---

Chaos.

Santa Somabra looked like an aftermath of a war. Considering the circumstances, perhaps that impression wasn't so far off. There was a haunted air lurking in the area. People were shut in their homes, hiding their children. The wreckage was strewn around everywhere, and Anthea's nose wrinkled as she took in the heavy stench of blood residing in the air.  Even though she was no stranger to bloodshed, Anthea had never experienced disaster to this degree.

Gingerly stepping over a large chunk of what appeared to be a piece of roof, Anthea trudged onwards.  Death was everywhere. Wails of loss rang through the city as people despaired the loss of their loved ones. Anthea knew their pain. She pushed down the urge to empathize and kept investigating, but a few minutes later stopped dead in her tracks.

A broken body of a little girl, no older than 7 or 8 had been thrown into the street. Her youthful face was marred and bruised until it was unrecognizable, and her limbs were bent at odd angles.  The girl's clothes were matted with blood and dirt, but it was obvious that she had gone through some hard times. Her clothing was rugged and patched many times.

Anthea felt a sharp pang in chest. How could anyone do something so horrible to someone so young and innocent? Although she herself was far from pure, Anthea never involved innocent people, and required all of her subordinates to do the same.

Was it a little contradictory for a criminal to have a sense of justice? To some, probably not. Perhaps it was a little hypocritical of Anthea to consider herself above an average person of her profession. But there was a special reason why she was so enraged over this child's death.

Anthea had been pregnant many years ago. It had been her dream to be a mother. But shortly after her husband's death, her baby passed away before birth. There was some lingering maternal instinct left within the elven girl, and upon seeing this brutal murder, something snapped.

It was time to go on the offensive.

Anthea took out the white chysanthem from her hair and placed it next to the girl.

---

The glory days. Back when her father was still alive, the Martovanni family was like a well oiled machine. Everyone had their part to play, and everything ran very smoothly. While things weren't necessarily falling apart under Razghul, Anthea felt like it was still somewhat perilous compared to the older days.

No use reminiscing now, Anthea supposed.

She sat in the large Martovanni library, sifting through old records. All the past information on the mob was stored in a certain section of the massive library.  She paged through various files for about ten minutes before coming upon the one she was looking for.

Andy Fontaine diMaggio.  A former powerhouse in the Martovanni family. He and his friend Kiddo were some of the most reliable enforcers in the faction of all time.  They retired a while ago, but if Anthea recalled correctly, good friends with her father. In fact, her father had told her to count on Andy if she ever needed someone when she was young and vulnerable. Not only was Andy a good person to have on her side, he had earned her father's trust--a very rare occurrence.

After scribbling a quick message, Anthea braced herself before getting up to go knock on Razghul's door.  Without waiting for an answer, Anthea entered. Two ugly heads swiveled to glare at her.

"What do you want." One of the heads grunted with an unamused look on his face.

"The riots from earlier. What's the situation on it?" Anthea inquired, not intimidated by the hulking beast.

"None of your business, girly." The same head sneered dismissively.
"Not under control in the slightest." Anthea stated bluntly, answering her own question. Directing her gaze to the more rational head, she continued. "I don't like you, and you don't like me. But you're going to need my help if we want to take back the city."

"And why should I accept your help?" The other head asked in a steely tone.

"Easy. I'm good at what I do." Anthea retorted matter-of-factly. "You know my reputation, I don't make mistakes. And you may have taken over the Martovanni family... but I'm still in high regard. I have contacts, I have people loyal to me. And most of all, we have a common enemy.  if we work together, the faster we can sort through this mess."

One of Razghul's heads snorted, but the other one stayed silent, sizing her up. "And what can you contribute?"

"I can start by getting us a very powerful ally." Anthea placed Andy's file on Razghul's desk. "Andy diMaggio."

Sparing only a dubious glance at it, Razghul scoffed. "And who's this? Your boyfriend?"

"You'd be an idiot to not know who he is Razghul." Anthea chided, opening up the file and shoving it into his face. "Everyone knows him. He's definitely someone you want to have on your side. Retired a while ago, but I think I can convince him to come back."

The two heads took a closer look at the file, and got a thoughful look (probably) on their faces. "Hmmm...  Now that you've mentioned it, I've never met him, but I've heard a lot of rumors about the guy. Still, I don't really see why I should. We've got enough capable people."

"Let me rephrase Razghul." Anthea countered in a clipped tone, "Having this guy on our side or not? This is what's going to make or break us."

"But..."

"Make. Or. Break. Us."

Many variations of this exchange continued for a while. Anthea insisting that they needed Andy, with Razghul protesting. Eventually, it appeared that Razghul got fed up.

"Fine! Just shut up!" One of the heads yelled. The other sighed and said, "If you just shut up... I'll let him in."

"Good." Anthea placed a letter on his desk. "Take this to Paul. You were planning to go over anyway, weren't you? He'll know who to give it to."

With that, she turned around and left before giving him a chance to protest.

---

Anthea was confident that Razghul would deliver, and that Andy would arrive. She had made all of the necessary preparations. Everyone that would be around when Andy arrived were all people that were loyal to Anthea. She had made sure that anyone loyal to Razghul were far away.

Of course, Andy would be a great help to the Martovanni family, but Anthea had other reasons to recruit him as well.

Eventually, Andy arrived, looking rather uncertainly the food that the butlers had prepared. As he nibbled, Anthea considered her words carefully.

 "Anthea. Nice to see you again, gal. Now, what's this about calling in a favour?" Andy finally spoke up.

"It's been a while Andy." Anthea murmured with a small smile before adopting a more business-like expression. "Andy... Would you ever consider coming back to the Martovanni family?"

Without waiting for an answer, she continued on. "I'm sure that you've witnessed the horrific riot that happened. I think we really need your help to help quell the instigators. The Martovannis are really lacking someone who knows what they're doing."

Anthea then paused, glancing around quickly to make sure that there weren't any enemies around. Leaning forward, she spoke in a more hushed tone. "And I also need your help to take back the Martovanni family. I know you don't like Razghul, and obviously I don't either. I can't stand seeing everything my father worked for crumble under that tyrant. What do you say?"

I was already awake when Donny called.

It wasn't the constant barrage of rain hitting my window or the screams of that ruined marriage next door that had me up at 12am. It was the shakes again. That's why I was shivering out on my balcony in my underwear, smoking a soggy cigarette and sipping on a flask of whiskey. Another hard evening in the bar left me with two hours of sleep and headache. One of the worse goddamned headaches I've had in weeks. The sound of my phone eventually became too much for my pounding head to handle and I . It was Donny. 'The riots, man! Haven't you seen the TV reports?' he asked. I almost choked on my whiskey. 'I don't watch TV' I replied. Donny said the boss wanted every unit out there, rounding up as many of these hooligans as possible. That included me, on my day off.

Donny said I had 15 minutes before he'd pick me up. He's a good kid, really. That little Jewish head of his is full of ideas and hope. The city hasn't grated his soul to shreds just yet but he'd break eventually. He knew it, I knew it, the whole force knew it. He could try and fight it but by the time he's my age, he'll be like every other broken cop in Santa Somabra. Addicted to something, killing for someone or dead.

I met Donny at the door of my apartment building. His car, dark and slick with rain, hummed quietly as he beckoned me forward. Donny was another plain-clothes officer, so he got away with slicking his hair back and wearing jeans while on duty. I wore the same clothes that I'd gotten drunk in the night before. Donny noticed, as his nose crinkled at the sight of me.

"Jesus, Arman, bad night, huh?" he laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. I could only grunt. My head was still killing me. I could only look forward to a strong coffee in a few hours. I leaned my head against the windo wand tried to get a few moments of shut eye while Donny brought me up to date with what had been happening.

"I dunno what they were, man, undead or sommin' but they kept coming. There was, like, hundreds of 'em! They were killin' people, smashin' up shops, jumpin' around, it was crazy, man, the station's been goin' crazy with calls!" he spoke in a low voice, considerate of all the alcohol in my bloodstream. "It was weird, though, they came out of nowhere and then just fuckin' disappeared! Silvio want's all officers out picking up any stragglers. He says it's not gangs or whatever, this is somethin' bigger".

The way these youths talk today, I still can't believe it.

"Where're we headed?" I asked, offering little relief to my pounding headache. "Down Bakero Street, there's been a few of those zombie guys spotted. We've got back-up but Silvio want's everyone armed and ready. If they have guns, we shoot on sight. If not, we take 'em down to the station."

Shoot on sight. It'd been a while since I was allowed to do that.

-

Bakero Street was typical for this parta' town. Large immigrant families, dark alleyways and a stabbing every other night. It looked like a twister had rolled through tonight, though. Store windows were smashed in, buildings were set on fire and bodies lay in corners. I'd thought the kid was exaggerating but this was worse than anything he'd said. "Sweet Jesus..." was all we could say. The only bastion of civilisation was a single police car parked in the middle of the road. It's lights flashed lazily but still intensified the burning in my head. Something stirred in me at the point. Something was wrong. Donny took the lead of getting out of the car and jogging over to the scene. I stumbled after him, feeling pathetically old and drunk.

What I saw next sobered me up instantly.

The two cops who owned the car were laid out in the street, their hands tied together with their own hancuffs and a bullet in each of their heads. They lay in a pool of blood and rainwater, their blue uniforms soaked to the skin. They'd been there a few hours, obviously. Donny didn't take it too well. Have you ever seen a man change before your eyes? Well, I did. Donny's young, hopeful eyes glazed over and his hands bundled into fists. His face hardened as he punched the police car in anger.

Young Donny grew up that evening.

"Where's our back-up? We're going to need to call in the boys for this...affair" I croaked, my legs suddenly feeling weak. I leaned onto the hood of the cops car for support. "This was our backup" growled Donny, kicking at a puddle in anger. I sighed heavily and grunted as I pulled myself off of the hood. It was starting to rain again and we were weren't gonna do anything just standing around. I dragged my feet back to Donny's car and called in the radio to give the bad news. Dispatch said they'd send someone round to pick up the bodies but it might be a few hours. In the meantime, we were going to have to wait.

When I came back to Donny, his eyes were on the rooftops and his hands buried in his pockets. He leaned on the hood of the abandoned cop car. "Whadda' we do now?" he asked suddenly. I didn't have an answer but took my place beside him, my hands buried in my own pockets. I offered him some whiskey.

He didn't even have it in him to answer.

The voices were quiet today. It was odd that he called them the voices, there was only ever one.... it sounded weird to call her The Voice... sounded like a shit game show.

"You could call me Miss Green... considering you raped me then cut my head off, it really would be the least you could do"
"but that would mean you were real" he whispered
"Your whispering to me in your own head fucktard... how much more real do you want me to be"
Bitch had a point
"Don't call me a bitch"

The voices were quieter than normal today.... that usually meant bloodshed later, saving their strength for screams to split his soul. It unnerved him that she knew his future before he did, did a man really waste his life picking his way through spiderwebs of fate intricately woven by his subconscious?

He snapped back to the present and glowered at his phone.... if he watched it it would ring sooner. Despite his attention the buzz still made him jump, fingers fumbling as he snatched up the phone.

"Sal.. bout fucking time"

"Raz, your right. I just spoke to Sparky, all of our potential forlorn converts are dropping their shit and heading out. They're going in ones and twos walking like they're running errands but they're tooled up. You're right man... their will be a cleansing tonight. I need you at the bar man."

Sal was a good bloke, one of the first he had worked for in this city, light doorman work, crack a few skulls, scare off the rats... he liked the guy and the guy tolerated him but this was an opportunity too good to miss.

"I can't do that man."

He heard Sal spit and he felt shame rising, a dull flush spreading over his cheeks. What sort of a friend was he.... A resourceful one

"Don't be like that man, you've got at least 8 hours before the cleansing, 3 full grown sons and 2 fucked up cousins you can call on. You can move half your shit to your appartment on the 50th floor by that time. You know these forlorn are too fucked for stairs not to mention you've got guards on the gate and reinforced doors. And get fucking insurance for the bar..."
He paused guilt causing words to swell up inside him, the smell of the bullshit he was spewing wrinkling his nose, his innards reeling in shame until he vomited forth unbidden words

"and send me the bill"

Soft bugger. Insurance in this town would cost him half the blood in his body and all the spunk in his balls.... who was he kidding... they were never empty.... but after tonight he might not need to donate no more.

That had been his pattern thus far, working for bread and board, anytime he needed money, down to the hospital to watch shit porn and empty himself into a petridish. It wasn't a bad life as it went, at least he never had to pay for porn and as long as he stayed within 3 streets of wherever he was working he could do what he wanted.

It had been slow work but he now had a place in most districts where he could turn up uninvited and find a hot meal and a bed waiting for him. It was this great trick.... If you sorted someone's troubles for nothing more than a hot meal and a chinwag over a beer in their kitchen.... they owed you. Until you called in that favour they were in your pocket.

He had found a caveat to that trick early on and never made the mistake again. Always involve the wives... A man might owe you his left bolluck but his missus never let go of the right one. Unless she owed you too you'd be sleeping in the gutter. Listening to Sal murmuring his gratitude he knew Annie would have a hot meal for him on the table next time he came round.
________________________________
3 calls and a carefully worded group text later and the rumour was planted. An hour to reach the target and half an hour for panic to set in.

He tapped his phone gently bringing up a smiling handsome face of a strong man slowly being corrupted by good home cooking. A long scar brought danger to his features yet his eyes were mellow fixed lovingly on Selene, a stunning blonde woman with a smile like a radiant sunbeam and tits like two pumpkins in a growbag. He fixed his attention back on the man

Tommy- the pinnacle of his information gathering. The word was Tommy had been a pretty high level player in one of the big name gangs though no one seemed to know which. The fact that he had been allowed to walk away was testament to that. The sunbeam had been the reason he had left it all behind, she had insisted they go clean and wanted to open a dancing school til Tommy talked her down to a night club.

SAFE
no drugs, no dickheads

They ran it as a family business and persecuted the rules with ruthless efficiency. The mob left his club alone out of respect and the punters flocked in delighted they could spend a night out without risk of someone getting shot for spilling a drink. As the club grew the rats respect dwindled and became anger as several men who "knew Tommy" found themselves out on their arse watching Tommy and his sons tip their drugs into a drain.

The rats had retaliated in force and Tommy had called in the old guard with assorted hangers on. Raz (a hanger on through an associate Small Thin Charlie) had found himself at Tommy's back standing side by side with men with bulging beer bellies and half hidden smirks as they relived their mispent youth. When the Rats had backed down and a peace agreement akin to "go fuck yourselves" had been agreed tears of laughter had rolled down wrinkled cheeks.

He had found his eyes fixed on Tommy... All these people for one man....the older man had met his gaze and a momentary nod of acknowledgement passed between them.

This man was his in to the big leagues and Tommy fucking knew it.
-----------
Growling he hit the call button, bending the knee made his skin crawl.... he was better than this shit.

The crawling was almost over... he was so close.
" Talk to me"
cocky prick.... his knee felt like it was on fire

"Tommy, it's Raz, I'm a friend of Charlie's. I just wanted to check you'd heard"

"bout the cleansing, yeah shit's going mental down here, people screaming, packing up their cars trying to get out"

"Running ent the way man... You bringing the boys in?"
he scratched his knee but the itch burned harder, faster searing his flesh.

"I know man" he paused "They got families to care for businesses to hold on to, I don't want to make a habit of calling them in. I walked away to get away from this....Fuck it doesn't matter"

"What does Selene say?"
the itch wouldn't go away, he could feel his nail digging into his skin, feel warm bloody running across his knuckes, he just needed to reach deeper, it was there just below the surface

"She wants us to stand together as a neighbourhood, bring everyone and everything we can into the club and make a stand."

"I'll be round in 5"

There was a moment of silence

"Aite"

Even as the phone clicked Razor raised a fist in triumph a single strand of blood running down his wrist... it was on... four years and it was finally on.
__________________________________________________
It hadn't been difficult for Tommy to convince people to stay, to leave their buildings unguarded, move their stock and families into the basement storerooms. Shop by shop he asked them to meet him and they came with doubts in their heart but respect on their faces.

"Where you going to go... the whole city is going to be burning?"

"Your going to give up your livelihood to some fucking nutjobs?"

