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viskarenvisla · 2 months ago

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Land of Traitors: Chapter 3 - Overlord

The world immolates in candy-colored desire and hunger

My Hunt is a jester’s rampage through morphine syringe-thorns

Wolf’s teeth gnaw at her throat; we flail and fumble

I’m an Overlord

Spilling my subjects across a concrete stage

Case Number: 0355469

Date: July 6th 201X

Reporting / Preparing Officer: Qiang Sun, Police Detective I MPD

Incident Type:

Homicide – "The People Do Not Kill the People"

Torture – "Respect Your Prey"

Cannibalism – "Do Not Consume the Flesh of Man or Wolf"

Possession – "The Denizens of the Shadow Shall Not Transgress the Flesh"

Unlawful Arrest of a Police Officer – "The Low Honor the High; the High Honor the Low"

Coordinates of Occurrence: 25.859629079215324, -80.724387883146

Perpetrators:

Apex

“Carceri” (Alias), “scrivener”, female, age unknown [Felony Coercion; Aggravated Assault and Battery]

"Phlegethon” (Alias), ringleader, male, age unknown [Homicide, Torture, Canibalism]

Beta

“Acheron” (Alias) Calvin Montes, enforcer, male, age 40s [Soul-Puppetry (forced implantation of a Denizen within) an Unwilling Individual]

“Chemosh” (Alias) Valentin Luka, PR, male, age unknown [Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer]

“Gebehl” (Alias) Orin Kalverdt, pusher, age 37 [Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer]

“Moloch” (Alias), “scrivener”, sex unknown, age unknown [Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer]

Tasha (alias) “Tears-for-Blood” Hart, female, age 29 [Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer]

Omega

Anders Duthrow, slave, male, age 28 [Unlawful Arrest of a Police Officer; Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer; Unlawful Possession of a Firearm]

Bonny Duthrow, slave, female, age 42 [Unlawful Arrest of a Police Officer; Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer; Unlawful Possession of a Firearm]

Jaden Duthrow, slave, male, age 19 [Unlawful Arrest of a Police Officer; Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer; Unlawful Possession of a Firearm; Underage Drinking]

Spring Saul, slave, female, age 51 [Accomplice to Unlawful Arrest of a Police Officer; Aggravated Assault and Battery of a Police Officer; Unlawful Possession of a Firearm...Reckless Driving]

Witnesses / Abettors

Anais Quertovera, female, age 23

Amita Hart, female, age 18

“Bone-Eater” (Alias) Lola Hart, female, age unknown

“Dustpelt” (Alias), female, age unknown

“Last-Laugh” (Alias), sex unknown, age unknown

“Night’s-Call-to-Arms” (Alias) Kemall Tan(?), male, age 41

Qiang Sun, male, age [REDACTED]

Samson Delanie, male, age 49

Evidence: Officer testimony, bodycam footage

Victims: John Ivan, male, age 36 [cause of death: exsanguination from massive abdominal injuries]; Larissa Citlali, female, age 20 [under consciousness hijack, whereabouts unknown]

Incident Description: [22:00] Finished my shift. stuck around to handle some off-duty business. Officer Gavrilla would provide discrete access to the evidence locker upon her shift ending. Dawner called in sick again . Gavrilla got stuck covering; wasn’t gonna wait around.

Packed and left to Hunt in Hialeah Gardens as per usual evening routine.

[23:32] Met up with Logan Perez “Shitty Joe” (callsign I chose cuz he’s my bitch) and demanded my apportionment but he expressed resistance; I applied advanced persuasion techniques to remind him of our agreement.

“Shitty Joe” lacks the right to resist. He turned over part of my allotment but the rest was ‘missing’. I gave him a demerit. He limped back to his grandmother’s home at 234 W. Olive Street. [23:39] Intercepted at west entrance of the Santa Barbara Catholic Church by a rust-eaten 1997 Dodge Ram Van; badly worn out tire tread, muffler needs welding.

Anders Duthrow (white male, age 28) and Jaden Duthrow (white male, age 19) approached me with assault-rifle style rifles, covering their faces with ski-masks; ushered me into vehicle. They placed a vinegar-soaked sack over my head; reminded me of nainai’s kitchen, served to effectively obscure my senses. The van was being driven by Bonny Duthrow (white female, age 42) ; accompanied in passenger’s seat by Spring Saul (black female, age 51), pointing a Glock 17 at me.

Context: Prior encounter; much shorter with Jack Duthrow (male, age 26 deceased) and Martin Lowe (male, age 34 deceased); applied 100% necessary extreme lethal force. Jaden and Anders referred to me their 5.56x45mm silver-tipped rounds [ note: Duthrow and Sons Sheet Metal LLC likely source for home-manufactured munitions, cross-reference with case # 0371191 ]. Mark both down for aggravated assault of a police officer .

My allotment 💢 (still to be collected in full; need to address NOW soon)

[00:04 - 01:12 06/07/2023] we drove along state highway 41 Westbound; straight shot, pothole patterns indicative of state construction expertise.

[00:45] Jaden Duthrow opened a liter of Captain Morgan, engaged in underaged drinking; failed to share.

[00:50] Jaden and Anders engaged in heated rhetoric, proceeded to threaten me for my legally justified use of lethal force against their associates; considerable emotion expressed concerning collecting Jack’s and Martin’s limbs for transport.

Saul instructed them to scale back rhetoric; an altercation would result in their disassembly. Both marked down for aggravated assault of a police officer and unruly firearm hooliganism .

[01:12] Saul turned right on an unmarked, closed service road roughly .5 miles past 62 mile marker Westbound on hwy. 41. Bonny Duthrow committed a civil littering offense by throwing her cigarette butt into Tamiami Canal #C4.

The van stopped; they escorted me out, wrists bound, head bagged. I broke the twine around my wrists and removed the bag, acknowledging that I had company approaching from the North:

Tasha Hart, (alias)

“Chemosh” and (alias)

“Moloch”

I lift my pen and look at the wreckage of excess before me…three lines of Mercedes Blue cut and glinting like white-sapphire snow, chiming my blood like a bell. Limited Edition 2012 Maotai dribbling down my chin like jet-fuel pearls. Cash stacked like a pavilion-tower, a monument to my bad choices.

72 inch flatscreen TV hanging from my wall and speakers taller than the girl passed out in my bed.

I gotta do something about that, don’t even know her name but she’s got an appetite for dust and you just know the pretty ones like us, with white powder around our nostrils, we aren’t to be left alone.

Clean pigs don’t do lines in Unit-B’s at the Solitair Brickell and I’m not the greasiest of our kind (I’m already calling an Uber for what’s-her-face). The good guys are fighting their battles out of 600 square footers in Overtown, or houses with overpriced mortgages if they got ‘em while the getting was ripe…

That’s a different world from mine; their Prey? Morality. Their meat? Honor, so they could sneer down at men like me. That’s fine, they got their Michelin TV Dinners, a 40 to drown the futility, and their pride to keep ‘em floating ‘til Magic City sucks ‘em down. That’s it ladies and gentlemen .

I’m not a good guy.

The track playing on the tower speakers playing spotify on my TV flows into a guilty favorite, too cliche for someone fashionable like me to admit openly. Taylr Renee’s gentle, crooning voice feels like it’s coming up from beneath a shallow lake on a silvery night, the hissing build-up speeding up my pulse. I haven’t touched a line in a couple hours cuz I’m trying to get this report done but right now I’m blissing the fuck out because this body, this life are a feast for the senses.

ASMR flows like will o’ wisp light through the swamp-muck of my mind, because even in this relatively muffled Hishu form I can hear tones and wavelengths most humans weren’t privy to…the shudder-hiss of radio waves clashing; the wetness in the singer’s mouth.

