Vivika Widow's Blog, page 71

Knock, Knock [Episode 6] Picking up strange women

Following my wife’s death I lived at the ‘Knock, Knock’ club. I spent most of my time in the spacious but neat apartment at the top of the building they had granted me. Someone had placed a photograph of the club founders in it. I only knew this was my grandfather, having never met the man, because of the striking resemblance he bore to my mother. From what I could understand of the club I was now at the mercy of, they paid homage to him as one of their founding members. I hadn’t gathered enough nerve yet to ask more than they had already told me. The club was no more than a cult. When my mother gave birth to me – the son of a lowly fisherman – she ran to the city of Coldford from her island home in Westcliff. As the last remaining member of the Crusow family, half of The Group wanted me dead and the other half, like the Knock, Knock club manager Dennis and the cabaret performer Tabitha, were striving to keep me alive.

Since my first visit my wife, Theresa, had been murdered by those trying to flush me out. Tabitha had put a bullet through the Mayor of Coldford’s head because his wife was a member of the club and his affairs, gambling and general wasting of the city’s money was beginning to bother her. I should have left then but I had nowhere else to go and that until I embraced the club’s protection I wouldn’t be safe anywhere. I didn’t fear that. I guess what kept me there so long was that I was a reporter by trade and this was a story too rich to let go. The club spread to very high places and if I kept quiet long enough I could blow the whole thing open. I realise now how naïve I was in thinking this but I had nothing else.

According to Tabitha, the club allowed protection for its members even through depressions like the one that Coldford was experiencing at that time. Times were desperate and the members need not suffer the indignity of poverty when there was so much of the flesh, blood and belongings of non members to go around.

I couldn’t really tell if I was being held prisoner or not. After all, having the same name as my grandfather, Samuel Crusow, they held me in such high regard. I never tried to leave. Tabitha – niece of The Group’s co founder, Tawny – made it quite clear that there was no point. Their influence spread far and wide. The police had already suspected me as being responsible for Theresa’s murder. All the club had to do was to call into their members at Coldford police department and I would snapped up and put in a cell for the rest of my life. Given the choice, my room at the club was much more comfortable.

The girl’s at the club kept me kept me supplied with food and drink.It wasn’t great quality. The meat was gritty and the cider was on the turn but it was better than anything outside and there was enough of it to feed a large family. When I looked out of the window I could see men, women and children scrounging in the alley for a decent meal. The Coldford depression being so severe even the soup kitchens couldn’t stay open. I had taken to putting what food I could into plastic bags and dropping them from the window so the wretched homeless would be able to find something to eat.

I started to become familiar with the patrons and staff at ‘Knock, Knock’ without actually getting to know them. I didn’t like being on my own so much so I loomed about the club like the ‘Knock, Knock’ mascot. One afternoon I wandered down into the main club floor. The last stragglers from the matinee sessions were beginning to clear out to make way for the dinner visitors. Dennis was leaning against the bar, overseeing the rush of staff, preparing for the biggest show of the day.

“Take a load off Sam,” he instructed.

Normally only people who know me well enough called me Sam but Dennis was one of those types who treated everyone like they were life long friends. It didn’t matter if he had known them five minutes or five years. I had come to expect it from him.

The girl behind the bar, A flaming haired beauty barely out of her teens named Lisa, poured a whiskey and slid it over to me.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“Nothing more than the usual,” he replied.

Tabitha came tearing from backstage. She wore gents trousers, white shirt and black waistcoat. Her lips were tightened with fury. She was clutching a blood stained shirt in her hand which she threw at Dennis. Dennis barely flinched.

“One life for another. It’s only fair don’t you think?” he remarked.

“Am I missing something?” I asked. My reporter mind was ready to take note. If there was some division between Tabitha and Dennis I could exploit then perhaps getting away from them would be easier than I thought.

Tabitha just sneered at Dennis. “He was mine!” she snarled before storming backstage again.

