From: kiasyd@umich.edu (Jake Baker)
Date: Sat, 15 Jan 1994 14:41:13 -0500

Unlimited Profit Margin, Part 4
Still in Chicago

When Gerald Grex reached the house at 611 Church street, it was nearly
twelve o'clock, but he was not tired at all. He started a thorough
inspection of the one-story flat. There wasn't much to it: a cramped
kitchen to one side of the living room, across from the bathroom. There was
no bedroom, but there was a fold up bed/couch in one corner.

However, beyond its grunginess, the house was well protected, and well
built. The walls, although they were dirty, were a full 12 inches thick,
and soundproofed as well. The door was made of steel, and had four hinges,
instead of the usual three. Although there were no doors other than the
front one, the window in the bedroom was large enough to climb through, and
there was a panel in the wall, ostentatiously leading to the house's pipes,
but that could also afford exit in a dire emergency. All in all, Gerald got
the feeling that this place was designed with very specific intentions in
mind, and that its location and exterior drabbiness was just to add to its
protection.

All in all, a very nice place to set up camp.

The house featured one extra that Gerald especially enjoyed. Hidden behind
the paneling on the single desk of the house was a laptop computer. It was
an IBM: windows was installed, it had a hard disk, mouse, and modem
attached. Someone had suped up the speed and RAM of the machine, making it
the equivalent of top-model desktops. Gerald grinned when he saw it.
Spending two months in the jungle had kept him away from what had formerly
been a major hobby: computing.

He plugged in the modem, and connected to the local dial-up. After signing
on successfully to Delphi, he telneted to a little place in the
computer-world most users never heard about. A small, independent running
BBS specifically designed for people like him: disaffected Garou. Gerald
left a message in one corner of the BBS, and then went back to Delphi. He
spent the rest of the evening monitoring the discrete conversations of the
on-line supernats, easily spying on coded Glass Walker messages.

Before he logged-off, he checked back at the Garou BBS. His messaged had
been read by its intended recipient, and he had been left a message in
return.

A short period of sleep, and Gerald was completely rested. It was before
noon when he awoke. He spent the next few hours reconning the neighborhood,
buying groceries, things like that. After that, he returned to the house,
opened up his bag, and started to examine the wyrm fetish he had acquired
in South America.

It was strange, that was for sure. It seemed to have changed shape from the
last time Gerald had looked at it. Even as he was examining it, it shifted,
slowly, almost imperceptibly. It was the size of a man's forearm, but it
had strange lumps, and areas of flesh were pushed out like there were bones
trying to break loose. These areas rescinded or grew as Gerald studied the
fetish, wondering how he was going to attune himself to such a powerful and
strange thing.

In this way, turning the fetish over, slowly, many times, viewing it from
all sides and others besides, Gerald spent the rest of the afternoon. It
was nearly eight when the expected knock came on the door. Gerald glanced
out the window on his way to the door, but he could see no-one. Even when
he had cautiously opened the door, and looked outside, there was no-one. He
stepped out onto the small porch. He looked around. There were a few people
out on the street, but none of them seemed to Gerald like they could have
been the knocker. Even his refined senses could pick up no lurker nearby.

At length, he turned to walk back into the house. It was then that he saw
it. An envelope, hurriedly taped to the door. Gerald removed it, took one
last glance around, and went inside. The envelope was of the usual kind,
white. Written on the front of it was simply the word "Gerald," written in
bold, flowing, crimson script.

Growing a single, long claw, Gerald neatly opened the letter. Inside was a
single piece of red paper, folded once. Opened up, it held the following
message in blue print:

Gerald,
 The person whom I want you to remove for me is a man by the name of Renee
Ignomius Terre. He is possessed of otherworldly powers - indeed, he is one
of the darker souls of my kind. He is a rival of no little concern to me,
but I know unfortunately little of him. I would tell you more if I could. I
await the pleasant news of your success in this matter.
						Yours,
						 Lodin

Just as Gerald finished reading the letter and folding it back up into the
envelop, there was another knock at the door. Gerald, not knowing who this
could be, because he wasn't expecting anyone else, was instantly on guard.
He put the letter on the nightstand next to the couch, and went to the
door. If he had needed the assistance of a gun to protect himself, it would
have been drawn and ready.

He opened the metal door. "Hello, Mr. Grex,"

The Garou was definitely getting tired of this. First of all, everyone
seemed to know who he was anymore, which was not the way he tried to keep
it. Secondly, this was the second time in as many months that he could not
see who was addressing him. Fortunately, however, that was easily corrected
in this case.

"Hi there, Gerald," It was the waving hand that caught his attention.
Gerald looked down, and if he hadn't been so collected, would have jumped
right out of skin. There, not six inches from his body, was a man. A little
man, but a man nevertheless. And the real eerie part to Gerald was that he,
up until that point, did not know that another person was anywhere near
him. This was not the first time this had happened recently. Gerald hoped
it wasn't becoming a habit.

