We’ll have to, or we’re dead!” hollered Will. He drew and emptied his revolver into the sands. “We’ll have to confront him! It’s our only shot at trying to figure out what the hell’s going on with the maniac!”

“The hell’s wrong with him then?” The storm quieted down, Joran closing in.

“Not sure! We’ll find out when-”

Genevieve shrieked, “Coming through! Outta the way! Outta the way!” She unstrapped the katana from her belt. “Move! Into the chopper! Move!” Genevieve clobbered Joran with the blunt end of the katana. Jessie Armstrong and Will Zeranan climbed into the roaring helicopter. “Into the chopper, dumdums! Wolves! With me- Salela! Ujare! Harel! Rena! Ramnez! Zamara! Evarra! The whole pack’s here!”

Rena barked, “In! In! In!”

Ujare shouted back, “Whadda we supposed to do?”

“Flank Joran on all sides, then pounce!”

Harel said loudly, “We can’t get the jump on him, boss!”

“Salela and I got this,” said Zamara. “Move!” The pack quickly circled Joran.

“Move!” shouted Harel. “We don’t have all day, and he’s moving fast!”

Zamara asked Genevieve, “Isn’t he your hired gun?”

“Not anymore he isn’t!” shouted Genevieve. Harel sprung at the assailant, pinning him against the ground.

“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”

Rena snuck up to Genevieve and whispered, “I’ve received word another war sprung up amongst your people.”

“Third one across the world,” Genevieve said jokingly. “Millionth one in history.”

“That’s fun- anyway, glad we could make your acquaintance. Salela was frightened you’d shoot us down the moment we approached you. On behalf of her, thank you.”

Genevieve hollered, “Jets ahead!” Clearing the dust was the winds spewing from mighty engines. red-orange flames painted the skies.

“Sup?” said Jessie, through comms. “I see you’re here to save the day yet again.”

“You shouldn't've returned,” said Genevieve. “My hired gun is a skilled assassin.”

“Seems like he isn’t your hired gun any longer. He’s been changed into some sort of part-human part-monster. Seems like whatever- or whoever- changed him only to look human.”

Rena chimed in, “Not act like one, though.” She nudged some chirping crickets with her paw. “Something’s off. There’s no reason for him to kill you.”

“Unless it’s not him anymore,” Genevieve said. “I don’t think we’re facing the Joran we all once knew. I’m investigating further. This can’t be right.”

“It’s not,” Joran cried. “I am the real one you seek. And this impostor has taken my spot. I believe someone’s attempted to clone me in an attempt to ruin my name. A considerably futile one at that, seeing as to how quickly you ratted out the truth.”

Salela replied, “I apologize, but we’re no closer to the truth than we were before.” A distant howl called them home. “I apologize again, but we must leave. It seems we’re being called for. H’nele says a new pup will be born.

Harel uttered to Salela, “Maybe it’s here.” Whispers began amongst the wolves, stirring an argument amongst the bewildered.

Rena said, “It’s time we head back.”

“Salutations.” said Ujare. The wolves led themselves quietly back into the woods, as the sun began to settle into the horizon.

TO BE CONTINUED IN EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 4: AMONGST OUR RANKS

[magnumversumcrimes]

“Your mission, if you choose to accept it,” said Lady Daggers. “Is to apprehend the suspect, Kuya Omar, also known as The Pinuno. He’s been sighted in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, and currently he’s headed to the sands of Boracay, also in the Philippines, and a key tourist destination. To apprehend the suspect you’ll need this.” Lady Daggers drew something from her belt and softly laid it in her hand. “A VOLO-C MODEL STUN GUN. You are not to kill The Pinuno, you are only to capture him, and bring him in alive for interrogation. Aiding you in his capture is this Key-90 Android, nicknamed ‘K90A’ or ‘Keys.’ Any violation of these guidelines between the two of you will result in both of your prosecutions. Good luck.”

“Anything else you’d like to say?” asked Jessie Armstrong.

“Nothing much else can be said- except I wish you good luck. Don’t mess this up.”

LOCATION: ONE THOUSAND MILES FROM THE SHORES OF BORACAY

Jessie suggested, “Keys, activate your tracking beacon. This way you can follow my craft to the shore lines of Boracay.”

“I’m detecting something,” Keys said robotically. “Enemy crafts.” Twin fighters’ wings cut the air like blades. The engine smoke tasted like charred toast. Their whistling incited terror.

“If you see something you don’t like, press and hold those joysticks to your left and right.” Two symmetric fighter jets chased them through the murky smoke and shifting clouds. Embers fizzled from their turrets, a rapid, steady drumbeat closing in, as the jets chased like quarreling dogs over a deer bone. Jessie cried, “Keys, are you there?” Jessie grasped the joysticks, targeting the enemy fighters, and Keys’ fighter emerged from the smoke. She exclaimed, “I knew you’d make it.”

Monotone, Keys replied, “Of course I would. Care to celebrate by stopping for some pandesal bread?”

“No thank you,” said Jessie. “We have a job to do.”