Dennis turned into the bar. He threw the bloodied shirt to Lisa. “Trash that will you kid?” he instructed. The girl disappeared through a narrow door at the end of the bar that led onto the alley. No doubt the spot where the Knock, Knock club disposed of its evidence.

“Tabitha told me her story. She was born into this. How did you come to be involved?” I asked. I hoped Dennis would assume I was enquiring as a friend and not a nosey journalist.

***

Dennis relayed his tale to me. Before the ‘Knock, Knock’ club he lived in the small town of Millefort, outside of the city, towards the coast. It would have been the first piece of civilisation my mother would have met when she carried me in her arms from Westcliff.

Dennis and his father, David, were traders who thrived on their ideal location between the docks where exciting food, clothes and trinkets would arrive from foreign lands and the city of Coldford where there were (at that time) plenty of customers willing to spend on such treasures. They had a happy life – at least that was how Dennis described it. He was married to a beautiful, if not a little neurotic, woman named Julianne. She was carrying their first child. Perhaps a boy? Perhaps a girl? They didn’t care as long as the baby was healthy. David Platt had bid Dennis’ mother a heartfelt farewell as she ended a long suffering year of a disease doctors couldn’t combat but whilst David had his son and a grandchild on the way he wasn’t ready to join her yet.

As Dennis set the scene it made me consider that this kind of contentment was only the pleasant, sun drenched calm before the storm. After all, he had went from family man with everything most people would covet to a grotty back alley club in Coldford where murder is all part of the entertainment.

Ships had been arriving with new products and Dennis had been at the Millefort Harbour to greet them. As the deliveries were being carried from the ship to the waiting ‘Platt and Son’ van, one of the helpers allowed the crate he was carrying to slip from his fingers.

“Woah!” Dennis cried as some of the coffee beans it contained spilled out from torn packets. “Be careful with that or I’m going to have to charge you.”

“Sorry sir,” murmured the helper.

“Just get it loaded into the van,” said Dennis, checking his watch to see how much time had been wasted.

As the delivery men busied themselves loading the van, Dennis spied a girl sat at the edge of the pier. She had pulled her heavy fur coat close to her chin. Her white stockinged legs dangled over the edge.

“Are you okay kid?” he asked, approaching her slowly so she wouldn’t be frightened by the sudden appearance of a stranger.

She looked up at him. Her rich attire and the diamonds that sparkled in her ears were unusual for Millefort. It was a laid back town, with earthy people. Her eyes were a pale grey, her lips painted a vibrant red. “I need to get to Westcliff,” she said.

“They don’t have any passenger ships here,” instructed Dennis. The girl looked solemnly out across the water. “What is your name?”

“Tabitha.”

“Where have you come from?”

“Filton. I’m looking for my aunt. She’s in Westcliff.”

Dennis, looking back at the delivery men who were closing the van up, said to Tabitha, “A boat ain’t going to magically appear kid.” He reached out and helped her onto her feet again which were clad in crushed velvet shoes. “Why don’t you come home with me and we can get you sorted.”

Dennis had expected Tabitha to resist climbing into a large blue van with a man she didn’t know but she thought nothing of it. She rode in silence beside him. Dennis had many questions that he wanted to ask her but he followed her lead and said nothing.

When they reached his home he finally said, “Don’t worry, I’ll smooth it over with my wife.”

The van crawled in front of a whitewashed bungalow. It was early evening by then. Darkness was smothering the sun underneath a pillow of stars. The lights in the houses were beginning to illuminate the narrow street. A large window at the front bathed the dark, tidy lawn in an azure glow.

A woman came charging into the light of the headlamps. She was dressed in a thin nightdress and was barefoot despite the chill in the air. She was heavily pregnant.

Dennis grunted, brought the van to a complete stop and rolled down the window. He leaned out and called to her, “Julie, what the Hell are you doing? I could have ran you over!” He climbed out and Tabitha followed.

“What kept you?” asked Julianne. “I was worried.” She linked her arm through her husband’s and stared at the stray girl he had brought home.

“You know its a long drive. I found this girl. She was lost.”