If Tommy's brusque charm didn't work Selene's passionate intensity and a healthy dose of cleave seemed to stiffen the resolve of most men

Her eyes blazed as she spouted rhetorics like a shit fucking fountain

"If there was one thing people say about us citizens of Santa Somabra they are that fighter that everyone fears. They put us down again and again but we keep getting back up. Tonight we land one back. We will set an example of how to fight these pricks."

Only he and Tommy knew how fucking stupid that was but he loved her and he couldn't say no. She was too blind to see that she was, in her desire to do good, dragging him back into the game she hated so much... and... if he played his cards right... Raz would be right there with him.
__________________________________________________

He sat in the middle of the dancefloor, skin seeming to meld with the blackness. He could see the humans clearly, away from him crouching behind the bar, pistols in hand. He'd let them keep their pistols, he might be the better shot but he didn't need a gun to keep his nerve.

They did. He could taste their terror in the spicy tang of fresh urine that wafted through the room. He could see it in the slight twitches of their limbs, hear it in the slightly sniffy breaths they took in time to the panicked fluttering of their hearts.

Tommy had let him take charge of the defense of this place whilst he sorted out the people. Handed him a group of 3 spotty youths and 4 balding men and told him to sort it. Sort it he had. The club was a nice place to defend. One entrance, plenty of pillars and cover, single stairway down to the storerooms, small and discreet exit if shit went wrong.

Now he sat in the middle of the dancefloor, legs crossed and eyes wide listening to the sounds of the mob.

8,457 feet and one prosthetic, moving out of time caused a relentless pounding punctuated by stacatto chants, explosions... the howls of the dying.

The front of a mob always had a purpose, a destination in mind, they smashed shit as they went but it didn't really matter to them, it was just gravy on what they were about to do.

Tramp, tramp, tramp.

The back of a mob was where the danger was, at the back people got bored, people got distracted, people got tired of walking

Tramp, tramp tramp... closer now, passing the doors

Thud... someone kicked at the doors, the lock rattled, scattered laughter, quick frantic chipping sounds as brick hit brick, glass shattered as it clattered to the pavement, the streaming sound of liquid against wood... more laughter.

He could smell more piss inside the room with him, small sobs.

He had given them one rule... shut the fuck up.... if the front took interest, they were dead.
He said nothing just held up his long bony middle finger still caked in his own blood. The sobbing was hastily stiffled.

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp moving away.... Tramp Tramp Tramp.... voices getting fainter but some remained.... stragglers

Repeated sounds of something hard on wood in several different places spread out across the street outside, the thud of a shoulder against the wood of the club door in front of him

"Empty" a harsh voice shouted.

Thud on the club door

"Fuck this shit... empty too"

Thud, it seemed to punctuate the voices

Smashing glass coming closer up the street, frustrated shouts moving closer and closer as the stragglers tried in vain to loot empty shops

"Where the fuck is everything"... "this is bullshit"..." she fucking promised"

Closer and closer they came more thuds on the club door as more shoulders pressed in adding their weight to it.

"Fuck this is Tommy's gaff"

Murmurs of excitement... Chants...cat calls
"Boys" someone shouted a loud voice a commanding voice "come help us kick this door down"

Running feet... Excited whoops more thuds

"Prime pussy in here boys" snarled the commanding voice "first cum... First served on the daughters.... Leave the milf that cunt is mine"

Behind him Tommy shifted but he held his calm.

Crash..... the doors burst inwards and a single figure stumbled into the room teetering on the very edge of the streets glow. Suddenly seperated from the crowd he leaned forward struggling to penetrate the darkness.

For a single second everything was held in perfect balance

Thunk

A knife protruded from the man's face the blade glittering in the dusky glow of the street lamps. Blood ran down the man nose, face frozen even as he dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The mob behind him gave an internal gasp a single breath drawing them back , suprise twisted into excitement, excitement boiled up to anger and the silence splintered as they roared as one.

An indignant roar, a roar of loss, a demand for revenge and the mob became a scrum. Men pushing, kicking, screaming desperately trying to push into the darkness to reach the kills within. A seething mass boiled like a kettle then the steam escaped, pressure sending the front row bursting through the door into the darkness.

He raised a long finger and the lights came up. Every light... Spotlights,floodlights, houselights all pointed at that 3 footspace in front of the door. Dazzling brightness caused the front row to reel colliding with those pushing behind. Confusion, disorientation, men behind shoving blinded men foward... Men stumbled, men fell... men screamed as they were crushed beneath weight of numbers.

Arcan lowered his finger and the crack of gunfire burst out overwhelming the screams with a brutal cacophony. The air split above him and he felt his breath catch in his throat. Wind whipped across his skull mere inches away and men collapsed before him, blood red flowers blooming on their chests... this was what he....

"Is this really what you live for?" hissed the voice, revulsion oozed from every syllable. She knew the answer and he spat back spitefully
"No this next bit is what I live for"

The gunfire stopped, the sound of clips being ejected fresh clips being slapped into magazines and the crazed mob spilled forward, blissfully unaware of the corpses they crushed beneath their feet. Howls erupted on their lips as they rushed towards the reloading guns

He got to his feet in one fluid motion, a knife spinning into each hand and he glided to meet the onrushing tide. His first blade met the gut of a wild eye man whose spitting screaming face dropped as he wrenched the knife upwards blade meeting breastbone. Intestines spilled out slippery eels cascading over his hands.

"this is what I live for" he snarled

His second blade met a man's throat a short vicious strike leaving a waterfall of bload spurting from ruined arteries. It spattered his chest, a drop or two on his lips, his bloodlust rising.

"I have the power of life and death" he snarled

Her screams were a majestic aria in his mind rising and falling with pure fiscal anguish. So raw, so beautiful.

Tears of joy ran down his cheeks as he sent more souls to heaven. An angel should never be lonely.
_______________

He sat in the middle of the dance floor. A dance floor doing a very passable impersonation of an abatoire. He should tip really.

Tommy stood before him, the wary gate of a man standing before a sleeping lion.

"I appreciate this man" he grunted

They both knew what was coming. The silence stretched and Tommy shifted a little. Cocky prick wasn't so sure now.

Arcan didn't move but his eyes burned into life.

"you know they'll be back right?'

His voice was little more than a whisper. Tommy nodded his eyes hollow.

"I'll make the call"

Prologue

Pop, pop, pop, BOOM!

I propped myself up on my elbows, my eyes making a beeline for the window. For a brief moment, its frame filled with a blinding light. The rays were accompanied by a buzzing sound and a very distinct second "boom".

Ann stirred in our makeshift bed. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, before tightly screwing shut again as she tried to ignore the clamor outside.

We had cleared the living room that night because 1) it was movie night, and 2) we needed space for the action to come in the later hours of the night, after a few glasses of cheap wine. We had moved the couch back as far as it would go, and plastered the coffee table as close to the side wall as it would get. Then, we had spread a soft, thick, wool blanket in the center of living room and made ourselves comfy for the ride (*wink wink*). At that moment, we were sandwiched together, burritoed in by the folds of the blanket. (I was hungry.) My arm had painfully fallen asleep underneath Ann's body, and my desperate wriggles to escape the confines of our burrito only jostled her more.

"Charlize, what. The. FUCK. Are you doing? And what the fuck was that noise?" She griped groggily.

"Well first of all," I said, "I'm trying to escape this burrito of death."

A grumble of acknowledgement.

"And second of all. Sounds like a transformer exploded outside."

"A transformer? Like the talking robots?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"Is it thunder showering?" She asked, smiling lazily at my reaction.

"Nope." I had finally managed to free myself. Playfully, I dumped what remained of my half of the blanket onto Ann's face, leaving her to struggle out by herself. Then I made my way to the window.

Either the transformer had short circuited, or someone or some animal was out there fumbling with it. If it was the latter, I was hoping to not see a charred body outside my apartment. Especially not a squirrel. I love animals. I was praying pretty powerfully for it to not be a squirrel.

Reaching the window, I threw the pane open and peered outside. The wind blew reminding that I was sticking my head out a window whilst being naked. I shrugged to no one in particular. It was just my head.

What I expected to see was a busted transformer maybe accompanied by some poor sucker who'd either killed himself messing with it, or been cooked pretty badly. In which case, I was prepared to call the hospital.

What I saw was much worse.

Across the street, a mostly black werewolf staggered uncertainly near the utility pole where the transformer was located. It had that distinct lope to it that said "I'm drunk but also hurt." Its back fur had been burnt away, revealing black and bleeding skin (black dogs have black pigmented skin, where other dogs have pink pigmented skin; I guess the same rules apply to werewolves). It had to be intoxicated to some level for it to have wanted to mess with a transformer. My suspicions of its stupidity were confirmed when I took note of the deep claw marks dug into the wood of the utility pole.

I watched with gross curiosity as the skin on the werewolf's back began patching itself, quickly clotting the muscles that had been scorched open with pools of dark, almost black, blood.

Beyond the werewolf, pass the apartments across the street, a thick plum of smoke was rising. In the distance, howls and screams pierced the air. The werewolf spotted me, snarled, and jetted off in the opposite direction, away from the smoke.

I waved Ann away as she approached the window. Remember howls pierced the air. Werewolves were strong, with big shiny claws and snappers that could severe an entire human head with one bite. This one werewolf was clearly not the only one out there tonight. And a werewolf could very plausibly scale the measly 20 foot gap that separated our second floor apartment window and the pavement below. One would especially be most tempted to do so if he (or she) saw two delectable human faces and four diary makers invitingly sticking themselves out a cramped window frame.

Carefully closing the window behind me, I retreated back into our cozy apartment, going to lean against the kitchen counter.

Ann, while not having seen the werewolf, had seen the smoke curling up in the sky.

She snatched up the T.V. remote, punching a button at the top left corner. The television flickered to life, and I felt some form of relief. The transformer explosion had not affected our apartment, though I was sure the building on the opposite block would be in the dark for quite a while. Flipping through the channels, Ann stopped on the local news. We were greeted with the helicopter view of the Fire From Beyond. It had done a wicked amount of damage to the Somabra neighborhood. Bloodied bodies were strewn across collapsed heaps of brick (walls fallen away from their buildings). People were limping off, guided by the cops that already responded to the calls for help.

For a brief moment, the helicopter view caught sight of a bright red fire engine, water gushing out powerfully from its industrial sized hose as it tried, with difficulty, to out the powerful flames of tonight's disaster. Ann covered her sweet lips with a hand, looking worried.

"It's a good distance away," I assured her. Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure how far away the flames were, and I wasn't really even sure that they wouldn't reach our neighborhood.

She crossed her arms and gave me the "be serious" look. I shrugged it off nonchalantly, thanking the year's worth of Academy Training I'd received in the force. Playing it cool was now a part of my human interaction arsenal.

Ann is a little bit shorter than I am, with short (boy cut short) black hair, in a kind of pixie cut, blue eyes, and olive skin. Kind of racially/ethnically ambiguous. Very pretty, and cute, and sweet. Well, to me, anyway. She's got a few tattoos in all sorts of places, really beautiful ones.

She's scared. She's never hidden how she feels from me. Our relationship is a very open one, and she wasn't about the pretend to be tough and confident because we trust each other.

She sighed, coming over to embrace me. I received her warmly, reveling in the familiarity her body provided. As we cuddled it out, my cell phone rang on the counter. I'm not usually one to ignore calls, so with her permission, I reached out to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Sweety?"

"Hey, mom."

"Thank god." Mom whispered away from the phone's receiver. Then, "Are you girls okay?"

Even though she couldn't see me, I nodded. Force of habit.

"We're fine," I said, trying to sound calm.

"There are werewolves outside." Great conversationalist, my mom.

"I know," I grimaced, and Ann looked up at me curiously, "Do you know what's going on?"

"Rioting, though I don't know for what reason. Or, who started it." She said that bitterly, most likely thinking of our culprit with less than fondness.

"I'm going to have to go out with Chase." I was giving her the fair warning, because I knew she why she had called. To dissuade me from doing my job. I knew my mom well enough to know the first thing on her mind was my safety. If she could, she would slaughter a thousand vampires to keep me safe and sound.

She sighed, a frustrated and angry sound. I heard a beeping sound on my phone. Someone else was trying to call me.

"Mom," I said quickly, eager to hang up to the phone, knowing the person on the other line was most likely from the precinct or Chase, "I need you to do me a favor."

She grumbled her consent through the phone.

"Come here and stay with Ann. We've got an extra gun, underneath the bed, in a safe. Ann knows where the keys are if you guys need it."

Sighed again and then, "I'm not happy with your choice of profession, Charlie." Mom was one of the few people that called me Charlie. I wasn't particularly fond of the nickname, and had let it be known on several occasions in my adulthood. Still it persisted, "It puts you, and the people you care about in danger," clearly referring to Ann here, "And it makes me unhappy and sick with worry all the time. I just wish you had pursued a degree in graduate school." Another forlorn sigh.

"Yeah mom," I said briskly, eager to hang up. The other line had beeped three more times again, "I've heard the whole spheel already. Are you going to come here or do I have to find someone else?" I was bluffing. I didn't know who else I would call. Ultimately, it would mean leaving Ann home alone with a gun and five bullets. Those were odds that I didn't look upon favorably.

"I'll be there in a few minutes." I heard a wooshing sound in the background. Mom was already on the move.

"Thanks mom. Love you."

She sighed again, but said, "I love you too. Then the line cut off with a deep click.

I put the phone down and went back to wrapping my arms around Ann. I hadn't forgotten about the other caller, but girlfriend first.

"You got me a babysitter," she said begrudgingly, and I laughed.

"A vampire babysitter," I said, biting over my lower lip to form fangs. She rolled her eyes.

Chase is a great guy and a good, good friend. I trusted him; it was no big deal to give him keys to my apartment.

I was about to regret that decision.

Before either once of us could react, the door began to unlock. It was a quick process that told me someone wasn't breaking in; they were using a key. Here enters the regret.

The door flew open and there was my partner in crime-fighting, tie scraggly hanging around his neck, a slice of toast stuffed in his mouth, pants just barely pulled over his boxers. "No shame" is a pretty good phrase to describe Chase with.

He eyed us for a moment, naked against the counter, wrapped in each others arms. Then, ever so slowly, he closed the door, like a child who'd been caught in a place he wasn't supposed to be. I was blushing furiously, though Ann only chuckled.

"He'll wait for me out there."

"I know," she said, giving me a deep kiss, "I'll see you later. I love you."

"I love you too. Mom will take good care of you," I assured her, making my way to the bedroom to get dressed, "And remember, the gun."

The Disciples darted nimbly through the night; down a wooded pathway, then over a shakey chain-link fence. Boot-clad feet pressed softly against churned up soil, then they were stalking across concrete, inside the compound itself.

A security outpost lay ahead, but before the alarm could be triggered there were no guards left standing.

A huge tower dominated the skyline, a leviathan monstrosity scrapping away at the midnight sky, and then the disciples were inside the power plant; slashing throats and cutting wires.

The Canoness walked elegantly down the winding staircase into the depths of the facility, her high-heeled boots clanking against the stone steps, the forlorn disciples trailing closely behind her.

Her monsters swarmed over the control room, flicking switches, pressing buttons, and smashing consoles.

"Lets see how they do without their precious energy." Murmured the Canoness.

All across Santa Somabra her minions were swarming through the grid, shutting off power plants, generators, and back-up generators.

Then the city went black.

"Take control of the means of distribution," The Canoness declares to the disciples "give power back to the people...and the new order is under way."

"Andy... Would you ever consider coming back to the Martovanni family?"

"Hmm."

"I'm sure that you've witnessed the horrific riot that happened. I think we really need your help to help quell the instigators. The Martovannis are really lacking someone who knows what they're doing."

"Tell me 'bout it, Anthea. No one seems to know heads from tails these days."

The dame leaned forward and near whispered. I returned the gesture, of course.

"And I also need your help to take back the Martovanni family. I know you don't like Razghul, and obviously I don't either. I can't stand seeing everything my father worked for crumble under that tyrant. What do you say?"

