CHAPTER 5
I was sitting at the MHI compound’s conference table, looking at Management’s files. Earl Harbinger was reading over my shoulder. Again, the door was locked, and even though I had no idea if Tanya’s elf squiggles actually kept away disembodied spirits or not, I’d gotten pretty good at making them myself.
“This is the mother lode,” my boss muttered. We were so used to working in the dark against the forces of evil, having anything this solid was like a Christmas miracle. “Every recorded detail of every event related to this Asag since you woke him up. Every document and eyewitness report. The way most of this is written I’m betting that dragon had a mole inside the MCB feeding him intel.”
“Is this good enough to convince you to approve the mission?”
“Knowing about your adversary is a good start, but the key to a successful invasion means you need to know the terrain. All you’ve got on that island is that Myers stuck a pin in a map and told a cyclops to stare at it. And if we’re going to rescue John and Jason, we need to know how to cross over to the other side, and more importantly how to come back in one piece.”
My enthusiastic desire to kick some monster ass aside, Earl was right. “I’ve got some ideas on that stuff…”
“Don’t forget what they say. Good generals study tactics, but great generals study logistics. The target is north of the Arctic Circle in a country that isn’t big on letting foreign Hunters screw around on their turf.”
I sighed. “Friggin’ politics.”
“If this job was all blowing shit up, it would be easy. It’s one thing to say we want to conduct an op, but another to get all the pieces in place. All the firepower in the world is useless if we can’t get it there. But this is good. You’re learning, Z. I’m not going to be around to run this company forever, and I’d like to know that my great-granddaughter’s right-hand man isn’t an idiot.”
“Come on, Earl. You’re too ornery to die.”
“Die? Hell, after reading that dragon file I was talking about retiring.” He clapped me on the shoulder and then headed for the exit. “Clock’s ticking.”
“I’m going to have to put a hurting on the travel budget,” I warned him.
“You know I never look at those expense reports anyway.”
“I’ll go alone and try to keep it cheap.”
“Bullshit. You’ll take a partner to watch your back. You’ve got frequent flier miles, use them.”
* * *
Jet lag is annoying and long flights screw me up. It was lunch time in London, but felt like dinner. I knew from experience that when I tried to go to sleep tonight, I’d really want breakfast. I hated flying all over the place, but Earl had given me a month, so I was going to make the most of it.
I was sitting at an outdoor table at a little restaurant overlooking the Thames. I had a good view of the Tower Bridge. The weather was cloudy and a little too moist. I’d bought one of those floppy tweed hats and a big scarf. The excuse was to help serve as a disguise in case the Condition had people here. The reality was they were keeping me warm. Let’s be honest. When you’re six foot five, scary, and a very solid three-hundred-plus pounds, disguise is a nebulous concept at best.
A cab pulled up and a man got out. I checked my watch. As was expected, my guest had arrived exactly on time. He had a reputation for being precise. He paid the driver and walked over. I recognized him from the picture Julie had shown me from a hunt where MHI had teamed up with The Van Helsing Institute years ago. Only in that one he’d been much younger, and wearing body armor instead of a three piece suit. What is it with British guys and those skinny suits?
A moment later the hostess showed my guest in. He was tall, in his thirties, thin but wiry. Nice suit or not, he still exuded that Hunter vibe, unconsciously scanning the room, looking for trouble, realizing we had the outdoor deck to ourselves, and then sizing me up when I stood to shake hands.
“Dr. Rigby?”
“No need for the ‘doctor.’ My friends simply call me Rigby, Mr. Pitt.” I was twice his mass, but he had a strong handshake.
“It’s just Owen then. Thanks for coming. Have a seat.”
He did. “Thank you for the invitation. Your reputation precedes you.”
“It’s no big deal.” Actually I got a little embarrassed talking about my exploits. Half the time what other Hunters had heard was exaggerated or flat-out wrong anyway. “You’ve got an impressive resume yourself.”
“I have simply carried on the family business.”
“Meaning after a stint in the SAS you became a traveling monster expert. So what color is the boathouse at Hereford?”
“I love that film, but I have no idea what color it is. I was captain of my rowing team at Oxford, though.”
