Logs:Vignette - Wolf in Sheeps Clothing

Vignette - Wolf in Sheeps Clothing
Dramatis Personae NPC-Carnage
In Absentia	2021-11-16 CW: Blood, murder, violence, gore, implied child abuse. Set a few days after the raid.
Location Massachusetts
It's almost midnight when Robert Gaines hears someone pounding at his door. The middle-aged combat vet is short, squat, and partially balding. He takes a look through the peephole, then immediately thumbs off his pistol's safety. But when he opens the door, the gun is holstered -- and he's all smiles. "Hey, Cletus. Been wondering what happened to you." Cletus Cortland Kasady has seen better days. The tall, lean, freckled red-head is in his mid-30s; he's missing his left eye and left forearm. He's still wearing the medical scrubs from the labs -- the material is plastered to his skin, soaking from the rain. Cletus looks down to the ground. He curls his arms around his chest and mumbles, dejectedly: "...hungry." "I bet you are, buddy. C'mon in -- it's cold as tits out." Robert steps back, letting Cletus inside. His hand remains close to the holster, but he makes no move to draw it. Not yet. As Cletus shambles by, he gives him a wide berth. "We were all wondering what happened to you, back there. You just up and ran away on us." Cletus shambles in like a dejected, beaten dog. He keeps rubbing his arms, never lifting his eyes from the floor. "Haven't eaten in... in a fuckin' week," he mumbles. His speech is slurred. "Yeah, we can fix that. I got some reserves for you. Let's get you warmed up. You want a beer?" Robert leads him along into the kitchen, pulling out a chair. Once Cletus sits down, Robert moves to the fridge -- unlocking the padlock with a key from his belt. He pretends to fiddle with it for half a minute; with his back to Kasady, he pulls out his phone and fires off a quick text-message. GAINES: Cletus is here at my house. GAINES: Handling it. He's calm. Let's keep it that way. GAINES: Send a recovery team immediately, but QUIETLY. NO surprises. "No. I just... I just got scared." Robert slides the phone back into his pocket and finishes unlocking the fridge. He gets a beer for himself and a bag of his own blood for Cletus. As he sits down with his beer, he gestures to the bag -- it rises and floats toward Cletus, as if by magic. Cletus snatches the bag out of the air and claws awkwardly at it, finally managing to tear a hole at the top. Then he just squeezes it into his mouth -- like a push-pop. Robert grimaces and cracks open his beer, taking a heavy swig. "You remember what I told you, right? Men like us -- we're warriors, Cletus. Wolves protecting our flock. Wolves might feel scared, but they can't act scared. Normal people, they can act scared. But you and me? People see us acting scared, they lose their shit. When we act scared, people start dying." Cletus just keeps gulping, squeezing the bag from top to bottom. "When someone dangerous comes to our home... most people can't defend themselves. But we can. We have that power. We have an obligation to use it -- to protect it -- to protect the flock. People like us, we're different. Special. We don't get to have ordinary lives. We sacrifice that for the greater good. You feel me?" The bag makes crinkling noises as Cletus rolls it up to squish those last few precious drops out. Robert frowns, checking his phone under the table. DELTA: ETA 15 min "I didn't know you had kids." Robert lifts his eyes back up to Kasady. The bag is finished; neatly folded and put to the side. Not a trace of blood remains. Cletus's eyes are locked on a trashcan besides the fridge. A stuffed lamb with a bright pink bow has been thrown into it. "Huh? Oh. Yeah." Robert grins. "Little girl and boy. They're here for the weekend." "Married?" He laughs, takes another swig of beer. "Was, yeah. Didn't work out. You know how it is." "No." Robert frowns. "Huh?" "No, I don't know how that is." Cletus is no longer looking down. He meets Robert's gaze directly. "Explain it to me." Something anxious lodges itself into Robert's belly. His hand shifts from his phone to his piece, holstered and hidden under the table. He slides his fingers around the grip. "I mean, y'know... women, they just don't get it. What men have to do -- have to sacrifice. Especially men like us. We can't -- we can't be weak. Can't be soft. We gotta be strong. So we can --" "-- protect our families," Cletus finishes the sentence. His eyes drift from the padlocked fridge, then back to the stuffed toy in the trashcan. Robert exhales. "Right." "From wolves." "Right." "Wolves like us." The tightness in Robert's chest returns. He resists the urge to check his phone again, keeping his hand on the pistol's grip. "We're the good wolves, Cletus. We --" The blade of red neatly spears under the table. Shards of crystallizing blood expand out from the tip, crinkling and spiking outward in a fractalized pattern that leaves the hand on the gun perforated. Robert tries to scream -- but Cletus's left forearm extends outward, engulfing his mouth in a hard, sharp, crimson palm. Robert is slammed back against his own refrigerator, held so high that his feet are dangling. The table is tossed aside. Cletus is no longer here; in his place, a blood-red specter rises. "You know what I think?" Carnage hisses. His voice is shrill and metallic, his eyes burning a bright moon-white. Robert responds by kicking and flailing, struggling not to pass out in shock from the pain. "I don't think there are good wolves and bad wolves. I think there are just wolves." His form swells, higher and higher, his body sharpening -- sprouting a thousand knives. Robert tries to lift his other hand to use his power -- only for Carnage to spear through that one, too. "And this wolf?" "...is tired of your fucking table-scraps." When the recovery team arrives, they find Robert's desiccated body, drained of blood -- locked inside of his own garage. Upstairs, the children are sleeping, safe and sound -- with a stuffed lamb now gently tucked underneath the younger boy's arm.