Julianne reached her free hand out and took Tabitha’s in hers. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tabitha. I need to get to my aunt in Westcliff.”

“This is the wrong direction,” said Julianne coldly. “You won’t get far tonight. You had better come inside.”

“Tabitha’s grey eyes clouded. She pulled her coat closer to her frame. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” she said as she followed the couple heading towards their front door.

“My husband has brought his fair share of strange women into my home.” Julianne pulled her arm away from Dennis and entered the house first.

Despite Julianne’s obvious discomfort at having her there, Tabitha remained with them. The days rolled on and the weeks went by. Julianne avoided her where possible. Dennis managed to decipher that her parents whom she lived with in Filton had died in a terrible accident. The details of this accident were too painful to discuss. The only living relative she had left was an aunt (her grandfather’s sister) who lived on the island of Westcliff. The only worldly possessions she had were the expensive clothes she had been wearing when Dennis met her and a bankers note that would allow her to draw on her parent’s accounts which were extensive. She was hesitant to do this. She settled into the home of the Platt family and despite her eagerness to get to Westcliff on the first day, she never mentioned it again.

“What age do you suppose she is?” Julianne asked as she and Dennis watched the stranger from a distance. The stranger they had invited into their home for a night was now sat comfortably in their sofa – blue leather with delicately carved wooden trimmings that was Julianne’s pride and joy – watching their television.

“I don’t know. Sixteen, seventeen maybe?”

Julianne groaned and rubbed her swollen womb. “She said she was going to board a boat to Westcliff weeks ago. Why is she still here? The baby will be here any day now and we will need the room back.”

Tabitha’s explanation of her life in Filton was sketchy. She wouldn’t draw on her parent’s accounts to pay for her upkeep or find somewhere more luxurious to live. Judging by what clothes and jewellery she had with her she was wealthy. Filton was a haven for the rich. She did what she could to earn her board by helping David – who lived next door to his son – with the accounts for their trading. She did this with the meticulous detail of an expert. She didn’t pay for her food but she fetched whatever they needed and cooked it so that Julianne didn’t have to. She told them that she had written to her aunt, inviting her to the mainland to help her sort her parent’s affairs and was awaiting a response.

More time went by. A little baby boy with Dennis’ dark eyes and the soft wisps of Julianne’s chestnut hair was brought into the family. He was named Milo and even Julianne had to admit that Tabitha’s help in dealing with the infant was invaluable. Tabitha held Milo in her arms a lot. She sang to him, she danced around the room with him. Whenever he saw her face he would break into an adoring, gummy grin. David adored her too. At the end of the day Tabitha was quiet and solemn but when it came to people she was a vibrant performer. Times were bliss for the Platt family. Life was complete.

“That baby of yours must be keeping you up all night,” quipped one of the Coldford buyers when Dennis struck a deal much lower than he normally would.

“You’ve just caught me in a good mood,” Dennis laughed. “Don’t expect the same next month.

“Don’t let him kid you,” piped up another. “It’s that young girl writing the accounts that’s got him in such high spirits.” Dennis shrugged off the comment and made his way back home.

The house had been surprisingly quiet. Milo wasn’t crying. There was no bickering between Julianne and Tabitha. Tabitha was alone in the den. She was sat on the edge of the sofa wearing her coat. There was a large deep crimson blood stain across the wall as though something or someone had been whacked hard with a heavy blunt object.

“What happened? Where’s Julie?” asked Dennis.

“She’s gone,” murmured Tabitha. “She tried to hurt me. She tried to hurt Milo but I stopped her. She took him and now she’s gone.”

Dennis was breathless. His wife and child were gone. A thick blood stain was all that remained. He checked Milo’s room to see with his own eyes if what Tabitha told him was true. His instincts then drew him towards his father.

“David’s gone too,” Tabitha called after him as he darted next door.

Dennis found his father’s door open. His television was blaring loudly as it always did. There was a bullet hole in the back of his head. His eyes were wide. The image of the assailant still printed on the whites.