Julie had caught me up on the inside baseball. The Rigby family were the UK’s closest equivalent to the Shacklefords. The Van Helsing Institute tended to be a little more gentlemanly, academic, and refined, and a whole lot less redneck, but before he’d gone on to become some sort of expert occult super scholar at Oxford, Ben Rigby’s grandfather had been blowing up Nazi monsters for the Special Operations Executive during World War Two. Earl said the Rigby family was all right.
“I hope business is good here.”
“Monster attacks are nightmarishly frequent in London, so it has been lucrative.”
We made small talk. He knew my wife, but hadn’t seen her since she’d visited his mother’s ancestral estate in Scotland one summer when Julie had been a teenager. Then we talked innocuous shop talk. The British treated monster hunting differently than we did in America, with the government and private sector working closely together. British Hunters weren’t allowed nearly as much hardware as we were, so the government did most of the trigger pulling. The Van Helsing Institute were more like detectives than mercenaries.
The waitress came out and took our order. I asked for fish and chips, because that seemed properly British. Rigby ordered a hamburger and a pint of beer. After she left he got back to work.
“So what really brings you to London, Owen? Your message indicated that you wanted to discuss a business opportunity. Yet, you wished to meet in private rather than in our offices. In addition, you asked for me specifically, rather than Howard Isherwood, though MHI is fully aware that Howard administers all of our contractual dealings. I must admit that I am curious as to the nature of your visit.”
“You guys really have the coolest accent.”
“We merely consider it talking.”
“I bet the chicks dig it.”
“I’d assume so, but I would not know. However my partner finds it appealing.”
Julie hadn’t told me that about Rigby. Not that I particularly cared. The dude was supposed to be good at hunting monsters. I didn’t give a crap about what my colleagues did in their personal lives unless it messed with my job. “Okay then.”
“Please, continue.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. I came to you, because no offense to your company, we don’t know them. Earl Harbinger vouched for you and your family.” In fact, the Rigbys were some of the few people outside of MHI who knew Earl was a werewolf, and that family knowledge went back a long time. “We’re working a job involving a high-value target. The thing we’re up against has a reputation for having spies everywhere.”
Rigby nodded. “Both supernatural and earthly spies I presume. Hence the Elven runes designed to ward off ghosts chalked on the boards beneath our table, and your associate up on the bridge pretending to be a tourist with the binoculars, observing anyone who wanders by to make sure we are not being eavesdropped on.
“He’s good.” Holly Newcastle said in my earpiece. “Cute too. Too bad on the gay thing, because that accent really is a panty dropper.”
“Never mind her. She just volunteered to come along because she wanted to go shopping and play tourist afterward.”
“Seriously, I could listen to him read the phonebook.”
I reached into my coat and turned down the volume on my radio. “We also swept the place for bugs too because he has human cultists working for him. I’m here because I need a favor. I’ve got a source that said we could find more information about our HVT in Oxford’s sealed collections. MHI has a pass, but nobody knows it as well as you guys. If my people go poking around in there about him, somebody is bound to notice.”
“Everyone with access is sworn to secrecy, but the secret collection is rather vast. It would not surprise me to know the forces of evil keep an eye on it. Oxford has been collecting monster lore and occult volumes for centuries. Who is your source?”
“The individual who organized the first annual International Conference of Monster Hunting Professionals. Which was, unfortunately, also the last annual Conference of Monster Hunting Professionals.”
“After that debacle I can understand your source’s desire for anonymity. I’m sorry I missed Las Vegas. I was on a consultation in Iraq. Many of my associates were at that conference. Not all of them came home. I would have liked to help. Such a terrible business.”
“Yeah, it pretty much sucked.”
“Speaking of which, I was told you had broken your arm there. I must have been misinformed.”
“Naw, I broke the shit out it, but we have an Orc witch doctor. She knocks months off of recuperation.”
“That is nice. We have to make do with a leprechaun.”
Now Rigby was just messing with me. “Since VHI has unlimited access to the collection, and you’re a regular there, I was hoping you could do some research for us.”
“If a creature has ever crossed the path of man, there will be a mention of it in there somewhere. The issue is folklore and legend are notoriously unreliable, and the collection is an unfortunate mingling of both fact and fiction. However, I also have sources within the Supernatural Service. That is our equivalent to your MCB. What would I be looking for?”
“Three things.” I glanced around. It appeared to be all clear. “First, anything there is about a being known as Asag.”
