Ala de Muerte (ala-dey-mweartay). A name that in its prime, tight-roped between a valiant hero and an insidious villain. Between the years of 1981 and 1996, Ala de Muerte reached the top 10 of the Bounty Hunter's Alliance list: Division of The League. In 1996, records showed that Ala de muerte left his group, shortly after it merged with another. No details were shared as to why he left or where he went, just simply that his presence was gone.
What you've just read is a simple blotter in the back page of a Bounty Newsletter...issued maybe--ten years ago. It's amazing when you see how easily your life can be summarized in a paragraph; I have killed off over two dozen dangerous criminals, prevented over twenty-five premeditated crimes, outsmarted the wit of the fox, and still--my fourteen year career only weighed a paragraph. And in the very back of the book, where the ink tends to bleed.
I'm not bitter about it, don't you think for a minute that I am. As insulted as I sound, this does summarize my run with The League pretty well; however if you weren't someone in The Alliance, this would probably just seem like a tribute to a dead nobody; an obituary for a nameless soldier. I'm not dead clearly, although I did 'die' once about nine years ago. I didn't exactly leave for no reason either, but I don't reckon any any outlet of The Alliance to recognize that; especially nowadays in its decadent state of affairs. This article ended with an air of mystery, and I'm glad it did because usually things like these tend to contrive up happy endings for the "deceased.
Happily ever after of course, would have ended this story right here.
Allow me to introduce myself before we begin. I am a nobody. I am a wild card. I used to be a definitive point of Southern hospitality. 'Tight-roped between valiant hero and insidious villain?' How perfect. She once called me a hero, and she broke me down into something of a mercenary. Above all else though I am Ala De Muerte, and that seems to be something from the Alliance's golden years that has stuck, and I swear will never change.
We are a band of Bounty Hunters, taking the law into our hands when the country turns its back. That has been, and always will be our motto. Our rules are simple. We are never to be assassins but work for justice, we are never to disrespect The Circle, We are never to leave The Alliance, We are never to kill another member of the Alliance, We are only to be addressed by our given code name, and we are never to declare war on another division of the Alliance. If we may break these rules and violate the creed of The Bounty Hunter, may we be dishonorably expelled from the group and given the black mark upon our name. For an organization as large as this, one would think that a listing of six rules would be easy to understand and follow--especially since they're over 70 years old, but with age comes wisdom, and wisdom comes cunning. Finding ways to pit the rules against each other without technically violating them is just a small fraction of what cunning can do. It's the big leagues of cunning that do the worst damage...
Back in 1919, an agreement was made in the United States that dried up the nation as a whole: 'The Volstead act' , or more commonly known as prohibition. This meant that the sale of certain beverages was completely outlawed, as well as the manufacturing of it in any form. Simple history. Well as many know, Prohibition didn't go as planned. Underground groups formed in order to continue the sale and trade, which lead to countless basement breweries. Organized crime quickly became a problem; the Cosa Nostra rose into power in some small cities, which lead to a state of disarray that The U.S officials (somehow) did not see coming. Now, most history books tend to like following the mafia outbreak that coincided with Prohibition. Perhaps because it's a nice dramatic interlude embedded in a usually dull subject; however this leaves the 'other' side of the story to those who thirst for historical details, and take the time to do deeper research. A very few bunch but, still existent nonetheless. Forget the criminals like Al Capone I say, the most fascinating frame of Prohibition wasn't in Detroit or Chicago, but deep in the heart of Louisiana's bayous--where the most unusual justice group made its first appearance to the world.
The Alliance
Gilbert, Etienne, Jean Robert, and Samuel LeCroix are four names you probably have never heard of before now, which is pretty disgusting to me considering how much of an impact they had on the Prohibition crime outbreak. Now due to the fact that history paved over these four brothers, it's not completely clear as to what they did before they created The Alliance, but through the years their organizations have filled in the gaps with a widely accepted 'back history' that even their own family members seemed to say 'sounded plausible.' So I'm going to approach this story with the 'theory' in mind, since even I am an advocate of it.
At one of the proudest points in the lives, the LeCroix brothers were the greatest of New Orleans' law enforcement officials. Gilbert and Jean Robert two investsigators, Etienne a division sheriff, and Samuel the division captain. Now there are some deviance's in this set up, some people claim that Etienne was actually police commissioner however my personal opinion doesn't back that up. There isn't any way to completely prove either one really, because as far as N'awlins is concerned the LeCroix brothers never existed. As it stands though, the brothers were top game cops for a while until something happened. When history hits this point, the theory begins to stem out into a plethora of stories trying to bridge the gap between the height of their career and their downfall, ranging from elaborate gangster set ups to simpler things like 'just retiring'. What I tend to believe happened was that the Brothers came across a crime scene that was so heinous, simple state law jurisdiction didn't seem appropriate enough as a form of punishment. Thus inspiring the creation of something that followed the ethics of law enforcement; however strayed into near criminal activities. All in the name of True Justice. Hunting wanted men for a bounty warranted by themselves or state officials. So what they did was resign from their positions (which didn't go well with the state), and disappeared into seclusion. Next time their names were heard again, Vegas, Detroit, New York, and Atlanta had gained four powerful heads in their society. Bearing the prodigal gift of The Alliance' . Our seed was then planted by the four songbirds.
The theories tend to end here, and merge into the lesser known facts. It is documented and proven that in each of the aforementioned cities, a small ring of 'virtue gangsters' calling themselves 'The Alliance' began to form and take to the streets pretty much simultaneously. All of which lead by someone named 'Songbird LeCroix.' Not particularly detailed, but that's the very little amount of knowledge the general public has about us. What they don't know is that the 'Songbirds' were brothers, and out to cleanse the nation of its gritty crime. In order to do this with ease, they had to separate into the four directional divisions of the country. Jean Robert took to the North and settled in the Motor City, which quickly spread over into Cleveland and Chicago. Etienne being the youngest of the four didn't travel too far from Louisiana, he settled in Atlanta which then began to spread back down into New Orleans and Baton Rouge. Etienne is the reason that the leaders are referred to as 'Songbird' due to the fact that he wanted to keep his name safe when it boomeranged back into Louisiana. Gilbert became a hit in the East--racking up numbers in New York City, and Samuel took off to the Wild West...giving Las Vegas yet another thing to be 'sinfully' proud of.
People tend to think that negativity draws in the largest crowd, and I humbly disagree. Word travelled so fast about these 'up and coming Bounty Hunter's clubs' that within two months, it's said that they nearly dwarfed the crime outposts in America. What seemed to be attracting people to this line of work was the peculiar blend of heroism they were promoting. 'Doing the job that the lead officials leading the country were too afraid to do.' In fact all four grew so expansive that they began to mesh into one large 'guild' of bounty hunters. For some reason the LeCroix didn't seem to like the idea of having a guild, and old legacies tend to say that the four brothers liked leading their own packs. At this time, territories were made, the transitional precincts were evenly divided (think New Mexico, Tennessee, and North Carolina) and each brother came up with a name for their division. North was now known as The Coalition, East adopted The Fraternity, South became The Brotherhood, and West called themselves The League.
History begins to slow down a bit after this. The name change wasn't recorded outside of the bounty hunters, so outsiders simply knew (and still know) us as The Alliance; which was even more fitting considering all four of the divisions kept a sense of harmony. The LeCroix brothers begin to show their age and found it hard to keep up with their groups affairs. In 1945, The LeCroix turned heads by stepping down from their position as their division's leaders, and appointing their most trusted in their place; then creating a fifth division that consisted entirely of themselves and their bloodline. An administrative panel so to speak, that devoted its time to researching new bounties for their massive empires, keeping up to date on the internal affairs of each, and enforcing the laws that were mentioned previously. This panel was and still is is called The Circle (sometimes referred to as The Bounty Hunter's Alliance...such as the article.)
In 1975, Jean Robert LeCroix died, which lead to the gradual demise of everything the organization once stood for. By '79 all four brothers passed on, and the LeCroix quickly became just another sigh in history. 1981 became noted as the year that the 'alliance' of The Alliance established by the brothers was broken, causing tense rifts. Without their 'parents' on the watch, new group leaders could do anything they pleased. Most stuck to the old creeds, however one openly defied everything The Alliance once stood for out of some strange form of greed. She slowly turned the bounty hunter's ethics into that of assassins, losing the justice and ethics bound to the name. What the LeCroix didn't see was that the Alliance was only an alliance due to strong family respect. None of the divisions ever tried to over power one another when they were alive because despite the leader shifts, the brothers still had the final say in what happened with their groups. But thanks to Vanessa, rules like "under no circumstances may any division declare war on another" no longer held any merit. All due to the cunning of a woman in power, with the ability to expose holes in the rules, and change everything we ever knew.
