Grimoires and Gunsmoke

A relentless drumbeat filled the silence of the night as rain pelted the windshield of a dark Toyota Tocama truck. The vehicle sat idling in the shadows of a deserted alley in the heart of New Orleans, and its occupants huddled inside, seeking shelter from the storm that raged outside.

In the driver's seat, a bald, dark-skinned African American man with a baseball hat pulled low over his eyes, DeAndre, also known as just D, stared out into the darkness. His hands rested on the lower part of the steering wheel while he leaned back in his chair with a bored look. He was dressed in a hoodie, the fabric damp from the rain that had lightly dampened it during his brief time outside.

"More of those damn monsters popped up just outside the city near Lexington," D suddenly spoke up, trying to dispel the awkward silence. "They're all over the place now."

His partner, a pale-skinned man named Mason with dark brown hair, shifted in his seat beside him. He was wearing a North Face jacket, the material glistening with raindrops in the dim light of the street lamps. He tapped his hand against the car door, one of the few nervous tics he indulged in before getting into a big operation.

"Yeah, I know," Mason replied in an equally derisive voice. "DHS thinks they're reproducing like crazy because they don't got any natural predators on the East Coast."

D let out a humorless sound that echoed in the confines of the truck. "No shit," he said, shaking his head. "All the nasty shit that'll kill you is either down south or on the West Coast. What do we got up here? Fuckin' black bears?"

A chuckle left Mason’s mouth as he adjusted the ballistic vest that spelled the words U.S. MARSHALL in big, bold yellow letters. "Maybe we should import some of those West Coast mountain lions," he suggested, only half-joking. "Let them loose in the countryside and see how long these monsters last."

“I actually remember hearing a story about some crazy fucker down in Texas using a mountain lion to hunt hogs,” D said as the rain continued to patter against the windshield. “Dude would just let it loose, and it’d just drag a full-grown hog back for him.”

Mason raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Damn, that's wild," he said, shaking his head. "But I guess when you're dealing with a hog infestation, you gotta get creative."

"Creative is one word for it. Insane is another." D snorted as his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead

They lapsed into silence once more, the gravity of their situation settling over them like a heavy blanket. They were waiting for their mark, a nondescript white van belonging to the local mob and a solitary dark gray luxury sedan carrying a lieutenant. Other units were on standby, ready to swoop in at a moment's notice, but for now, it was just the two of them sitting in a truck on a rainy night, watching and waiting.

"You know what really gets me, though?" Mason said, breaking the silence. "It's not just these monsters we gotta worry about. It's all the other shit that's been popping up lately. Elves, goblins, orcs... even magic humans or whatever."

D sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Tell me about it. It's like something out of that one movie with Will Smith in it. Except all the magic can level an entire block, and it isn’t rare."

"You talking about bright?" Mason asked, huffed in amusement when D snapped his finger and pointed at him in affirmation. "But ya, you right. They're popping up all over the place. Every agency and their mom from Fed to county are trying to round ‘em up. But it's like playing whack-a-mole. You snag one and find out there’s five more bolting around the corner."

D nodded, his expression grim. "Doesn't help that the organized crime and fuck, even gangs are in on it.” He growled in annoyance. “Absolutely hilarious that we might have to start worrying about fireball-slinging gangbangers and mobsters.”

Neither of them, in fact, found it humorous in any way as Mason facepalmed and dragged his hand down his face. The idea of magic-infused crime was a nightmare scenario that law enforcement organizations across the country were scrambling to contain. Intelligence reports revealed a disturbing trend: magical beings from the other side of the rift were harbored by criminal elements in exchange for their services and knowledge. These otherworldly entities would work for the criminal underworld, using their arcane abilities to further illegal activities or, even worse, teach their arts to Earth-native criminals.

It was a development that sent shockwaves through the law enforcement community. The prospect of facing off against criminals wielding supernatural powers was alarming, to say the least. Fireball-slinging gangbangers and mobsters with the ability to level city blocks were no longer the stuff of fantasy - they were becoming a terrifying reality.

The president didn’t even have to issue an executive order, or was one resisted by any level of government when one came. Every agency, from the federal level down to the smallest county sheriff's office, had mobilized to get a lid on the situation. Task forces were formed, special units were trained, and new protocols were implemented to deal with the unique challenges of magical crime.

But it was proving to be a far more difficult task than anyone had anticipated. The magical beings were elusive, able to blend in with human society in ways that made them nearly impossible to detect. They could alter their appearance, change into animals, and in rare cases, some were even able to simply vanish when cornered.

Even more concerning was the fact that these beings were sharing their knowledge with human criminals. The idea of street gangs and organized crime syndicates having access to arcane abilities was a chilling prospect. It threatened to tip the balance of power in the criminal underworld, giving rise to a new breed of superpowered outlaws.