STARRING JESSIE ARMSTRONG AS JESSIE ARMSTRONG

STARRING KEY-90 ANDROID AS “KEYS”

STARRING KUYA OMAR AS THE PINUNO

GUEST STARRING LADY DAGGERS AS LADY DAGGERS

GUEST STARRING “MYSTERY CAMEO NUMBER TWO” AS “MYSTERY CAMEO NUMBER TWO”

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

PART TWO OF SIX

EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 2: BETRAYAL

He strolled down the shores of Boracay, with his sunglasses and string hat, purse and Hawaiian shirt and sandals, and denim shorts and tattoos. The sun beamed off his shades. As he passed the bustling streets of Boracay, a woman asked, “May I get you some halo-halo? It’s complimentary with our restaurant.”

He looked at the woman, and harshly replied, “No.” He stumbled off in his sunglasses and string hat, purse and Hawaiian shirt and sandals, and denim shorts and tattoos, off to the shores, where the grainy pebbles filled his crevices. He hunched down in the sand.

“Business is blooming,” said The Pinuno, the man hunched beside him. “Our enemies are being picked off, and our relations are mostly free of skirmishes. Any differences are settled with little quarrel nor blood shed.”

“Will Zeranan’s still out there,” he replied. “I still have a score to settle with him.”

“Haj,” The Pinuno said calmly. “We’re good business friends. We can have fun.” The Pinuno sipped some margarita from a glass wine bottle. “You can wait for the right moment, and then strike.”

“You know us Skordi are impatient. Attempts to stall our people are futile.”

“I hate to digress,” replied The Pinuno. “But have you tried the halo-halo? The Philippines has great food.”

LOCATION: WARREN, AMERICA

DESCRIPTION: SEVENTIETH STATE IN AMERICA, BORDERS SOUTH AND NORTH TEXAS.

Will Zeranan sipped his margarita, then hopped into the cockpit of the JS-VOLO MODEL-24 FIGHTER CRAFT. The engines gave a howling rumble, and his jet sped into the gravel runway.

From his radio, General Ezine said, “This is General Ezine: The Archives Spy Korps. Please reroute to the Philippines. You’re being expected there.”

“On it,” replied Will. “Rerouting to the Philippines.”

LOCATION: BORACAY, THE PHILIPPINES

TIME: THREE HOURS LATER

Haj sipped his halo-halo beside the running waters of the shores. A jet zipped past his eyesight, landing in the nearby shrubbery. Haj spoke unsurely, “I’ve been awaiting you.”

Will uttered, “As have I. It seems fate has brought us back together amidst the crashing tides. Once in the United States, twice in my hometown of Boracay.” Will ran his fingers across his belt, until he felt the cold metal barrel of his revolver.

Haj noted, “It seems everyone is carrying a revolver nowadays. You don’t know who’s gonna shoot you or themselves and who’s gonna shoot a buck in the woods.”

“But we’re not in the woods right now, are we Haj?”

“No. No we’re not.” Haj drew his alien rifle from his scabbard. “We’re on the shores, in the middle of the night.”

Frustrated, Will said, “It’s best you go home. I’m not causing trouble. You are in the way of my mission.”

“I am the mission,” Haj said angrily. “They sent you as the assailant who’ll end my life.”

“I’m here for The Pinuno, not for you.”

“The Pinuno’s gone,” explained Haj clearly. Will holstered his revolver. “Pinuno and I handled our business preempting your arrival.”

“The Pinuno’s here,” said Will. “I put a tracker on his limousine. Since the incident with the police officers back in Manila, I’ve had a clue on his whereabouts.”

“Well The Pinuno’s left his limo.”

“That’s because he’s been caught,” Will produced his revolver again, as Haj inched at the rifle trigger. “Apparently, Jessie Armstrong and K90A are ‘promoted for their diligence in tracing and apprehending a top-level ringleader of multiple crime groups.’ They got to him about an hour ago.”

Haj responded, “The Pinuno has many syndicates. A pilot and a glorified computer cannot face his power alone. His syndicates outnumber the new Spy Korps vastly.”

“And that’s why we need your help,” said Will. “If you help us, we can take them.”

“The Pinuno’s gathering money from slave owners and drug dealers, and private businesses to fund a coordinated attack across many countries.”

Will repeated, “And that’s why we need your help.”

Haj whispered fearfully, “And you cannot help me.” They drew. Will shot Haj dead.

TO BE CONTINUED IN EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 3: ANGER

[magnumversumcrimes]

She startled to her senses in the cockpit. The joysticks on either side remained steady, but the monitor flashed in front of her. It read, “UNIDENTIFIED JET INBOUND. CONFIRM RECORDING TO BE SENT TO TASK JET LOGS.”

“Crud,” she muttered.

The monitor further read, “COMMENCE ATTACK: [YES OR NO]” She fiddled with the screens until the panel flickered.

“It’s just you.”

“Did you miss me?” said a woman on the radio.

“Lady of the Blade,” she noted. “Very nice to hear your voice again.”

“I dropped by to inform you of a recent resurgence in crime in the streets of New York. It might be worth checking out.”

“I’ll be right on it.”

