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Chapter Eleven: "Death Rave"

To the untrained eye, the huge crowd of ravers looked like a normal gaggle of people on drugs, transcending generations and various fashion themes over the decades, doing business as disco, or techno, or ravers, or whatever. But, it was essentially the same thing. Granted, this one was different because of the supernatural gravity it presented. So the untrained eye would be typically correct in making assumptions about the crowd. Anyway, this was not going to be a typical night.

“They are here, and are scattered about. For now, there are seven of them. We will put a tailer on foot for each of them, but be careful to stay out of sight. We'll observe how they are operating for a while, and wait to see if more arrive. We don't want to spook them,” Veronica instructed. “Eventually, we can start picking them off, snuffing them one by one until our work is done, and that should not take long. So, everyone be vigilant and be cool, but try to enjoy yourselves. If and whenever any of them are about to take a civilian, we can pick them off like that one by one.”

So, Wilson of the Oakland P.D.; Lydia Chapel and Bobby Crimson; Rainy, Dusty, Veronica, and Becca Roller, and Carrasco and Lopez of the San Diego P.D. all stood, flat-footed in the parking log of Raider stadium, watching thousands of people do harsh pharmaceutical hallucinatory club drugs among various many other stupid activities that some people do not know any better than to do to oneself.

“The older I get, the grosser these kids get,” Carrasco said. “Man, this place is filthy.”

“I am the same way,” Lopez answered.

“Welcome to the world of the living, boys,” Veronica smiled.

The hunting party all nodded in general agreement. Meanwhile, Sam Wilson was absorbing his first dose of these enchanted women, and was still taking it all in.

They split up, each sub-group lead by one of the supercharged girls. Wilson went with Veronica; Chapel and Crimson went with Becca. Carrasco and Lopez went with Rainy, and Thompson went with Dusty. There was no need for radio traffic, as the tactical communications were made on the wing and the wind.

The regular third shift was well-accounted for, and quite busy with the keeping of the general peace and dragging out of the low-hanging fruit.

The first detachment to make contact with one of the targets was Veronica and Wilson. One of the wolfwomen had sequestered itself in a bathroom stall. The unsuspecting woman in the adjacent stall had taken up shop, and was about to be eaten alive by her neighbor on the next toilet, when Veronica kicked in the stall door.

The thing had already gotten down on the floor, to begin its slithering between the stalls to make an attack. The would-be victim became aware of the furry monster on the floor and the violent smashing of the neighboring stall door at the same time, and completely panicked. Although there was not much evasive action she could take aside from clumsily skittering out of the stall with her pants around her ankles, she did so with impressive spirit and drive for survival. Veronica grabbed the prostate monster by its legs, dragged it out of the stall area, then ducked as the monster took to its feet and swung at her with a haymaker. Wilson drew his pistol and covered the target, but before he took the opportunity to shoot, Veronica projected a short, sharp yell, and the beast lit up like a burning bush with throbbing electric teel-colored flames. The hellish bitch screeched with great, grinding, deafening madness as it writhed, suspended, in the energy web cast upon her by Veronica. Wilson holstered his heater and backed up a bit, shielding his eyes. Veronica then made a skittering, hissing noise, something like a sound that a cat would make but much more powerful, and the teel ball of burning wolflady burst into bright white. Then came a huge, deafening report, followed by the return of the room to its original lighting. The only thing left of the defeated monster were scorch marks where it had been dispatched, and the crisp, light aroma of sandalwood.

“How’s that for incense, Officer Wilson?” She smiled. He did not have much to say at the moment. But Wilson did feel more relieved, for some reason, than he had ever felt in his life.

The witnesses in the restroom also did not have much to say, and the woman who had been nearly attacked by the thing was no longer even in the room. Victoria and Wilson headed back out into the crowd.

“Wilson and I just snuffed one of them in the shitter,” Veronica said. “She was about to attack someone from under the wall of a toilet stall. Add that to known vectors.”

“Roger that,” Wilson heard Dusty say, from some other location in the stadium.

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