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Proteus Jones
Feb 28, 2013



Internet Wizard posted:

"We make the rest in contracts set up with various municipalities, organizations, and private individuals with monster problems." sure gives that impression.

Eh, seems to me it's basically a supernatural exterminator service.

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darthbob88
Oct 13, 2011

YOSPOS

Proteus Jones posted:

Eh, seems to me it's basically a supernatural exterminator service.
Which still leaves that whole "We'd love to deal with your pests, but you don't have a contract with us" problem. That's bad enough when it's bedbugs or termites, but when you're willing to let werewolves or goatsuckers continue to eat people because nobody's paying you to kill them, that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Although, in "defense" of this system, I suspect that anything as dangerous as werewolves is going to fall under the government bounty, so the local/private contracts are just the supernatural equivalent of termites and bedbugs.

Peepers
Mar 11, 2005

Well, I'm a ghost. I scare people. It's all very important, I assure you.


chitoryu12 posted:

Oh yeah, that's the kind of protagonist you want: someone who was flagged by the federal government as right-wing militia. Frankly the most unrealistic part of the book for me is that the government even bothers flagging white right-wingers.

Dammit, I wanted to make this exact joke.

Old Kentucky Shark
May 25, 2012

If you think you're gonna get sympathy from the shark, well then, you won't.


I will point out that while Larry Korea is a terrible shitstain of a human being and has zero self-awareness and is just awful and never, ever give him any money... his Grimnoir series is actually a pretty decent, light read of a fantasy series, even if it is fantasy in name only. It's basically magic X-men set in pseudo-World War 2 with necromancers and zeppelins and tommy guns and terrible samurai honor masturbation. It's relatively free of his crazy-rear end politics, at least up until about book 3 (I think?) where FDR turns out to be an evil villain who tries to ensnare the handsome billionaire protagonist with his evil New Deal.


Also, the audiobooks are read by Bronson "Cousin Balki" Pinchot, and he does just an absolutely amazing job as a reader. If you can find them at your library, give them a listen.

Old Kentucky Shark fucked around with this message at 23:35 on Apr 6, 2018

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

quote:

"So you know all about me because of that file," I said after swallowing a blob of cheese and pineapple. Delivery had been relatively swift, the pizza was good, and surprisingly enough Julie seemed to be enjoying our conversation. After the first few awkward minutes she had warmed up to my attempt at flirting, and was at least tolerating me. Her smile was contagious, and I felt better than I had in weeks. The sun was starting to set, and long orange shadows were cast through my barred apartment windows.

"Scary, isn't it? How much they keep track of people," she said, trying to be polite and not talk with her mouth full, and failing miserably. "You should see what mine says. If you read it you would probably be scared to be around me. They think I'm totally nuts."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I replied, going for another slice, trying not to lean forward on my bad leg too much. "You don't seem nuts to me, except for the whole good versus evil zombie werewolf thing at least."

She noticed my predicament and helpfully shoved the box closer on my little coffee table. My furniture was sparse and mostly cheap junk, but at least the place was clean, even if it was only because my mom had visited recently.

Julie explains a bit about Myers and Franks. Myers actually used to be a monster hunter before being recruited by the government, and they work for the secretive Monster Control Bureau. She also confirms that she's already in a relationship and is only having pizza with Pitt as a professional courtesy. She puts her legs up on the coffee table, revealing that she's wearing combat boots under her conservative suit. Her jacket falls open, revealing a leather pancake holster on her hip.

quote:

"What are you carrying?"

"This?" She reached around, drew the gun, dropped the magazine, racked the slide and expertly caught the ejected round in her off hand. She then passed it over to me with the action open while she rattled off the stats only another gun nut would appreciate. "Commander-sized 1911, Baer slide and frame, match barrel. Heinie night sights. Thin Alumagrips. Bobtail conversion to the frame. All Greider tool steel parts. Trigger and action job. It's a good shooter. I've carried this one for a year now."

I examined her gun. It was a gorgeous piece of work. The slide was so smooth it felt like it was on rollers. It was obviously used hard, but well cared for.

"Mind if I try the trigger? I'm a 1911 guy myself."

"Go for it," she said with a grin. She was proud of her gun.

The break was clean and light with no detectable creep. It was a very good trigger job.

As a fellow 1911 enthusiast, I admire her taste. She says she did most of the modifications herself, and tosses the .45 ACP round she extracted to Pitt for him to examine. It looks like a standard hollow point, but with a metal ball filling the cavity.

quote:

"What's this?

"Contrary to the Lone Ranger, silver bullets really suck compared to good old-fashioned lead. Silver's too hard, and it doesn't fully engage the rifling. It's lighter than lead, so you get really lightweight projectiles with lousy accuracy. It's pretty useless except for one thing: it's the only thing that will kill some of the stuff we face."

This is actually absolutely true! I've done a lot of research on silver bullets myself, and Correia probably got his info from the same experiments I did. Along with all of these issues, silver requires extremely hot crucibles to melt (whereas lead will melt over an ordinary campfire) so it tends to cool very rapidly after melting, requiring you to make pure silver bullets very fast with a lot of precision. Soft lead will expand to engage the rifling or swage itself down if slightly oversized for the bore, while silver is so hard that an imperfect bullet will either be too small to contact the barrel or be so big that it risks blowing the gun up because it can't even get down the barrel. Funny enough, it seems that Larry and I both came up with the exact same idea for a silver hollow point for monster hunting.

They're not quite sure why silver hurts monsters. One theory is that it's related to the 30 pieces of silver Judas was paid to betray Jesus. The Vatican Hunters say it's because silver is a pure and good metal, while lead is of the earth. Scientifically, they still can't find an explanation.

quote:

"Looks like a Corbon Pow'r Ball." That was a type of regular defensive ammunition that I had used a few times before. It used a ball stuck in a hollow cavity designed to squish back to force expansion of the bullet on impact, thereby increasing the severity of the wound.

