It was another hot summer night, with sweltering heat reaching into the depths of night. It was going to be another sweat-soaked uneasy sleep for many - and not just because of the temperatures. In their sleep, people would be tossing and turning, their tumultuous fever dreams spawning far more nightmares than would be normal. Those who couldn't give in to the sweet relief of repose would instead stay up, tuning to the mysterious new radio talk show, "Soul Train".

One such person was not feeling like sleep at all. The adrenaline pumping in his veins were all he needed, his face calm and focused, if a bit intense. His room was barely lit; enough for him to navigate across the room and make out certain objects, not enough to draw attention at this unnatural hour. Upon his pillow was a gold-and-white mask from a popular sentai show, by his bed was a sheathed sword, a gift from a Ren Faire he used to work at.

Reaching for the small handheld radio on the small table next to the bed, he put the earbuds in, and tuned in to listen, his eyes glittering intensely as he listened.

When did this all begin? Staying up late, listening to some weird radio station at the dead of night, taking in the strange and unnatural stories... it was probably just mere weeks since he awoke to this world of shadows and mystery, but it felt like yesterday, the memory of that horrid dream ringing in his mind as though he had it moments ago...

The Nightmare said He was running. Where was he running to? Or rather, what was he running from? As the world twisted and turned around him, shadows and darkness passing over everything and twisting familiar forms into horrid abominations...

"I am Thou..."

A train comes in from nowhere, sliding to a halt in front of him, the doors open to a dark blue interior. Stepping in, he feels like the carriage stretches forever.

The train starts, but instead of the expected lurch he finds himself pulled in inexorably along with the train. Like some intense destiny was drawing him to an inevitable path. The train passes through a tunnel, and just as quickly, the sense of gravity disappears, and he finds himself once more on open ground.

"...and Thou art I..."

The shadows, which shift uneasily around him, mutate and transform into dark creatures, black blobs with unnatural masks, or creatures from myth, both great and small. Their eeries moans and cries fill the world around him as he realizes he is trapped. They turn to see him, and start closing in. There is no where to run. And he realizes he is all alone.

In desperation, he starts swatting them aside, hitting them with his fists, his open palm, kicking wildly, all to no avail. The react as though he was slapping him with a feather, and reach out to him. He tries to scream a cry of terror that would not leave his throat, leaving him voiceless as the things bury him under their combined, writhing mass.

"From the Sea of Thy Soul, I come..."

And suddenly, where there was darkness, there was light. Fire and heat filled his vision, and he felt his flesh being struck with a heat like a thousand furnaces. Fire and light so intense they could vaporize steel, but he felt disproportionately little pain.

All he saw before he woke up was the mask of a man wreathed in fire, its eyeholes burning into his soul with an intense light...

When he had woken up, he had felt sick. He had hoped it was not a fever; it was far too busy a time for him to fall sick. He had been relieved when the nausea and dizziness wore off after a few days.

In retrospect, a fever would have at least been a rational explanation. He felt... changed, somehow. Like somehow his eyes had been opened to a different universe.

Shortly thereafter, came the Nightmares, and the hunts, and the long nights patrolling the city. It was overwhelming and draining, but something in him was calling out for more, his sense of adventure drinking in the experience.

So there he was, listening to the radio, hoping that his sister would be asleep so she wouldn't notice he was up late.

He strains his ears, reaching the sword beside the bed, feeling an strange, bubbling sensation in the hollow of his chest; a combination of anxiety and readiness.

A sharp string of white smoke rose up to meet the clouded ceiling.
After one last deep breath the last cigarette fell to the ash tray in slow motion.
Spread out on a large old leather arm chair and giving up another attempt at rest, Hale sighed deep.
A crack in the dark curtains let in a piercing beam of moonlight, stinging his tired eyes. A police siren in the distance managed to overcome the sounds of a city that never sleeps.

Rolling from the chair and slowly getting up hale slouched over to his desk to flip the switch next to the large retro microphone. His hand met a candy bar on it's way there and swiftly brought it up to his mouth to take a bite. Hale hesitated, smelled, then threw the thing in the trash with an unsatisfied groan.

The moment he flipped the large silver switch he changed, he took larger breaths, stood more erect and confident, smiled.
"Good evening my lovely fellow insomniacs. Autumn signing in."
His voice was a calm whisper, the mod in the microphone heightened the pitch and added a small reverb, resulting in a most eerie sound. One most listeners would recognize right away.
"It's been 13 days and 7 hours since I last closed by eyes for longer than a few minutes... Let's do another night on the town again."
With that he pulled the marble mask of the wall and secured it tightly on his head, he put the felt jacket on and stepped outside.
For a moment he checked his stuff; hammer, lighter, mask... pretty sure he was forgetting something.
It probably didn't matter.
With the heat he'd probably regret bringing the jacket, but the hammer would draw needless attention otherwise, the mask was bad enough.
Not like all that really mattered either.

Gabriel listened to the radio until he decided he had enough. He could feel his blood boiling, an eagerness for action equaled by the sense of dread of facing monsters from beyond every night. Both sensations canceled each other out, leaving a calm, practically serene look on his face.

Eventually, though, he felt his desire for action overcome any anxiety, and he got up, taking the sword up by the sheathe without breaking stride. He got to the door of his room, took a deep breath, and then opened up, taking care not to make any noise.

What followed was an exercise in nerves as he tried to navigate his way through the house in the dark. A couple close calls happened against a table, and he felt that a couple stumbles against the furniture were louder than they had any right to be. Picking up the key, he fumbled with the lock before managing to open it, cringing at the slight creaking noise it made in the dead of night. Once he was outside, having locked the door, he took a deep breath of relief. Nobody in the house was awake; it was time for action.

He put on the sentai helmet around his head after fitting in the earbuds for the radio, set the sword around his belt, and ran for the road. Maybe something interesting would pop up.

He fiddled with the mike, and managed to get it fixed.

"Hey again, everyone, RedHawk here," he said, a little short of breath. "Sorry for the delay, I had something to do. But just a head's up, I'm in town and ready to go, so feel free to let me know."