STARRING JESSIE ARMSTRONG AS JESSIE ARMSTRONG

STARRING LADY DAGGERS AS LADY DAGGERS

STARRING MARLEN KANOS AS GENERAL KANOS

STARRING THE PINUNO AS THE PINUNO

STARRING MANUEL TORRES AS PRESIDENT TORRES

STARRING OFFICER MIKEY AS OFFICER MIKEY

GUEST STARRING: “END SCENE CAMEO” AS “END SCENE CAMEO”

AND JORAN AS JORAN

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

PART ONE OF SIX

EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 1: PILOT

The monitor flickered out, and the cockpit window sprung open. She wandered into the hangar bay of the official TASK Space Force headquarters, noting its fine interior. “Greetings,” said a bearded man holding a wine glass. “My name is General Marlen Kanos of the Kanos Elite Fighter Squadron, KEFS for short. I won’t be your superior, that is General Ezine’s role, but it is a pleasure to meet you nevertheless.”

“I heard there’s been a resurgence in crime,” she replied. “Tell me more.”

“Well, spies have indicated that a new mafia group known as The Inmates are robbing banks around the state. You’ve been selected along with another TASK operative to investigate.”

“But who?”

He uttered, “Djorrhan, his name is. He goes by Joran now. He’s investigating the southern and eastern side of New York. You’ll be investigating the northern and west side. You’ll likely come in contact with their crime boss, The Pinuno. He’s been importing silverine from the Philippines as of late, and we believe you and Joran are the only ones who can take him down.”

LOCATION: MANILA, PHILIPPINES

“Pinuno,” said the mafioso. “Ang daming pulis sa labas! Marami!”

Pinuno replied, “Ito ang kalye namin. Barilan mo sila.” The Pinuno stepped carefully out of the hideout, shotgun in hand, police cars lining every street. “Mga coward sila! Barilan mo sila!”

“Barilan mo sila!” the mafiosos chanted, as they cocked their rifles. “Barilan namin sila! Barilan namin sila!”

One of the police officers shouted, “Hands up- Labasin mo ang mga kamay mo!”

The Pinuno cried sarcastically, “Mag surrender ako! Hindi ako marunong mag lumaban! I don’t know how to fight.” He drew his gun from his side and let it fall from his palm. “Mga coward kami!” The policemen looked on in confusion. “Mga coward kami! Mga coward lang!”

“Mga kriminal sila,” whispered a policeman.

“Hands up! another policeman shouted. “Ngayon!”

Speaking in English, The Pinuno said, “Let’s handle this like gentlemen, shall we?”

“Hindi! Walang makatakas at walang matutulungan! Only chaos and fighting! Sakim at barilin lang!” The Pinuno drew his rifle and shot the police officers. He faced a return of heavy gunfire, forcing him into the hideout.

“We’re under attack! Call President Manuel Torres! Tell him we need backup in Manila, on the corner of the market on Bezon Street and the neighborhood on 5th. Tell him to send it as soon as possible!”

LOCATION: TASK SPACE FORCE HEADQUARTERS

“The crime lords have not been sympathetic to our cause.” Jessica told them. “Rather, they’ve been very violent against every approach we’ve made towards gaining their neutrality in World War 3.”

“I believe our efforts to prevent the mafias and kapamilyas of the Philippines from taking sides will be inefficacious in the long run,” replied Joran. “Of course, that is if we assume they continue with their negotiations with the Malzamar government. It’s bad enough they’re sans-neutral. Worse is, they’re siding with the Malzamese.” He produced from his side a pocket knife, and from below the table he lifted a cardboard box. Carefully, he slit the box.

The box had a leather cap, a vial of blood, a bloody thumb, and a glass casing dotted gray and labelled, “ASHES.”

Joran explained, “These are the ashes of a man killed by Grall Shozan. He’s The Pinuno’s hired gun and Lady Daggers and I tracked him and arrested him alongside Kallen Norell a short week ago in Las Vegas. Seems like The Pinuno’s involvement in The House of the Criminal Underworld is much deeper than we thought.”

“Where’s he now?” Jessica asked wonderingly.

“Currently he’s being held in the Shoreside Penitentiary, alongside Bill Stafson, Alistair Corn, Oliver Possum, Kallen Norell, and the dreaded killer wolf Basura, alongside some other of the world’s most dangerous convicts.”

“Strange they’d all be put in the same prison, don’t you think?”

LOCATION: MANILA, PHILIPPINES

President Manuel Torres entered the bloody shootout, brutes at his side, fine clothing and jewelry neatly tucked away. He said, “There is no need for fighting. Let’s stop this nonsense.” He approached the police officers. “Come inside my limousine. Let’s talk.”

“No!” a policeman shouted, gun drawn. “I cannot do that! Walang makatakas at walang matutulungan!”

“If that is what you want then.” President Manuel Torres pried the man’s fearful eyes, the two locked in stalemate, neither retreating nor advancing. He repeated, “There is no need for fighting. Come inside my limousine. Have a talk.” The officer carefully entered his limousine, himself following. Once inside, he said, “Good job Officer Mikey. You’ve got them good.”

“Salamat po, sir.”

“No need to thank me. Now, I must attend a press meeting. It is very important I get there ASAP, and I won’t be needing you anymore.”

