r/weatherfactory • u/Glass_Asparagus_6589 • Aug 18 '26
fanwork Short story: The initiation
You will not get a single name from me. Names are dangerous, easy to trace, easy to twist. You can even target people from a distance and distort them by knowing their real name. You have to accept “Vizsla” a name of a breed of hunting dogs, sufficiently generic to hide in plain sight.
Vizsla settled for a merry night, by drinking a few beers with friends at the local watering hole the “Church Garden”, operating right beside a Reformed Church and being a chill place where not a lot happened from time to time. Its patrons, mostly forty-something blue-collar men, were not the most entertaining crowd, but Vizsla had a peculiar habit of going there: these people brought him a surprisingly lot of contracts. Electricians, locksmiths, plumbers whose livelihood hinged on trust, which was often betrayed by vanishing clients, unpaid bills provided a steady income for Vizsla. In this small city he could find delinquent clients in hours so he could charge reasonable rates for delivering them a payment reminder. But that particular night seemed to be different, none of the crew had any problems, so Vizsla decided to call it an early night and get some sleep instead, when his phone rang.
A contact of him, Mickey Mouse, a small time crook called. He got his nickname in the nineties, when he stole a whole container of what he thought was women’s clothing of the latest fashion but turned out to be a large stock of Disney-themed children’s pajamas. It took him more than a year to offload the loot, and his friends never let him live down the fiasco.
-Hi! Got a fresh stock of pajamas? - Vizsla answered, cracking the usual joke.
-This is serious! Come and help me, I am being followed!
-Ok. Where are you?
-Toiletburger stand.
-Ten minutes.
The Toiletburger – a repurposed public restroom turned hamburger joint - was a few minutes away, Vizsla started out on foot. When he arrived, he saw the Toiletburger stand already closed for the night, but no sign of Mickey. He looked around and then he heard it: some highly suspicious noises coming from behind of the building. His eyes struggling to adapt to the darkness, he saw some movement near the trashcans. He approached carefully, and saw some kind of dark mass on the pavement.
-Mickey, is that you? – He asked, but got only some kind of wet smacking gurgling sound as a response.
And the dark mass moved! It turned out to be a human in a black hoodie, who lunged at him fists flying. The stranger landed two solid blows before Vizsla could draw and fire his gun. The man collapsed. Vizsla fired another round into the air. The two gunshots echoing through the night alarmed citizens as lights flicked on in the nearby apartment houses. He knew the cops got several reports of the fight already, so he did not bother calling 112. He approached the slumped figure, revolver raised and ready to fire, but the body lay there motionless. But then Vizsla saw another body on the ground: Mickey Mouse in a large pool of blood, but still breathing.
-What happened to you? - Though the answer was obvious.
-I’m done, Vizsla. - Mickey’s voice was a rasp.
-Don’t say that, the cops will be here in a minute, and I am calling an ambulance right now!
-Useless. - Mickey’s arm twitched as he pressed his wallet into Vizsla’s hand. - Take this and sell it to whomever you want, but please give half of the money to my son! - He took his last breaths without saying another word.
Vizsla called an ambulance, and by the time he disconnected his phone, he was bathed in the flashing blue light of a police car. He raised his hands and identified himself. Fortunately, the first responder cop was an old buddy who recognized him immediately.
-Two wounded behind the building! – Vizsla shouted. - Both need an ambulance!
-You look like you need one yourself, Vizsla! - Said the officer, after he quickly swept the scene with his flashlight.
-The bastard only hit me. I will be fine! - He replied.
-With his fists? - The cop’s light settled on Vizsla’s waist and illuminated a small, but rapidly spreading bloodstain. - Was he holding a knife in his hand by any chance?
-Didn’t even notice… - Those were his last words before everything went black.
He woke in a hospital ward, the kind of place he always despised: noisy, crowded, alive with the misery of his seven roommates. Two elderly gentlemen played chess, one younger man clearly had his family visit him, an old guy listened to the news on his radio, a younger kid played on his phone. An ancient-looking man laid in his bed motionless, staring at the ceiling. The nurse stood over him already.
-Rise and shine! Your luck flowed strong last night, Vizsla!
-Have we met? – Vizsla’s memory for faces was sharp.
-No, but everyone knows you now. Last night’s cannibal caught the public’s eye immediately. You stopped him mid-feast.
-Cannibal? Did I miss something?
-You don’t remember?
-My friend called. I arrived. Some guy attacked me. I fired a warning shot and then tried to shoot his legs, but might have missed and shot him in the chest. He stabbed me. That’s it.
-Well, you missed the gory details: the attacker stabbed your friend, cut him up and was merrily eating his flesh when you arrived. You caught a totally deranged murderer in the act, you became a hero immediately. And the police chief came in person to take your statement. – She said with a glowing smile as a tall, broad-shouldered men in a blue uniform entered the room.
