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» Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction
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 Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction

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Posts : 18
Join date : 2014-07-29
Age : 37
Location : California, USA

PostSubject: Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction   Tue Jul 29, 2014 9:35 pm

A new day, my ass.

My Anger-Management Councillor (barman) figured starting this thing would be a good way to get my thoughts down on paper. Well, in a word document. Livejournal… what the fuck ever I guess. Where do I start with everything that’s gone on? My life in the Seattle PD was pretty eye opening. I thought it was all helping old ladies and slapping down druggies and the like. I knew I would have to deal with some bad stuff, but how do you prepare for drug dens filled with kids or some child prostitution and immigrant slavery ring?

You still remember the smells of decomposing bodies and the look of sheer sorrow on their blotchy, white faces when you close your eyes. I could say I have seen some shit, sure, but that’s nothing. In war you have to see dead people I guess. Kill a few folks, the enemy. You don’t have to go talk to the parents of some overdosed kid as a soldier.

It makes a man wonder. If these kind of sick fucks walk the earth, why the hell is the system protecting them? It makes it even worse when you see people in a position of responsibility taking advantage of our ‘good natured’ police force. I guess that’s why I tazed the fuck out of the Governor’s kid. Drunk off his ass and driving around in his hummer like a fucking idiot. The kid almost killed a couple crossing the road as he led us around the city.

Once he got bored and pulled over, he started flinging his dads name around like I would give a shit. When he resisted the cuffs, that’s when shit hit the fan. I tazed that little fucker so hard that pissed in his pants. I did it with a sense of satisfaction too. It felt good.

So the captain pulls me in and I get chewed out. Big deal, I got bigger fish to fry what with murders and shit going on. That would have been the end of it, but that little prick - fresh out of lockup without charges no less - decided to try and find me at my local bar. I guess he thought with me being off-duty, I would be an easier target. I proved that wrong by tazing him again in front of his girlfriends and bashing his legs in with a carbon fiber baton.

Excessive force his ‘witnesses’ called it and with the DA sucking his dick, it took all my captains work and the testimonial of the guy behind the bar to keep me on the force, albeit transferred out of the PD. I guess the governor wanted me to rot in some Podunk town, thinking it was a punishment. Little did he know that I needed a break from the poison of organized crime.

But here we go again. A serial killer and a messy one at that. I guess this town is not too different, and with that asshat FBI guy walking around with his gun out and waving his dick in people’s faces, he is going to be another tazer-magnet. Perhaps this time they’ll fire me and I can be a fucking security guard somewhere. Man, I’d fry that fucker with a smile on my face. Him and the other fucking goons I have run into.

Still, the boss-man seems like a good sort. Laid back, not too big on protocol I guess. Pretty much my kind of guy. I will see what he is like in the field, and I have not met the other deputies yet. We’ll see how that goes.

Well, off to the bar I go. There is an IPA with my name on it somewhere.

Last edited by SilverBones on Tue Jan 06, 2015 2:27 pm; edited 2 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction   Mon Aug 11, 2014 3:33 pm

This cough is really getting to me.

So the doctor had a look at me and the feeling in my throat is just… nothing, apparently; no infection, no gross shit lining my lungs, just some irritation and exhaustion. I think that’s the worst part about this whole thing - the lack of sleep. I am not sure if one this is symptomatic of the other, but one thing I know for sure, since this cough started, my sleep has been rare.

I keep waking up with the feeling that someone’s fingers are down my throat, like they are feeling around in there for something to pull it out. So I wake up coughing and hacking, but every time I do, I see them. It’s just for a moment, but I see them.

The thing leaning over me is hard to make out. It’s large, I can see that and for some reason I get the impression it is waiting. It wants something, desires something that it’s impatient for. How do I know that? I have no idea, but when it moves away, I see the rest of them. The last few nights, I have been trying to make them out, but I can’t. Child-sized shades, looking at me with hollow, dead eyes for just a flicker - dancing around in my peripherals and then they’re gone. I get up, try to shower and end up looking like shit anyway.