LOCATION: TASK SPACE FORCE HEADQUARTERS

General Kanos produced a radio from his belt and whispered harshly, “Can anyone read me?” He repeated, “Is anybody there? Please respond as soon as possible. I have a hunch. I have a clue that they’re onto our plans.” Unbeknownst to him, what remained on the other end was a spill of bodies and a pool of blood. “Please respond. Officer Mikey, do you copy? Officer Mikey.” The radio buzzed frantically into an eerie static. He said again, “Officer Mikey… Officer Mikey do you copy?” He frantically spoke, “Officer Mikey, I need your reply. Where is Manuel Torres? Officer Mikey-”

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

A gun clicked against his chin, and a raspy voice muttered, “Think of your next words carefully. Who’s Officer Mikey?”

“Agent-Z…”

TO BE CONTINUED IN EAGLE SEASON 1 EPISODE 2: BETRAYAL

[magnumversumcrimes]

The sounds of distant, repeated gunfire rang steady around corners and throughout the labyrinth of chambers of Kallen’s fortress. Through the many pathways, Joran was indecisive. Often he elected a choice at random, uneasily at best, at most, sans-confidence. Yet somehow he chose rightly, hurrying into Kallen’s laboratory, where vials with liquids red, blue, and green sprawled across desks, and strange creatures laid dormant. Joran poked through some files, then hurried away, past the strange creatures and viles, Lady Daggers following suit. Then barely within eyesight, a few paces across them, an olive-green bucket. “What could that be?” Joran asked.

“What do you think?” Lady Daggers asked. “Look at what’s inside.” Joran peeked into the strange olive-green bucket, a small, wrinkly creature peeking back at him. He scooped the creature from the bucket, noticing it nibbling on a piece of the bucket’s olive-green skin.

“Who could this be?” asked Joran to Lady Daggers.

“To be frank, I don’t know. It’s best we just keep hurrying along.” Joran wrapped the creature in a felt blanket and laid it carefully into the olive-green bucket.

It muttered the words, “Keshin De Brosse… Keshin De Brosse… My name is…” Lady Daggers and Joran entered a room, barred with a lock and stowed in the deepest corners of the labyrinth. Awaiting them from behind the olive-green gate was an olive green desk, and an olive-green spinning chair, and a man with a humiliated intonation, with scars beneath the eyelashes, and wrinkles on his fleshy, overgrown chin, and a voice tougher than stone, and mannerisms and flow like the streams buried in the deepest caverns of the valleys of the Grand Canyon, home to ancient burial grounds and Malzamese ruins from long ago, when the Malzamese had colonies sprawled across the coasts, as well as deep in the forests, of the Americas The man’s eyes were an olive-green, his hair smelling of olives and burnt twigs.

With confidence, the man spoke, “And who might you be?” The man’s elbows smelled of stale milk, and his bare feet smelled of pickles and olives, and his freckled cheeks were a strange green. Joran emptied his magazine, the man drooling blood tasting of olives.

STARRING JORAN AS JORAN

STARRING LADY DAGGERS AS LADY DAGGERS

STARRING KALLEN NORELL AS KALLEN NORELL

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND THE SIXTH EPISODE OF THE THIRD SEASON

AND THE FINALE OF A SERIES OF THREE SEASONS

CANIVERSUMCRIMES PRESENTS

JORAN SEASON 3 EPISODE 6: IT TASTED LIKE OLIVES.

Joran tasted the blood and it tasted like olives, then he scurried through the vomit-ridden hallways, stained a nasty olive-green. He spit an olive-green phlegm and said, “Man this isn’t the tastiest.” Then he ripped out his blade, at the sound of creaking floorboards. Behind him, came an olive green blade, and the same olive green face from before.

“Gunshots don’t kill me.”

“I can though.” Reacting quickly, Joran blocked, then dove under a tabletop. Then he emptied his revolver, then swiped. He took a slam from the butt-end of the blade, then parried fiercely, pinning the olive-green man to the squeaky wooden timbers. “Speak,” Joran said threateningly. “Speak or I make you.”

The voice spat, “Alright- Alright. I’m Kallen Norell. I’m your archnemesis, and I want out.”

“What’re you doing tryna pull wool over my eyes?”

“Whatever’s going on- whatever wars’ being raged, I’m not siding with you or the governments. The House of the Criminal Underworld will become its own empire, free of the tyranny of others.”

“Not if I have something to say about it,” replied Lady Daggers.

“And what makes you think that?” cried Kallen. “This war’s going to have a toll on both ends. No matter what your spy gang brings in numbers or in ability. The only definite method to win a hunting match is to choose never to take the shot. The only successful gamble is one not taken. The best truths are ones not told.”

Suddenly, Lady Daggers shouted, “LIAR.” Kallen squirmed out. He wielded two sharply curved blades, painted in a lustrous, shiny golden hue. “DRAW YOUR BLADE.” Joran swiftly followed after her. With the curved edges of their daggers, they struck. He blocked, then swung impatiently. Approximately two paces from his moccasin was the tip of Lady Dagger’s high heels. She stumbled back, his toe crushed under the heel cap.

Joran cried, “WHAT THE F-”

Lady Daggers said over him, “FORCE HIM BACK.” The four daggers clashed in a violent display, the screeching of olive-green-and-gold blades against sacrosanct knives collected and kept by Joran’s ancestors, the sounds emanating from their battle a tune of dueling: anti-antagonists and antagonists in a thrilling skirmish.

