Chapter Summary: Karl takes back control of the factory with Miranda's help.

X

1957

X

Someone was shaking his arm, roughly. In response, he gave a small whimper and rolled over onto his side. Whoever was shaking him was being incessant, and quite annoying. Eyes still closed, he reached down and felt around blindly for some sort of blanket. But there was nothing, and he suddenly remembered that he had been sent to bed without dinner or belt quilts. His hand came in contact with something clammy, and he bolted up at the feel of it.

"Papa?" He asked quietly, his voice clogged with sleep. There was that familiar scent riding the air: metal, leather, and sickly sweat. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark as he peered up at the haggard outline of a face hovering above him. Cold hands clamped down over his lips as the face turned to the side, scanning the darkness beyond them.

"Papa!" Karl cried again in a muffled voice, raising his arms to his father.

"Which one are you?" Jebediah demanded in a rushed whisper. "Ken? Or Karl?"

It was as if the bottom of his stomach had suddenly dropped out. Somehow, he already knew that if he revealed his true identity, his father would turn away and leave him to rot in the cell where he had been imprisoned. The very thought of being abandoned again with her - the mean lady doctor with the angry eyes - made him thrust his arms around his father's neck and cling on tight for dear life. He began to sob loudly as his father struggled to push him away, ordering him to be quiet in an angry whisper. The door to the cell suddenly opened, spilling a harsh yellow light into the tiny room. The sight of the lady doctor standing there with a cigarette in her hand made him scream in fear.

"No, no, no! Papa, please! Don't let her hurt me!" He began to thrash against his father, the dried blood in his hair making an awful crunching sound around his ears. "Mercy, mercy, please, papa!"

"Go on," the woman said as she leveraged her cigarette along her bottom lip. "Take him. I have no use for him anymore."

"What have you done to him, Miranda?" His father asked. "What-"

The woman blew a stream of smoke out of her mouth and knocked her cigarette against the doorframe. "More than he deserved," she said in a voice deceptively dainty. "With any luck, he won't make it to see another day. You should be grateful. I am a charitable being, after all."

"Where is his brother?"

The woman yanked her head up and cast them both a glare that made her small eyes flash. "Ken is mine from here on out. Take him," she said, pointing at Karl with the tip of her cigarette. "And if either of you set foot in my laboratory again, I will kill you both with my bare hands. Go, now!"

X

"PAPA!"

Karl reared up at the feel of cold water splashing across his face. Quick as a flash of lightning, he flung himself off the floor and wrapped his hand around the woman's neck, marching her backward until she was pressed against the wall. His jaw began to spasm beneath the gritting of his teeth as he applied murderous pressure to her throat. The eyes of Miranda flashed evilly back at him, her face contorted in just as much hatred beneath the unclasped strands of her yellow hair. Then he blinked - her face shifted and reformed to reveal the visage of Marianne staring angrily back at him.

"Shit-" Karl had barely enough time to hiss before Marianne reached beneath her shirt, retrieved a small blade, and thrust it into his shoulder. He howled long and hard as he twisted around to grab the handle protruding from his skin. But her hand was still gripped tightly around it, and she was holding it down with a strength powered by vengeance. Cold air began to whistle through his back teeth as he lifted his hand away and let it Hover above hers. For a moment, the blade wriggled beneath her closed fist before popping out and flying with surprising velocity towards his hand. He snatched it from the air, flung it behind him, and whirled around with his hand clutched along his bleeding shoulder.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow - fuck! Bitch!" He spat as he stumbled blindly through the mausoleum, searching for something to stop the blood. "The hell is wrong with you!?"

"T-the hell is wrong with me!?" She squealed. "The h-hell is wrong with you?"

"I thought you were Miranda," he said defensively from between his teeth as he tore a strip of cloth from one of his shirts and wrapped it clumsily around his shoulder.

"Does my black ass look like Miranda to you?" She bent down, swiped the still-bloodied blade from the ground, and ran the flat edge passionately along her tongue. "Don't insult me."

He suddenly noticed the overturned bucket with snow sliding down its sides still rolling around on the floor. "Did you throw water at me?" He asked gruffly and she thrust her hands out in exasperation.