Hmm.
Now this asshat, Ruzghul? Oh he hated the Martovannis. First I heard of him was in the seventies, not long after I retired. He was in the running to be quite the drug lord, fencing dust and runez to dealers throughout the city. No one really knew where he got his product back then, not even my friend Paulie. After Martovanni Senior kicked the bucket, Ruzghul muscled in. Bastard took control of the family by force, pushed in his own goons to replace those loyal to the Martovannis. He even went and took out Martovanni Junior, that fat fuck. Bled the family dry into his own coffers and now he runs the whole shishkabob. Any Martovanni loyalists left pledged their loyalty to the ogre or they were slowly and quietly taken care of. Anthea, however, was a different story. She had the power to snap that ogre's neck if she wanted to, but her loyalty to the family and her devotion to her foster dad made her soft. Pliable.

But now she was asking for my help. Not only to take care of the whole riot business, but Ruzghul too.

If I took him out, Anthea would be the head of the household. Half of the city in the palms of her hands. Sure as hell wouldn't be safer, but nice to know I had a friend in a very, very high place if I needed.

Tempting.

"Well, doll, the offer is very, very tempting. But are you sure you can handle being the head honcho of this place?"

I spread my hands.

"Look, Anthea, my opinion? Ruzghul needs to go. Pronto. I can help you with that, no sweat. I know the old man would've wanted the same thing. I just want to know that you'll be alright by yourself after this shitstorm's blown over, y'know? Can't have dad rolling in his grave."

I sat back in my chair and took a wholehearted bite of the roll.

"Color me interested, doll. What's mine is yours, but I expect access to resources in return, alright? Point me in the right direction and I will do what you ask."

And at that precise moment the lights took the opportunity to go bzzzt and die.

"What the fu-"

And not just the little lamp in the gazebo, oh no, I whipped around to my left and saw the whole mansion go down.

I almost dove for Anthea and pushed her down behind the gazebo's low walls.

"Stay down doll, something's wrong."

My hand immediately went to my nine mil just as a huge, horrible roar came from within the mansion.

Ruzghul.

Big lug was home?!

Uh oh.

"Doll, get down, I have a feeling that the big lug's gonna get real mad real fast and he's gonna come this way in a hurry."

Right on cue I heard a soft thrashing and rumbling footsteps as the big lug's silhouette grew against the backdrop of candle light lit by the staff within the mansion. As the two butlers in the gazebo lit candles and lanterns, Ruzghul stomped right up to the joint and, not to my surprise, grabbed me by the throat in one of his grubby mitts and slammed me against a pillar of the gazebo. His second head was snarling and growling at me as he leaned in close, head #1 frowning at me.

"You! You....you set this whole thing up, didn't you."

"N-now Ruzghul -"

"I knew we shouldn't have trusted you the moment Anthea asked for you! Now how did you cut power to the mansion? HOW?!"

"Jesus Christ, Ruzghul, get a grip -"

He reared back his arm and slammed me painfully against the pillar again. His second head answered in the same roaring rhetoric.

"YOU SHUT YOUR FACE WISE GUY! How did you shut off the power?!"

"I didn't, Ruzghul, I swear!"

"Then why are you here when the power conveniently goes out, fuckface? You plotting something?!"

"Oh please, like he would even try."

His first head regarded me with all the coolness of a freezer set to maximum zero. Apparently head number one had brains. Head number two didn't.

"Now, mister diMaggio, answer my questions or I will be forced to have my second head rip out your insides with his teeth."

I smirked and shrugged.

"Hey, be my guest, god knows I need those things any more."

"RRRRRAAA -"

"Hush, you imbecile. Don't want you to get too riled up. Mister diMaggio, I expect you to answer my questions immediately. And don't play this game. You'll only get yourself killed."

"I ain't no stranger to dyin' anyway, go ahead and try."

His first head sighed. So did his second, amidst the frothing rage.

Meanwhile I still had my gun in my right hand, but in all the confusion he apparently hadn't noticed. It was behind my back right now, right where my other backup weapon was.

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with my trade, I happen to deal in death, and often times that means I need to have something sharp on me at all times. So, in the course of my pursuits of the finer things in life I had a tailor make me a custom-made pair of slacks with a hidden sleeve just underneath the belt. It's there that I usually slot a switchblade or butterfly knife. Today it was a wicked little spring-loaded switchblade that I slowly eased out of the sleeve with the barrel of my gun. I kept pushing gently until I felt it bump against my left, then I eased it the rest of the way out.

" 'Sides, you need me. The Martovanni family needs me. Anthea called me here for a reason."

"And what might that reason be, pray tell?"

"She wants me to help you guys with your mob problem. See, I know about the shit you've been goin' through. A friend of mine happens to be under you, y'see."

That's right, bubba. Keep 'em talking.

Both his heads were focused on me now, so neither noticed as I lifted my gun hand and aimed the dinky little pistol at Ruzghul's second face. Probably wouldn't kill him outright, but three bullets in the brain pan could solve any problem.

"And I just so happen to have a bit of an idea of what's goin' on."

It was at that moment that his second head glanced down and froze at the sight of a nice, black barrel aimed right between his eyes.

I kept still. Finger on the trigger.

"Uh -"

"Quiet, you fool, I want to hear his pathetic idea."

His first head idly snapped at the second, even as I gently raised my left, hiding the switchblade in my hand.

"Go on."

"Well, the way I see it, there's another gang out here tryin' to muscle in on your turf, and they's doin' it by hittin' you hard and fast. This power outage has to be a part of it, and if odds were me, I'd say the outage is affecting the entire city."

"Uh, excuse me, I think -"

"I said SHUT UP you nitwit. You're right, diMaggio, that is a good reason. But who would you suspect to be behind all this?"

I shrugged and smirked.

"Oh I don't know, I ain't got the resources. But your family does. That's what I was discussin' with the lady here. She's gonna get me funded, see, and you're gonna agree."

His first head grinned and chuckled.

"Hmm. An interesting decision, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah yeah real interesting now if you would be so kind -"

"Quiet, remember I'm the one that does the thinking here."

"Oh, please, Ruzghul, let your other head talk. I'm sure he has some nice little tidbits to share."

Head number one raised a thick brow and growled.

"Really? Like what?"

I grinned nice and wide.

"Like this."

I flicked off the safety and thumbed the hammer. Nice and audible. Head number one, his eyes went wide as his vision shot straight to my gun hand.

Perfect.

I gripped the handle of my switchblade and pushed the catch. The wicked curved blade shot forth and I held it right up against the throat of head number one.

I felt him gulp and freeze through the knife. His grip loosened around my neck.

"Now, Ruzghul, here's how it's going down. I know you're the most powerful man in the whole city, but, see, power's really relative to the situation. Right now, you are threatening one of the most deadly men in the city, and I have ample chance to end you, right here, right now. I will do it if you so much as think about doing somethin' stupid. So please, humour me, and don't do somethin' stupid, otherwise the most powerful guy in the city is gonna become the most dead-and-buried guy in the city."

He nodded, with both heads. I smirked.

"Here's what ya gonna do, big guy. After you let me go, I'm gonna take one of your cars and three of your men and head down to the city's power plant, capiche? I have a sneaking suspicion that that's why all the power's out. You probably didn't even get cellphone reception, did you?"

Head number two shook a negative.

I was right. Total blackout.

Total chaos.

"That's what I thought. Now, after I get your guys and a vehicle, I'm gonna arm myself with some of your mansion's heat. I ain't goin' in there with this peashooter and a shank, dear god, I ain't stupid. I'll settle this whole affair once and for all, hopefully, and I'll be back before the sun rises. Got it?"

He nodded.

"Good, now let me go and we'll settle the issue of compensation for this farce later. I'll make sure no more corpses end up on your doorstep or somethin'."

The big lug released his grip on my neck and I fell to the ground, gasping slightly for breath, gun still trained on him.

"I'm gonna keep my gear and I'm gonna go, alright? You do nothin' until I'm gone."

Hehe. I leaned in close.

"Oh, and make sure to reconsider before you threaten me again. I have friends in some pretty high places who wouldn't mind gettin' their hands dirty. You try this shit again and I'll make sure you end up in a box at the bottom of Butcher Bay, capiche? And you don't scare me, not one fuckin' bit. You shoulda been in the 20s, now that's where the real scary men were."

I holstered my pistol and stowed my knife. Right, time to go see if this shit was connected in some way. I gave Anthea a glance.

"Doll? You stay safe, alright? I'll be back soon."

With that, I left. Not like I wanted to stay, Jesus. Ruzghul stank.

-----

"Alright, so, Ted, Alonzo and Hurk, was it?"

I racked the slide of the pump shotty so graciously provided by the family and slung it on my shoulder. Damn this was a lotta heat we was carrying. Between the four of us we had two pump shotguns, four pistols, two assault rifles and a Typewriter. I had a shotgun and a trusty Typewriter with me, but the other two goons had elected to be more modern. One of those newfangled plastic dealios.

Hey, a bullet hose's a bullet hose, alright?

We were just out of the mansion, heading for a small sedan parked out in the driveway. Transport, guys and guns were so graciously provided today by the Martovanni family. I knew I couldn't return to the home for a while, Ruzghul would be way too pissed after that little stunt I'd just pulled, so instead I focused solely on the plan. As we approached the car, I stopped at the back door.

"Alright fellas, so recap of the plan. We are heading to Santa Somabra Power Station. It's down near the Bay, god knows how they get energy from that thing, but we're gonna run in there and jump start it again. Right now the city's a warzone, with who knows what down on those streets. Ted, you're our driver, and you're gonna need to be on fuckin' point tonight, you know that right?"

The lanky Caucasian man nodded and I continued.

"Right, Alonzo, Hurk, you two are with me when we reach the power station. God knows that we aren't technicians but we sure as hell know how to kill things. Expect a lotta assholes out there who've got our names written on their hands or bats or what-fuckin'-ever they have. We shoot to kill, no questions asked, alright? If they're undead, aim for the noggin'. Remove the brain, drop 'em stone cold, just like those zombie movies."

The other two guys nodded as they got into the car. I hopped in myself, behind the driver, and we took off into the night.

About an hour of dodging and weaving through the dark streets later, we got up to the outer gates of the power station. The whole place was dark, save for the shreds of emergency lighting that were scattered about the place. Dirty, dim orange lights that probably hadn't seen use since the last power outage, and that was decades ago when some rat ate through wiring and zapped itself to death. Today, though, I could hear the chaos unfolding inside. This shit was serious.

I disembarked from the car, Alonzo and Hurk following suit. As they moved forward I hung back to give a word to Ted.

"Alright pal, me 'n the guys are gonna head in there. You stay right here, engine off, lay low. You got a radio, right?"

The man nodded silently and held up a small walkie talkie. I smirked and patted him on the shoulder.

"Atta boy. We'll keep in touch, but stay outta sight, alright? Anything happens you holler and get the hell outta dodge, come back for us later."

"You got it Andy."

The man rolled up the window and hunkered down in his seat as I moved off. My shotgun slapped gently against my back as I jogged up to rejoin the other two who were busy "checkin' and clearin' " the front gate area. The main driveway ended up in a parking lot for employees and visitors, and right now there weren't a lotta vehicles, save for one or two cars, presumably night shift workers. They were totalled, though, one was on fire while the other was a smashed up wreck. Hurk ambled up to the one that wasn't on fire and ducked down to have a look inside. I was past him when he stood.

"Nada."

I gripped my Tommy gun tighter and nodded. That meant there were at least two civilians inside. Now I'm not for shootin' people randomly or nothin', but these two were gonna be a hassle. If we found 'em alive, more chores for us. Personally I would've preferred 'em dead, as cruel as that sounds.

The parking lot led to a walkway that went up onto a large, wide catwalk, similar to a small footbridge of sorts that wound its way to the main lobby. With military precision Alonzo and Hurk took the rear, while I was hard-pressed to get the two bozos moving faster. Shit like this didn't need this kinda procedure, god dammit.

After a minute I got tired of their antics and turned around.

"Now listen you two, we gotta move fast, alright? Like it or not we're on a time limit here, so either you two go do your own thing, or you stick on my ass and stay there until we get into trouble."

Alonzo shot his buddy a puzzled look. The other guy shrugged, as if to say "ah what the hell he's got a point" and the two of them formed up just behind me, matching my pace as I moved forward again.

What was ahead of us, we didn't know. But hopefully it wouldn't be too hard to fight.

After all, how difficult could a few zombies be when you had the benefit of hot lead?