Blade against Kallen’s throat, Joran mumbled, “You’ll ally with us or we’ll have your head on my office.”

“My office,” corrected Lady Daggers.

“Her office,” he repeated. “Your head will be on the walls of her office.”

“I don’t care who’s office has my head,” said Kallen. “I don’t want to form a pact. And I won’t. And I cannot be convinced otherwise.”

“Either you form the pact,” Lady Daggers replied, blades ready. “Or we result in using more ‘anti-hero’ methods of demanding your attention and submission to our rules.”

“Submission to your rules?” he cried. “Holy cow- I’ve never heard so much bullcrap in my life. You perverts couldn’t make me finish ‘assignments’ when I was a junior agent in TASK, and when I was a junior in high school I couldn’t submit my assignments, and now I’ll submit to rules?” Kallen scoffed at that.

Lady Daggers said again, “We’ll subdue or you submit.”

Joran added, “We’re not cooperating with law enforcement as much as we used to. We’re vigilantes now. Unlike then, you can throw a punch here and there and not get locked up. We aren’t mandated to hand you over to authorities once we’re done with you. Once you’ve done your part, we can set you off to roam the world, stick your head in mud- whatever.”

“I’ll never,” said Kallen. “So you know what? You can shove your arm in feces or something.”

“You watch your mouth-”

“NO YOU WATCH YOUR LEGS.” Joran marched to him angrily and said, “YOU TAKE ANOTHER PRANCE AND WE’LL CUT YOU DOWN.”

“Calm down-”

“I WILL NOT BE CALMED.”

“He’s right,” said Lady Daggers. “Calm down.”

Joran hollered, “Take him, coppers!” A hoard of policemen wearing silver badges and blue uniforms burst in.

“I thought you said we don’t deal with them anymore.”

“I lied. I’ve made some arrangements for his trials. We won’t need Kallen once you’ve seen what I saw.”

She questioned Joran, “What arrangements?”

“You see- I’ve enlisted the help of a friend. They didn’t respond. Called again. No response still. You’ll meet by Valentine’s Day. I promise.”

[magnumversumcrimes]

Joran explained, “There’s been an interruption in our mission. World War 3’s starting and the gangs and mafias believe this is a reason for them to pick sides. As such, the sixty-eighth United States president, President Einhart, has commissioned us to prevent a war.”

“The president is asking a vigilante spy syndicate to stop vigilante market drug sellers from engaging in a war the United States has nothing to do with?” asked Lady Daggers.

“Simply put, yes. Our mission is to negotiate with the crime syndicates of The House of Jones, The House of Spades, and The House of the Criminal Underworld to prevent side-taking and war-waging. We’re already in the crosshairs with our assassinations of Eldebe president Ino and Zamar Joll-nor. We don’t want to get into any more trouble with them.”

“What about Malzamar’s crime syndicates or Eldebe’s ringleaders?” Danny Danielson asked.

“Those we shouldn’t have to worry too much about,” he replied. “They’ve sworn allegiance with us no matter what happens. Should our headquarters face a siege from their military, they’ve agreed to capture the general and hold them for ransom.”

“And as for Genevieve and the other two crime syndicates here?”

“Agent-555 has informed me The House of Jones and The House of Spades have agreed to remain neutral in World War 3. Our only worry now is about The House of the Criminal Underworld, a black market government led by, ironically, Kallen Norell himself.”

“The Chief Executive Officer of the largest spy company behind the black market?” asked Danny. “This is ‘The Stakeholder Anomaly’ and ‘Connect The Dots’ all over again.”

“This is why we have to be careful. We don’t know what else he’s behind.”

Lady Daggers interrupted, “We have to depart. A shuttle has arrived to take us to THCU headquarters. Good luck to you all, and may the tides of fate be in our favor.”

STARRING JORAN AS JORAN

STARRING LADY DAGGERS AS LADY DAGGERS

STARRING JESSIE ARMSTRONG AS JESSIE ARMSTRONG

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND THE FIFTH EPISODE OF THE THIRD SEASON

CANIVERSUMCRIMES PRESENTS

JORAN SEASON 3 EPISODE 5: CONNECT THE DOTS. FINALE PART 1 OF 2.

As Joran boarded the shuttle, he said to the driver, “Do I recognize you from somewhere?”

“You might,” Jessie Armstrong said. “We met on a little escapade in California.”

“Jessie Armstrong, captain of ‘The Commandant.’” He and Jessie shook hands. “Glad to see you recovered from the plane incident.”

“Thank you Joran. Good luck- FIGHTERS!” She swerved the shuttle away, soaring fighters spurring through the hazy sunset.

“Get me up there!” Joran cried out. He got to the roof of the shuttle with his rifle, some ammo for the rifle, and his bayonet, and crawled to a prone position.

“What’s going on?”

“Fighters! You gotta shake them!” Jessie steered right, the fighters tracing the movement. Joran cocked the slide of the VOLO-MAGNITUDE RIFLE then steadied his hand.

BANG.

Him releasing the trigger, followed by the loud bang preceding it, rang in his ear for a minute straight, long after the first fighter went down, and he cocked his gun in preparation.

“We got two more!” cried Joran. “Can you shake them?”

“I can’t!” cried Jessie. “I can’t shake them! But I can bring you closer!”

