The nightmare, which had assailed Dmitri every night for years, played again in his mind. It was thanksgiving evening, and he was parked next to a butcher shop in little Taiwan. While refugees worked on their new lives around the borders of his Caprice, the hero remained singularly focused on his target.
His car phone rang, and the voice inside it spoke in fluent Russian.
"Brother, I saved some turkey for you."
He sighed, unsure why this needed to be discussed again.
"I'm not of the family anymore, Anastasia. You should know, you're in the seat originally meant for me."
"Business is business and family is family. Father still keeps a scrapbook on all the hits we've received for you."
"... That's sweet, but I'm working."
"Hooy morzhovy! You can't handle him, you know? I'll submit those hits if you wind up in the hospital again."
"Bye!"
He slammed the car phone back on its hook, and stared at a ginseng root in his other hand.
"Butcher Song swears by this when it comes to trapping spirits. Will it work on that lunatic?"
His car phone rang again, and frustration got the better of his younger self.
"WHAT?"
The pained breathing he heard in response, however, quelled his anger faster than ice water.
"... help me," the voice of a young girl finally said. Dmitri checked the number calling him, and his face blanched.
SCREEECH!
Pieces of burnt rubber stuck to the asphalt in his car's wake. Stop signs and red lights were treated more as guidelines, and the John nearly wrecked twice to get across town. Arriving at a public housing high rise, the hero didn't even stop to park; he swung open the door and leapt, rolling just far away enough from the ensuing crash to be unaffected.
BANG!
"I hope this gives you indigestion... Please, be alive Diamond!"
He scaled up three flights of steps like it was his job, before barreling through 2 different doors to arrive in an apartment. Sitting at the kitchen table was a malnourished, smiling lunatic. He had an empty soup pot next to him, and his stomach bulged so far it bumped against the underside of the table.
"Ugh! The pain in the neck arrives, just in time to ruin my dessert."
A claw-like finger pointed toward the couch opposite him in the adjoining living room. Tied up on it was a 12 year old girl, her blond curls disheveled and her green eyes frozen in horror. Stealthy hidden under her rump was a cordless handset, the device which called Dmitri here.
"Diamond, no..."
"Well, shall we get this over with? It's not like you can trap me anyway, and I could use a new body now that this one is all slow with food. I can always nibble on my treat when you run away, ha ha ha!"
"Shit! He's full and in combat mode, already... No, I can't run! I must stand and fight!"
Flipping the table, the lunatic charged toward the girl. Dmitri jumped in between them, firing all the bullets in his revolver.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
One shell tore through the lunatic's kneecap, and another grazed his shoulder. The remaining four missed, which meant there wasn't enough stopping power to prevent his claw reaching Dmitri's waist.
SLASH!
He stumbled into the couch behind him, one hand holding his guts while the other dug through his utility belt. The lunatic limped towards them, giggling the entire way; His distended stomach shrinking as the wounds upon his body healed.
"Ah, this is why I hate you! Do you know how much I could have refined if I didn't have to heal this body? Too much! I'll be settling the score here, tonight!"
The lunatic leaned in close to see the look of fear on Dmitri's face as blood spilled from his soon-to-be slashed throat. Unfortunately for the lunatic, Dmitri had just found his can of mace.
SPRAAAAY!
"AAAAH! Curse these human eyes!"
the John shoulder checked Wendigo, a piece of his intestine spilling out in the process. The lunatic stumbled back from the impact, falling through the living room window behind him. Exhausted, injured, and unsuccessful in his capture, Dmitri looked expectantly on the little girl.
Having experienced this dream so many times, he longed for what came next.
"None of this matters, as long as I can hear her call me dad."
The line didn't come; instead, when she opened her mouth, a conversation between a man and his cat monster could be heard.
"Do you think he's alright? I've never seen a guy sweat that much."
"It must be hero sweat! Why else would he look so sad and pathetic; it's got to be a side effect of his power!"
His dream ruined, the John swiftly woke.
"You bastards! You ruined the best part!"
Mister whiskers sat in front of the couch the John was currently laid out on. Beside him stood a man in a varsity jacket, the name stitched on its front reading "Dusty."
"Are you sure he's an S-class hero? Did the license smell fake?"
"It smelled real. Plus, he could defeat me."
"Oh please, I could defeat you with a game of fetch."
"How dare you! I may be 3 years old, but I am just as intelligent as any other band members."
"Oh look, a red dot appeared on the ground. How'd that get there?"
"Where?!?! WHERE!?!?! Come here you little red bastard!"
As the John retreated to avoid the abomination barreling past him, he surveyed his surroundings. He was on the inside of a tour bus, and an expensive one at that.
"Where are we?"
Dusty became excited at this comment, a full presentation already ready in his head.
"Oh, welcome to the legendary Gold Bus! Its the tour bus for our band, 'The Teenagers.' The story of how I found her is a beautiful one, I am so glad you're here for me to tell it."
"Stop right there. I meant where are we in the facility," Dmitri responded, lying.
"Hrm... I don't know. We always split up when we search spooky places like this. Then, once we find something, Whiskers gets us all back together and we start the cameras."
"Cameras? You fellows are a band?"
Dusty lowered his head to show a small bald spot growing.
"You don't think we are really teenagers, do you? And yeah, we don't make a lot of money touring, so we make ends meet with haunted house live streams."
"And you make money with those?"
"Theoretically, yes."
Dmitri found himself suddenly missing mister Whiskers.
"At least the cat knew how to get to the point..."
"What was that? I can't hear you if you mumble, my ears are shot from working in a junkyard since birth."
"Where are we!"
"Oh right, I think I drove past a map in the tower thingy."
Dusty returned to the driver's seat, with the John following closely behind.
"Gretchen, do you remember where we passed that map?"
HONK!
The bus rumbled, its wheels conspicuously more goopy than when the John last saw them. Without turning, the vehicle's rear and front swapped positions. It then scraped back down the hallway and into the broken doorframe formerly marked "central tower."
The inside was wide and filled with stores, feeling very much like an indoor shopping mall. In fact, if it wasn't for the puddles of blood and bodies everywhere, one would think they had snuck in before the place opened. The bus, uncaring, rolled along; it occasionally gave its occupants a jolt as it climbed corpses like an off-roader.
Finally, after 10 minutes going under 10 miles an hour, they came upon the map. It was just like the maps malls would have, and there was even a little "you are here" star. What was disturbing, however, was the facility's shape when viewed from above like this. It bore strong resemblance to a radial spiral, its pattern most likely hypnotic when spun around vigorously.
Dusty and Whiskers gulped from their safe location behind the windshield.
"Where did you have to go, again," the cat monster asked Dmitri. He laughed, and replied,
"Oh, where I'm going ain't on the map..."