“Hello, you're a quite beautiful yellow,” I sing in pitch with Taylr. �� My soul's exposed, I yearn to feel the change,” and stand up suddenly, nearly knocking over the assorted glassware and narcotics covering my soft-pink Surya Miami marble coffee table. I must sing.

“ All through my body burns something exciting, ” I echo once, twice, three times. My talons shred the curtains and I collapse before the Crescent Moon, wretched in my worship; proud of my HATE for her.

My pupils blow wide, watching the millions of individual threads, the contrails of countless Lunar Ithul . My pupils blow wide as I drink in their dramatic dance. My ears lengthen subtly, and I can hear traces of their paens, symphonies and sutras…they call out to me in a thousand ways, their wayward son; scorning my defiance / praising my independence / concerned for my hunger / mocking my indulgence.

I’m alive. I’m still here, because of all those things the Lunes call me out on and so I twist the volume knob and let the music take hold. “Howl at the MOOOOON!” I shout in euphoria and despair and throw off my Silk Shirt. My nameless lover complains from the bedroom, but I’m already taking a condom from the porcelain urn on the nightstand and I scream my treasonous freedom into her again.

The world immolates in candy-colored desire and hunger

My Hunt is a jester’s rampage through morphine syringe-thorns

Wolf’s teeth gnaw at her throat; we flail and fumble

I’m an Overlord

Spilling my subjects across a concrete stage

---

I’m a platinum-haired God in an age of gray and decay

My pavilion is the purest of porcelain, my throne shades of noon and nightfall

-FLOOOoooWOoooooossshhhhh- goes my Royal Toiletries gold and black custom designer toilet, and -clunk- goes the garbage can lid after I toss the used condom and wrapper in and I look in the mirror at my sexy, bad self.

Missy - I just came up with that name for her - is saying something from the bedroom about dropping some shoes off for her friend… I don't give a fuck girl . "Yeah for sure, I called you an Uber, you can tell him to take you wherever babe." I'm still a gentleman even if I roll like a thief and fuck like a supernova, and I gotta look the part. I slick some Venus Pink Men's Professional Styling Gel into my bleach blonde hair, rocking that spike coif.

Most cops on the force don’t bother with self-care so they got the stress zits, the bags under their eyes, all those wrinkles…but I care greatly. That's why at age [REDACTED] I’m a smooth-gold smelted prince, not a clogged pore in sight - scratch that, just a moment while I pinch …and…not a clogged pore in sight.

I don't need to shave, not really, just a bit off the upper lip this morning and I'm giving the girls that Korean Boy Band smile that works just like it did with Mitsy. I'm no Korean of course, and nainai would throw her shoe at me if she saw me strutting like that. She’d probably call me a fairy if she got a load of me daubing QOSRX Advanced Banana Slug 96 Mucin Elixerific Essence underneath my eyes but she ain’t the one playin’ the game; shit’s youth in a bottle.

She’s wrinkly.

Maddy slinks her way up behind me into the bathroom, a joint (of my stuff but that was okay, sharing is caring) smoking pungently between her lips and slides her arms around my slender torso…I’m almost as thin as she is and it’s just always been that way. I was a vegetarian before but even after I went strict meato-keto (not like I had a choice) it was always hard to bulk up. Works fine for me, as Sun Tzu said, “let people think you are skinny and weak, so you can surprise them and beat them up”.

"You gonna gimme a kiss before I jet?" She asks and her face is a swirl of color and features I can't make out or remember, she has great legs and really pretty hands. She kisses me…it’s soft, her lips are slender and curved; I taste my own weed, and…wait, something chemical and acrid.

The doorway behind me is getting further away even though I’m standing still. My ocean-fishies shower curtain is moving on its own, but there ain’t no wind in here. The bass-beat in my chest isn’t just mine anymore as she leans into me, floor’s starting to jiggle like jello…aw shit did she cut my own weed with my own DMT?!

Her mouth opens and yawns wide for a kiss and I shout down her throat that she didn't tell me slipped -

- KSSST -

…slamming bass crumps my ribcage, jarring me awake; flashing colored lights blind my overtuned senses; it makes me want to SCREAM and shift. Two bodies are twisting and bumping against me, slithering with sweaty sinew. It’s a pit of bodies all writhing to a rhythm, like a viper hole. My stomach punches itself as animal panic shoots bile up my throat; I swallow it down, along with the fear.

I can feel a woman's hand crawling up underneath my shirt, I see a slender, well dressed man smile before me and I recoil, my grandmother's voice like a boot hitting me in the temple. Slipping out from between them I battle the FLIGHT-KILL-RUN that makes urban life amidst the Humans such a thriller. I resist the urge to take four legs and bolt; I’m in control. I’m back.

Still, fuck me…

That wasn't my first black-out-black-in with the cocktail partying in my veins at any given moment, but sensory overload was a BITCH. You ever had that experience where it becomes hard to see?

You ever roast the hell outta some mushrooms in a dab hitter? Or do a quick salvia burn? Afterwards you can’t resolve what’s before you. You know you’re looking at something, but there’s a curtain of black, inky high you gotta fight through. Faces become a static blur, like Mandy’s (Mira’s?); it gets hard to stand…I’m trying, my arms keep wanting to swing upward along with my knees and that’ll knock me flat on my back…I’d look like an upended turtle.

The thought makes me giggle / the thought is embarrassing and horrifying. "Come on Sun." A voice digs upward through the drug-molasses, tunneling toward me to yank me down from on high. An arm goes under mine, pulling me unsteadily upward and the motion makes my stomach lurch -

- KSSST -

" HUEEEERRRRGGGGH!"

A rainbow erupts from my belly, wrung like a bag, splashing on the concrete before turning to booze-stinking puke and whatever I'd eaten earlier. Someone’s holding my shoulder to keep me from face-planting into my own mess. “DMT?” she asks.

I nod and wipe my mouth, straightening to lean a hand up against the dumpster outside Shouting Coals’. That’s where I was, I’d come down off a trip out here before. She’s across the short distance of the alley, turning to lean her back against a wall and toss her braid over her shoulder. “Fancy seein’ you out here detective.” I give the Cuban woman across from me my charmingest smile. She looks at reprimanding; bitch doesn’t deserve to look at me like that.

“Knew I’d find you here.” She takes a little steel flask from her back pocket, unscrewing the top and taking a pull before throwing it my way. I’m in no place to catch it, and it bonks against my chest, leaving ripples in my skin. Still high I guess. I bend down and pick it up, swallowing down a mouthful of silver label, hissing and wiping my mouth as the alcohol braces me.

The tough-act lady across from me is a little shorter than my (almost) six feet, cuts a pretty intimidating figure as a cop too. Sonya Navarro is a detective a couple years my senior, always wears her hair up and likes to be ‘professional’, which to her seems to mean ‘morose’. We got partnered up about a year back, after some administrative finagling. Sonya’s got those serious, haunted eyes and sunken cheeks…looks like the star of a Latin American noir drama.

A cheap one.

We’ve been a terrible influence on the other, the only difference is she doesn’t have the Uratha metabolism to offset what the booze is doing to her liver, what the coke I score for her does to her brain. I don’t question, ain’t my place.

We both kick it outside for a bit in the night-heat on a pair of milk crates, passing the flask back and forth until it was about halfway down.

The silence is golden…

Until I break it between my teeth.

“So. What’s your excuse?” I ask.

“Bad date.” She’s checking her phone screen, lighting her face all spectral before she ghosts whoever she got gussied up for. “I bailed.”

I take her in…dress slacks, French-style cotton shirt, that’s too crisp for her usual bed-head slothen. At least she put some effort into it.

“Guess he didn’t have that Hank McCoy thing you into,” I tease her, despite my pounding skull…the tequila is helping with that though.

