1 day prior. Thursday. 10:15 a.m.

  “Yo, Richy. Randal. Rapscallion. Rudolph. Big R. What’s up? I got something for you.” Tim dropped a manila folder on Mr. R’s desk and tapped it.

  “Tim, not a single one of those is my name and you know it.” Mr. R bemused and leaned back in his chair taking the folder and flipping it open.

  “Ahh, tomato potato. Anyways, we got another spike in the Appalachias. Want you to go take a look.” Tim said as he sat on the edge of Mr. R’s desk and crossed his arms.

  “We get spikes in the Appalachias all the time. It’s a busy area. What’s so special about this one.” Mr. R spoke as he thumbed through the file. Lifting his eyebrows as he finished speaking.

  “Ya, as you see, there’s definite signs of some wendigo magic in the Cherokees territory near western North Carolina. As you know we’re on good terms with them. So, we called and asked. Said it wasn’t any of theirs. But, more interestingly is that massive jolt from a few hours ago in the same area.” Tim leaned in and pointed at the graph in the folder.

  “Damn, that’s a lot of energy. Strange it’s only a spike though. And without any identifying properties. Think it’s an incursion?” Mr. R questioned as he looked back up at Tim.

  “Nah. No way. We would have heard something about one on that scale. Whether it came from above or below. Plus, it’s almost identical to that other spike from about a decade ago in the same area. Could be nothing like that one. But something at this level needs to be checked out either way.” Tim yawned as he stood and started to walk away.

  With a sigh, Mr. R got up and headed towards the very long elevator ride. As he passed floor after floor of the East Coast facility, he flipped open the folder once again. Looking at the location of the activity, he signed even heavier and thought to himself. This is mighty close to Wendy’s tribe. God, I hope Dakota’s not involved, or any of her sisters. None of them have done their annual check-in in a while. Plus Wendy’ll plead conflict of interest if the case gets brought to the humanitarian department.

  [-]

  Several hours later as he drove through the town of Luck, NC, just a few minutes from the location he was headed, he really hoped the town would live up to its name.

  The sun was starting to fade as he pulled off the road and checked to make sure this was about as close as pavement could get him. Unfortunately, it was, and he still had a few miles till he got to the hot spot of wendigo magic they recorded.

  Great. Looks like I’m hiking through the Appalachias in a suit. I’m too old for this shit.

  He drew his custom engraved Colt 45 and made sure he had 2 extra mags and that there was a round in the chamber. Everything was tip-top, so he started trekking.

  A couple miles in and darkness had fully settled. He also started seeing signature engravings. Not illegal in their own right, but not accepted to the point you can draw them willy-nilly on public land. Last thing C.R.O.W.s wanted was some random hiker posting a magic engraving on Reddit.

  So, best case scenario there was a wendigo with ignorance of C.R.O.W. laws. Worst case? They were willfully disregarding them.

  Another mile in and Mr. R was pretty sure it was the latter. He was no expert on wendigo magic, but he knew enough to know that these engravings were meant to confuse, disorient, tire, darken, and protect. The last was pretty strange, but maybe they didn’t want their prey eaten before they got to it.

  Mr. R wasn’t worried about any of the engravings. He had been doing this long enough that stuff like this had no effect on him. The darken engraving was annoying as hell, though. It made his flashlight nearly useless and had caused him to nearly trip several times. He thought that was the least of his problems until he heard movement around him.

  Time to through on the trusty old government authority. He whipped out his badge and stood tall as he shouted.

  “I am agent R from Crows enforcement agency. The engravings you have placed violate several statutes and laws. There is also the possible case to be made that you intended to make this a hunting ground. If so, this is a severe offense and your cooperation is required. If you refuse to cooperate, then you will be removed.” He thought that sounded pretty good. Most wonders wouldn’t push an issue with C.R.O.W. especially not what seemed to be a single wendigo way out in the sticks.

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  Or at least that’s what he thought until the snickering started. He counted at least 6 distinct noises. Not a great sign. Well, he’ll just lay on the government authority thicker then. Nothing else he really can do until one of them pushes their luck.

  “Reveal yourselves immediately and disable your engravings. You will face charges that you can plead in court if you wish. If you refuse to cooperate, then it would be good for you to remember that I am Crow enforcement. If you press this issue, you will deal with Crow eradication forces. End of story. Once they’re here, there is no bargaining.”

