Chase took a step back. Holton had turned to reveal the dying flickers of bright blue flames burning in the runes on his ivory white skull. Even with his own supernatural status, the abilities of others had never ceased to amaze Chase. He shook his head for a moment, then regained his composure. The cop signaled for him to follow, then squirmed his skinny self into the crowd.

Chase watched the back of Holton’s head as it bobbed away into the mass of bodies surrounding them. He followed at a slower pace, hindered by his broader stature, and the cop disappeared from sight. Chase had, had more than a whiff of the ivory skulled undead’s scent, and was confident he would be able to follow it.

Johanssen pushed past a few rude journalists, who had stuck their hands out to stop them from passing. One of them accidentally slapped her breast and proceeded to apologize profusely for it, blushing furiously, and melting away into the crowd of reporters. Johanssen had nodded her head in acceptance of the apology, her mouth screwed up into a ferocious scowl. But once the reporter had disappeared, Chase was sure he spotted the telltale signs of a smile dancing on her lips.

Now walking side by side, the two of them weaved their way through the crowd at a leisurely pace, affording Chase the time to fill his partner in. Johanssen blinked slowly at mention of the Reapers, but otherwise remained silent. Her hand lifted from her side, and in their silent language, Chase immediately knew to pass her the card.

She scrutinized it, not paying attention to the people in front of her. It was okay. They scrambled apart when they spotted Chase’s mammoth frame, illuminated by the bright street lights. Cameras flashed around them at a rapid pace and reporters kept shouting “Detective!” Chase ignored them for the most part, find himself unable to muster up the energy within him to express anger.

There was always this oddly calming aura that surrounded Johanssen. Normally, Chase would have welcomed the feeling with open arms. On more than one occasion, it had helped to keep him in check when his more feral like temper swelled. But there were other times, decidedly frustrating times, when the aura had mixed with Chase’s present feelings to produce a maddening feeling of confusion. Anger mixed with ease, fear mixed with the flat feeling of utter calm…He shook his head, shuddering at the thoughts.

Johanssen caught this movement and looked at him, a confused expression on her face, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” There were things he didn’t pry about with Johanssen. Thing he thought she ought to keep to herself, till it was show and tell time, the way Chase hid his lycanthropy from her, constantly telling himself he would tell her when the time was right. He believed that, if he let Johanssen keep her deep dark secrets, she would feel less shocked when he told her his. A trade of sorts. And then they would be able to go on as though nothing had changed, as if they were still both normal human partners.

It sounded like wishful thinking, on his part, but he clung to the ideal anyway.

There was a tense feeling building up in Chase’s chest, the sort of feeling that told him something bad was bound to happen. The sun had sunken well below the horizon, and the sky had turned an inky black color. Pollution, lifting up from the city in thick black plumes, hid the stars from sight.

Holton had thoroughly melted into the crowd, though Chase kept his nostrils upturn, flared, tracking the skull down like a bloodhound on a fox. Johanssen followed quietly, merely believing in Chase's intuition. When they had first been introduced, she had, more often than once, regarded him with suspicious. He had been the victim of thorough questioning, and mistrustful glances. But they had fallen into ease after three months of mysteriously executed actions.

Before Chase could reach Holton, a deep sound, like the the buzz of electricity slowed and deepened, rung out through the air. Then the world went black.

Chaos broke out among the citizens. People stampeding everywhere, screaming, pulling, pushing, tripping, falling...Chase felt someone grab him by the sleeve of his elbow and tug him towards what Chase supposed was to be the clearest space Johanssen could find. But Chase, with his bright, night piercing eyes snatched his small friend under her body and hoisted him onto her shoulder.

---

"Chase!" I shouted indignantly, weaving my fingers through the detective's thick brown hair as he hauled me onto the length of his shoulders, grinning mischievously in the shallow glint of moonlight engulfing our rather dark world.

"Hold on," he warned needlessly. I had already wrapped my hands as tight as possible around his head. His brunette hair, normally slicked back on his head (with some effort) had loosened to a magnificent mane, framing his face handsomely. I wondered, for a brief moment, why he didn't leave his hair be more often, then quickly remembered the hindrance long hair could cause the eyes. I decided i would advice him to tie his hair somehow, perhaps clip it at the back of his head. It had reached a length where the idea was plausible.

He strode confidently between the thick wave of bodies colliding with his own, making his way to where the crowd seemed to thin. He never stumbled, never faltered in the dark; his bear like hands never reached forward to feel his way to safety. Instead, his yellow wolfish eyes seemed to have carved a proper path out from billowing crowd.