“She, pinga . It just didn’t feel right.” Sonya gives me this fierce ‘dont fuck with me’ look so I know she’s sensitive about it but we that’s not something either of us really cares about; not enough time or energy to tiptoe around each other’s feelings. I’d call it a revelation but she sounds put off and pissed…Sonya’s been in the midst of a small personal crisis, due in no small part to her own addictive tendencies and the spirits she sees with those violet eyes, cuz she’s Wolf-blooded. Caught between my world and the mortals’.

There’s quiet between us again before she goes starting up with this harsh, impatient noise…oh boy, I know where this is going. “You were supposed to meet up with me in Hialeah. Where were you Sun?” There’s this edge to her voice that makes my jaw itch…I know what this is about, part of my allotment was for her. She was going through a lot, the divorce and all that crap.

I know she’s under a lot of pressure but it doesn’t help that I am too and it shows in the orange flare in my gaze, my claws digging into the milk crate.

I clench my teeth; my jaw pops. “Cool it with the accusing tone Navarro,” my voice chops sharp. She takes my bird-bone thin temper in stride, looks away with a ‘huff’ that twists the knife. “I didn’t nip your powder or pass out, I got waylaid by Duthrows.” My claws ache in my nailbeds…I pull them back with an effort. “Duthrows, Sun. That’s never stopped you before.” Now I got her hooked, her other vice is that insatiable curiosity.

Navarro knows them, everyone In The Know does.

“This time they were loaded with silver, they flashed me the rounds. Probably got ‘em done at that machining shop of theirs, you know the one - ”

“I do,” she waves it off, giving her fingers a needy toss as I take out my pack of Treasurer Luxury Blacks and offer her one - I’m generous, they’re $67 a box. I even light it for her, ungrateful bitch. “You were outta commission the whole night, didn’t answer any of my calls…they must’ve taken you out to see Him again.”

I don’t answer. She’s right of course. It’s the American way - freedom comes with a price tag even for Uratha, so when Phlegethon snapped his big nasty teeth, yours truly had to come running. “It’ll be in the report.” It’s a half-handed attempt to squeeze out from under the Cuban Inquisition as we smoke our cigarettes before a gathering storm front, rolling in from the Bay.

“What’s he got you up to this time? Let me help you at least,” she pushes but I just give her a smile that melts glaciers and pluck her cigarette from her mouth, puffing hers and my own from the corners of my lips and she doesn’t look amused for some reason. I get it. I appreciate it, but my mind simply refuses it out of hand because it’ll lead to her death.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own, just some dirty bitch work. You don’t want your fingerprints on it.” I do a pretty slick job acting like I’m not bothered by what Phlegethon made me do and see, but it sits in the pit of my belly like a timebomb, moments from going off. I know if I don’t do the grizzly work of cutting my pride open and stitching it back up, I’ll end up in pieces - that allegory isn’t too far off either. I’ve seen what the Hounds of Dis do to those who fail them, seen what remains. Usually dead, though he doesn’t always finish the job.

She takes her cigarette back but it isn’t playful anymore, and I’m not surprised. No cop like sit when their partner gets up to duty on their own, even if it’s unofficial. I’d never discerned just where Wolfbloods stand in the perilous Venn Diagram that defines our existence, complicated even further by the fact that we were officers of the law. Plenty business that isn’t a civvy’s concern is ours by definition, and while she’s no typical Human - I hate calling people ‘Herd’ like I’m some sorta freak - she could still bleed out and die like one. The Anshega distinguished between cop and civilian but only to a degree, as evidenced during the Long Night.

“Lieutenant Carera’s been noticing you slack, and you know who she gets on about it? Not you, cuz you’re not around. She’s up on me.” Her tone is casual but I know she’s using it against me, to remind me of where my obligations lie but she doesn’t get it. That’s partly on me of course. “Do you even know where we’re standing on the 174th St. Homicide?”

“Of course I do,” I lie confidently. I could just pop back to my desk and have a look - “Then you’ll know I caught the perp at his mom’s house three nights prior. Donny Ramsey, white male age 48, you’ll know he was carrying an unregistered Glock 9mm, someone drew a dick on the barrel - ”

“Alright ALRIGHT I get it,” I interrupt her, and I’m starting to feel bitchy. I smoke my cigarette down to the butt in one go, enjoy the world spinning for a bit and tell her “I’ll get back with the program, just get off my ass . You know I got shit that goes beyond homicides in the Gardens, and livin’ this double life ain’t as simple as you might think.” It’s meant to hurt and I can tell it does, but not enough to divert her from the topic. She turns on the milk crate, scraping it to drag the thing in front of me and sit down, she’s got that no-nonsense no-bullshit expression and all I can think is oh no .

“That’s how you put it to me though,” she reminds me, cool as a cucumber even though I can tell she’s twitchy from not getting her fix, she’s so damn good at playing it like that. “You said to me, what was it,” Navarro does an annoyingly good impression of my voice, “‘Ain’t no moonstruck-fuck or cave-monster gonna order me around’ but you bein’ ordered around ain’t you, and you’re flying solo through it.”

Navarro is right of course. I know precisely what I said to her and it doesn’t exactly help that it cuts to the quick, enough that I feel the heat rise under my collar and stand up, kicking the milk crate away from where I was. My head aches.

“FUCKIN’ easy to call me out isn’t it?!” I’m moving feverishly like I’m about to go wolf…Navarro doesn’t even flinch; pisses me off even more.

“Go ahead Sonya, remind me I got nobody on my side,” I nod my chin Westward toward the Glades, “not against those things out there, cuz I brought this on myself right?! Here, how ‘bout I kowtow to you just like I do to Carceri,” I rant, starting to get down on my knees before her.

“Sun quit it - ”

“Nah it’s good, you’re all up on high so it makes sense!” I hit my knees against the concrete, bruising them and splaying out, face-first onto the muck-filmed ground.

“Hear me, oh Ten Thousand Things as I throw myself before Empress Navarro’s tender mercies and wallow in my fuck-ups , please, by all means,” I hike up my shirt to show her my back and the rear of my neck, criss-crossed with wolf-talon scars. “Oh Empress grant me this boon - ”

“Officer Qiang Sun stop it - ” “ - and consider backing the fuck OFF my FUCKING SHIT! ” I pound my fists on the ground, cracking the concrete as my muscles bulge against my control, a beast’s edge to my voice.

Quiet hangs between us. I regret the words as soon as they come out of my fanged mouth, there’s a disconnect that happens between my thinking mind and my temper when I’m high, which is always, and these ugly things come forth. Control…Zen, I suck it back in and try to look human before making myself take her in.

Fuck. I did it again. She’s standing up, aw shit I better apologize -

-WHAM-

The right hook!

Sonya knocks my delicate mandible out of socket and fills my mouth with copper-taste, throwing me down onto the blacktop -

…

…I’m lying on my side in recovery position. No pain, and that’s a perk, although I definitely remember the pain of Sonya’s knobby fist against my face. Fucking bitch…I had it coming .

Wiping a string of drool from my mouth I sit up slowly - first thing I notice, of course, was the mud and water stain on my Qohort Qlub top and that I can’t handle, but now’s not the time. I’m looking about dizzily for her before I hear her throat clear.

She’s seated back on the milk crate, kicking mine back over to me wordlessly. I take it, sliding the crate up and take a seat. A lot of people take this sort of thing personally but she and I get into the occasional punchy tiff. I keep it in Hishu, which ain’t hard to do but without Ralunim tricks she just throws a better hook. No matter what the Rat-Pack or Zookeepers might say, fisticuffs ain’t the same as tearing out a throat.

“Sorry…I was high,” I mumble.

“You were serious though, I can tell.” She holds a hand up, cutting me off and pointing a sharp finger my way. “I got the message. I’ll back off, but just hear me out.” “You’re no worm. You’re alone cuz you choose to be alone, and you’re also a tool.”

A tool.

A fucking tool.

