Lay of the Land: Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute

 "Sanitarium, just leave me alone..."

Grand Meadow? Well, yeah, I brought it up, but why would ya wanna know about the place? I guess, the place is just creepy. It has too much history and there're too many stories up North Side involving it. Ya sure ya want all this background, its kind of a lot? Alright, it's on ya then.

Not Even a Twinkle in the Eye
So back before UC was even a consideration, the most ya could find out this way was some plains, a river, and a whole mess of angry natives. The Otoe counted the area north of North Side as their lands, but avoided the space around where Grand Meadow is. "Ancient burial grounds"? Nah, or if it is, it wasn't their burial grounds. Ya'd have to track down a scholar in that sort of thing. All I ever heard was talk of mounds that they didn't go near.

Europeans came through earlier but it wasn't until the 1790s that any of them settled near Union City. A few outposts and river crossings sprung up, and that's what brought James Teesdale here. Rumors follow the rich and powerful and by all accounts, he was both. A supposed occultist, Teesdale built a mansion or hunting lodge, local history isn't exactly clear on it, not far from the river, close to the Otoe's mounds, despite all of their warnings to the contrary. So it isn't real surprising that the house burned to the ground in 1812. No one knows what started the fire, but only his eldest son escaped it, with both his wife and daughter away at the time.

The Teesdale homestead sat there untouched for almost 40 years, before it was purchased by a preacher man, Reverend Benjamin Bodycombe. Like Joseph Smith, he claimed visions led him to the place and he started a commune to practice his branch of Protestantism. History says it was all communal wives and vegetarianism. Sounds like a real party. Union City officially became a city not long after that, and Bodycombe's people weren't too popular with the townsfolk. Within a couple of years, they cut all ties and communication with UC. That's when it gets tragic. See, summer of 1857, Reverend Bodycombe and almost all of his followers committed mass suicide. The Reverend himself swallowed the barrel of a rifle. Only two little girls were found alive, but they didn't live much longer.

Foundation and Early Days
Yeah, ya think there's some rocky stuff back then, hold on. The land went up for auction, and a doctor from the East Coast, Ignatius Hopper, bought it. For a dollar. Ya can still find the submission of the plans for a sanitarium to be built there, using something called the "Kirkbride Plan." No idea what that actually means. Sounds fancy. Meadow Sanitarium, as it was called back then, was complete in 1862. We weren't a state during the Civil War but the fighting sometimes spilled over this way, and the government made use of the place as a military hospital. It wasn't until 1866 that Hopper was back in charge. He was as much a businessman as he was a doctor, and he pulled big money from back east to add to the sanitarium's grounds, building a bunch of extra housing units. They're still there, Hampden House, and all of that. If ya ever end up there, ya can see them.

Running a sanitarium must take a lot out of a guy 'cause Dr Hopper took a year long sabbatical in 1870, putting Dr Albert Cave in charge of the place until his return in 1871. Newspapers from back then have picture of the good doctor looking like he aged ten years in the space of one. Anyway, during Cave's tenure as Deputy Director, the sanitarium begins specializing in clinical insanity ahead of anything else. He's also the first to institute, see what I did there? a tier program for rich patients to get amazing care while the poor and wretched were often neglected. Unfortunately for him, he was trampled to death by a horse in 1881. Dr Edward Brake was tapped to be his replacement.

Brake became the Director when Hopper died in 1898, and one of his first acts was to have a statue of Hopper sculpted. Last time I was there, I swear the statue was watching me. What? No, I was visiting, not a resident. I'm not that crazy, yet.

Brave New Century
Things went great, I assume, until they didn't. Ya probably heard about the 1906 riot? No? It made national headlines back then. A handful of abused patients started an uprising in the East Wing of the sanitarium, killing three people and then setting a fire which killed another 130 or so.

Brake was the "turn a frown upside down" type of guy, and took the opportunity to improve the facilities. He had the burnt out wing demolished so that a newer, more modern one could be built. Rumor is that he connected the basements of the East Wing to the tunnels that already existed under the grounds, but I've never met anyone brave enough to check it out.

In 1908, two of Brake's staff were charged with negligence that led to the patient deaths from the fire. It was argued that by leaving the mentally ill strapped to beds, they had no way to save themselves. Justice was a fickle thing back then, however, and the staffers were acquitted of all charges.