"How the hell else was I supposed to wake you!? I tried punching you in the balls and damn near shattered my fist! Come on, there's shit going on outside. Come on!" She yanked him up by the collar of his shirt and dragged him, bitching and cursing, towards the door. Once there she stopped, flung around with fire in her eye, and pulled him into a messy kiss. The blood from his shoulder was still on her tongue. The taste of it was a surprising turn-on. He reached for the hem of her skirt and she just as quickly slapped him in his face.

"Come…on!" She roared, dragging him towards the open door by his belt loop. He followed behind with a loopy smile on his face, clutching his burning shoulder with one hand and his stinging cheek with the other.

"And the dogs shall eat Jezebel in the portion of Jezreel, and there shall be none to bury her. And he opened the door, and fled," he sang in an unwavering baritone as she led him outside. One smack on her ass was enough to make her cast a look full of haughty scorn over her shoulder.

"2 Kings 9:10," she said as she shifted something to her other arm and then pointed into the distance. "Look!"

Karl forced himself to look away from the profile of her face and swept his eyes across the snowy expanse. At first, he could see nothing but the wandering silhouettes of the Lycans in the field and the whitish mists whirling around the headstones. Then, he noticed a stooped figure swathed in gray making a hurried approach. A small frown etched itself along his lips. He'd recognize the crooked, loping gait and tinkling of hair ornaments anywhere.

"Well, fuck me, if it ain't-"

There was a sharp click-clack from below him, and he glanced down at Marianne in surprise. A shotgun was leveraged against her shoulder, and she was eyeing the length of the barrel calmly. As he watched with an undeniable sense of pride, she slowly raised the muzzle until it was in line with the Old Hag's chest.

"Should I shoot her in the tits or the brain?" She asked. "Never liked that old bitch…"

"Won't have much of a target if you're aiming for the tits," he said and she scoffed.

"Won't have much of a target if I'm aiming for her brain, either."

He chuckled and put his hand out. The shotgun shot out of her hands and he quickly wrapped his hand around the upright barrel.

"Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays folly," he informed her as he wedged the shotgun in the crook of his armpit and lit a cigarette. "Proverbs 14:29," he added with a well-practiced side smile that made Marianne roll her eyes. Then, he turned to the Old Hag and addressed her in a booming voice. "And just what the hell are you doing here?"

The Old Hag cackled and began to perform a sort of odd side-stepping dance. Karl watched her with confusion, wondering if maybe she was crazier than him.

"Smoke in the night, blacker than the sky," she crowed. "Stars erupting upon the heads of those less fortunate…splitting skulls and fizzling along bloodied shoes…"

"You think maybe she needs to get laid?" Karl whispered out the corner of his mouth to Marianne.

"Room enough for the three of us in the mausoleum," she said back. "Ain't nothing wrong with a little seasoned pussy, I guess." The two of them grinned and crooked their pinkies at each other.

The Old Hag was still dancing around, her skull-capped staff held aloft above her head. "Thunder and lightning, thunder and lightning...can you hear the sound of that which is to come? Do the screams echo in your ears already? Fingernails scratching, scratching, scratching upon factory walls, yes, and men running for the door!"

"Factory?" Marianne and Karl said before glancing at each other. "What about the factory?" He called back and the Old Hag cackled again.

"A good boy, yes, a very good boy. Fortune favors the bold, wisdom favors the meek. Seek out those who understand your worth." These words sent a shiver down Karl's spine. He remembered her saying them to him over twenty years ago, when he had been thrown out from the Church of the Black God, and her next words he recited with her quietly. "Glory to the sweet…the humble…the kind. You do understand, Karl, that you have always been in her favor?"

"Karl?" Marianne said softly, looking up at him in concern. He took a shuddering breath in and looked to the side.

"White light and a crack in the night," the Old Hag continued, curling her hands around her one eye. "Thunder and lightning, black smoke-"

"Shotgun fire…" Mariane said thoughtfully. She turned to him with an excited look in her eye and grasped his sleeve. "Something's going on at the factory! Come on, we have to go - NOW!"