“I’ll see you in the office…remember, you’re on evening shift tomorrow, Qiang.” Navarro stands, sliding on a vaguely stylish black leather coat that I can tell she got at a thrift store.

I don’t apologize, even if there’s space to do so…why would I?

When I’m alone, sitting there in the alleyway behind the club, still high and drunk, I stand up and very carefully remove my shirt, folding it and hanging it by the cleanest corner I could find in the alley.

I didn’t often cross over into the misty darkness that my old packmates called the Shadow, and my whole…magic, thing, it just wasn’t that broad like theirs was in Red Wolf’s court. I had my own “friends” (as one can with spirits) in the Shadow of course: Arshisag’arkagish , the Goreflight-Princess, had an understanding with me.

We’d bonded over ideas like artists from different worlds. She taught me secrets of the Blood, how to cut a foe so their capillaries burst and their veins vomit red; how to bind another to my will through my Honor; how to cleanse my own blood, to purge my body of impurities.

There’s no chanting, no abracadabra or sparkly lights. Hardly seems like magic; my nails grow long, wolf-talons pushing from the beds, and I carefully drag them up the arteries in my left wrist. The skin on my back twitches, from lumbar to neck, like it’s being pinched.

A knife forged of pure nausea digs upward and through my belly and chest.

The blood blooms from my wrist, surface-tension all shiny and thin before it breaks like a dam.

It boils and sparks with essence as it vents from my wrist in spurts like in one of those samurai flicks. The sickness blossoms into an apocalyptic headache, falling back to my knees and aiming the torrent into a grate. Drug-tainted and black, it steams in the night, and I cough of wads of substance-abused liver.

Human body’s got about five liters of blood, and I have to have lost at least four by the time I keel over on my side. It’s a nightmarish experience, but what comes after is so much worse.

Suddenly, the world feels…

Raw.

I can hear my own breathing in my head as I straighten, and my skin crawls. It’s like stepping out into the sun with a burn and no lotion, only it’s behind my fucking forehead which feels too small and my eyes which feel too big. I’m thirsty, my body already working to generate new blood to replace the old. My mouth tastes disgusting. No words for it, not in Mandarin or English. I spit dryly into the gutter and breathe for a bit, clear-headed for the first time in…it’s been months.

Easily months, ever since -

No Sun no no don’t

I’m taken aback.

Got dangerously close to the pit of my worst memories. I desperately depended on powder, booze, anything to build up a great wall of numbness and keep my consciousness from heading into no-Sun Land. Fuck…I couldn’t be this way for long. Already feeling my hands starting to tremble, I make my way back to the street and realize I don’t remember if I took an Uber, or (hopefully not) drove here. I pat myself down for my keys - phone and wallet. Must have left my keys at my desk. Got a code lock. Whatever.

There’s a folded packet of paper in my back pocket I didn’t notice before. I pull it out, open it up, and see the report I’d been scrawling…why did I even bring it? It wasn’t like I’d be turning it in, it was my own thing, a raw thing.

I don’t even know why I do half the things I do.

I start walking back home. Gotta get used to a world absent spins and visual artifacts. It’s weird when you’re used to compensating for shifted perceptions…everything seemed to move too fast but worst of all was the rain when it started to come down. Rain plasters my platinum-blonde hair to my skull. It’s all one big loud, tangled glow of urban decay, neon glitz. I feel like stranger in my own town when I’m all dried-out.

I’m standing on Coral Way and it’s mostly these identical, single-story stripmalls made of cracking white plaster-brick. I see the signs glowing beneath the streetlights; fake angel halos advertising happiness for sale. I smell…a bakery down the way - someone’s making pastelitos de guayaba. A hardware store, reeking of plastic. A kennel from the smell of cats and dogs; made my stomach growl, filled me with self-loathing. Disgusting.

Just the kind of place for a lonely animal like me to hide from everyone and no one if I wanted.

But I don’t. I can’t. Even with Phlegethon letting me stay, there’s other predators out here that’d fancy a pretty bit of lone wolf like yours truly.

I pass a post office, possibly one of the ugliest buildings possible. I stop to sit on a bench underneath the eaves of a blocky, expensive condo development. I know what they’re really like inside - I don’t mean the walls and appliances and shit, I mean their souls.

Like the Maoist-style apartment blocks my grandmother had grown up in.

It isn’t cold but I feel like shivering…I need a distraction, and my hands go instinctively to my pocket for my phone but instead I pull out the police report, unfold it, and look at the words on the page.

I’m compelled to write more, gnawing the cap like a bone. Writing this all down, it’s the only thing that keeps me from teetering over the edge and falling into the memory pit. Gotta write. Gotta keep my mind from biting itself out.

Incident Description (cont.): When (alias) “Moloch”, Tasha (alias) “Tears-for-Blood” Hart and (alias) “Chemosh” arrived I made clear I was unarmed I indicated being unarmed and uninterested in violence. Tasha indicated that my contract with the Lunar Ilthum, inscribed in my skin with the Full Moon’s Auspice brand, was a “sin to be cleansed”. At [01:14] (alias) “Moloch” obtained a knotted tree branch that he utilized to cudgel me, committing aggravated assault and battery against an officer. Hart and (alias) “Chemosh” were also party to this. Though I resisted with the full extent of my Full Moon might, I was overpowered and subjected to a prolonged mauling (see Appendix B for full account of injuries to body and dignity)

When they finished, Tasha compelled me to accompany them further into the Everglades. They leveled numerous spurious accusations against me: that I colluded with Lunes…that I was a plaything for Mortals…most of it was Predator King bullshit.

I ignored them and focused primarily on the changing terrain. There were two major anomalies:

Despite the poor visibility, I identified several types of flora and fauna not native to the Everglades; I understood they likely weren’t native to the Fleshworld either.

Despite the tattered nature of the Gauntlet in the Glades, I faced difficulty looking across. It was as if a slick of oil covered a windshield, driving into the sun. Something (likely the Hounds of Dis) has altered the resonance drastically; ecological change will prove disastrous unless averted.

These alterations constitute a violation of the Everglades Forever Act.

When I finally got around to inquiring about why my presence in the Everglades was demanded; from their growling babble, I pieced together that once again Phlegethon had called on my capacity as an officer of the law.

This is a usurpation of who I am, I didn't become a cop for any of this.

We passed into the Netherworld via locus at [01:38], and were met by (alias) "Phlegethon" and (alias) "Gehenna".

I look up through the curtain of rainfall…heavier than when I took a seat. It's hot and humid but thinking about that encounter with Phlegethon and Gehenna leaves me cold and clammy. Sobriety brings the experience into full-definition, high-fidelity playback: an HDMI direct-to-consciousness nightmare.

The three Predator Kings who’d dragged me here took their Wolf shapes, throat bared, prostrate into the miserable muck of the Netherglades. A degrading performance; the humiliation of the Pure before greater monsters. Ironically they thought themselves noble, unsullied.

Mine is the only path.

Then, Gehenna had come.

It’d thundered through the muck, through the mangroves like they were nothing…punched through the trunk of a tree that screamed as it died. I’d stood my ground, couldn’t bring myself to bow down to a thing like that.

It didn’t matter.

I'm Rahu, yeah. I’m strong as hell, but Gehenna is more cave bear than wolf. Patchy fur covering muscle swollen by its own internal steroid. Its urshul form was like a minivan, hurling me to the ground like a child. It had drooled all over my nice clothes, tasted my blood.

Its head was absurdly small against its tank-broad shoulders; practically a wall of meat and claws with a mouth…couldn’t believe Gehenna had once been Human like me.

It had howled at me; the sound was something between a shout and a bizarre, high-pitched whine…disconcerting, didn’t match it size. If I hadn’t submitted here, beneath its platter-broad paws, it’d have pulped my upper body into the filth.

So I did the unthinkable and showed my throat, kinda wishing Gehenna’d just kill me right there.