Tabitha had followed behind him and laid a consoling hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s time I cashed my parents accounts. We can get out of here.”

Dennis shook his head, forcing back the sobs in intense breaths. “She murdered my father. She took my boy.”

“There’s nothing here for either of us. Come with me to Coldford. My aunt has written to me. She will meet us there. She will find Julianne faster than the police ever could.”

Dennis finished his story. I leaned back against the bar. I realised I was still holding the same empty glass I had had at the beginning of his tale.

“So you came to Coldford with Tabitha. You believed that your wife suddenly went crazy, murdered your father and ran off with your boy? Didn’t it occur to you that it was probably Tabitha – you know, the member of this ridiculous group who believe they have licence to murder.”

A smile crawled across Dennis’ lips. “Of course it did. It still does.”

“Then why come here?”

“I believed her when she said she could find my son. She loved Milo. I had no reason to think she would hurt him. Like you, I had nowhere else to go. The club replaced the family I lost. Now I can’t be without them. Whatever happened to Julianne, Milo is still alive. I know it.”

“How long ago was this?”

“About eight … no ten years ago. Milo will be ten now.”

“How can you look her in the eye? She could have been responsible for it all,” I felt the need to remind him.

Dennis emitted a cold peal of laughter. “Did it occur to you that she may have had something to do with the death of your wife too?”

I hadn’t really considered it before but Dennis’ words hit me like a bolt of lightening. “I guess she could have …”

“Like me you will always have that at the back of your mind but you will never leave this club. I am no founding member,” Dennis explained. “I don’t have any family name to hold on to. The club would rather see me dead than expend any effort in keeping me sweet. I have no choice but to play their game.”

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Check out the story from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

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Groups of the Conflict: Yugasov

Read the Writing on the Wall

leader: Premier Ivan Borkov

Formed by the discontent Russian public the Yugasov party became the fastest rising political entity in Russia when headed by Ivan Borkov. With an extensive and powerful family at his disposal and a great deal of financial and military resources the Yugasov led a campaign against former President Munterov. When the U.S offered support to Munterov this only furthered the Yugasov cause.

After years of political upheaval, a civil war amongst themselves and fending of United States attacks the Yugasov became the elite and most highly regarded political structure in Russian history.

Built from the ashes of noble ideology the Yugasov members are strong, dedicated and often stubborn. They have a mighty army which they will not hesitate to use when necessary.

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Character Profiles: Takoda ‘Wind Storm’ Ha’abra

Name: Takoda Ha’abra (Hay bra)

Age: 57

Nation: Kukri

Status: Chief

Warrior Name: Wind Storm

The influential and strong minded chief of the Candadian Kukri nation. Takoda is head of the house of Ha’abra which are one of eight parts of the Kurki. For generations the Kukri nation have followed the leadership of the Ha’abra house but a tension lies underneath that without Takoda’s strong mind could lead to a civil war amongst them.

Takoda wears an orange feather – meaning spiritual. He is a deep thinker and is strongly connected with the world around him. He is no stranger to conflict. He successfully lead the Kukri against the Yugasov group as they tried to expand their power from Russia through Canada.

Takoda is well respected by other warrior nations. He is a peaceful man but should he feel it is necessary for his people he is willing to fight a bloody battle.

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The Tower (A Red Snow Tale)

The door creaked. The lock clicked. She took a seat at the finely carved oak table. It was a dusty old room in the farthest side of the castle. The narrow window would have offered a far reaching view of the sea if it weren’t obscured by stained glass. The sea roared against the rocks below as the wind raged a violent war through the early evening. The glow of a single candle was all that illuminated the oval study.

She reached below the table and from inside a wicker basket she drew a viper. The creature hissed at her but she had no fear. She spread its body along the table at full length. From the inside of her cloak she drew a dagger. Clutching it in one hand she severed its head with the other. She put the head to her lips and rested it there for a while before splaying her tongue and swallowing it. When she felt the chewed remains nestle in her stomach. She leaned her head back.

“On this night, cold and dreary,

I will not lie hungry and weary.