“The hell? Are you crazy?”

“I’m not crazy! I’m just acting how you’d act!” Jessie hit the brakes, the shuttle catapulting to a halt, Joran thrown back. He landed perfectly on the window of the fighter’s cockpit. Air pressure and the impact shattered the window, killing the pilot and wounding Joran. He grabbed the controls.

Above the shuttle, Joran cried, “I’m in you son-of-a-gun! I’m in! I’m in!”

Jessie shouted back, “Alright! Go, Joran!” Joran leapt from the fighter onto the roof shuttle, and in through the window. Joran was exasperated. He shouldered his rifle and unpacked his things.

“We’re on a roll,” said Joran. “We’re about fifty miles from the base, and we got a good few fighters down, likely sent by Kallen Norell’s people. Hopefully this doesn’t interrupt negotiations.”

“It’s alright,” said Captain Jessie. “We’ll just leave before they find out.” Joran smirked at the shine of his barrels.

“You’d be surprised how much that doesn’t work.”

“How much?” asked the captain.

“Rarely works at all. I tried it once. Guy ended up shot and bleeding out ‘cause he found out about my dark secret.”

The captain said, “Hol’ up, hol’ up, hol- hol’ up.” The shuttle came to a sudden halt. “We have to hear this. What’s your secret?”

He replied, “I wouldn’t like to-”

“-tell us!”

The other bus riders: spies, mafia men, and TASK interns chanted, “Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!”

Joran admitted, “That I killed a guy at a gas station. Shot him in the forehead and left him until the coppers arrived. Then I turned myself in. But they didn’t believe me one bit, they thought because TASK was government-run I was on an assignment, though I wasn’t.”

Jessie muttered a soft “Oh…”

“I showed them my assignment log. They thought it’d been wiped- wish I could’ve done something different. I wish I hadn’t shot the man at the register in the gas station back in Texas.”

Jessie said, “Wait… is it a COCA brand gas station?”

“Yeah.”

“And was the guy named Dennis Grant?” said Jessie.

“Yeah.”

“He’s still alive. Saw him at the register over at the stop in the city in California, when you told me to get ‘the fuels’. He’s still alive, I kid you not, he said to me on the phone, ‘Go tell effing Joran to effing die,’ except he said the thing.”

“What thing?” said Joran.

“The thing,” said Captain Jessie.

“But what thing?” said Joran.

“He said the thing.”

“What thing?” Joran asked finally. “What did he say?”

“He eff-bombed me- what-in-damned-hell- is your brain half-the-size-of-a-pea or what? Shiny moons and stars, you couldn’t figure out a sentence that simple- you’re gonna be damned in life. I’m surprised you can even load and fire a gun.” Joran chuckled. “Now don’t you chuckle. You’re dumber than a snail, but you sure as hell aren’t cute or steadfast as one.”

[magnumversumcrimes]

MISSILES: READY TO LAUNCH

INSERT TARGET NAME

YOU HAVE INSERTED NAME “JORAN”

CONFIRM? [YES] [NO]

YOU HAVE CONFIRMED TARGET NAME.

PROCEED TO LAUNCH MISSILES? [YES] [NO]

YOU HAVE SELECTED [YES]

CONFIRM? [YES] [NO]

MISSILES LAUNCHED.

STARRING JORAN AS JORAN

STARRING LADY DAGGERS AS LADY DAGGERS

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND THE FOURTH EPISODE OF THE THIRD SEASON

CANIVERSUMCRIMES PRESENTS

JORAN SEASON 3 EPISODE 4: THE STORMS ROARED WILDLY.

The storms roared wildly, the lightning crashing against the soil, carrying with it back to the ocean little stones and little pebbles, multitudes of tsunami waves crashing against weakened constructions off the coast of California. Amongst the chaos, the pilot of the HC01 Aircraft Carrier, Jessie Armstrong detected turbulent missiles ahead. She made her way from her seat in the cockpit to the underbelly of the aircraft. “Joran!” shouted the pilot.

“What’s going on?” Joran cried back.

“Our craft’s detecting missiles a few miles north.”

“So?”

The woman said sternly, “Take ‘em out.”

“I’m afraid there won’t be any need,” said Lady Daggers.

“What in the world are you saying?” Joran asked her.

“I’ve got you.”

Lady Daggers hit a button labelled, “EJECT.”

Into the vastness of the grey thundering clouds she was sent, the shimmer of green missiles from the coast of Malzamar were apparent.

Lady Daggers angled herself, projecting her trajectory to the missile’s nose, then hurdling from the missile’s dome to a 791B-806-A910 ANTI-AIRCRAFT JET’S nose. A glimmer of the jet’s headlights illuminated, slicing the fog. She was exposed to gaseous toxins, a byproduct of nuclear fallout mixing with unstable weather conditions.

“I have to begin landing preemptively,” said Lady Daggers. “The air’s terrible.” Lady Daggers angled down. Her parachute failed to activate following her descent, the clicker linked to it, malfunctioning. “I’m sorry but I cannot remain airborne much longer. My gas tank’s out and I’m losing oxygen. But I can fight the ground forces.” Lady Daggers hit the ground with a thump. Standing above her was a brutish, tarnished man.