If anyone in the department had seen that sorry display, they’d get the moon-crazies and forget it, but Sonya? I’d lose all respect. She wouldn’t see me as a cop, an Uratha, or even a man.

Gehenna had relented ever-so-slowly, hungry for any excuse to rip me apart; twitching wrong, lowering my chin, moving from the filth. I’d just lay there in the mud, hating everything.

Tasha had laughed at me. Quietly. A woman laughing at me, even a monster like that…it hurt worst.

Then what I’d thought was a grass-spackled ridge rose, shaking off mud, brush and parasitic muthra . Phlegethon had just…appeared.

That thing made Gehenna look small. The rest of were puppies next to him.

I've never seen a bigger Werewolf in my whole life; not just big, but wrong. He hated everything , I could feel it permeate the air with his stench. Dire Wolf’s malice poured from him.

Thorned bramble tangled in fur adorned with trophies - heads, mostly. Prey.

His own head was overlong, leering with gigantic, sunken eyes, round and wide.

Phlegethon and his god despised me for the same reasons I despised myself.

I’m not sure which was worse: the pressure of his stare, or the way some of the eyes in those trophy-skulls did the same. Swamp-water drained from slackened jaws; did one move, mouthing ‘help me’?

Every time I entered his presence I imagined ending up tied to those thorns, rotting away and hideous until I dissolved. With a sound like uprooting trees, Phlegethon’s lips had split open; didn’t dare look at those teeth.

Didn’t wanna see the things caught moaning between them. Didn’t want to see myself there.

Lord of the Bog reveled and soaked in his realm. Saturated like a toad. Filthy . The worst kind of blasphemy.

The gargling malevolence in his voice still stings my ears. Like superheated molasses poured on my head.

He’d spoken to me.

I can’t think about it raw…can’t talk about it to anyone.

I stabbed my pen to the soggy paper…a distance there that let me put it to words without the horror of vocalizing it.

Incident Report (cont.): Extraneous conversation redacted. At [01:39] Phlegethon issued a command in direct violation of 787.01 of Florida Statutes [Kidnapping] concerning two individuals he claimed as initiates into the Hounds of Dis: Larissa Citlali, (female, age 22) and John Ivan (male, age 29). Both had been picked up by Collier County Police and transported to Physicians Regional Medical Center in Naples.

I inquired as to the reason two Uratha needed emergency medical care; Phlegethon answered they’d been injured in combat with a Forsaken refugee from Miami.

Possible suspects: (alias) “Vairakhna”; Yusuf Mizrah; Arcturo Perez…irrelevant].

When I asked what Phlegethon intended for them he met me with physical rebuke; another count of aggravated assault and battery against an officer .

At [01:47] I left the Shadow, instructed to return with John and Larissa by sundown (approximately 20:10) of this day. Heavy rainfall hindered navigation through the Everglades; my clothes got totally fucked.

At [02:26] Dade County highway patrolman Juan Cuzco picked me up and offered me a ride; I utilized advanced deception techniques to deflect his questions and protect the Veil. Cuzco is an idiot. If he knew what goes on out here he’d get himself and many others killed.

I entered my apartment at [03:05] and proceeded to freshen up, replace my sheepskin.

What that really meant was that I had thrown away the remains of my Concetto Limon Cuban shirt, Pavlo Mariatti slacks and my Oskar Tenebra custom leather shoes, a $1,440 outfit destroyed by this life.

I’d crawled into the shower, turned it hot as it would go; the steam rose from my skin like the wafting stench clinging to me from the swamp. Swallowed down a few Xanax with a glass of port…waited, and…there.

I couldn’t confront the humiliation of submission; the after-toxins of fear in my blood; traumatic encounters with filth, clinging to me like raw sewage. Not yet, so I abjured myself behind a chemical smokescreen, turned my phone off, and got going.

Incident Report (cont.): I performed the necessary preparations for the Hunt, affixing an Asset from the Goreflight-Princess to the Police Officer uniform I wore in the days before my promotion to Police Detective.

The Asset in question justifies and protects my own egregious violations of state and federal law in the name of Veil-preservation; its effect maintained until moonset. At [04:13] I set out to take State Highway 75 to Physicians Regional Medical Center; the trip was uneventful and I arrived in the parking lot at [06:09]. After making the appropriate sacrifice to activate the Asset, I unfolded a parking ticket (paid of course) from my glove box and wrote ‘Warrant for Transfer: John Ivan and Larissa Citlali’ in black pen at the top. This early in the morning, given its locale, there was a non-insignificant crowd of elderly patients in the waiting room awaiting treatment for the wet season’s heat-flu (grandmother Sun’s assertion not mine).

Proceeding to the service desk against the patients’ protest I presented my ‘warrant’ and the Asset for them to examine as necessary. This is normally a procedure that travels up administrative ranks due to the often extraordinary nature of transfer requests for dangerous ICU patients. At [06:57] John Ivan and Larissa Citlali were brought to me with transfer papers that I certified with false information, taking them into my custody. Given the particular nature of the Asset’s effect on the mind and their incapacitation, I was required to wheel them out into the parking lot and load them into the back of my car myself.

Anticipating a likely struggle I had covered all my upholstery in plastic wrap, a time-consuming but worthwhile process as both John and Larissa began to struggle; the extent of their injuries, however, left them in little condition to resist and application of mandibular pressure to their jugulars left them in a compliant condition.

I am guilty of multiple counts of felony violation of 787.01 of Florida Statutes [Kidnapping] . In this case Statute 776.07 defining acceptable use of force to prevent escape does not apply because of violation of the aforementioned statute.

I returned to the Everglades at the place where the Duthrows had dropped me off at [08:48] and was met by (alias) “Moloch”, Tasha Hart and (alias) “Chemosh”. They removed Larissa and John from my vehicle and instructed me to follow. Following them into the Shadow, they took me to a large conceptual sinkhole in the middle of the Netherglade topology. It was a place of decay, where rot and millions of years of STENCH coalesced…where the laws of the Shadow were thinner, and Dire Wolf would gaze from afar.

Here was where members of the Marisma Sud Pure Confederation had gathered.

Among those present who did not participate openly or are abettors in what happened in the sinkhole are listed as follows:

Anais Quertovera (Slave Catcher Affiliation), female, age 23

Amita Hart (Sisters of the Concrete Heart Affiliation), female, age 18

(alias) "Bone-Eater" Lola Hart (Sisters of the Concrete Heart Affiliation)

(alias) "Dustpelt" (Sisters of the Concrete Heart Affiliation), female, age unknown

(alias) "Last-Laugh" (Slave Catchers Affiliation), sex unknown, age unknown

(alias) "Night's-Call-to-Arms" Kemall Tan (Slave Catchers Affiliation), male, age 41

Qiang Sun [Reporting Officer] (No Affiliation), male, age [REDACTED]

Samson Delanie [Slave Catcher Affiliation], male, age 49.

Among those present who participated openly in what happened in the sinkhole are listed as follows:

(alias) “Acheron” Calvin Montes (Hounds of Dis Affiliation), male, age 50s

(alias) “Carceri” (Hounds of Dis Affiliation), female, age unknown

(alias) “Chemosh” Valentin Luka (Disciples of Ajukh Affiliation), male, age unknown, (alias)

“Gebehl” Orin Kalverdt (Disciples of Ajukh Affiliation), age 37; (alias) Gehenna (Hounds of Dis Affiliation), sex non-identifying, age unknown

(alias) “Moloch” (Disciples of Ajukh Affiliation), sex unknown, age unknown

(alias) “Phlegethon” (Hounds of Dis Affiliation), male, age unknown;

Tasha (alias) “Tears-for-Blood” Hart (Sisters of the Concrete Heart Affiliation), female, age 29.

