Two more bloodbaths.

It is interesting how life never seems to wish to go the route you choose for it. One can make plans, and those plans can be very good, solid plans, but in the end, they will still be held at the mercy of fate. The Americans are very fond of inventing technological fixes to things. I wonder if anyone is working on a machine that will divulge all the mysteries of fate? It would be the height of convenience, for certain.

One of the reasons I chose to attend school in this country was because I thought this was a safer country than Pakistan. And I suppose it is, in a way, so I do not think I was wrong in that regard. But even in safe countries, there is still a chance you can get caught up in a terrorist attack on a train. There are violent people everywhere.

These are very philosophical thoughts, I am aware. I believe it was our coming back to our home of so many years in Boulder that triggered them. It just seemed so strange. Only a short time ago, we were in a hidden basement of a rundown shack in the desert, battling a crazed woman with a Japanese longarm because she did not want us to rescue her sister from a device that is more at place in a Star Trek movie than in real life. We found strange machines, strange passageways that led to nowhere, strange metals, and discovered that our adversaries had the power of instantaneous teleportation by way of these metals.

And then we went home.

The contrast is enough to make one go mad. And perhaps we would have, if that old adage coined by Mr. Wolfe wasn’t true. What was it? Ah, yes: “You can’t go home again.” It is a peculiarity of life that one can find some small degree of comfort in finding armed Mormon terrorists ransacking your kidnapped friend’s dresser to bring her clothes to her, then battling them to the death right beside her beautifully made bed. I believe the colloquial term for it these days is, ‘the new normal’.

There was a woman in the bathroom during this fight, one of similar power to the lady with the naginata. I know not exactly the method these men use to convert each other, but it does seem to create very strong female counterparts. After taking a powerful hit with her pistol, Clyde resorted to burying her under Angie’s bed and having all the men sit on it. I added the dresser once my head cleared enough to think, and Liam somehow managed to bind her hands so she could not teleport or access her weapon again. Thankfully, she did decide to give up. I was worried that she wouldn’t, and that I would have had to continuously shock her with my taser to make her stop.

Sometimes the new normal can seem very strange, I suppose.

CTU took a long time in getting the police to come take her into custody. I was able to practice my medical training in repairing Clyde’s rather rough state of being. I may need to change the comforter on my bed. When the police did finally come, we stalled them even more by verifying their identity. It may have been caution, but I believe we also were simply annoyed by the slow response time and felt like being a bit petty. We were all very tired. Perhaps it was immature, but at least was an immaturity justified by the line of work.

We had another lead at that point, but professional judgment about our mental state kept us from investigating immediately that night. The large woman we crushed under the bed told us her men were heading to Angie’s church, an old gothic style cathedral with a mostly Hispanic congregation. I may be telling myself this as a justification for doing something wrong, but I believe that had we gone to this church and taken part in the ensuing gun fight in our state of physical and mental exhaustion, things might have turned out even worse than they did.

I suppose the only surprising part about what happened in this church was that Angie had actually been there. The Mormons who kidnapped her brought her along in an attempt to convince the priest there to join their cult, the logic being that if he converted, Angie would no longer have any shred of doubt in her about becoming Kody’s bride and their icon. So from my point of view, there were only two possible outcomes: that the priest would convert, or that there would be another bloodbath. The police arrived on scene before the former could happen, so you may infer which outcome was true.

Thankfully, the priest was left unharmed (physically, at least), and so we managed to console him and get him to a safe location. All that was left was to finish up the work the police had not done at the crime scene and collect evidence. Once again, we discovered many things, but most are still cryptic. A journal written in Korean? Burn marks shaped like all-seeing eyes? The fact that the badges are made out of the teleportation metal? I know of no way to connect these things right now.

And so we went back home and had some coffee, awaiting our next destination: a public colloquium by our dear friend Kody, which he has been advertising with flyers for the past several weeks. I expect there will be more gunfire, and more people will die.

I may just pop the Legend of Zelda into the old NES in the living room and see how far I can get before the big show.


Cool. Now we all pretty much have our own slants on storytelling. Hurrah!

Two more bloodbaths.

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