Been speaking to some folks in town since my medical leave started. Grey is an interesting character, although everyone seems to think she is a pain in the ass. Makes a great cup of coffee, that one. The Doctor and the EMT are dating, I guess. Of the two, I have had more contact with the doctor. I have to say, I love me an Irish accent. Alex… well, nice guy. Can’t say much more than that, or at least nothing I want to say here. Got to keep an eye open for that one, I think.

Then there is Nathan Explosion and that fucking idiot FBI guy. Goes to show that even small towns have their collection of assholes. Nathan just rubs me up the wrong way and after reading his record, I am not in any mind to make happy with him. Tanis is just a giant moron with a badge. It’s that kind of guy that really makes me reconsider who’s side the DoJ is on sometimes.

Still, once I get over this cough and back on duty again, I can at least get my mind off of things; too many skeletons in the closet to be locked up in a house. I don’t want them clawing out of there to make me feel any more miserable than I already do.
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PostSubject: Re: Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction   Mon Aug 18, 2014 6:27 pm

You know what’s funny? I’m not even mad.

When she shot me down in the street, I was mad then, for sure. I couldn’t believe that I could have been so unlucky. Even as she pulled the trigger a second time, I knew the first shot was the one that killed me. What a thing to see before you die; the face of your killer lumping you in with every guy who had ever abused, hurt or lied to her.

Then it came. Time was a blur, the images of the location long since gone from my mind now, but I remember I was terrified at the emptiness of it all; the sheer scale of… nothing, just entropy.

For a while, it was just him and me. He told me of how things really were, that shadows lurked under the surface of the world I knew, and he was but another one of those things, searching for a way to come into the light. He was very blunt about the pact; in exchange for bringing him into the real world, this… being would stave off death and reward me with the power to make a difference.

But there were rules. There were conditions. There was the Veil.

In the few days I lay on a slab, I lived an untold time of learning the rules. Apparently, that was how it was done; this time and every other time a pact was made. Of course I agreed to it all. I felt my death was unfair… before my time perhaps, but even now I can see how some may have seen the deal for what it was.

So now… there is Kurt.

Kurt was the younger brother I always wished I had known, but he died when I was three of mumps. Perhaps that was why my parents were so protective of me after that. I know I am going to burn this document when I am done, but even then I fear to mention the name of the person who helped me assume his identity. She did right by me and I won’t risk betraying her.

The ease of getting into Kurt’s character was unexpected. The emotional control of my bound spirit has been seeking to preserve itself, so it has been channeling emotions and fears through me when I am speaking as him. I never knew I was capable of such convincing lies. The Sheriff looked as if he was not going to bite at first and I am sure he still suspects something is amiss - cynical as he is - but as of yet I have not given him a reason to think otherwise.

Perhaps there is something about this tattooed and rough persona that women find attractive, too? Since Kurt has come to town, he has been given attention by several of the local populace. Of course, I am not exactly willing to jump into bed with anyone - especially since my skin is freezing cold. Too much at risk.

Then there are those who seem to know something is amiss with me. Already I have been approached by various people and once they seem to catch on that something is different about me, it becomes all very pointed talks and hushed tones. People seem scared of the mists and the woods, but should I be the same anymore?

I think I may investigate… after all; I’m a detective now, aren’t I?

Now to find my matches. Writing this down has been cathartic, but no one can find it. So, I commit it to fire and let it stay there. Marc is dead.

Long live Kurt.
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PostSubject: Re: Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction   Wed Oct 08, 2014 8:25 pm

[This is just a little Writing Exercise I did... nothing major.]

The idea that the many varied races of the world were just as changeable and insane as humanity, made Kurt feel uncomfortable. Learning that werewolves and vampires could be equally as dangerous to the populace while in the possession of superhuman characteristics made him wonder why more of them did not try and simply ‘take’ what they wanted.

The thought occupied him enough to ignore the small group of people blocking the alleyway behind his office on his way back from the bank. He had made a pretty sizable deposit form his last job, but it seemed that word of how well his business was doing had leaked to the local desperate folks. Five such people drew his attention when he realized that the shades of the dead had been pointing him away from walking down the back street and were gesturing to the five with accusation on their fingers. A quick assessment of the group gave Kurt an idea of what they wanted before he even asked.

