- Tranquilizer - Yeah, that wasn't worth a shit. We tried shooting him about six different places, with no effect at all. Pretty much as expected. Wasn't until we got a direct headshot that the fucker stopped moving around for 20 minutes or so.
Remember that a vamp is essentially reanimated meat - the heart, while serving as a core of some kind, doesn't actually beat. Sound weird to you? The thing eats people by drinking plasma; try to keep the weirdness in perspective. - Silver nitrate - We shot the first dart into old Smiley's wrist. He didn't like that at all. The skin just under the dart bubbled up like a third degree burn, and he let loose with one of those throaty, Bea Arthur-type growls the bloody vamps are so fond of. Still, silver nitrate is a fairly expensive chemical, and the effect wasn't crippling - it pretty much just pissed him off. All things considered, not a weapon worth pursuing. Still, it was neat target practice, though we had to gag him after about six shots or so; he was killing my buzz.
- Poison - None of the human poisons we tried worked worth a shit, though arsenic did seem to make him a little itchy.
- Ash sap - This was a stupid idea. Nat thought that maybe - because the grave stakes we used are made of ash, that ash sap would have some kind of corrosive properties. It didn't. I could've told his stupid ass that.
- Holy water - Holy fuck, was that awesome. Holy water is always a nifty spectacle, with the burning and the screaming. But eventually, either the vamp wipes it off or it evaporates off, leaving behind third degree burns that look bad, but won't really have a lasting effect.
Intravenously, though, is a different story. That shit stayed in there. The vamp was screaming and wailing for about the first half hour, then just whimpering for the next couple of hours. The holy water never loses its sanctification, and with no place to go, it just swishes around and burns.
The best part was, the more he moved around, the worse it got. Stupid fuck kept shaking, and the stuff kept swishing around his useless veins and shit, burning him from the inside out. I mean sure, it's not lethal, but I'd buy a tranq rifle out of pocket just to watch that again.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
It burns!
So the first "experiment" we tried involved using a high-powered tranquilizer rifle to shoot darts filled with various vile things into the vamp. We tried a bunch of shit, with varying degrees of success:
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Just a spoonful of silver...
So a friend of mine, Nathan, came in from out of state this weekend. Seems the vamp situation in Illinois has died down a bit, and he decided to take a vacation.
Only he didn't take a fucking vacation. From the moment he got here, all he wanted to do was talk vamps. Vamps this, vamps that. Always with the fucking vamps. I took him out to lunch; he talked about vamps. I took him to a nightclub: more talking about vamps. I took him to a goddamned titty bar, and he still talked about vamps.
I finally gave up on the social part of his social call, and we went hunting. Seems old Nate has been thinking a lot about weapons lately, and needed some help putting some theories in motion. So instead of killing, we went out to bag a vulgaris.
I do a damn fine job, so it was tough to find any in my city. We ended up driving all the way to Mexico, where a buddy of mine was involved in a small (but manageable) infestation.
When we found the last nest, which took all of, oh, twenty minutes (bloodfuckers aren't known for their subtlety), we kept one alive, dumped him in the trunk, and took him out to an abandoned Quonset hut on the Texas side of the border. It's a pretty useful place, if you can ignore the vague sensation of standing in a giant condom.
When sunset came around and the vamp woke up, let me tell you - that toothy fuck was not happy with us. But he's pretty well strapped in, so I could frankly give a shit.
We're gonna spend the next few days testing out weapon ideas. Think of it as research and development that just happens to look a lot like torture (Though the fact that this shitheel ate an 8-year-old boy doesn't make it any harder). I'll post our results here soon, for any of you bored enough to read them.
Only he didn't take a fucking vacation. From the moment he got here, all he wanted to do was talk vamps. Vamps this, vamps that. Always with the fucking vamps. I took him out to lunch; he talked about vamps. I took him to a nightclub: more talking about vamps. I took him to a goddamned titty bar, and he still talked about vamps.