Most of these were put into action AFTER The LeCroix retired, since they no longer were controlling what they controlled. I'll start by listing the oldest to the newest; the ones the LeCroix made, to the ones Optic instated.
Very simple, and straightforward as I said earlier. The only ones that gave people some trouble were #4 and #7 since they do have some grey areas. The Alliance is well known, but admittance is based on invitation, or being born to a member. You're not really supposed to go wandering the streets shouting "HEY! I'M A MEMBER OF THE -insert divisional name here-". #4 can be confusing because some divisions stress the idea of only killing if you are threatened, versus the 'anything goes' approach.
Vanessa's personal favorites were number 3, 2, 5, and 8, not because she was an avid promoter, but because they were the most easily manipulated. She got into power by questioning the loosely defined words in the rules such as 'alliance', then caused great discomfort high up in The Circle because they could not provide reasonable answers for her. I don't know, to me the rules seem very cut and dry but, to him his own--or her own. Sometimes I just think women like causing trouble, but Vanessa redefined trouble with us. It takes a lot for one person to completely destroy an organization with 10,000 devoted members.
Those are the rules anyhow, very few stand in effect anymore but you can still get a good glimpse as to what we once were. Now, onto the divisions.
The Coalition was Jean Robert's pride and joy. At first this one was the largest due to the volume of people living in Detroit and Chicago, but after the riots took hold of Detroit during the 1960s people fled the violence...including members. Bounties in Detroit weren't even paying much and in that city everyone was an enemy on the streets. The Coalition was run on blood lines, Paul Sandas, the man Jean Robert replaced himself with, demanded that the division remain run by his family. Before its hostile takeover by The Brotherhood, its leadership had reached the lines of the Sandas' grandson. He was thirty six years old.
Previously lead by: Donald Sandas
Last recorded Top ten (ranked from 1 to 10): 'Paladin' - 'Magnum Six' - 'Rain' - 'Dove' - 'Cross' - 'Katana White' - 'Arid' - 'Affliction' - 'Linden' - 'Hemorrhage'
The Fraternity Never meant much to me considering how much I hate New York City. East is such a depressing direction. I never knew who the leader was or much of the history to it, asides that it was lead by tests of bravery after Gilbert's retirement and was the second largest outside of The Brotherhood. It was also the first to go after The Cirlce, when The Brotherhood went on it's power drive back in 1989.
Previously lead by: Martin Lowridge ( I think?)
Last recorded Top ten (ranked from 1 to 10): 'Sonny Davis' - 'Brooklyn' - 'Gift' - 'Stiletto' - 'Austin' - 'Lai' - 'Queens' - 'Jitterbug' - 'Grendel' - 'Teddy' (partners I believe)
The Brotherhood is quite the contradiction these days. Before the women's rights movement in the 1970s, very few ladies were allowed to become a full time member of The Alliance. Women usually just did their own things and never spoke much about their husband's line of work. However after 1975, The Circle decided that by not admitting women into the organization, we were violating our own law abiding clauses. Who would have thought so many dames in the South would be interested in bounty hunting, not more than three months later, 75% of The Brotherhood was women. Six months later, the first woman leader took her place upon the untimely death of Jullian Freeman--Etienne's replacement. The Brotherhood's leadership is tracked on cunning; just how fast of a thinker you are and how quick you can be on your feet. It's fitting that a woman has taken the stand really, based on those credentials. Rumors exist that The Brotherhood's leader is a full time assassin, and at first we all denied them. In order to be a member of The Alliance, the Top Ten and the division's leaders do extensive background checks to avoid hiring assassins. However, with the events that unfolded after Vanessa was put in charge, I really wouldn't be surprised if she had convincingly lied on her resume and interview. She has literally destroyed the four divisions and created one large guild again, all through pushing her own power and taking over. Not to mention, killing a few obstacles that got in her way. This is why you never want a woman in power...
Previously lead by: Vanessa Cherrywood
Last recorded Top ten (ranked from 1 to 10): 'Optic' - 'Rio De Muerte' - 'Knight' - 'Astra' - 'Onyx' - 'Black Water' - 'Pyromanic' - 'Shoe' - 'Vice' - 'Scimitar
Last but definitely not least, we have The League. My beloved little group. The League was the only group that I'm aware of, that actually had the leader that Samuel put into place still in power. He was the youngest of the replacements: being only twenty-two years old (technically, a to become a leader now you must have ten years of experience in The Alliance. Assuming you've been admitted into your group at the youngest age you can be, 18, you could reasonably become a leader at 28 if you show what your group is looking for). The League spread a long line from Helena and Seattle, to Boise, To Reno and Vegas, To Phoenix, then slightly East into Santa Fe and back Westward into the outskirts of Los Angeles. To me they're gunslingers, the real modern day cowboys and bounty hunters aha ha. Naturally since I moved to Arizona when my wife had a job transfer, I was settled in the Phoenix outpost. The League's leadership was defined by honor--and respectfully this made it the district that was the most bound to the rules. During Optic's take over, The League almost won and forced her out of power; honor versus cunning is indeed a dubious battle. However, cunning made a smarter move and The League was disbanded like the other three divisions. We were the last district to go down, and most of us took it the hardest since she stole our honor. Myself being one of them.
Previously lead by: Jonathan Krauss
Last recorded Top ten (ranked from 1 to 10): 'Tranquility' - 'Black Jack' - 'Pinwheel' - 'Ala De Muerte' - 'Lone Star' - 'Kingston' - 'Spades' - 'Aggressor' - 'Arke' - 'Maverick'
Name: Morgan Villaneau
Alias: 'Ala de Muerte', Adale (from the most important person in the world)
Age: 56
D.O.B: June 6th, 1952
Language: English and Creole
Residency: Phoenix, Arizona/Chalmette, Louisiana
Career: Professional bounty hunter, associate adhesive's developer
Hair color: sandy brown, going gray
Eye color: Gray
Skin color: Paleish medium (human) burgundy (anthro)
Marital status: Widowed
Living relatives: Louisa Villaneau (sister), Violetta Beaudoreaix (sister), Charles Villaneau (brother), Dante Villaneau (daughter)
Philosophy: Neo-existentialism | Jean Paul Sartre
Likes: The Rolling Stones, Billiards, walks with Dealer, The heat, The Old Alliance, the 70's, Spending countless hours polishing his swords and knives, card games, the guitar, coffee, being the liar, rain, Old movies
Dislikes: The cold, the new 'Alliance', being lied to, salt water, the violin (despite playing it for seven years), Hi-Life, the East
Personality: Has too much of a soul to be considered a cold blooded killer. Has too little of a soul to be the full time gentleman he was twenty years ago. .
I've been known as Ala de Muerte for over a decade, but my true name is Morgan Villaneau. That's pronounced Ville-uh-no. Not Villan ew, or Ville neo...it's a sharp 'no' as in, 'you have no idea how much the 'e-a-u' throws off people.'
It's said that you can tell exactly where a man is from, simply based off the way the words curl off of his tongue; but when it comes to people like me, well, folks tend to call us 'chameleons'. We are those who carry the sound of a completely different region, than the one we were born to. Despite my watery Southern sigh, I was born and raised in Chalmette, Louisiana (South and east of good ol' N'awlins)--which is just another black water town along the meandering trail of the Louisiana Delta. Most people who are born to this region are raised speaking Creole, which is widely notarized as 'the Cajun accent'; that spicy voice of voodoo, and the sultry blues. Now believe you me, I was no exception to this norm of the Cajun folk. In fact when I was a boy, I spoke with such a thick accent that no one could understand a word that came from my mouth--even in Creole. When I was thirteen however, my twang mysteriously faded into this little number, like a strange comin' of age gift or something. None of my siblings lost their voice, only I did; and boy did it make me stick out like a sore thumb.
As far as my childhood goes, I was a pretty normal boy (how boring), living with a normal family of fifteen. Mind you this doesn't extend to siblings...I only had three; two sisters and a brother. With me, that made four, Ma and Pa made six, Nana and Pop-pop made eight, and Pa's brothers filled in the rest of the number. Living wasn't tight, oh no. Le Chateau De'La Tondreault-Villenau always had way too many rooms to get lost in. Most of my time was spent at the chateau, on account of the fact that I was home schooled until the ninth grade. Not too terribly uncommon for my time era, especially with the culture we Delta folk were born into. Wealthier children were raised by their parents, and studied the finer aspects of life; for instance my sisters classes revolved around becoming proper ladies, studying grammar, courtesy, art, and ballet. My brother and I on the other hand, studied the fine art of beginner's fencing, manners, grammar, light philosophy, and a musical instrument of our choice. A very spoiled, yet oddly fulfilling way to be raised (my wife and I did the exact same thing to our daughters).