1917 saw the death of Dr Brake by hanging suicide in his East Wing office. His successor, Donald Roe, found out that Brake had put the hospital into a poor financial position, and made plans to fix it. His plans were almost as short lived as his tenure, because he was strangled by a patient in 1920. Yeah, I know, a lot of Directors have died in the course of Grand Meadow's history. It doesn't stop there though.

The Dark Ages
The Nazis are best known for their eugenics program, but most of their ideas, they took from Americans. Of course, we got them back when German science aided us in building a-bombs and cruise missiles. Ah, so, Farnsworth Weaver became the next Director. He led a drug company back then, and wasn't a doctor himself, so he hired the now-infamous Dr Matthew Gorlay to be his head of medicine. Yeah, -that- Gorlay.

Then I probably don't have to tell you about the hundreds of patients that died from his experiments into lobotomy and sensory deprivation and extreme torture techniques. Did you know that Guantanamo Bay still uses some of the tricks he devised on terrorism suspects? That's what I've heard.

1933 was a bad year for the hospital. That's when Thomas Werner uncovered Gorlay's experiments and, over Weaver's objections, brought them to a medical ethics committee. The whole sordid affair has been made into numerous movies and I'm pretty sure a season of that murder story show. Gorlay was arrested for his medical fraud and Weaver ended up in prison for embezzlement. Of course, Gorlay committed suicide in his cell and Weaver died of stomach cancer years down the road. Thomas Werner was practically a hero back then, but no hospital administrator wanted to hire him. Probably because they had their own dirty laundry.

World Wide War
After Weaver died, the hospital went through a bit of an upheaval, since he owned the majority share of it. Werner stepped in and purchased it when no one else would, for one dollar. I know, that is a crazy coincidence.

During the war, in 1944, Werner pushed for the facility, simply Meadow Hospital, to be reopened with a focus on helping returning military men get right in the head. War is Hell and Werner recognized that many soldiers with "exhaustion," the term for PTSD back then, would need a facility that understood their mental struggles. It was a short term solution though, and the hospital only stayed open for a couple of years.

Werner received the Key to Union City back then, going into the '50s. And another award for public service. because of that, he was able to gather up enough funding to get the hospital opened back up for general use in '52.

He retired back in 1954 and the Board of Trustees, his group of investors, named Jeremiah Moorcock as the new Director. After Werner died in 1955, this guy worked the Board into returning Meadow to its old ways as a facility for the medically and criminally insane.

Moorcock reopened most of the East Wing and by '57, there weren't any more patients there for medical care. The same year, the name was changed to Grand Meadow Psychiatric Institute. Right, because it was such a place of learning, ya know? As a nod to that idea though, Moorcock built an addition to the medical center and named it after Werner, the Thomas Werner Annexe.

With the TWA dedicated to his "studies," Moorcock performed hundreds of lobotomies and electroconvulsive therapy experiments in the name of science. Yeah, electroshock. Never heard of that helping anyone, either. He kept meticulous notes that you can find if you know what books to look up. It came to a boil in '68 when he performed a lobotomy on a girl that was just tripping on acid. Her parents sued, he won, but it brought more scrutiny back to the hospital and someone eventually decided to act the role of karma in '73, when Moorcock was lobotomized by an assailant that they never found.

Ultra Modern Times
Johnathan Sendak took over after that, and did his best to clean the Institute up. Lobotomies and ECT was thrown into the trash heap as not conducive to true scientific advancement. There are still some bitter locals from back then, as Sendak fired a good portion of the staff and hired out-of-towners as replacements. He even convinced the Board of Trustees to sell a large portion of their share in Grand Meadow to a Japanese firm called Teijin in the late 70s, just ahead of the "Japanese Invasion" craze of the 80s. Teijin jumped into things on the condition that they chose the Deputy Director of the facility, and Sendak hired Dr Thomas Bateman on their recommendations.

About a year after the Teijin purchase, Sendak talked the Board into divesting themselves of their remaining interests, and the shares were split between Eisai and Mitsubishi Tanabe, two of Teijin's rival Japanese pharmaceutical manufacturers. Yeah, I'm old enough to remember the waves that caused in town, since Union City has never had a large Japanese population. Well, I'll show ya Chinatown, but that isn't the same. Sorry, I know some people think all "slant eyes" are the same. Not implying anything. Ya look like a good person.