"Good call. That's who we stole the idea from. The ball in front is pure silver. It penetrates well, and as the silver is forced back it expands the traditional lead slug around it. Usually the silver fragments off after a few inches and leaves a separate wound cavity. Best of both worlds. Still works like a regular bullet, shoots like a regular bullet, but enough silver to do a number on evil. We have them made for us specifically. They cost a fortune, so we only make them in .45 for pistols and subguns, and .308 for rifles. When we need lots of silver up close and fast, we use a modified silver double-aught buckshot."

"Now you're talking my language." I held up the bullet. "So I guess that's what the Feds were going to shoot me with if I had been infected."

"Nope, they use a sintered metal. Silver powder encased in a polymer matrix. Neat stuff, but the company that makes it only sells to the government." She caught the bullet when I tossed it back. She loaded it back in the magazine, inserted that back into her 1911 and reholstered without looking.

You know, this might actually turn out to be flawless from a gun perspective. After Mack Maloney's pulp (where researching anything but planes seems to cause an allergic reaction and he actually gets farther from reality with each book he writes), it's refreshing to see accuracy.

quote:

"So about this 'relationship'?" I used my fingers to make quotation marks. Julie rolled her eyes at me behind her glasses.

"You don't quit, do you?"

"Isn't that why you guys want to hire me?"

"Tenacity good. Stalking bad."

"Okay, agreed, stalking bad. Especially when the stalkee is packing heat. So are you and Earl an item?"

Julie snorted and started to choke on her pizza. I couldn't tell if she was trying to laugh or not die. So I didn't know if I should be in on the joke, or try to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

Unfortunately for the gun accuracy, Owen Pitt appears to be the gooniest goddamn protagonist ever.

Earl Harbinger and Julie are related, and he's in fact much older than her despite how he looks. He raised her and her brothers long enough that she considers him a father figure. Pitt asks if her boyfriend is also a hunter, and she says yes and that she'll also beat him to death with his own crutch if he doesn't shut up.

After talking some more about MHI and monsters, Pitt notes that Julie seems distracted. She asks him if he knows what today is, and finally gets up and opens the curtains to reveal the full moon. It's been one month from the werewolf attack, and she was ordered by Earl to watch him just in case the tests were wrong and he started to transform. This somewhat deflates Pitt's boner for her.

quote:

We silently watched the sky. I realized that she was still holding my arm, standing close, and I could feel the warm, soft pressure of her body against mine. There together, in the light of the moon, just the slight tenseness of her hands on the muscles of my arm, I could feel her breath on my ear. It was a good moment. I wished that it could last forever. Unfortunately she was only holding me to help keep my pathetic crippled rear end from falling down.

Once she was sure that I was stable on my crutch she let go. She reached into her purse, produced a card and handed it over. The card had a set of directions, a very basic map, and a picture of a green happy face with horns.

"We're putting together a training class. It's going to be brutally hard, because we only hire the best. Once you have had a chance to think about it, if you're still interested, be at the location on that card in three weeks." I put the card in my pocket.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"Good. Welcome to MHI." She shook my hand in a professional manner.

"Thanks."

"I'll let myself out," Julie said. She started to walk away, leaving me to watch the moon. Julie Shackleford made it a few steps, and then surprised me by turning around and coming back. I felt her full lips brush softly against my cheek in a brief kiss. Luckily the crutch was well grounded or I might have fallen headfirst out the window in shock.

"You're a sweet guy, Owen. Thanks for the nice dinner. See you in a few weeks." Then she glided away.

At least I waited for the confirmation of my front door closing before grinning like an idiot. It had been a good day after all. I had gotten some of my questions answered. I had found a new job, one that at least sounded interesting, even if it was a bit of a career change on the insane side. I had, in theory at least, a check for $50,000 in my pocket. And best of all, a pretty girl had kissed me on the cheek. Yes, it had been a great day indeed.

I pulled the card and examined it. I was going to Alabama.

I hate Alabama.

Internet Wizard
Aug 9, 2009

BANDAIDS DON'T FIX BULLET HOLES

Of course this dork has weird calibre hang-ups and thinks that true men only use .45 and .308

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Internet Wizard posted:

Of course this dork has weird calibre hang-ups and thinks that true men only use .45 and .308

When doing my monster hunter campaign, I justified the use of the largest calibers possible because you actually want the silver plug to stay in the monster instead of overpenetrating and exiting, and you want the largest amount of silver possible. So you really just want to use the minimum necessary to penetrate the skin (vital organs if necessary, depending on how vulnerable the monster is to silver) while getting a fat honking bullet like a .45 or .50.

This also means assault rifles aren't that great because of the small bullet and potential for overpenetration, while shotguns full of silver buckshot or slugs are ideal.

Vox Valentine
May 31, 2013

Solving all of life's problems through enhanced casting of Occam's Razor. Reward yourself with an imaginary chalice.

I'm mad I have the same tastes in pizza that he does. :colbert: Also Jesus Pitt, congrats on being on the same page as Wade Watts when it comes to addressing people you dig.

Zanzibar Ham
Mar 17, 2009

You giving me the cold shoulder? How cruel.


Grimey Drawer
Owen should be glad the story isn't set in this year because of the literal train-loads of poo poo stinking up Alabama right now.

Samizdata
May 14, 2007

Hostile V posted:

I'm mad I have the same tastes in pizza that he does. :colbert: Also Jesus Pitt, congrats on being on the same page as Wade Watts when it comes to addressing people you dig.

Look, Owen is here to kick rear end and eat pizza, not be a lover boy. Besides, you know how they say write what you know? I am thinking, with Larry, that's what he knows.

Malachite_Dragon
Mar 31, 2010

Weaving Merry Christmas magic

Zanzibar Ham posted:

Owen should be glad the story isn't set in this year because of the literal train-loads of poo poo stinking up Alabama right now.