Torn clothing, pale and blotchy skin. Some had yellow coloration to their eyes; a sign of heroin use. Others had missing teeth, probably associated with meth, but they all shared that hungry, adrenaline-laden look. Two were holding weapons in the shape of a baseball bat and a chef’s knife.

“Something I can do to help you?” Kurt asked coldly.

“Yeah, I think there is.” The older guy with a knife said, using the edge to pick at the filth that was under his nails. “We’d like to hire you to make sure we feel secure. You work in security right?” he asked with a smirk, prompting a small, nervous group laugh form the people behind him.

“I don’t do pro-bono, work.” Kurt replied carefully, watching as the group started to advance.

“We were thinking you should be paying us. Cash makes us feel secure you see.”

“Yeah.” Came an all-too-eager agreement form the guy with the baseball bat, who was obviously mid-tweak. The bat bounced in his open hand while the other hand gripped the handle with a white-knuckled intensity. Kurt wished he had brought his gun, but it stood to reason that the one day he decided not to carry, he would get mugged.

Something in the back of his head talked to him though. The feeling of their fear and anxiety was permeable, and the bound spirit was feeding off of that. The man in the lead was confident, but the people behind him were acting out of desperation, lead on by this guy’s confidence.

“Well then. If that’s the way you want it.” Kurt said with a grin and gestured for the man with the knife. “You’d better come here and collect your pay.” He said, taking a few steps back towards a darker part of the alleyway. Immediately, the man’s courage faltered and he slowed his pace. Something was up, he was sure.

“No funny business now, moneybags or you will end up with a new asshole.” The would-be mugger said with conviction, more in an attempt to rally up his courage again, but even his friends could see that his nerves were start to fray. It was too much for the meth-head however.

“Just give us your cash, fucker!” he said, pushing past the guy with the knife and bringing the bat up to swing at their intended target. As things suddenly became terrifyingly real, anxiety rocketed up and Kurt gave a small, sharp intake of breath as his bound spirit got a flood of adrenaline-fueled terror. Stepping towards the attacker, Kurt closed the distance, placing himself within the arc of the man’s arm, rather than the bat, and brought a closed fist up to punch the meth-head in the armpit. The grunt of pain and yelp of surprise was briefly followed by the sound of the bat clattering to the floor. The man started to stagger back, but Kurt was on him. Reaching around the back of the man’s head, he yanked his face down onto a rapidly ascending knee with a wet crack, and then stepped forward to plant his foot into the chest of his attacker with a front kick, sending the man wheeling back into two of his friends, probably cracking a couple ribs along with it.

Two left. The guy with the knife and a woman with blotchy skin were heading towards him and he only had a moment to react. The woman attempted to jump and latch onto him to bring him down, but there was something else going on. Her hands found his jacket and his arm, trying to pin him in place, and surprisingly was strong enough to give him trouble. Unnaturally strong, even.

The guy with the knife was coming up fast, and Kurt had to react quickly. A quick punch to the abdomen with a bit more power behind it then normal was enough to send her skittering back, and grasping her now extended arm, he twisted the wrist around with a wet crack, sending her sprawling to the floor in a pained shriek. Kurt had enough time to bring his arm up as the knife wielded by the last remaining upright man came rocketing in.

The blade stabbed him right through the forearm, pushing out of the other side of his jacket, neatly slicing between the two bones. Before Kurt could find his mind to react, the blade was pulled out, and sent into Kurt’s midsection, stabbing him once then twice in the ribs; followed by one last stab in the throat. The attack was quick - too quick for a mortal person. Some power flowed through this mortal and using that power, Kurt had suffered the attack.

There was silence for the moment as the attacker expected his surprised victim to drop dead, but there was nothing. Looking up into Kurt’s face, he seemed to pale as those two green eyes bore holes into the parts of his brain that sparked terror. There was no blood, but a white, waxy mist seemed to ease out of the wounds.