When I was finally allowed to go to public school, I was reasonably shy due to the fact that for fourteen years, the only people I knew were family members. Thankfully there were a few more kids who had been raised like me, and knew how it felt. We sought solace in one another and stuck together for years; one of which being a young Molly L'Faulcorne. My god it was love at first sight. Bright, beautiful, friendly, polite...somehow that kind of girl took interest in lil' old me hahaha. Molly could do no wrong to me, except one thing: she literally almost made me fail all of my classes. We stuck together though, fell more in love, then after graduation I married her.
Our life wasn't exactly considered the most orthodox...instead of me being the bread winner of the house, she was. Her father had set her up with a very well paying secretarial job in his company, while I worked for a joke of a place called Hi-Life. An adhesives and tape developmental firm. Molly didn't seem to mind her job, but after about two years she grew bored with sticking to the family business. She wanted to make a living doing something she was 'passionate' about, something that she could wake up every morning feeling excited to be doing. She had heard of this little clothing design shop opening up in Phoenix Arizona from some of the cousins she had there, and told me she was interested in working as a seamstress. Molly loved to sew, she had a real gift with it...so gladly I left Hi-Life (since they were only a regional company at the time) and we moved to Phoenix, able to buy a sweet little ranch outside of town due to our savings and a good deal of family support.
Well, it took a little while for Molly's new job to take off, but after a year or so the shop finally became a great success. We were living pretty well for our means, and able to take on the newest addition of our family without a problem: our darling Monica. Then a year later, Dante. Now respectfully Molly could have continued to support the four of us, but as time went by she just didn't want to work as much anymore. She wanted to be there for our daughters, watch them grow and learn, so when she cut back her hours at the shop I fully understood. Unfortunately though, things began to get a little tight, and instead of turning to my parents for help, I decided to take a walk through Phoenix and see what was turning up on the job scene. And this is where my story gets interesting.
Boy it was dismal; anything I had even remote interest in didn't pay enough, and anything that paid enough was followed up with 'working only six months of the year' in the fine print. After a while I slipped into a bar to take a break, but not to buy anything in-particular. I still remember it well, the 'Westing House Lounge'; the pop of the neon sign outside reeled me in with its day-glo vibe, preaching to the world below that it in fact heralded 'Spirits, Food, and Billiards. The first time I had seen a billiards bar in literal years, and that helped chastise a small margin of the anxiety weighing down on my heart. See, stress hits everyone at different points of their lives, and people tend to cope with these problems in different ways; some resort to eating, some turn to substances, and some confide their feelings in other people. With me billiards was my outlet, my mitigation; I truly did find something ecclesiastical in the control of the game. The table was my heavenly pasture, and the balls were my flock of placid sheep, meandering every which way I asked without a care. Not a grey thought ever manifested in my mind when a pool cue met my hand, so hoping that my source of solace hadn't lost its potency with me, I walked on into the cloud of blue haze that managed to willow into the open air, kindly rented out a table from the shadow at the bar, and began to play my first solo game in years.
It's said that the details before a big event in your life, are the most vivid within your memory. That game I played is among the top ten for me personally, on account that I can recollect how many tears were on the table, to the intricate swirling design stamped along the cue. The two men who had watched me come in were sitting at the bar, continuously checking me out: one wearing a cowboy hat and the second with the thinnest lips I'd ever seen in my life. Both actin' as if they were looking for something. Now I was a gentleman at that time in my life, I didn't want to start any kind of trouble. Especially considering that the only method of fightin' I had any experience in was five years of fencing (and judging by the looks of them, they weren't about to whip out any rapiers with a plastic safety coat). So I kept to myself and tried to ignore them the best I could. Well, they didn't like being ignored...especially the big one with the hat. He came on over to me like the shadow creeps along the walls, cautiously yet dignified, scanning me over as if to see if I had any visible weapons on my body. I won't deny it, I was indeed nervous but I kept to myself, and continued to push that little ol' ball strategically along the table. Finally after standing in the dark, he took two steps towards the hanging light and offered me the most terrifying attempt of a smile I'd ever seen outside of a Horror flick.
He told me I had good game, I nodded a curt thank you and avoided all eye contact. My heart screaming out that door and into the safety of the streets. He said he used to play Billiards professionally back in the day, but could never find a good partner outside of the championships. I chuckled politely, eight ball careening towards the corner pocket. My game was done. The man looked up at his friend and tilted his head back in a short nod, and as ol' thin lips began to plod his way towards us I decided to call it a night and put away my cue. Cowboy slammed his hand down on my shoulder and held me in place, then asked if we could play one game. Somehow despite the fact that my mind froze in place, my mouth rambled out something that resulted in the second game of the night. Two versus one.
To this day I still cannot tell what cued (no pun intended) those men in on my mood, I wasn't acting particularly distracted nor was my body language displaying anything submissive, but towards the end of our game Cowboy spoke up, causing me to choke and break my streak. My friend and I noticed that you look like you're looking for something. Minute you came in. Bam. It hit us. Are you new in town? I didn't respond, in fact I kept looking down at the game like I had been the entire time and just stood still. Cowboy took his shot and chuckled, then continued on. Carlos and I can smell out the newcomers; they're a mix of fear and awe. It usually simmers down after a while. I didn't know how to respond so I took my turn and choked up again, now feeling their watching eyes crashing down on me like an anvil. Cowboy spoke up again.
Tell you what. he said, while chalking down the tip of his cue, after this game lets all go to the diner down the street. Betty works there and gives me food for free after the dinner rush, sweet gal. Loves new guys. Maybe we can help you find what you're looking for?
I didn't respond but simply watched him as he hit the eggball so hard, the cue tattooed a fresh blue ring of chalk on its side. Down the table it soared headed straight towards his final solid ball...and then....Eight-ball, side pocket. Show was over, I won by default; he looked up into my eyes for the first time that entire evening and shrugged with a boyish grin on his face. The next thing I knew I was face to face with Jimmy Dean, framed on candy pink walls at a window side booth, inside Cowboy's diner where the air was too cold and the lights were too bright. 
He and Carlos were eating but I just sat there silently, listening to my innervoice of reason dethaw and promptly begin to scream at me for going with them. Between waiting tables Betty checked in on us, then smirked and gave me a good one over until her eyes came to a screeching halt on my wedding ring. She did it again fives minutes later, then ten more after that, as if the golden band was a mirage. When the place was cleared out some, Cowboy and Carlos turned their attention to me and spoke nothing above a whisper.
Life's too short to work a job you hate kid. Cowboy said out of nowhere, uncanny really since I hadn't said a single thing to him about my poor job search, Money's money. You'll get it no matter where you go or what you do. The difference is all in what you do to earn it. He paused and waited for the last sleepy couple to leave the place, then continued Big cities don't like new kids on the block, they've got their own agendas and they like to play god. You coming in here with big dreams to follow? Well...the city just don't have the time to listen to what you want. You gonna end up miserable...hanging out in pool bars for the rest of your days.
Part of me wanted to speak up in defense on my behalf for I felt as if he were insulting me, but I simply continued to listen with increasing interest as he rattled on with his long-winded speech.
Only part of the big cities that needs the work and attention is in the justice department...That's the first lesson I was ever taught when I joined up with our group. Protect and serve those who need to be protected. (here I relaxed a bit, having a feeling that he was some type of law official)But sometimes kid, the law just don't extend far enough. About two weeks ago there was a terrible crime on the west side of town. Two women and a young child were the victims. A man got to them and--well--I'll save the details. Any how, the po-po couldn't get to the scene fast enough to catch him, and instead they placed a warrant on his head for his arrest and moved on with their lives with the understanding that 'sometimes the you just can't help everyone.' We disagree with that point. The fugitive is somewhere in Mexico where common law don't apply to him, but what he don't know is that we're above all that. We're hot on his trail and about to close in on him any second, and push his behind back onto U.S soil. He's going to get what's coming to him
I returned to feeling unnerved with this crazy 'vigiliante gangster' talk, Carlos seemed rather in tune with my shift in mood and spoke up for the first time that entire night in a velvety Mexican accent. We are bounty hunters, son. Members of the Alliance that cleans out big cities that go untouched a lot of the time. Like my friend here said, where law restrictions tend to be too weak against certain crimes. There's four divisions all based on compass direction, this one obviously is the Western based one. The pay is everything you could dream of, wanted warrants run up to $200,000 a person, but it's not all about the money. It's just one incredible feeling knowing that you're a part of that elite tier above the law; and we think you would like that feelin' as well. They began to sort of inform me as to what this Alliance was all about. I learned that it was over forty years old, and established by four ex-policemen who found it disgusting that law officials had very limited power. Each brother took a division, named it, and ran it like a freelancer business--sending a 'choice hunter' after a certain criminal or criminal group. Membership was exclusive and strict to a code of honor, and speaking about it outside of Alliance member was severely frowned upon. It made me wonder why they were risking expulsion by telling me, until Cowboy extended an invitation to me to join up with 'The League.'