As opposed to how Alabama usually is? :confused:

ShinsoBEAM!
Nov 6, 2008

"Even if this body of mine is turned to dust, I will defend my country."
So an interesting thing about gun-nuttery, Correia hates HK guns IRL, and I don't think his protagonist ever uses them. But when John Ringo wrote his basically fan-fiction of MHI that has been published and Correia helped edit, his protagonist wanked off about how HK makes the best guns for a solid 2 pages and it was glorious in some meta gun-nut argument kind of way.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

ShinsoBEAM! posted:

So an interesting thing about gun-nuttery, Correia hates HK guns IRL, and I don't think his protagonist ever uses them. But when John Ringo wrote his basically fan-fiction of MHI that has been published and Correia helped edit, his protagonist wanked off about how HK makes the best guns for a solid 2 pages and it was glorious in some meta gun-nut argument kind of way.

I think it's because Ringo is a weirdo who can't stop wanking over special forces, while Correia is a gun shop owner and shooter so he has the typical hatred of HK for being crappy to civilian consumers.

Samizdata
May 14, 2007
Anyone have a title and such for Ringo's fanfic? I have never heard of it until now and would to at least like researching it.

Choco1980
Feb 22, 2013

I fell in love with a Video Nasty
I love how he says that she rifles off stats that would only be interesting to gun nuts, then immediately rifles off those stats.

Meanwhile, the Silver conversation totally appeals to me, and I love seeing modern technology applied to old monster lore. I wonder if MHI ever has to handle Sidhe style threats and instead switch to ammo that is iron based.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Choco1980 posted:

I love how he says that she rifles off stats that would only be interesting to gun nuts, then immediately rifles off those stats.

Meanwhile, the Silver conversation totally appeals to me, and I love seeing modern technology applied to old monster lore. I wonder if MHI ever has to handle Sidhe style threats and instead switch to ammo that is iron based.

This is also something I've studied. A big problem with iron is that depending on your particular formula, it can also end up being too hard and ruining your rifling. One question is "What does 'cold iron' mean?" If it means a specific kind like consecrated iron, you've got a problem. If any kind of iron or steel works, you've got steel core ammo or steel buckshot and birdshot.

Shotguns are the ideal anti-monster or anti-ghost (if you're shooting rock salt) weapon because they're just steel tubes, so they can safely load and fire virtually anything that fits in a shell. Need a quick silver load? Just buy a bunch of silver beads from a jewelry supplier and make as much silver buckshot as you need.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyS6tiGiEcY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEEjArD1R3A

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQ5Fhb395i8

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

quote:

The next three weeks had passed quickly. The PUFF check had surprisingly enough cleared. And with a bloated bank account, I had packed my bags, sold or given away most of my stuff, broken the lease on my apartment, and driven to the middle of nowhere, following the directions that Julie Shackleford had left me.

Everything that I still owned was stuffed into the back seat and trunk of my rust-brown Chevy Caprice. All I had was a couple duffel bags with clothing, my laptop, a few other supplies, and about a dozen guns. There was no way I was parting with those. It was a good thing that a Caprice's trunk is big enough to suit a Mafia don.

Pitt drives straight through from Dallas to the small town of Cazador, Alabama about 2 hours from Montgomery. It's in the middle of nowhere with only one road in and out, surrounded by dense forests, rolling hills, and many streams and creeks. The town has a population of 682 according to the sign; the only attraction is a catfish plant, tours open until 4:00 PM. Pitt stops at the only convenience store in town for a soda, gas, and to scrape the bugs off his windshield.

Deeper in the woods, he follows the directions to a small gravel turn-off. A sign reading "MHI" with a green smiley face with horns is the only marker, with many "No Trespassing" signs as he drives down.



quote:

Finally I came to an open gate surrounded by high chain link and razor wire. Near the gate, a man sat in a folding chair under the shade of a large umbrella, relaxed and apparently listening to a big battery-powered radio. He waved lazily as I braked and rolled down my window.

He was an interesting-looking fellow, weathered to the point that it was difficult to guess his age, a little shorter than average, with a shaved head, small wire-rimmed glasses over a blunt freckled nose, and a thick red beard that was absurdly long and pointy. The end had even been braided with a few decorative beads. He was wearing a Rush Tom Sawyer T-shirt, cargo shorts, and Birkenstock sandals. He looked kind of like a granola-eating environmentalist type, except for the worn M4 carbine hanging idly from a tactical-sling draped over his shoulder. He was spitting the remains of sunflower seeds into a cup.

"Hi. I'm looking for MHI," I said. The man adjusted his glasses and looked at me, head tilted at a slightly strange angle as he smiled absently. Suddenly he clicked his tongue and pointed at me.

"Big dude . . . Scar face. You must be that guy Earl found. Threw a werewolf out a window?"

"That would be me." I realized that the boom box was set to a talk radio station, and the subject was something to do with black helicopters and cattle mutilation. "Julie Shackleford offered me a job."

"She does that a lot. We're a little short-handed right now, but that's a long story. Drive straight in, park in front of the biggest building. You're a little early, but a few other Newbies are already here. The Boss said that he would say a few words to you guys, so just hang out."

"Newbie?"

"New hire. Greenies. Monster bait. Organ donors. You know. It's slang."

This gate guard is Milo Ivan Anderson, who simply introduces himself as "the guy who teaches you how all the cool stuff works". Driving past the gate, the MHI compound comes into view. The only permanent building is a red brick and steel office building with narrow windows and iron bars. Walking inside, Pitt notices that there's a second set of doors airlock-style behind the main entrance with a portcullis that can be dropped to separate them.

The receptionist is a matronly old woman in her 60s, a large revolver printing underneath her purple sweater. She likewise compliments Pitt on killing the werewolf; her name is Dorcas, and she used to be a hunter herself until a werewolf left her with a plastic prosthetic leg.