“That’s going to hurt later.”

Kurt growled with a snarl, and reaching up, he gripped the man’s wrist, pulling the knife out of his throat, and then twisting the arm back on itself with inhuman strength until the limb gave way, causing a horrific spiral fracture down the length of the forearm and dislocating the elbow. Holding the man in place with his own ruined arm, Kurt looked at the group who were now reacting as most mortals did when confronted with the supernatural; terrified and silent. It was like breathing fresh mountain air to Kurt.

There must be more to this. Reaching down, Kurt’s hand gripped the whimpering mortal by the face, his skin cracking and flaking away on his arms and face, making way to bone and dark sinew holding it all together. Black energies of death whispered around him as his hand erupted into white ghost-fire. Immediately the man started to scream, his flesh sloughing away from his muscle as Kurt looked for signs of something else. Before his skin and face had melted completely, two recently made holes in the neck opened up as the healing used to close them faded away. Empowered by the man’s death and the attacker’s terror, Kurt could see the veins of death mixed in with the lifeblood of the mortal.

“There you are.” The skull spoke in a tone that sounds like a stone dagger dragging across flesh, although the mouth never moved. Vampiric blood mixed with this mortal’s life force as it empowered and yet polluted his body. The blotchy, inky mists lay over failing organs and gave him a sickly pallor in the land of the dead.

When the man stopped screaming, Kurt released the rotted, malformed corpse as it thudded to the floor in a wet slopping mess.

Looking up the creature made of the Spirt of Mortal Dread tore through what remained of its onlooker’s sanity, some falling unconscious, others simply gibbering in place and covering their heads. As his skin reformed, Kurt’s body was already starting to show signs of closing, which meant the pain was not far behind. Pulling out his phone, he winced and texted Kel.

He would need to cover this up. Nevertheless, it reminded him that not everyone was prepared to see him step into their territory and he had been making enemies by asking the wrong questions. These poor souls were sent by someone, jacked up on their blood and pointed in his direction.

Kurt would have to find out who.
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PostSubject: Re: Kurt Reinhart - Private Blog / Fiction   Mon Jan 05, 2015 6:55 pm

Kurt gritted his teeth and made a ‘humph’ sound as his feet hit snowy drift. The panting sound of a large, fur-coated murder-machine behind him did nothing to slow his step however. Running past trees at full whack, he was grateful that he didn’t run out of breath anymore. Grabbing one, he used the sudden tug of momentum to the left to make a quick turn, narrowly evading the snap of a fanged maw and a swipe of razor-sharp claws.

“Gawddamnit.” He cursed through gritted teeth as he knew he couldn’t keep trying to evade the enraged werewolf. He needed to make a stand, but out here he was a dead man if the rest of his friends were able to catch him.

Well, he was a dead man anyway.

He needed an advantageous position. As he ran, his coat flapped open, enough for him to make a grab for the huge, .50 caliber revolver in its holster and drawing it, he continued to run to his trap at full whack.

“Coward!” came a gravel-toned, deafening roar of anger, followed by the whoosh of a thrown tree-trunk, catching Kurt on the shoulder and spinning him forward, tumbling down a hill into a sheltered cavern below. The whistle of wind told Kurt how far he was falling and wincing, he braced for the impact.

With a dull crunch and a thud, Kurt’s body hit the stone floor, bounced down a steep slide, and then came to rest on the level surface. The sound of laughter echoed down the stone as the werewolf followed to look over his kill. He jumped down carefully, his victory cooling his blood as he advanced on the still, lifeless body of the man below.

“That’ll teach you to not poke your nose in other folk’s bus--”


A fifty caliber bullet tore through the werewolf’s kneecap, smashing the leg out of the way and forcing him to tilt forward. Roaring in surprise and anger at the wound, the wolf looked up to see the smoking barrel of the huge gun pointed at him from beneath the body, even as it started to rise up. The wolf tried to push forward, but another pulling of the heavy trigger, a faint clicking sound and only a millisecond after, another deafening boom of the gun going off.