John Ivan and Larissa Citlali were roused and questioned for failure to bring in one Yusuf Mizrah (Former Instrument of Aggression Affiliation male, age 27) for unspecified offenses against the gathered Pure; most likely combat related incidents during the period of interpack conflict between November 12th 201X (-1) and June 29th 201X.

Ivan’s testimony was mostly unclear due to extensive damage to the mandible and skull area; at four different points (alias) “Carceri” utilized what appeared to be dried human bladders filled with an unidentified, extremely high pH fluid to inflict chemical burns on Ivan’s face and shoulders, which is felony coercion and aggravated assault and battery . Larissa’s testimony was clearer, although interrupted by prolonged periods of one-sided conflict with (alias) “Chemosh”, Tasha Hart, and (alias) “Gebehl”, constituting more counts of aggravated assault and battery .

I lost track. Can’t remember it all…it was horrible.

I’d seen some messed up things, most of which were real.

Standing soaked to the bone in the Netherglades, surrounded by jeering, howling fanatics covered in mud and scars and filth? Watching them torture a broken man, a girl barely in her 20s…it’d had been almost as bad as the Long Night.

John had put up a fight in the end at least, brave idiot, but Carceri’s burning nails ripped his face wide open again, casting it all over the Shadow. He fell back and just screamed, his flesh hanging off in cooked strips from tree branches.

What they did to the girl was worse.

She kept begging for mercy, looking to her tribemates to help her - she even looked desperately to me but nobody came to her aid. I should have…fucking coward I am.

I couldn’t watch when they pinned her down and started paring flesh from her back. They’d flayed her down to the ribs by the time she was finished. She was babbled and sobbed about how the Blood Talon had beaten her with ‘heretic Gifts’ and ‘moon-frenzy’.

Apparently he’d gutted her after she was down, pulled her bowels out as part of some victory ceremony. Mizrah had himself a rep for really hating the Pure, kin-killing…no wonder she was holding her belly, trying to keep her guts from spilling into the mud…couldn’t defend her face.

That part I didn’t write down. I just couldn’t even give it shape.

Incident Report (cont.): After testimony was coerced out of Ivan and Citlali, (alias) “Phlegethon” and (alias) “Carceri” expressed their displeasure. They extended a warning to the gathered pertaining to penalties for violating Predator King Hunting norms.

(alias) “Phlegethon” commited felony murder in the first degree by using his teeth to exscind Ivan’s midsection from the torso down; he died from massive trauma and exsanguination at approximately [10:15]. (alias) “Acheron” Calvin Montes invoked an ephemeral entity and bound it into Citlali against her will; while this does not violate any known Florida state or federal statutes it is nonetheless an offense .

Those present proceeded to engage in The Hunt in the Netherglades, while (alias) “Carceri” left me with instructions to gather Ivan’s remains together and dispose of them in the marsh. I did so, and proceeded to leave the Shadow and the Everglades to return to Miami proper and compose this report.

The following is all true, witnessed and experienced by MPD Police Detective I Qiang Sun [ Reporting Officer ].

By the time I inscribe my signature down at the bottom of the sixth page the paper is starting to tear from the humidity, and the ink is beginning to run. It’s still legible for now, but that is likely to change when the paper dries. Funny…thoughts come clearly, one after the other without interruption of fancy; everything feels unembellished, simple. Reality slides against me like uncooked chicken skin. My emotions are uncomplicated, more singular and pure.

I look up and outward at the flooded, dark streets, and feel a familiar shame that was out of place in the face of what I’d seen, what I’d done. Anyone who’s an addict knows it; you’re lying in your bed, high as hell, and you’re thinking about how you’ve spent another night, another wad of money for a feeling . You think to yourself ‘tomorrow is gonna be different…I’m going to just be sober all day’ and the moment you wake up?

You’re already feeling it; the clarity, the intensity of the moment and you’re reaching for the pill bottle, the needle, the bong, or fixing a stiff drink…but I don’t care about the fact that I do drugs. I’m a Werewolf, my body metabolizes its way through the physical drawbacks, and it’s entirely mine to abuse. My mind’s a different story of course, but I slam it against the wall of my skull all the same.

‘Ain’t no moonstruck-fuck or cave-monster gonna order me around’ . Sonya’s words, mirroring my own, echo in my head.

She’s right of course, I’m a tool. Not even a fuckin’ cop with Phlegethon, I’m a barely tolerated cleaner. An enforcer. A catcher. What happened to John Ivan and Larissa Citlali…they’d have given us all away to the Humans eventually; I tell myself these things but these words are empty now, like the space behind my forehead which should be tingling pleasantly at this moment.

I walk for a long time. It’s still dark when I get back home, and when I lock my useless locks, throw away my ruined clothes and sit bathed in purple before the synthwave playing silently on my TV, I pick up an orange pill bottle. Percocets…it’s obscenely easy to get my hands on them, and I sometimes pop the opioid like candy. I shake a trio of the scentless little white circles into my hand and stare at them. It looks like Minny didn’t steal anything after DMT-jacking me, so there’s that. I start to lift the pills to my lips.

“...no,” I whisper. “I don’t need these,” I resolve and throw them on the table, where they skitter and scatter alarmingly between glasses but there they remain. I’m on duty later tonight, it’s plenty of time to try and sleep like a normal person and after what has happened in the last twenty four hours I believe I can just close my eyes and let sleep take me.

I step into my walk-in, sumptuous Perun and Hundsley shower and stand under the hot water. I close my eyes, clear my mind, and take a few calming breaths…here, in this peaceful, safe place, I can think about whatever I want, and so I let my mind wander and naturally it falls upon fangs the length of my forearm digging Ivan’s entire torso outward in a gurgling, dying blossom; a many-eyed, many-mouthed thing screaming its many names as it forces its way behind Larissa’s weeping eyes;

dirt

mud

blood

filth

bile

gore

bugs

sand

slime

IF I HAVE TO KEEP BEING THIS WAY I’M GOING TO EAT A FUCKING BULLET!!!

I leave the shower still running and the Percs crunch between my teeth, bitter and awful and disintegrating when they reach my stomach; the furnace of my being expands outward into a blanket that warms me so I don’t even notice that I’m wet and shivering in my air-conditioned apartment…and just like that I’m safe. I’m normal again - ok, I’m high, and I’m already in the process of packing a bowl to feel more ‘normal’ but it’s much better than before and I’m able to finish my shower.

When my apartment is stinking of pungent marijuana and low, rolling electronica is playing across the speakers strategically placed throughout the rooms, I’m securely in my bed. It’s just me now, nobody else rolling around in it with me although I can smell those who have been here before…their conditioner, their perfume, their oils and emissions. The memories filter pleasantly, safely through my clouded mind as I cloister myself in my Thousand-Thread Qahira-Marque bedsheets and Channtois comforter in its periwinkle Arthur Buckley and Brandenberg silk duvet.

I’m a beautiful, secure, pleasantly dissociated Asian-American man-caterpillar in my soft blue chrysalis, and I can slumber for a few hours at least. When I emerge, I’ll be a sleek, sexy predator, Hunting and Culling as I see fit with my shiny badge, my gun, and my Shadow-Acumen…not just a tool. I feel my mind drifting off to - -TAK…TAK TAK TAK-

My eyes snap open, adrenaline floods my veins as the sound reminds me of the time I was sleeping over at my aunt’s house and someone broke in to steal her TV. I’m on my feet, going for the handgun in my drawer and chiding myself just as fast…no need. My feet slither into strategically placed Tucci-Masieux Belgian slippers and I stalk, naked, to where I hear it - there it is again! -TAK…TAK TAK TAK-

When I reach my living room I see it…standing on my balcony overlooking the courtyard. A Sandhill Crane. This isn’t the first one I’ve caught chilling on my balcony but I’ve never seen them knock on my window at night, or follow me with their eyes. It’s big, but I’m not afraid of a bird so I put on my JiangTech silk bathrobe and approach the sliding glass door, opening it cautiously to tell the bird to buzz off. To my surprise it simply stalks past me, into my den, as if it owned the place, fluttering its wings to stand on my coffee table (scattering my pills!) before facing me.