Pitt signs in at the desk and continues on to the cafeteria and meeting hall. The halls are lined with photos and plaques memorializing fallen hunters; the oldest go back to the 1850s, while nearly a hundred of the pictures all share the date of 12/15/1995. Conspicuously, there's no death dates beyond that until a few in the current year. Pitt notes this is 6 years, suggesting that this book actually takes place in 2001.

quote:

A group was waiting in the cafeteria. There were a few small pockets of conversation, but mostly they had pulled up chairs by themselves and were waiting nervously. Not being one for socializing, I grabbed a metal folding chair and took up residence in the back of the room. The fellow to my right was snoring loudly. To my left was a young Asian man, warily watching the others. He shook my hand and introduced himself as Albert Lee. When I asked him how he had ended up here he muttered something about spiders. Big spiders.

More people gradually arrived. To pass the time I studied the others. I caught a few of them studying me back. The group was about eighty percent male, and I would guess that the average age was probably just under thirty. Most of the Newbies looked relatively fit, though surprisingly there were a few people I would call gravitationally challenged. The group was a good demographic cross section of America, with the biggest numbers being Caucasian, but also some Hispanics, Asians, Blacks, and a couple of people like me of indeterminate race. Don't bother to ask. My ancestors really got around.

From everything you've said about your racial background, Pitt, you seem pretty drat white.

Earl comes in, along with a few other people like Milo and Julie.

quote:

"Hello. My name is Earl Harbinger. Many of you know me already. I'm the Director of Operations here at MHI. Welcome to our new Hunter orientation. Let's get one thing straight right off the bat. We hunt monsters. That's what we do. Every one of you has had the experience to realize that there is a lot more out there than you've been led to believe. In the coming days I would just ask for one thing. Keep your mind flexible. Don't get caught up in what you're sure is real, because if you can't believe in them, you can't fight them."

Harbinger stopped speaking just as an older gentleman limped into the room. He was tall and gaunt. A black patch covered his obviously empty left eye socket, and the skin on that side of his face looked as if it had been badly burned at some point in the distant past. He had a stainless steel hook instead of a right hand. His hair was thick and white, and had been neatly combed. He wore an obviously expensive, dark Italian suit. He walked slowly, one foot slightly dragging.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Let me introduce Raymond Shackleford, President and CEO of Monster Hunter International." Harbinger quickly sat down. Most of us started to clap politely.

The senior Shackleford shushed us and waved his hook in our general direction. "Enough of that nonsense. I ain't no politician." He paused, folded his arms behind his back almost as if he was at parade rest and proudly addressed the room. He had the air of an old Southern gentleman. The boom of his voice did not fit his frail appearance.

Larry really seems to idolize Southerners who don't take poo poo from anyone and hate political correctness.

quote:

"Welcome to Monster Hunter International. My name is Raymond Shackleford the Third. You can call me sir, Mr. Shackleford, or Boss. Today you are going to get a little history lesson, so pay attention." He cleared his throat loudly. "My grandfather founded this company in 1895. Raymond Shackleford the First, but around these parts everybody knew him as Bubba. Bubba Shackleford was born and raised in this very valley, here in the heart of Keene County. One winter the good folk of Keene County started to disappear: sadly, some of them even came back, only they were not quite human any more. My grandfather formed a group of concerned citizens, best could be described as an angry mob, and took care of the problem. The fault lay with what we now know to be a vampire. Grandpa Shackleford lynched the creature twice, and when it wouldn't die they finally, in frustration, burned it at the stake. One by one my grandfather's men found every newly created vampire, and destroyed each in turn, until finally the county and Cazador township was made safe."

The old man coughed, then pulled a white handkerchief from his suit coat and wiped his nose. It was plain to see that he was not in good shape, but it was obvious that he still maintained an amazingly strong will and presence. I had met a few people like that before, mostly at Veterans' Day functions. They were the kind of men that even my father saluted.

"Word spread across the state, and then across the South. Bubba's reputation grew. Turns out that there were many other towns that had their own supernatural problems. Grandpa was offered what was for the time princely sums of money to travel and dispatch other monsters. As time passed he assembled a group of strong men to assist him. They learned from their mistakes and they improved their methods. In December of 1895 they formed Bubba Shackleford's Professional Monster Killers. It has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

"A contemporary of my grandfather was one Theodore Roosevelt. As luck would have it, Teddy, being an adventurous sort, had had a few monster encounters of his own—once as the New York City police commissioner, and then again in Cuba during the Spanish American war. When Teddy became President he was hell bent on the creation of some means to keep the forces of evil in check. Thus the Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund was begun, or as we like to call it, PUFF. This was intended as a bounty system to award entrepreneurial brave men who would aid the nation by destroying dangerous monsters. My grandfather was the first person awarded a PUFF bounty.

"Since those early days this company has led the way in the fight against evil. After taking big jobs in Mexico for Standard Oil and in the Caribbean for United Fruit, the name was changed from Bubba Shackleford's Professional Monster Killers to something considered a bit more respectable: Monster Hunter International. Grandpa's company grew in stature and wealth, and he was even offered a position of some authority with the government's newly created Monster Control Bureau. He turned it down because he hated the government and had vowed never to work for any Yankees." There was some laughter at that.

Yeah, MHI is a full blown conservative Southerner's convention. Despite how Pitt insisted that the recruits are all races, I'm pretty sure there's only one he really cares about.

quote:

"For over a hundred years, this company has fought the good fight, the noble fight. We have always fought in secret because the powers that be don't want the sheep to be scared. We are the sheepdogs, and there are wolves out there, as all of you know firsthand. But things have changed. We have entered dark times indeed. For a brief time the fools in power, who should have known better, declared our business illegal. They caved in to monsters' rights groups, and the bureaucrats who assured them that federal agencies could handle the problem. There was an executive order. We were shut down, our assets confiscated, and any of us who opened our mouths were threatened with jail time. The drat nanny state couldn't handle the idea of private citizens taking care of their business." He was becoming visibly agitated. That explained the gap in the memorial plaques, but not what happened on December 15th.

