Project: Zarathustra

[Arrgh! Mark!]

* * *

I knew that dame was trouble the moment she walked through the door. It was like she walked right out of my bad private-eye dream and right into my mouldy chair.

It would have only been too easy to let her on her way, tell her I was closing up for the last time. So called, George Goethe – Private Investigator. It sounded only too good to be true; be your own boss, investigate at your own leisure. Little did I know that the taxman took ‘Self-Employed’ as a satirical take on ‘Unemployed’, forcing me to do more job-hunting than taking small jobs.

I’d get more money if I were a plumber. If I were a plumber at least I wouldn’t have to come to Centerlink cap-in-hand, telling them that I was actually employed and had earned such-and-such, so they don’t need to pay me anything this week, contract worker you know? And then when I’ve no money they refuse to pay anything, or worse yet tell me I owe them a certain amount because I actually was working for those six months. For an organisation devoted to giving me money, I sure owe them a lot. If I worked I owed them money, if I didn’t work they paid me nothing. It’s not exactly a win-win situation.

Although as a plumber you don’t get to wear a fedora. As an investigator I don’t get to show the obligatory cleavage, which is always a downer.

But I just knew that woman was trouble. I should of said no. What can I say? It’s the thousands. Or the Owies. Two-oh-oh-five. And I have an expensive fedora.

* * *

“Mr Goethe?” I wondered how these ladies managed to get that accent. Sure, she was pretty, and young. About nineteen and sounding more English than the bloody queen. I bet she pronounced the Tiu. Practiced it in the shower like Richie. Tiu. Tiu for Twenty-Tiu. Tiu for tiu-hundred twenty-tiu. You get the feeling.

“Mr Goethe, your sign mentions – er, All problems investigated.” Oh dear. It was going to be one of those.

Not that I’d ever had one of those. Mostly it was just lost dogs and things. But you know, I’d heard of them. I was immediately interested. Behind the dark-haired girl with the feather cloak who couldn’t help staring at my hat I noticed a large shape bulking up the doorway to my luxurious office – all five-by-five meters of it. “What might be the nature of your ...problem?” I deliberately added that pause. It gives them the impression I’m both in the know and valuing their opinion. With dames, they love that. A knowing man and all that. I’d just have to get some woman to hang around enough so I could show her.

“Mr Goethe?”

Oh. Right, she was talking. I’ve got to get out of the habit of ignoring what it is my customers – “MR. Goethe!”

Right. “Are you interested?” I blinked, absently wiping an ink smudge from my cheap vinnies suit. “Absolutely, Ms… er..”

She smiled. “I’m so sorry! I’m Harriet Hawk.”

“And I’m George Goethe. Let’s ..wait, did you say Harriet Hawk?”

Those pearly whites were beginning to annoy me with their smarm. Those dark eyes, round breasts on the other hand. “Harold Hawk was my father.” Oh. Oh .

I didn’t realise how pretty she was. The warning signals were going berserk. I was frothing at the brain in fear. What if I screwed up? I’d be up that figurative river without a paddle. She was smiling at me! Saying.. words! Something about losing the hat. Nah, couldn’t be. Everyone likes the hat. They all laugh when I’m around. Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. I’m twice her age. Think of her as three years old, this’ll stop.

“Mr. Goethe. My problem is basically that I’ve lost my brother. He disappeared tiu years ago.” I was right! “Three years ago he was in an expensive private hospital for the eccentric. He kept raving about people injecting him with things, both before and after. I just thought he’d gone over the edge, perhaps because of his wife’s death. But tiu years ago..” Uh, I hoped she’d stop saying that already – “..He disappeared. And when I asked, there was no record of a Harold Hawk ever being entertained by the hospital.”

“Entertained?”

“You know how it is with pretentious people.” She said, rolling her eyes in a calculated move. Indeed, I did.

“Well, I can’t say it’d be easy to find him. But you know what the sign says – All Cases Investigated! I’ll poke around.”