Let them hear every word of my call.

Those who stand against me, in pain shall fall.”

Her incantation was disturbed by the shuffle of a child. Her eyes sprang open. In the corner was a heap of purple silk. She climbed to her feet and pulled the silk away revealing a cage, large enough to hold the biggest brute of a dog. Sat in the middle was a boy who had seen no more than eight summers. He clutched his knees to his chest and whimpered.

“You’re disturbing me!” she snapped.

The little boy dared not meet her striking blue eyes. “I want to go home,” he sobbed.

She smiled. She clutched the bars of his cage. “The only way you are going home little boy is as chopped up pieces in a box. Would you really put your mother through that? Now shut up before I silence you completely.

She spat on the boy. The skin on his face where the sputum landed burned. He pushed himself as far away from her as he could but his efforts were fruitless. There was no safety to be found.

A knock at the door stopped her from moving any further. She rolled her eyes impatiently and threw the silk back over the cage.

“Come in,” she ushered the visitor. The impatience was telling in her voice.

Her most trusted maid pushed the door aside.

“Your kingdom awaits, Your Majesty.”

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Techno Blunder!

These days we have so much at our hands.

We even have devices that make all of our plans.

We live in a world of electronic coffee pots,

video chatting doodaas and face calling what nots.

On the computer, information at your fingertips,

paying your bills and giving weight loss tips.

But what happens when the technology doesn’t play nice?

Your old friend ‘the freezer’ could just as easily make ice.

When the computer fails, cutting you from the rest of us,

and you actually have to go to the station to book a train or bus,

remember there was a time before social media,

when libraries held more than the wikipedia.

When the intel powered lap top is smashed on the floor,

and the smart phone has been launched out of the door,

when none of the devices talk to you in the kitchen,

when an urgent message is needed – you can always send a pigeon.

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Conflict: Global Crisis (a graphic novel series)

In the not so distant future the world is facing a global crisis. Only the elite Rogue Battalion can be trusted to combat it.

As Rogue Battalion set about restoring peace in a world in chaos it becomes clear that something much bigger is ready to erupt. With heroes and villains on all sides a war is brewing that will change the course history.

It’s time to pick your side.

Written by Vivika Widow (author or Red Snow and the hit novella Maestro)

Series created by Leo St Paul (director of ‘The Walk’)

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Knock, Knock (Episode 5): Big City Kid

The grey skies of Westcliff were fitting for its rugged and harsh landscape. It was a cold, windy island were it rained frequently. Upon a large hill, at the highest point on the island stood a manor house, viewed with awe and respect. Therein lived the Crusow family. No one on the island spoke of it but the Crusow patriarch – Samuel Crusow – had amassed a great deal of power within the community. Samuel had one daughter. His sons were long gone. Emily Crusow had been walking the halls, carrying a child in her arms, sobbing for so long that the very stone of the building was beginning to vibrate with her grief. She had managed to keep the father of her child secret for the first few months of her son’s life. She should have known she couldn’t have kept him hidden forever.

Her father had been summoned by the jingling of bells as servants began to lay the long table for two. Samuel Crusow sat himself at the usual spot at the head of the table. A plate of thick broth was placed under his nose. Samuel immediately set about breaking bread. He had built up quite a hunger that day as it happened.

“Will you stop with that incessant crying!” he barked at his daughter. Bread crumbs fell onto his full auburn beard.

“Please, just let me and my baby go,” cried Emily. “We are no use to you now.”

Samuel smiled with a mouth full. He swallowed the masticated bread and replied, “Even if the little boy is a half breed, he can still be of use. He bares my name and bares my blood. He could find himself at the very top of our food chain if he is raised correctly. He has the chance here to become a great leader. He could have everything he could want and yet you wanted to take him away so he could starve and fade away like the rest them? You lost all chance of being his mother when you made that decision. When he is finished nursing you can go and join the rest of them on the ash heap but the boy stays.”