I'll eat my hat if these books actually display government action as a good thing at any point in history.

quote:

"Ha! Ignorant bastards just had to have their fingers in everything. Monster attacks went up three thousand percent in the six years PUFF was shut down. The government has long had a policy to keep the truth secret. That is why so many of you here today were paid visits by agents and threatened with physical harm if you talked too much. But with incidents going through the roof, they were not going to be able to keep the lid on for much longer. Even with the full cooperation of the media, word was starting to spread. Not all of those crazy folks on that Internet thing are as crazy as you might think." He grinned widely, obviously amused at that thought. "Once enough voters were getting eaten, Congress had had enough and pressured the next President to reinstate PUFF and revoke the executive order that had banned professional monster hunting."

I'm a little confused about exactly how the government has kept a lid on things so easily. Somehow the whole of Congress is now in on it too? And the media has 100% cooperation so nothing leaks? At what loving point in the 21st century has the media been completely cooperating with the current administration? You just know if there were monster attacks under Obama, Fox would have been running it 24/7.

quote:

"So now we have restarted operations, and are trying to move past our dark days. Unfortunately we are short handed, and the monster problem is out of control. We are spread thin, with only small teams of experienced Hunters scattered around the country trying to put out fires. On the bright side, with so many attacks, it certainly makes finding and recruiting brave people like y'all much easier." He gestured at us with his hook.

"Thank you for coming. I look forward to working with each of you who make it through our training process. It will be hard. Earl here is gonna be a mean one, but it's for your own good. I must be going now."

Harbinger takes over once Rusty Raymond Shackleford III leaves. He says that if at any point anyone wants to quit, they can talk to Dorcas at the front and she'll write them a check to pay back their time.

quote:

"Your teachers will consist of experienced Hunters. Listen to them carefully. Read everything that you're given. Your life, or the lives of your teammates, may depend on your skill or knowledge." Harbinger pointed at the small knot of people sitting behind him. "We're not normally teachers. The folks sitting behind me are actually my personal team. I trust each of them with my life, and any of them would trust me with theirs. If any one of them decides that any one of you does not have what it takes to be a Hunter, then you're gone. That is all. Don't screw around with us. We're much better killers than we are babysitters." I knew Julie, and I had met Milo briefly, but I had no clue who the others were. One instructor had a giant mustache, looked like a cross between a cowboy and a truck driver, and reminded me of Kenny's dad from South Park.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhqbSf_fb1g

Terrifying.

quote:

"Training will last until we decide that you're good enough. After that you will be assigned to your duties. Some of you will be assigned to Hunter teams. We have teams stationed all around the country. Those teams respond to crises as they develop. Other people will work in direct support of the teams. We will go into greater details about how this entire thing works as training progresses. Every employee will be paid bimonthly according to your position. Any PUFF your personal team earns will be shared by the whole company, with your team getting the largest percentage. Think of it as profit sharing. That means that if your team wins a huge bounty you don't get to keep it all. Be careful not to bitch too much about that, however, because the next week it will probably be some other team that wins the big one and not you. Don't worry, though, the lowest paid employee we have probably made more than most of you did in the last year. Our business is monsters, and business is booming." He showed a lot of teeth when he smiled. It almost reminded me of when Mr. Huffman was about to eat me.

"Any questions?"

The only one to raise his hand is Pitt. He asks what happened on December 15th, 1995. One of the instructors (a handsome man in a suit, whom Pitt instantly hates) asks how he knew about that, and Pitt points out the dates on the death plaques. Someone in the crowd asks if he's a detective or reporter. Harbinger says he's worse: an accountant.

quote:

"Very astute of you, Pitt. I'll answer your question, but not today. Most of you in this room are not going to make it through training. Those folks get to walk away from this place and never look back. They don't need to know. Trust me, they don't want to know. For those of you who make it, I'll tell you the story personally, because I was there, and it affects every single Hunter. It was the straw that broke the camel's back and got us shut down. It was the one hundred year anniversary of the founding of the company, and it was one hell of a Christmas party."

The room was quiet.

"Any more questions?"

No one else said a word.

"Okay, everybody grab your crap and follow me. I'll show you where you sleep, and then we get started. We have work to do."

Zereth
Jul 9, 2003



If werewolves and zombies and vampires and poo poo are 100% real, how did this poo poo ever become secret in the first place. never mind the government covering up the increase in monster attacks once they told private firms like this to cut that poo poo out?

Zanzibar Ham
Mar 17, 2009

You giving me the cold shoulder? How cruel.


Grimey Drawer
Same reason Hillary still hasn't been locked up for her Benghazi Futures Foundation whatever

Samizdata
May 14, 2007

chitoryu12 posted:

This is also something I've studied. A big problem with iron is that depending on your particular formula, it can also end up being too hard and ruining your rifling. One question is "What does 'cold iron' mean?" If it means a specific kind like consecrated iron, you've got a problem. If any kind of iron or steel works, you've got steel core ammo or steel buckshot and birdshot.

Shotguns are the ideal anti-monster or anti-ghost (if you're shooting rock salt) weapon because they're just steel tubes, so they can safely load and fire virtually anything that fits in a shell. Need a quick silver load? Just buy a bunch of silver beads from a jewelry supplier and make as much silver buckshot as you need.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyS6tiGiEcY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEEjArD1R3A

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQ5Fhb395i8

Cold iron means it's been beaten out, not traditionally heat-forged.

Samizdata
May 14, 2007

chitoryu12 posted:

I'll eat my hat if these books actually display government action as a good thing at any point in history.

You can have ketchup if you want. Fedora, trilby or snapback?

I mean the government established PUFF which funds MHI one way or another, so that is good government action, not to mention the government's useful assistance in covering everything up.

On the not "Chi Has To Eat His Hat with an Everclear Back" front, I don't remember this well enough, but does MHI actually employ the hunters, or is it more a gig/Uber thing or does MHI provide them support and they get paid by bounties?

Up Circle
Apr 3, 2008
I'm sorry, did the crazy old man blame monsters right's groups?

How is this whole thing a secret when advocacy groups exist for bloodthirsty monsters?!

