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Chapter Thirteen: "Veni, Vidi, Sharkey"
Last night's grand finale at the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum had turned the bothersome and apocalyptic weirdness of the West Coast wolfwomen into some kind of intergalactic superbejesus.
“Well, it seems to explain why there have been so many instances of sharks moving about on dry land lately,” Chief Wilson said.
“Because they were space sharks. Of course,” Thompson chuckled on the other end of the line.
It was mid-Tuesday morning. After successfully dispatching the group of furries the night before and having seen all that they had seen, there had been little left to do but to go to bed.
“I think your lady-friends might have taken some sort of significant insight from the final event of last night, but they will have to explain it to you themselves,” Wilson continued. “I think they are remaining here in the Bay Area for one more night to conclude their forensics work related to the local monster cluster.”
“Sounds like a hard act to follow,” Thompson said.
“Thanks Rick,” Wilson answered. They hung up.
The Rollers and the Lickers huddled up, cogitating about their progress, the current state of affairs, and their forward-looking plan.
Officers Carrasco and Lopez had gone on back home to San Diego earlier that morning. Wilson had gone to work, so the briefing included only Dusty, Rainy, Veronica, Becca, as well as Chapel and Crimson. They sat around a vegan lunch spread at some ubiquitously pleasant restaurant in view of the Golden Gate.
“In addition to what we know, what we don't know, and what we don't know we don't know,” Veronica began. “We have the undefined.”
As it turned out, the cleansing during the rave was the end of the era of undead Chino Wheeled Beavers walking the earth. Until further notice. Since their interruption had begun with the Beaver's bus in the Bay, those particular monsters had now all managed to get themselves fried or beheaded or otherwise made-twice-dead by some means or another, she iterated.
“Furthermore,” she continued, “well, the term ‘furthermore’ does not do justice to the scope of the next news item of discussion at our lunch this afternoon. Regardless, regarding the landgoing / starfaring sharks, as we all sensed when we plugged the last undead Wheeled Beaver last night, some bondage or another with the space sharks was broken,” Veronica observed.
“Agreed. It was obvious. There was a serious cosmic release,” Rainy answered. They all, even Chapel and Crimson, nodded in affirmation.
“So anyway, I was doing a little further insight meditation on the topic as I am sure y'all also have done. And my observations are of significant gravity,” she went on. “The long and the short of it all is just this: Whoever or whatever is or are causing the mobilization of undead derby girls down here below, is involved in instigating such phenomena elsewhere. And when I say elsewhere, I mean (she discreetly pointed up), well you know, boldly distant. FAR away. So the wolfenwhore monsters are a symptom of an interstellar vector of some kind, which has the capability of incidentally subverting minions such as the apparently unsuspecting star sharks, as we observed in this case.
“Moreover, the fact is, that having identified the correlation between the space sharks and the werewolf ladies, we can now triangulate as to what various regions of the galaxy and which star systems are “occupied,” so to speak, by sensing and mapping the same sort of dark undertow that caused the Wheeled Beavers to get all zombied-up,” Veronica said. “In areas of the cosmos where the star sharks are light as a feather, there is no such bullcorn as we have seen in the West Coast scene lately. However, where our extra-local finned friends or other inter entities are similarly compromised, well, then, something is wrong. So we detect that, and respond. Fundamentally, it is no different than what we do in the course of hunting the dark ones individually down here. It's a simple a matter of calibrating the scale and trajectory of our organized efforts. In short, we have entered a bull market career niche.”
“And a very interesting one at that,” Lydia Chapel noted. “You can imagine that this is the sort of disclosure, for a person such as myself who is involved in parole-related ministry, would undoubtedly consider to be the granddaddy of all rehabilitation and spiritual advocacy opportunities. It's like an inarguable precedent for a carte blanche, intergalactic R.I.C.O. fund.”
Bobby Crimson blinked.
Anyway, Veronica Roller's assessment of the new information was not really a surprise to the rest of the team, but the situation did nevertheless warrant discussion out loud as a group, due to the sheer gravity of its revelation. It did certainly seem to move their work into the realm of superheroes.
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