Harriet smiled, her tight dress shifting slightly. I forced my eyes to look at my pen.

“Mr Goethe? Ever heard of a Project Zarathustra?”

My eyes immediately sought hers. “Yes. And you?”

She smiled. “I have a list in my possession, stating names and ...manifestations. And on it my brother, Harold Hawk Jnr. And another name, highlighted by my father is George Goethe.”

Oh. Oh . And I definitely couldn’t back out now. This one was far too pretty to be nice. I hate women. “Right. Lets go to this bloody sanatorium then.”

And there she is, smiling as if she’s the cat in the figurative expletive bloody cream.

* * *

“Miss Hawk?” The baritone voice hulked, even on the phone. “Were you successful?”

“Why yes, I was. And a creepy fellow he is, too.”

“Yes. He was, even before we did what we had to. Does he still wear that stupid hat?”

“He thinks it makes him look ‘cool’. He thinks everyone likes it.”

“Was there a problem?”

“He didn’t get an erection. I build them all to love me and no other.”

“Distance? Time? Or maybe you think -”

“ -Maybe. I’ve never had a problem with him before. I’ll do what I can.”

“Right then. But bring him.”

* * *

End Part 1

 

[Bryon_Soulweaver]

*sit down, grabs a pair of socks. Puts them on, turns on the T.V. and stares at it* Wonder whats on?

 

[Arrgh! Mark!]

Chapter 2 – The Dark Home of Sanity

When the shark bites,
With his teeth dear,
Scarlet billows start to spread

Fancy gloves though,
Wears Mack here dear
So there’s not a trace of red.

On the sidewalk, Sunday morning
Lies a body
oozing light.


Someone’s sneaking’
Round the corner
Is that someone Mack the Knife?

- Mack the Knife, Louis Armstrong.


“Darkholme Sanatorium?”

What sort of name is that, anyway? I remember thinking - when would that woman get off her phone? The ring tone of doom. There I was, cheap suit-clad avenger in a dark rabbit-skin fedora with a man of seven feet looming above me and a raging need to pee. And she wouldn’t get out of that damned flash Mitsubishi thing with the flanges and extra bitties on the outside.

The big man smiled at me. “Mr. Goethe?” I was getting tired of that. “Ever been here before?”

“No. I’m sure I’d remember a name like that. Sounds like somewhere they keep criminal genius’s with the power to destroy the world or something.”

That infernal smiling bald guy just grinned a little harder. Why was everyone so smiling? Clients in this business are crying and whinging and flailing about. But then, they didn’t have me by the balls.

* * *

“Project Zarathustra?” Asked the white clad scientist fellow with hard eyes and a permanent lickspittle expression. I remember clenching my muscles, trying to burst free from the ..restraints?

“Yes. We shall create him, and he shall be the Prophet. He..”

The scientist coughed slightly. The other man, Harold Hawk, that moustachioed preacher with a mind like a diamond looked over.

“What is it, you bloody Igor?”

Hard-eyes smiled. “I’d hate to have you resembling some two bit villain from the comics.”

Hawk laughed, his braying cry echoing over the spotless room. “You’re right, of course. But the drugs should be kicking in.”

My vision blurred. Nothing more than that. The two of them waited as I blurrily gazed about the room. I must admit I had a feeling of dissapointment. Lickspittle with his hard eyes and likely traitorous feelings and Hawk with his already composed speech and donkey laugh. I remember telling them something about do it with hacksaws.

Maybe it happened. I’ve no idea. Blurry vision for ten minutes, throes of red, my hands looked red in the light..

* * *

“I mean, Darkholme Sanatorium? Dark Home? Isn’t that a bit grotesque? Most of these places are called Nicey home for the momentarily eccentric or something.”

“Mr. Goethe,” Ah, she’d finally arrived. Women and phonecalls. “I’ve heard you have a way with words. Lets wander in, see what we find.” That ice-cold voice sent shivers up my spine.