I finally gave up on the social part of his social call, and we went hunting. Seems old Nate has been thinking a lot about weapons lately, and needed some help putting some theories in motion. So instead of killing, we went out to bag a vulgaris.
I do a damn fine job, so it was tough to find any in my city. We ended up driving all the way to Mexico, where a buddy of mine was involved in a small (but manageable) infestation.
When we found the last nest, which took all of, oh, twenty minutes (bloodfuckers aren't known for their subtlety), we kept one alive, dumped him in the trunk, and took him out to an abandoned Quonset hut on the Texas side of the border. It's a pretty useful place, if you can ignore the vague sensation of standing in a giant condom.
When sunset came around and the vamp woke up, let me tell you - that toothy fuck was not happy with us. But he's pretty well strapped in, so I could frankly give a shit.
We're gonna spend the next few days testing out weapon ideas. Think of it as research and development that just happens to look a lot like torture (Though the fact that this shitheel ate an 8-year-old boy doesn't make it any harder). I'll post our results here soon, for any of you bored enough to read them.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Say blood!
I've been negligent in my blogging duties. I'd apologize, but I honestly don't give a shit.
I got this question the other day:
But I was thinking of you yesterday, so I took along my camera phone and snapped a pic when I bagged a bloodmonkey.
I know, the picture sucks, but you try holding a crossbow at the right angle and managing a camera phone while lighting your picture with a big flashlight set on the floor. Ansel Adams I 'aint, but old Ansel didn't have a sleeping vamp to work around.
The next time I got a partner, I'll have him hold the camera (they make funnier faces when you toss holy water on them, but you need two hands to stake them after that).
In answer to your other question, I make reports to the Guild on a regular basis. Well, sorta; I'm behind on my paperwork, to be honest. However, I don't keep a book. This... blog-thing... is my journal. I know the Guild keeps written records, but I don't think you can just walk in and check them out like a library.
I am employed full-time as a hunter, if only so that they can be sure they can call on me, with no conflicts, 24/7. I do some contract jobs here and there - cabinetry, laying tile, etc. - because the pay sucks ass, but I don't get involved in any job I couldn't walk away from immediately.
I got this question the other day:
Silly question, just wanted to know if u can sketch what these creatures look like. I know u probably would not be able to photograph them, because ur too busy slaying them.Well, actually, I can't sketch them, because my drawing skills include stick figures and smiley suns in the corner of the page. Get enough Johnny Walker in me, and I may even draw a dog. But vamps? No way.
Really like to see what they look like.
Do you have a system in logging each creature you come into contact with? I guess what I'm trying to figure out besides from what you carry with you...if you journal any of your adventures in a book?
Are you a full time Vampyr Hunter?
But I was thinking of you yesterday, so I took along my camera phone and snapped a pic when I bagged a bloodmonkey.
I know, the picture sucks, but you try holding a crossbow at the right angle and managing a camera phone while lighting your picture with a big flashlight set on the floor. Ansel Adams I 'aint, but old Ansel didn't have a sleeping vamp to work around.
The next time I got a partner, I'll have him hold the camera (they make funnier faces when you toss holy water on them, but you need two hands to stake them after that).
In answer to your other question, I make reports to the Guild on a regular basis. Well, sorta; I'm behind on my paperwork, to be honest. However, I don't keep a book. This... blog-thing... is my journal. I know the Guild keeps written records, but I don't think you can just walk in and check them out like a library.
I am employed full-time as a hunter, if only so that they can be sure they can call on me, with no conflicts, 24/7. I do some contract jobs here and there - cabinetry, laying tile, etc. - because the pay sucks ass, but I don't get involved in any job I couldn't walk away from immediately.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Back.
Sorry for the extended absence; I had to haul my ass out to Tacoma, WA to take care of a multiple nest pattern in some unused storage facilities.