Rigby gave me a curious look. “Disorder.” I must have appeared perplexed, because he immediately clarified. “I’m sorry. I’m something of an expert on ancient Mesopotamian mythology. Assuming we are speaking of the same creature—and he was once rather infamous—that is what Asag translates as…Disorder.
“That actually seems really fitting. So far he’s been a behind the scenes string puller more than an in your face, Hulk smash kind of monster.”
“Appropriate for a being who could best be described as a god of chaos. Asag was the demonic villain in a cuneiform poem that is several thousand years old, so hideous that his mere presence boiled the fish in the rivers. He is real then?”
“Oh yeah, and he’s a dick. MCB has him flagged as a potential extinction-level threat, not that they ever tell us anything. He was behind the attack in Vegas, and a whole bunch of other things. Anything you could find could help.”
I think the monster detective took that as a challenge. “Consider it done.”
He was being a little too helpful. There were lots of altruistic heroic types in this business, but only suckers worked for free. “What could MHI do for you in return?”
“If this Asag of yours is a world ender, that means the PUFF bounty would be astronomical. I know what your Lord Machado payout was. Even if it is bagged outside of the United States, if the threat is sufficient your government will still pay PUFF, like they did on the Arbmunep. I’ll help you, but in exchange the Institute gets a piece of the action.”
“Standard consulting percentages off the total, and equal shares based upon any manpower provided to the actual operation.” I was ready for this. I was the company’s accountant after all.
“That sounds more than reasonable.”
Rigby was sharp, but he probably didn’t yet realize the sheer scope of what I was putting together. This was going to need to be a multicompany operation anyway, so by agreeing to that I wasn’t giving up too much. “I’m fine with that. But you can’t tell a soul what you’re working on until we bring you in officially. Deal?”
“We have a deal. And the next item on your shopping list?”
This was worth a shot. “Anything you can get your hands on related to how travel works in the Nightmare Realm, and how to get back safely.”
He just stared at me, incredulous. “Are you mad?” He didn’t need an answer. He just shook his head, as if to say it’s your funeral. “Very well. And last?”
“Anything you can find about monster activity, current or historical, on Severny Island.”
“I’ve heard of it. There has been quite an uptick of monster activity there in recent years. Wait…” He chuckled. “That’s really where your target is?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You’re pulling my leg.” Rigby laughed harder this time. “You’re serious? Bloody hell.”
“What?”
“Then you’ve got a problem, mate. Severny is covered by a KMCG contract. Any monster problems there belong to Ivan Krasnov’s company. You’d need to get the Russian government’s permission to operate there, which means you need Krasnov’s approval.” When I showed no reaction to this apparently really bad news he asked, “Do you even know Krasnov?”
“No. Should I?”
“Lucky you. Working mostly in America, I can understand why you haven’t heard of him. Every European company knows that knob. MCB probably wouldn’t let him within a hundred clicks of your border without calling in an airstrike.”
“He’s one of us?”
“Oh, no. No. No. I mean, he is dodgy as fuck but he’s technically a Monster Hunter…” When the subject of Krasnov came up, the gentlemanly Oxford airs went out the window. “Well, it’s complicated. I’d call him a rat bastard, but that would be an insult to rats. And bastards!” Rigby just shook his head, took out a note pad and began writing down contact information. He tore the page out and handed it to me. “Here. This is how you reach him. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
He hadn’t even said that about going into the Nightmare Realm.
* * *
A couple of days later Holly and I met two men at the Sheremetyevo airport in Moscow. Both of them were nearly my size, and of similar build, wearing suits which looked expensive yet which still didn’t conceal their shoulder holsters very well. Neither of them seemed to speak a word of English. I couldn’t tell if these guys were supposed to be Hunters or just scary thug types, but they’d been the ones holding up a sign with MHI written on it after we’d gotten through customs. So what the hell? Life is an adventure.
They led us out to a parked Mercedes limousine with dark tinted windows. One of them roughly tossed our bags in the trunk while the other lit a cigarette and got into the driver’s seat. Baggage guy came around and opened the rear door for us. He nodded for us to get in.
“So do we tip him?” Holly asked. The thug must have taken that as a compliment or thought she was flirting, because he gave her a smile. He had several gold teeth right in front. “Okay then,” she said as she got in the car.