Nodding, I followed her past the rather ominous shrubbery and the odd people being pushed around in wheelchairs. None really looked like a goatee would suit. I stroked my stubbly face, thinking that I probably should have showered. Ah well.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Goethe. Where are you from?”

“Melbourne, actually. I came here for the inclement weather.” She smiled, bringing a hand to cover her red, red lips and dark eyes…

“Really? Tell me, did you ever go to Lunar Park?”

Lunar Park? Isn’t that in Sydney? I remember a great face, a little girl..

“Not that I know of.”

We had reached the entrance to the great dark building with the sound of air conditioners and smell of sickness under chlorine. Her big lurker, seeing us enter, exited scene left with her car. I wondered how long she intended us to be here. I was thinking, quick ask of the receptionist, tell her that I’d do some ‘Research’ and exeunt as if chased by bear.

So much for that idea.

The receptionist was attractive in a non-seductive out-of-my-league way. Those cold eyes, like cigarette ash. “Welcome to Darkholme, how may I help you?”
That cheery voice immediately put me on my guard. No one who’s worked for an eight-hour shift is cheerful. I was immediately suspicious, but used my magic to smarm my way into the proceedings.

Before Ms. Hawk could speak, I cut in. “Hello! I’dliketoaskaboutapreviouspatient, If you please! Thanks so much!” The receptionist blinked those ash eyes at me, visibly backing up.

Harriet, her mouth still open, quickly turned it into a smile. “Yes! Thanks! My friend stayed here some time ago and is tracking his parents. You will be able to help us, won’t you?” The lie was maintained as I smiled knowingly at the receptionist. Oddly, she drew back even further.

Come to think of it, I wasn’t like that at all. Not normally, I mean. I don’t remember ever making such an arse out of myself in front of a woman since high school. I attributed it to the fact I hadn’t been laid in six months. Or however long it was. I was edgy, lost my cool. I took a moment to come to myself.

The receptionist blinked. “Uh, I’m not sure..”

Harriet smiled charmingly. The receptionist, no older than Harriet visibly relaxed. She smiled. I’m not kidding you folks, there was some serious mojo happening and there was no men invited. Ms. Hawk touched me on the wrist with a knowing glance. Within moments the two of them were “Off” in the “Filing Room” and there I was, left all on my lonesome with the vestiges of longing trailing me like cords of acid-soaked razor wire.

I flicked my fedora. Noticing a mirror, I practiced sliding my fingers on the brim. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide, eye glance. Flick, slide.. she’d like this..

What?

What was happening to me? Sure I hadn’t been laid, but this was a bit much. I could even see them in the filing room, talking. Why did my imagination leap so far..?

Why in all hell did I want her so badly? Through the window with its multitude of stickers (You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps!) she didn’t look so crash hot. Pretty, yeah. Stunning.

But I had no sudden desire to rip my clothes off and become “Flash” Gordon, so to speak.

By the time they came out, I also wondered why exactly it was that Ms. Hawk hadn’t been able to get these files before. And there they were, in her hands. If she had the ability to get those files..

Why was she using me?

End Part 2

 

[Arrgh! Mark!]

Hello! Thats enough for an introduction, I think.

Welcome to my oddball neo-Noir detective game using the Mutants and Masterminds system! Hope you enjoy, tell me what you think (Good, bad, whatever!).

Hopefully this SH will echo some of the gritty feel that the game itself had. Dark humor, dark times, dark feeling and betrals ahoy.

A brief rundown of the characters so far -

Harriet Hawk (Lady Hawk), a charisma-based flyer with the Aura of Femme Fatale. A mysterious woman with mysterious (Read, to-be-revealed) agendas, Harriet is often the driving force of the campaign. Be that through blackmail of other characters or temptation.

