Report File: FORMER Senior Field Officer "Dullahan"

It was a dark and stormy night.

Dullahan stood at the front door to her father’s home. It was a large building in the richest part of town; being a government head paid well. Rain pittered gently off her coat and uncovered head. After a few moments of reflection, she put the spare key in the lock and opened the door.

There was a lot to do tonight.

Her boots echoed off the hardwood floor. The building was decorated like a hunting lodge from hundreds of years ago. Wood décor, animal trophies, and soft lights shaped like candles. He was an old-world man. And like an old-world man, he liked his schedules; she didn’t need to search him out. Lightning cracked and lit up the house through tall windows.

Her boots clunked and echoed as she went up the winding staircase to the second floor. Near the landing, behind two tall, heavy oak doors, was Jorgen’s study. They creaked when Dullahan pushed them open. From behind his high-backed antique chair, Jorgen leaned out to look back at the intruder. Once the lightning illuminated Dullahan’s form, he went back to sitting comfortably, flipping through an old book. On an ornate desk in front of him, a laptop sat, open but dark in sleep mode. The air was heavy with cigar smoke.

“Where have you been?” He grumbled over the sound of rain pattering against the window across from him. It was a large window that took up a generous portion of the wall; next to it, a fireplace crackled. Dullahan took tepid steps, one every few seconds.

“That’s all you can say?” She said. Anger. Anger felt good right now. “I could have been dead. I almost was.”
Her father hmmphed in response. “But you’re not. Good. Wynters is having a hard time doing all the coordinating. What happened?”

More anger. Yes, that was right. But what else was there… pain? He treated the news so nonchalantly, after all, like she was bothering him by showing up alive. It was his personality; she expected it. So why now did it bother her? “Ambushed. Took a knife to the head. If I hadn’t been found, I would have rotted in the streets or been picked for parts.”

She was seething now. Her bootsteps stopped, leaving the rain and fire to fill the silence of the room. She stood just behind and to the left of his chair. Reporting her survival and seeking pity was not the reason for this visit. She would get answers before the night was over. When he tried to reply, she spoke over him.

“Tell me,” she said. Her voice was stern; it was a demand, not a question. “Why. Why did you lie about the circumstances about mother’s death? Did you think I would not find out?”

Jorgen was in the middle of turning a page when he froze. He was quiet for several long moments, then grunted once.
“I did not lie,” he said calmly, and finished turning the page.

“You did!”

“No,” he continued. His voice rose in irritation. “The magi were responsible. If they weren’t so dangerous, if they didn’t cause trouble, if your mother wasn’t such a shortsighted, bleeding-heart sympathizer!” He slammed his fist on the book in front of him. “She would not have been there in the first place, and there would have been no fight to claim her.” His heavy, angry breaths were louder than the rain. Turning his head slightly towards her, he uttered a simple, seething question: “How did you find that file?”

“An associate who is better at finding tracks than you are at covering them,” she said. Her voice was cold, even for her. Gods, he really convinced himself it was the magi’s fault, hadn’t he? At least he didn’t see the point in trying to lie to her, but his justification, which at one point she would have agreed to without question, instead made her sick. “The same associate who discovered what Axium did to me eight years ago. What you did to me.”

Jorgen was caught, and for all his faults, he knew better than to try and lie when he didn’t know the cards in the other person’s hand. “What I did to you was save you from certain death, you ungrateful child!” He slammed the book shut. Thunder boomed. “What I did was give you a second chance, at great cost! I could have left you to rot! I gave you a purpose!”

She met his rage with her own. “What you did was turn me into… into this abomination! I did not ask for this and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to turn me into some mindless weapon you could turn on magi whenever you wanted! What you did was lie to me about mother’s death so I would blame magi, and then you tried to turn me down your path of blind hatred and war crimes so you could use me as a killer, and by the gods you succeeded!”

He tried to stand up so he could argue with her face-to-face, but when he whipped around he received a fierce punch across the jaw that sent him dropping back down into his chair, a tooth flying away alongside his cigar. Her boots echoed as she stepped around the chair and stood in front of him, looking down at the bloody-mouthed man she once called her father. He stared at her, a wild mix of anger at her insolence and shock at her fury, and, perhaps for the first time in dozens of years, honest-to-gods fear.

“What you did was make me murder children and civilians and convinced me that it was a righteous thing. What you did was take the last eight years of my life and humanity from me so you could use me like a tool. What you did was forever erase who I was as a person, a living, breathing person, your daughter, so you could kill good people without getting your hands dirty.”

A new sound echoed within the study, the distinct, universal sound that had a way of making people reflect upon their own mortality; metal slid on metal as Dullahan cocked her pistol. She aimed it between his eyes, with the same unemotional expression that was the last sight for so many magi.

“What you did was turn me into a monster, one who would kick a defenseless, hungry woman half to death, kill a child who did the right thing by trying to stop me, and indoctrinate me to believe it was all for the greater good. So I want you to know a few things, Jorgen Enthaupten.” She spit his name like the vilest of poisons. “I am going to pull this trigger. I am going to give every shred of evidence of everything you and I have done to everyone who wants to see your empire torn down. I am going to take this killer’s body you gave me, and I am going to kill every last hunter I see. I am going to take your prized weapons, too, and teach them the taste of hunter blood. I am going to watch with a smile on my face as history drags your name, your hard work, and your legacy into the mud.”