The struggle between the companies made it harder for Grand Meadow to treat its patients, but when Bateman became the Director after Sendak's retirement, he worked hard to bring modern psychiatric techniques into the forefront of the Institute. He even made some documented breakthroughs with therapy techniques, all while dealing with ongoing pay disputes. The hospital continually lost money through the 80s, and Teijin was eventually able to buy out their competitors, even if they stopped looking at Grand Meadow as a profitable venture.

Ready for another tragic turn? In 1991, Bateman murdered his assistant and ran off with as much money from the hospital as he could. Ironically, he claimed temporary insanity and could never explain why he did it. Almost as ironically is that he was killed in prison by a former Grand Meadow patient. After his arrest, Dr Bridget McClusky became the first female Director hired on. Hey. women can do anything. And I guess she did a good job, since Grand Meadow mostly stayed out of the news, until she stepped down in 2006. The stress of the job would get to anyone with that kind of history to deal with.

Dr Kumiko Noguchi, a stunning lady from Kyoto City and yes, I sure do like seeing her picture in the papers, runs the facility now. I still wouldn't want to be locked up in the place, and if ya ever have to visit anyone, make it a short visit, but I sure wouldn't be mad if she wanted to spend time in a padded room with me, if ya know what I mean.

Yeah, every now and then there is a big to-do about someone famous going there for treatment, and kids make up urban legends about escapees killing whole families in the park near it, but I wouldn't dwell on that too much if ya go North Side. Just, stay off the bridge across the river late at night. It's for the best.


----Jon De Luca, $5 tour guide

Just a few minutes from I-680

(From World of Darkness: Asylum)

(OON - World of Darkness: Asylum is one of the best books in my collection. Grand Meadow is a version of Bishopsgate intertwined with the history of Union City. The book version was definitely written to be placed within the original colonies, so I had to move the timeline up a hundred years to fit with real world settlements in what eventually became Nebraska, but once I got there, it was pretty easy to slide it into the narrative. It follows so many horror movie tropes and cliches that it is almost impossible not to love the idea.)

Drowning Sorrows

 "Shape shift, nose to the wind..."

Smell. It's the hardest thing for me to put into words. Take tension, for example. It has a stink to it. No, I don't mean the way people sweat when they're tense. I mean the tension in the air, the thing people describe as "thick enough to cut with a knife." I can smell the normal musky scents of my pack, sure, but there's the bitterness of the tension overlaying it, an odor kind of like the way a penny tastes. That's not exactly it, of course, since there is the tang of burning ozone as well, but you get the picture.

It's the latest rash of violence in the city that has everyone on edge. Not the normal gang violence or robberies, those tend to come and go. Arson, a mass shooting, flayed bodies dumped in a stream, that sticks out. Alex Mei, Bone Shadow and our Ithaeur, her tension smells the strongest right now. See, every time some big shit happens, it stirs up spirits in the area. Our darlin' Alex, she gets to deal with the little fish caught up in the wake. Me? I'm double dosed with badassness; Blood Talon Rahu. Give me something to fight and to kill, and I'm a happy camper. Too much dealing with spirit courts makes me twitchy.

"Look, it's close enough to our territory that we should probably check it out." Alex has finally stopped her pacing to argue the point. She does that. A lot. Pace and argue.

"Alex, 'close enough' doesn't make it OUR territory. And murders are a problem for the police." That's Kelvin Lange. Iron Master, Elodoth. He usually gets stuck playing devil's advocate, comes with the arbiter territory, but he likes to argue just as much as Alex. Knows the ins and outs of the city better than anyone. Also a complete asshole. Also the closest thing I have to a best friend.

"A random shooting is a problem for the police. Three bodies getting pulled from a stream without a strip of flesh left in the space of a month, that sounds like Pure. Suffering like that leads to Wounds. That is OUR problem." Her point is valid. Fuck the Anshega.

"Honor your territory in all things. It means 'don't go looking for problems when they're already knocking on your door,' kiddo." Okay, he's an asshole, but his point is just as valid. "Besides, nothing says the Pure are involved in any way."

"Don't fucking 'kiddo' me, Kel. I KNOW there isn't anything in the story that screams 'Pure.' That's why I want to take a look."

