Garrett, John, Rat King
John Garrett
 Posted: Dec 13 2011, 2:22 PM

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John Michael Garrett

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Wererat . 54 . King

Who are you?
    John Garrett. But most call me Garrett, G if they’re familiar with me, Sir if they’re not. I’ve been in the Clan here for more than twenty five years and King for twenty of them and I don’t really feel much in the way of slowing down. I have to admit, though, my age has been weighing on my mind more than I’d like to admit of late, and I need to start at least thinking about the succession of my throne, because I always, always have to consider what’s best for my people. My Clan.

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What do you want?
    The answer to that will always be the same. I want my Clan safe, secure and on top. I’ve sometimes succeeded in that, sometimes not, but I have always put my people’s well-being above my own. This Clan has been my life since I left the service and I make no apologies for that.

    I want a strong right hand and have to admit I’ve not found him or her yet. My last lieutenant was beaten in challenge and I don’t hold much hope for the new one to survive more than a few moons. Someone will come and take it from him, you wait and see. What I’d really like is to find someone I can groom, not only as my right hand, but as my eventual successor. It’s not everyone who gets to choose who will replace them, who will kill them, and I take that responsibility very seriously.

    Personally, though? I can’t say I haven’t thought about the legacy I’ll be leaving behind when I’m gone. It’s rare for anyone in the Rodere hierarchy to live into old age and while I don’t feel like I’m that old just yet, I’m starting to have real frequent talks with myself about my own mortality. I never married or had children, the Clan lover and family and all I needed. Now, however, I’m thinking maybe that was a mistake and it’s weighing on me. Is it too late for an old rat to build a life that goes beyond duty and love of Clan? If I’m brave enough, I might find out.

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Why are you here?
    That’s an open ended question if I ever heard one. I’m guessing some folks answer it with all kinds of detailed story telling but I’m afraid to say my story’s really just not that interesting.

    I was born, grew up, joined the army but not in time to be of any help in the war. It didn’t matter, really, that it ended a month after I enlisted (saving myself from thwe draft), since I wound up infected two weeks later. A person’s story of infection is personal, no matter how it happened, and if you really want to know I’ll tell you. But it doesn’t really matter now, does it?

    What matters is that I could have been killed at worst, kicked out of the military at best, but neither happened. Instead I was shipped off to Seattle and Fort Lawton, where a special sort of unit was being formed and that, really, is where my story begins. We were something like the Seals, the Green Berets, the Rangers – the elite. The tactical unit that was turned to for missions no one else could complete; or that they didn’t want to. We were highly trained, highly effective special ops and more often than I liked, we were cannon fodder.

    Like happens so many times in set ups like that, things eventually went Very Wrong and I wanted out. Problem was, the only way out of the Z was in a body bag. Metaphorically speaking anyway. Usually there wasn’t enough left of your corpse to fit in a Ziploc bag.

    Luck was on my side, however. Or was it really luck? To this day I have no idea, but I have a feeling it goes deeper than that. Regardless, I was contacted by people who knew people who spoke for Seattle’s Rat Queen, Samara. She was young, but she was good – ruthless and cunning and wise enough to be able to hold the throne, no small feat for a woman then any more than it is now.

    The Clan, I was told, like so many others in the country, was moving in a newer direction – a more militaristic one and Samara had heard stories about the goings on at Lawton. Somehow, I had come to her attention. She offered to break me out of the Unit in return for my loyalty to the Clan. I would train the newcomers in everything I knew – from combat to weapons to tactical maneuvers. Or, she’d send me back to wait my turn to land in that Ziploc bag.

    It wasn’t a difficult choice.

    In teaching the Clan I learned a lot about myself in addition to learning about loyalty. They’d always spouted off about loyalty and family in the Unit, but what was built there was nothing like what existed in the Clan. I learned to love them all and lived and breathed the life, working my way up the ladder and eventually was named Samara’s successor – something that surprised few as we’d been lovers for two years at that point. What most didn’t realize was that she would have put me down in a heartbeat if she’d thought it was best.

    I had no intention of taking the throne as soon as I did and will be the first to admit that I wasn’t ready for it. I’d barely begun to fully understand that I would have to kill Samara one day when I was suddenly faced with doing just that. It was a mercy, ending her, and that’s all I want to say about it. The Clan thinks me ruthless, taking her out as soon as I did, and I prefer to keep that belief solid. It doesn’t really matter how it actually went down.

    I’ve continued building the Clan the way she’d designed, the way so many in the States are now, but we’re more than that. More highly trained than most, thanks to my own history and our continued recruiting from the Unit. They closed Lawton last year, but there are more out there and I intend to keep finding them and bringing them into our ranks. I've also chased down hackers and entrepreneurs, always looking for ways to keep our claws in as many pots as can benefit us. It keeps us strong, damned near impenetrable and a power to be reckoned with here in the city.

    And I intend to keep it that way.

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Where are you going?
    Up, always up. There’s always more for the Clan to gain and I’m not afraid to go after it.

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 Posted: Dec 13 2011, 2:33 PM

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Player: Briar

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