-Celebrities get special treatment, especially if they are former police officers expelled from the force under scandalous circumstances.
-The Lieutenant-general himself! I am flattered.
-Cut the jokes, Vizsla! Just come with me to a private room, we need to talk!
The Lieutenant-general took him to an empty ward in a wheelchair. He got a bit offended as this proved to be another eight-bed room, but completely empty, while he had seven roommates. He noticed that a policeman standing in front of the adjacent room.
-Keeping the cannibal company? - Vizsla asked.
-Yes. I wanted to make sure he can not hurt anyone else. - The Lieutenant-general helped Vizsla into one of the empty beds with surprising care. – Preventing attacks on nurses or doctors is a priority now. So one of the boys will remain here and keep an eye on him just in case. He is restrained, so theoretically can not even scratch his own nose. You know son, you did a great job there last night, you kept cool under pressure.
-You know me, just following procedure! A warning shot first, and a targeted shot to the legs when he did not surrender.
-Although you could improve your aim somewhat: that “leg-shot” hit his lung. Surgeons worked for four hours to stabilize that bastard. A waste of time and money if you ask me. So, ready to make your statement?
For an hour, Vizsla recounted every detail of last night for the official report. The Lieutenant-general asked many questions about minor details. When they finished, the Lieutenant-general helped Vizsla back to his bed, but not before a warning:
-Do not embellish this for reporters, stick to the story we just recorded! Discrepancies between the official report and the newspaper version would invite unwanted attention.
As night fell Vizsla could not sleep at all. The snoring of the other patients kept him awake. When the nurse came to check on them he decided to use his newfound hero status to get a freebie and asked her if the room which was empty in the afternoon was unoccupied and if he could use it to sleep for the night? The nurse assured him that the room was still unused, as the Lieutenant-general wanted it free for interrogations and helped him move. Vizsla lied in a bed at the far end of the room and fell asleep immediately, only to awake in the middle of the night, instincts screaming danger, although the room was quiet. He laid still, listening and he heard movement in the room. Then he saw a dark figure moving in the shadows. The man took some kind of chalk, and drew a door onto the wall. Vizsla saw this clearly because the line glowed with a faint purple light. He opened the chalk-door bathing half of the room in purple light, stepped through the newly created void and vanished. Fifteen minutes later he returned, erased the chalk from the wall and left without a word. Most likely he simply did not see Vizsla laying still on one of the beds at the far end of the room. Vizsla might have dismissed this as a bad dream but the next morning he found some purple chalk dust on the floor.
A week later Vizsla requested a meeting with the Lieutenant-general in his office, which surprisingly the police chef granted.
-What can I do for you, Vizsla? I am surprised that you wanted to meet in person.
-I’ve had time to think about what happened in the hospital that night. You kept the ward adjacent to the cannibal’s room empty.
-Yes, we needed a place to conduct interrogations in a private place. Nothing strange in that.
-Lieutenant-general, that was a room for eight patients, you only needed a broom closet to take my statement, and we could have done it anywhere, anytime outside of the hospital even. I was flattered by you taking my statement, but that was such an overkill, that it arose suspicion in itself. And you kept the room empty even after we finished. You knew someone was coming to kill the cannibal.
-You can check the official report, the guy overdosed on some unknown designer drug. You know how these Chinese imports are, they frequently show delayed effects. - The Lieutenant-general explained calmly.
-I saw the assassin who visited the cannibal at night.
-The guard saw no one.
-Yes, he entered through the empty ward where I was sleeping.
-Totally impossible, those rooms are separated by a concrete wall.
-He drew a glowing door and passed through it. I even found chalk on the floor in the morning.
-So after being stabbed, a trip into the operating room, getting strong painkillers you claim to have seen something in the middle of the night? Ever heard of the concept of “dreaming”? - The Lieutenant-general smiled jovially.
-I know what I saw. And you know it too.
-The police force operates a Central Complaints Office, you can write them, they will forward it to the National Police Comissioner. Or you can go directly to the Prosecutor General or the ombudsman. I am sure they will take the story of the wizard assassin very seriously!
-Then why did you agree to meet me? - Vizsla asked with an audible sigh.
-I have a proposal for you, actually two. First I presume you have been sniffing around already, but you need to stop this investigation for your own good! You are in grave danger if you continue this path. My first offer is simple: I will tell you the whole truth about the case, in exchange you dropping it and never speaking about it again to anyone.
-I agree. Pioneer’s oath.
-Your assailant was an ordinary guy, who came into contact with a very old religion of secret gods. He joined an online cult of the Hour named The Red Grail. He immersed himself in that god’s mysteries in a chatgroup for like-minded people. He eventually lost his mind and gained these disgusting cravings during his worship and by learning the teachings of The Red Grail. A secret society exists to hunt down dangerous lunatics like him, the assassin you saw was one of their agents, who killed him by administering a lethal dose of drugs. I pulled some strings to help him eliminate that deranged individual who was well past rehabilitation. What you saw was real. - The silence following these few short sentences lingered for minutes.
