Meme Doc P.H.D
Mayfair Vol 1 #0: Song of the Eye
A vampire lusts for blood. A werewolf transforms at midnight. And ghouls, they pass through the walls. It’s easy to decode what’s the magical stuff in a fucked up world without a spellbook
I’ve spent half my life looking for them. Looking a the truth, a better purpose. When it’s overrun by everything, resorting to survival is the only key. The day my wife died after she was killed by a radioactive vampire...
Rowena: “Kole?”
Koles: “You’re done? That was quick.”
Rowena: “Here. The bones. 5 today.”
Koles: “Not bad for the first week. So—“
Rowena: “Do I ever get to jumpstart another training session or...”
Koles: “No, not today. Get some rest. I’ve got more to tell you tomorrow.”
It wasn’t even close to hour assigning my protege in a mission. For someone stubborn like her, she’s a fast thinker. I assumed if she didn’t cross the London Eye, she must have taken a shortcut.
I gaze towards the bar’s tables. Many years since it got ravaged in fires, devastations...lucky all gets in one piece. Next time, the damned sensors should have worked if I could hire a better techie.
Jones: “A word, Eltrocus?”
Koles: “Yes?”
Jones: “Where’s Rowie?”
Koles: “Gone to sleep. Why?”
Jones: “I thought it was time to talk about the diversion plan. We need to get him out of the slums.”
Koles: “The rich one? Not the time yet.”
Jones: “He lives down in Balham. Really shite place now.”
Koles: “I know. I’m going to check for the infestations around.” Also, if he’s a blacksmith, check him out.”
Jones: “Also with powers. Known to be crafting modpons.”
Koles: “Has a stopwatch. He’s smart to evade a vampie. Alright, get your tunkie team out. We’ve got a mission perfect for midnight....”
***
If I said there wasn’t a car, there shouldn’t be a car. The portal generator’s yet to be built so we rely on black magic. Right up with Harry Potter but more of the stoned, darker arts. You don’t really need potions to flesh out your powers, or for some sexual awakening. It’s just a chant, quiet as it can be.
Balham, a district full of filth. Real damn hellhole it is. I haven’t seen more shit like this in the last few years when I did some coverage on the news. The media outlets love to lie as if it’s the prince’s favourite spot. What fucking journalism gossiping shit is that even.
But they don’t even seem aware the sphosts love to lurk around Balham. They’re a mix of a spectre and a ghost, terrifying like the Poltergeist.
Jones: “We’ve got a couple Caspers down here. Rough but it’s gonna be a fun night. Did you bring me some tequila?”
Koles: “Here. Don’t drink the whole thing, I’m not restocking it for next month if you use it for too much firebreathing.”
Jones: “Vamps on the spot...lock, stock, set. Sniper’s there. Get em!”
I unleash the whip wrapping around the sniper waist, instantly activating it on fire while he cries in pain. Jones has another mate whack off the rifle and replaces with a garlic bullet (yes, those exist). I keep the teeth ones the fucker tried to shoot. Not long, the team wipes them out.
There goes the man running out of the terrified crowd....
And our target is none other than Callan Kingsford, royalty’s former rich boy.
***
P.S. Terms/slang meanings
-Sphost: referring to ghostly spectres. Also means a mix of both ghoul and spectre
-Tunkie: tech junkie
-Modpon: weapon model, modded
weapons
Mayfair Vol 1 #0: Song of the Eye
A vampire lusts for blood. A werewolf transforms at midnight. And ghouls, they pass through the walls. It’s easy to decode what’s the magical stuff in a fucked up world without a spellbook
I’ve spent half my life looking for them. Looking a the truth, a better purpose. When it’s overrun by everything, resorting to survival is the only key. The day my wife died after she was killed by a radioactive vampire...
Rowena: “Kole?”
Koles: “You’re done? That was quick.”
Rowena: “Here. The bones. 5 today.”
Koles: “Not bad for the first week. So—“
Rowena: “Do I ever get to jumpstart another training session or...”
Koles: “No, not today. Get some rest. I’ve got more to tell you tomorrow.”
It wasn’t even close to hour assigning my protege in a mission. For someone stubborn like her, she’s a fast thinker. I assumed if she didn’t cross the London Eye, she must have taken a shortcut.
I gaze towards the bar’s tables. Many years since it got ravaged in fires, devastations...lucky all gets in one piece. Next time, the damned sensors should have worked if I could hire a better techie.
Jones: “A word, Eltrocus?”
Koles: “Yes?”
Jones: “Where’s Rowie?”
Koles: “Gone to sleep. Why?”
Jones: “I thought it was time to talk about the diversion plan. We need to get him out of the slums.”
Koles: “The rich one? Not the time yet.”
Jones: “He lives down in Balham. Really shite place now.”
Koles: “I know. I’m going to check for the infestations around.” Also, if he’s a blacksmith, check him out.”
Jones: “Also with powers. Known to be crafting modpons.”
Koles: “Has a stopwatch. He’s smart to evade a vampie. Alright, get your tunkie team out. We’ve got a mission perfect for midnight....”
***
If I said there wasn’t a car, there shouldn’t be a car. The portal generator’s yet to be built so we rely on black magic. Right up with Harry Potter but more of the stoned, darker arts. You don’t really need potions to flesh out your powers, or for some sexual awakening. It’s just a chant, quiet as it can be.
Balham, a district full of filth. Real damn hellhole it is. I haven’t seen more shit like this in the last few years when I did some coverage on the news. The media outlets love to lie as if it’s the prince’s favourite spot. What fucking journalism gossiping shit is that even.
But they don’t even seem aware the sphosts love to lurk around Balham. They’re a mix of a spectre and a ghost, terrifying like the Poltergeist.
Jones: “We’ve got a couple Caspers down here. Rough but it’s gonna be a fun night. Did you bring me some tequila?”
Koles: “Here. Don’t drink the whole thing, I’m not restocking it for next month if you use it for too much firebreathing.”
Jones: “Vamps on the spot...lock, stock, set. Sniper’s there. Get em!”
I unleash the whip wrapping around the sniper waist, instantly activating it on fire while he cries in pain. Jones has another mate whack off the rifle and replaces with a garlic bullet (yes, those exist). I keep the teeth ones the fucker tried to shoot. Not long, the team wipes them out.
There goes the man running out of the terrified crowd....
And our target is none other than Callan Kingsford, royalty’s former rich boy.
***
P.S. Terms/slang meanings
-Sphost: referring to ghostly spectres. Also means a mix of both ghoul and spectre
-Tunkie: tech junkie
-Modpon: weapon model, modded
weapons