Disclaimer: The views and opinions in this story are not intended to be viewed as those of the author. The following is a fan-written fiction. Gravity Falls, Star vs. The Forces of Evil, Kim Possible, and Big Bad Beetleborgs are property of their respective owners, creators, and publishers. Please support the official releases.
TW: This story will contain references to physical and psychological abuse, murder, and torture. Furthermore, several chapters of Volume 8 (and for the next several volumes) are set during a time period of extreme racial prejudice and traditionally sexist views towards both men and women. Reader discretion is advised.
The Heroine
When night fell in Echo Creek, strange moons illuminated the dark. Perched atop towers almost 150 feet tall, the harsh, unrelenting light of Carbon Arc Lamps pierced the haze created by the town's Oil Derricks and danced off the metal with the same vibrance as the sun. It was an unearthly sight that Dr. Hillhurst found both unsettling and excessive.
So much light and yet it made an already contaminated place appear more hostile to life.
Letting gravity take his bicycle downhill, he coasted to the edge of town and to a pace no faster than a casual stroll as he made for the heart of the town and the vicinity of the Post Office. The Arc Light, still several blocks away, beamed down unmoving across the night sky, causing buildings to create long and threatening shadows in the alleyways of the few buildings not replaced by derricks… to say nothing of the crisscrossing tangle of darkness cast by the derricks themselves.
Turning left at the corner adjacent to the post office, he rode down the dusty road past nothing but oil derricks, heading further into Echo Creek and the domain of Emily Blakesfield-Bonner. The everpresent haze and fumes of oil and the steady, noisy chorus of slowly working pumps was nauseating, making him yearn to cover his mouth with a handkerchief, as futile as that would be.
For several minutes he rode on, fighting his disgust at the forest of progress, before his destination came into view. A foundry hard at work even at this late hour, the night shift workers taking on the task of casting the metal that spread the damnable derricks.
Securing his bicycle at the entrance, Dr. Hillhurst dismounted and covered his mouth with a bright orange handkerchief as he headed to the foreman's office. Reaching it, he gave it a brisk knock, before taking the knob and letting himself in.
"Mr. Backintosh, are you in?" He called as he stepped into the office. "I need to speak with you about an order."
A deep, annoyed voice called from the shadowed back of the office, lit by a small arc light in the ceiling. He was a typical factory man, broad shouldered, strongly built, with a full head of dark brown hair and matching eyes that burned with contempt in the low light. "The hell do you want, Hillhurst?"
"Doctor Hillhurst," he happily corrected.
"Fuck off with that," Mr. Anthony Backintosh barked at him. "I'm not dignifying a Diploma Mill Doctorate. Now what do you want, Hillhurst?"
Dr. Hillhurst played coy. "Oh, nothing much, I just need brass for… Mauser 7.63mm and Colt .45–"
"Mauser?!" Mr. Backintosh cut him off. "Who the hell did you talk out of a Mauser on this side of the world?!"
Dr. Hillhurst smiled, having piqued the bitter man's interest. "It's not mine, a client came right to my door asking for ammunition in Mauser. I couldn't believe it myself, until I saw it. It's pristine, Anthony, the well-used weapon of a man who does well by it."
Mr. Backintosh glared at Dr. Hillhurst as he steepled his fingers. "I take it you have an example for me to work from?"
Dr. Hillhurst reached into the pocket of his coat, and produced five shell casings, before handing them to him. "Look, ye mighty, and despair."
Mr. Backintosh picked up one of the casings deposited on his desk and marveled at it. "Fucking hell… that's real 7.63mm…" He turned it over and looked at the bottom of the cartridge. "… Avameros…?"
Dr. Hillhurst hadn't noticed that. "Avameros?"
Mr. Backintosh held it up. "The headstamp… I know this. Avameros is short for Avalon Armeros, a custom cartridge and firearm manufacturer that only does work for European nobility."
He set the cartridge down. "Be honest with me, Hillhurst. How'd you get hold of this?"
Dr. Hillhurst hummed, before he answered. "European nobility, hmm? Like I said, it's not for any weapon of mine; a client commissioned me and I'm here to pay you to get the brass made."
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "I need it made quickly, so I'm paying up front the full price for a standard order, with the promise of double that when the job's done."