  There was an eerie silence for a second, and then something leapt from the darkness. Mr. R had been doing this long enough to know that if somebody wasn’t begging for mercy at the mere mention of Crow eradication forces, then they were either suicidal or too stupid to know fear. So, by the time the first creature had made it to him, its forehead was pressed against the barrel of his .45.

  For a second everything stopped, the engravings on his .45 glowed a pale blue, the darkness was pierced, then the hammer fell and turned the creature's head into an extremely difficult jigsaw puzzle.

  As he backed away, he fired again and again at more and more creatures lunging from the darkness. Making more and more very messy jigsaw puzzles.

  As the slide locked back on his 3rd and final mag, he turned and ran. Could he take some by hand? Sure. But it wasn’t his job to do so. The creatures he’d been dropping were mongrels. Mindless sentries made by high class wendigo using animal corpses. Not a lick of intelligence besides their original purpose. Thus, the reason they weren’t deterred by his threats. They had no idea what he was saying.

  As he ran through the woods, he pulled out his phone and called the East Coast facility.

  “I’ve got a high class wendigo with a pack of unregistered mongrels. No contact with the wendigo yet, but the mongrels are violent. I need eradication out here asap.”

  “Understood, agent R. Do you have an estimate on the number of mongrels? And what class are they?” The operator quickly spat out.

  “Not sure on the number. Probably nearing the several hundred. I dropped 22 of them, but more keep coming. If I had to guess, whoever’s making them started during that first spike near a decade ago. Depending on their ability, that’s enough time to make around 500 class 1 mongrels.” Mr. R spoke as quickly as he could through the light panting caused by running half a mile through the woods.

  “Understood, eradication will be on scene within five minutes. Are there any civilians in the area, or am I good to drop them in the woods?” The operator quickly asked again.

  “The woods are clear for at least 3 miles in every direction. There are quite a few wendigo engravings in the area, though. Might mess with the accuracy of the teleport.”

  “Understood, agent R. Have fun.” The operator signed off with a cheeky tone.

  Oh, very funny, Debra. You’re not the one sprinting through the woods in a suit. Mr R thought to himself.

  Over the next five minutes, Mr. R had to tussle with a few mongrels that managed to jump him. But given the fact that he’d spent his fair share of time on the eradication force, a class one mongrel wasn’t much of a threat. Hundreds of them, though? Well, that’s why he was running.

  As soon as five minutes had passed, though, all hell broke loose. Men and women dressed head to toe in combat gear simply appeared and started liberally throwing led down range. A healthy mix of 12 gauge, 308, and 556 did wonders for a pack of mongrels. Within another five minutes of Mr. R plugging his ears, the mongrels had backed off. As they did, the captain of this eradication squad, as denoted by the patch on his arm, walked up to Mr. R.

  “Pleasure to meet you sir. The upper brass still talks about the things you did while working with the eradication special forces.” Before Mr. R could say thank you, the captain continued on, “Says you’re a shining example of how not to lead a unit.” The captain said it so monotone that Mr. R wasn’t even sure it was an insult.

  “Yes… I’m sure they do. They hate when you don’t follow protocol to the tee.” He figured he might as well defend himself, insult or not.

  “Indeed they do, sir.” The captain leaned in and cupped a hand around his mouth, “But between you and me sir, we all think you’re a living legend. The things you did in Istanbul were unbelievable.”

  “Funny, brass said the same thing. Just in a very different tone. Enough reminiscing though. There’s probably around 300 class one mongrels left. Your team seems plenty equipped to deal with that. Keep in mind if they were guarding something there’ll probably be some class 2 near the center. You can handle that right?”

  “Yes sir, we’ve dealt with similar in the past and we’ve got enough firepower to take 2s. If a 3 shows up we’ll have to call you though, sir.” The captain said as he looked down.

  “No worries, 3s and up have been pretty rare for the last decade or so. I guess the Crow’s got no reason to train or equip you newer guys to handle them. Just do what you can and call me if you need anything. I’m gonna go wash all this dirt off and change suits.” Mr. R said as he turned on his heel and started walking.

  “Understood sir!” the captain saluted and started deeper into the forest.