Neither of them told me why they considered a complete stranger like me worthy of the group, nor did I ask them to explain themselves. Carlos simply said that they 'sensed a special something' in me when I walked into the bar earlier, followed by 'some of their best shots were discovered in that Billiards bar,' and that was that. I never did take much interest in jobs dealing with criminal justice, but in all fairness I had never given it much thought. This bounty hunter's guild or whatever did sound intriguing, because as much as it supported and promoted the law, at the same time it defied it. A heroic criminal in so any ways...something new, cutting edge for the time. Without thinking much more on the topic I accepted their invitation, I exchanged my name for their HQ's number and told me to call them in the morning. I waved good bye to Betty who stared longingly at my left hand again, then stepped out into the frigid desert night. What had happened only mere moments before suddenly felt like a six year old dream, and as I walked on down the street to catch a cab back home I tried to think of ways to tell my wife what exactly I had just gotten myself into.
Molly surprisingly didn't take the information all too bad; she wasn't happy, but my head still stood on my shoulders and there wasn't a knife being held up under my throat. The more I explained what the cause was about (and that I wasn't exactly becoming a criminal), she began to visibly relax and repeat 'so it's for better justice' over and over every time I finished a sentence. It took some time for her to fully relax, but once the idea that I'd be out there cleansing the world of people who could hurt our girls settled in, she became quite a fan of the idea of me becoming a bounty hunter. So that was it, my mind had been made up; I would take those goons up on their offer and work for them after all. Not just to make good money, but to protect my wife and family; and while it lasted I did an incredibl--uh--incredible job.
I don't know where my mind was when I had initially imagined the Bounty Hunter's headquarters. For some reason all I pictured was this gang of roughians polluting the basement of some seedy pub, planning out elaborate attacks on criminals they'd picked up on from police chatter. No, The League's headquarters was a huge office building right smack dab in the middle of town, with people in three piece suits coming in and out for breaks or 'informational runs'. This was nothing like the cowboys I had imagined. Apparently this wasn't exactly a top secret organization, the police were fully aware of it's presence and the general public didn't seem too phased by its practices. I went inside and felt as if I had stepped into an FBI movie.
Carlos Rivera was his full name, stamped cleanly along the metal name tag he had pinned to his lapel. He was waiting for me at the lobby door, dressed to impress and surrounded by a small group of people whom I assumed were associates of his. Turned out, Carlos was the leader of The League's Phoenix district. He showed me around, got me acquainted with the intricate dealings of Bounty Head analysis and technical researching, then after about two hours of more explanation he told me that he wanted to test me as a 'True Hunter.' I was of proper age to go out into the field, and by the looks of me, I wouldn't need to deal with the entry level office work and technical support. I needed to either catch or execute a wanted criminal, and bring him back to the proper authorities.
My first bounty was a midrange robber who had held up six of Vegas' casinos and fled into Tucson. Armed and dangerous, but wanted alive. Weapons were permitted as long as it was a tool for intimidation. I worked with a small group of people as a test run: two analysts, a field researcher, a spy, and a seasoned hunter I recognized from the night before. Cowboy, who was apparently number six of The League's top ten. What I had to do was initiate the set up and instruct everyone what to do, under the aid of Cowboy. It took about four days but once the researched had been analyzed and the robber indeed was confirmed to be in Tucson, Cowboy and I went for a ride. Long story short the robber didn't exactly want to go willingly, and began to shoot at us when he found out that we had broken into his little run down penthouse. I had no idea what to do, I had never owned a gun so I couldn't retaliate, so I did the next best thing: hid in the shadows while Cowboy shot him with a tranquilizer and tied him up. He said that no one had to know that he did the work, but next time I needed to bring some type of weapon for my protection. No one went in empty handed because criminals rarely just attacked with brute force. On the way back to Phoenix I explained that my only experience with any type of weaponry was a fencing rapier, and Cowboy just smirked and replied that there was 'already someone named Rapier' in The League. If I wanted to work with swords, I needed to find a more 'unique blade' for my code name. Naturally, I was confused as high heck.
Cowboy, or should I say 'Tranquility', kept to his word and Carlos never found out that he had done the grunt work. I was paid $2500 of his $3100 bounty, which was more money than Molly and I had ever seen in one sitting. Unfortunately right as I thought I could leave, Tranquility told Carlos that my only experience with weapons had been a rapier, and Carlos repeated that there 'already was a Rapier' in The League. Now let's be serious here, I wasn't even really acquainted to swords. I had never learned how to fence for combat, it was just the sport that my Pa decided was suitable for my brother and I to learn. I explained to them that I was really trying to get the point across that I really didn't have any true experience with a real weapon but, neither of them let that slip by. Apparently having been taught how to fence when I was a kid, meant that I was obviously experienced enough to carry a type of blade on me when I went on my hunts; and apparently, Carlos 'already knew the perfect fit' for me.
Now, in the rules a member of The Alliance must be addressed by a codename, usually distributed by the group's leader. Once you're given this title you literally lose your birth name to it, unless you're promoted to a divisional leader. Then the opposite happens: you give up your code name, and return to birth real name. Every title is individual, there are no repeats; so due to the high volume of members, code names inspired by something unique about your weapon are the most common formula. For example, you remember 'Songbird LeCroix?' well...Songbird apparently came from the four little sparrows that each of the Brothers had stamped onto the handle of their guns. My own code name was no exception to this rule.
Before Carlos was promoted to directional leader he was number seven of The League's top ten (which I found out was just a seniority symbol basically). His weapon of choice also being in the blade family. For about seventeen years he used a set of curved stiletto knives that lead to him being called
Rio De Muerte.'...or River of Death on account of their 'meandering shape' or something of the sort. Right around the time the previous leader announced his retirement, Carlos said he had begun to develop an entirely new weapon; a psuedo-sword with a round gripped handle and six spring-action joints, where a variety of different sized blades would snap in place. Locked together properly, he said it looked like a 'wing', with the largest blade at the top swooping down to the smallest joint where a lever was placed, and if pulled the blades would fire out at the target. Now, he never got far enough in the construction for the sword to actually fire its blades, but it was able to shed them manually and be used as throwing daggers. Carlos was never able to use his new weapon after he retired Rio De Muerte for he was promoted, which was why he was absolutely thrilled to hand the weapon down onto me. He called it Ala de Muerte or wing of death, properly fitting it's design like it's older cousin; and probably the most terrifying piece of work I've ever looked at.
(A few years before the complete power shift Carlos was killed by Vanessa's partner, Michelle, by his very own Rio De Muerte. Michelle is said to have stolen his weapon after studying his everyday patterns, and took him out with one clean hit. Since he retired Rio De Muerte before he took his leadership position, she adopted his code name as her own.)
My code name became Ala De Muerte from that point on, even my wife called me something similar when she found out. 'Ala de' seemed to throw her off, and Ala de Muerte was too much of a mouthful so, she resorted to 'Adale' hahaha. Anyways, I had the absolute worst time trying to learn how to use the thing. It took about two months, but once I actually was able to figure out how the blades snapped into place, and how to mix up different size combinations I was back on the Bounty scene; Tranquility, Muerte, and I becoming quite a team. Turned out that Muerte was in fact one of the best weapons used for intimidating dangerous bounty heads, and I learned from Tranquility that the more deadly looking the contraption you carried was, the more likely the criminal would obey your wishes. The money was pouring in so well that Molly was actually able to quit her job and care for our children full time. Once my promotion to second tier bounties came into play, I was taking out criminals with the starting price of $50,000 warrants on their heads. The catch was though, that second tier criminals were far more dangerous and heinous than first tier--which not only lead to more of a threat to your own life, but the choice between wanted dead or alive.
I killed my first man about ten months into my career, a small time serial killer wanted for $67,000. Tranquility and I had him cornered inside some small town right shy of the Nevada state line, and Ala De Muerte lived up to it's name. The guy kept shooting and shooting at us, and even the seasoned hunter was looking a little nervous so, I took Muerte out of it's case and just went at it. Boy did that mess me up--you have no idea. Killing people really, really tears you apart inside; don't listen to those kids that say they've killed a man and felt nothing. It's--ha. It's rough. For about a month I couldn't go back to work, my wife was understandably weary of me. I couldn't do anything but stew over what I had done, until about three weeks into my little break down Molly sat down behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and whispered 'He was a criminal. He wasn't a poor innocent victim, he got what was coming to him.' I was a hero in her eyes, and that was all the inspiration I needed to get back out onto the field.