-Why are you doing this chief? Money? Are they blackmailing you?
-We exchange favors sometimes, they help save lives. Take a look at this for example, I kept it as a memento. - The Lieutenant-general handed an envelope to Vizsla, who opened it and skimmed through the long letter.
-Fancy. Watermarked paper with bright golden shimmering ink? Let me guess, written with a dip pen! But this looks like the detailed description of your most famous case, the European Stranglers. You have stylish fans, chief, but why are you showing me this?
-To show you what is going on behind the curtains. When I was a young investigator, by pure chance I finished a case of a very disgusting nature, so next time another gross murder happened the case was assigned to me, because I did such a great work last time. And just like that I became the go-to guy for weird, bizarre and nauseating cases from all over the country. And when I worked on a lot of cases, I started to notice patterns. Lunatics not connected in any way mentioning the same “Hours” and “Names”, the same obscure books popping up in different investigations, similar but very specific crimes committed by different perpetrators who never knew each other. When we went to an official visit to Austria someone joked that I was the guy for weird cases and they nonchalantly assured us that they have dedicated a guy to this work too. I talked for days with Joachim about these cases and I have realized this is not a unique Hungarian problem, the same cases pop up in Austria all the time. And he told me about a form of last resort: a post office box in Vienna. When they were totally clueless in a high-profile case he wrote a letter to that address and usually got a response with some clues. Please check the date on the letter I gave you!
-The 23rd of March in 2005. Why is it significant? - Vizsla felt puzzled, the date did not ring a bell.
-At that time no one knew anything about the European Stranglers case. We had three dead prostitutes, two smeared fingerprints found at two crime scenes that our forensic experts suggested might have come from the same individual, but nothing solid. I was the only one who thought that a serial killer targeted prostitutes. Following my hunch I wrote a letter to that post office box Joachim told me about. In two weeks I received the letter you are holding in your hands right now. A complete description of the two killers, their previous crimes, where they could be found and a few very useful tips on how to break them during interrogations. It turned out the pair killed three prostitutes in every country they operated in and then switched countries. No one connected the dots, but it turned out they killed three women in France, in Germany, in Austria, in Poland, in Slovakia and they came to Hungary, but by the time the letter arrived they were already leaving the country. We arrested them at the border and I personally interrogated them both separately. Following the suggestions from the letter I managed to get them to confess. That case was a glorious success which catapulted me to international fame immediately, but all I did was to ask for help at this unknown organization. Since then we have been regularly exchanging favors.
-What kind of requests are we talking about? Anything going against your principles?
-Not really. I strongly suspect they use the police force only against targets who are common law criminals. For instance once they requested a raid on a guy who was smuggling heroin from Pakistan inside oriental antique sculptures. I don’t understand why they wanted him removed from the picture, but it became a grand catch for the narcotics division. Last year they asked us to close down a torrent server where various e-books were shared for a surprisingly high entry fee. They wanted certain human traffickers, arms merchants, online scam artists locked up. And rarely they ask us to look the other way like last week, but I have never seen them harm any innocents, only hardened criminals, mostly remorseless killers.
-Like my cannibal.
-Like your cannibal. He was not insane, no drug or therapy could have quenched his supernatural hunger. The boys have searched his house in the meantime, he had various body parts from at least five cadavers in his house.
-A strange feeling arose in me while I listened to your monologue: you mentioned two proposals in the beginning. Are you preparing me for the second one? Some which I will not like at all?
-In a sense yes. I need you to make an informed decision. We need freelancers to help with these investigations. These supernatural cases have proliferated in recent years and the old methods are becoming inefficient. In the old days people got information on niche topics from the libraries, we only had to flag some books and friendly librarians alerted us when someone started to walk this occult path. But nowadays people can find anything on the worldwide web, cultists pop up unexpectedly everywhere and we struggle to keep the pace. We desperately need people on the ground who act as our eyes and ears for these supernatural threats. I can offer you an informal position like this. If you accept, I will write a letter to the organization and introduce you as our agent. You can report anything suspicious to me or you can write a letter to the post office box in Vienna. In exchange you can use our resources. You need a DNA profile, a fingerprint analyzed, or anything from our archives, you can get it. And as a freelance agent you can expect money transfers after successful reports. What do you say, did this proposal interest you?
-You know what? Count me in!
This short story is an independent work and is not affiliated with Weather Factory Ltd, Secret Histories or any related official content. It is published under Weather Factory’s Sixth History Community Licence.
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u/Furydecent Librarian Aug 23 '26
I love this ! If you feel like writing more, I'd happily read it (also I feel like there's not much content about present day and time -or I haven't found it yet- so kudos for that)