In here, with the streetlights reflecting in its eyes, I recognize the consciousness riding it almost immediately. The crane’s eyes are a sickly yellow, moving like whirling, feverish plasma. I feel Carceri’s mind reach out through the crane against mine, and it dwarfs my own…even now, effectively puppeteering this animal, I know she could reduce me to a weeping, submissive wreck with her power. At the intersection of our psyches I feel her sneering at me, at my altered state, my comfortable apartment. My fear.

[You performed quickly, Moon-Slave,] I feel in my mind, echoing through my skull and rattling my teeth, giving me cause to involuntarily wince, to boil inside. Slave.

Forsaken.

I never took the Oath or went through initiation but she doesn’t see the difference, just a heretic who didn’t have their moon-brands seared off.

[Your loyalty is not in question, so much as your worth], the Fire Touched shamaness continues, the crackling drone of her mind-speak like a swarm of bees buzzing in a burning apiary. [When your Bitch-Mother rises you will Hunt for me again.]

“I can’t ,” comes the protest from my throat…it sounds weak, feels pathetic getting orders from a fucking bird. “Your demands are endangering my job, I can’t just go abandoning cases when you need someone to hunt down your rejects.” Even this feeble protest feels like I’m walking a dangerous line.

[Your reticence is endangering your life…or, without your vices and substances - your little symbols of dominance over the Herd - you don’t even value it?]

The worst part about it is she doesn’t even sound cruel. Cruelty isn’t the point, Carceri is a true believer and in part she’s right . “You don’t care about that,” I lie - I know she cares, it’s part of what makes her Fire Touched, “you and Phlegethon keep me around cuz I can get the Herd off your back, move where you can’t. That can change, though, if I, you know, get fired .” I immediately regret bringing the word ‘fire’ up around her.

[And how fortuitous that would be! I know your thoughts, I can see them through the murk in your cortex, Sun. You’re riven in twain as so many of us are…spirit and flesh. Wolf and man. In your case, lost little cub, you tear and gnash at your human tethers, even as you perform and rut for their pleasure. When you are finally rutted dry and decide to break your fetters, then you’ll see how your Hunts have worth.] The sandhill crane has barely moved in all this time, feathers finally rippling along its back and neck, like its animal mind was kicking to take control. [ I have a soft place in my heart for broken, misguided things like you, and so I advocate to Great Phlegethon on your behalf…ensure you either keep your job as a police dog, or when you lose it, come to me and bare your back. You are unworthy of Purity, but perhaps there is a place for you as one of my catamites.]

Never. I don’t let the disgust and horror show on my face; she can feel it anyway. That was the lowest existence a Werewolf could subject themselves to; turned into a mating toy for a greater monster…I’d sooner end this illusory life.

“Why are you here? Sun’s coming up, it’s time for us to be sleeping.” [My work never ends, not even with Helios’ rise. No, Moon-Slave, you are called upon to Hunt again tonight.]

Great. I’d probably have to claw down one of their fucking failures again. “Alright, who got beat up this time?”

[Nothing so easy. You may have to call on those heretic gifts of yours this time, you saw what happened to…well.] John, Larissa, their names will never be spoken again by their tribe. I start to put two and two together, figure out the quarry she had in mind.

“Oh no.” [Oh yes. You will find, you will capture, and you will bring me the Blood Talon Yusuf Mizrah…and I will see to it, personally, that you are given the recognition and treatment you deserve.]

I immediately knew to be suspicious about the word ‘deserve’, and the crane holding Carceri’s poisonous consciousness simply walked past me, back to my porch without ceremony. It spread its wings - I could see the edges of where its feathers were starting to sear and smoke. [Your Wolfblood. She is a sour, surly type. Keep her leashed and away from the Everglades, or her fate will be a familiar one.]

Threats usually don’t mean shit to me.

But I know for certain it isn’t a threat; it’s a promise to go after the last few people I have in my life…like grandma. Her normally rapacious expression twisted in terror, ringed in flames, flashes behind my eyes.

The bird disappears into the storm. I stand there, shivering despite the summer heat.

I close the door.

I sit down heavily on my couch.

“Nnnh shit.”

#werewolf #chronicles of darkness #werewolf fiction #werewolf the forsaken #original characters #my characters #ocs #oc stuff #werewolf police #american psycho #pretty boy

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amlc08 · 1 year ago

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recursos para el habito de higiene

Libros- cuentos:

“El baño de Elmer”

Mckee, David (1996). El baño de Elmer. Fondo de cultura económica.

el popular elefante de colores brillantes llamado Elmer se enfrenta a un problema común: ¡no quiere bañarse! A pesar de que sus amigos del bosque le instan a mantenerse limpio, Elmer prefiere divertirse y evitar el agua. Sin embargo, cuando finalmente acepta tomar un baño, descubre lo refrescante y agradable que puede ser. Elmer aprende que la higiene personal no solo es importante, sino también divertida, y se une a sus amigos para disfrutar de un baño refrescante juntos.

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“El ratón Perez”

, (2021). Cuento del ratoncito Perez. Beascoa.

Un ratón llamado Pérez vive en el hogar de los niños. Cuando un niño pierde un diente de leche, lo coloca debajo de su almohada y espera la visita del Ratón Pérez, quien intercambia el diente por una moneda. Aunque la historia principal gira en torno a la pérdida de los dientes de leche, el cuento también enseña la importancia de cuidar los dientes al incentivar a los niños a mantenerlos limpios y saludables para que el Ratón Pérez los encuentre en buen estado.

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“La princesa va al dentista”

Kiselova Savrasova, Valeria (2017). La princesa va al dentista. .

La princesa Mordisquitos adora comer dulces y no presta mucha atención a su higiene dental. Sus dientes comienzan a dolerle, y su madre, la reina, decide llevarla al dentista para que le arreglen los dientes. La princesa descubre la importancia de cepillarse los dientes correctamente y de visitar al dentista regularmente. A través de divertidas aventuras en la consulta del dentista, la princesa aprende valiosas lecciones sobre cuidado dental y hábitos saludables.

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“Splash: mimos para bañarse”

Ruiz Jhonson, Mariana (2020). Splash. Combel.

A través de sus páginas, los niños encontrarán historias cortas y entretenidas acompañadas de divertidas ilustraciones que los invitan a sumergirse en el mundo del agua y la higiene personal, es una herramienta útil para los padres puedan del baño un momento especial y relajante para sus hijos. Contiene ideas creativas para convertir el baño en una experiencia sensorial, desde juegos con juguetes acuáticos hasta canciones divertidas para cantar mientras se lavan. Además de promover la higiene personal, el libro fomenta el vínculo entre padres e hijos a través de actividades compartidas y momentos de diversión juntos.

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“El orinal de Rita”

Ámala, Cia (2014). El orinal de Rita. Beascoa.

En el libro, seguimos a Rita, una niña pequeña que está aprendiendo a usar el orinal. Al principio, Rita no está muy segura de qué hacer con el orinal y se siente un poco nerviosa. Pero con la ayuda de su familia y su entorno, Rita comienza a sentirse más cómoda con la idea. A través de divertidas ilustraciones y situaciones cotidianas, el libro muestra cómo Rita supera sus miedos y aprende a usar el orinal de una manera positiva y divertida.

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“Adiós señora caca”

Gois, Christy (2023). Adiós señora caca. .

En la historia, conocemos a una niña que está aprendiendo a dejar el pañal y usar el inodoro. Sin embargo, se siente incómodo y asustado por la presencia de la "Señora Caca", un personaje imaginario que le provoca miedo y vergüenza. Con la ayuda de su familia aprende a superar sus temores y a sentirse más seguro o en el proceso de aprender a usar el inodoro

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“Brush, brush, brush”

Scholastic, Inc (2010). Brush, brush, brush. Bookie toddler.