She leaned forward. “And the last thing I want you to know, Jorgen? When the guild you dedicated your life to crumbles and your obedient department is gutted, when every last hunter lies in an unmarked grave, when your goddess falls and I snap her neck with my own two hands… I want you to know that it will all be your fault. You turned me into a monster. And now? Now they’ll all pay for it.”

She waited. She savored the moment, she basked in his shifting expression as her words sunk in. She saw the exact moment he realized that not only was she telling the truth, but that she was more than capable of doing so. He built her to be a single-minded, determined, unbeatable weapon, and now the weapon was no longer under his control. The raindrops hitting the glass pitter-pattered like artillery shells against the silence. And for what seemed like the first time in forever… she smiled.

“So, Jorgen: Any last words?”

He paused for only a moment, a determined glare on his wrinkled features and a scowl on his blood-soaked mouth. A final gesture of defiance.

“You-“ BANG

Caroline stared at his lifeless, blood-splattered body for a moment before she turned around and placed her pistol upon his desk.

He never allowed her to speak her thoughts for eight years. Why should she give him the chance now?

= = =

It was a busy night for Caroline. Fortunately, it was all planned in advance, and assisted by the information broker. Before leaving her father’s home, she took several things: his axe- a long, ornate, one-handed weapon balanced for melee combat and throwing, blessed by the runics from the university. Next to it was his other prized weapon; a .44 revolver adorned with the bones of a zero magi. She also took his laptop, and when she was home, made several backups of the entire thing.

She had letters written that were delivered under doors for people to find in the morning; Kelri, Nils, and Talia would discover them once they awoke. She dropped Jorgen’s laptop off with one of the broker’s agents, and made a final stop at the hunter’s guild to present a forged order, allowing her to obtain a stockpile of ammunition for her rifle, revolver, and built-in weapons, as well as replacement parts and cleaning kits that would last her, well, as long as it took. She relieved them of a few grenades, too. Of course, the armory clerks would find it suspicious, and order an investigation, but Caroline would be gone long before then.

The gear went into a truck which was filled with all sorts of other purchased supplies; fortunately her needs were not great, but she still needed to set up a sort of permanent shelter, among other things. She shopped earlier in the week as if she was preparing for an apocalypse scenario, minus the food. She hadn’t spent much of her salary in the past, so she had a great deal of money lying around. Through Maevia, she arranged for a quarter of her entire savings to be delivered to the woman whose leg she ruined in the alleyway, along with the deed to her old house (which Maevia would purchase with a human front, in order to prevent blaming the magi for any foul deeds). Another portion was sent to Tori’s companions in Felici. The rest, other than a modest sum she kept on her person for emergencies, was distributed to pro-magi charities, families of prior victims, and some project Maevia was concocting to give homeless magi a safe place to live.

Her final stop in the city was outside of her sister’s home. She lingered. She never stepped out of the truck, but simply watched the dark house for … well, she wasn’t sure how long. What would they say? Would they be horrified? Was her reputation within her family to be that of a murderer? Would the children say Auntie Caroline with sadness or fear and anger? Even when her father’s crimes come to light, would Nadia forgive her? Would her niece and nephew? Would it hurt them more to leave without a word, or to say a final goodbye?

When she finally drove off and watched the house fade in her truck’s mirror, she discovered for the first time that her body was able to produce tears. She wiped them from her cheeks and didn’t look at her mirrors for the rest of her journey.

= = =

She reached the edge of Arecia woods and unloaded the truck, tying all the contents to a sled; no way the truck was going to get in there. The snow would make it easy to pull, and easier still to cover her tracks. Of course, nobody would think to check the woods; a certain information broker agreed to post a number of sources and “evidence” of the ex-agent driving instead to the east side of Ethea, where she was smuggled onto a boat and left for Fokradiin. It would buy her enough time for the trail to go cold, at the very least.

The rest of the night was spent moving deeper into the woods, covering her tracks, and avoiding or fending off spirits. Once she found a halfway decent spot for a camp, she unpacked her supplies and worked on setting up her new home.
Home. The word made her pause.

She looked around once more at the dark woods, barely illuminated by the now-rising sun. Yeah, home. For the first time in years, it was Caroline’s decision to make.

= = =

For some time, the news covered the death of Jorgen Enthaupten and disappearance of the agent responsible, his daughter Caroline Enthaupten.

Weeks later, reports came in regarding a new danger lurking in the woods. Officially, magi extremists were blamed at first, but then rumors circulated about it being the missing agent who killed Jorgen Enthaupten. Official Felici news churned the rumor mill, dubbing the new threat “The Dullahan” after the disgraced agent, whether or not it was her (Ratings were ratings, after all, and it was easy to sensationalize a murderer-turned-misguided-vigilante), as only hunters seemed to be targeted by the new threat. The name would fade from the media as more important stories with better ratings cropped up, with the government officially blaming spirits for the matter. Still, most residents from Felici who ventured into Arecia Woods today would remember the rumors of “The Dullahan” with goosebumps on their skin.

And for those that knew Caroline Enthaupten? Well, there was always a chance it was really her… Though whether or not they believed it was up to them.