When we had reached safety, he set me down carefully. We had arrived at the his sedan. I noticed, a bit irritably, that had been dented on the side, probably the result of the frenzy.

Cicero: Part 7: Cicero's story

“Signor Verdarrio? Signor Verdarrio, you are needed outside.”

Quick footsteps towards the door; he’s rushing…

…He’s feeling, Oh, so important and full of glee. How petty, he’s such an insignificant worm in all…

Farq hasn’t failed us, we’re pleased, he won’t understand, yet…Verdarrio was the only one paying close enough attention to notice her difference. We’re interested in what part she has to play…

…But is she a liability…

We can’t make out the horse-rider but we’re sure he’s supposed to represent the Duke of Florence from the ‘de’ Medici’ crest…

…Now he was a jouster…

…the clash of steel, smell of the horses, bright midday sun, the hard trodden earth and the hot, ever-moving sand of the arena…

“My lord, a Vincent Forthe has come to meet with you outside; he awaits you in his carriage.”

No reply from Verdarrio, footfall again, Verdarrio must have pushed passed him…

...looking the fool, head held high to meet his doom…

…a brush of air; light, quick steps in…

...ballet pumps, from the scuffed sound they make…

…she twirls with the beauty of the flamenco dancers of my homeland…the summer heat, the pitch darkness of the night at the edges of the light, the crimson swathes of silk, the brown leather and the grey brick, sweat and grime, a desert rose…

…she stands before us, eyes entwined with our own…

…like voids of darkness…

…her silk dress falls about her…

…like a cascading waterfall of tar…her skin is pale...no, tanned, like from our homeland, like…Her face has strong cheekbones…

…no light delicate ones, she’s Italian remember her accent…

…her lips are streaks of crimson blood across her face…

…but, her eyes…

…not voids, a pair of onyxes, cold, hard, unfeeling that matches her Stygian hair…

“The Crow…”

She paused, her tongue is tied, and she’s struggling to keep her confident composure…

…reply, quick and sharp…

“…is as ugly as it is flawed.”

…to stop her discomfort…

…are we romantically involved…?

…only our courtesy and refined nature, we have values…

…she is hilariously hopeless; she’s trying to keep up…

…movement, we hear it in her footfall, she’s changed her stance, more relaxed, because she can see the bemusement in our eyes…

“Crows pick at the dead, ignoring the entire body and acknowledging only the gluttony of the feast.”

Blind…blind to the consequences and the effects of their meal…

…ironic…

…clever, must be northern Italian or from Rome to be educated so well…

…she thinks herself clever, but we lead her down a path in our own little game… she doesn’t like us though, something in her stance and voice…

…there is no love for the wicked…

“But a raven… the dark wings on an ominous wind bringing omens of death and destruction. He circles the corpse and finds the precious, vital organs and in one fell swoop steals them away.”

…she is loud, strong, convincing; caught up in her own argument…

…maybe a little too loud, we wouldn’t want to attract attention…

How ravens are misunderstood everywhere; the Irish believe them the to be harbingers of death, the Norse believe they are the servants of a wise but cruel god, and in the Qur’an they taught Cain how to cover up his murder. Is there no pity for the vagabond bound in black…?

…believes we are naught but a scout, a messenger for a darker master…

…or does she know…?

“And with you shall follow the hordes of hell; I shall rid this city of the likes of you.”

…she whispers…

…finally, at least she’s self aware…

…she stares straight at us…no she glares…

She is relentless, and hates us…

Verdarrio must be dead now, the Nyctari shan’t miss his presence…

…remember our values, our honour…

“Abrenuntias satanae et corpore et animo…”

She glares at us even more condescendingly; change in weight from one foot to the other, her stance is completely hostile…

“Dost thou renounce Satan in body and mind? Do you?! How can you? You denizen of the night, tormentor of the living, bringer of…”

Insolent wretch, what does she know of…

…Wait…

Nights of pain, a lifetime in the night, the torment, the suffering, the sacrifice…hot, wet, thick, sticky, pools of crimson in our hands…

…drive the dagger deep into her armour of confidence…

“What do you know of ravens, little dove? Where is your olive branch in this eternal flood? Do not lecture me on carrion and bird; you mistake the raven as a harbinger. The raven does not call for the wolf, he scares away the crows and the grotesque creatures that feud over the carcass. You do not know the wolf nor even heard his howl!”