One of the maids who was most sympathetic to Emily’s plight tried to urge her to sit at the table. Emily pulled her baby closer to her. “You have to eat something,” groaned Samuel as he turned his attention to a newspaper one of the maids had left for him. “It’s not good for the baby.”

In the cover of darkness, in the silence of the night, Emily carried her baby away from the only home she had ever known, the monstrous building she had only just seen the outside of. A small fishing boat was waiting for her on the coast. She had to hurry. Her father’s reach was long and far. She didn’t know who she could trust. Her life had been dominated by ‘The Group’. Until she met Perry – a simple fisherman – she couldn’t conceive of a life outside the group. She didn’t wish for her son to suffer the same. With the help of some of the staff she managed to reach the outside. She didn’t shy away from the cutting wind, she embraced it. For Emily it meant freedom.

“Where are you going?” Tawny McInney had been watching the Crusow house for most of the night. She had been meticulously noting in her mind the changes in lighting through the windows and any shadows moving behind the curtains. Her face was reddened and weather beaten. Her mass of mousey brown curls were hidden beneath a hood.

“Please don’t hurt Sam,” Emily cried, knowing that pleading with Tawny wouldn’t do her much good.

Tawny leaned over and moved the sheets that the baby was wrapped in away from his face. He was fast asleep. He smacked his lips and turned towards the heat of his mother. “Your father is shuddering under the weight of ‘The Group’. He has lost touch with the principals we were founded on.”

Emily looked towards the water edge where Perry’s brother, Peter, was waiting to take her to the mainland and to safety. “I have to go,” said she. “I have to get away from my father before he hurts Sam or hurts me.”

Tawny had never been much of a sympathetic woman. In ‘The Group’ she was probably the most blood thirsty, even more so than Samuel. Something was brewing. ‘The Group’ had been questioning Samuel Crusow’s leadership. Tawny would be the one to step forward and take his place.

“The Group is about to change in terrible and glorious ways. You do not want to be caught in the middle. Take your child to the safety of the mainland. Care for him. Perhaps one day when he is a man we will call upon him.”

To allow Sam to fall into the hands of Tawny and the other’s was a worse fate than anything Samuel would have in store. However, Tawny was offering her something that Emily didn’t have – time. Emily’s immediate concern was getting Sam away from the island. He could grow up away from ‘The Group’. Maybe they would find him one day but in the meantime taking him to the city was the best chance Sam would have. There in Coldford no one had yet heard the name, Samuel Crusow.

***

“So my grandfather was a lunatic and he began this group who felt they were so above the rest of humanity that they could kill for whatever reason they felt necessary?” I said, probably sounding a little more concise in my head than the nonsense that escaped my lips.

Tabitha leaned back against the bar. She had long finished her tall glass of gin and soda. I was still nursing the whiskey in my hand, having held it so long it was warm.

“That’s a rather crude way of putting it but that is the gist. Although, I must profess, your grandfather wasn’t a lunatic. He was a great man but he had lost his way. In the midst of the first great depression the islands were a harsh place to live. There were three prominent families – yours and mine included. Your grandfather saw to it that the worthy ones were provided for. Space, money and even blood and flesh had to be taken from the lowers otherwise the worthy ones would suffer and the lowers would feast on them like parasites.”

“That is awful!” I exclaimed.

Tabitha laughed. “Well listen to the righteous man with the Crusow name.” She shook her head. “This was at a time when there was no trade to the island, the land couldn’t be cultivated and there were far too many mouths to feed. Something had to be done. The lowers were dying at a rapid rate anyway and if left unchecked they would have brought everyone down with them. They were going to die anyway but their lives didn’t have to be in vain. Like cattle raised for the slaughter they helped provide food, shelter and provisions for the worthy ones. Life could go on much as it had before.”

“So what does that have to do with me?” I asked, trying to comprehend how I fit into it all now.

Tabitha tipped her glass over and began to roll it on its edge. “Well you are the key to it all. You are the last remaining Crusow. One of the founding members. That is a pretty important role don’t you think? My aunt was right to let your mother leave with you. In doing that ‘The Group’ managed to grow from some miserable little island cult to something much grander. When your mother had a child with one of the lowers it caused the members to look at how things were run, how it was decided who was lower and who was worthy in the first place. It was dangerous to keep you around, my aunt saw that but your grandfather didn’t.”