That brings us back to the tension. Quick poll of the rest of the room by scent and body language says Deb, that's Deborah Hutmacher, our Irraka, also Iron Master, is going to side with Kelvin. Like normal. Old Man Puck Arnold, Hunter in Darkness Cahalith, looks thoughtful, which means he can go either way, but the fucker is so quiet when he gets lost in thought, unless prodded.

"Hey, Old Man, whachu thinkin' about this?" There, prodding.

He stares blankly at the wall for a moment, probably dredging up some half-forgotten piece of lore. Puck is like that. Knows his shit, just takes a bit to find it through the random garbage.

"Could be... That Kel is right. Human killer that the police will catch sooner or later. But... It does remind me of something that happened back in the 80s..."

I look to Alex, and I know she's suppressing a groan just as much as I am. Puck isn't just the oldest member of our pack, he's one of the oldest Uratha in Union City. Between spirits, other werewolves, and uncountable things in the dark, we don't tend to lead long lives, unless we're exceptionally lucky. Or cowards, but that isn't Puck.

"The Brethren War was just starting to settle. There was an Ivory Claw... No... No, she was a Predator King. That's right. There was a Ninna Farakh that came down from the Dakotas. It was a bloody time back then, as you all know, but even our enemies had those they considered 'too extreme.'" His eyes lose focus, so I know he's pulling this information from somewhere deep and unpleasant. "She was brutal, vicious, every bit as primal as Dire Wolf. She would skin our kinfolk alive, and leave the bodies in places where we were sure to find them as a taunt, to get us to enter into Kuruth. It took an entire pack to face her in the Hisil, and only one survived to tell the tale to the rest of us..." He trails off and I know that means there is more to the story.

When he doesn't continue, I prod some more. "So she's dead?"

Puck shakes his head, slowly. "The survivor was Blood Talon, Suthar Anzuth like you, and he told us that she was defeated. I always took that to mean 'dead,' but if these murders are connected, I'm not so sure."

At that, Kelvin returned to his argumentative stance. "If this Predator King was so powerful, and still alive, why would she wait almost 30 years to kill someone in a way that would draw our attention? This isn't the Brethren War anymore; the Pure will always be a threat, but we aren't distracted like packs were back then. And if the victims were kinfolk, one of the People would surely have sounded the alarm."

Best thing about being pack alpha is that when you get tired of the arguing, you can just make a decision, one way or the other. Before I have a chance to do so, Deb pipes up.

"I agree with Kel." As Alex starts to speak, she holds her hands up in pacification. "But, we should still look into it. Alex is right as well. Anything that is stirring up the spirit courts enough to put it on her radar can't really be ignored."

Alright, time to step in. "That settles it. Kel and Deb can put some feelers out with the other packs, have them check on their kin, just in case. Me, Alex, and Puck will hit up the Keystone, track down some spirits, see what they're saying." 

Kelvin shrugs and Alex looks pleased. If only everything in life were as easy as pack politics.

*****

The Little Papillion Creek is a glorified run off stream in the north-central part of Union City that joins up with the (average sized) Papillion Creek before meeting the Missouri River south of the city. I imagine it looked peaceful and serene a couple hundred years ago. Now, it has the Keystone Trail running along its length; a concrete foot and bike path that covers more than ten miles of distance through town. Sure, it's nice, if you're a soccer mom that needs to find some "me time" or a pet owner that needs some place for their animal to shit.

We park a couple miles north from where the bodies were found. The sun is already setting but low light isn't much of a problem for us. Besides, the less people can look at us, the better.

Puck shifts into Urhan, the wolf form of Uratha, as Alex gains a little bit of hair and mass going into the near-human Dalu. As long as we're not in direct light, we could pass for a couple just out walking their dog. Maybe we should put Puck on a leash. 

His lips curl back in a snarl and I think its from reading my mind for a moment, before I realize that he's picked up the scent of something. Trotting up the path, Alex and I flank him at a slight distance, keeping careful watch of our surroundings. Half a mile later at a brisk pace and we're at a small y-intersection of the stream. Even without shifting, the smell of rot hits me in the face like a sledgehammer. It's like a skunk sprayed musk all over itself, was eaten by a coyote with stomach issues, then was shit back out and left in the sun to bake. As strong as it is, I'm surprised that I didn't smell it sooner. I... Should have. 