Zereth
Jul 9, 2003



Up Circle posted:

I'm sorry, did the crazy old man blame monsters right's groups?

How is this whole thing a secret when advocacy groups exist for bloodthirsty monsters?!
I'm getting the feeling the basics underpinning the world here aren't much better thought out than in Ready Player One.

Proteus Jones
Feb 28, 2013



Samizdata posted:

You can have ketchup if you want. Fedora, trilby or snapback?

I mean the government established PUFF which funds MHI one way or another, so that is good government action, not to mention the government's useful assistance in covering everything up.

On the not "Chi Has To Eat His Hat with an Everclear Back" front, I don't remember this well enough, but does MHI actually employ the hunters, or is it more a gig/Uber thing or does MHI provide them support and they get paid by bounties?

It’s been forever since I read this, but I *think* they’re employees with room and board. Each mission they get hazard bonus and part of the PUFF (with the lion’s share being plowed back into MHI for operational and personnel expenses). But they also typically go after the big number gigs, so it’s probably pretty drat profitable for everyone involved. Except for that whole life expectancy thing.

Karia
Mar 27, 2013

Self-portrait, Snake on a Plane
Oil painting, c. 1482-1484
Leonardo DaVinci (1452-1591)

And if the government monster hunters were under the DOD rather than the FBI you just know Correia would never shut up about how cool and elite those Special Forces Operators are as they completely ignore Posse Comitatus because they know better than those dumb civilians in Congress and the White House (bonus points if he throws in commentary about how important the Constitution is at the same time.)

Somebody Awful
Nov 27, 2011

BORN TO DIE
HAIG IS A FUCK
Kill Em All 1917
I am trench man
410,757,864,530 SHELLS FIRED


chitoryu, would you mind if I reposted the Shark Puncher snippets here?

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Sperglord Actual posted:

chitoryu, would you mind if I reposted the Shark Puncher snippets here?

Go for it.

Idran
Jan 13, 2005
Grimey Drawer

Samizdata posted:

Cold iron means it's been beaten out, not traditionally heat-forged.

That's a more modern redefinition. "Cold iron" was originally just a poetic description for any iron blade, like "cold steel".

Wheat Loaf
Feb 13, 2012

by FactsAreUseless
Book would be automatically better if it was called Bubba Shackleford's Professional Monster Killers.

Choco1980
Feb 22, 2013

I fell in love with a Video Nasty

Idran posted:

That's a more modern redefinition. "Cold iron" was originally just a poetic description for any iron blade, like "cold steel".

Yeah, I've looked it up and apparently it's just a flourish like "Cold Steel" that I suspect they mean "heartless" rather than "frigid" when they say Cold. Like, any iron will do for fighting witches and fae, as long as it's just iron.


chitoryu12 posted:

This is also something I've studied. A big problem with iron is that depending on your particular formula, it can also end up being too hard and ruining your rifling. One question is "What does 'cold iron' mean?" If it means a specific kind like consecrated iron, you've got a problem. If any kind of iron or steel works, you've got steel core ammo or steel buckshot and birdshot.

Shotguns are the ideal anti-monster or anti-ghost (if you're shooting rock salt) weapon because they're just steel tubes, so they can safely load and fire virtually anything that fits in a shell. Need a quick silver load? Just buy a bunch of silver beads from a jewelry supplier and make as much silver buckshot as you need.

So I'm not a gun guy, but I tend to understand stuff when people talk about it (it's funny, I'm the same way about programming language, so people automatically think I'm some computer expert for it). It sounds to me like the whole hollow point with a chunk of silver inside that the book went with and you said was where you independently decided to go with other stuff, it's basically the same principle as buckshot, wherein the payload isn't the bullet, but rather inside the bullet to do it's damage piggyback style, correct?

Lemniscate Blue
Apr 21, 2006

Here we go again.

Wheat Loaf posted:

Book would be automatically better if it was called Bubba Shackleford's Professional Monster Killers.

"Perfessional", because you know that's how half these assholes say it anyway.

chitoryu12
Apr 24, 2014

Choco1980 posted:

So I'm not a gun guy, but I tend to understand stuff when people talk about it (it's funny, I'm the same way about programming language, so people automatically think I'm some computer expert for it). It sounds to me like the whole hollow point with a chunk of silver inside that the book went with and you said was where you independently decided to go with other stuff, it's basically the same principle as buckshot, wherein the payload isn't the bullet, but rather inside the bullet to do it's damage piggyback style, correct?

Yeah, the problem is that silver is actually extremely hard to make bullets from. It requires very high heat to melt and cools too rapidly to pour easily, so you often end up with air pockets or an uneven shape. Because silver is very hard, it won’t expand if slightly undersized or swage down if slightly oversized like soft lead entering the barrel, and an oversized silver bullet can blow up the gun. The bullets also have very low mass, resulting in poor ballistics and accuracy.

Larry and I independently came up with the same idea for monster hunters: filling the cavity in the nose of a JHP with silver. This plug will deal the contact damage of silver inside a monster body and potentially separate to create its own wound cavity.

Shotguns avoid this problem because they have no rifling and just pack the shot contents into a plastic shot cup in the shell. You can load up literally anything that will fit in the shell. Steel or iron shot for fae, silver beads for those monsters, rock salt for ghosts, palo santo infused with garlic and holy water, whatever you want.

Wheat Loaf
Feb 13, 2012

by FactsAreUseless

Lemniscate Blue posted:

"Perfessional", because you know that's how half these assholes say it anyway.

"Y'all gotta gets ready to hunt the real monster: that goddamn librul communazi Barack Hussein Obama!"

Internet Wizard
Aug 9, 2009

BANDAIDS DON'T FIX BULLET HOLES

Choco1980 posted:

it's basically the same principle as buckshot, wherein the payload isn't the bullet, but rather inside the bullet to do it's damage piggyback style, correct?