Mr. Goethe (No Super Name) A down-on-his-luck private eye with the misfortune to be blackmailed/tempted by Lady Hawk. Goethe is a good guy, but due to his ineptitude at his profession and his inability to deal with paperwork he gets nowhere. He's starting to get desperate, however..
Goethe is a psychic of extreme power. The power is random, however and seems to act on it's own. He's largly unaware of it.

Edit:

Apolopologies, Malchicks and Ptsitsas. Young Mark has found he has made a slight sort-of mistake. As in, grammar-wise. So he shall change it for the better he hopes. He gets all razzrazz when people get all uppity at his grammar, thinking himself all goodywoody and suchlike. So's he shall do the changing, and you my brothers the reading shall be like ambrosia upon the eyes.

 

[Arrgh! Mark!]

Part 2 of 2

What can I say? The little moments of indecision in life are often the greatest. At any rate, they lead to the most interesting conclusions. It’s those that really make you …feel, you know? The rest of your life you follow these sorts of pathways of things that you know you could not do. But you never do. It’s always that same old smile, that same old addiction-to-habit.

As a red-blooded male, it’s women that I hate the most. Want to know why? Because it’s women that are the hardest to feel indecision about. I know, that doesn’t make sense. You’re thinking – but I feel indecision all the time! Do I want her, don’t I want her… Am I gay? Who knows what each man feels in his heart? But he knows that sometimes he has a chance and will slot into it as soon as soon as he can. Courage, decision… meaningless words in a society driven by ourselves. Why the term ‘Falling’ in love? There’s no indecision with women. Either you do, or you feel burned that you can’t. Or sometimes you cant but tell yourself you don’t want to.

And with Miss Hawk, you felt burned no matter which choice you told yourself. Even when you fall in love. And worse when she falls for you.

* * *

The speak-easy burned with a hot jazz sound.

The dirt under my hands only exacerbated the feeling of uneven woodwork. The Café Easy Speaking didn’t match its name in anything but the feeling of being stuck. It was one of those places where once it might have been high culture but got lost when people started throwing beanbags on the floor and wearing tight clothing. It was a twenties bar designed for the seventies. The funk-swing combination jarred enough to be good at least. It was my favourite of the overpriced pseudo-culture bars around. Despite that, it still didn’t alleviate my tension.

Culture out of style. Right up my alley. I absently tapped my black rabbit-skin fedora. I tried to stare at Miss Hawk with the edges of my vision, looking at anything that wasn’t a silk-clad feather shawl wearing 20’s re-enactor with a bird motif. We sipped expensive spirits musingly. Or at least she did.

Though the mask did look good.

And it felt good to be out of that vinnies suit. Good enough, in fact, to feel like myself again. I felt on top of the world, in a bitter and sarcastic way. My unending pessimism would do wonders for our long-lasting relationship – i.e. not.

“So what do you think?”

What did I think? I think we’re rapidly falling into a situation where I would neither be able to pay my debts or run. And in that situation, it’s only a matter of time before the leg-breakers come…

But I already knew what she wanted to hear. “I think that we got out safely. After you pulled that stunt with the fire…”

* * *

Echoing, the noise of footsteps slowly drained into the dusty sanatorium. Together we walked out of that great stone walled house. I wasn’t sure what was happening. How could it be that she got these documents so easily? I watched her, those dark eyes scanning the scraps of yellowed paper for some clue. She turned to me.

“Have a look at this.”

I quickly scanned as we walked to the entrance. Finding something odd, I stopped.

“Died to overdose, two years ago. Doctor Lesley McKinnon administered the charge. What’s this?” My voice must have sounded ragged, as Ms. Hawk turned her full charm on me again.

“Why, Mr. Goethe! Surely you don’t believe that! Look closer!”

“What? He’s still dead.” I had a sneaking suspicion that someone wasn’t suited for normal life, and it had nothing to do with the mysterious Harry Hawk.