Sure, yeah, I'm not the swiftest on the uptake. By the time I shift into Dalu and pick up the new scent, I'm already rolling down the hilly embankment towards the creek. So much for my double dose of badassness, The massive tan wolf tumbles after me, snapping its slavering jaws toward my face. I can hear the sounds of my packmates engaging as we go down. Pushing its mouth away with one hand and clawing at its eye with the other, I get it to back off enough to stand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see wolf-Puck squaring off with a thick-built Hispanic man in flannel. Can't see her, but I hear the usual grunts and growls of a fighting Alex behind me. 

Fucking Pure. The Urshul form of Uratha looks a lot like an Ice Age dire monstrosity. This one is big, bigger than most, but not bigger than me. I feel bones and sinew pop and realign as I match forms with it. My majestic brown and gray pelt is a hunter's wet dream. I throw back my head and let loose an ear-splitting howl that clearly intimidates the tan, as it backs off and whines. My packmates pull themselves away from their own fights to join me. A quick glance around and yep, I'm the biggest badass in this.

My body tenses as we rush into the interlopers.  I see Alex's knives flash in the glow of streetlights when she does what I've affectionately referred to as "death yoga," twisting and contorting her body to strike at Puck's flannel guy. Puck, snarling, leaps at a ragged young lady in Dalu, probably not even a year past her First Change. The tan wolf comes at me like a bolt of lightening, but I'm ready for it this time and I go low, catching one of its front paws in my teeth with a sickening snap of bone. It yelps as I shake my head from side to side, trapping it like a vise. 

Puck is getting slow in his old age. The little girl has him down. I don't smell silver, and nothing is on fire, so he'll heal if he lives. I just have to make sure that happens. The Mother gives each of us gifts according to our natures, and the greatest thing She ever gave me was pure unadulterated Rage. I let the dam burst and slip into the war-form, the nightmare-inducing Gauru. It's like being paralyzed, deaf, and blind, then suddenly having the abilities of an Olympic athlete. Any bruise, scratch, or cut sustained rapidly disappears as my entire body is filled with a desire for carnage. Towering over these fucksticks, I grab the girl off of Puck by the back of her neck and hurl her a dozen feet into a tree with an almost comical crunching sound. 

It's taboo to use Gauru in pack challenges or against allies, as it's difficult to stay in control and not become a whirling engine of death towards friends, so maybe I'm reveling in this a little too much as I scoop up the injured tan wolf and slam it back down into the concrete. I can tell it wants to shift as well, but I'm not about to give it a chance. Not that I'm afraid, of course, it's just smarter to defeat an opponent before they can defeat you. 

Guess this one realizes it, too. It croaks out some words in the First Tongue, a language that we all instinctively know from the spirit half of our nature. "Silih’mamu firha!" Uh, it's rough to translate to English, but basically I take it as "fuck, I yield." It's kind of sad, actually. Usually Pure fight us until one side or the other is dead or fleeing. Returning to Hishu, my normal dashingly handsome human self, I take stock of our situation. Tree girl is still laying in the grass. Flannel guy is torn up about as bad as Puck, which isn't great but also not terrible, and fucking Alex looks like she just took a completely normal stroll through the park. The tan wolf returns to human as well, a beat to hell dishwater blonde that is as scraggly as tree girl, gulping down great lungfuls of air. 

"We didn't see any markings. We'll leave."

I stare at her, uncomprehending, adrenaline is a bitch for conversation. Alex mutters to herself and then speaks loudly enough for the rest of us to hear. "What's your Tribe, girl?"

She shakes her head. "No Tribe." Ghost Wolves. Thihirtha Numea. Forsaken, like us, not Pure, but antisocial fence-sitters where the rest of us are pack and Tribe oriented. 

Tree girl stumbles back to the rest of us. They're all just kids, really. A bunch of omegas without the brains to tell them not to attack their betters. "So what are you doing here?" Alex continues. 

Blonde girl shrugs. "We didn't see any markings so we thought this area was unclaimed territory. Just looking for a place to rest for a bit." 

Puck coughs. Calmed, or close enough to it, I take over from Alex. "It is. Unclaimed. You just picked a real bad time to squat here." We make introductions and I bring them up to speed. Climaco is flannel guy. Tanika is tree girl, and she sure is mad at me if the glare is any indication. Ella is their pack alpha, as much as they have one. Like I said, kids. 