“Where is my grandfather now? Is he still alive?”

Tabitha stopped fidgeting with her glass and stood it back upright. “When your mother escaped a sort of civil war was born within ‘The Group’. My aunt and your grandfather made for pretty powerful allies. They both still believed that those of lesser importance should be sacrificed for the benefit of those in authority. Samuel’s blood had mixed with that of the lowers when you were born. Some didn’t like that. Whilst the others bickered over the purity of ‘The Group’ my aunt set about restoring it to its former glory. My family followed you to Coldford. My aunt had promised your mother that she would find you. When she came to Coldford she saw the corruption in high places, like your mayor friend, the miserable wretches that swamped the streets. She had only just bought the club and cemented herself in Coldford society when she died and the second depression hit. Some of ‘The Group’ followed my aunt and thrived in the city. Others stayed behind with your grandfather and died out.”

The weight of grief began to press down on me again as I considered the scale of the situation I was in. “My wife is dead because of this. Theresa had nothing to do with any of this.”

Tabitha raised her eyebrows. “I’m genuinely sorry for what happened to Theresa. It was not our doing. There are still some out there who don’t like the idea of ‘The Group’ being led by a man who was sired by a fisherman. Theresa’s murder was a warning.”

“Where does the mayor come in?” I had pondered the question constantly from the moment Dennis pulled a gun to the mayor’s head.

“Mayor Feltz was a stupid man. His wife had used her connections with ‘The Group’ to gain political office. He then treated his wife and child terribly. The aid we gave him in getting his job was in the understanding that we would have influence in his office. He wasn’t willing to share. He felt that now he was mayor he could get away with anything. No one is above ‘The Group’.”

“How have you managed to get away with this for so long?”

“It’s very simple really,” she answered. “If you approach someone in power and tell them they have the right to decide the fates of those lower than them they tend to jump at the opportunity. Flattery is a very powerful tool. When that fails there is always good old fashioned threat of violence.”

I knew then that it was never going to be so easy as to walk out the door of the ‘knock, knock’ club and leave all this behind. They had people everywhere and now they were trying to make me their leader because I had the same name as the man crazy enough to begin it all in the first place. I asked myself again, not for the last time … what had I gotten myself into?

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Catch up from the beginning:

Knock, Knock (Episode 1): Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock (episode 2): Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock (Episode 3): Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock (Episode 4): Take A Bow

Global Crisis: Human Trafficking (welcome to the AMIA)

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AN INSIGHT INTO THE ANTI MAKRI INTELLIGENCE AGENCY; COMBATING MAKRI SMUGGLING RINGS

They say the world is becoming a smaller place each day. This rings true in the ears of our Anti Marki Intelligence agents who are currently fighting a war on human trafficking. A lesser known agency until recently, they are a small group of officials who are specialised in combating the Makri group – a global concern with widespread members through many different countries. With origins in New Zealand, the Makri spread from the Southern Hemisphere to Asia, from Asia they moved east across Europe. Finally they found settlement in Mexico and certain other parts of South America. The Makri are funded by trafficking of guns, drugs and young girls.

The Anti Marki Intelligence Agency was set up to wage war against the Makri. With support from the United States, England, Caledonia, Japan, Germany and France the success of the AMIA has been remarkable.

Chairman, Jurgen Kiertrich, stated, “We have seen a significant reduction in the amount of trafficking in the past few months. Several Makri cells have been closed down thanks to the effort of our agents.”

With success being declared in Europe, South America has a different view. A former Makri member, Antonio (name changed to protect identity), told us, “They may think they have closed the Makri cells down but for every one they stop another three will replace it.”

Antonio fled from the Makri after having spent ten years in Mexico as part of a drug cartel ring. Questions arose over the financial mismanagement of his group. Falling into debt Antonio’s family were threatened, forcing him to cross the border to the United States and seek refuge. He is currently under the protection of the AMIA.