Cicero part 1: Todd's story

“Bucket, you got eyes on the snatch-snatcher?” his radio buzzed. Todd held down the mic button before quietly replying.
“Eyes on the prize; wait for my command.”
Todd had seen snatchers before, dirty buggers, why did they have to go and steal the whores, why couldn’t they just leave them in the building. He had seen many snatchers before, some far too awful to recall, those who tied up their victims or murdered them in their basements, sadist pricks. These thoughts and others had raced through Todd Reddan’s mind that morning while he collected his equipment and necked down the last of his store of whisky in drunken preparation for his desperate, dark work. What he hadn’t expected was the incident unfolding through his magnified lens; or rather the lack of an incident; the snatcher and the whore were perched on the edge of a rooftop surveying the landscape. Todd opened his left eye keeping the right one pressed against the scope, and looked out over the myriad of rooftops that crowned the city like a giant intricate labyrinth. The setting sun covered the city’s crown in a layer of golden light which receded slowly with its descent through the sky; and the distant noises of life blurred into a background buzz making the entire scene reek of tranquility and calmness. It unnerved Todd, why would a snatcher come out here? Something’s gotta be wrong. From his vantage point in a small crevice a few rooftops back he could see and faintly hear the prostitute talk in rapid, smooth tones, her tongue rolling over each sound making an almost rhythmic and musical stream of words.
“Bucket, you gonna go for the lucky bucket ricochet or are you gonna just sit there gawping?” He heard an ugly snigger and a deep unintelligent laugh through the buzzing radio before he pressed the mic button down firmly.
“Snatcher’s facin’ forwards; get into position and wait for my command.”
Todd almost felt sorry for the thief, from his stature and height behind that huge cloak he only looked 17 or 18. A brown leather trench coat covered him from his neck to his feet, leaving no trace for any memorable clothing or racial features, he would be completely unrecognizable but for a black silk hood which covered his head. An odd marker and a sign of descent or wealth he was sure. Unfortunately in Todd’s line of work morality didn’t hold much importance; a mercenary’s values were killing, taking or protecting whoever or whatever the employer wanted. In this instance it was Marv Deign the owner of ‘Deign’s Divine Dicking’ a subtle name for a subtle man; it was their job to hunt down any of the clients who ran off with Mr. Deign’s whores and kill them.
While he didn’t care much for what the whore was saying he was a little unnerved by the quietness and wanted all the information he could get.
“Skeever what’s she sayin’.”
“Dunno Bucket, it’s some different language…wait a sec, Reggie says it’s Spanish.”
Throughout the entire incident Todd kept his eye on the snatcher, the first rule of sharpshooting he had ever been taught is always keep your eye on the target. Now he took a proper look over the thief in search of any weapons he could be hiding, however despite the huge trench coat he couldn’t see any signs of a weapon secreted into the folds of his cloak nor could he see any sort of defensive items in his lap. The kid was either really naïve or really clever, and Todd had no idea how it could be the second.
“Bucket let me pass you to Reggie he’s translating for you…” Todd placed the radio nearer to his ear in the pause that followed, while always keeping his eagle eye on the target.
When the radio buzzed into life again he caught Reggie in the middle of a sentence with his loud Latin voice booming through the speaker causing the startled Todd to remove it from his ear.
“…so special about rooftops? Are you just gonna sit there? I literally haven’t taken off one item of clothing? You really don’t say much for a vampire do you?”
The thief had just sat there unmoving and unresponsive to any of the whore’s questions until her last utterance when he turned his head towards her, inclining it to one side in silent question.
“Oh I knew, you’ve got ancient eyes, my mother told me that a person’s eyes are the windows to the soul…”
A sudden pause intercepted Reggie’s translation and the radio made indiscernible noises as it seemed to be passed between Reggie and Skeever. Suddenly Skeever shouted down the radio in immediate and hurried tones.
“Bucket! The kid’s a vampire!” Skeever had a habit of saying…no, shouting the obvious.
“We get loads of Vampiric kids everyday thinking that just from their newfound fangs they can get away with anything. We got a job to do, kill the fucker and get the girl.” Todd replied in a calm, resigned tone.
In an instant the girl was grabbed by the 6ft mountain of South American muscle the team liked to call Reggie; and the unmoving thief was held at gunpoint by a thin, lithe Skeever who hopped from foot to foot in excitement. Skeever placed the cap on the mic button with his left hand keeping Todd’s radio buzzing with live feed.
“Get up slowly and turn around to face me, you fuckin’ snatch-snatcher!” Skeever’s voice was sharp and cruel through the speaker and immediately afterwards the prostitute’s smooth tones intervened in fast and scared screams.
“POR FAVOR, POR FAVOUR, QUE NO ES MI CULPA, ME DIJO QUE LO SIGUIERA A CABO, NO ME MATES!” Tears streamed down her Spanish, tanned face; she looked only 18, young and beautiful, now turned into a frightening ghoul by the black running mascara shadowing her eyes and cheeks. Her captor turned to her calmly and spoke in a soft, mellow voice with the same fluid language.
“Y pense que nuestra relacion profunda sobreviviria nuestra terrible experiencia actual, gracias por su intento mas honorable para salvarme.”
“SHUT UP YOU SCUM! Now get on your knees.” Skeever replied in his insulting nasal voice.
The thief turned slowly towards his oppressor his face, a mask of little emotion, “Please leave me be gentlemen, I wish you no harm, I apologetically return to you the lady and I shall leave you.” He spoke in a sincere tone boring into Skeever’s eyes like they were a pair of rare jewels.
“No one’s goin’ anywhere, get on your knees!” Skeever shouted, his eyes flaring in anger at the man’s ignorance of his apparent danger.
“Please take this peaceful solution, do not harm this beautiful young lady and we will never cross paths again.” The Vampire implored with eyes, his body had not changed; with his arms firmly at his sides, only his tiny facial differences had to communicate the man’s emotions.
Rather than showing any sign of submission Skeever spat in the poor man’s face before telling him in a low, cruel voice.”How about you get on your knees and rather than shoot you, I’m gonna beat you to death. Then afterwards, me and my friend Reggie here, are gonna fuck your ‘lady’ bloody.”
Cold fury shaped the Vampire’s face instantly, his jaw clenched and his eyes portrayed a dark flame, like nothing Todd had ever seen. “Abrenuntias satanae et corpore et animo” He muttered, struggling visibly not to go into some blinding rage.
“What you calling for your mother?” Skeever said in a comical, mimicking manner.
“No I’m creating excuses.”
“What?” He called out bluntly with a gawping mouth filling the majority of his face.
“To inflict Inferno on your senses.” The man lashed out in the blink of an eye punching the skinny mercenary in the throat and leaving him writhing in pain on the ground, whimpering as his neck twitched.
“You fuckin’…Snatcher….I’m gonna claw your eyes out.” He sobbed, pointing at him accusingly, the gun he once held thrown across the rooftop.
“YOU SPEAK TO A LORD AMONGST MEN, DO NOT PRESUME POWER SCUM, YOU CANNOT TAKE POWER IT IS GIVEN TO THE WORTHY, LEAVE NOW OR FACE THE WRATH OF INFERNO.” The Vampire proclaimed his voice a low and deep utterance articulated in the most complete fashion.
“Oh, you’re a vampire lord... and I’m a harpy…everyone knows Vampire lords only reveal their true identity…to the dead.” Skeever gasped between twinges of pain.
Reggie stood there astonished, his arms had lost their titanic grip on the girl, but she stood their equally surprised; Todd on the other hand had watched the entire thing frozen in amazement and even now down the magnified lens the events unfolding seemed like some kind of twisted film rather than the truth.
The Vampire grabbed Skeever by the throat making him gurgle in pain at his throttling grip; he wriggled like a fish caught on a line. “You made a fatal mistake in that poor excuse of a sentence, you claim that you aren’t a dead man.” His face grew taut and pale in readiness for his next cruel act.
Bang. A loud cracking sound of a shot rebounded off the rooftops penetrating the scene’s calmness. In bracing himself for the shot Todd shut his eyes for a split second, in which he heard another shot and a body slump to the floor.
When he found the scene down his scope again; the white trail of his tracer round flew just over the Vampire’s shoulder, DAMN IT I MISSED WE’RE GONNA DIE! Todd’s heart started to race as he saw the slumped dead body of Reggie on the floor next to a whimpering prostitute. Skeever still struggled in the thief’s clutch, as he looked down in horror at his fallen teammate; in another instant his legs were torn off by a hooked arm that seemed to appear from nowhere. The ripped and shredded remains of his thighs started to flood the floor with blood as he tried to stand; he screamed out his lungs in horror and tried to run but only seemed to fall onto his belly into a puddle of his own blood. The grown man’s screams brought Todd to the present and his left hand started to fumble with the lock and load system to ready another shot for the rifle. His hands didn’t seem his own as he tried to complete a simple action of cocking the rifle but he couldn’t push the bolt back in. Keep your eye on the target, Todd told himself as he watched the vampire slowly bend over to whisper in Skeever’s ear. Muffled by the blood pooling around Skeever’s body, the radio only just picked up the Vampire’s farewell. “Fly little harpy, fly…”

It didn’t take long after the lights went out for the city to fall into chaos. What little illusion of a structured society that had existed beforehand was snuffed out with the electricity, and armies of the once powerless were storming the streets. The previously ever-present divide between wealthy and poor quickly became a distant memory, as houses were pillaged, shops were looted, and blood ran through the gutters like rain water.

Maddie had been strolling leisurely down the street when she’d caught sight of the small gaggle of girls in their fishnets and black miniskirts, with their roughed up hair and racoon eyes. She’d tailed them back through the darkness, and now what was left of their group were hogtied on the cold kitchen floor.

“P-please, we don’t have any money.” Sobbed the blonde one, eyeliner running down her tanned cheek, her ginger friend tightly clutching her arm.

“Not so cocksure anymore, are we, buttercup?” Maddie sneered with a sharp laugh “and trust me; you’ve got the only currency I need.”

She pressed her hand firmly against the blonde’s neck, causing her to yelp slightly, before tilting her head sideways, and then sinking her long needle-like fangs into the young woman’s sweet bronze flesh. Someone screamed, but the world had drifted away and become an ethereal shard at the back of Madeline’s subconscious. Blood, sweet and red and hot, poured into her mouth, swelling inside her, filling an insatiable hunger. She was a little girl in the cramped flat in Liverpool, pulling the legs off of spiders, then she was walking across the moors, strolling side by side with Doctor Blackwood, and then she was breaking free from her bonds and darting through the night with Archibald, the hunt seeping into every cell in her body, stirring the beast from its slumber.

A sharp jolt tore her away from her gorgeous nightmare, and then she was tumbling across the kitchen floor, dazed and confused. Her eyes cleared and blood was dripping out of her open mouth, her face contorted in an inhuman snarl.

A dark figure now stood between her and her prey, his lithe form clad in a huge brown trench coat, a dark silk hood obscuring his features.

“Please don’t let her hurt us-“one of the girl’s was squealing, then the figure politely gestured for silence. It was a calm, soft gesture, which would have been unassuming in a lesser-man, but held power in his nimble fingers.

Maddie hissed, and their eyes met. Her marron glare was the swing of the machete’s blade, the roar of the oncoming hurricane, the sweet scent of fresh blood billowing on the wind, and the purring of the vengeful night-horror’s that lurk beneath the beds of children and adults alike. His murky green stare was the thundering of hooves on pagan soil, the clash of dancing steel in sweltering sunlight, and the mourning of a love so ancient it predated Santa Somabra itself. There was an icy sadness in those fog-like eyes, but then there was grim determination, a zealous code of honour, and a brazen chivalry that Madeline Hollinghurst had long since thought dead in this world.

“Leave them be,” he bid her in a voice that was soft yet firm “there’s enough darkness in this city, what with all these lights off.”

Maddie gently guided one claw-like fingernail over her wrist, an autistic tick drifting in from a life she had given up decades ago. “Not scared of the dark are we?” she cooed “Although I suppose in this city, you’d be stupid not be.”

The figure looked her over, and there was a glimmer of sympathy in those murky green eyes “Of all the things to fear, darkness holds the most merit.”

A sharp grin spread across Maddie’s face, stretching to the edges of her likeness “That’s subjective. There’s no certainty that darkness will drink your soul, whereas I’ve made an art form of mutilation.”

One of the girl’s whimpered quietly, and Maddie suddenly became aware that she still had blood dripping off of her sharp pale fangs.

The figure softly clasped his hands together, his long trench coat rustling slightly. “I’d welcome it if death could bare my weight.” When he spoke he had the voice of a soldier.

The beast’s long dark wings fluttered from within Maddie’s stomach, and she felt the hunger growling inside her. “You’d be surprised how much a reaper’s scythe can hold,” she said with a little wayward giggle “Why don’t you hop on and find out?”

“I’d commend you achievement, but with my departure to infierno so too would depart your only chance at finding Señor Treviño.” The figure stated plainly.

Diego Treviño

A tide of thoughts flooded through Madeline’s brain, surging through her synapses. Ally.Friend?.Traitor.Cunt.Prey.

“For your sake, you’d best not be lying to me,” she said darkly “You’ll not have the opportunity to make the same mistake twice.”

Her mind was humming loudly in her ears, and the shadows of her subconscious began to tick away like the flick of a knife.

“Lying is free and fluid. Like Señor Treviño’s location if you prove to be untrustworthy.” He replied boldly.

“How about I peel back your mind and see what tasty little secrets are scuttling around in there?” her voice cracked like a barbed whip, lashing out across the kitchen.

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” He didn’t blink or shift his weight about, and simply stood between Maddie and her prey, his face an emotionless, statue-like mask.

“This had better be worth it,” Maddie hissed “I was so looking forwards to draining these one's dry."

The trapdoor banged open, releasing a cloud of dust as two figures emerged from the dark passageway that had brought them here. In a city like Santa Somabra, there was always more to the streets than meets the eye. A web of underground tunnels could be found all across the city. Some lay untouched for decades, forgotten with time, while others were frequently used by individuals who were… uncomfortable in plain sight. This particular passage had brought them to a seemingly nondescript shed. It was an old wooden shack which appeared to contain nothing more than a few crates, assorted tools, and un ungodly amount of dust.

Max and Vigil moved to the door, stepping silently onto the overgrown grass that covered the church grounds. It was late. The moon above cast an eerie light on the scene. With rising tensions among gangs and the delicate matter of investigating strange murders, the two had made sure their arrival would be unseen. In this city, it was impossible to tell who might be watching, and who one wouldn’t want watching too closely. It was this reason that had led the pair to treading through a damp tunnel in the dead of night.


“Welcome to Our Lady Somabra,” Max said, her voice breaking the heavy silence of the place.





The church was large, a traditional gothic construction, with tall spires reaching up into the night sky. The building was old, in places the elaborate stone work had begun to crumble. Thick bunches of ivy climbed the walls, the same kind that covered the curling wrought iron of the tall, rusted fence that encircled the church grounds. The high arched windows of the building were completely dark. There was no movement in the area, save the two who had just arrived.

“There’s an old groundskeeper that lives in a little cottage on the other side of the grounds,” Max said to Vigil, her eyes on the intimidating structure before them. “He’ll be asleep by now, and he’s deaf as a post, which is good, considering that he’s a bit trigger-happy with his shotgun,” she informed him. “There shouldn’t be anyone else here. And the lock on the back door over there is easy to pick,” the woman added, pointing in the direction of her suggested entrance.


Quietly listening as she explained everything like it was the back of her hand, a bit all too farmiliar, when she was done, a low voice chimed in "...you," Vigil furrowed his brow suspiciously at Max. "...aren't just any bartender, are you?"
Max rolled her eyes, smirking slightly. "Whatever do you mean," she asked dryly. "This kind of information is all very pertinent to owning a bar and mixing drinks."

"Right." Vigil cranked out a wry expression.
"Here, take this." From a satchel that hung on his belt, something he did not usually wear, he retrieved a small crystalline flask - a tiny wooden cross hung suspended by the stopper in a clear, gassy liquid. Vigil pushed it towards her. "For your protection."

"...Thanks," Max replied, holding the flask gingerly between two fingers. She put the small bottle in an inner pocket of her jacket, frowning ever so slightly. "So," she said, brushing off a bit of dust before heading towards the building. "What is it exactly that you expect to find in here?"


"Clues,"

He looked around the corner for a moment then started making haste towards the side of the church, stopping when they heard a rustle before continuing. When they reached the door, he put one knee to the ground and started working on the lock with two thin metal prongs.
"Bodies ...Bloodstains. Maybe a damsel in distress?" He apparently joked. Perhaps he seemed in a lightter mood than yesterday despite, by the looks of his dull eyes and unshaven jaw, clearly not having slept at all.

He paused halfway, glancing up to the moon behind her then at her, "...I don't know." He muttered then shrugged. "But our informant had no reason to lie." Letting out a bit of a grunt, he clenched his hand tightly around the handle for a moment ...but nothing happened, so the man stood up and courteously gestured at the doorknob which still had the picks awkwardly sticking out of them.

Max moved to the door with a sigh, crouching down to try and open the door. The lock was old and unused, covered with rust. She was at it for only a minute before the pick snapped in half. Muttering a curse, she stepped back. "You, sir," she said without turning her head, "need some better picks."

He looked at the door somewhat disgruntledly, "...I don't really do this often." Vigil lied through his teeth. He looked around once more, making sure they were alone. "Excuse me." He said, before wrapping his hand on the doorknob once more. WIth a grimace, he forcefully twisted it and the lock started buckling, in a few moments - it was twisted right out of it's socket. Carefully, he caught the brass bits that almost fell to the floor with his other hand, and not a moment too soon later, the door creaked open.

"...after you."

Max raised an eyebrow at the twisted remains of the doorknob. "Subtle," she said, before stepping through the entrance and into the dark interior of the church.



--------------------------------------------------------




They had come into one of the back rooms. It was mostly bare, with a few pieces of dusty furniture and an old lamp with a torn shade. "The chancel is right through that door, I assume that's where you'd want to start?" Vigil somewhat nodded.

Max crossed the room ahead of him, opening the small door that lead out into the main area of the church. She took a moment to take in the building's interior. The long room was filled with row upon row of empty wooden pews, spaced periodically by stone columns that reached the tall ceiling in swooping arches. To their right lay the chancel, containing a large altar covered with a fine dark cloth. It was something behind the altar that captured Max's attention, however, and she moved toward it.

Spanning a large portion of the wall was an elaborate window, done in stained glass. In the darkness of the space, it was just barely illuminated by the light of the moon. The window portrayed a woman with striking blue eyes, her arms outstretched as if to welcome an embrace.

"Saint Somabra herself," Max said quietly, unnerved by the somewhat eerie figure.
"Hmm."

He acknowledged her words though when she turned to look around at the rest of the room, there Vigil was, already lifting the cloth that covered the altar and rummaging through it, an act that was slightly sacrilegious what with the Saint's image bearing down on them. It seemed like a solid marble table, not unlike many other altars, his curious hands pried every nook and cranny almost knowingly and soon found a set of rings embedded in the back of the stonework. Giving the topmost rung tug, a heavy drawer slid out. Inside it were documents haphazardly strewn about. He fished out a few and leaned back on the windowsill - where moonlight shone through. They mostly mostly comprised of hymns and schedules of the church's days at first glance. Nothing about ritual murders or kidnaps yet. Quite disappointing.

"...maybe there's a riddle in these too..." He muttered to himself, not one to forgo possibilities.

When he reached back in to take out more, his hand touched something cold and hard, quite unlike paper. His fingers managed to clamour around it before it could slide deeper back into the recess where his hand would not fit, "Something." He muttered before pulling out the object. Max glanced over at him upon hearing this quiet exclamation. A corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked grin as she saw what he had pulled out of the seemingly hidden drawer.


A Revolver.


Highly polished and well maintained, it was an old chambered device reminiscent of simpler times long past. "What is this doi--tsk" He winced, perhaps accidently nicking himself on one of it's sharper edges. Immediately, he put the gun down on the counter and pressed his fingers together to numb the pain. "--doing here?"