“Get up and fight,” said the man, flaunting his tarnished fingers. With every exhausted punch came a tired huff, as he gestured a mean gesture, exposing a crooked, tarnished finger, and slipped off his sandals, revealing abnormally brutish toes. Then signaled for two other brutes with a spit and a whistle from his dry, tarnished lips, and spoke forth in a brutish tone to his fellows, “I’ve skinned rats before.”

With a sour voice she replied confidently, “And I’ve skinned pigs.” The brute slipped on some gloves, knives embedded along the fingertips of his brutish fingers, on his brutish knuckles. Lady Daggers rammed herself forth, prying the gloves seamlessly from the brute. She slipped into the shadows of the gunfire and rough weather conditions of the battlefield, as the brute removed his weathered armor.

The brute said into a communications device, “We lost her-” Swiftly emerging, Lady Daggers bashed the brute using a Malzamar chogin stick, a weapon requiring little finesse nor combat training. The brute bent to his tarnished knees. He begged, “Don’t kill me. No-”

“This is Joran!” Joran cried from the radio. “We’re facing heavy fire! Lady Daggers, you’re needed back on the aircraft- now!”

“On it!” Lady Daggers hollered back. She rocketed away from the disaster-ridden battle-torn meadows, into the thunderous skies, and into the aircraft. “What’s going on?” Lady Daggers hurried to the incapacitated Jessie Armstrong. “Are we hit? Are we on route to the TASK headquarters?”

“We’re on route but we might not make it. Gas is low and like you said oxygen’s running out at this altitude. We might have to make an emergency landing in Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles is far from here,” said Lady Daggers. “We’ll never make it even if we tried.”

“Well that’s exactly what we’ll have to do: try- don’t we?”

“We’ll never make it,” Lady Daggers repeated. “But I might be able to- just have to gather some fuel source from an old friend, and we’ll be on our way.”

“You’ll never make it,” repeated Joran. “We’ll never. You’re a powerful spy- better than me in fact, but we’re too far off the ground, farther than we were a couple minutes ago, and you-”

“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” Lady Daggers saluted Joran, then said, “Wish me luck.” Lady Daggers slipped out of the emergency exit, the currents of the maelstrom guiding him to the war-torn grounds.

She landed coincidentally at a gas station, the sign saying, “COCA Gas,” standing for “Come One Come All Gas.”

She entered the gas station, and said to the clerk, “I’d like to purchase some fuel, please.”

“I’ll see what I have,” replied the clerk. He reached for his belt, for a concealed detonator.

“I said I’d like some fuel.”

Obliging, the clerk said, “Okay! Okay! Here’s the fuel!” He slammed a tank of airplane gas onto the counter. Lady Daggers dropped a small felt packet of coins across the desk. “Nothing more?”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

“Alright. Take your gas and leave- And also- what’s with the warfare?”

She explained, “World War 3 has started. The countries of the United States and Eldebe and Malzamar are at each other’s throats. Los Angeles’s been greatly affected by the nasty tornados, hurricanes, and tsunamis. Disneyland’s sunk, and from what I’ve heard: Mickey Mouse has returned to the sewers. Serious damage to the coasts, I’d advise you to stay clear of that.” She turned to leave, then added, “I’d also advise you to stay clear of any man named Kallen Norell. The environmental damage is bad already. What he’s doing is gonna blow up the planet.”

“And what if he approaches me first?”

Lady Daggers said, “Then go BLAM BOOM POW on him with that detonator you’ve so poorly concealed at your belt. Seems you have some pretty nice blasters and explosives at your disposal. Use them- now if you excuse me I have some friends to help. I’ll contact you if I need anything further- here’s my number.” She dropped a slip of paper with the numbers:

314-159-2653

[magnumversumcrimes]

The limousine swerved around the block. Cameras flashed and cries raised, as a golden brogue poked from the car interior. Intrepid reporters shouted as the man fixed his coat and strode onto the concrete. He took a sip of his decaf coffee, then escorts took his baggage. He raised a finger, then the limousine parked by the entrance of the bar. “My name is Renard Thompson,” said the man. “My death was impermanent. I’ve returned.”

“Why’ve you visited Halley’s Bar?” asked a reporter.

Another asked, “What’s your business here?”

“How’d you die?” another reporter asked.

“All questions will be answered in due time…” he resumed.

“What’s the status with Agent Lark Yuzevno?” yet another asked.

A scruffy reporter with a vacuous face said, “Right now our choppers are tracking Joran in the Amazons, imprisoned by Leafgreen wolves. What do you have to say to Joran right now?”

“I’d say,” said Renard. “To watch your sorry soul”

STARRING JORAN AS JORAN

KAZ CHAMPAGNE AS KAZ CHAMPAGNE

DANNY DANIELSON AS DANNY DANIELSON

AGENT 555 “AGENT TRIPLE-5” AS AGENT 555 “AGENT TRIPLE-5”

KID-SPUD AS KID-SPUD

SUPER DONKEY AS SUPER DONKEY

STINK’N’FART AS STINK’N’FART

MALCOLM “MISTER LOUDMOUTH” LOUDMOUTH AS MALCOLM “MISTER LOUDMOUTH” LOUDMOUTH

EVERAINE AS EVERAINE

SPECIAL GUEST STAR: RENARD AS RENARD

FROM THE PRODUCERS OF CANIVERSUM AND CANIVERSUMCRIMES

WRITTEN BY PRIDEOFWOLFPEAK ON TUMBLR

A TUMBLR 2022 MINISERIES

AND THE SECOND EPISODE OF THE THIRD SEASON

CANIVERSUMCRIMES PRESENTS

JORAN SEASON 3 EPISODE 3: YOUR SORRY SOUL.