Antonio’s story is a small piece of the fear that the Makri have caused. We met a girl by the name of Analice, a former call girl for the Makri. She was taken from her home in Ukraine. Her then partner, Kris Markoso, had promised her a new life in the United States where she would receive an education and fulfil her ambition of becoming a school teacher. Analice left her home, selling everything she owned for the venture and departed Ukraine in the middle of the night aboard a ship bound east.

“I was told that I was going aboard Liberty,” Analice told us. “I had heard so much about the ship. I was excited.”

However, Analice was not taken aboard Liberty (A ship that was custom built for the purposes of safe travel for refugees by King Fasio Sanchez of Spain). Instead she and twenty other girls were taken aboard a small fishing vessel. Her journey ended in Mexico. She never saw Kris again. Instead of an education Analice was forced into prostitution to pay for her keep in the slums of Mexico City. She and the other girls being told that the harder they worked and the more money they earned the more luxury they would receive. Analice assured us that this was true for most of the girls. Some were taken to exclusive villas and showered with gifts. Others were left alone to fight a growing drug addiction.

The AMIA have heard thousands of stories similar to that of Analice. Each day they re-home and protect thousands of girls – some as young as eight – from Makri forced labour.

“Our job is just beginning to show fruit,” said Agent Kiertrich. “We have a much larger fight ahead of us.”

Vowing to end the Makri group within the next five years some argue that the intentions of the AMIA are ambitious. The Marki are like a virus having spread to the four corners of the world. There is no knowing how far their membership base has reached. The Makri claim to hold powerful figures as their members. AMIA are not deterred by this. With determination and a dedicated team they will end the tyranny.

A Torrance Global Exclusive

Written by Jaimya Van Hols

Adapted from Conflict: Global Crisis

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Groups of the Conflict: Makri

Location: Mexico

Leader: Mikel Arena

We See, We Take, We Grow

An underworld group that emerged from the ashes of the ‘Southern Hemisphere War’. Originating in New Zealand, the Makri flooded into Australia when Prime Minister Grimsby opened the gates to the Maori people who were subjected to brutal slaughters in their homeland. Undetected the Makri joined the refugees, spreading from Australia into Asia, Europe and eventually South America.

They are master smugglers and will not be stopped by any border. A specialist unit titled the Counter Marki Intelligence Agency (CMIA) was set up by government officials in United States, United Kingdom, Germany, France, Japan and Australia as a means to stop the spread.

It is said that the Makri are like a super virus that cannot be contained. Whilst steps can be made to reduce the number of their cells operating globally it will never be fully eradicated.

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Character Profile: Linciu ‘Blue Raven’ Habaru

CHARACTER PROFILE

Linciu Habaru

AGE: 38 –

NATION: Fosgon – full warrior.

WARRIOR NAME – ‘Blue Raven’

Son to Fosgon chief Tomatcu. During a depression on the Fosgon nation Linciu was approached by the US military. When Linciu first joined the marine core he faced massive racist attacks. On one occasion he was outnumbered by a group of fellow soldiers hell bent on running a what they referred to as a ‘shopper’ out of the core. The CCTV footage showed exactly why Linciu was regarded as one of the finest warriors of his nation. After hospitalising the group and walking away unharmed the footage was sent straight to Washington with a presidential stamp. Linciu was court marshalled and thrown in jail until a highly respected General by the name of Raphael Diorra requested that the warrior become part of the notorious Rogue Battalion. Under the watch of General Diorra, Linciu shot through the ranks to eventually becoming Commander of Rogue Battalion.

His fighting skills almost mirror Thai fighting with sharp reflexes and deadly moves to anyone who may oppose him.

He is a blue feather meaning ‘whisperer’. This displays his abilities to command numerous different species but most notably the raven. Many of his enemies fear the site of the raven believing that Linciu is stalking them. The most superstitious of enemies believe the raven carries the soul of the deadly warrior making him invincible.

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