Her stance has changed… shock? She doesn’t let it on, she has learnt to stand her ground…

She’s Christian, to blame me of heresy and talk of hell…

Let us preach of the real God…

“Where is your mighty eagle to save this dying corpse? Each day it looks more like a cadaver. You think we scavenging birds are strangers? We do not herald from some other line, we were once the Eagle’s children, painted black in suffering, fear deprivation and torment!”

…stop…

…our eyes flash in anger…

…let our wrath wreak pain upon this naïve girl…!

…leave her be, she holds no power...

…yet…

Farq can keep an eye on her…

Our long strides take us far from her and…a touch…

…warmth, the smell of a garden, the blue sky and the sunlight which brings vibrant contrasting colours that explode in the mind’s eye, a plain brown skirt wavering in the slight breeze, a tied corset with leather strings, a white puffed up blouse with short sleeves, full red lips…

…our arm pulls away viciously as a ferret rips itself from a captor’s grasp…walk away, slowly…the vampires stay seated, unaware of the previous argument… the piano plays deep, quick dramatic tones…

...our hand rested on a cool, smooth, varnished, black piano while vibrations in the wood cry strong powerful notes one after another raising the hairs on our arms…

…Beethoven, Symphony No. 5 in C minor…

…the Nyctari love their Beethoven, they thrive on the melodramatic and think themselves so cultured…

…The music stopped, only the sound of chattering, the clinking of glass and the squeals of concubines can be heard…

…odd…

...the piano plays alone, deep, descending, minor notes that sing from the muffled hammers underneath; the theme is slow but building…

…too subtle for Beethoven, too dark for Mozart, Bach? Not melodic and calculating enough…

Someone walks slowly and purposefully towards us…we step back…she anticipates and grabs my hand…

…a deep red dress, the tapping of shoes, the heat, the sweat…

“Can you tango Signor?”

…a hand at the hip, a hand entwined with hers…

…our hand is placed at her hip, she entwines her hand with our other…we’re in the middle of the ballroom…

“Leave me be Senorita…”

…a smiling, laughing face…

Stay in the now…

“S…M…Miss, I do not have time for games.”

Run…

Dance…

Violins play long drawn sighs complimenting the piano…Suddenly and violently the music changes tempo; violins play high, discordant, jarring melodies which are interwoven in strong fast notes from deep cellos like dark lashes of sound…She pulls us forward step by step, we hear her footfall, purposeful strong strides for elegance and show…

STOP…!

We turn away…she turns it into a spin…the hem of her silk dress brushes my legs…

…our sight caught on eyes like starlight…

…our sight caught on eyes…

...like the night…

…her red dress like a blood stain smeared in the sultry evening’s dim light…

…her black dress…

…like a flowing tenebrous spirit…

…her magnetic touch brings me back to life…

…her magnetic touch…

…brings me back to life…

…we’re too far forwards we’re going to hit a table, we grab her waist…

…we spin her round, her smile radiating through us like rays of the sun, her laughter fills the pavilion…

…we spin her round, her eyes flashing in amusement…

…she smirks at us flirtatiously…

…are we getting romantically involved…?

…no, we’re showing snobbish, stale, old vampires how to dance…

…we push forwards, our shoulders touching, us pushing our weight onto her, advancing as a soldier in war…

…we push forwards, she startles only for a second before shifting her weight backwards and following my footsteps…

…she spins, holding my hand up high, in the middle of the floor, with that playful look of determination upon her face, a moment of ecstasy, a rush of pride, love and adrenaline…

…we grab her hand and spin her, holding her arm above her head…

…6 strides forwards, 8 back, that positions us…

…we are in the middle of the ballroom, the chatting has stopped, movement is minimal, there is almost no sound other than our movement and the music, they are all watching…

…in amazement…told you, vampire’s should learn from their cultural master…

…we smirk...the air rushes past our face, almost in slow motion…

...we move with grace, we move with passion…a moment of ecstasy…

…we grab her legs and pull them around our waist, still spinning and moving our head closer…

…we grab her legs and pull them around our waist, still spinning and moving our head closer…

...a rush of pride, love and adrenaline, we kiss her…

…a rush of pride, love and adrenaline, we kiss her…

…stood still, senses gone…

…what happened…?

…clapping, the smell of sweat and a garden, I pull away to see her dainty cheekbones, delicate nose and tanned skin…

…clapping, the smell of sweat and perfume, I pull away to see a pair of obsidian orbs, a plume of stygian curls…

…you are romantically involved…

…she untangles herself, and puts her cheek to mine, her warm breath on my ear…

…she untangles herself, and puts her cheek to mine, her warm breath on my ear…

“Looking for a desert rose?”