DATE: JANUARY 19, 2022. APPROXIMATELY ELEVEN FIFTY-FIVE O’ CLOCK POST-MERIDIEM.

It was pitch black, except for some yellow, orange, and red flames, skewering wolves of various builds. They filed around the campfire flames. Then synchronically, performed a peculiar ritual, composed of dance and song and the beating drum. Chanting as they habitually gamboled around the warm illumination, a celebration in preparation for a feast. Pirouetting for their deities, they barked and howled delightfully into the watching gaze of the Moon. A gust of wind fizzled the fire slowly away. a sweltering heat interrupted by a blistering freeze. Then one of the wolves poked Joran with their hind knee, saying, “Get up.”

“Alright,” said Joran, obligingly. Joran steadied to his feet, then approached the emberless pile of wooden logs and pinecones and ash and oak leaves, and stones and magma rocks and sand and dirt and other muck. The wolves gathered. Carrying with them, more fuel for the dead flame.

Then the head wolf said, “We are not cannibals. But we have been stereotyped as such.”

“Then what do you want?”

Then the head wolf spoke in a powerful tone, “We want peace.”

“Then why have you abducted us?”

“We took you in. We thought you were lost denizens of the seventy United States, so we kept you in our care until you could rehabilitate.”

“Meaning?” Joran asked.

“Our people were slaughtered when a man named Henry Jones entered our homes. He and his vile gangsters killed my people. Only my grandmother “Nanang,” my grandfather “Papang,” and I remained. Since then my elderly and I have worked to preserve our traditions.”

“That is…” Joran replied, pausing. “Understandable.”

“We wanted you people to survive so your traditions could carry on. We don’t want you to end up worse than we did, extinct, not a trace left.”

“May we see one of your traditions?” Danny Danielson pleaded. “It sounds interesting.”

“May we?” agreed Everaine.

“Yes, me too,” agreed Agent 555.

“I’d also love to see,” said Kaz.

“Then you shall,” replied the wolf head. From the bushes and the jungle trees came wolves teething yard-long bamboo sticks. Then the wolf head danced a meticulous dance, the bamboo sticks clacking together and away, as the others sang praises and hymns, and Joran watched in awe. “Do you see now?”

“Yes,” Joran replied. “We do see.”

“Then we will let you go. I can hear your choppers roaring in the distance. They’re awaiting your return.” Then gunfire rang. Everaine panicked.

“What the hell was that?” she cried suddenly.

“They’ve found us before we found them, that’s what,” said Joran.

“Who?”

“CRUD agents. Looks like we’re in the middle of a shootout.” Then Joran said to Danny Danielson and the other agents, “Take these wolves to safety. Everaine and I will deal with the forces.” Joran and Everaine burdened ammo into their rifles, then released the safety. The two hunched into the brown-green forests, arms in hand, stocks against their shoulder. Rustling in the leaves, then an agent sprung.

BANG.

He fell quickly, and like a seething, vengeful hydra, two more replaced him.

BANG. BANG.

The forest was permeated with blood, guts, and smoke. The self-known vigilantes, Everaine and Joran, dropped the magazines.

CLICK.

Then replaced. Harassed with a burst of spaced blitzes, Joran and Everaine pinned themselves against a massive cocoa tree. Then Joran bobbed from the tree’s shade and made a risky prance towards the enemy’s crosshairs. He smoked the enemy with his bullets

Joran said, “Get down!” Then sent a jettison of bullets knocking off the tree bark.

“What the hell was that?” yelled Everaine.

“Not sure! Be careful!”

From afar, enemies hollered, “This way!” Joran cowered behind a shrub. Then sprung from the leaves, and decimated. Then Joran hunched down. “We’re under heavy fire! Stink’n’fart told me his chopper’s a few miles north!”

She shouted, “Those men are barricading our escape route!”

“Then kill them!” Joran hurried deeper, gunfire closing in.

“Do you read me?” Super Donkey said from his watch. “Joran, do you read me?”

“Joran do you copy?” said Malcolm Loudmouth. “Joran- this is Malcolm Loudmouth. Do you copy?”

“We’re pinned down!” he shouted loudly. “We need you at these coordinates!”

BANG.

The chopper flew amidst the terrors, landing between two crooked Kapoks.

A voice inside hollered, “In! Now!” Joran and Everaine, followed by Danny Danielson, Kaz Champagne, and Agent-555, entered the helicopter hurryingly.

“We’ve set a route back to the United States,” said Stink’n’fart. “What you did back there was heroic.”

Joran asked, “Why’d you send us on that damn mission?”

“Because you brought something necessary for our mission against CRUD. Those bamboo sticks Daniel’s carrying.”

RENARD WILL RETURN IN “RENARD: THE SERIES” AND FUTURE EPISODES OF JORAN SEASON 3.