“No! Look at his previous medication! There’s nothing but simple anti-depressants and long walks in the sunshine.” I remember the moment vividly – her dark eyes flaring as we stalked through the long grey corridors to emerge into the bright light of midday, phasing everything into a montage of black and white. Even as we blinked the afterimages away there came a voice like scratches on metal.

“EX-cuse me, sirs!” Turning, I noticed a older woman in a nurses uniform approaching, rapidly greying hair done so tight it pulled the skin back from her cheeks. Or maybe it was plastic surgery. Behind her were three goons, all wearing white. I noticed two were big islanders. There shadows lengthened towards us over the concrete, ours stretched away to the road some fifty meters away. I turned, tucking the sheets into the back of my belt. Ms Hawk suddenly looked green.

I was quick to speak. From the hard-faced expression, this wasn’t a woman to be trifled with. “Yes?”

Despite my query, she ignored me. “You! You’re not to come here anymore. You were lucky I didn’t call the police on you last time. I won’t have you harassing my staff any further.”

Miss Hawk smiled a little, even as I backed away. That old woman noticed me for the first time – her mouth opened wide with shock and something else. Fear? I couldn’t believe it… one of those feelings of Déjà vu.

But there was something. Something I’d seen before. A flash like lightning and fire and I wanted it but it was too close, I drove it away and so they screamed and screamed, the two, the scientist and the shrieking hawk-man, a young woman with blue, blue eyes and dark, dark hair in the corner and the lightning didn’t touch her because I didn’t want them to but the others screamed and then they exploded in splashes of red red red rum. And I didn’t want them to die but they did because I didn’t want it in me, what they’d done, it was their fault…

The two orderlies moved forward. Before I could even think, they pulled out large truncheons. What the hell was this place?

Miss Hawk grabbed me by the arm. “Mr. Goethe. I think it’s time to go. These men don’t want us any longer.”

“I have this sneaking suspicion that you might be right. Good day, fellows.” A proper gentleman’s galoss at that.

We backed off slow, and walked down the path outside, shaded with great eucalyptus trees. After some time of walking, she let go of my arm. We found ourselves in a cosy picnic table overlooking the muddy river, cranes and skyscrapers towering overhead. Under the hot sun, my hat shaded my face nicely. She on the other hand visibly wilted.

“I’ve got the papers, at any rate. Care to tell me what that was about, or should I guess?” I needed to check up on this Miss Hawk. She sounded like someone only too ready to get me involved in more problems. Or raise up ones that I’d prefer left well alone. Most men try to forget their problems. Most men succeed. But mine always cropped up with police sirens more often than I cared to count.

“Why don’t you tell me why that old …biddy almost fainted when she saw you?”

“Don’t you know?”

She smiled with those red, red lips. “I don’t know anything about that. Old love?”

“I shouldn’t think so. But shouldn’t we be talking about your brother?”

Oh, that annoying smile. “He’s not there. And he’s alive. Before you start, I know it. And it wasn’t the run-around they’ve been giving me. Want to know how I found that document there? I found it before. I’ve been to Darkholme before. That’s how that old tart knew me. I found a locked record room, separate to the normal room and hidden in a basement floor. Inside, I found those papers you have. But two weeks ago they didn’t have Overdose on them. They had “Taken for testing.”

For some reason, I believed her. “Even if I did believe you… which I don’t…” She smiled charmingly, touching my wrist. “There’s only two leads I can think of. That old nurse knows that place top-to-bottom. And this Doctor…” I fumbled for the papers. “McKinnely” said Miss Hawk. “Thank you, yes. McKinnely. He injected the dose apparently, or ordered it. We can at least check him out, whether he’s the genuine article. And that nurse looks like she’d be a hard nut to crack, especially when she’s got two big fellows with clubs at all times.

“Hey! I’ve got a really good idea!”

* * *

The old nurse screamed as I kicked down the door to her house and laid flat her white-haired husband with a haymaker. Seeing him out cold, I looked around. Three little grandchildren poked little white faces over the brown leather couch even as Australian Idol played in the corner. It looked like Shannon Noal had it.

