The Boys
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Contents |
Description
The Boys (also known as The Fateless Guns) are the weapons of choice for the criminal known as the Wisecracker. The Boys, named Left and Other-Left, are a pair of custom made semi-automatic Screaming Eagles Mark XXIII handguns. Left, weilded in the Wisecracker's right hand, is chrome-colored with a very precise 10 and 13/16" inch barrel and a pearl handle. The Wisecracker's left gun is black, and is named Other-Left. The barrel is a perfect ten inches with an onyx grip. The guns are forged of a metal found only in hell called Nefarium.
The Fateless Guns
The Flaming Sword of Surtuur
The Wisecracker's (Jack Weiss's) grandfather, Patrick Sullivan, was a Canadian soldier who led a secret mission to investigate German activity off the coast of Norway. What was believed to be an entrenchment for German naval forces turned out to be a clanddestine archaeological expedition for another occult artifact to give the Fuhrer yet another weapon in the 11th hour - The fabled sword of the giant-king Surtuur. In Norse mythology, Surtuur, the King of the Giants, was to bring about Ragnarok and lay Valhalla to waste. Sullivan and company managed to fight off the relic hunters and took possession of the flaming sword. Sullivan gave the sword for safe keeping to Montague Castanella of the Midnight Squad.
The Wisecracker's War on Fate
Convinced that the Fates were malicious entities who fed off human conflict - the unlocking of human potential being only the next step in provoking more - the Wisecracker began a quest to destroy fate and put destiny back into the hands of mankind. Weiss remembered his intitial impulse when his parents were murdered; to train and fight the forces of crime and chaos; just as Fate might have had it. Had he persued that course he might very well have wound up using Surtuur's sword, found by his grandfather many years ago. He knew that to fight the Fates, he could not fall victim to their traps. And so began Dr. Weiss's experimentations in neuroactive augmentation, a path to super-powers, not born or bestowed, but fully natural. With the partition of Weiss's mind into that of the galvanized, order-obsessed megalomaniac (Dr. Jack Weiss) and his chaotic and dominant alter-ego The Wisecracker, the criminal found himself capable of seeing the carrot dangled in front of him, but the creativity to turn it back upon the danglers. The Wisecracker strode into the Midnight Squad's arcane safehouse and stole the Nefarium sword to use against the Fates.
But a sword just ain't my style...
Aesthetically unpleased with the garish blade, the Wisecracker stole a Cadillac and headed west to find someone who could make of it a truly fateless weapon.
Bobby Rabbit, the man from Two-Left-Turns, Minnesota
Robert Eric Rabbit was a retired postal worker who's hobby was deconstructing anything mechanical he could get his hands on. Nothing was extraordinary or unique about the man safe this, though he did tend to have less luck than most. One morning, a purple Cadillac smashed into his kitchen. The driver was the recently expatriated criminal, the Wisecracker. Scared for his life, Bobby Rabbit pleaded with the criminal not to kill him. The Wisecracker explained that he was trying to save the man, claiming that the Fates had sensed he would be the one to forge the weapons of their destruction. When asked how, the Wisecracker further explained that he had lost control of the car which - by the estimation of his neuroactively enhanced brain - was impossible. The Fates knew Bobby was dangerous. Like many in the little Minnesota town of Two-Left-Turns, Bobby's ancestry was nordic, but Bobby never suspected how pure his lineage was. After some simple inquiries (I slashed him with an iron knife and tasted a drop of his blood. WHAT!!!), the Wisecraker learned that Bobby Rabbit was a direct decendant of Loki, the norse God of Mischief. The way a chameleon changes color to camoflage itself from it's enemies, Bobby's hum-drum life and clumsy luck were defense mechanisms to blend in with regular people. Bobby thought the clown was insane. Then the Wisecracker let Bobby hold Surtuur's sword. A wicked smile spread across Bobby's face.
A Place of Power, Not
Newgrange, Ireland sports an ancient monolith that is a place of power associated with lucky folk spirits. They protect travellers so long as they do not spend more that one night. At a certain road fork in Southern Missouri, musicians can challenge a demonic entity to a contest of skill. From Shangralla, high in the Himalayas, to the sunken remains of Oranbega, the world is full of mystical ley areas where weapons of fate can be forged. But the Wisecracker wasn't seeking a Weapon of Fate. The Wisecracker and Bobby Rabbit went to Las Vegas. Las Vegas authorities investigated a heist at the Las Vegas's first resort, the Flamingo shortly after the duo came to town. What confounded them was that while the millions of dollars dropped in the vaults were untouched, the only thing stolen were the casino's entire supply of gaming dice. In the Little White Chapel, over a bonfire of flaming dice, the broken dreams of a thousand and more gamblers, that the Sword of Surtuur was melted down and recast into two copies of the Screaming Eagle Mark XXII semi-automatic handgun - one black and the other chrome and one with a slightly longer barrel than the other. The Mark XXIII Screaming Eagle was the first thing Bobby Rabbit ever actually made. The process was fraught wih setbacks, and Bobby, new to the art of gunsmithing, continually refrenced his dummies guide and stopped often to correct several mistakes. The Wisecracker took it as a sign that the Fates wanted wanted no part in the crafting of these weapons.
Perfectly imperfect! The way things ought to be! Heh heh!
Fate however had a final card to play. While the Wisecracker admired the newly forged guns a red dot crept it's way up Bobby's sweaty shirt. Vegas PD had received and anonymous tip that the Wisecracker was in the Little White Wedding Chapel. Swat teams were in position, and the native Las Vegas hero, High-Roller was on scene. Bobby's smile was still there as the high powered bullet ripped through him.
The Fateless Guns
The following is the Wisecracker's account of his first firefight using the Boys.
How do you fight a concept? The Fates are real jerks. Sure, they PRETEND to gift people with powers and a sense of purpose. No one ever asks what the catch is. Here it is kids: the catch is the innocents that get caught in the crossfire. Mom and Dad, Bobby, anyone the Fates want, all to give that one person who'll feed them a nudge. Apparently stealing the dice from a casino is enough to get you shot in this town. It was time to test out my little toys. I turned off all my sense and shot blindly into the night. I don't remember even having clips. I just shot. Two casings clinked to the floor. From the reflection I could tell they were Nefarium too. The bullets themselves hit a tear gas canister some swat-monkey had shot. The canister EXPLODED bathing the area in sweet, sweet, phenacyl bromide, causing the swat monkeys to scatter like marbles in an earthquake. Even I was struck dumb by the event. I devoted none of my brain power to hitting the can. NONE. It was pure luck. Or more accurate-like, anti-luck. Near as I could figure the tear gas was SUPPOSED to fly in and disorient me (think again). Instead what flew in was High Roller, all fists and hair-gel. Now you gotta' remember; I hadn't blossomed into the maniacal neroactive super-soldier I am today. Gettin' a grip on all that data was still a scosh overwhelming. So we fought. High Roller had this special-forces kickboxing thing going for him, mixed in with some razor-sharp playing cards. My style tends to be 'dodge until the other guy punches himself out'-fu.. ((Still under Construction))