“A gun?” she asked, before shaking her head. “Only in this damn city would you find a gun hidden in a church altar.” She moved closer, picking the weapon up. “Ooh,” she said. “This is actually pretty decent.” She pushed the weapon is his direction. “You should keep it, unless you have something better on you already,” she remarked.

"I-I'll manage." He looked at the revolver. "You want it?" He asked her without qualms or hesitation, packing the papers back into the drawer.

Max looked at him, slightly bemused, before quickly giving it a closer look. “No thanks,” she said, setting it back in the drawer. “It’s only got a couple of bullets in it, and while that does beg the question of who’s using up bullets in a church, mine’s nicer anyways.” She stepped around the altar, heading further into the nave to look around.

"So you have a gun." Why was he even surprised?

"Of course I have a gun," she retorted over her shoulder. "I run a bar in Santa Somabra."

"Right." He put the cloth back over the altar and smoothed it out like it had never been disturbed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------


Over the course of the next half an hour they searched the hallways and rooms, occasionally finding some odd features and a few slightly artistic yet disturbing statuettes - hinting at Somabra's peculiar taste in architecture but otherwise was uneventful.


Eventually, running out of places to look, Vigil found himself standing back over the altar, browsing through the papers they found once more. This time aided by the fiery glow of an open lighter held high, in case he missed out on something important within the darkness earlier.

Meanwhile, Max wandered through the church pews, running her fingers absentmindedly along the polished edges. She came to the side of the room, and walked over to one of the many stained glass windows that lined the building. She could just barely make out what lay on the other side of the colored glass.

“Vigil,” she called out. “How would you like to take a nice moonlit stroll through the graveyard? Perhaps the dead have some answers.”

His ears perked, stopping what he was doing and looking up to nowhere with a sense of slight bewilderment. A stroll? "Very." In a graveyard? "Romantic." He amused absent-minded sacarsm, though wondering if she had meant speaking to the dead in hindsight.

But after a moment’s thought, he decided he should see what she truly meant, packing things back in their place, he made his way to her. "..."

"...Well I'll be." He remarked quietly when he got there.



Through the fog, she was looking at numerous mossy headstones tightly cloistered between the the tall outer walls and the thick foliage surrounding the cathedral itself. Nestled in the corner and only seen through a lone bare tree, had they not stood at this angle, such a place would have easily gone unnoticed by prying eyes.

"Let's go explore a bit, shall we?" Max said with a smile before heading toward the small door that would most likely lead them into the promising new area.

I

Despite the anarchy that was spreading across the city, some swathes of Santa Somabra managed to remain untouched by the ensuing chaos. The Nyctari were quick to learn from the riots, and there was soon a practical army of enforcers guarding the families main source of income.

Cicero and Maddie made their way warily through the red light district, making sure to keep their possessions tight on their person. Squat, ugly-looking buildings ran along either side of the grimy street, with scantily clad sex workers calling down to passers-by from balconies high up above, and leaning across brick walls in small packs.

The district was buzzing with all manner of noises, as people scuttled back and forth, seeking out whatever perversion took their fancy. The street was swarming with life, like an anthill on a summer’s day, and a variety of stenches wafted through on the cool midnight breeze, none of which bared much thinking about.

The pair’s destination was the most grandiose building on the street; with great purple pillars out-front, and extravagant silk curtains hanging in the clear glass windows.

A tight cluster of women in form-hugging miniskirts and tube tops stood in the way of the ornate wooden doors, one of whom called out to Cicero as he and Maddie walked over.

“You look like a right creepy fucker,” she snorted, looking the man’s dark silk hood and brown trench coat up and down “I can do the weird shit, but it’ll cost you.” She shot them both a gap-toothed grin, and her friends laughed along.

“How much would it cost for me to get to use my favourite little toy on you?” Maddie chirped, as she strode right up to the group. The working girl looked slightly taken aback, and the smug grin on her face faded completely when Maddie gently pushed back her red blazer, revealing the harpy knife she wore on her hip.

One of the group hissed something in Italian, but they begrudgingly moved apart; Cicero and Maddie striding right through them and into the building. Maddie paused for a moment as she past the working girl, giving her bronze cheeks a firm squeeze, before catching back up with Cicero.

The interior of the establishment had been done up like an old Western saloon, with smooth wooden tables dotted about the place, a winding staircase leading to the bedrooms above, and a long bar at the farthest end of the room. Squeals and screams of all sort drifted in from the bedrooms on the upper level, and a lone barkeeper stood watch behind the counter.

“What’s your poison?” The barkeeper called out as the pair made their way over. He was a huge man in a white wife beater that hugged his bulging gut, and a slick purple dragon tattoo covered the left side of his face.

“What would Señor recommend?” Cicero asked in his calm, smooth voice. He paused, hovering over the bar, before softly rapping his knuckles three times on the polished counter.

A wicked smirk spread across the barkeeper’s pudgy face “I think I’ve got just the thing.”

The large man led Cicero and Maddie over to a huge vending machine, with a clear glass window and gleaming steel frame, before hitting 666 on the number pad. A deep groan rung out from inside the machine, like the dying grunt of a wounded animal, promptly followed by the sound of whirring gears. Slowly, the vending machine shifted sideways, revealing an empty doorway in the side of the wall, which led to a downwards winding black steel staircase.

“Rad.” Said Maddie.

“I think you’ll find the range we have available to be to your liking.” The Barkeeper shouted after them in a voice that was dripping with sleazy intentions, as the vending machine slid back into black behind them.

There was a short walk down the staircase, with the metal steps clanging beneath their feet, before the pair arrived in a claustrophobic little room with tacky brick walls and three enormous steel doors that looked as those they belonged in an asylum. A vampire dressed in a crisp black suit, with a dark purple tie, stood at the centre of the room, his powerful arms folded closely across his muscular chest.

“Room 1 is currently in use-“he was beginning to say, before he was suddenly cut off as Maddie shot forwards and clasped his throat in a death-like grip. Maddie had always relied on agility to win her fights, in life and in death, and she was fast even by vampric standards, giving her the opportunity to sink her bestial nails into the guard’s throat and rip it straight out of his neck, at a speed almost too rapid for the eye to register. A fountain of dark red spilt forth from the vampire’s neck, and hot blood bubbles frothed in his open mouth as he stumbled forwards, choking and gagging. The guard’s body swayed limply back and forth, before Maddie placed one hand on either side of his head and twisted it with a sudden sharp and fierce movement, snapping his neck. The vampire’s body crumpled and collapsed on the ground, blood pooling out across the warm stone floor.

Cicero bent down, carefully guiding his hand through the corpse’s breast pocket, before removing a long silver key. The dark figure slid the key into the first great steel door; opening it to reveal a lean decaying man who had a small blonde girl pushed up against a white china sink.

“The bloody fuck are you cocksuckers playing at?!” He hissed as the pair stepped inside the room, turning to face them as he released his grip on the little girl. “I’ve got the room for another two hours yet, piss off!” As he spoke his slender brown tongue visibly flapped back and forth inside his mouth, which was exposed through one rotting cheek.

“Sharing is caring.” Maddie said sweetly, before darting towards the undead figure and scooping him up off of the floor, slamming him into the wall with such force a sickly crack rang out through the soundproofed cell. The figure fell to the floor, the air knocked out of him, whilst Cicero calmly guided the horrified young girl out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving Maddie to her prey.

“You’re sloppy,” she giggled at the corpse-man who lay sprawled across the floor “You should know better than to visit the same kiddie dungeon more than once in such a short space of time.”

“Get fucked, you crazy bitch.” Snarled the corpse man “There’s nothing you can do to me that’ll make me talk. I can’t feel pain.”

“Perhaps not in the conventional sense,” Maddie pondered with one finger placed delicately on the corner of her lip “but everyone can feel pain. You just need to find the right spot to poke, or the right nerve to yank on with searing tongs.” She grabbed hold of the corpse man’s lower jaw, before slamming his head back into the wall.

He laughed through her fingers “You’re just not getting this are you?”

“Oh, that was more for me.” She admitted with a sly smirk.

“But it’s like I said,” she cooed icily “You’re sloppy. You leave trails for people to follow, patterns that can be picked up on. Always little blonde girls, always roughly the same age, always the floaty pink dress with the white bow. It wasn’t hard to trace it back to the real deal.”

“Abigale…” wheezed the corpse man, wide eyed and shaking.

“You’re one sick little puppy.” Maddie cackled, snorting slightly “And now my boys have got your itsy bitsy niece all tied up and ready to cook. What is it you like about her, anyway?”

“Sweet little things…” mumbled the corpse man, gazing off into nothingness

“Eurgh, whatever. Now start talking, or your squeeze ends up in bite-sized pieces all over Santa Somabra.”

“Diego will kill me if he finds out I squealed.” The corpse man spoke in a quiet voice.

“Which is worth more to you; your life or your blonde-haired cunt?” Maddie sniggered.

“Get it over with, then.”

“Where is Treviño hiding?” snarled Madeline

“A boat, it moves around so he’s never in one place long.”

“Called?”

“He never keeps the same name for more than a couple weeks,” The corpse man said with a loose shrug “last time I was on board it was The Baron’s Gambit, but there’s no way it’s sailing under that name now.”

“You better tell me something useful, or my boys are going to start taking chunks out of baby Abigale’s hide.” Maddie said with a dark frown.

“He’s got his own sweet vice,” The corpse man said, laughing without humour “I guess the dead want so –fuckin’- badly to cling on to little sprinkles of our past lives. There’s this broad he can’t stay away from for more than a fortnight. They get up to all sorts of naughty things in this little house up in the hills. Only us real high up Rotfaces know about her.”

“What’s so special about her?”

“I’ve never met the dame myself. Just did a drop off to the house this one time. If I give you the address, will you let Abigale go?”

“Brownie’s honour.” Maddie said with a twisted grin.



“Where’d you disappear off to?” Madeline Hollinghurst asked Cicero as they strolled down a blacked-out street. "You missed all of the fun.”

“I had some purchases to make.” Cicero said plainly.

“Not little girls, I hope.” Maddie smirked.

“Not little girls.” Cicero replied, the hint of a smile flashing across one corner of his mouth.

“Now we know where Treviño’s been this whole time, I’m guessing you’ll want in on the action?”

Cicero stopped in his tracks, turning to look Maddie in the eye.

“We’ll have to drop this, for now. We’ve just ruffled the feathers of two of the deadliest predators in Santa Somabra.”

“For fuck’s sake…” fumed Madeline, colour rushing to her necrotic cheeks.

“We’ve threatened the security of one of the Nycatri’s establishments, and we can’t risk them catching wind of that. I play a delicate game, one that I cannot allow to be threatened by drawing unnecessary suspicion to my person. Equally, the full wrath of the Nyctari family could pose a serious threat to you and your Reapers. The wisest course of action would be to go our separate ways, and reconvene some nights from now.”

“Fine.” Maddie managed, her fists clenched.

“I’ll be in contact.” Cicero promised, slipping away into the shadows.

“Later, fuckboy.”

When you spend just half an hour with someone, you can learn a lot just by watching the blood slowly drain from their body.

Of these two dead cops, I could see one had been shot a few more times in the chest. He probably died first. Donny, the poor kid, was too disgusted to even sift through their pockets, so I did it for both of us. It was while I was wiping the crimson rain away from the guys wallet that the power went out. For a moment, I thought it was just stumbling under all this rain but it never turned back on. I could hear Donny groan loudly as he crawled into the front of the abandoned cop car. I joined him, pocketing the wallets of my new, blood-soaked friends on the ground.

It was so dark, I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face or Donny, seated beside me.

He was fumbling with the radio in the darkness while rain pattered on the windscreen. I wasn't surprised when his calls were answered with static. "Fuck. We're on our own, Arman" growled Donny, after giving the radio an angry thump. I only shrugged and started to light another soggy cigarette. "We're gonna wait around here for back-up. They know we're here" I finally answered, the cigarette clenched between my teeth. The damn thing wouldn't light, no matter how long I kept it up to the flame.

Donny sighed loudly again and stared into the inky blackness outside his window. "Well, what the hell are we doin' know, huh, Arman? Standin' around, waitin' for back-up that won't come? Any ol' scum off the streets could stumble down here with a shooter and fill us with lead!" whined Donny. "Jesus Christ, Donny, would you shut the hell up?" I snapped, concentrating on my cigarette. The damn thing wasn't just soggy - it was soaking. The pounding in my head, which seem to have subsided, was starting come back with this dumb kid's yapping. "I told ya, we're gonna wait here for back-up. No one is crazy enough to attack an abandoned pair of cops in the middle of a freakin' black out! Now, just calm down and gimme a smoke that'll actually light!" I told him, good and straight, clutching my temple in pain.

Donny and I had been working together for 6 months by that time - I kinda liked the kid but god, he really knew how to tap dance on my nerves. I have to admit, at the time, I was kinda nervous too. I knew in this climate we weren't looking at back-up for another couple of hours. But in my hung-over state, I was more content to just waiting around in a warm, dry car than go driving around Santa Somabra with Donny in pitch-darkness.

"No cell signal" murmured Donny again, checking his phone as I finally got a smoke lit properly. We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the hum of the rain. It could of been 10 minutes - it could of been an hour. Whatever it was, it was long enough to start noticing things out there other than rain. The occasional patter of feet on wet sidewalk, the hums of the dead street lamps and the occasional howl in the distance. Donny
got put on the edge when he started hearing howls.

He always hated werewolves. Well, which officer of the SSPD didn't?

"You don't think they're sendin' a huntin' pack in, d'ya?!" he whispered in the darkness, wildly fidgeting in his seat. He was searching for the cool feel of a gun in his hand. It made everyone feel safer. I was starting to get pretty scared at that point - I could handle orcs or zombies. But werewolves? Dirty, horrible fuckin' beasts. But I was the older half of the partnership - I had to keep the kid calm.

"You gotta gun with ya?" I replied, extinguishing the end of my third cigarette with my cold, damp fingers. "Nope! I left in the other goddamned car!" he said, his voice rising from fear. "Relax, kid. They might not even come this way. Besides, what kind of a cop car doesn't have guns in it?" To prove my point, I pulled open the glove compartment.

And a fucking hand fell out.

We both jumped out of skins as this fucking hand flopped to floor of the car. Donny was first out the car and I was moments behind him, jumping around in the rain, fearing this disembodied hand was still on me. "Jesus fuckin' Christ!" cried Donny. "What the fuck is goin' on in this town?" "I dunno, kid!" I exclaimed back at him, unsure what the fuck had just happened. We both stuck our heads in the car again and by the light of my Zippo, we saw the hand. It lay motionless where my feet had been moments before. It was slick with blood and rain. It looked like it'd been put there kinda recently, as rot hadn't begun setting in. It at least looked human but that usually didn't mean jackshit in Santa Somabra.

"What the hell..." murmured Donny. "Why do a pair of cops have a hand in their glove compartment?" Before I could make any clever jokes, we heard a noise within the car. A groan. "Jesus Christ" I grumbled, pulling my head out the car and staring at the boot. Donny did the same, his hands nervously patting his pockets for a gun. "Right, kid, these cops were crooked. No straight cop has a hand in the glove compartment and groans in his trunk. My guess is, they picked up a guy for some mobster and got into some trouble while waiting around here. Go grab a gun from your car, I'll be here".

Donny did as he was told without question. The rain was subsiding a bit and I could still hear the occasional howl. But it was getting further away. The silence was broken again by a loud groan from the trunk of the cop car. There was a light banging on the roof of the trunk, as if the person inside was asking to be let out. Donny returned, flashing his gun in the darkness towards Arman. Arman nodded and the pair walked towards the trunk, boots sloshing in the wet sidewalk.

Arman pulled a powerful torch from his pocket and did a silent countdown with his fingers as Donny clicked the safety of his gun. The trunk door was lifted quickly and Arman's torch illuminated the entire trunk. The smell of sweat, dampness and death wafted out of the trunk as the zombie within blinked in the light of the powerful torch. "Get outta the fuckin' car!" barked Donny, flicking his gun. The zombie groaned and touched its face groggily. "Where are we..." it murmured. "Get outta the car!" repeated Donny.