From then on out I stuck to the second tier bounties, choosing the 'dead' of the dead or alive options for greater justice. Right around this time Tranquility began to pull out of his mentorship with me, and left me to organize and go through with my hunts solo. By my second year in The League Ala De Muerte became a potent name with the Phoenix and Vegas districts, and come my sixth year in I was nominated as number four in The League's top ten. Apparently my 'style' was quite the ideal for a bounty hunter, despite the violent way I worked with crime, I never once lost my ethical value with justice. I was proud, Molly was proud, my family was seeing more money than we ever needed, life was perfect. Being in the Top Ten was like being a celebrity, everyone knew your name nationwide. You had respect, privileges, the idea that your name was associated with the elite. I danced the tango with the fourth and third spot, with a younger member code-named 'Pinwheel' for the next ten years, then around my ninth year in the Top Ten, the power shifts had finally hit The League head on.
If you remember from earlier, The Brotherhood went through a massive transformation upon the demise of the LeCroix. More women were allowed into the ranks of field bounty hunters, and as The 'Hood valued cunning over anything else as leadership qualifications, a woman naturally slipped her way to the top. Her code name was Optic as I recall, real name Vanessa Cherrywood, and a very skilled sniper despite her visual handicap. Ordinarily I would respect a woman of authority, however in Vanessa's case she hardly deserved her position. She was an assassin plain and simple, one of the many that slipped in due to the increase in laziness on behalf of The Alliance's screening committee; and an assassin has absolutely no right in The Bounty Hunter's Alliance let alone sneaking in the leadership. But anyhow, Optic pretty much took out everyone in The Brotherhood that was high up in the rankings, just so she could squeeze in from what I understand. I don't know the details but I'm sure if you ever meet up with one of her associates or even her they'd be pleased to boast and gloat.
For about seven years Vanessa was seizing and taking over the rest of the Alliance, I believe starting with The Circle and then moving onto The Fraternity. I wasn't really aware of her until I made it high up into The League, where the old timer leader kept on mentioning that 'the alliance was breaking day by day.' We tried everything to refute Vanessa's potential takeover because we knew that eventually she would come in due time. Now I reckon you're probably thinking ' Morgan, Ala de Muerte, why didn't someone just take her out clean and simple?' Believe you me, we tried. The Circle tried when she stepped in, The Coalition tried, the Fraternity tried...every attempt of her assassination failed terribly. Somehow she kept managing to maneuver out of harms way, we have no idea how. So when she came to take on The League, the directories banded together and tried to sabotage her invasion without losing our honor. We fought, literally fought, but it was no use. Only a small handful of us ever went after bloodshed, and we knew better than to get too vicious. Vanessa took over The League a mere five months after she had claimed The Fraternity as her own, and turned The Alliance back into the mushy guild the LeCroix did everything they could to avoid. We were given the same treatment as the rest of the divisions under her power: our leader was given the choice to either turn over or die, and the Top Ten was revoked of their authority and status, then instructed to return to tier one bounties to 'start over.' Tier one at this point, was beginning to go into a warrant dry spell. It was a disgusting, foul act of treason but no one was capable of stopping her.
My next path in life was like driving beyond the dead end sign on a road, but looking back I don't know if I could picture the outcome any different than it has turned into. I'm not going to lie, I flat out refused to work under the discretion of a woman. Especially a mercenary whom was simply out for the kill pay and overlooked the justice factor of Bounty Hunting. So instead of just simply fading into the crowd of 10,000 and searching for an open tier one criminal for seven months, I committed the worst act against The Alliance that any 'true' member could: I left. Same with three other members: Pyromanic from the old Brotherhood, Katana White from The Coalition, and the infamous Pinwheel from The League. Now, let me explain something to you real quick; the reason a bounty hunter sworn under the oath wasn't allowed to leave, was because of the monetary value they had in their division. Up to 10% of your reward money on a bounty was to go to your division leader, since they usually were too busy keeping up to date on new bounties and precinct affairs to actually hunt anymore. The more members you had, the more money you made if you were a leader, and you did everything you could to keep your members in The Alliance. It wasn't really hard for as far as I'm aware The League only lost two members during my entire career, but with Vanessa in power? I wasn't going to condone her let alone be income for her. I bid my history a fond farewell and locked up Ala De Muerte for the last time.
Molly god bless her, was so supportive of my decision to leave, she could see how much it hurt me to fall down from the top of my game. Luckily I had made so much money during my run that we could have essentially gone into an early retirement together. In fact we were planning on doing something of the sort until word reached Vanessa that 'Ala De Muerte had left' and instead of being civil and trying to convince me to come back logically, she did something...so... Heartless. So despicable. So Her.
It was all over national news, known as the 'I-40 tanker disaster.' Three trucks carting oil collided, flipped, and exploded causing a devastating pile up. Seventeen miles of freeway between Phoenix and Beaufort Arizona were closed for two days, due to search and rescue but I later found out it was mostly due to clean up. Not just oil either. Molly is believed to have been one of the fourteen cars that was crushed immediately by the first tanker to go. On that day she was driving our daughter Monica to an outlet mall to go shopping, Dante stayed back because she was ill and I was taking care of her. I don't remember picking up the phone when it rang, I don't remember blacking out when I heard the information, all I remember was my screaming daughter and the fake eyes of concern burning into my body from the news anchor as she claimed her ' heart went out to the victims families and friends.' I didn't want her heart, I wanted my Molly's heart, but...
This is as detailed as I'd like to get concerning the accident itself, for it still makes me so sad.
When Molly died, I died. I thought that by closing out those 20 years we shared I'd regain some of what she took, but very rarely does what we fantasize about actually translate into reality. She loved music, and culture, and the way Arizona looked from an airplane. I could never understand how she was able to tell that she was even looking at it but, she'd always smile and say 'its my woman's instinct.' Whenever she heard a song she liked she'd stop doing whatever she was doing and just look up at the sky, then tell me that she was searching for the 'right memory' to fit the music. She would say I was her harmony; Molly was my minor key. Ahahaha...God. I cried so hard for her. Everything did. Our family, our friends, our sky, even the roses on our grave. I'll see you again someday, my little lady. This is my tribute to you.
Everything becomes a whirlwind around this time, I only remember noticing exactly how beautiful her smell once was as it slowly began to fade into history, and hearing that my Dante was going to go stay with her uncle up in Montana for a while, to 'get away from Arizona.' I'm not sure why I didn't stop her but, I guess there was a good enough reason as to why I let her go. I feel like I'm looking at a dream when I get to this point in my life, every thing's just...phantasmagoric. I went from despondent and not leaving my bedroom, to being re-employed at Hi-Life once again. Haha remember that place? Well...somehow it become a huge thing and spread offices into almost every big city. Now let me tell you a little something: If I ever hear that you are an employee of Hi-Life INC, I will hunt you down. Even if I'm dead, you better believe that I'll scoot my little 'ol coffin your way, pop outta the ground, and strangle you. Why would ANYONE who is sane work there...just to remind you, it's A tape and adhesives development firm. That's right. From nine to five, your world revolves around developing new things used to stick things on other things. I was mainly working again as an excuse to get out of the house for long periods of time, for not too long after Molly's death I discovered that sitting around with hours to spend doing nothing, lead to debilitating depression and painful hallucinations (such as hearing her call my name, feeling a hand across my face...yeah.) Hi-Life was mundane and monotonous but, at least it got my mind off everything to the point where I almost forgot about ever being involved with The Alliance, Optic, and Ala de Muerte.
About a year or so after the accident, a friend of mine bought me a German Shepherd; an ex-police dog named Dealer. I'm not really sure what that's short for exactly, but I have my theories. After all, what are most police dogs used for? Any who my friend said that he'd cheer me up. He was 'practically a four legged wife. He could pick up messes, retrieve whatever I wanted, and if I tied a cloth to the refrigerator handle, he could open it up and take out packages and bottles.' Now I'm really not an animal enthusiast in any form, I don't see the therapeutic touch pets have, nor do I like the slight stink they leave behind on everything; however I was so exhausted and desperate for something to fill the void that Molly, and Monica had left, I took him in.
I'm glad I did, Dealer's a good dog. Obedient, a good conversationalist, and pretty much always there for me when I really need someone. I don't think I could ever really love an animal, but I'm pretty fond of him. If he wasn't around, I'd probably lose it again.
For the next six years, everything just kind of stayed on a level field. Sure I had my moments of mourning, but as each day passed I began to heal a little more internally. I was finally able to drive the express way again after three years, and the sound of ambulance sirens began to strike less of a heart breaking dissonance in me. Even Hi-Life was beginning to actually become interesting. The only thing that bugged me anymore was the fact that my Dante had stopped calling me about two years after she went up to Montana, and my brother told me she had moved out and 'thought she was back with me.' This would later be explained to me when I received another life changing phone call, but this time from a name I hadn't heard since The League; Pinwheel--or should I say, Amil Grey.