Noooooot really. Buckshot is just a bunch of balls, sometimes held loosely together by a plastic cup or wad of paper while in the gun. Once you fire, the shot itself leaves the packing material before hitting your target. It's basically just a bunch of small bullets all at once rather than a single big bullet. There's not really any piggybacking since they don't strike as a single mass, they strike as a bunch of individual projectiles close together.

Somebody Awful
Nov 27, 2011

BORN TO DIE
HAIG IS A FUCK
Kill Em All 1917
I am trench man
410,757,864,530 SHELLS FIRED


chitoryu12 posted:

Go for it.

'Kay.

I threw these together for a TFR Let's Read of some awful John Ringo novels a couple of years ago, just to see if I could write schlock as well as the maestro of excruciating milporn. Maybe this thread will motivate me to finish the third installment.

Introducing Pekka Nielsen, Shark Puncher posted:

“Pekka Nielsen? Jack Valance.” The man behind the desk gestured to the chair in front of it. “Have a seat.”

Pekka sat. The chair was vinyl pretending to be leather, with a plastic undercarriage that creaked as it took his weight. It smelled like menthol cigarettes.

The top man at Nadelmann Global Security's Australian branch was a fortyish American, wild-haired and lantern-jawed, who wore a luridly colored Hawaiian shirt over khaki cargo shorts and running shoes. On his desk, an armada of manila folders floated around an iMac decorated in a constellation of fruit stickers. “How was the flight in?”

“Slept through most of it,” Pekka replied. Not much else to do on an economy overnighter with no movies.

“I wish I could. Planes scare the bejeezus out of me. First time in Sydney?”

“First since the new office opened.”

“So it's been a while.” Valance opened one of the folders and flipped through it. “I read the file on your last mission in Africa. A real shame.”

Africa. Of course he would bring up Africa. “Yes sir.”

“I'm not blaming you. The defense minister shouldn't have let his boy hang out with poachers.” Flip, flip, flip. “You heard that Haeberlin's rhinoceros is extinct?”

“No sir.” No, but it was a forgone conclusion. Pekka knew it ever since he saw where the client's priorities lay. Africa was eight months of blood and sweat down the drain, wasted trying to save a natural treasure on behalf of people who couldn't care less.

“IUCN made it official this week.” Valance stopped flipping through that folder and started flipping through a different one. “Here we go... The company has a new assignment in the pipe. This one's right up your alley.”

He unfolded a broadsheet and pushed it across the desk. A map of the South China Sea, covered with long, sinuous lines which Pekka recognized as shipping lanes. A cluster of islands west of the Philippines were circled in magic marker. “The Alfonsine archipelago?”

Valance nodded. “What do you know about it?”

Pekka shrugged. “Seen some advertisements in travel magazines. What's the story there?”

“Colonized by Spain, ceded to the US, occupied by Japan. Independence in 1946, then a chain of strongmen. Latest one kicked the bucket last year.” Valance laid another, smaller map over the first. “Most of the old regime's manpower deserted when the new administration came in. Our contract is to set up their replacements.”

“Who's in charge now?”

“A civilian transitional government. It's real shaky, no teeth to speak of.” Valance leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. “The economy was based on fishing and tourism. Now it's fishing and smuggling with a side of piracy. Outlying islands are basically lawless.”

“My kind of place,” remarked Pekka dryly. “We're doing this by the book?”

“Start to finish. They want to get things under control before their neighbors use it as a pretext to escalate the regional pissing contest. Your team will be their training wheels.”

He was right. It was up Pekka's alley. “When do we leave?”

Pekka and friends posted:

It was dark when Pekka returned to the hotel following an afternoon buried in paperwork. He climbed the stairs from the lobby to the third floor, pretending it was exercise. A pair of squealing French children and their apologetic French parents nearly ran him over in the hallway. Narrowly reaching Room 308 unscathed, he announced himself with a brief knock and waited to be let in.

Nadelmann Global organized its specialists into four man cells. A field team was two to five cells, depending on the job, and each cell got its own room. The company booked clean and comfortable lodgings, though not top star ones. Those were uneconomical and attracted the wrong kind of attention. Pekka was content as long as he didn't find any bedbugs.

A woman with handsome cheekbones and a black buzz cut answered the door, wearing a bathrobe meant for someone with smaller shoulders. “Hi.”

“Hi, Hetzer.” Pekka took off his shoes. The room was dim, lit only by a floor lamp between two armchairs. “All quiet?”

“Yes.” She bolted the door. “I was just going to stretch.”

At twenty-seven, Helga Metz was the youngest in Pekka's cell and his junior by six years. She came from the fading twilight of the Cold War, born to a West German barmaid and a USAF serviceman who proved a committed deadbeat. The Bundeswehr taught her the basics of her craft. Nadelmann saw to the rest. She was a breacher, a doorkicker, greased lightning with a twelve gauge master key and a degree in Krav Maga. Pekka understood that to be Hebrew for gently caress you up fast.

Masha wasn't back yet and Pekka knew Wilson wouldn't be back for a while. “I think I'll read.”

He ducked into the bathroom, taking a moment to check for five o'clock shadow. He also tried to comb down his hair, but the mess of hedgehog quills fought back with valor. Maybe Masha was right about needing to gel it.

Hetzer's robe lay discarded on one of the beds when Pekka came out. Its absence revealed a body that would make cheetahs envious, soft lamplight shading every contour as she arched backward until her hands touched the rough red carpet. She practiced a rather intense discipline of yoga, in which both the right ambiance and her nakedness were essential. Something about removing all distractions and attaining total clarity of mind. Wilson called it getting high without drugs.

Pekka stepped around her, picked up his book from the nightstand and eased himself into a chair. He appreciated Hetzer's exertions in an abstract, aesthetic sense, the way he imagined art critics looked at nude paintings and praised the brushwork. They were friends, with a strong trust and respect for one another, but no more than that. The interest simply wasn't there.

