The Universe's Mixer

Jean-Paul resented a lot of things in life, not the least of which was being treated like some sort of sheep to be herded around on the whim of the shepherds. Currently, he also resented being fed worse food than he imagined many domesticated sheep ate, being confined, being drugged, and being told what to do by patronizing supposed-nurses and doctors.

However, since this particular incidence of herding - conducted by a rather weedy doctor and several large orderlies (Jean-Paul was flattered, really, but they needn't have bothered with him in his current state) - was heading in the direction of the front desk and the door, or so he'd been told, he was rather okay with it. It's not like he had a choice at the moment, and he had nothing to lose if they were lying.

Well, unless they were going to kill him, but that seemed unlikely, even in this place that made no sense.

"Wait," one of the orderlies rumbled, consulting a clipboard. "We missed someone."

The doctor shook his head. "He's on the way out. This way, Mr. Beaubier."

They turned a corner or two and passed a few more doors before the doctor stopped. Hesitation fought with a (in Jean-Paul's opinion) skewed sense of duty, which finally won out. He reluctantly opened the door and called out to the patient within the room. "It's time to go."

The Man in Black sat patiently on a plush leather chair. Not standard hospital issue in the least, but then again neither was Walter. The hospital garb did not suit him, so it became what he desired. He was trapped in a circle of glowing runes, pale letters of the old ones that understood magick and science were one in the same. He was a captive audience so long as the circle remained powered.

The psychiatrist sat nervously, outside of arms reach stalwartly intent on getting his patient assessment form completed. He was the third today. The first went home after four questions and shot himself in the head. The second dropped his pencil and reached for it as it crossed the protective glyphs. He made a really comfortable chair.

"Date of Birth?" The doctor droned
"March the 4th" Walter replied softly
"Mother's name?"
"Janet Anderson"
The doctor stopped writing.
"That's my birthday and my mother's name." The doctor said nervously.

Walter smiled "I know." looking more deeply into his eyes "Any more questions? Favorite memory? Secret desire? Perhaps... date, place and method of death?"

Shaking uncontrollably, the doctor left leaving the door open.

"How rude...." The Man in Black waited patiently in his gilded cage for his next visitor.

Elizabeth was worried that nothing would ever return to normal. She didn't know where Will was, but her anger had mostly subsided now. She hadn't seen Jack in ages, Dean seemed to disappear.. And there was that awkward time with Oz still sitting neatly in the I-have-no-bloody-clue pile. She needed to break out of this city and if it meant cutting down a few random people with her cutlass to do it, she'd do it. But where did the City keep it's officials? Who ran this place? A king? Queen? Perhaps some random official?

Elizabeth began her search by the docks, because she hoped to run into Jack, but eventually spread down the street, and around another black, and around the next. She ended up in the park somehow and because it was such a nice day and because leather didn't breath well she collapsed in a patch of grass and yanked her jacket off and tossed her cutlass and a few random odds and ends into the jacket, put her hat over her face and fell asleep.

( And the hours just rolled by. )

The City had it's merits. It had dark little corners that most people did not care to notice. It was best for most people to ignore them because sometimes the little dark corners looked back.

It was one of these dark corners that found Walter amusing himself. A young rail thin man moved cards rapidly on a cardboard box that was set upon a garbage can. 2 marks watched him intently betting 20$ a pass. "Follow the queen, and get the green!" the jumpy man hawked to the crowd, "Find the honey and get my Money!" He moved the cards rapidly as the crowd bet, rarely winning. Walter assumed the weed eater that was running the scam had a shill working with him as well.

"Where's the red queen?" he asked and flipped over a black jack. Walter answered "in your shirt sleeve" to himself, not loud enough to hear. He had spent a life time following a Red King, so why not find a crimson queen. The man in Black spotted a fading tagline of grafitti "Bango Skank was here!" and smiled to himself. This place had possibility.

River didn't like thinking, lately. Because thinking made her remember about the zombies, and it made her remember everyone running around like they were drunk because of Cupid.

She wanted reality back.

River sat with her legs curled under her and her head tilted, watching a little girl jump rope an counting the sounds the jumps made on the pavement. She in the park, sitting in the sun even though it was a little bit cold, and she had a notebook next to her.

It was getting more full by the minute.

Gary trudged through an expanse of the City park covered in snow, a red bundle under his arm. His breath was short and wheezing, as he hadn't stopped moving since he left the Asylum. Now, finally spent, he slumped into a snowbank and did not move for some time.

"Gary..." called a familiar voice, sounding far away.

Confused, Gary struggled to bring up the bundle. He unwrapped the red jacked he'd stolen and revealed the blood-drained visage of his friend, still wearing his cowl and mask.

"Gary..." the voice squalked softly again. The head was no more alive than it had been a moment ago.

"Roy?" Gary wearily asked the head.

"Over here, fatass," the voice beckoned, dreamily.

Looking further ahead, Gary saw the blue, spectral form of his recently dead friend. With sudden energy, he declared, "Holy shit! Roy, you're a Jedi!"

"Gary ... I died a violent death. My spirit can't rest until I've been avenged. You must..."

"Wait, why are you wearing your costume?" inquired Gary, interrupting.

Roy looked at himself curiously at first, then in disbelief. "Aw, what the hell is this?" The colors were indistinct, but he was clearly wearing the uniform of a Monarch Henchman. Roy attempted to grip his clothing, but his hands passed right through his body. "I don't believe this! Don't I get an angel gown, or a ghost sheet or anything?"

"I know, right? It's not like your clothes died," Gary agreed.