Dr. Hillhurst tossed the open envelope onto the desk. Mr. Backintosh could see a considerable amount of money inside. The foundry foreman looked up at the alleged Doctor, intrigued.
"I was going to charge you extra for the work in machining something in a rare caliber, but you're a step ahead. I can't say no to money like that, especially since we're making these damn oil pipes at a loss."
"At a loss–?!" Dr. Hillhurst stopped and scowled. "Don't tell me…"
He nodded. "Revolutionary as she is, no one trusts the innovations of a woman whose family's history is wreathed with deceit and trickery that would do the Northwests offense."
Dr. Hillhurst made a face at that name. "Of course."
"Nevertheless," Backintosh continued, "I'll get started on this tonight. You'll have enough brass to arm a company by the day after tomorrow."
Dr. Hillhurst beamed. "Oh, Anthony, you are my savior in the night. My client and I are immensely grateful and wish success and happiness to your family for generations to come–"
"Get the fuck out of my office," Mr. Backintosh said curtly, with no patience for Dr. Hillhurst's eloquent praise.
"Fine! I'm leaving, asshole!" Dr. Hillhurst abruptly declared, with a quick laugh before he was out the door.
As he walked back out into the putrid night, Dr. Hillhurst pondered what he learned. "Avalon Armeros, shooting demons with silver, hunting beasts…"
He hummed. "Are you what I think you are, Teddy?" He mused aloud. "I may have to consult the Master for his wisdom on the matter…"
When he turned towards his bike, however, he found it gone from where he left it. "… The Devil…?"
He looked down the street, and saw a young boy perched upon it, looking at him with a big smile on his face. Locking eyes on the ruddy young man, Dr. Hillhurst saw red.
"Hey! You look like you can barely read, lad, what makes you think you can ride–?!" To his dismay, the boy turned and rode off on the bicycle as fast as he could. "Damn it to hell!"
He broke into a run after the fleeing thief. "Get back here! That derailleur is not patented yet!"
The bicycle thief only laughed as he pumped the pedals as hard as he could, quickly picking up great speed. "Shows what you get for not keeping an eye on–"
His taunt turned into a scream of terrified disbelief as he found Dr. Hillhurst almost within arm's length of grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him bodily off the bike. Turning away, he kept screaming as he rode faster, trying to stay ahead of the sprinting doctor.
Cutting a hard right, the boy aimed for the alley between two buildings, narrowly escaping a grab and ducking down it. Staggering to a halt, Dr. Hillhurst took several deep breaths before he sprinted down the alley, disappearing into the darkness after him.
"Get! Back! Here! I've outrun Soapy's boys in a dead heat, you won't get away from me!"
His boast echoed in the alley. The smack of a fist against his face immediately followed.
The blow stunned the doctor, and he collapsed against the brick masonry wall of the warehouse before a pair of strong hands lashed out from the dark and shoved him into a gaslit clearing. Stumbling to a stop, Dr. Hillhurst turned around and stopped when a familiar face strode out of the dark towards him, his dark eyes grim but his lips curled in a satisfied sneer.
"Hutchinson, my boy!" The Doctor said as he backed up with hands raised. "Fine time meeting you this late…"
"I said I'd be coming straight for you!" Hutchinson swore before he swung at Dr. Hillhurst, who deftly sidestepped the swing despite his fading dizziness.
"I seem to recall!" He said before he evaded another punch. "But I assumed you'd be coming to my door, not luring me in the alley by stealing my bicycle." He ducked another and circled around Hutchinson, putting his back to the way he came out of the alley and facing his assailant. "That's not very straight for me, good man."
He noticed more figures moving in the dim light, the two associates that he'd bested earlier in the day along with Hutchinson outside of the Baldwin homestead. The boy who took his bike was in the back, grinning like a loon in anticipation. His lips dipped into a frown. "I say, you're serious about this, aren't you?"
"I want my piece back, Hillhurst."
"Doctor Hillhurst," he corrected, "And I'd gladly exchange it for my property had you thought of just that. As it stands, you've taken my bicycle and assaulted me, so I'm afraid only one of us is coming out of here satisfied."
"Yeah, the three of us," Hutchinson said as he raised his fists to brawl.