They paid the Old Hag no more mind as they hopped upon Marianne's horse and galloped at full speed from the field. He held on tight to her as she guided the horse through the village, calling out curt commands to the beast and warning people to get out of her way. He couldn't help but feel a sense of hopeless foreboding as they neared the factor. The Old Hag's words had conjured up visions akin to battlefield violence, and he wondered over the safety of his brother. Jebediah Heisenberg had died a few years back, but Ken was known to make the odd appearance in his inherited factory even though he had taken up a permanent residence in the Church of the Black God. Karl assumed that there had been an explosion or something like it within the factory - no doubt caused by his brother's idiocy and negligence. But Marianne had been right - something about the Hag's words were uncomfortably reminiscent of gunfire and carnage.

Marianne clucked her tongue twice as they made their way past the gates of the factory, and the horse began to move at a slow jog. A group of people was standing in a semi-circle upon the factory's front fields, and a few amongst them were holding torches. Karl peered into their faces painted orange by the firelight and recognized them all as members of Miranda's congregation. They looked up at them as they passed, and he suddenly realized that the majority of them were holding guns.

"Easy, easy…" Marianne said as she guided the horse between them. "Okay, now. Whoa. Whoa."

The horse came to a dutiful stop and flushed its tail. Karl braced his hands upon its back and clambered off. His boots landed upon the weed-strangled ground with a 'thumph' and he nervously brushed the dust away from his jacket. Something was not right. There was a tightened and taut energy to the crowd that set off every single alarm bell in his head. Someone was going to die tonight, he just knew it.

"Karl Heisenberg!" Came a pretty, feminine voice that made him suck his teeth. The crowd parted like a red sea and mother Miranda stepped out from within their shadows. It seemed as if her attire had gotten much gaudier since the last time that he had seen her, over seven years ago. A golden bird skull with a long, wicked beak covered the top half of her face, and a long tapestry with foreign symbols painted on it swung across her body as he moved. In another time, and another place, she must have made for one hell of a good fuck, he thought to himself.

"What a welcome surprise," she said daintily, putting her hand to her chest. The large blackened feathers hanging from her cape swished eerily in the wind. From the corner of his eye, he saw Marianne cross her arms atop her horse and lean back in a rather haughty manner.

"What, uh…what's going on?" He asked. "Where's Ken?"

"In a drunken slumber beneath the oven in the Church's kitchen, I'd imagine," she said. "Don't worry. He's not here."

"Why would I be worried?" He asked slowly, feeling each and every individual hair on the back of his neck rise. He glanced around at the congregation and they avoided his eye. "What have you planned for tonight?"

"Deliberations, only. Mediations-"

"A mediation implies that there's been a dispute-" he said and she quickly cut him off.

"Hasn't there, Karl?" She asked hotly. "This factory rightfully belongs to you, does it not?"

"It's been eleven years, Miranda. I couldn't give a shit less about this factory," he lied. The wound of having his family's namesake yanked from right under his feet still burned. "And if I can't give a shit less….then why should you? What business do you think you have with my family's land?"

"I'd like to see it returned to its rightful owner, is all. You may think poorly of me, but I do not think the same of you. Remember what I said? I practically raised you, son-"

X

"No, no, no! Papa, please! Don't let her hurt me! Mercy, mercy, please, papa!"

"Go on. Take him. I have no use for him anymore…With any luck, he won't make it to see another day-"

X

"You do understand, Karl," Miranda continued, watching him lower his head and clench his teeth against the images of his nightmares. "That you have always been in my favo-"

"Whatcha got there?" Marianne suddenly asked. The sound of her voice was like cold spring water melting into the burning sands of his skull. He looked up and saw her tilt her chin at the staff in Miranda's hand. "A staff…with a s-skull on the top? Call me crazy, Miranda, but I c-c-could've sworn I saw the Old Hag carrying the exact same thing only a few minutes ago."

Miranda looked up at her in disgust, and Karl realized that Marianne's literal high ground atop her horse must have been very infuriating to the Prophetess.

"You think that the Old Hag is the only one in the village who carries a staff, girl?" Miranda asked venomously.

"She's the only one who has a skull w-welded to the top."

"It's an ancient custom, one which you would know if you hadn't spent the past twelve years going back and forth from here to America," Miranda spat back. "Is business good out there for women of your kind? Is that why you've been more than happy to leave Karl on his lonesome repeatedly?"