"Well, can I come in?" asked the dwarf.

Gerald, not at a loss for words, nodded his head. He watched the dwarf
watching him as he walked into the room, glanced casually around, then
turned back to him. "Are you going to close the door?"

Gerald snarled. The door closed with a thump. He felt his skin bristle
under his clothes, felt the helpless rage build within him. He felt his
nails itch, his face stretch and groan against its boundaries. And if he
had let it, it would have grown out of those boundaries: the rage would
loose like the wild tide, and the dwarf would be dead. But Gerald reigned
in the urge. He had let this man come in this far, he might as well hear
what he had to say.

"Who are you?"

"My name...well, just call me Rasptin,"

"Odd name,"

"Odd fellow. May I sit?"

"Sure. Uh, can I ask, what do you want here,"

"To help you," The midget's face was straight. Gerald could read no
deception.

"Help me in what?"

"In whatever,"

"Wait a moment. Did the L guy send you?"

"No. Oh, but you know my boss. Odd little fellow. Has wings,"

"Oh. Him. I had hoped I was done with him,"

"Well, you are, for the moment, anyway. But I guess he just liked you so
much that he told me to come here and help you,"

"How can I trust you?"

"How are you getting along with that wyrm fetish?"

"Oh, okay. Anyway," Gerald got up, started pacing. Passion and energy were
building up in him. He hated staying still for so long, "I believe you can
help me, at least. I have been given a task..."

He glanced over at Rasptin, but he was just paying silent attention,
listening closely, not offering any information, like...like a born
servant. Gerald decided he might not hate this man.

"Lodin, Prince of this city, asked me to find someone for him. Someone who
has mystical powers, according to Lodin. So tell me, where should I start
to look for a dark wizard?"

Rasptin pondered this a moment, and then said, "Try starting with another
dark wizard..."
			---
The house was dark, and large. Windows like blind eyes looked out over the
city from the distant hillock. From here, the lights of the city looked
like fallen snow, a sheltering blanket for the people living under it.

Gerald Grex, not a man to know fear, wished he were under the cover of that
blanket. There were things in the world that even he did not know, or ever
wished to. One of those things, he feared, was within this house.

He and his new-found, midget helper, stood just at the foot of the steps
leading up to the ancient, oaken door of this house. "What did you call
this place?" He asked.

The dwarf looked up at him. He, too, was clearly frightened, staying only
because his master was here. "Remember," Gerald said, "It was your idea to
come here," He felt a little better, being able to scold his servant.

"This place is called Maris Nostra Caeli Domus; Our house of the sea of the
sky,"

"Nice name," Gerald peered up at the windows, wondering what lurked beyond.
He imagined he could see the shadows twisting and turning beyond them,
seething like something living. Steeling himself, Gerald placed one foot on
the first ancient wooden step, and then quickly marched up them. He reached
for the knocker, which was large and brass, but Rasptin placed a small hand
on his arm, stopping him.

"No. We can just go in,"

"Great. Walk in, uninvited, into a house that just radiates evil," But he
was already inside, snapping the ancient door open. It swung aside without
even a creak. On the last word in his monologue, he snickered. By far, he
had nothing to loose now.

But the feeling of malevolence that had filled him when he first looked on
the house came back once he was inside, but stronger, more concentrated.
The inside of the house was black - not even a candle was lit. Moonlight
avoided the windows like wolves around a fire: lurking just out of sight,
but afraid to come in.

Gerald thought he didn't want to know what would be revealed in this room
if the lights were turned on. Once past the doorway, and the midget having
closed it behind, he was plunged into a heated blackness; sweat trickled
down his neck. The darkness seemed both to press in tightly, and expand the
unseen walls of the room infinitely at the same time.

The dwarf turned on a light. The few things that were illuminated as he
cast it around were rendered mute yet horrible in twisting shadows. Gerald
wasn't so sure some of them were shadows.

"There," the dwarf said, as the light of his flashlight illuminated a
single door against the far wall, "Down there's the basement, if I remember
correctly. Just walk down the steps, and you'll find the dark magus that I
told you about,"

"Right," Gerald said. He approached the door cautiously, making sure that
he never came between it and the light. A thick but musty smelling carpet
muffled the sound of his footsteps. When he got to the door, he leaned in
close against it, but not touching it. After a few moments of hearing no
sound from beyond the doorway, he reached down, opened the door. As soon as
the door had cleared its frame, he let go of the handle: it felt strange,
cold yet warm and all of it horrible.