Dr. Hillhurst shook his head. "I said one of us."
The world fell quiet as Hutchinson lunged towards him, and slowed to a crawl. Staring at him, and the two other men moving in the shadows, Dr. Hillhurst's mind began racing as he analyzed their approach.
Three men, unarmed. Man on the left, mild signs of concussion from earlier blow to jaw. Man on the right, cracked jaw from previous chin strike. Point man, Hutchinson, smells of alcohol. Responsiveness lowered due to consumption of three glasses of whisky.
He sniffed.
Four glasses. Liquid courage.
He watched as Hutchinson began to raise his arm.
Hutchinson will attempt a wild haymaker. Evade by moving out the path of the punch and striking him in the liver.
Sure enough, Hutchinson swung his haymaker and was immediately punished with a blow to the liver.
Crack his ribs on his right side to evacuate air in his lungs, then uppercut to chin, he'll fall back into the man on his right.
He struck Hutchinson again, then landed an uppercut. Sending the man stumbling into the man on Dr. Hillhurst's left. Looking right, the Doctor saw his opponent coming at him with both hands clasped above his head, to bring them down like a hammer.
Five glasses of whiskey, desperate, afraid. This is all he thinks he can do. Right jab him in the nose, then left cross in the jaw. He will crumple straight to the ground.
Dr. Hillhurst did just that, quickly punching the man in the nose. As his hands dropped to cover his broken nose, the "Doctor" slammed a left cross into his jaw, and in short order the man sank to the ground, properly concussed. He looked at the man he used Hutchinson to knock down, and he was clutching his unconscious leader in his arms like a fallen brother in battle while staring at Dr. Hillhurst in terror.
Two drinks, just sober enough to realize how outmatched he is.
"PA!" He heard the boy who stole his bicycle in the first place exclaim in horror, before rushing to the other unconscious man and trying to stir him. "Pa, wake up! Wake up!"
Seeing that, Dr. Hillhurst sneered in disgust. "Of course, men of low character would dare to pass a legacy of violence onto their children."
He turned and looked down the alleyway, furious. "I do recall saying something to the effect of offering a man enough to feed him and his, and he'll do whatever is necessary. A hypocritical, contemptible wretch like you would of course take and twist it into the vilest of things, Ms. Blakesfield-Bonner!"
Two sets of footsteps approached from the darkness, before the elegant and composed Emily Blakesfield-Bonner stepped into the dim arc light. Far from the impassioned teetotaler who spoke of shutting down dens of sin and the virtues of sobriety, she wore a cold, malicious stare that bore through Dr. Hillhurst–a deep and wide hatred that only dared show itself at night.
His hands folded behind his back; the man who walked beside her remained in the dark. Dr. Hillhurst noted him, before focusing on her.
"Is it no wonder that men turn to crime in this town, your town? You drive them from their homes, turn verdant, lush land into oil-soaked, dead dirt, force them to work for next to nothing in your factories, and then take every fruit of that labor for yourself. Oil, and broken men, that is all you are interested in producing."
Emily sniffed at Dr. Hillhurst's damning words. "It is not for nothing that men break in the service of progress. Every drop of oil drawn from the earth fuels and lubricates the machines of industry that will turn this country from an afterthought to a great power. I facilitate it, the sacrifice of those who work for me ensures it."
Dr. Hillhurst wished he'd brought a gun, or even his cane to strike this woman down and dead where she stood. "And that is all they are, broken pieces of your great work–"
"Exactly," Emily said sharply. "Men who can be replaced and will be. Who need nothing but to know their place and will be rewarded for it. Those who cannot, who will not, have no place in this world… let alone in my sight."
She stepped aside, and the man who accompanied her stepped forward. In the low light, Dr. Hillhurst was surprised to see, of all people, an Asian man approach him slowly. He was close to his age, maybe older, and wore the popular attire of the Chinese Immigrants who'd settled west and south of Echo Creek near the sea and the heart of LA.
Dr. Hillhurst's anger was obfuscated by astonishment. "… Is… is that a Chinese man?!"
Emily nodded. "I've grown weary of the fancy martial arts you keep hospitalizing my hard-working employees with."