This accusation was so unexpectedly vulgar and cutthroat that both Marianne and Karl raised their brows in unison. Miranda's hatred for Marianne was palpable, but it couldn't have just been a superior sense of loathing for her race or occupation. Miranda's hatred for the younger woman seemed so deep-seated that Karl wondered if they shared a history that he was not aware of. Marianne smiled and leaned even farther back upon her horse.

"You've s-spent the past seven years trying to bestow your 'blessings' on Karl," she said in a voice that echoed across the estate. "Meanwhile he's been on the floor of a mausoleum bestowing his blessings on me! I'll give you exactly three seconds to talk about how that makes you feel."

"How dare you, you stuttering-" Miranda thundered.

"Okay, shut up," Marianne said, holding her hand up. "Your three seconds are over. See, didn't that feel nice?"

Karl was bent over upon his knees, stifling his laughter behind his sleeve as the two women stared each other down. All he needed at that moment was a pint or two of whiskey, and for the both of them to strip down to their undergarments and fight it out in the mud. Though he loved Marianne, he would have most likely put his bet on Miranda. The woman looked as if she could bitch-slap a grown-ass man into next week.

"Oh god, okay. Um- ahem." He cleared the rest of his laughter out of his throat and put a warning hand on Marianne's thigh. "Ahem. Ladies, ladies, please. Trust me, I got enough dick to strangle an anaconda! There's enough for everyone!" Nobody returned his smile and so he cleared his throat again and put on his most unaffected facade. "Miranda. I don't want the factory. This lovely lady and I have made a comfortable living in the field. Whatever beef you have with my imbecile brother is your own."

"Very well," she said with a huff, adjusting her feathered shawl. "Then you won't mind if I institute a change in ownership? Boys!"

She snapped her fingers and the congregation lurched forward as one. Karl watched as they shuffled past him and into the factory. After a few minutes, sounds of men yelling and fighting spilled from the open door before all the factory workers within had been marched out and lined up against the wall. They stood there in their thin uniforms, rubbing their limbs and glaring back at Karl. Miranda's congregation circled them again and stood dutifully, awaiting further instruction.

"Such troubled beings," Miranda said with a sigh. "Blind to the ways of loyalty. Every man that you now see standing before you toiled shoulder-to-shoulder with you since you were only a baby, Karl. And what did they do when your father cast you into exile? They stood around and averted their eyes from your cruel punishment. You'd think that they'd be your friends, that they'd have enough respect to at least visit you, or take care of you! Instead, you were forced to live off of Lycan flesh and the sooty water run down from the hills. A crying shame, I think." She shook her head. "I cannot stop you from lying to yourself, and convincing yourself that you do not want the estate that rightfully belongs to you. But I must insist that you recognize your own worth and, if nothing else, take back the dignity that they stole from you. You say that you love this woman?" Miranda asked, tilting her chin up at Marianne. "Then look at her. See the fury that has lit upon her brow…see the hatred burning in her eyes at the thought of how they abandoned you. Does her passion for vengeance not light the fire of your own?"

He looked up at Marianne. It was as if she had completely forgotten about him. Slowly, she lifted the shotgun to her shoulder and aimed it at the line of factory workers. Seeing this, they began to cry out and shuffle nervously. His heart was beating so fast that he could hear it in his ears. Silently, the members of Miranda's congregation lifted their guns and aimed them at the workers lining the factory wall.

Stars erupting upon the heads of those less fortunate, the Old Hag had said,…splitting skulls and fizzling along bloodied shoes…

Gunfire. Smoke. And carnage.

It had all been a harrowing portent of what was to come of that night.

"Now hold on, doll," Karl said, turning to Marianne and shaking her leg. Her finger slinked under the guard and found a resting place around the trigger. "Just hold on…"

"Hold on?" She repeated in an incredulous whisper, her eyes never leaving the point beyond her muzzle. The factory workers were all crying and piling up against the factory wall. "I've had a c-cock shoved inside of me b-by every man that you see crawling against that wall. Do you think they listened when I asked them to 'hold on?' Do you think they stopped and let me collect myself as they rammed their filthy manhoods inside of me, hard enough to tear my skin and make me scream? Do you think they stopped to 'hold on' on their way home to their families, wiping my blood from their hands and dreaming up lies to tell to their wives and children about where they'd been?"