I ducked my head and followed. The Russian slammed the door behind me. We ended up sitting facing backwards. The interior of the limo was cheesy rather than classy. It had a very Big Eighties vibe, real plush red seats and purple lights. There was a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. The limo felt like a rolling disco. Sitting in the back, giving us a huge grin that was as cheesy as his car, was a gigantic, bald man with a bushy mustache. And when I say gigantic, I mean picture somebody who was once big and muscular as me, but then drape another twenty years and fifty pounds of flab on him. He was a big dude. And loud. And enthusiastic.
“Welcome to Russia, Monster Hunters International! I hope the flight was most excellent. You will now enjoy my hospitality.” He had a booming voice and an accent like a stereotype in a spy movie. “Owen Zastava Pitt and Holly Newcastle, I am your host, Krasnov!”
When I’d called and told Earl our next stop on our European research trip, he’d laughed at me like Rigby had. When it came to rival monster hunting organizations, Earl rated everyone on a scale of Asshole to All Right. Earl had never worked with the Hunters of KMCG personally, but by reputation alone, apparently Ivan Krasnov pegged Asshole so hard that he’d broken the meter. When I’d asked how bad this was going to be, Earl told me not to drink anything that might be drugged unless I wanted to wake up in a bath tub full of ice missing a kidney.
“It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Krasnov,” Holly said.
“Ah, you are even more beautiful than I was warned, Miss Holly. I have enjoyed the company of many beautiful women, but you are both the sexy and the deadly. With body of movie star, and brain of doctor, and you have killed all the things!”
That took her a second to digest. She actually seemed charmed by such refreshing honesty. “How sweet.”
“And Mr. Owen, who has exploded Old One, you as well are welcomed to the finest monster hunting company in all of Russia.” He spread his thick arms wide. “Krasnov’s Multinational Corporation of Greatness.”
He wasn’t joking either. That was actually what he’d named the thing.
We pulled out into traffic. Judging by the way it rode the Mercedes must have been armored like a tank. Since I’d learned about how the monster hunting business worked in this country, that made a lot of sense. It was so cutthroat and territorial they often had as much to fear from their competitors as the actual monsters.
Russia had always had a monster problem. Nobody really knew why. Maybe it was because it was just such a vast area, with so many wild places with low population densities, monsters thought it was a good place to hide. According to the old myths, this part of the world had once been lousy with Fey, and lots of them had stuck around. More recently, the Soviets had dabbled in experiments which made Decision Week look like a Cub Scout Jamboree, and let a lot of nasty things loose into the world in the process. Hell, maybe they just liked the weather, but whatever the reason, Russia had a ton of monsters in it.
Before the Soviet Union fell, monsters were handled strictly by the government. They weren’t fast or efficient about it, but they took care of outbreaks with an extra helping of overkill. Earl had described them as absolutely brutal, and that meant a lot coming from a man who’d once driven a snow cutter through a town full of zombie werewolves. When the Soviet Union went away, so did most of their secret monster eradication programs. For the decade following, monster hunting remained the government’s job, but it wasn’t getting done very well. The only thing they were still good at was silencing witnesses, and apparently they were far less merciful about it than our MCB. However, with very few people actively hunting them, the monster populations exploded.
But such is the glorious nature of capitalism, that if there is a service in need of doing, and a way to make a ruble at it, somebody will step up and do the job. Unfortunately, since monster hunting was illegal, and the population weren’t well armed enough to do it anyway, that meant the only people willing to do what needed to be done, who could get their hands on the hardware necessary, were the kind of people who simply did not give a crap about the rules. For example, a young Siberian Spetsnaz officer who looted his armory, deserted, and then got rich getting paid by oligarchs and the Russian mafia to blast any critter that was cutting into their profits.
I was told that criminals only thrive in Russia if the Kremlin allows them to, which means that when necessary they are at the government’s disposal. Fast forward a generation, the Russians had their own contract based version of PUFF, and men like Ivan Krasnov were legitimate businessman.
“I have heard much of legendary MHI. I always hoped to meet. I wished to attend this Conference in your Last Vegas but could not.”
Since everything in Krasnov’s orbit seemed to be simultaneously expensive yet tacky, he’d probably love Vegas. “You should have come. It was great. Until the part with all the horror and dying.”
“Yes, yes. I was invited. But your Department of Homeland Security was upset at me so I could not go to your country. Eh. You misplace one truck load of missiles and they put you on terrorist watch list like common criminal. What are you gonna do?”