It's amazing when someone who barely meant anything to you remembers who you are. Like myself, Amil lost someone very important to him shortly after he left The League, then decided to take on a new career as a private investigator along side the state police. As a matter of fact, Amil was actually one of the investigators who was at the scene of the tanker disaster. He told me he remembered my number due to the fact that the last four digits were his sisters birthday, and felt awkward speaking to me after six years of silence, but had information that I 'needed to know.' Not about to argue I let him talk, and boy did I feel like breaking the walls down when he finished.
He began by telling me that Pyromanic and Katana white had died, which didn't hit me as a surprise but I found it odd that he'd call me to tell me that after all these years; but then the small talk ended. Turned out that after he formally resigned from The League, he still hung around in an attempt to sabotage Optic's empire. Day after day he tried to find ways to take her out, and no matter how close he got he still failed; sometimes nearly dying in the attempt. He began to stop his attacks shortly after his sister died, then devoted his life to working in the investigations field--specializing in vice squad with an attentive eye locked on Optic's affairs. To be honest I didn't really care to know all of this, Optic was dead to me, as was The Alliance, and the past; however when he told me that she had planned the I-40 disaster, my blood went cold.
He explained how he found out through a long winded story, but my mind was frozen and I only heard bits and pieces. Optic's partner apparently found three men willing to sacrifice themselves, had them drive the trucks, and told them where to strategically crash--taking out as many people as possible in what Amil believed to be a 'cover up.' Optic wanted me back plain and simple, and had been spying on my families affairs for months after I left. Apparently they had only been planning on taking out my wife to get me to crawl back, and when they found out Monica was in the car as well they celebrated a 'double bonus.' Amil wisely continued talking, disallowing my mind from sticking on that disgusting piece of information.
Dante wasn't in Montana anymore because Optic sent people after her about a year after my daughter and wife had died. Before I could panic and think she had been killed as well, Amil reassured me that she was 'safe for the time being.' Apparently Amil had been keeping tabs on her once he found out about Monica and Molly, and for the past couple years Dante had been relocated nine times in an attempt to get away from the Alliance hunters. First she moved to Seattle, then Vancouver, then progressively further North until her last stop Anchorage, Alaska. He reminded me that she was still being hunted, and while the majority of Optic's posse had regrouped in Vancouver, it was only a matter of time before they were hot on her trail for the ninth time. Amil then paused, drew in a thoughtful breath, and purred out somethin' that I caught as an indirect request:
So much could be done with Ala De Muerte and Pinwheel at large
I asked him what he meant but he just lazily responded with a juxtaposed mutter; something coherent, but still incoherent at the same time. I asked him a second time, and the response--thought slightly clearer--still made no sense. The third time I asked, there was obvious irritation laced in my voice and Amil finally blurted out 'It means we should band together look for Optic, and take care of the problems she's caused. I want to salvage The Alliance and you want to make sure your daughter is safe. Both revolve around Vanessa, and we can help eachother.' in one rapid breath.
I didn't know what to say, I had no readied reply. Yes, I did want to see my little girl again and make sure she was safe. That part I had no qualms about, but taking on The Alliance? With one other person whom I barely knew anything about? It would be a group of at least 2,400 raw supporters of Optic's guild versus two. Would we have to take them on, betray our oaths, and become assassins? I was about to decline Amil's offer, but then something reminded me of that one instance, back when I had killed my first bounty. The night where Molly's gentle body was pressed to my back, and that dulcet voice whispered you're still a hero in my eyes. Momentarily I wondered if she felt the same way now, seeing what I had become; barely living, unaware of our daughter's safety, with my closest friend being a dog. Amil was still on the line despite not speaking, I could hear his quiet breath awaiting my response. Somehow, the rhythm of his breathing put me into a meditative trance; to risk my life or to risk my daughter's life, to resurrect the old Alliance, or to let it continue to rot and fester under the hand of Optic. To become an assassin, or be assassinated. To be the hero that my wife once knew, or to slowly decay.
I said yes. That's all he wanted, and that's all I was willing to give him. Amil offered me what I believe was a chuckle and told me to meet him by the old League building in an hour, then hung up. My mind was in a riot but I didn't let myself think; I simply packed lightly, set up Dealer's usual spot in my pick up, and took out Ala De Muerte's dusty case for the first time in years. I didn't look back at my house as I began to drive off, I hadn't the heart to dwell on the fact that I might not return. Dealer enjoyed the night air as I drove onto the freeway, and I enjoyed my last moments of ambiguous freedom before I dove back into my old way of life; but I wasn't upset oh no, in fact the more I pictured my Dante, the more uplifted I began to feel. I wondered what she looked like now, did she keep her mother's slender frame? Did she still have my smile? Phoenix's fiery skyline began to close around me, and in a few short minutes my life would change again once the fedora and trench coat-clad investigator came into my line of vision. Dante my darling, daddy was coming but first, daddy needed to fix a few broken bones with an old friend.
It was now Ala De Muerte's turn to be an assassin. To be the villain, in order to become a hero again.
and the black bird won't sing if he ain't got the soul in his wings of death.
(To be updated according to when I have the time to take breaks and record. Only important events will be put on here, I'm sorry. The farther North I go, the more I see tankers.)
Last major city: Phoenix, Arizona
Stopped in: Big Sky, Arizona
Miles traveled: 120 out of....HA HA HA.
New Faces: Gabrien Addock, Stormy Sutherlan, Mechanic Gerald Daussman
Good bye to: Mechanic Gerald Daussman
Amil as I've discovered, became a true anachronism. The most honorable example of a 1940's P.I character not only due to his looks, but attitude. By the time I arrived outside the blackened HQ building it had started to rain; but it was only one of those transitory bursts of weather where you could still see the moon tipping the clouds. Amil was bathing in the curve of where the shadows met the brick way alley, nursing a small red ember with his lips before the night took it away. Collar flipped and hat drawn over his eyes, I was finding it hard to believe that this was the very same Pinwheel I once knew. He was tired, even the day-glo lights that meandered along the wet pavement noticed and stopped short of his feet, and once Dealer began to bark at him, he barely even bothered to look up my way.
He moved silently. His hands burrowed in his pockets, one of which sharing space with a rolled up newspaper that he kindly dropped in my lap before he was even fully inside my truck's cab. There was only the hint of a smirk on his face that brushed by my eyes, once Dealer had slipped out of our way and into the truck bed, followed up by a simple Turn to the back page that dripped like Molasses from barely split lips.
It was the monthly Bounty Newsletter, I could tell by the antique logo that dared not hold any meaning these days. Once upon a time, the back page of the bounty newsletter was dedicated to blurbs posted by the Top Tens, but now it had been degraded into a trash pile of "Lost member Biographies" submitted by the last remaining legacies, and Vanessa's continuously updated list of ex-members with bounties on their heads for not returning to her. All placed, again, where the ink tends to bleed. Amil didn't even have to start laughing when he did, my eyes joyously met my own poorly printed pair staring vacantly out towards a blank infinity. It was my own "warrant"....followed up by Amil's and then the rest of the list. Morgan 'Ala De Muerte' Villaneau: $300,000. Dead or Alive. Amil's chuckle stifled into a muddy smile, then with a hearty sigh he looked up towards me and shook his head. He said a vacant, Hallelujah.
Neither of us knew where to start looking when it came to the Vanessa aspect of this journey, but I knew I wanted to go Northbound since my true goal with this was to find my Dante. So we decided to at least hit Las Vegas the first night of this trip; one reason because it was farther North than Phoenix, and the other because we knew that the League's central "capitol" district was the stretch between Reno and Vegas. Perhaps Amil would get the information he wanted there, and hopefully without exposing us to the hunters that I knew garnished the plastic skyline.
About two hours into our trip the muffler of my truck fell off, which looking back now, I believe I blame the tanker driving alongside us for that thirty mile stretch. Some people have the crow as an omen of death, well mine had become semi trucks. Amil told me there was a small town that would probably help us out, and I followed his word but--I don't honestly think we ended up scooting to the place he'd had in mind. It was called Big Sky, a buzzing little city with ancient buildings mixed in with a far too modernized crowd. I hadn't planned on staying there too long, but the moment I saw an open mechanics shop I figured it'd be a good idea to get the muffler situation fixed then be on my way...
Well, I hadn't exactly counted on the mechanic, Gerald Daussman, actually being an ex member of The Alliance, and was one of those guys that hunted the scraps listed in the back page of the newsletter. The scraps like Amil and myself. Perfect eh?