"So that's the deal. You attacking us when we're looking out for Pure is shit luck."

"Yeah." Ella says, slowly. "We've only been here a day, but you're the first of us we've seen. The spirits are really quiet here, too, which is why we thought we could rest."

Something in that triggers Alex. She tilts her head and vanishes from view. No one else in our pack can cross the divide between the physical and spirit realms like Alex can, inside or outside of a Locus. She's our poster child for good spirit relations, even if we have to hunt them more often than anything else. 

Ella looks to her packmates and to us, but before she has a chance to ask anything, Alex reappears.

"We need to go, now!"

"What?" It's all I can get out before she is pulling me.

"Questions later. Let's go." She motions for the Ghost Wolves to follow us as well.

*****

It isn't until we're in the car and moving, and thankfully I drove my Suburban, 'cause fitting everyone in Puck's hatchback or Alex's Camry would have been impossible, when she starts dropping information.

"It's a mess." She talks to the rest of us like we've never been in the Shadow wherever spirit courts are concerned. Whatever. I'm more interested in hunting and pulling Gifts from them than being their best friend. "Puck, did your Predator King skin victims in the place where she killed them?"

He thinks for a moment. "No. If I recall correctly, they were all butchered in the Ninna Farakh's lair north of town and dropped close to Loci that we controlled."

"Okay?" I'm driving, so that's the most I can contribute at the moment.

"The bodies they pulled from the creek, they were killed there. And before you ask 'how do you know?' the Hisil is filled with pain and murder spirits, way more than I've ever seen in one place. Way more than the stream chorus native to the area. The deaths must have attracted them like shit attracts flies, or they were born from it. Either way, I'm betting they're why our new friends were in such a hurry to attack us over territory that they don't control."

The trio look pretty crestfallen. Not really their fault that they bit off more than they can chew. Failure is a good lesson though, so maybe next time, they'll do better.

"Alright, so even if it wasn't a Pure tactic, we're still stuck with someone killing people and bad mojo spirits fucking with the locals on a busy walkway." My ability to rapidly assess a situation is legendary. 

"That reminds me of the stockyard fights in the '90s..." Puck begins.

Thankfully, we're pulling into home before he can go on for too long, and it looks like Kelvin is here as well. Deb usually works nights, but we can fill her in later. We haven't even stepped into the house before Kel is launching into a diatribe from the kitchen.

"Told you they weren't kinfolk. Just skimming the police reports shows nothing to link any of the victims together and none of my contacts have heard of anyone tied to us going missing. So it's not Puck's big bad Predator King and not really our problem, like I said."

"Um, Kel." Alex clears her throat. "I hate to have to correct you, once again..."

He comes out of the kitchen and stares at our guests. "Shit."

 *****

To be perfectly fucking clear, my house isn't a flop for homeless Uratha. I want to throw that out there just in case anyone is planning on coming by for an extended stay. I already have a constantly pissed off ex-wife and two kids that I support without needing more mouths to feed. As a one time exception to that policy, given the circumstances, I invited Ella and her folks to crash in my spare room. Hey, I get what you're thinking, but we can't fuck each other. Bad shit comes from that. And it's not like I think they're worth much in a fight. Just eight werewolves can clear out unwanted spirit problems a lot easier than five, even if three are pups. That's basic math. Besides, it'll do them all some good to see me in combat and not be fighting for their lives at the time.

Alex starts the train,"going in and wiping them out won't work." Two days later and we're still stuck on the same debate. In an ironic and sort of nauseating turn of events, Alex and Kelvin are on the same side of the argument for this one. 

"We get rid of the out of place spirits and bring balance back to the creek, all well and good until the next murder starts the process over." Kelvin pulls it into the station. 

"But that buys time for the cops, right?" Tanika chimes in. She's a Half Moon, like Kelvin, and he has been mentoring her these past couple of days. Probably because he hasn't sired any offspring, she serves as a surrogate for his paternal instincts. Or he needs to get some hobbies.

"Eh... UCPD is overworked and understaffed. If the FBI stepped in like the serial killer shows on TV, yeah, it might be enough to bandage things for now. I ain't got much faith in that happening." I respect law enforcement as much as the next guy who can turn into a nine foot hairball, which isn't enough for me to give them the benefit of the doubt here. "But a band-aid beats active bleeding."