That was the other problem with hunters here. They were a little more diversified in their income streams than the rest of us. When you’ve got a perfectly good private army of heavily armed professional killers—who get bored easily—you might as well keep them busy somehow.
Krasnov reached for the limo’s snack bin. “Caviar? It’s very expensive.”
“No thanks.”
“Ha! More for me!”
* * *
After a three hour long, ten course dinner at a ridiculously nice restaurant, Krasnov’s limo had dropped us off at our hotel. It seemed old, but nice. He’d pronounced it a dump unfit for such illustrious guests, and had offered to take us to a place which was so much classier, but I was keeping my word and trying not to spend too much. Tonight we had been wined and dined, and given a tour as we were driven around the city, being told a lot of loud and boisterous stories the whole time, but as far as actual business conducted…It wasn’t going too well.
As we were dragging our suitcases down the hall, Holly was complaining. “That was a lot of flash, but not a lot of substance.”
“Can’t think. I’m in meat shock.”
“Well duh, you ate like a whole wild boar, Z. Did you actually have to eat its face?”
“Snout’s the best part of the boar.” Not that I was an expert, but that’s what Krasnov had loudly declared to the entire restaurant. I switched to my bad impersonation of our host. “Honored guest must eat all the pig nose!”
“I’m pretty sure he was just messing with you to see if you’d actually do it, you freak.”
“I had to eat all the snout, Holly. For America.”
“Whatever. I mean we got a lot of platitudes about working together, building a bridge to a better tomorrow, and all that nonsense, but you can’t pin him down. You’d think somebody that large wouldn’t be that slippery.”
We couldn’t bring up the real reason for our visit until we trusted him not to leak it. And he wasn’t going to trust us enough to tell us anything until he knew the real reason for why we were here. Plus there had been a dozen other people at dinner, half of whom I had no idea who they were, or why they were there, and none of them spoke English. Not counting the two bodyguards, some guests seemed to be other hunters, a couple I think were expensive prostitutes, and one guy was apparently a famous hockey player. So it had been more of a dinner party for Krasnov to shout look at my new American friends than a clandestine meeting to discuss going to war with a demon.
“Yeah, and then it got really awkward when the hockey jock assumed since you were on vacation without your wife I must be your mistress,” Holly said, grimacing. “As if. No offense, Z.”
“None taken.” Holly was like my sister, we both knew I was utterly devoted to Julie, and that was before taking into account that my wife could snipe me from a mile away if I ever cheated on her. “On the bright side them thinking I was your date kept the number of drunk dudes hitting on you to a minimum. We’ll figure out our next step in the morning.”
“Krasnov thinks of himself as a lady’s man. I bet I could get him to trust us.”
“That’s really taking one for the team.”
“Not like that. I mean I can charm him. You’ve just got to make eye contact, smile a lot, and pretend to listen. Trust me, there’s a science to flirting. I made bank as a dancer. I’ve known a lot of Krasnovs…I bet he owns a closet full of track suits.”
“Not that I doubt your skills, but let’s not underestimate him. You don’t end up top dog in a system like this by being stupid or easily manipulated.” I found my room number. Holly’s room was across the hall.
“Night, Z. I really need a shower.”
Once I had some privacy I called home. Eleven at night here was like two in the afternoon there if I remembered right. Julie picked up immediately.
“How’s Moscow?”
“Prettier than I expected, but the trips not exactly been fruitful.” Stricken’s replacement was supposedly not evil, so I didn’t know if our calls were still being monitored or not, but we were still going to play it safe and keep everything nice and vague. As far as the rest of the world knew this was just MHI on a good will visit looking for new business opportunities with other companies. “We had a nice dinner party. I ate the whole wild boar.”
“That’s nice, hon. Listen, I did some more checking with some of the central European Hunters. Tadeusz at White Eagle and Libor at Phantom have both worked with Krasnov before.” Those companies were from Poland and the Czech Republic respectively. After their performance in Vegas, Earl rated both of those companies as All Right. “The verdict’s not good.”
“Let me guess. He’s basically a mob boss.”
“Pretty much. They don’t think he’s insane or anything like that, just criminal.”
“He’s actually kind of jolly in person.”