This bullet found purchase in the throat, snapping the chest back so that even the large mountain of fur lost its balance and fell backwards. Before the wolf could regain its senses, Kurt was on top of him with a snarl. His face and neck had a spider web pattern of white lines, which leaked a waxy white mist.

“Your ‘business’? Was that what you were going to say?”

Kurt growled and with a downward motion, his hand came down, stabbing the wolf in the shoulder with what appeared to be a silver letter opener. The metal burned like fire in the wolf’s flesh, turning skin and fur in blackened, cracked wounds. The wolf took a swing at him, but the agony made him wild, predictable even. Ducking underneath the swing, Kurt pulled out the opener and planted it firmly in the creatures forearm, pinning it to the wolf’s own chest below. He kept his weight on it to keep it in place and the wolf gargled, trying to scream, but the bullet in his throat was stopping it.

“Your so-called kin killed that woman in the woods! He raped, half-ate and tortured her and left her to rot and die of her wounds, alone and afraid. That is -my- fucking business.” He snarled, watching the bullet in the creature’s throat slowly start to push its way out.

“In about two minutes, I am guessing you are going to be able to talk. When you are, you are going to tell me where that fucking pig is, so I can make him pay.” He said and then reached into his coat, his teeth bared in a look that could only be described as a reapers grin. With his free hand, he pulled out what appeared to be a tear-gas canister with the words ‘Arf-Arf’ and a crude picture of a dog written on it.

“See you when you wake up, fuck-head.” He said and with a growl, he placed his firearm under the werewolf’s chin and pulled the trigger.

When the werewolf regained consciousness, he was chained up, muggy in the head and looking around, he could see Kurt pacing around in front of him. He was apparently chained to a tree, naked apart from his boxers and in his human form. A tight feeling was on his neck and something was in his mouth. Looking down he could see the grenade was taped to his chest and the trailing end of what appeared to be piano wire hung from the tight feeling. Immediately, the burning itch of skin contact with silver became apparent.

“It fucking -amazes- me.” Kurt said as he saw the wolf waking up.

“I blow your brains out the top of your head and you pass out. Sure you grow it back, but I wonder if re-growing your brain tissue like that makes you lose something in the process. Still, it’s almost a guaranteed way to make you more… pliable.” He said simply and gestured to the wire.

“If you are thinking of changing, I dipped that wire in silver rub. It’ll carve your head off before you can blink and you won’t be re-growing that any time soon.” He added and moved over. “So let’s talk about what’s going to happen to you.” He said matter-of-factly.

“I am going to remove that gag, you are going to tell me where to find your buddy who raped and murdered that woman last full moon, and then, if I get the truth out of you - and trust me, I will know – I leave, you get found by your kin sometime after I have dealt with your friend and you go about your business as a warning of what happens when you fuck with the people under my watch.”

The wolf narrowed his eyes and breathed a string of mumbling curses through the gag. Kurt could only guess at what was being said, but he was sure they were not complementary.

“Oh, you want to know about plan B?” he asked with a smile. “Certainly. I pop this gas grenade that has been mixed with silver powder right on your chest. Aside from the nasty rash, powdered silver is going to enter your mucus membrane, burning you from the inside out… probably causing you to bleed form the lungs and eyes with enough time. I imagine it would be like having Ebola… only more painful.” He said darkly.

The werewolf paused, eyes wide and glanced down at the grenade. The wave of fear made Kurt almost shudder with a smile as his bound spirit drank it in like a glass of crystal, ice-water on a hot day. Pausing, Kurt reached up and slid his finger into the loop of the grenades pin and gave it a small, experimental tug, causing the werewolf to make a desperate muttering sound behind the gag. The wolf knew the pain of silver; he had two wounds in his body already and they were like fire, but the idea of having it in his nose and mouth was terrifying.

“No? You like plan A?” Kurt asked; his tone of voice liken to a carving knife. The wolf nodded and Kurt uncurled his finger form the grenade. Pulling out the gag, he looked into the furious, yet humbled werewolf’s eyes and with the kind of power only a fear-powered dead man could possess, he snarled out his final demand.

“Start. Fucking. Talking.”
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