“No soy más que una Rosa del desierto.” She spoke in quick hushed tones before walking away slowly, swaying in playful tones…

…footsteps lead away from us as she leaves us in the middle of the ballroom, her swaying hips given away by the incoherent footfall; the whispered talking and sighs of the onlookers tell us it is all over as we walk out the room slowly…

…how did she know of a desert rose…?

…we’re letting our emotions take over…

…we must find her…

…crying, tears rolling down our face like a stream of warm blood falling from our eyes…

…find her, take her home, and never let her out again….

…we’ll lose ourselves and our way…

…what’s the point in a world without her…?

…it’s not her you fool, look at yourself, you’re going insane...

…when did you forget, we always were…

…hush…

...we walk down the long corridor, looking out into the night, dark minarets and chimneys cover the skyline…

…look at this cadaver, how repulsive, while the…crows fight amongst themselves, the insects squabble and the magpie’s pick at the jewels, we shall wait, we shall turn crow on insect and magpie on crow in a vicious cycle of our own making…doves may flock to heal it but they will only get caught amongst the carcass…let them come, proclaim the word of some false eagle, while they can…the raven shall be patient…

Alicia Murphy, ageing wife of the Commissioner of Santa Somabra’s police department, sat across from Nyxvira Bloodbloom, taking gentle sips of green tea from her ornate china cup. The pair were seated beneath a humongous ripe-leafed tree which twirled upwards towards the blazing sun above, that Nyx had specifically chosen due to its resemblance to the ancient Bloodbloom Grove back in Ottershaw, as was the case with all of the greenery in her roof-top garden.

The two women could not have looked more dissimilar; Alicia was a cold, hard woman, with sensibly styled grey hair, small lips, dead shark-like eyes, and skin the texture of battered leather, whereas Nyxvira was a soft, corpulent woman, with a huge boulder of a belly, multiple flabby chins, full red lips, pointed ears, and a fiery explosion of scarlet red hair cascading down her shoulders like flowing magma.

“Thank you for meeting with me in person,” Alicia said in a strained manner, her body language tense and reserved “I understand this isn’t how things are usually done in this…line of work, but I like to conduct my dealings face-to-face.”

“I understand completely, ma’am.” Nyxvira oozed in her sweet singsong voice, dripping with child-like innocence “and I hope to make your dealings with my organization as smooth and free of stress as possible.” She reached down to the low wooden table that sat between them, scooping up a mushroom that had been cooked in garlic with her fat fingers, before popping it lightly into her mouth “We are here to serve at your leisure.”

“Everything here seems so…proper; like a real business.” Alicia said with an awkward laugh “you know, like you’d expect from a bank or something.”

“I like to create a relaxed an approachable working environment.” Nyx replied, a slick grin creasing her plump face.

“O-ofcourse.” Alicia stammered uncomfortably “I just…wasn’t sure what to expect, I suppose. Sorry, I’m not really sure how to go about this…sort of thing.” She scratched irritably at the back of her neck, her eyes wandering off into the nearby trees and bushes.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is that I can do for you today?” Nyxvira offered up helpfully, her big gold eyes sparkling with warmth.

“Why yes, of course.” Alicia murmured uncomfortably “Dennis wants to run for mayor in the election…once this whole fiasco with the power is cleared up.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Nyxvira exclaimed, clapping her plump hands together “You must be so proud of him.”

“Quite.” Alicia replied, wincing slightly “There’s just some…issues, a set of problems.” She struggled with her words for some time, before eventually managing “something I’m afraid might resurface, and cause him some trouble down the road.”

“Oh? Do go on.”

“You know how this city is, what these people are like. My husband is a good man. He’s made some mistakes, we all have, but I’ve forgiven him, and we’ve moved past them. Our relationship has never been stronger.” She spoke seemingly as much to convince herself as the Faerie.

“I’m eternally happy for you both.” Nyxvira said in a sweet voice.

“He had some…problems, you see, a while back now. When I was pregnant he was…intimate with some other women.” Alicia screwed up her face, looking as though the words were physically hurting her as she strained them out.

“How many?” Nyxvira asked, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“Is that really necessary?” Alicia snapped back, before softening “Oh, I suppose it is. Sorry, this all makes me rather tense, I do apologies.”

“Please, take as much time as you need.” Nyx soothed in her enchanted tone.

The garden was silent for an uncomfortably long moment.

“Twelve.” Alicia said eventually, muttering into her tea cup.

“I see.”

