An Introduction to Book Three of the Pulp Heroes Trilogy

Pulp Heroes - Sanctuary Falls

..... The lone man was squatted down in front of the small fuel can. J. W. Campbell motioned for his men to surround the single stranger. In the glow of the flickering flame, Campbell glanced around the campsite. The intruder had no tent, no shelter of any kind, and apparently no food or other provisions. How did he expect to survive up here, within twenty miles of the North Pole? The Arctic winds had died down to ten miles an hour, but the temperature was still nearly twenty-five below zero Fahrenheit.
..... The man’s hood was pulled up, concealing his face completely. But he was not wearing gloves, despite the freezing conditions. Campbell noticed the man’s hands, twice as big as his own, with long tapered fingers. The man must have incredible will power, not to shiver in this incredibly cold climate. Campbell noticed something else that was a little odd. The man was dressed completely in black. Black knee-high boots, black khaki pants, black hooded coat.
..... The man spoke softly, but his voice carried easily on the cold, night breeze.
..... “Are you the Guardians of Sanctuary?”
..... This question caught Campbell off-guard. No one was even supposed to know about Sanctuary, much less what Campbell and his men were doing here. In the past ten years that he had volunteered for this duty, no one ever approached this desolate part of the world, unless they had been summoned. That’s why this location had been selected. Far, far away from the prying eyes of mankind.
..... Campbell addressed the dark stranger. “What are you doing out here alone? What is your name?”
..... The man stood. He was tall, about six and a half feet, and thin. His movements were fluid and displayed cat-like strength and agility. He lowered the hood to his dark coat. His face was also thin, slightly pale, but still quite handsome. The features of a poet. He had a Marque De Sade scar, traveling from his forehead, through the eyebrow and several inches down the colorless cheek. The knife that caused the scar must have missed the eyeball by a fraction of an inch. His snow-white hair cascaded down onto his shoulders, a sharp contrast to the black clothes he wore.
..... The men with Campbell stepped back a pace but did not reach for their firearms. They were a well-trained unit. And besides, what kind of threat was one lone man in the middle of this icy wasteland?
..... “My name is Victor Kaine.” Campbell noticed an evil glint in the stranger’s eye. “And who says I’ve come here alone?”

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