Well, this is just !@#$ typical.
The other day, I was absolutely certain we were finding those werewolves too easily. We were. It turns out the biggest werewolf of all was sitting right under our noses, the entire time.
And no sooner do I head for D.C. for a funeral than it wakes up. And while I'm cooling my jets in the D.C. lockup for perfectly extenuating circumstances it gets loose and does a lot of damage.
Damn stupid no-contact orders. Damn stupid radio blackout. Damn damn !@#$ stupid. I don't know what I was thinking.
I guess I wasn't, was I?
I was too messed up by what we were finding down there, in the cold and the dark. Too messed up to really think about what we'd encountered.
Too busy thinking about what we were going to do with all those replicant kids that the clone hatchery was !@#$ out. Too busy to look at the facts, and then ask the really obvious !@#$ question.
One fact being: these kids are being spun out of Joseph and Magda Goebbels' superhuman DNA.
Another fact being: we've dealt with Joeseph, who's been a pain in our collective behinds on and off right up until now.
Yet another fact being: we haven't seen Magda since the Ice Palace went live. We didn't even see her when Jormungandir was about to go off, and we beat ABWEHR down with lead baseball bats.
So you can guess the question, right? I should have. And if I hadn't been sloshed off my ass on fermented penguin jelly, I'd have seen it.
We wouldn't be fifty-six men down and have lost another cape if I'd just asked the !@#$ question: where the !@#$ is Magda Goebbels?
Guess where. I'll give you a hint, she was not knitting hats for her darling brood so they didn't get frostbite the moment they walked up top to wrangle penguins for hooch.
She was in the gestation machine, cranking out kids every thirty days.
Hell, for all intents and purposes she was the gestation machine. Everything mechanical was just giving them room to grow, providing something to program their poor helpless brains, and then pooping them out at the end of the fun ride, 15 years down the line.
But squatting at the heart of the machine, the one place we did not !@#$ look, was Magda. Grown out to truly grotesque proportions, surrounded by tubes and hoses, granted what had to be a hair-raisingly sickening conjugal visit with her hubby every month, just so they could crank out more little soldiers for ABWEHR.
Magda Goebbels, super-sized, superpowered brood mare for the Fourth Reich.
I'll give the bitch this much, she knew how to wait. She waited until I was gone, the Werewolves were all taken care of, and we'd gotten into a less careful pattern. Judging by what was left behind, in her chamber, she must have been able to watch us all on her monitors as we blundered through the Ice Palace. She may have been able to activate some of the traps, for all we know.
Or maybe she just watched, smiling, and planning her revenge.
Well, she got it. 6 in the AM, two days ago, she lit out of the metal womb and rolled herself down the central hallway, scooping up everything she got her ropey, tentacle-like arms and legs on. Most got run over and squashed, a really unlucky few were eaten whole and alive.
I understand grown men and women screamed and !@#$ themselves at the sight of her. I've seen the tapes three times now, and I can't honestly say I wouldn't have been a little queasy, myself.
And believe you me, son, I have seen some messed up !@#$ in my inordinately long life.
In the end, a piece of unfinished business saved us. The penguin porn was starting to lose its novelty, and our sapient suicidal penguins were starting in on the religion thing again. Lucky for us we hadn't gotten around to removing their explosives, yet, and so when they went running at something that they apparently both remembered and feared, or half-remembered from a long time ago, it was to blow it to kingdom come.
So by the time I got back to the Ice Palace, Magda Goebbels was a large, smoking puddle of ovarian material and teeth, lying in and around the main chamber, with pieces parts of holy martyr penguins well-suffused with its steaming, suppurating fat and flesh. All that was left for me to do was count the butcher's bill, and wonder why I hadn't seen this one coming.
I'm angry as hell and no mistake, and a lot of that's at myself. My weakness.
But I'm also very perplexed. The last time I saw Magda she was flying at incredible speeds and belching poison gas. She most certainly did not look like what was rolling around the hallways, snacking on COMPANY agents.
Something changed her. And maybe the Black Pill's effects cause secondary mutations, somewhere down the road, but I suspect it was probably something down here.
Something we haven't encountered, yet.
(SPYGOD is listening to Mother of Pain (TRIARII) and still sticking with the black coffee)