Both were romantics of a sort, people who eschewed casual hookups and believed in a fantastic thing called true love. Hetzer had gone through a string of boyfriends and girlfriends trying to find it. Pekka found it once, and then a drunk kid drove a Ferrari into his life at twice the posted limit. He left romance on the back burner these days, thinking it more productive to focus on his job. Wilson said he had a chronic libido deficiency and told him to see a doctor.

A motion in the background diverted Pekka from his reading. Glancing over the top of the paperback, he saw Hetzer brace her head and arms against the floor and raise her body vertically, pointing her toes at the ceiling. A pink flower blossomed as her legs dropped and spread into a perfect T. Pekka turned his eyes back to the current page, where Nately's Whore was trying to murder Yossarian.

Two pages later, he heard knocking. Pekka checked the peephole out of habit and found Masha in the hall, a paper bag cradled in one arm. He unlocked the door for her. “Success?”

Marina Kovshova was six-foot-two, big boned, and had the muscle to break a man in half. Her blue eyes gleamed with the cold intensity of Cherenkov radiation. She kept her blond hair in a practical ponytail and tended to wear fatigue pants and t-shirts even off duty, projecting an intimidating aura. She came from Belarus, born in a picturesque town that happened to be downwind of a nuclear power plant. Fallout displaced the family to Mazyr and then Minsk, where Marina's father, an analyst for Soviet foreign intelligence, taught her English from an early age.

“It's your lucky day.” Masha carried the bag over to the room's mini fridge. “One pastrami sub with the works.”

“My doctor will never forgive you,” Pekka quipped.

The elder Kovshov embraced capitalism in the early nineties and led his family west, introducing young Marina to dangerous concepts like freedom of the press and multiparty democracy. It also introduced her to the digital age. Strangers looked at Masha and assumed she was a dumb brute. Pekka looked at her and saw a genius. Her specialty was battlefield electronics, weaving the invisible web that linked the team together.

“I won't tell if you don't.” Masha put a large bottle of diet lemonade in the fridge. “Looking good, Hets.”

Pekka went back to his chair and his book. Hetzer's workout continued. Masha sprawled across the far bed with an MP3 player and headphones. Knowing her, it was probably a language course or a cryptography podcast. There was silence for a while, save Hetzer's breathing and the intermittent rustle of pages turned.

Trouble announced itself with a quiet buzz in Pekka's trouser pocket. “Wilson's calling,” he reported, placing the Nokia on the chair's arm and setting it to speaker mode. “Hi, you're on Car Talk.”

“Don't do that now, man. I'm in real trouble here.”

If asked to describe the fourth member of the cell, Pekka would say that Carburetor Wilson III looked like Kurt Cobain and sounded like Kevin O'Connor. He descended from a proud line of Ford salesmen, a boy who wanted to be a gonzo journalist but didn't have the creativity or the tolerance for drugs and hard liquor. Wilson's fallback plan was to join the army, which made him a master of explosives. He was also an expert connoisseur of strip clubs and spent much of his shore leave and bonus pay in them. Pekka contented himself with lesser vices like crab Rangoon or jalapeno nachos.

He could hear Survivor's Eye of the Tiger playing in the background. It sounded like a rowdy night over there. “What's the problem?”

“It's these Texan bikers. I asked 'em not to blow smoke at me, one of 'em called me a queer... poo poo, man, they're watching the exits. Real friendly with the bouncers too.”

Hetzer perched on the chair's other arm. Masha was listening as well. “You want us to come get you,” Pekka concluded.

“Yeah, man. Whatever these guys are thinking, it can't be good. I don't want any trouble right before a mission, you know?”

Pekka looked at Hetzer. She shrugged. He looked at Masha. She also shrugged. It was his call. “Fine,” he told Wilson. “But you're paying the cab fare.”

“Whatever you want, man. You got the address?”

“I have it. Sit tight, we're coming.” Pekka rang off. “Who's up for a little heroism?”

A bonus from the same thread:

The Battle of Robin's Drift posted:

A .577/450 bullet struck the five hundred and eighty-seventh Heffalump neatly between its beady, savage eyes. The charging beast fell with a great crash and rolled head over tail in a dusty cloud, momentum carrying it a few paces further. The accompanying section of Woozles, seeing their battering ram felled short of the mark, ceased their advance and began to employ its carcass as cover. A jezail ball futilely struck the stone wall in front of the defenders. Another skimmed over it and clipped one of the Langstroth beehive cabinets in the field behind.

"Bother," said Pooh as he chambered another round. "Where's our bloody artillery?"

Vox Valentine
May 31, 2013

Solving all of life's problems through enhanced casting of Occam's Razor. Reward yourself with an imaginary chalice.

So. MHI was started by Klansmen, basically? Or at least that's the vibe I'm getting from Shacknasty the Elder's little speech and word choice. Not "tried to kill it twice" but "lynched" which just makes me wonder how many innocent people died before they figured out it was a vampire especially when he says "we now would call a vampire". They had no idea what they were up against at first and they tried to solve all of their problems with "vigilante" hangings. It reads like a branch of the KKK accidentally found out monsters existed and decided "well let's get in good with the government so we can get paid to murder" down the line and Pitt finds this to be a proud and good thing because he's a blundering militia shithead.

muscles like this!
Jan 17, 2005


This suffers the same problem as a lot of secret supernatural stories in that there's not really a good reason for it to be secret.

Liquid Communism
Mar 9, 2004


Out here, everything hurts.




Samizdata posted:

Cold iron means it's been beaten out, not traditionally heat-forged.

Does smelting count? Hell, even meteoric iron gets melted coming through the atmosphere...

ShinsoBEAM!
Nov 6, 2008

"Even if this body of mine is turned to dust, I will defend my country."

muscles like this! posted:

This suffers the same problem as a lot of secret supernatural stories in that there's not really a good reason for it to be secret.

There actually is one but :spoilers: I guess.

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Samizdata
May 14, 2007

Liquid Communism posted:

Does smelting count? Hell, even meteoric iron gets melted coming through the atmosphere...

TOTALLY different. That's "sky metal" there. You build your badass magic swords out of that.

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