"Whatever we can do to help, we're down. No one enjoys being manipulated." I feel for Ella. She isn't used to someone else calling the shots. It's been a while but I remember how shitty that used to be.

"What about a pact with the spirit of the Little Papio? It can't be happy about the situation." Hm, Deb might have an idea. 

My head starts pounding like the onset of a migraine, except migraines aren't something we have to worry about. It's Hammerin' Jack, our pack's totem. Like the jackhammer it embodies, it isn't a subtle spirit. <SMASH IT!> It practically yells in our heads. Ella, Climaco, and Tanika are spared by not being a part of the pack. <CRUSH! CRUSH! CRUSH!> Really, It's a great totem when you're in a fight and need to call upon some extra destructive force, but for fuck's sake, does It wants to attack first and ask questions later all of the time. 

I cringe. "Kel? Think that would help?" <GRIIIIIIIIIIIIND!>

"It's still a temporary solution, not a permanent fix, but yeah. Yeah, short term, that could work. If we can take care of what don't belong, and if these three oath bind to patrol the creek for more, we could probably get the spirit to aid us." Alex nods in agreement, as does Ella's pack. <BREAK! BREAK! BREAK!>

"The Little Papillion... Yes. There is a bridge not far to the south of where we fought that the Gauntlet is weak and we can find the spirit." Good old Puck. Might not be the best in a fight anymore, but he knows his shit. Our totem falls silent. We'll have to destroy something later to make it happy again.

"Works for me. Let's get things together and head back down at nightfall. Longer we sit on this, the more time the pain and murder spirits have to spawn."

*****

"That... Is kind of disturbing." We're under the bridge Puck mentioned in the middle of town, all staring at the graffiti on the support wall. Tanika just says what we're all thinking.

"This is the right place, yeah Puck?" His expression is concerning me more than the mural. Even when things go entirely to shit, he is the solid foundation of our pack's stability.

"This is the place, but it isn't right. This has been desecrated." He reaches out to touch the concrete surface and as his fingertips make contact, his entire body goes rigid, like from being electrocuted. He slumps forward and hits the ground hard, eyes open, mouth slack. His body writhes and contorts in front of us.

"Puck!" I'm not sure who yells it. Could have even been me, for all of my focus on shifting. Making a spirit pact becomes a secondary concern to protecting our packmate and confronting his attacker. Without the need to communicate or coordinate, we all reach across the Gauntlet. Puck was correct about the weakness in the separation of physical and spiritual here.

It looks like a fucking warzone. The Hisil has weird colors compared to what you get used to in the realm of flesh, but these colors are off from even that. There should be spirits for all the concepts that you would expect with the creek and the running trail. Instead, it's all the negative shit that Alex mentioned, and more. Blazing lights and shapes of hate spirits, knife-edged murder spirits, hyperactive concepts of insanity and mania, all attempt to dominate their lessers. They all pale compared to the spirit of the Little Papillion itself. Those shit zombie flicks could learn a thing or two from it. Tall and emaciated, with blue-tinged skin and brackish water oozing from sores, its mouth drooling foul ichor, it's almost impossible to look at. The other spirits orbit it like tiny planets, or those fish that hang off the mouths of sharks, waiting for a meal of essence. It makes horrible squishy sounds and the other spirits swarm us.

"It's a goddamned Magath!" Alex shouts as a warning to everyone. A bastardized hybrid of multiple incompatible spirit groups, these things are abominations in the eyes of any right thinking Uratha. Kelvin especially hates them, as beings that defy balance. It explains the desolation of the Shadow, and the ease with which people are provoked into violence. Magath are spiritual Wounds waiting to happen.

Hammerin' Jack's desires are still screaming in my brain when the spirits surround me. Fighting ephemeral entities is a lot less satisfying than feeling flesh tear and bone snap when ripping apart a pack of Pure, but it is a great way to satiate the spirit half of Uratha nature. The four of us move with precision and grace, shifting forms as needed to better rip into the Little Papio, while our three allies harry the smaller threats.

Deb's claws shred through one of its arms, covering her in slime and gore. She's such a neat freak normally that I'm not surprised when she spazzes out about it. Kelvin and Alex circle it in Urshul relentlessly, diving in and biting where they can, trying to keep it from returning to the water. If it were still anything resembling a normal creek spirit, its mercurial nature would make that impossible, but for whatever else this thing is, it's relatively solid and unchanging. And insane. Incredibly insane.