"Bartitsu, it's all the rage in London," Dr. Hillhurst quipped.
"Whatever barbarism it is, I've chosen to fight it with barbarism." She nodded to the man. "Ping, deal with him."
Dr. Hillhurst rolled his eyes in disgust. "That's probably not even his name."
"I did not hire him to know his wretched life story, only to put an end to yours."
The Chinese Man, whether his name was actually Ping an irrelevant point, slipped his hands from behind his back and bowed to Dr. Hillhurst before assuming a front stance with his right hand and foot leading. As with Hutchinson and his boys. Dr. Hillhurst's mind began to race as he sized up his opponent.
Stone cold sober, breathing even but deep and open, pulse at rest. There is no tension in his body, only anticipation in his nerves. This man is not like those I've dealt with. I need to be quick and decisive if I am to defeat him. This mustn't register on an emotional level.
Dr. Hillhurst looked at his hands, then his feet, then back and forth as his hand reached for the handkerchief in his coat pocket.
First, I'll distract the target by throwing my handkerchief at his face, then block his blind attempt to grab, and counter with a cross to his left cheek. Then, discombob–
The next thing Dr. Aloysius Hillhurst knew was that he was being punched in the face repeatedly by the Chinese man, who'd grabbed him by the collar of his suit and began using his face as a speedbag with his other hand.
Behind the Chinese man, Emily smiled in satisfaction as she watched the subject of her ire take a long-awaited beating and listened to the sounds he made with each hit.
"Urk! Ough! Oof! Damn it–! D'oh...!"
"Honestly this is so long overdue," she said, "I've only known you for a less than a year and it feels like you've antagonized me for an age."
"Bleh–! Paddy–! Guh–!"
"Do you have any idea how much it costs to pay for the medical expenses of the men you've put into the hospital?"
"Of! Poit! Zort! D'apples!"
"To ensure that they and their families don't go hungry? Do you know how it feels to be in their shoes?"
She raised her hand, and the Chinese man immediately ceased punching Dr. Hillhurst.
Panting, his face already swollen in spots and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Dr. Hillhurst looked at Emily. "… I… don't know… do you know how it feels to be the farmers… whose lives, wives, and children are threatened by those same men if they don't give up their land so you can grow oil instead of food…?"
Emily made the most hateful face. "You talk far too much."
"I will… however… give credit where it is due. I am stunned that you've hired a man–for the first time–based entirely on the skills he possesses, and not the color of his skin." To the martial artist, he said to the man in note perfect Mandarin. "Congratulations on breaking the racial barrier, I hope you're being paid the thirty-five cents she pays her white thugs."
Ms. Bakersfield-Bonner recoiled. "You speak that gibberish?!"
The Chinese Man let Dr. Hillhurst go and answered in perfectly fluent English. "Thirty-five cents?! I'm only being paid twelve!"
Right away she realized what he did and scowled at the "Doctor" before snapping at her newly hired muscle. "It's more than your kind should get, now do your job or you don't get paid at all!"
The threatening crack of a whip made everyone in the alley jump and go very still. All looked up to see a feminine figure standing on the roof of the warehouse, illuminated by the larger Arc Lamp shining on the town. It was the gaudily dressed woman who'd foiled the robbery earlier in the day, the sequined jewels in her attire and the S-shaped ring on her right hand ring-finger gleaming fabulously in the light.
"Rest assured, amigo," she said to the Chinese Man, "You won't get your medical expenses as generously covered as the lady's white thugs either. So, reconsider your risk against reward."
The man didn't need to be told twice, turning and fleeing down the alley while flipping Emily off and saying some very colorful things in his native Mandarin. After watching him go, Emily looked up at the interloper with a fierce scowl as the other woman casually stepped off the edge of the roof, fell over thirty feet, and landed in a neat crouch unharmed beside Dr. Hillhurst.
Dr. Hillhurst gave a bloodied smile at the woman. "Never in my life have I been so fortunate to see someone so offensive to my eyes."
The woman stood upright and tipped her hat to Dr. Hillhurst. "Doctor."
She then turned to Emily. "Ma'am. I do believe that a lady of your standing need not be out so late. It's dangerous out here; you have no idea what could happen to you if you keep going 'round unattended."