Long story short, I don't know much of what happened. One minute the mechanic was working on my car and the next, I was on my back with Amil's shuriken's in my leg, the room was a disaster zone, Amil had been shot at by said mechanic, and two new faces entered the scene. One I recognized, a behemoth of a man with as much intimidation infused with his presence as he had burl and bulk. His name was Paladin by Alliance scores, real name Gabrien Addock. I believe he was THE number one in the Top Ten in the Coalition before it disbanded. There was something that could have been handsome in his face had he obviously not been wearing a cloth to cover a missing eye, but I really honestly didn't get a very good look at him to give a full description.
The second man was....something...else. He wasn't human, plain and simple. In fact, he was the sole reason the room looked like a tornado had gone through it when he arrived. Never before have I ever seen such fluidity in combat, in all honesty. The man was so precise that he was actually able to fix one of his own errors before anything too serious happened. I would later find out that his name was Stormy Sutherlan and that he was after Gabrien for some reason that he wouldn't share. Coming to know him a little better, I've noticed that there is something else about Stormy that strikes me as different, almost as if he's 'running away'. I can only pray to whatever god is listening that he's not running away from himself...because I can't honestly deal with people who have identity problems.
If you couldn't follow the above that well, I apologize. I just couldn't really keep up with what was going on very well, but I'll attempt to explain it again as simplified as I can:
Mechanic was after Amil and me. Amil mostly, judging on how he was acting around him before the whole mess. I try to take control of the situation but fail and end up with the wind knocked out of me, and Amil is shot. Paladin comes after the mechanic from outside, firing two sniper shots into the building for a reason that I assume revolved around the Mechanic's own warrant. Mechanic some how adverts the fire which turns his attention solely on Paladin, which would have given Amil and me room to escape had I been able to get my footing back in gear. Then a devilish, wild eyed rouge comes in and stirs up the fight that looked like Paladin had control over, out of nowhere. I mean, this Stormy is hands down the most talented 'free style' fighter I have ever seen. So with the three of them battling it out, Amil and I manage to escape incredibly shaken up. Whatever happened afterwards happened, I don't know anything else other than the fact that we met up with Stormy much later on in town, who didn't seem to pleased by our "lack of support" in his entirely self-imposed explosion of rage. How do you react to a perfect stranger, who appears out of nowhere, thinks he has saved your life, and expects you to help him fight the battle you're trying to get out of?
I don't think Gabrien's gone, nor do I think he's someone to just brush off in our journey. Stormy doesn't seem too enthusiastic about the idea of just leaving Amil, Dealer, and myself alone on our mission, but then again nor does Amil seem too interested in dismissing such a talented "guard" for us considering the warrants. I have a splitting headache already and it's only been two hours since we've left Phoenix...
This is starting well wouldn't you say?
If you have genuinely read this far, I applaud you. It was a long road to traverse but, hopefully worth it in the end. Information is pertinent with me, but fortunately information can be summarized. Note that if you read this page in full, this will just be a repeat to you
After Amil Grey, another ex-member of The National Bounty Hunter's Alliance resurrected my coldly forgotten past in the organization, he reminded me of why I had even fallen into the Bounty Hunting business in the first place: To server an even greater justice that American Law couldn't hold. The organization we once loved was falling apart at the hand of a steadfast young woman, who valued the productivity of business she had turned it into even more than human life. This was proven by the elaborate murders she contrived that took the life of my eldest daughther and wife, and stole Amil's sister from him. All in the skewed name of a rule established the founders of The Alliance: No member may leave The Alliance once admitted.
Grey wanted revenge, he did everything he could to try and take down Vanessa and her brain-washed "palisades" but it was no use. He proved to simply be as threatening as a gnat was, against a great sleeping dog. Not willing to give up, he pulled me into his vengeful hunt by dangling a carrot in front of my face:
My Dante was being sought, he knew this--and he used it to get me back on my feet to help him with his mission in destroying Vanessa's monster. "Both of us needed to take care of something, and both of our 'somethings' revolved around her."
So he talked me into it...and not too long after leaving my home behind in Phoenix, I would find out that Vanessa had sent out an "alert" about us to 'her' Alliance. A warrant that was completely unrelated to our mission (for how would she know. Amil stopped pursuing her ages ago he said.) It was in the back of the Bounty newsletter reading, Pinwheel and Ala De Muerte were wanted, Dead or Alive. Handsome rewards awaiting their capture. And the Newsletter was always sent out in the thousands to the Alliances' members...
And this is where you enter. You should know our mission and plot by now...are you on our side or after us? Do you want to help Amil or me on our conjoined missions--or maybe even just be a transient that knows information about my daughter? Maybe you're one of her men now--and you're out to erase our path and purpose. We've even acquired two more members of our little team, one who is running away from an accident...maybe you're after him instead of us? Either way it would affect Amil and myself--for he and his friend are our alleged 'body guards' since we have so many enemies after us.
Be a cop, be a civilian, be a rouge, be an old or new Alliance member, be a member of the previous Top Ten, be anything...and you will work out fine, if you can place yourself inside our world.
If you are interested in joining The Alliance RP plot, please--don't hesitate. We want anyone and everyone who can place themselves in. So if you have a character (must be human or anthro of course) and want to join, mail either me or Gobi with information on your character(s).
The rewards may be delicious, if you join up--both for or against--Pinwheel and Ala De Muerte.
Amil Grey
Written by: Gobigobu
He was quite sure Morgan forgot he existed sometimes. And so he dozed... the sun was just beginning to sink towards the horizon, and as it drooped, so did his eyelids. Amil remained this way for some time; the hours passed uneventfully and he slept fairly peacefully. It was the obnoxious sounds and scents of the tanker that finally roused him from his sleep, though Amil did not react openly. He did not have a history with trucks, as his partner did, but he knew quite well the effect they held on the older man beside him. If there had ever been an advantage to having his thick lashes, it had to have been times like this...
Gabrien Addock
A small weight tugged at Morgan as he recalled the few times where his life crossed over The Paladin's; the generosity, the silent respect. He knew that the man by reputation held his "own honor" and would turn his back on someone if they were in the way of said honorability, but would he have truly gone after an old friend? Morgan knew the answer before he was able to deliver anymore attention to the question, and with a heavy sigh he shook his head and turned into the parking lot of the first Inn he saw.
Things change.
Stormy Sutherlan
Stormy didn't know exactly what he had found when he snooped through Gerald's garage, but whatever he was currently holding looked like something that was far more than efficient for the job.
Morgan saw the next ten seconds in slow motion; the long haired man who was holding his weapon shot him a mock pout then muttered you poor baby, unzipped the small black and fur-linned jacket that barely covered the white wife beater underneath it, and tossed it towards him while saying Watch it for me. I just got this thing cleaned. He was then sent into a state of shock when Stormy skillfully dismantled the blades from Muerte's locks, it took him nearly two months to actually use the thing beyond decorative intimidation and here this man figured it out in half a second? Morgan's state deepened when he saw the stranger literally whip Muerte's daggers into the room, with a move so watery he half expected the wake to splash onto him. Two of the smaller daggers took a solid trajectory towards nothing but blank space before penetrating the wall; Morgan could literally feel the shock wave. Then two of mid sized blades traveled in Gabrien's direction, while the larger of the rest were closing in on both Gerald and Amil. Half way across the room, Gabe's bullet collided with the blade headed straight towards Gerald, sending it straight up into one of the overhead lights which exploded in a fury of sparks. This lead to the final, largest, blades path, which caused Stormy to panic. Amil couldn't have been a threat in this foreign situation, Storm noticed the look of deep irritation marking his face, with a bullet wound dripping from his arm, so frantically he looked around the room, noticed one of the shirukens embedded in Morgan's thigh, then ripped it out with a grin (and a scream of pain). With the fury of a wolverine, Storm dove to the ground so he was level with Muerte's blade,as he skillfully threw the smaller piece of metal into its path. The sparks of the metal rained down onto the ground like the broken light fixture above as it tried to repair itself, and Amil was saved once more by the very aid of his trusty 'Pinwheel.' The situation then stood still for a mere second, as Stormy's wild eyes met Amil's and a very smooth Sorry about that, I have bad aim" slid past his curling lips with a sign of mock.
Gerald's bullet unfortunately did strike the dog, but non-fatally which sent Morgan's heart back in his chest. Dealer did however scream and howl as the molten lead burrowed into his foreleg, which only repeated itself as the rouge literally slid into his body, causing him to crash into the wall. Stormy didn't much care for his position below the gun wielding 'fat boy', and with another liquidy move, he spun around to kick his feet out from under the ground while simultaneously grabbing one of the nearest hubcaps that had previously fallen when the dog came to play. Morgan figured that Gerald hadn't the slightest incline as to what was going on based on the terrified look in his eyes, which only amplified as the hubcap zoomed into his wrist with a sickening crack. The mechanic was once more sharing a moment with Dealer as he howled in pain, and with the dexterity of a cat, Stormy used his back to flip him back up on his feet--Gerald's gun now lodged and cocked in his gloved hand. Next up was the man he'd initially planned on taking care of in the shop; his one and only, his favorite playmate, Gabrien Addock.