It slams the shards of its shredded arms through Deb's midsection applying the same electric effect that dropped Puck, flinging her into Ella's group. They momentarily go down in a pile of spirits, but the rest of us are quick to take up the slack and help them back into the fight. Spirits of concepts involving conflict are more difficult to defeat in combat, and bring much more glory when they are, so of course I'm not shying away from the attack. The boon that Hammerin' Jack gives us ensures that we hit hard and fast,

Unfortunately, the momentary break allows the Magath to kick away from us and land back into the Shadow reflection of the stream. Even if its fundamental nature has changed, it still retains enough of the original to be a bigger threat in the water than on land. Still, more dangerous or not, it needs to be contained and we follow, keeping to the hillside as it rapidly moves up the stream.

It doesn't travel far, stopping at the y-intersection that Puck originally led us to. The cause of the rotten meat smell becomes evident as the place that is merely a darkened branch off in the physical world more accurately resembles a slaughterhouse in the Hisil. This is clearly where the bodies had been flayed down to the muscle, as the tattered meat hangs in strips from immobile tree spirits. The stench of taint and decay permeates and overwhelms the senses, blocking out everything else. Kelvin and Tanika swell up into Gauru and Hulk out on all of the spirits in the area. The Magath and its attendants are so much stronger here, however, as they're able to easily bat aside the attacks.

"Ella, Alex, we need to split its attention. Ignore everything else and keep striking from the sides!" I hate yelling orders when I should be chomping the hell out of something, but without the pack bond, I can't communicate as well with the rest of them. The biggest concentration of pain spirits all converge on Tanika and she howls in torment as her Rage overcomes her ability to think. Gauru is a dangerous gamble. If you lose your shit, friend and foe no longer make a difference. Climaco is fighting too close to her and she slams her jaws down into his shoulder. Even in Dalu, an Uratha's body can't handle that kind of damage and as she pulls away, his right arm comes with her.

His screams shock her to her senses and she shifts back into the human form, devastated from attacking her packmate. We don't have the luxury of going to either of their aid. The Magath is stronger in this place but it has used much of its strength fighting so many of us that it is starting to slow.

Alex and Ella's distraction allows Kelvin to bury his claws in its spine. With the ladies throwing themselves onto each of its legs, and a mostly-healed Deb protecting me from the pain and murder spirits, I sprint towards it, shifting into Urshul in motion to ram into it with as much force as possible. Kelvin pulls downward as I impact, Alex and Ella yank outward and between the four of us, we pull the Magath apart. I drain its remaining essence, erasing any trace of its existence. The last of the spirits cease fighting against us, offering us boons in supplication.

Tanika is gone. Climaco's body lay still, his wounds unhealed. She must have realized he was going to die and fled from the Shadow. There are punishments, incredibly brutal ones at that, for turning on a packmate in Kuruth, Death Rage, but they are survivable. To not only kill a member of one's pack but to also run from it, and a battle, in cowardice... She will be hunted by all Forsaken.

We travel back to the bridge and return across the Gauntlet to the physical. Puck looks almost peaceful, were it not for the twisted expression frozen on his face. A long life of wars fought and enemies slain, we don't mourn the end of his life as much as we mourn the hole his passing leaves in ours. Raising our voices to Mother Luna, we howl his praises so that She may remember a valiant son.

*****

A week passes swiftly, with Puck's funeral, a meet up with the other local Forsaken to share the news, and the initiation of Ella into our pack. No one could ever replace him, but she has begun to gather as much lore as she can to try, starting by joining the Hunters in Darkness.

No new murders have occurred at the creek. We are sharing patrol duties with other packs, giving the area nightly checks to make sure more batches of murder and pain spirits aren't spawned. Puck's sacrifice ensures that we'll continue to do that much at least.

Tanika successfully escaped Forsaken judgement. She ran into a pack of Pure as she tried to leave Union City. Fire Touched may have recruited her, but the Ivory Claws that she met were more interested in removing her head than gaining a new follower.

For now, I have to take it that we did good, and not focus on the cost. There's a shit storm brewing in this town and my pack is gonna see it through.

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