"All right, that's it. I'm gonna kick that clown's pasty ass. I am not showing up to the afterlife in this getup." He seemed to have a little trouble making a fist, as his fingers kept passing through his hand. "New plan, Gary: you find me some way to come back to life so I can get my revenge."

"Sweet!" cheered Gary. "Just hold on a little while, okay? I think I gotta collapse from hypothermia for a bit."

The zombies were being hunted down, some destroyed and some “cured”. Walter wanted none of this. He spent too long cultivating a few of these special little bundles of love to give them up entirely. He needed a place to stash them and to set up shop, but where. Fortunately Ka, and the City seemed to readily provide what he needed. He stashed a small cadre of his freshest associates in an alley across the street and approached the building.

“Lady Rhea’s” glowed in garish neon along with an outline of a palm, and a generous offer of 5$ readings. This was going to be more fun that he originally anticipated. Rhea turned out to be a fat faded painted bird. Too much makeup, dripping in pentacles, and wearing more brightly colored silk scarves then a gillie Walter once knew in a piano pub in Midworld. Her perfume reminded Walter of burnt grass, and her affected manner sealed the deal.

Rhea peered at Walter and more importantly Walter’s money across a small round table as the Man in Black settled into his seat. “Read your palm sir? The “sir” came out almost as if it was an unpleasant taste in her mouth. “Cards Sai Rhea, they have always been more kind to me” Walter replied. He did have his limits, and letting this pretentious bag of shit fondle his hand, was just not going to happen.

“Suit yourself sir” She replied and got to the business of weaving a story with her tarot cards. She spoke of wealth, love and luck, how she saw it in his future. Walter tried not to roll his eyes too much listening to the meat bag prattle on. “And this card is your…” She stopped mid-word. It was The Magus. It was impossible, her magician card looked like Merlin from the King Arthur story. The card looked disturbingly like her customer. Her sanity began to split at the seams as the Magus of the card smiled showing too many teeth, and it winked at her.

The fortuneteller began stammering, closing her eyes and furiously trying to blink the image away. The Magus patiently waited, still looking up at her. The image giggled. Walter took the remaining tarot cards from her hand, and began to shuffle them deftly.

“Shhhh” Walter implored. “Relax, have a little tea, and let me.” The teacup wasn’t there before was it? No matter, she was in no condition to argue and swallowed the contents in one steaming gulp. Tremors started in her extremities, as Walter began to deal the cards.

Rhea was struck dumb watching the cards being placed. It was the Tower, and the Tower, and the Tower again. A low keening wail began to escape Rhea, as she shed a droplet of blood from her left eye. She did not hear the bells over her door chime, and the 13 zombies shuffle in.

She felt the teeth and the cold hands on her. It was not long before she felt nothing ever again. One of the zombies knocked over the table, the deck spilling to the floor. Just the Tower and the Magus. Why would there need to be anything else? “Take human bites Vincent! Share with the others.” Walter scolded the undead as they carried the former owner of “Walter’s Warlock Shoppe” into the basement. There were sticky wet sounds, and Walter closed over the door to downstairs.

The Neon Sign blinked off, it relit showing only a red eye, and a small white banner stating “Under new Management!” He would have to do something about the smell of cigarettes, that habit can kill you.

As another round of shots blazed through the alley Gwen Cooper was not taking this very well. She had faced weevils, she had faced various Rift gift creatures and she had heard stories of the Daleks and the Cybermen but this was Cardiff brand weird times about ten. She had texted Jack and opened she would find him very soon (and in one piece).

But for now she was doing what any cop in her shoes would do. She was getting people to safe havens, going on food runs for various shelters and ducking zombies. "At least zombies are kinda like weevils" she observed as she ducked into a coffee shop to get some air. That was when she discovered the trap door that looks like the shop kitchen. Of course being the curious sort she had to take a look around and that was when she found what looked to be a dead ringer for the hub back in Cardiff. That sealed her decision so she called Jack and aimed for his wrist device.

"Jack its Gwen. Come to this address and trust me on this one. I think this place wants you and me back in business, will explain more then."

The Gunslinger neared the Tower. Ka had dealt his Ka-tet a bitter hand. Walter had read those cards long ago. It was time to spring the trap, Roland would not get to the top of the Tower if Walter could help it. The Man in Black had other plans for the Crimson King. After all the centuries scurrying around the wheel like some grasseater in the wastelands, it was time for Walter of Endworld to become Walter of Allworld.

He drew a sigil on a rough stone wall, resonating lost words from another time. A door opened into the Todash darkness, planning to reappear in the top of the Tower, to either slay an injured Crimson King, or a triumphant gunslinger. The power of the door drew him in and he knew something was terribly wrong.

Walter's way was magick, the energy of the Prim. It was capable of many wondrous things, but reacting with science it could have unfortunate side effects. Centuries before, North Central Positronics had created a teleportation gate at the same spot. Ka was finally visiting itself on the Nameless Stranger.

North Central Positronics found that creating a portal so close to the junction of the Beam was so unreliable that travelers were as likely to end up anywhere. They thoughtfully bricked up the opening, making sure the work matched the rest of the stone wall. It was these little careful details that separated them from other corporations.

Walter was drawn into the door. Instead of just hearing the Todash chimes in his head, a mechanical disembodied voice happily piped up as well. "North Central Positronics thanks you for your patronage. Transport gateway 19, activated." Walter had just enough time to realize what he had done before he blacked out. "19, acti..."

An unconscious gaunt black clad figure was spit out of an unseen door into the City. He bounced off of the side of a building, and crumpled to the ground.