This was one of the stranger zombies I'd ever seen. Parts of body possessed the usual Zombie characteristics - brown rotten flesh, eyes hanging out of its head, clumps of hair gone. But part's it looked unnaturally human. The skin around his neck and bottom of its face was pink, almost human-like. At least it was sentient.

The zombie seemed to notice the gun and held both hands up. "Don't shoot, please" it pleaded, seeming to wake up. "Get out!" repeated Donny for the third time. "Okay, okay" he murmured, stepping out of the car and towering above us. I noticed what he was wearing - a raggedy looking suit, with a moth-bitten jacket and a tie covered in burn marks. But it was his hands that confused me - one looked almost perfectly human, while the other...it wasn't there.

"Sweet jesus..." I murmured as Donny handcuffed it's wrists together. Donny said the usual arrest speech as I checked his pockets. The zombie didn't say anything or even move. He was twice the size of both of us but he was also skeletally thin - his clothes just seemed to hang off of him. His pockets were empty. As Donny bundled him into the back seat of the cop car, I couldn't stop thinking about his hand. "Hey, Donny" I grabbed the kid by the shoulder. "Did'ya see his hands?" Donny nodded. "Weirdest lookin' zombie I've ever seen. You think that's his hand in the front seat?" "Probably" I replied.

"What the hell do we do now?" asked Donny before he jumped into the front seat. "We've got two dead cops, a dead guy under arrest and no godda-" His rant was interrupted by an ear-splitting howl from above. It sent chills down my spine as I squinted towards the sound of it in the darkness. It was the night of the wolf. We'd forgotten about those howls for only five minutes but that was a costly five minutes.

First rule of being a cop in SSPD: Don't ignore the howls and hope they'll go away. 'Cause they won't.

"Donny. We're going to get in this car and we're going to drive away as fast as fucking possible, making as little noise as fucking possible, you got it?" I muttered in the darkness. I didn't see or hear his reply but I saw him dive into the front seat of his car, locking it as soon as I took my place beside him. I glanced behind me to see the zombie looking calmly out the window.

"This yours, pal?" I asked, holding up the hand. "Oh, so that's where that went" sneered the zombie. "Well, you'd better strap in, you sarkly little dirt-eater" I smirked back. As soon as my seatbelt clicked, Donny floored it and we pulled away from the street.

The cops had left their radio on and their keys in the ignition.

They'd broken rule two.

The earth felt uncomfortably warm under their feet.



Mist roiled over the mossy neglected tombstones, illuminated by faint starlight, giving it a strange semblance of life as it snaked through the graves. Fog skirted away where they trod, following ever so closely behind their heels. The occasional scampering of an indiscernible something at the edge would rouse it, but only to disappear just as quickly, smothered out in the mist ...like it sated a hunger.

In the far middle of the loamy yard stood a decrepit stone piece, a statue of two women under a gazebo. One cradled her own arms, with nothing on them and the other held them covering her eyes, no one could see her expression for the weather had already taken it’s toll on her face. As they wandered further into the yard, they could smell the faint scent of decomposition lingering in the stale air, of compost, rotting wood and something else.

Max and Vigil walked towards the statues in silence, the only sound the quiet padding of their feet on overgrown grass. As they approached, they could see the stone covering of a single grave, lying between the two women. It was a raised slab, reminiscent of a sarcophagus, with cracks running through the stone.

Max knelt in front of the grave, running her fingers along faded script etched into the side of the stone. “Tellus dormit,” she said quietly. “The kingdom sleeps."

Vigil hunched down to examine it, recognizing the carved words from a tome on rites. “Tis' a dirge to appease the restless. In mass-graves.” He explained and looked around counting the headstones, it barely seemed a town - much less a kingdom. Then he took a step forward to the cover without any procrastination, "Odd.” He mused and started looking for a corner to pry the burial open with. Max stepped back to watch him curiously. Eventually his fingers hooked onto a deep groove.

“Might want to cover your nose.” He warned then with a grunt and a pull, the heavy stone slab slid ever so slightly open. Though strangely, nothing too foul was seen. In fact, it was complete darkness inside. He tugged harder and this time the cover fell off to the side with a good bit of noise.

“Really?” she asked him, clearly amused, before stepping forward to look down into the grave. “Well,” she said. “The plot thickens.” There was a complete lack of any body at all, and instead beneath the surface of the graveyard lie a set of stone stairs, descending into utter darkness. “Ready for a descent into hell?” she asked him with a grin. Vigil stood over and took a look for himself.

“Well, aren’t you reassuring.” The man chided. “Torch?”

She gave a short laugh. “Nope. I don’t suppose you have one then?”

“Lighter, ...but might have methane gas down there.” He remarked.

“Well if you start to get a headache and or suffocate, we’ll know. Now then,” Vigil frowned ever so slightly, she continued, “onward?” She stepped gingerly over the edge of the tomb and began to walk down the first few steps, seemingly unperturbed by the increasing darkness. He followed behind, his vision quickly being of no help as he learnt to take each step carefully. Vigil could see Max’s silhouette leading the way, barely, and let that be his guide. “Maybe I should walk in front?” He soon asked, feeling obliged. Though completely aware of how blind he was.

“It’s fine,” she replied blandly. “I happen to have uncommonly good night vision anyways. I’ll make sure we don’t stumble into an abyss.” One could almost hear the smirk in her voice. Vigil just kept silent.

----------------------------------------------------

The stairs continued for longer than one might expect, spiraling further and further down as the opening behind them disappeared from view completely. Eventually the steps came to an end as the two found themselves once more on level ground.

Suddenly, Max felt a tap on her shoulder, turning around she saw Vigil pressing a gentle finger to his lips. He mouthed something at her then pointed at his ear. The both of them stopped in their tracks to listen, and for a moment all was silent ...- till they noticed the soft, barely audible gurgling of something wet.

Max looked around her, noticing a faint blue glow that seemed to be coming from in front of them. It just barely illuminated the small room they appeared to be in, hinting at something further ahead. Max glanced back at Vigil, jerking her head forward to signify that they should continue. She could feel something… wrong about the situation, but she wasn’t about to stop now.

The two quietly moved forward, their steps silent as they passed under an arched stone doorway.

As they delved further into the abyss, the gurgling became ever more obvious and the faint blue lights showed themselves as veins of eerie glowing substance that clung to the walls. Moss, it would seem, polka dotting the interior of the cavernous place. But it was still not enough for him to see. Vigil sniffed the air thoughtfully then after a moment, he picked out his lighter. Max, seeing his intention, put a hand out to stop him, but it was too late, and with a flick the room was bathed in a warm orange glow.

“Fuck,” Max muttered, as the scene ahead became all too clear, as did the fact that they were not alone in the ground. Before them were four of the most grotesque creatures either of the two had seen spread throughout the long room they had just entered. They were the color of old bone and flecked with spots of dried blood, an abhorrent combination of arachnid and human, elongated bodies of partially decayed corpses with spiders’ abdomens suspended by several long, thin legs that ended in sharp points. If the repulsive creatures had not known of their presence beforehand, it was obvious that they became aware as light flooded into the room, human heads with groups of clustered eyes turning to them as one let out a high pitched shriek, exposing rows of long fangs in the process.

Vigil stumbled backwards almost tripping, taken aghast by what he saw as his mind raced, but he held on to his lighter tightly - much rather being able to see any horror than hide from it. Max immediately went for her gun, backing up as she did so.

For a moment everything seemed to freeze, and then the spider closest to them darted forward with unsettling speed. Vigil on his instinct stepped between her and the abomination, bracing himself but another shadow leapt out from the darkness at him. Eyes widening, Max raised her weapon, pulling the trigger. The sound of the gunshot rang through the room, followed by an inhuman scream as the spider was hit in one of its eyes, leaving a stream of blood to roll down its face and causing it to momentarily halt in its tracks.

“-rrggh!” Vigil slid backwards across the floor from the tremendous force that hit him, he managed to remain standing after raising his arms to block it, but dropping his only source of light in the event. As the flame flickered it’s last dying breath, Vigil’s face was seen twisted into a snarl just as the thing readied to charge him once more. Then the light went out and the clink of metal was heard, followed by the glint of something silver deftly cutting across the air. The creature’s wretched gurgle followed.

Max cursed loudly as the first spider recovered and scuttled towards her once more. With another pull of the trigger it fell to the ground, spasming. She saw another surge forward despite the darkness and squeezed out another shot, constantly moving backward as she hit the creature in its abdomen. “Vigil,” she shouted urgently , her voice still mostly steady. “We should probably get out of here, don’t you think?”

“Let's g---ARRRGH!” Vigil’s knife clattered to the floor as he felt a sharp jabbing pain pierce into his ribs, his hand instinctively grabbed the offender and tried to push it off, but the sudden shock was too much to bear. He could feel his breath escaping him as he watched a chittering figure bob in front of him, feeling every agonizing reverberation in his bones while being pinned to the wall. Finding himself running out of options, he grit his teeth and struggled to reach out to the satchel by his belt , grabbing the first thing he could find - something of glass - then with all his remaining strength, violently smash it into what he thought was the horror’s face. Moments later, He could hear faint sizzling and a roar, then what ever held him had pulled free while his body slumped back against the wall. But unfortunately, there was now something warm trickling down his left side.

Max turned her head sharply at Vigil’s cry, momentarily forgetting thee creature in front of her. Though injured severely, the monster used the opportunity to rush her. By the time she turned back to face it it was too late to fire her weapon, and the creature crashed into her, throwing her back against the ground as it attacked her savagely with it legs. With a grunt she kicked out, getting the wretched thing off before she scrambled to her feet, ignoring her new wounds before finishing the spider off with two shots in rapid succession. She kicked the body aside before turning once more to Vigil. There was still one creature in front of him, and Max quickly aimed before shooting it directly in the head, watching with grim satisfaction as it crumpled to the stone floor.

“Much …….-appreci...appreciated.” Vigil forced his words out at Max as his opponent fell dead again, he clawed at the wall as he struggled to stand, leaving deep marks in it’s surface - trying hard not to let his mind wander too much about his condition. Long as he could walk out of here, that is all he needed. ...But then he soon felt a strange yet familiar cracking sensation within his chest, clutching it he fell back down with a thud and hurriedly ransacked his pockets for a small blue vial -which he uncorked and gulped down the foul bitter elixir within.

Max looked down at him, narrowing her eyes. “Uhuh,” she said, putting her gun back in the holster beneath her jacket. “No problem.” She was starting to feel the sting of the deep lacerations that marked her arms as well as her own exhaustion. She started to move towards her companion when she noticed something on the ground, partially hidden by the body of the largest of the four creatures. “The hell?” she muttered, crouching down stiffly to pull it out. It appeared to be a book, large and bound in leather, and covered in more than a little dark blood from the spider than had been on top of it. She frowned, both in confusion at not having seen the tome earlier, and in distaste to the acrid smell of the spider’s blood. There was a piece of paper sticking out from between the books pages, and she pulled it out, quickly unfolding it.

“-what?” Vigil asked her, letting out a series coughs then holding his breath, concerned about her exclamation.

“I think it qualifies as that clue you were looking for,” she replied dryly. She briefly looked over the contents of the note, too tired to pretend she couldn’t make out the scrawled writing even in the dark, before stuffing it back in the book and crossing the room to Vigil. “Need some help?”

Vigil looked in her direction but seemed to stubbornly cling to his pride, he shook his head quietly, then shakily pulled himself up and started to shamble slowly towards what he thought was the stairwell. Max shook her head, moving ahead to lead the way. “Just follow the sound of my voice,” she said, slightly amused. They made their way back up the winding stairs, if much more slowly than before, until they found themselves once more in the graveyard and the moon’s light.

----------------------------------------------------

Looking up and now being able to see the sky once more, the stars seemed unusually bright tonight, then as soon as she stepped out,she heard something falling on the ground behind her. Turning around she saw her acquaintance’s hunched back disappear behind one of the pillars holding up the gazebo, he moved unusually fast compared to his slow amble earlier. As he slumped against it, she could only see his feet and a little of his reddened sleeve sliding out where he sat.

Max watched her companion’s actions with a quirked brow and a small frown. “So I’m guessing you, what, need to go to a hospital or something right about now huh?”

“‘m a surr--rr--vivor. So,” Came his voice, hoarse, and his breathing heavy, “How did --see ...anyth ...down dare?” He continued to ask.

Max scoffed. “Really?” she asked incredulously. “That’s your first question? Not ‘what the fuck did we just find down there in a hidden church crypt’ but about my eyesight?”

He closed his eyes thoughtfully then after a long moment “...rr--right.” He said, “What did -- find?”

She held it up. ”We’ve got one fancy old book, and a note that was tucked inside of it,” she told him. She pulled the note once more from between the book’s pages. “Shall I read it to you?” she asked sarcastically, ignoring his strange behavior as if uninterested, or even unimpressed.

“Kin--Kindly.”

Max smirked as she unfolded the worn piece of paper. “To think,” she read, “that I could ever love you. You are a lonely creature, trapped, frightened, scared, and utterly devoid of caring. You find beauty in music, but are otherwise dead inside, looking for other, darker, ways to fuel your passion. You shamble through life, without purpose. The monument to your piety is one of falsehood. Destroy that which has been built in your honour, and tear down this masquerade of life."

“Well?” she asked when she was finished.

“You said this cir-city was named in h--herr, Somabr-brra's honor.” Then he raised his head. “Beauty in m--mmusic ….thrr theatre-kgh-” He muttered then coughed as he spoke too fast. “...destroying the city.” He finished.

Max arched an eyebrow. “Well doesn’t that sound lovely.” She glanced warily at the sky above them, still dark, before pulling out her phone to check the time. “What the hell?” she muttered to herself, seeing the several messages and calls she had missed. She scrolled through the dozen messages Isaac and Emily, her employees, had texted to her.

“Shit,” she stated, looking back over in Vigil’s direction. “The power’s out. All over the goddamn city. We’ll be lucky if they’re not already rioting out there.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need to get back to the bar,” she muttered. “...You wanna come with? I could get Isaac to patch you up,” she added after a moment, remembering all too clearly the wounds he had sustained. She could smell the blood from where she stood.

“I-It’s happening alrrready ...go on ahead without mrr-me, will be ...fine.” He managed to grunt out,

Max rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she announced. “Stop by when you’re uh… feeling up to it. We’ll need to talk.”

”...rr-take care of yourself.” He muttered.

OMG ACCIDENTALLY POSTED IN IC SO SOOOO SORRY IM REALLY SORRY I WILL GET A MOD TO REMOVE IMMEDIATELY

Cicero: Part 2: Veer's story

Figures and estimates raced through Veer’s mind as he entered Farq’s office, the market on ‘Demon Blood’ had just skyrocketed to over 115%, we needed to sell our stocks as soon as possible! The evidence and information needed by the ‘Rotfaces’ had just been destroyed; if they weren’t willing to pay the price they wouldn’t own the prize.

He looked up from his notes; his brow furrowed in deep concentration, to find Farq leant across his chair like a cat stretched out on his favorite rug. The black leather back of his chair faced him, revealing only the rippled layers of flesh which made up his arms. The gorged manager made no attempt to neither greet his steward nor even accept his presence in the room; never diverging his eyes from the hundreds of TV screens that were constantly ran by a back-up generator. Not even the recent power cut had depraved him of his obsessive lifestyle. These screens were placed in a large semi-sphere around his control chair; the only light came from these constant windows of electronic life, hiding the tangle of wires that spread across the floor, ceiling and walls like a messy mass of webs.

The small goblin steward slowly shuffled around the chair to enter his master’s line of sight; he watched as sweat and grease slide down his huge unnatural belly, only adding to Veer's discomfort.

“Sir I have some information.” He muttered quietly through the thick silence of the room which felt as heavy as the sickening heat that Farq kept his room in. Only silence answered Veer’s question, in a market of powerful information, the great only expected the best. Veer’s half-hearted intervention wouldn’t spark any interest in his employer.
“Two mercenaries were killed last evening while hunting down a snatcher.” Veer muttered in a hurried, stuttering tone as if each word was stumbling over the last in an attempt to escape from his tiny mouth. The goblin behemoth’s small, inset, beady eyes didn’t dither from the television screens as he greedily devoured the scenes reflected in his pupils.