Emily's cold gaze attempted to lance through the woman but was met with a smile that concealed not a threat but a promise. Huffing, she turned away. "'Doctor' Hillhurst, I hope this is the last time I have to lay eyes upon you."
"Hey, me too," Dr. Hillhurst replied. "It is dangerous out here, after all."
Scoffing, the socialite pulled out a handkerchief and threw it onto Dr. Hillhurst's face. "Wipe yourself off, Doctor, you live to see another day."
With that she walked into the alley, disappearing into the yawning darkness. The remaining conscious man of Hutchinson's trio dragged his boss out, while the simpering bike thief hauled his still unconscious father out after.
Dr. Hillhurst, taking his bike, stood it and rose to lean on it, when his savior came to his side and helped him stand. "Now, hold on, Al. You look like you took a bad beating there…"
He turned to her and smiled. "Really, you are too kind. SheHaw, was it? Are your sure I cannot call you Ja–"
"Not while I'm on the clock," she cut him off. "What in tarnation are you doing getting into fights at night with that whore's whores?"
"It was an ambush," Dr. Hillhurst said. "They used my one weakness, my attachment to personal property."
"And that you talk too much."
"I thought you were here to help!"
"Anytime and always," she said as she got him on his bike, took it by the handlebars, and began rolling him down the alley. "But I reckon you've been recklessly doing as you please, expecting none of it to catch up to you–and now that it has, you need to be told how you messed up, so you won't again."
Dr. Hillhurst sighed, as if to swoon. "Oh, SheHaw, if I could hold romantic desire for another. I would fall to my knee and ask you to be my bride."
"And I would laugh in your face at the very idea."
"Is it possible to love someone more platonically?"
SheHaw laughed as she wheeled Dr. Hillhurst out of the alley and pointed them both in the direction towards his home. "So, what was it this time?"
"She's making her way up the hills, going after the white homesteaders now. That woman's appetite for oil is insatiable."
With a snort, SheHaw shook her head. "Of course, she would."
"I stepped in, as usual, earned a rare prize from her polite young men, and that should've been that. I didn't even rough them up as much as I normally do."
"You've been at it with her for months, did you think she'd never be able to pull a new trick out from under her skirt? That you'd always just throw a few guys around, run them off, and receive all the thanks, beef, and wine you can stuff into your big mouth?"
"Sadly, the whites are a lot less grateful for my service to the community, so I think I'll be seeing less of that in the future," Dr. Hillhurst lamented. "While we're on the subject of disappointment: she was right there, you know… you could've slammed that whip right between her eyes."
"Oh yes and kick off the mother of all riots aimed at anyone darker than a caramel. Why yes, I would like that on my conscience." SheHaw scoffed. "She only plays this game because it's as much good publicity for her as it is for you."
Dr. Hillhurst fell quiet after that as he conceded to that point. The reason he was alive, the reason Emily Blakesfield-Bonner was alive, was because the latter treated it as a game… and if she lost, she'd make sure no one else could enjoy their victory.
Dr. Hillhurst swore one day he would throw it away and kill her, but it would not be this day. "You have to admit, though. The fact she actually hired a Chinese man to fight me is shockingly progressive for her."
That prompted a laugh from the heroine. "Hah! At this rate, she'll hire a negro next."
The thought filled Dr. Hillhurst with wonder. "Good Lord, I'd gladly let the man punch me all day if it got him paid his twelve cents an hour."
A softer, kinder laugh left her. "… And that's why I bother to rescue your worthless hide, Al… you never make it about you. Some man of confidence you are."
Dr. Hillhurst leaned against SheHaw and chuckled. "Ah, but that's exactly how a confidence game begins in earnest. You never make it about yourself, that's how you get the mark to trust you."
SheHaw, like Yee Haw? Believe it or not, I watched SheZow for this (don't, like Big Bad Beetleborgs it's wasted potential and effort at every possible level even for its time), and for a show with so many god awful, I mean absolutely horrific puns... not introducing Old West SheZow as SheHaw was a wasted opportunity. And with this, we close out Volume 8. I hope you've enjoyed the read, and look forward to the next one. It's already well underway, and there's going to be quite a few changes, twists, and turns as we start to go beyond the borders of Echo Creek.