D and Mason sat in their truck, the weight of back-to-back raids, shootouts, and arrests over the past 6 months were taking its toll. They had seen firsthand the devastation that could be wrought by just one rogue magic user from a few weeks ago. A bolt of strange energies ripped through a police cruiser, killing both officers in the blink of an eye. The thought of facing an entire criminal network infused with such powers was almost too much to bear.

"You know, I signed up to take down gangbangers, drug dealers, and mafiosos," Mike started in a low voice that said he didn’t quite believe what he was about to say next. "I never thought I'd be going up against fucking… wizards and shit."

A dark and depreciating laugh left D’s mouth as his hand rubbed his smooth head under his hat. The world had truly made a deranged turn somewhere. He was already under the impression they were living in an unhinged clown world after 2020, but it appeared the universe decided to drive the clown car off the cliff entirely.

"I don’t anyone expected some knife-eared shitter straight out of Lord of the Rings to walk up and point his finger at something and zap it." D continued, rubbing his eyes trying to dispel the headache that was forming. “But we gotta deal with, because if we don't…”

He trailed off, the implication clear. If they failed, the consequences would be catastrophic if the criminal underworld gained a foothold in the arcane arts. The very fabric of society could unravel, plunging the world into a chaos the likes of which had never been seen.

The radio suddenly crackled to life, the helicopter that has been trailing the target vehicles gave situation report. "All units, target vehicles spotted at the intersection of Jefferson and 5th. White utility van and gray luxury sedan, matching the BOLO. They're heading southbound on Jefferson, moving fast. Over."

D and Mason immediately snapped to attention, their postures shifting from relaxed to high alert in a split second. This was the moment they had been waiting for, the culmination of months of hard work and sleepless nights.

"This is Unit 3, roger that on the target vehicles. We're moving to tail. Over." D's voice was calm and controlled as he relayed the information, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his heightened state of readiness.

Mason was already in motion, reaching into the back of the truck to retrieve their tactical gear. He grabbed two short-barreled AR-15s, specially modified for close-quarters engagements, and began the process of prepping them for action.

As he worked, Mason couldn't help but shake his head at the surreal nature of their situation. "This is some bullshit…" he said, his voice tinged with irritation. "I never imagined I'd be gearing up to take down a bunch of literal sorcerers aided and abetted by fuckin’ mobsters."

A snort left D’s mouth as his eyes fixed on the road ahead as the engine roared to life. "Welcome to New Orleans, brother. Weird shit always happens in New Orleans."

Mason barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and bitter in the confines of the truck. "Yeah, what are they gonna have me saving next? A princess in a castle? What other goddamn fairy tale fucks is gonna pop up in this hell hole and turn it into their own personal magic kingdom?"

The radio crackled again, the voice of dispatch filtering through the static. "Unit 3, be advised. ICE teams and SWAT are in position at the target warehouse. They're ready to breach when you initiate the arrest."

D keyed the mic and responded immediately. "Roger that. We're tailing the target vehicles now, about two blocks behind. Looks like they're heading towards the warehouse. We'll box them in on your signal. Over."

As they navigated the rain-slicked streets, Mason couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Here they were, U.S. Marshals, the nation's oldest federal law enforcement agency, teaming up with ICE, an organization tasked with border security and immigration control, to take down a bunch of magical illegals and mobsters. It was like a bad joke with a punchline that nobody wanted to hear.

But there was no time for philosophical musings. The target vehicles were in sight, the white utility van and gray luxury sedan moving through traffic rather quickly.

Maintaining a discreet distance, D’s eyes never leave the vehicles ahead. Mason, meanwhile, finished prepping the rifles before the helicopter orchestrating the entire operation came back over the radio. "All units, target vehicles are approaching the warehouse. It looks like they're slowing down and preparing to pull in. Get ready to intercept. Over."

Mason sucked in a deep breath to ready himself while D's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he watched the target vehicles slow down, their turn signals blinking in the rain-soaked night. "This is Unit 3, copy that. We're moving into position for the intercept. Over." D responded in a calm voice that betrayed the tension he felt.

The radio crackled again, the voice of the helicopter operator filling the truck. "All units, SWAT, and the ICE teams are ready to breach. Box those vehicles in and give the signal. Over."

As if orchestrated by a brilliant conductor, multiple unmarked trucks and SUVs converged on two vehicles in different directions. When the target vehicles made the turn into the warehouse compound, D and the other Marshals seemingly made eye contact and gunned their engines. All of the vehicles surged forward with a roar.

"All units, this is Unit 3. We're initiating the stop. ICE teams, breach now! Over." D's voice was loud and clear over the radio, the signal for the carefully orchestrated danc to begin.

Tires squealed as D angled the truck directly at the luxury sedan and slammed into its front. Simultaneously, 4 other Marshals' units converged from the sides, their vehicles screeching to a halt mere inches from the target vehicles or slamming into them directly.

Then, chaos erupted.

"U.S. Marshal Service!! Exit the vehicles with your hands up!" D's voice boomed across the compound as he and Mason leaped from the truck, rifles pointing at the figures in the sedan as they rushed it.