My fellow burglar, a rather more petite one than I slinked in. Taking out an automatic pistol she held it to the nurses head, rock steady. The both of us forced the old woman into our waiting car. The third balaclava-clad man, hulking above all of us nodded pleasantly to Miss Hawk and closed the door behind him. She drove – I sat in the back seat with the now cuffed and crying nurse. And the sound of Lois Armstrong came over the speakers loud enough to have to yell.

I didn’t like this. But when we’d set the fire in the sanatorium we hadn’t expected her to be already home, off her break. So it’d come to a more confusing situation. I ripped the duct tape from her face. Mack the Knife started. I don’t know what it was, but my bedside manner must have been just right. She started by throwing herself and yelling a bit, saying some nonsense about how she’d done nothing wrong. A light punch in the ribs ended that. After a bit of wheezing she started talking – about something I don’t even know.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t kill me, I’ve done nothing wrong.” and all that jazz, tears flying. I smelt the urine as it oozed down her stocking. In the front of the car, I heard Miss Hawk mutter. It went on for a while. I hated this. I hated it because I was so good at it. I didn’t want to do it but I had to, because our wonderful Harriet would have me into the cops and that’s game over Goethe.

I tried to cover my voice a bit, sound lower. “Who said you had? We’ve just taken you to question a bit about some of the things that have been going on.”

“My grandkids, please…”

Yeah. “They’ll be fine. Tell me…”

“I’ve been doing it as you ask! All of it! I don’t want to but I do it because I have to! The patients get a shot with your chemical, goes into a coma and the special ambulance takes it away! There’s been nothing in two years! God, I only took it for the money, little Sophie had leuke –“

“Shut up!” I held the automatic to her head. I deliberately flicked the safety to on, just for the effect. The old woman with those blue, blue eyes started shaking. “Tell me about Harry Hawk! The exact details of the operation! Or we take you to the boathouse and…” And so I was blah-de-blah and she started going on.

“The Easy Speaking Café!” I’d been there. Some twenties bar or something. She went on. “Your man there, Patrick, he knows it, he set it all up! It’s him, I swear, if anything’s wrong!”

Aha. There was something. I mustered my gravely voice. “Tell me exactly what you did. Slowly, clearly. From the start…”

* * *

Miss Hawk was stunned. “I can’t… I mean, do you think she was telling the truth?”

The force of the river bumped boats into the abandoned boathouse, nothing but scrub outside. We stood taking cigarettes. The cold of water felt odd. Strangely, she even looked good smoking. Most women who smoke look terrible. She really had that sexy feel.

“Yeah. I’m fairly certain of it.” Sighing, I wiped the oily much from my hands.

“And when she wakes up?”

“She’ll say nothing. She won’t know what’s going on, though – she’d be surprised to live.”

“And my Brother?”

“Disappeared into a Van on the behest of this Patrick. This sounds familiar, somehow.”

Miss Hawk looked at me oddly. “Oh?”

I never managed to finish the conversation, as we both heard cars – expensive Jeep-type cars – coming in our direction. You could see the plumes of dust rising up behind them in the distance. The two of us looked at one another.

“She was under surveillance?” I muttered.

“I doubt there’s much time for that now. Leave her. We’ll get in the car and leave. If we head to that gorge to the east, we could lose them before they even get here.” Her voice echoed the coldness in those dark eyes. But I… couldn’t leave her so easy.

“Right. You get the car. I’ll get the nurse.”

She looked at me oddly. "Since when do you care?"

I ignored the question.

* * *

 

[Arrgh! Mark!]

Wow. Is anyone reading at all? Hundred and thirty views and one post .

BTW, I'd like comments and criticisms. It's always good to have a cheap thrill.



But tune in tonight, same Project time, same Project Channel.. for the next part of Project: Zarathustra: We do Bad Things to People And Feel Morally Superior, Really.