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Back to the Beginning…

4 November

They have docked in Amsterdam for a little R&R, or should that be T&A, and we have decided to join them but it all just seems so fucked up and we ended up getting into several drunken fights. I miss the girls like there has been part of me carved off and thrown away, and I will never, ever get it back. I didn’t get to ask them how they had known us before, well I asked but they were always evasive and kept saying that they would tell us everything one day – well that one day is well and truly fucked. Is this PTSD or maybe the onset of it? I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, jump in the canal or sit in the corner rocking and hugging my gun…

5 November

Bonfire Night back in the UK. Last year The Monkey taped together a bunch of roman candles and rockets and then fired them across the back gardens, and we watched as they went through the shed window of a house in the next road. There was a massive, multi colour explosion and then the usual flammables that people store in their sheds caught fire and there was a further explosion as the remaining bits of the shed burnt down. Ah, simpler, happier times…

The Russians are sailing in four days but we have decided not to go with them. Now we are sitting in a small Moroccan looking coffee shop on a bridge over a canal and playing backgammon while the weed and the Jack numbs the pain. I seem to recall that the last time I was here a dying man lost a game of Othello and my life changed forever…

6 November

It had all been very quiet – well quiet for us – until last night. There was a knock on the apartment door we are renting and when I opened it (Glock held ready) I was faced with a rather battered looking Shaw Brothers reject sorcerer. My first impulse was to shoot the fucker in the face, but he held up his hands and I realised that he was a victim of what had happened as well. So, I invited him in and he came and sat in the living room while we sat around him – Kev wouldn’t lower his gun – and over a mug of tea he told us what had happened…

When the takeover began it had been swift and brutal. The leaders of the Japanese Yakuza, predominantly the Green Dragon Society, had made a secret pact with the Illuminati and drawn in further elements from within the Green and Red Society until the ever-pragmatic Mao Shan had jumped ship as well – all except our friend sitting on the stool it seems. The Monkey said that he had read something about the Green Dragon dickheads in relation to the Nazi/Tibet link and thought that it wasn’t a massive stretch to imagine that they had been biding their time in order to get back in with the latest incarnation of the New World Order. Anyway, our friend on the stool – what was his excuse for not joining in with the rest? He had seen the bigger picture and knew that the future was never fixed, never a done deal. It had meant that he had avoided the massacre when I had thrown Lugh’s spear into the sorcerers inside the complex but he had been captured early on in the coup and been magically sealed inside a giant bell which his captors rang every hour until he thought he would go insane. When the sorcerers died the spell was broken and he had staggered out of the bell and wreaked bloody vengeance on his tormentors. Then he had come looking for us.

There are still many who support the aims of the old Green and Red Society, and he found safe passage with them across the Middle East and then through Europe until he reached the UK. That was when he had discovered what was left of my house in Cornwall and the cordoned off hole in the ground that the authorities are claiming was mining subsidence. The reports say that the hole is bottomless, or near as damn it, but The Monkey still has the pendant and the eyes have stopped glowing so we know that the black hole is once more spinning into oblivion. Shaw Brothers did a bit of divination and headed east again to Holland and eventually, following the trail of general nonsense we seem to leave behind us, he came to our door.

So? So, he has a little proposition. He wants us to go to South America and find a second monkey temple while he and some Triad henchmen go on a little jaunt to Tibet. He believes he knows the location of the mountain in which there is an entrance to Shambhala, and the location of the glass prison in which the old monkey god was trapped, and he thinks there might be some heavy-duty juju there that we can use to fuck up the Illuminati and their Green Dragon allies, but he needs us to open the vortex in this new monkey temple before he will be able to gain access. There is also the question of Arno Whitaker. Turned fucking inside out, was my response. Well, maybe not, someone looking remarkably like the grinning freak and calling himself Arno Whitaker has been giving a keynote speech at a tech conference in Vegas. Tony grabbed the laptop and after some frantic keytapping he turned the screen towards us with a groan and there, grinning as he paced the stage, was Arno Snakebite fucking Whitaker evangelising about the advances in bioengineering that his company Brightstorm had made. At one point I could have sworn he looked directly into the camera and that sickening grin seemed to get bigger.

Will we go? Be rude not to, especially now we know that Whitaker is still somehow alive. There is a lot of payback outstanding. The Monkey quoted a bit of poetry from the Viking stuff that had been translated by the Prof’s team:

Fearlessness is better than a faint-heart

for any man who puts his nose out of doors.

The length of my life and the day of my death

were fated long ago. I had better be oiling my gun then…

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