As soon as D's voice echoed across the compound, the luxury sedan's engine roared to life, its tires screeching against the wet pavement as it suddenly threw itself into reverse. The driver was clearly not ready to surrender as he slammed on the gas and sent the vehicle careening backwards, smashing into the white van behind it with a deafening crunch.

The impact caused the white van to rock on its suspension as its occupants were thrown about inside. The side door of the van flew open, and a group of disoriented people tumbled out, their bodies hitting the ground hard as they scrambled to regain their footing.

"Hands!! Show me your fuckin’ hands!!" Another marshal from a different unit rushed forward. His rifle raised as he sprinted towards the driver's side of the sedan, and in an act of pure aggression, the marshal smashed the barrel of his weapon against the window, causing the glass to shatter.

But the sedan's occupants were not going down without a fight. The driver and passenger quickly drew their weapons, but D and Mason were faster. A staccato of harsh cracks left their short-barreled rifles and split the night. Giant fireballs from the muzzle flashes illuminated the rain-soaked darkness as the marshals and the suspects exchanged a furious volley of lead.

Suddenly, the rear door on the sedan's driver's side flew open. A figure then flew out, moving with a speed and grace that seemed almost inhuman. In a blur of motion, the individual closed the distance between himself and another marshal as his hand flashed out to reveal the glint of a long, wicked-looking blade.

But before anyone could react, the blade found its mark, piercing through the marshal's ballistic vest as if it were nothing more than tissue. The marshal screamed in agony, his voice rising above the cacophony of gunfire and shouting as the blade sank deep into his flesh.

A multitude of weapon-mounted flashlights snapped to the two wrestling on the ground, illuminated by harsh, strobing glares. It was then that the marshals found the one wielding the blade was no ordinary person but one of those pointy-eared Elves from Ohio.

The marshals were not about to let this act of brutality go unanswered. As the elf tried to withdraw his blade from the skewered marshal, he was met with a hail of gunfire. Bullets tore through his flesh, sending him stumbling backward and thrashing about as his blood mingled with the rain.

The scene was one of utter pandemonium, the air filled with the sounds of yelling and gunfire from both the vehicles and the warehouses. Using the mayhem that erupted around the sedan and the wounded marshal, the group that had tumbled out of the white van took the opportunity to make their getaway. Desperate to escape the clutches of the law, they scrambled to their feet and made a frantic dash away from the scene.

"STOP!! U.S. MARSHALS!" Mason’s voice boomed over the cacophony of gunfire and the pounding of the rain. But his words were lost in the wind as the suspects fled, their feet pounding against the wet pavement.

Other marshals and D were already in motion as they all took off into a dead sprint with their rifles tucked tight. "STOP, YOU STUPID BITCH!!" D yelled.

Mason joined the pursuit and passed a marshal who had caught one of the slower suspects and started wrestling with them on the ground. Taking a quick look over his shoulder, Mason couldn’t help but still be shocked to see something straight out of a video game: a small 4-foot-tall Goblin wriggling around and trashing as the larger marshal tried to control it.

While 5 marshals broke off from the main assault group to chase the desperately fleeing suspects behind them, the rest of the marshals descended upon them quickly and violently. Commands were yelled out, and weapons were pointed as the doors of both the Sedan and van yanked open the doors. The remaining occupants, who hadn't been riddled by bullets by the initial volley of gunfire, were dragged out and forced to the ground with their faces pressing into the cold, wet asphalt.

D, Mason, and the other marshals continued to chase the fleeing suspects. With the sound of their steady and trained breathing techniques and the clinking of their equipment, they pushed their bodies to the limit as they jumped fences and turned sharp corners.

In the background, the sound of police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second as backup forces swarmed the area. It was the sign that the operation had gone to hell in a handbasket. The carefully orchestrated plan unraveled in the face of otherworldly abilities and magic. It became increasingly clear that they needed to transition to Plan B and use overwhelming force.

As the chasing marshals sprinted through the maze of warehouses and buildings, D caught a glimpse of the suspects darting into an alley. "There!" he shouted, adjusting his course to follow.

The narrow alley was poorly lit, the shadows seeming to reach out and grab at them as they ran. The suspects were just ahead, their forms barely visible in the gloom as they wove between the buildings with desperate speed.

Suddenly, D saw the suspects they were chasing burst through the door of a single-story office building. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass echoed through the alley as they piled through the small opening.

D and another marshal slowed to a jog, and their weapons snapped up to take aim at the empty doorway in case any dipshit thought to be cute and shove a gun through it or… fling a spell. While the marshals moved cautiously, they couldn’t help but think that notion to be completely absurd, but here they were. With their hearts pounding in their chests, they moved quickly to make entry.

The first marshal took point, his rifle leading the way as he crossed the threshold. But as soon as his weapon breached the entrance, a massive hand belonging to some big fuckin’ dude shot out from the darkness, gripping the barrel with inhuman strength.

Before the marshal could react, a startled cry was let out as the Marshal was yanked violently inside.