He stepped onto the landing before the stairs that the briefly remaining
light of Rasptin's flashlight touched upon before the door closed again.
The draft coming up from below was just as undesirable as the touch of the
doorhandle had been. Gerald couldn't describe it, but it felt unnatural --
no, that wasn't true, Gerald could describe it, although he didn't want to.
It felt like that air totally eclipsed the Love of Gaia, and cut him off
from something he never knew he had.

But Gerald was not afraid. He had felt a similar, albeit different,
sensation when the Wyrm had first spoken to him, and it had not frightened
him. He went down into the blackness, feeling each step carefully. As he
descended, the air grew warmer, verging on hot, and Gerald began to feel a
presence. The presence of something...evil. An evil far beyond that which
his visions of the wyrm had shown him.

He reached the bottom of the staircase safely, however. He could not judge
how far down he was - the staircase had been disorienting. The darkness was
still all around, the kind of darkness that was claustrophobic and
exspansionary at once. But now there was something different. As Gerald's
eyes adjusted, he noticed a sickly green light that seemed to pervade the
darkness. He looked for its source, but could find none. It seemed to come
from everwhere, or nowhere.

After a moment of disconcertion, a voice spoke. Not a loud voice, a voice
that was barely a whisper, that Gerald had to strain to hear. In this
place, his supernatural senses seemed to be dead. The voice carried with it
the aura of evil that pervaded this place.

"Gerald Grex, servant of the Wyrm, how nice to see you. I've heard many
good things about you. You'll do fine indeed in the end. I know your heart,
Gerald; I know you think you are evil, Gerald, but you are wrong. Those you
serve now are not evil..."

Then, a figure materialized out of the green light. A shriveled man, but in
his face he was young, and the spark in his eyes was pure evil, taking in
and twisting everything it saw. Gerald shrunk back, feeling a fear more
than primeval, feeling in that moment as if the world had abandoned him, as
if he'd never seen the face of the sun before, as if this man before him
was the coalescence of all the evil in the world.

"...but those I serve are." His eyes started glowing a dim yellow, as if
adapting to the green haze, "I know why you are here, Gerald. Do not doubt
me..." Gerald wondered again why so many people seemed to know who he was
anymore, "...but listen. The one you seek can be found in one hour at the
Damstation House. He will not be expecting your attack,"

The old man coughed once and then held out his hand. It was not shaking,
and Gerald could just make out the beginnings of some tattoos starting at
his wrists. The rest was covered by the maroon robe the man wore.

Gerald was confused for a moment. He had brought nothing to give in return
for this information. His mistake suddenly grew immediate, and he feared
that this man that bore with him evil would take it out in flesh.

But then the hand withdrew, "So well, Mr. Grex. I can extract my payment at
a later date. Just remember you owe me a favor. A rather big favor," Then
he turned around, and faded back into the mist. Gerald stood there, stunned
by the encounter for a moment, and then turned around and ascended the
stairs.
---
Gerald staggered out of the blazing building, covering his face with his
arms. The singed hair on his back, chest and arms turned into burned skin
as his body transformed back into Homid, his clothes reappearing like
magic. He stopped and looked back at the building slowly being gutted by
the flames, and he thought back on the battle.

Yes, it had been the fight of his life. He had confronted the dark wizard
right where he had been told to, at the Damstation house. The hour was
nearing midnight when he had crept in, certain of his gifts canceling out
certain of the houses alarms, both physical and mystical. He had found Mr.
Terre in a dimly lit library, reading a rather heavy book. Gerald's
introductory pun had not been taken lightly.

Unlike he had expected, the man did not commence with the conversation; he
did not even try to talk Gerald over to his side - the renegade Garou would
have liked that. No, he said one word, "Presumptuous," and then commenced
with the attack. The conflict tested magical prowess and the Wyrm's gifts;
it strained vampiric abilities and Garou strength. It had seemed to last
forever. But in the end, Gerald had finally won out. But victory came not
without it's price: a last blast of powerful energies had started the
magical blaze which now more than threatened to destroy the building. The
drained, exhausted, and badly injured Garou had to stagger through the
flames to make it to the safety outside.

Gerald was drained, physical, spiritually, and emotionally. He limped on
the verge of death into an alley, where he could be away from the light of
the flames. But as he staggered further into the alley, he noticed that it
did not seem quite right. After a dozen steps, although the light of the
burning house was no longer to be seen, and clouds covered both star and
moon, the alley seemed to grow lighter, but with a kind of dim, hollow
light. After twenty steps, Gerald was astounded to find that all the
garbage and the expectant bums were gone. And after thirty steps, Gerald,
even though he could be sure that he was still in the same alley, and the
same walls had followed him here, was not quite sure where he was anymore.

And the little man, Rasptin, who had been waiting for his master, went to
the alley way to see after him. But when he looked down it, even after he
had run up and down the length of it, which must have been all of ten big
strides, even for him, and searched every nook and cranny, Gerald was
nowhere to be seen...