We lost our Washington hunter last year to a threat far greater than any vamp... his own drunk ass in a Chevy Malibu. Like most hunters, Guild hunters seem to be particularly fond of the juice. Some of us, however, are smart enough not to drive cars or select women while inebriated.
Anyway, the MNP wasn't hard to clean, once we tracked it ("we" being myself and Dan, the Oregon guy). Tracking it, though, was a bitch. Vamps tend to nest in one centralized locale; when a nest grows uncomfortable (usually 8 or more), a few rejects are booted from the pack and sent to nest on their own. Usually, they have the good sense to go far away, but these fuckers - 4 nests in all - stayed within a half-mile of each other.
Understand something: vamps have no loyalties. They're like hyenas. Two nests of vamps can't encounter each other without snarling and pissing and whatever else they do to establish territory. So either these were extremely docile vamps (bloody hell they were) or they managed not to cross paths (also bullshit). I don't know what the hell happened up there.
In any case, there was no way we could've expected that, so we wasted a lot of time. After we cleaned up the first nest, we spent fucking days trying to track vamps to spots starting at a mile perimeter around the first. Nothing. Two miles. Nothing. Sporadic kills, corpses popping up in random spots. Where the fuck were these guys hunting?
Anyway, we finally caught a break when the police scanner in Dan's truck picked up a 10-11 between two "homeless guys." The on-scene officer said it looked like one had rabies. Yeah, that guy was fucked, but we hung around after the cops picked up their dead compatriot (actually dead), and found nest 2. Once we started hunting closer to the first nest, we found the remaining two pretty easily, because of Dan's dog.
Dan had this bloodhound, Shirley, and used him (yes, him) in reverse. We'd wander around, and when Shirley didn't want to go in somewhere (when, in fact, he started pissing himself and whining - that fucking name made him a little bitch, I guess), that's where we went. Shirl hates vamps. I can't have a big dog in my building; maybe I'll train myself a hamster or a chihuahua or something.
We lost our Washington hunter last year to a threat far greater than any vamp... his own drunk ass in a Chevy Malibu. Like most hunters, Guild hunters seem to be particularly fond of the juice. Some of us, however, are smart enough not to drive cars or select women while inebriated.
Anyway, the MNP wasn't hard to clean, once we tracked it ("we" being myself and Dan, the Oregon guy). Tracking it, though, was a bitch. Vamps tend to nest in one centralized locale; when a nest grows uncomfortable (usually 8 or more), a few rejects are booted from the pack and sent to nest on their own. Usually, they have the good sense to go far away, but these fuckers - 4 nests in all - stayed within a half-mile of each other.
Understand something: vamps have no loyalties. They're like hyenas. Two nests of vamps can't encounter each other without snarling and pissing and whatever else they do to establish territory. So either these were extremely docile vamps (bloody hell they were) or they managed not to cross paths (also bullshit). I don't know what the hell happened up there.
In any case, there was no way we could've expected that, so we wasted a lot of time. After we cleaned up the first nest, we spent fucking days trying to track vamps to spots starting at a mile perimeter around the first. Nothing. Two miles. Nothing. Sporadic kills, corpses popping up in random spots. Where the fuck were these guys hunting?
Anyway, we finally caught a break when the police scanner in Dan's truck picked up a 10-11 between two "homeless guys." The on-scene officer said it looked like one had rabies. Yeah, that guy was fucked, but we hung around after the cops picked up their dead compatriot (actually dead), and found nest 2. Once we started hunting closer to the first nest, we found the remaining two pretty easily, because of Dan's dog.
Dan had this bloodhound, Shirley, and used him (yes, him) in reverse. We'd wander around, and when Shirley didn't want to go in somewhere (when, in fact, he started pissing himself and whining - that fucking name made him a little bitch, I guess), that's where we went. Shirl hates vamps. I can't have a big dog in my building; maybe I'll train myself a hamster or a chihuahua or something.
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