At this moment, the ten second epic ended and wild mess of blurs, crashes, and sparks that had slid by Morgan's eyes in reality, caught up to speed. Much to his surprise, the rouge didn't fire the gun at the man he wasn't entirely able to see from his angle, but simply aimed at one of the chains from the hanging sign outside the window, which caused it to snap and swing down like a guillotine. Finally able to catch his breath and sit up slightly, Morgan noticed Gerald who had previously been nursing a broken wrist in the corner rising back up to his feet and charging towards Stormy.
He couldn't tell if the stranger was an answer to his prayers, but he was certain of one thing: he seemed to have completely deterred the attention away from himself and Amil, and as the fat man literally tackled Stormy to the ground (who wiggled away like an eel) Morgan crawled over to Dealer, lifted him up, and told Amil that they should run while they still had the chance.
Dealer
When Dealer threw out the Wild Card during events like the ones that were unfolding though, the game always spiced up. When threatened, he was offered both the Jack of run and hide and The Ace of Fight with the apex of his fury; and tonight luck was in the hands of Amil and Morgan for once the German Shepherd was able to get his bearings back together, he snatched the ace and tore it to pieces.
Michelle Sutherlan
Even in the daydream he could feel the desert heat closing his throat, which only became worse a malodorous scent flared up in his nostrils. On his side of the fence three bodies were baking in the sun at her feet. A pair of dogs with sticky blank eyes nursed his face as his dream self attempted to stop breathing, lying for nothing but companionship alongside the tender body of a man. Throat cleanly split along the stump of his ear to his collar bone, dressed in a stained white shirt that once wanted to make a statement to the world. She sang, softly and disjointed at first but growing progressively louder and clearer the more Morgan felt like quicksand. It was when he felt his sinuses collapsing against the choke of nausea that he was blinded, by the flash of a silver river that burned his neck when he realized what it was.
Rio De Muerte, cousin to his Ala De Muerte; locked beneath the swelled veins webbing the back of her hand. Her song began to break as Morgan felt himself coming back to reality,
I meet a lot of people during our travels who claim they're members of The old Alliance--some who are welcoming to our mission, and others who are blinded by Vanessa's monster. Either way, they have these tokens of the olden days with them...and good or bad, I have to find respect for them. They existed during my time, they knew me, Amil; they knew what The Alliance stood for.
Prospective old members whom I have yet to meet, don't be shy...show me your certificate. Maybe, just maybe, if you're against our mission and out to hunt our heads, I'll jog your memory. Make you remember that I am still your kin...
(Simply Mail Cat for your own certificates if you have a character involved in the plot and want him or her to be recognized as an old member of The Alliance. Leave her your character's full name, Code name, what division he or she was in, and the approximate date of admittance into The Alliance. Do remember Ages 18 and up are the only ones admitted, and creation of certificates ended after 1998. )
Neopian style that is, meaning -ding ding ding- awards! Will be updated once every two months, collected between stellar artists, characters, or pet pages. Application's are not accepted, but recommendations always welcome. Remember, this is not limited to art only! Pet pages, characters, and artists are candidates! (credit may be extended for Fatal_Mantis, and her original "Top ten artist" award even if this is calculated different!)
- Unique art styles with a good grasp on anatomy/color
- Stunning web design work and/or coding.
- Captivating, unique characters with full stories and detail
Yes there is that option! The main reason I award you will, of course, be listed first--followed by the secondary reasons!
Amil Grey - Character
Thank you so much for the wonderful art, and taking time to draw Alademuerte :) I appreciate it greatly! To see the full drawing, drag the image to your address bar.
 By Juju |
 By Karikinet |
If you'd like a draik adoptable of your very own, drop me a line ;3! I don't ask for much, only that you:
- KEEP ON NEOPETS ONLY
- Don't change the tags
- Title your neomail Ala De Muerte lives this is a must, I have several other adoptable templates around
- Provide me your draik's reference sheet (ON SITE PLEASE)
The Real Folk Blues
The skies were always--purple and red and oh they were on fire...
She's after Fool's Gold
May it all be ever green
The Devil was lookin' for a soul to steal
Fire in the disco
Leave me alone! I'm a custom!
One of Three
Leave me alone! I'm a custom!
Two of Three
Leave me alone! I'm a custom!
Three of Three
Leave me alone! I'm a custom!
Kesh's Evoi
Starlight, starbright...
GO AWAY I'M A CUSTOM! D:
An Inflicts
-hiss-
Mystic
GO AWAY I AM A CUSTOM
Morgan's mistress no.1
GOOOO AWAYY
Lebuki
I am NOT YOURS :D
who am I
But...but you promised me there'd be a code here...
Caslean 2
THE CODE IS A LIE
Chiinoumi
This code likes hot dogs
Sakiir
LOLWUT?
What IS this?
What a memory
IE 7 and firefox friendly, not so much on IE 6 since I use transparencies.
Thank you everyone who has made an adoptable of Morgan. They're all so lovely! If you would like to make one (or art in any form), please refer to the reference sheet below! Simply drag the image to your URL bar, or, right click-view properties-copy the URL, then paste to the URL bar.
Current count: 5
I had a dream the other night; I was lying on my couch, and then the telephone rang.
The dog answered it then dropped it in my lap, and said 'it's for you.
I said 'Of course it's for me, you're only a dog. Who would be calling for you?
He tilted his head and shrugged a bit, then gave me an arid smile.
Before I could ask who it was, a booming voice appeared,
it said 'Morgan oh Morgan, hello hello?
This is God almighty sitting above, on a cloud of worry and fear.'
Now I was puzzled as you'd imagine, thinking I must have died,
but the dog was listening in on me with a grin a mile wide.
He said ' Boss you ain't got nothing to worry about, it's only a tele-marketer, a sham.
Why hand over the phone, I'll tear him to bits and you'll see how right I am.
God' said then ' Now hold on pooch, I know your type. You're just all bark I bet.
Morgan Villaneau, your folks house burnt down...of this I totally regret. '
The dog heard every word he said and then began to cry,
and I just sat there looking at the floor and heaved a hollow sigh.
Quit playing games who is this now, don't you know you're wasting my time?
I got off the phone five minutes ago with them, and they're just doing fine.'
God' said ' Okay okay, I'm sorry I lied but I really do have news.
Your darling girl Dante way up North, she claims she has the blues.
She wants her dad but don't know how to get ahold of you,
so she prayed and prayed and here I am with what you need to do.
Stand outside out on your porch and there'll be a road,
it's never changed from when you were young, so you'll know right where to go.'
Reluctantly I listened to this nut calling himself 'God',
the dog and I went outside and looked out at something odd.
Not one but two dozen roads all splitting in half ran by,
a tangled web of asphalt spreading out to where the mountain meets the sky.
I said 'God what on earth you doin' telling me that there's just one?
I don't recognize a single one of these! Are you just makin' fun?
God' grunted ' My name ain't God I've said I'm
Just take the one you used to know, where everything begun. '
Before I could say another word Bob hung up the other line,
the dog snickered and laughed then barked 'Oh! How very kind!
With a heavy heart I searched and searched for the road I should have known,
then turned to face the dog and frowned, and asked ' Do you know which way to go?'
The dog looked up and gave me a smile that my wife once wore too,
then he rose to his paws and trotted on down and responded 'I bet I do.
Look for the road that changes direction and tells you different tales,
I think it's that big one, you see? right there. I hardly ever fail.
And if it doesn't lead you to Dante, you can always turn right around.
It's easier to come back to where you began because those trails were already found.
Then on the way you'll know things about people you never knew,
and then those faces will keep you company when you start feeling blue.
Then he padded on towards the largest trail, direct due west beginning to form a fog.
And then he said 'or I could be wrong because after all, I am only just a dog....
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Don Shadowlier - G.O.D INC |
The Con Man - G.O.D INC |
The Ragin Cajun - G.O.D INC |
Tragic Hero - G.O.D INC |
The blues brother - The Last Standing |
The Maverick - The Valiant |
The Big Bad Wolf |
The Emperor - Outside Infinity |
My immortal |
A Casualty - The L.E.P |
A Fallen Mage |
That Girl |
You are listening TO:
Edge Hill - Groove Armada
Special thanks to Savethelostneos for amazing inspiration, and this wonderful opportunity :). Gobigobu for including Optic, Mit, and Amil in The Alliance plot. Athena_Houndoom for helping me edit and prune the content! Header and body background design inspired by C.Nguyen designs. Dealer's pose in the blog illustration was mix photo referenced off both Google and a neighbor's German Shepherd =p