"Don't let her put you under her spell," Karl said in a low voice as Miranda watched the two of them. "Don't let her into your mind-"

"I couldn't give less of a damn about what she wants," Marianne muttered, the shotgun nuzzled against her cheek. "But she is right about one thing: these men are vultures and they've torn away at the flesh of our dignity. I will see them repent…take the gun, Karl."

Karl looked away from her and realized that one of Miranda's men was holding a gun out to him. Seeing no other choice, he let the man slide it into his hands. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Miranda cross her arms above her breasts and take a few safe steps back. The factory workers were screaming bloody murder now, and attempting to scatter. But there was nowhere for them to go. The entire estate was fenced in.

"I see now how you truly feel, you lily-livered cunts," he had told a group of them some twenty years ago, standing by the door to his father's office, mere seconds after being told that he was no longer welcome in the society of men. "Fine! Fine! I'll go. But I won't forget this day. So you say I'm a Devil? I'll teach you to fear me like one. By God, I will see you all repent."

"Atta boy, honey," Marianne whispered as he raised his shotgun to shoulder level. "What say you we light this place up? Zealots!" She cried out, her voice rising in indignant and righteous fury. "Whores! Bastard-sons! Repent! Blessed is the one whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty! Repent! Repent!"

There was a deafening cacophony of many guns going off at once. Dust flew up and hung around Karl's eyes, but still, he unloaded round after round into the bodies lining the wall. The scrabbling fingers of the workers drew bloody tracks along the factory's outer wall as they fell in heaps to the ground. None would survive the massacre - Karl would make sure of it. He shot down every uniformed body that he saw, even the ones that had long since fallen dead. The Old Hag had been right: the firelight from the firing guns was like stars erupting along their heads: splitting their skulls, fizzling out upon their bloody feet.

"Job 5:17," he muttered to himself as the factory workers screamed for their lives as he, Marianne, and Miranda's congregation shot them down. "Leviticus 5:17. Revelations 3:19. Proverbs 11:4. Matthew 12:31… the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order…Nowhere in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice….The Lone Ranger rides again-"

He threw his head back suddenly and yanked his shotgun towards the sky. There was a pressing ringing in his ears, growing louder and sharper as he closed his eyes and exhaled at the sky. It was hard to tell if the screaming surrounding him was a byproduct of his imagination, or the lingering echo of the factory workers begging for mercy. All he knew was that he couldn't shoot them down anymore - not because it sickened him-

-but because killing them all had just felt so damn good.

"Vengeance is a fruit riper than the one that tempted Eve," he said as he ran a shaking hand down his face. His fingers came in contact with something moist along his upper lips and he pulled them back. His nose was bleeding.

Finally, the ringing in his ears snapped and a heavy, sudden silence descended upon them all. He didn't have to look to know that there were clumps of bullet-ridden and tangled bodies lining the factory doorstep. Marianne had climbed down off of her horse and was performing some sort of odd prayer ritual in the weeds, muttering to herself and drawing symbols in the dirt. There was no way of knowing if the massacre had broken or appeased her wicked spirit. He decided then and there that he'd fuck her so hard that night that they'd both cry out from the pain of it.

A match fizzled behind him. He turned around and saw Miranda observing her boots with disinterest. She lifted the cigarette to her mouth, took a deep drag in, and blew a white stream at the sky. Then, seeing him watching her, she approached and balanced the cigarette upon his bottom lip.

"There. Doesn't that feel better?" She asked as he took a deep drag in. She could have been talking about the massacre or the hit of tobacco, he didn't know.

"You know I have no interest in running the factory. So you might as well take it, son. It is yours."

"Uh-huh," he grunted distractedly.

"Karl?" She said sweetly, tilting her head to the side. Marianne had begun to laugh wildly from behind them and was rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her waist. "Don't you think that a thank you is in order?"

"Thank you."

"Thank you…what?"

"Thank you, mother."

This brought a smile to her lips, the first genuine one that he had ever seen her wear. She held it there as she squeezed his shoulder and ran her hand possessively down his forearm. "Settle into your rightful home, son. We'll talk again soon."

With that she led her congregation away, leaving him standing alone in his big, bloodied kingdom. He placed the cigarette between his lips and listened to the sound of Marianne's laughter ringing throughout the night.