“He’ll lie, cheat, steal, and probably worse. He’s fundamentally dishonest but really gleeful about it. White Eagle got ripped off so badly on a bounty once that if Krasnov ever shows his face in Poland they’ll probably just murder him. But that doesn’t stop his guys from poaching in other hunters’ turf.”
“Lovely.”
“He’s supposedly devout Russian Orthodox, but I was told a lot of mobsters there are, so I don’t know if he’s devout or that’s just politically expedient. Be careful. Anything you tell him might just get sold to the highest bidder.”
“I was afraid of that.” That meant we were going to have to find another way to learn about the island without alerting Asag.
We spoke for a while, about how she was feeling—tired and nauseous—if there was anything new with my dad—there wasn’t—and the general innocuous stuff married couples talk about when one of us is far away so we could pretend they were near. When I got tired enough to maybe sleep I told her I loved her and said my goodbyes.
After we hung up, I shut off the light and got into bed. Normally I’d have a gun on the nightstand, but I had no legal way of bringing a firearm into this country. I’m sure I could have gotten some easy enough. Heck, I could have just asked Krasnov for one. I’d thought about it, but he was the type of man where I wouldn’t put it past him to sic the cops on me, so I could get a weapons charge, so he could bail me out and I’d have to owe him a favor. No thanks.
Sure, a gun is just a tool, my mind is the weapon, and all that, but not having a gun made me nervous. So after a few minutes of staring at the darkened ceiling, I got up, dragged a couch in front of the door, and then went back to bed.
* * *
Just after two in the morning somebody knocked on my door.
I must not have been sleeping well, because I leapt out of bed, ready to fight to the death, in my underwear. I went to the door and rudely shouted, “Who is it!” In my defense, random late night hotel room knocks were how I’d first met Martin Hood, and he’d ended up throwing a toilet at me.
“It is I, Krasnov.”
I had to climb over the couch to look through the peep hole. Sure enough there was his enormous round face looking back. Because of the fish eye effect of the glass, I realized he had a mustache that would have made Stalin proud. He’d probably gotten bored and wanted to hit a strip club or something. I pushed the couch out of the way and opened the door.
He’d ditched his flashy suit and was wearing some extra, extra large, camouflage fatigues and a blue beret. He had a pistol in a flap holster on his belt, and was even wearing a sword. Unless Moscow strip clubs were surprisingly rowdy, there went my initial theory as to the nature of his visit. “What’re you doing here?” I asked, still unsure if this was all a bad dream brought on by an overdose of boar snout. “What’s going on?”
It was weird, but he actually looked a little bashful. “I could not sleep. I got thinking. The two of us must get to know each other better before we can conduct proper business. Are we friends?”
“Yeah?”
“Some, but I think not yet really. There is not real trust between us. I can tell you do not speak freely about why you have come here.”
“To be fair—”
“Yes! Yes! I as well hesitate to speak truth. You do not trust me. Do not worry. My feelings are not hurt…Much. So I think to myself, what is best way for monster hunters to become like family? It is to hunt monsters of course!”
“Okay, I get what you’re saying but—”
“Wait.” It was hard to tell, but I think he was trying to be sincere. “To get the measure of a hunter, you must hunt together. Then my company received tip of monster here in town. This is fate! So now we hunt monster. I have left my men home. You will leave Miss Holly. Only the two of us will do this. We will fight evil together, Krasnov and Pitt! And then we will know if we wish to conduct real business or not. No more wasting time.”
Holly had heard the commotion and opened her door a crack. She’d thrown on a bath robe, and I wasn’t surprised to see that she’d unscrewed a table leg to use as an improvised club. I wasn’t the only one who had a hard time sleeping without weapons. Krasnov turned to her and theatrically tipped his beret. “Good morning, Miss Holly.”
“Morning?” she grumbled. “It’s kick-you-in-the-face o’clock.”
“I did not mean to wake you, Miss Holly. I am taking Owen out for a rampage.”
“Rampage?”
“This is the right word, no?”
“You’re not going on a rampage without me,” Holly said.
“Nyet. I insist. Do not worry for your friend. It is only small monster. Not too dangerous. This is man business only. Do not offend your host. Come, Comrade! Why are you still in your underpants? There are monsters to be killed!” He hurried down the hall. It wasn’t particularly graceful. “We will meet downstairs!”
Holly watched him go, then turned to me. “Did he just call you comrade? Is that still a thing?”