El libro enseña a los niños la importancia de cepillarse los dientes después de cada comida y antes de ir a dormir. Las ilustraciones coloridas y alegres complementan la narrativa, haciendo que el proceso de cepillado de dientes sea una actividad divertida y agradable para los niños

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“Lia deja el pañal”

Estape, Anna (2022). Lia deja el pañal. B de bloom.

Lía, una niña que está aprendiendo a dejar el pañal. A través de la historia, Lía experimenta diferentes emociones y desafíos mientras enfrenta este proceso de cambio. Con la ayuda de su familia y su entorno, Lía aprende a sentirse más segura y confiada a medida que avanza en su camino hacia la independencia en el uso del baño

Recursos varios:

Títeres de dedo

Son un buen recurso para familiarizar el habito de la higiene a través de divertidas historias de los títeres el habito de la higiene

Canciones:

las manos a lavar- gallina pintadita

- La, la, la, las manos a lavarA lavarLa, la, la, las manos a lavarA lavarPara tomar un panLas manitas, a lavar, ¡eh!Antes de comer el lunchLas manitas, a lavarSi fuiste al baño, entoncesLas manitas, a lavarSi pisaste algo sucio, ¡guácalaLas manitas, a lavarA lavar las manos (chic, chic, chic)A lavar las manos (chic, chic, chic)La, la, la, la, la, la, laLas manos a lavarLa, la, la, las manos a lavarA lavarLa, la, la, las manos a lavarA lavarAl llegar de un paseo, si fuiste al bañoSi tomaste el autobús, si jugaste en el piso

Espuma, espuma, y manos a lavar

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Pin Pon es un muñeco

Pin Pon es un muñeco muy guapo y de cartónSe lava las manitas con agua y con jabónSe desenreda el pelo con peine de marfilY aunque se de estirones, no llora ni hace asíPin Pon dame la mano con un fuerte apretónQue quiero ser tu amigo, Pin Pon, Pin Pon, Pin PonPin Pon toma su sopa, no ensucia el delantalPues come con cuidado como un buen colegialApenas las estrellas comienzan a brillarPin Pon se va a la cama y se acuesta a descansarPin Pon dame la mano con un fuerte apretónQue quiero ser tu amigo, Pin Pon, Pin Pon, Pin PonPin Pon es un muñeco muy guapo y de cartónSe lava las manitas con agua y con jabón

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De esta forma- canciones infantiles - super simple español De esta forma me lavo la carame lavo la cara, me lavo la caraDe esta forma me lavo la caraTemprano en la mañana Me lavo, me lavo, me lavo, me lavoMe lavo, me lavo, me lavo De esta forma me peino el cabellome peino el pelo, me peino el cabelloDe esta forma me peino el cabelloTemprano en la mañana Me peino, me peino, me peino, me peinoMe peino, me peino, me peino De esta forma cepillo mis dientesCepillo mis dientes, cepillo mis dientesDe esta forma cepillo mis dientesTemprano en la mañana Cepillo, cepillo, cepillo, cepilloCepillo, cepillo, cepillo De esta forma me pongo la ropame pongo la ropa, me pongo la ropaDe esta forma me pongo la ropaTemprano en la mañana De esta forma me voy a la escuelame voy a la escuela, me voy a la escuelaDe esta forma me voy a la escuela

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El duende peste- mininanaisTienes que tener cuidadosi no te aseas demasiadosi vas al baño y no te has limpiado bienal Duende Peste habrás llamado. No te lo tomes a malque a mi también me ha pasadosi hay un aroma gravitacional que te acompaña a todos ladosno te preocupes porque hay solución. Quítate esa Peste de encimadate una ducha que alucinasy al duende aléjalo… Dile: ‘bye-bye, adiós’ A veces le huele el alientola suciedad es su alimentosi los dientes no te has limpiado bienal Duende Peste le tendrás contento. Si has sudado y no te has cambiadosi tus Calcetines te han abandonadosi pasan a tu lado y se tapan la narizel Duende Peste ya se coló en ti.No te preocupes porque hay solución. Quítate esa peste de encimadate una ducha que alucinasy al duende aléjalo… Dile: ‘bye-bye, adiós’ Para ser feliz y estar sanolava tus pies y lava tus manos.Si te limpias tú solitoseguro que te sientes mejor. Quítate esa peste de encima, date una ducha que alucinas y al duende aléjalo… Dile: ‘bye-bye, adiós

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A cepillarse los dientes - pinkfong- hábitos saludables

Cepillo! ¡Listo! ¡Pasta! ¡Lista!

¡Cepillando!¡Un, dos, tres, cuatro! ¡Ce-ce-ce-cepíllate! Arriba, abajo, dando vueltas.Hazlo siempre después de comer.¡Así! ¡Ce-ce-ce-cepíllate!A la izquierda, a la derecha.Y limpia tu lengua así.¡Qué fresca! ¡Ce-ce-ce-cepíllate! Arriba, abajo, dando vueltas.Hazlo siempre antes de dormir.¡Así! ¡Ce-ce-ce-cepíllate! A la izquierda, a la derecha.Enjuaga con agua así. ¡Qué limpia! La la la la la.La la la la la.Te ayudamos a cepillar.¡Sí! La la la la la.La la la la la.Blancos, limpios y brillantes. ¡Sonríe! ¡Ce-ce-ce-cepíllate!Cada día, no te olvides. Los dientes hay que cepillar.

¡Fresco!

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Cepillarse los dientes para niños - elite kidsHijo, ¿te cepillaste los dientes? - No Mami- ¿Por qué mi amor? - Se me olvidó - Recuerda que: Los dientes de arriba se cepillan hacia abajo, los dientes de abajo se cepillan hacia arriba y tus muelitas debes limpiarcon movimiento circular - Mi amor, recuerda que debes cepillarte los dientes para que estén blancos y fuertes, y no les salgan caries. - Mami, tengo un diente flojo- Acuérdate que el diente que te va a salir es para toda la vida y... Los dientes de arriba se cepillan hacia abajo, los dientes de abajo se cepillan hacia arriba Çy tus muelitas debes limpiarcon movimiento circular - Hijo, ¿te cepillaste los dientes?- Sí Mami- Ah bueno, ahora a dormir.

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A brillar como el sol - plim plim

A lavarse las manos con agua y jabón a lavarse la cara, “una sonrisa es mejor”A cepillarse los dientes, chiquichiqui chichón, a jugar con la espuma y brillar como el sol.A lavarse las manos, a lavarse la cara, a cepillarse los dientes, a jugar con la espuma y brillar como el sol. Con agua y jabón, una sonrisa es mejor

Chiquichiqui chichón, a jugar con la espuma y brillar como el sol.

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De esta forma nos vestimos - canciones infantiles

De esta forma me pongo la camiseta, Me pongo la camiseta, Me pongo la camiseta.

De esta forma me pongo la camiseta, Me visto todos los días

De esta forma me pongo pantalones, Me pongo pantalones, Me pongo pantalones

De esta forma me pongo pantalones, Me visto todos los días De esta forma me abotono la camisa, Me abotono la camisa, Me abotono la camisa.

De esta forma me abotono la camisa, Me visto todos los días De esta forma me pongo calcetines.

Me pongo calcetines, Me pongo calcetines, De esta forma me pongo calcetines. Me visto todos los días De esta forma me ato los zapatos, Me ato los zapatos, Me ato los zapatos

De esta forma me ato los zapatos, Me visto todos los días De esta forma me cierro la chaqueta, Me cierro la chaqueta, Me cierro la chaqueta

De esta forma me cierro la chaquetaMe visto todos los días.

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