“Four fathers, three daughters, eight sons and a parrot were killed last night.” This he said in his resigned, lazy and indifferent tone as if he were letting out a drawn out sigh.

“But sir…” Veer replied quickly and carefully before being cut off by his obese master.

“Get some more mercenaries for the whore house, use CCTV footage to find the snatcher and kill the bastard. Do I really have to teach you how to do your job, Dop?”

Dop being the name of the last steward, Farq doesn’t know and doesn’t care…

“The ‘Rotfaces’ didn’t buy the information did they? I knew they wouldn’t, the price was too high…knowledge is power and power is worth so much these days.” Farq guessed in his same lazy tone, he often rambled on about the importance of information, in his younger days he was apparently a great spy-master however food and wine had turned his mind to saw dust; all that was left was a broken and slothful reminder of a past glory.

“Sir, what I really wanted to tell you is…” The steward’s outpour of words was interrupted once again, a normal occurrence but one that filled Veer with loathing.

“Leave me be Dop.”

“The two mercenaries were killed by an individual of ‘High Interest’.” Veer almost shouted in exertion, the sentence being uttered in little over a couple of seconds. The silence of the room suddenly grew deeper and anything that the manager had been doing before stopped immediately. His attention was captured.

The goblin drew out a remote control from his jacket’s pocket with practiced ease, flicking one of Farq’s central TV screens to a Police record. The record was almost empty but for a few reports and an alias.

“Cicero…” Farq said in that lazy, drawn out voice, now tinged with a hint of curiosity.

“An outsider, accepted into all Nyctari meetings of importance, snatched a whore just to speak Spanish and share a rooftop sunset, killed two mercenaries single handedly and sent their bodies back to their families…with considerable amounts of money.” Veer replied a small but growing, grin of pride crept across his face like a devious and sly spider.

And this spider has a fat, juicy fly caught in his web.

“Odd…” The hint of curiosity fading from Farq’s voice as he spoke in leisurely tones.

The fly has untangled himself from this web of interest, what he doesn’t suspect is a multi-layered trap.

Farq kept his level of indifference and disinterest, “Make sure you gather info on him, send me the details, I’m sure some third rate villain will want his story…”

“Unfortunately, we have very limited video of the man, we have not been able to trace him to any sort of accommodation and he only appeared at all in the last few months. A ghost…”

Caught…

Farq’s eyesbrows had lifted and his very presence seemed to shift uncomfortably in his chair however it wasn’t a shuffle of trepidation, rather of nervous excitement. A voyage into a sea Farq’s weathered sea galley hadn’t experienced in a very long time, discovery. “A ghost, hmm…” He stroked his chin, the first time he had moved his arms today, Veer guessed. “What breed of outsider is it?”

Veer raised his notes in swift and readied movements, already he had accounted for his master’s questioning. “I accumulated some rumours and suggestions from various sources and compiled their notes into a list of likely races from highest to lowest claimed. My figures point towards Vampire, then in descending order, Undead, Elf and finally Mermaid.”

“Mermaid...? Actually don’t answer that, I can’t believe I let myself forget that the majority of the population are bumbling fools. I would like to keep an eye on Mr… Cicero; as long as he’s in the ‘red light district’ we can track him with Protector’s network of cameras.”

“Sir, shall I make contact with any of the other networks for additional information?” Veer intervened meekly before being shunned by his manager who now spoke with a faster and more fluid cadence.

“No we don’t want to alert anyone else on this individual, we have found a diamond in the rough.” He smiled with an almost unnaturally sized grin for his flabby face that turned his mouth into a sea of creases surrounding a disgusting yellow toothed smile. Veer could almost taste his master’s self satisfaction and he hated it, never did he recognize any of his employee’s work in his schemes; to him it was all a decadent and hedonistic game, while for most everyone else it was their livelihood.

“Of course sir.” He replied submissively, bowing and leaving the grotty chamber behind him.

A bell called through the silence, beckoning the steward to the front desk of the establishment. Quickly the small, lithe goblin ran smoothly and efficiently, following the instinctual steps he took every day to reach the reception in the fastest manner. Arriving politely and on time, the goblin nodded his head towards the customer in silent greet and trilled his usual phrase. “Welcome to Protector, the finest security establishment in the district…” however his list of titles finished there as he finally spotted his guest, causing him to stop in astonishment and interest at the same time. The man who stood before him was tall by human standards, around six feet, a trench coat sat comfortably on his shoulders with the collar pulled up against some intangible rain. His face was shrouded by a thin, light silk black hood, but underneath its dark veil his eyes bored into Veer’s like a lighthouse’s remote warning; cold and distant. Veer smiled through rows of needles in his calculating and duplicitous way, identifying the visitors instantly.

“Mr. Cicero, how can Protector help you on this fine day…?”

Cicero part 3: Vende's story (part 1)

How Vende despised the rest of his green, mottled, selfish race; goblins in his mind, fed the capitalist prison which both invigorated and subtly destroyed society. He had never dreamt for great change in his life, but Vende was definitely not stupid and had his priorities and beliefs in check; growing up on a ship had kept him open to diversity from the multi-cultural crew and given him a strong sense of equality. There was no ranking system at sea; every man could die as easily as the next, in a storm, climbing the rigging or almost any job. There was no status, only different uses; a strong, clever and light hearted captain kept the ship in line and the wheel steady; a quick, far sighted and tall Elf kept watch; a deadly, efficient and sly Vampire kept the crew in check and hunted rats beneath deck and an ogre pulled down the sails, tied secure lines and bashed heads together. No one was above another and that was how life should be, or so Vende thought.

This is what invigorated his hate for the thin, gaunt goblin which stood behind the desk, he smiled deceptively as if he knew far more than his guests; he looked down upon Vende’s dark master as an adult patronizingly does to a minor and spoke his name gleefully like he had trapped them in some elaborate trap. Vende didn’t even want to think about the goblin’s ignorance of his own presence, for want of evoking anymore of his own fiery anger; he chided himself silently.

In a politician’s world we must leave emotions by our bed side to fight our enemies with reason and rationality.

On closer inspection, Vende spotted the tell-tale suit of an entrepreneur and pockets filled with sheets of information; in 'Protector' the currency was words; painful, destructive and weakening words. A huge library of gossip, Vende had taught himself long ago that every man had a bane and it was knowledge that could identify it. The question he was asking himself was, how much did they know of Cicero’s efforts and identity? However, far back in the recesses of his mind, a question swirled like a controversial thunderstorm.

Did the clandestine, ancient Nyctari lord actually have a bane?

“Let us not keep Farq waiting, I have heard his notorious impatience is only fractionally greater than his legendary weight.” Cicero retorted in a voice completely devoid of emotion, he gave the goblin that same cold stare he gave every man, woman and child; a stare one could only master with absolute power, Vende imagined. He smiled inwardly, he knew his master could see right through the duplicitous steward’s masquerade.

“Follow me this way…sir.” The goblin said half-submissively without losing any of his confidence; he leapt from his stool behind the desk to reveal his true tiny stature, Vende was sure Cicero had found any other revelations in his calculating head. The steward led them down the office-like corridors painted in darkness by the recent power-cut, Vende could imagine it as the dimly lit passage ways beneath the deck of his old ship, almost feeling the floor sway, he adjusted his legs before quickly adjusting them back, the old sailor had to keep his wits about him in a place like this. Soon the white-washed walls of the traditional office were replaced by a foray of pipes and wires which seemed to cover every inch of the wall; this was where information passed like hidden streams through the passages. A forest of electronic systems surrounded them as they made their way through 'Protector’s' CCTV department consisting of hundreds of employees monitoring the ‘red light district’ in tiny cubicles covered in screens to capture all the clienteles' residences for security purposes…

Obviously…

It seemed the steward had taken them for a long tour as he reasoned there must be a quicker path to their restless master; probably some tactic to unnerve or intimidate his silent guests.

“Do you know what the position of Farq means Mr. Cicero?” The goblin guide questioned through the tapping of keyboards which filled the office with constant noise, his sly, wheezy voice annoying Vende increasingly. The inquired only tilted his head in question, an action so commonplace in his master, he thought Cicero probably did it instinctively.
“Farq is a title that was given to the most cunning and Machiavellian spy in the ‘Goblin thieves’ guild’. The rewarded replaces the title with their own name making them untraceable and legendary. It was awarded centuries ago and is passed down through assassination, that is, the only way to acquire it is to outwit and kill the Farq.” The steward’s smile only grew ever wider as they neared the manager’s room; and for a fraction of a second the sailor gave into the presentation remembering the infamous ‘thieves’ guild’ hidden in the great forests of Russia. Tales had been passed around on ship about the goblin assassins who could crawl on ceilings or walk on water; and spies that were so convincing in act that they could replace your own mother. They had never scared him, only sounding like stories you’d tell your children or joke about with friends; now they seemed a little more real facing the real life Farq but in Vende’s hardened life little frightened him. In fact only one thing had ever scared Vende Barrow.

Cicero…

The goblin opened the door to Farq’s room softly, letting the visitors enter first, gesturing politely towards the dimly lit chamber with a wicked smile, before shutting the door behind him.

“Cicero…what a refined name.” Farq said in his slurred and bored tone.

“I would give you the decency of a reply but I have heard of your disgusting mannerisms and activities and find you wanting in almost every sense of the word ‘dignity’. Would you care to disprove my notions?” His voice was cool, calm and collected with a slow tone that seemed to be perfectly harmless until it was registered as a whole, like the unsuspecting sting of a beautiful lion fish that would shock its victim minutes after first contact.
A vile and annoyed snarl spread across Farq’s face as he turned his chair towards his insulter for the first time. “You walk into my threshold and insult me, now that’s hardly dignifying. I can assure you…Cicero… you do not want to make enemies with me.” He remarked, the laziness and indifference replaced by a strong antipathy, which was only emphasized by the way he almost spat Cicero's name.

“I would hardly call you my enemy that implies you pose a threat. Power is given to the worthy and can be taken by neither a name nor title nor managerial position. Let us dither from petty interactions and talk of your importance.”
The goblin had grown red-faced and angry under the constant, impassive gaze of Cicero causing him to spout spittle from his mouth in numerous attempts to utter a counter.

“I…I…You claim that I hold no power but wish to discuss my importance, doesn’t my importance imply power?” He rebutted in petty defiance.

“I do not own the time to teach such lessons and I believe my advice would fall on uneducated ears as a dog interprets civilization. To be precise I have come to this establishment to take ownership of all its business, assets, information and clientele.”

For a split second, Farq looked flabbergasted by the response; however he quickly retained his calm demeanor before flailing in his chair in outright laughter. Wiping tears welled up in humour from his tiny eyes with his huge, podgy fingers, Farq replied. “And what, makes you think you have any right or even the power to take it from me. It seems to me a dog asks for the ownership of civilization without explanation.”

“Who funds Protector and its equipment?” Cicero replied faster than the swift parry of a rapier.

“Private sponsors of course.” Farq replied with a confidence; neither confusion nor doubt entered his voice.

“I am sure your steward can… enlighten us by providing the name of your most prominent sponsor.” His rapier parried again faster and this time cutting deep into Farq’s confidence.

“Veer, come on!” The goblin steward who seemed instantly flustered, fumbled with his notes looking for the correct one without his prior ease; much to the discomfort of his master.

“Sir, our major sponsor is ‘Night’s Crown’ a new investor he seems to have bought the majority of the sponsorship and therefore owning 80% of the company, they recently bought it from a chain of prostitution houses known as the ‘Purple pillars’.” The steward said with a defiant grin. On the inside, Vende felt slightly sorry for the pair, they still hadn’t worked it out.

“Unless you hand over your company, information, clientele and equipment; I’ll be forced to take my shares of this establishment and stop any further funding.” Cicero replied quickly and sharply his rapier striking centre.
Farq fell silent and still, the steward seemed to mirror him as realization coursed through their brains. If Cicero pulled his support their business would go bankrupt, their clientele would leave them in their inadequacy and their information would become stale and useless with age.

“What if I say no…” Farq said in cold fury, defiance sewn into his face like a new mask.

“Then the police will come into contact with some incriminating information about you and your dealings. Last time I checked aiding illegal gangs is against the law.”

The defiance fled from Farq’s huge crumpling face, his eyes pleading and searching for some kind of hidden savior in the room; his leisurely pace and bored tone was gone, and replaced by a stuttering mess of anxiousness. “But, but, but…”

“Well, this concludes my visit…” Cicero turned to leave before remembering a final command and turned to the terror filled goblin. “I so rudely forgot to introduce my dear friend, ‘Farq’...” He spoke in his calm tone but with a glimmer of retribution in his penetrating gaze, as he gestured towards Vende.

“Take control and report back to me as soon as possible, we have work to be done…” He muttered to his small goblin companion and then left abruptly.

Vende pulled out a large revolver from his inside pocket and quickly shot Farq in the neck.

A life on a dangerous sea had taught me that when you have to tie a knot, make sure you do it the first time…

Blood poured from the bulging flab of rippled flesh Farq called a neck, he didn’t even have time to scream; and then another smoking hole erupted from the steward’s chest. He looked down towards the wound in a sullen, melancholy way before tripping over his legs and falling onto his back; there he lay unmoving and dead like his swollen master.

Cicero muttered a phrase as he stepped out into the night air. “Abrenuntias satanae et corpore et animo…”

Maria’s story (Part 1)

Keep looking straight…don’t stare too long…sway your hips…smirk…is there anything I missed?

In Maria’s silver-lined life, she was a confident, alluring, beautiful lady, admired by all and preyed upon by suitors; and in the silver-lined parallel world that seemed to follow her down the corridor in row upon row of ornate mirrors she reflected this goddess of vanity and conviction. Inside she felt as ill-suited as a well-dressed hog waiting to be eaten in this haven of the grandiose, cultured and powerful Nyctari family. Despite the fear of her Vampiric hosts; her wavering confidence and grim determination gave her the strength needed to walk the beautifully decorated, 18th century styled immense hallway. However, Maria could easily see through the deception of the ostentatious, ornately carved golden furnishings that seemed to decorate everything.

What more was this walkway than the massive, gaping throat of some terrible bestial behemoth? And I am willingly walking down it…

She chided herself for her inexplicable fear.

No one in the entire city knows of my presence or importance.

She could hear the distant sound of cackling laughter from the corridor’s end as she drew close to the large golden doors that led to the grand hall; they were carved with the intricate designs of flowers and cherubs as was the fashion of the period. A gaggle of ladies waited in front of the double doors; confident, smiling and giggling away; the only difference between Maria and them was the tumultuous, stormy emotions which crashed at her confidence in her head, telling her to give in.

How could a wild and ravenous beast like the Nyctari family ever be subdued, and for that matter, how could a barbaric and dire fiend such as Santa Somabra be subdued?

Strength, faith, power…

Strength, the measure of our manipulation over others.

Faith, the belief and reliance on an idea.

Power, the intangible currency that the weak and ignorant thrive upon.

For once that night she smiled truly, a warmth softened her face and features as she reaffirmed her own self-control.

The great will conquer because of their strength through cunning, faith through God and power which the weak assign them.

The girls around her now looked silly, disillusioned and foolish; she would become a concubine to wreak havoc in the heart of this Nyctari beast, she would find the city’s dark intruder and she would be victorious.

A young steward with dark hair and a face of naivety pushed his head through the small gap in the double doors, speaking in hushed ad quick tones. “Your lords await, ladies…” He then departed as quickly as he graced them with his presence; the ladies gathered into a tightly knit circle, pushing through the doors and walking into the huge ballroom with the grace and delicacy of black swans, their coal coloured dresses flowed out behind them like tail feathers. The concubines’ eyes were like onyxes from the mascara that contrasted with the blonde, ginger and brunette curls of their hair.

Time to show them up then…

Maria strode into the spacious hall, alone and vigorous; she quickly placed her obsidian mask over her face, giving her features a twisted and almost demonic look; her flair quickly drew the attention of the entire room as she felt predatory eyes watch her every footfall. The only individual who had not noticed the pitch of her dark hair, her full breasts and her dulcet lips was a shadowed outsider who sipped a glass of wine politely in one corner, admiring the array of art; and it was to him she strode arrogantly across the room.

Power is given to the worthy, strike at the heart of this heretical city and you shall be given the will to...

“If I have to listen to this sappy -fucking- record one more bloody time…” Madeline Hollinghurst gave the jukebox a vicious kick, causing the great silver/brown contraption to shake, making the Elvis Presley song jump slightly.

“Hey, Limey!” a heavyset man with greasy slicked back hair called over from behind the counter “if you’ve damaged that thing you better hope you’ve got the cash to pay for it!”

Maddie span around, her maroon eyes pulsing with tempered fury, long black curls fluttering around her pale shoulders “Does it ever infuriate you to be so remarkably similar to every other brain-dead, prick-sucking, yank over forty with an America Dream complex?” she hissed, her nails digging into her palms with the intensity by which she was clenching and unclenching her fists.

“You better start grovelling real quickly, pussy cat.” Fumed the man, a large vein is his forehead bulging visibly “It’s real easy to make bodies disappear around these parts.”

“You know; I used to think White Picket Fence syndrome was a joke, but seeing how badly you lot cling to a perfect lifestyle that doesn’t exist, in spite of the insurmountable amount of evidence that suggests otherwise, I genuinely think it might be an actual medical condition.”

“You’ve got a real way with words, lady.” Grumbled the heavyset man “but words won’t get you far in this city.” He darted under the counter, and when he next emerged there was a slim shotgun clasped tightly in his meaty hands.

“Bollocks.”

There was a deafening bang, then Maddie was flying backwards, slamming into something hard and cold, with something hot and wet pouring out of her chest. She was on the floor, her head pounding, blood oozing out of two fresh holes in her stomach, with the world slowly breaking away into ribbons as her eyes lolled back. Long tendrils of darkness crept across her vision, until there was nothing left but an all-encompassing void of nothingness.



THUD! Maddie’s head banged against something metal, knocking the life back into her dead maroon eyes. THUD! She tried to hiss in annoyance, but the filthy cloth that was gagging her muffled the sound. THUD! Her world was now a dark coffin, her hands and feet bound behind her back. The thudding stopped, and the world became still again. Somewhere in the distance someone slammed a car door, and then faint voices were drifting in through the metal roof.

“She’s dead, right? Why’d we need the gag and shit?”

“Eddie said she was thrashin’ around and screaming even after he put two slugs in her. He was worried the cops would overhear or somethin’.”

“Pah! When was the last time you saw a cop on Drab Street?”

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

“I swear to every fuckin’ God out there, if she’s still moving when we pull her out I’m retiring. Papa don’t pay me enough to deal with this shit.”

The two thugs cracked the boot open, to find a pale teenager, dressed in a form-fitting pink Halterneck Dress that was drenched in blood, with jet black hair tied up in a bundled heap; her eyes shut.

“Jeez, why’s Eddie going around smokin’ little girls? Fuckin’ animal.” Muttered the bigger of the pair.

“When’d you grow a conscience? Let’s just dump her and get this over with. Being out here gives me the creeps.”

The thugs grabbed Maddie by her hands and feet, and carried her out into the desert. Miles of dirt-red earth, turned blue by the night sky, stretched out around them, with huge jagged cliffs rolling off into the distance. Sickly brown shrubs thrust up from the ground in mismatched tuffs, and the ground crunched beneath the heels of the men’s boots as they made their way out into the wilderness.

“What d’you reckons lurking out behind those cliffs?” Asked the smaller thug.

“Shut the fuck up, Danny.” Whispered the bigger one.

“Maybe some Ogres…”

“I said ‘Shut the fuck up’!”

“Or some man-eating trolls…”

“See; shit like this is why you didn’t get invited to Romeraz’s wedding.”

“Shit man, why you gotta make it personal?”

The two men lowered her into a ditch, dropping her with a small puff of red sand, before standing over her and surveying their handiwork.

“Cut her bounds.” Said the smaller one.

“Why? The cops are already gonna know it’s a murder. It’s not like there are coyotes running around out here putting shells in people.”

“No, you idiot, the bonds have got fingerprints all over them.”

“You really think Santa Somabra cops give a fuck about who killed some little girl?”

“You really wanna take that risk?”

“Alright, alright! Fine.”

The bigger one kneeled down, pulling a switch blade out of his pocket, before using it to gradually cut through the rope that was tying Maddie’s hands and feet together. Once that was done he undid her gag, before dumping the excess rope and cloth in one of his jean pockets.

“There, you happy now?” her spat at his mate, slowly rising to his feet.

Maddie’s eyes snapped open, and then she was up on her feet in a flash. Slamming into the bigger thug, her arms wrapped around his chest in an instant, and then her needle-like fangs were deep in the soft flesh of his pudgy neck, pumping hot red blood into her mouth.

The smaller thug let out a yelp as his dazed friend collapsed on the floor, frantically foraging for his gun in his jacket pocket. Maddie darted towards him, blood dripping from her open mouth, but the thug was faster.

Two pistol shots rang out, knocking Maddie to the floor, as a thick trail of smoke billowed upwards from the end of the gun.

“The shit you see in this fuckin’ city…” panted the smaller thug, his pulse racing violently. He stood over the young woman, gazing down at her limp corpse.

Maddie’s body jolted suddenly, and then her fangs were burrowing into the thug’s ankle, bleeding him dry. He cried out and dropped his pistol, and then Maddie tore upwards, slamming her fist into his lower jaw, sending him tumbling down onto the desert ground.

She snatched the fallen pistol up off of the floor, before kneeling on top of the thug, forcing him down with one knee whilst she jammed the gun into his open mouth.

“There was this thing I always wanted to try with my ex-boyfriend…” she began to explain, gazing into the thug’s terror-filled eyes.

BANG!

Maddie dusted herself off, rising to her feet as the lifeless body of her victim fell back onto the ground.
She turned and gazed up at the night sky, catching the distant spires of Santa Somabra gleaming on the horizon.

“I’m starting to think this might just be my kind of city, after all.”

Cicero: Part 5: Verdarrio’s story

Elegance, pose and delicacy were the values and desires of Verdarrio Nyctari; it was the picturesque sights of a woman in pose; the elegant features of the eyes, lips and cheeks and the delicate, dainty fingers which embrace, that allured him. These were the beautiful lineaments of his first love, the daughter of a Nyctari cousin and the church in Siena, her face was long and drawn as if it was carved by the same craftsman who sculpted the exquisite ceiling of the cathedral. Her thin, petite waist was as attractive as the magnificent black and white pillars; so what better place to make love to her than on that ancient altar as she looked upon the exquisite ceiling, and he at the magnificent black and white pillars.

Once upon a time I had been the greatest bladesmith in Italy if not the world, back in my mortality. My rapiers were renowned for their elegance, pose and delicacy as all art should be; elegant in their strength and resplendent design; posed in their balance like a coiled viper and delicate in their flexible and narrow blades. To follow my belief of the metaphysical form of art in all aspects of life, I lived in the rural town of Siena for its natural and simplistic charm, as the romantics said, I lived a life of blissful ignorance which immortality has taken from me.
One fateful day, an affluent Lord from Rome arrived in Siena after hearing tales of the mastery of my blades and asked for a rapier like none other; still just the memory of it makes my hairs stand on end in delight. The blade had five deep fullers to catch blood, the hilt was made from bronze and in the shape of a bat, its fang’s bared in readiness and from its throat it seemed to regurgitate the blade. But the rapier’s most recognizable distinction was the words inscribed into the blade ‘Purezza di Sangue’. At the time I didn’t have any such inkling of what ‘Purity of Blood’ might mean and was even more curious to what the sword’s patron was talking about when he promised me “A reward only dreamt of by King’s and Emperors…”

The strange lord didn’t lie and a week later after the sword’s completion I was given the thing most men had dreamt of since their dawn, immortality. I married the Vampire’s daughter and was accepted into their family with a name befitting my new power, Verdarrio Nyctari.

The beauty and artistic perfection of elegance, delicacy and pose could not be hindered in Verdarrio’s mind but he had never felt such lustful desire’s until the night of the masque; it happened at every full moon and so was not unusual to Verdarrio; however while the other hedonistic Vampire’s found their concubines on this night, Verdarrio could not tear his eyes from the obsidian goddess. She walked into the room like a successful hunter carrying her body like a prize animal with a confident stride and flirtatious smirk. He watched her every minute move, the sway of her limp arms, the rise and fall of her bosom, the tensing of her legs at their connection to the ground. Each feature, each moment, an infinity of divine glory. His transfixed stare was that of a hunting wolf watching an unsuspecting rabbit; he could just imagine the raw pleasure of draining her lifeblood. The room and all its furnishings dissolved into her magnificent body and the violin strings accentuated her every move.

She walked towards Verdarrio, her eyes gazing slightly to his left, they seemed to be set in playful determination on some seemingly intangible goal. Suddenly she stumbled and fell like a deer jumped upon by a wolf, her legs tangling and her arms flailing as she fell into Verdarrio’s grip. The feeling was sublime for a split second, the ecstasy of her touch was like a drug to him. Her tanned arms, soft and delicate in his touch, burned his skin like sunlight, his hands became crimson and enflamed at the touch of her and he fell to his knees in pain as he dropped her. His gasp wasn’t heard above the music but every member of the room looked questioningly at his incorporeal torture. The lady, now on the floor looked around in shock, a frightened doe in the midst of a pack, then a shadow fell across them both blocking the light reflected around the room from the crystal chandeliers.

“Verdarrio, manners maketh man.” A voice said in a cold and harsh tone.

One dares to mock me?

“My lady, a hand?” The goddess took the intruders outstretched hand, grasping it softly as if it were fruit and was pulled to her feet slowly. She had already composed herself, and smiled at him with a hint of pleasure, she took a step towards him putting her arm through his as a gesture of thanks. Her savior ignored this, bending down once again to offer Verdarrio a hand, even behind his silver enameled mask Verdarrio could identify the Outsider. He looked at the out-stretched hand in disgust before lifting himself swiftly to his feet without the intruder’s aid.

“Don’t give me your airs and graces Spaniard, when I ask for pleasantries from a Vampire’s bastard, I’ll make sure to come to you first.” He spat, jealousy already coursing through his veins like poison; then with a disdainful final look he walked to the other side of the shocked ballroom, flicking his hand for the continuation of the entertainment and sat in a chair.

This chair is itchy and uncomfortable, he thought in utter annoyance his mind and eyes still on the girl who feigned her flirtatious countenance, all it had taken was one glance at the terrified prey underneath her masquerade to find her true nature. Now she laid her head upon the broad shoulders of Cicero’s black dinner jacket letting the waterfall of her black hair tumble down his shoulder like the trailing wing of a raven. The bastard still didn’t appear to take notice of the siren seducing him with her pale blue eyes and instead stared at the next painting vaguely.

Through the throng of Vampiric patrons I heard the goddess’s voice like the delicate tap of my hammer on an opulent rapier. “The black raven amongst a gathering of crows, come to pick at the carrion of Santa Somabra.”

The filthy bastard turned at her remark, tilting his head in that annoying way.

“I know of your deceit, Santa Somabra has choked on this smog of corruption for far too long and now you have come to finish the deed.”

This was disrespect, dishonor from a lowly concubine; the Nyctari, a flock of birds? And why Cicero a raven? More like a decrepit, albino crow, a freak of nature.

Verdarrio was incredibly suspicious now, his brow creased in concentration as he critiqued this beauty, she was much more than that now, she was a deadly inquisitor in their ranks, he thought.
She still smiled that sleazy grin but now it looked more repulsed and insulting as if he smelled of something rotten rather than his normal musty aroma. Cicero spoke his soft, unnerving tones in counter play, his eyes beneath the silver mask revealing nothing.

“What do you know of crows and ravens…?”

Cicero: Part 6: Farq / Vende’s story (Part 2)

The old sailor felt like he was in the crow’s nest again, the cold night’s wind sweeping in under the thin black hood; instead of a tranquil sea he watched it was a tranquil master, but this time far more intently. Cicero was a master of subversion and revealed only what he needed, this meant he had to keep a constant eye on his subtle patron unlike a plain ocean.

The short, gaunt goblin, Vende or Farq…

…I never remember my new title…

…had stood outside the Vampire’s grand hall in the bitter, crisp night at his master’s command. He did this at every masque watching them all twirl round and round in their long elaborate gowns and dresses dyed in vibrant and opulent colours and patterns; laughing, and sometimes killing.

But they had an obsession with those Venetian masks, why?

The goblin had never understood, Cicero commonly commended him on his sly political dealings but usually berated him for his lack of culture.

What more culture did he need than a few sea shanty’s, a love of rum and the knowledge of every ship and its parts from New York to Tokyo...?

His camera’s were positioned to look through the huge 18th century windows, past the flowing crimson curtains that bequeathed them and survey the hall in all its hedonistic and decadent glory. The wine flowed like a river; the women were marveled, groped and talked at like prize pets; while the remainders spoke of politics, feuds and income in close circles. For a highly sophisticated race of elites, the Nyctari looked oddly like the unruly members of a school playground to the wizened sailor.

All of this was to be expected however, a common occurrence in Farq’s new service to the mysterious Spanish Vampire; it was unlike any sailing job and sometimes he still questioned why he had been chosen for such a trusted and prestigious position, if not the only position in Cicero’s service. What he hadn’t expected was the intervention of the concubine, he had served his new master long enough to know he never met with women.

Why this sudden change then?

Farq had been watching, casually, when Verdarrio and this lady fell over into a tight bundle like a ship ramming an unsuspecting enemy; Cicero’s eyes, body language and movement changed immediately. Farq had learnt to follow the slightest changes in a man, this meant in one of those tavern brawls you could expect what he’d do; with Cicero it was a whole new level of obscurity. He noticed the tiny jittery movements of his fingertips signaling the Spaniards nervousness. When Verdarrio dropped the girl however he saw the flash of three fingers at his side communicating an assassination.

Quite an extreme exercise for a harmless concubine…

Despite his uncertainty, Cicero’s steward pulled out a small cell phone from his pocket and a leather bound fax file; inside he looked at the numbers and picked one which he speedily dialed; as the phone rang he crossed out the number with his left hand, holding the phone with his right. Farq had learnt quickly of this underground world, the rules and codes; assassin’s never kept their numbers and changed phones for every contract, so under his master’s orders he kept his phone book full and updated. Somebody picked up on the other end and Farq spoke rapidly into the mic. “453, 284…grand window, Farq.” He recited each command as he had practiced; coordinates, visual marker, patron. The assassin made no reply and dropped the call immediately. Looking back at the CCTV screen he watched Cicero firstly give the lady his hand before offering his hand to Verdarrio, in his polite and well-mannered stance. His left hand twitched behind his back, at his second courteous gesture giving Farq a vital piece of information.

Cicero wasn’t after the girl, but her violent aggressor.

This made slightly more sense, Farq thought, Verdarrio was an arrogant and snobbish Nyctari cousin who managed to quarrel with Cicero at almost every gathering despite his master’s lack of speech. He was still unsure of the Spaniard's extreme measures, but as sure as the North Star, Farq knew Cicero always understood exactly what he did.

“Whom?” said a dark and silky voice from behind him; without turning around the steward replied.

“Verdarrio Nyctari.” He knew she had gone by the time he turned around to grab the small stool which had been knocked over. He bent over to knock off the leaves, grass and water that had accumulated on the seat then he promptly sat upon it.

Another dead man, Farq shrugged, in Santa Somabra it was as commonplace as waves on a sea. Morality to him was like a spinning compass trying to find north and while Farq knew he was lost on a calamitous sea of criminality, deep in his old bones he knew that this beacon he followed lead North.

Everybody’s killing everybody else here; father kills son just so he can feel strong again; the poor are stolen from because everyone else is just as fucked; and the aristocrats keep twirlin’ in silk gowns. On this gloomy sea called Santa Somabra, pirates prey on dinghies and fishermen fight over dead, rotting fish while on the galleons they dance; but above em all is an eternally flaming ship. One that eats at itself but will never die, and while many ignore it for another poor soul, others look to it for guidance as they once looked at the stars that were lost so long ago in a smog ridden sky. Cicero commandeers that ship, a glimmer of light on this diabolical sea…