“He told me almost straight away!” She squawked “the poor man could hardly live with himself. It was a dark time for him…for us both.”

“And you’re worried someone will uncover this information and try to use it to hurt Dennis’ chances during the election?” Nyxvira asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Yes,” Alicia admitted “we…I tried offering these women some money, but one of them keeps asking for more and more, for money we simply don’t have! Ungrateful little harlot. I frankly don’t have the funds to continue paying her, and I refuse to be pushed around by some back alley whore any longer!” By the time she’d finished the old woman had gone red in the face, and her eyes were wide with fervent rage.

“What is it that you’d like me to do, Mrs Murphy?” Nyxvira asked in her sweet, innocent voice. She knew exactly what the old hag wanted, but she enjoyed watching people squirm.

“I…I want you to make them go away.” Alicia wriggled about irritably, her leathery forehead damp with sweat.

“You want me to make her disappear?”

“I want you to make them all disappear! That whole filthy band of disgusting, money-sucking, little parasitic wretches.” Alicia was shouting again, red-faced and flustered. “Could you…could you do that, for me?” she asked softly, lowering her tone.

Nyxvira pretended to consider for a moment, placing one fat hand on her multi-chinned face. “It’s doable. For a price.”

“O-ofcourse!” Alicia nodded enthusiastically “how much would I, ehm, how much would it cost?”

“Twelve girls you say? I’m sure we can come to some kind of, entirely reasonable and fair, arrangement that both parties will agree to be immensely satisfactory. You’ll find me to be far more rational than my competitors.” Nyxvira grinned, showing off rows of ever-so-slightly pointed pearly white teeth.

“You came highly recommended.”

“And with good reason.” Nyxvira boasted proudly “Now, you let me handle all the logistics. I’ll put the hit out, discretely of course –and with all the sensitive information appropriately withheld- , and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of well-trained professionals ready to accept the contract almost straightaway.”

“Oh thank you, Miss Bloodbloom!” Alicia exclaimed cheerily “you truly are a lifesaver.”

Nyxvira smiled warmly “I’m just here to do my part to uphold community values, and to serve good folk such as yourself. Can I offer you some more tea?”

“Oh gee, Cedric, I still can’t believe it myself! I can’t wait to tell Mamma! Just think; a girl from Drabstreet growin’ up to marry an uptown boy from Dawnpeak Heights! It’s like somethin’ outta a fairytale.”

Cedric Bradberton forced a smile, no words slipping out of his tightly sealed lips. Not much longer now. The pair made their way through a thicket of dense woodland, tower-like trees looming up above them, Cedric’s dark jacket billowing ever-so-softly behind him in the calm night-time breeze.

“And whatever will papa say?! Oh, I’m so excited to tell them both! They gonna be so proud of me!” Maria squawked in her shrill bird-like voice, flapping her arms about as she bounced around Cedric. “We’ll be plannin’ the wedding soon, oh it’s gonna be so magical! And then children- oh, sorry…I got ahead of maself there. Gosh darn it! I hope I’m not scarin’ you, Cedric, Mamma always says I’m scarin’ boys off….”

“Not at all.” Cedric managed in a strained voice, as they pair drew nearer and nearer to their destination.

“Oh this is so romantic! A late-night stroll out into the woods, us two so very in love with each other, about to get married! I could simply squeal with joy, Cedric, I swear I could!”

Cedric tolerated her squealing for a few moments more, until they reached the clearing. What trees there were ran along the outside of the great dirt flat, and the cover of night time obscured the clearings finer features in a blanket of unwavering darkness.

Maria bounded ahead of her companion, until she found the clearing infront of her to be empty. The young girl slowed down, wide-eyed and anxious, shambling awkwardly forwards. She stopped just where Cedric needed her. Everything’s falling into place.

“Why, Mistah Cedric,” she stammered, laughing uncomfortably “I can’t help but shake the feelin’ there’s somethin’ more sinistah goin’ on here…” she anxiously scratched at her arm “ain’t that silly of me?”

“Well, My love,” Cedric began slowly, a slick grin creeping across his thin lips “You’ve guessed just about right.”

In one fluid movement the silenced pistol emerged from his breast pocket. He gave the trigger a firm squeeze, a muffled shot rang out, and then Maria was in a heap on the floor, a hole blown straight between her eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Bradberton!” Hissed a nasally voice from somewhere out in the darkness. A tall and lanky figure, dressed in a burgundy turtleneck jumper, came slinking out of the shadows, an expression of annoyance ripe on his lean face. “It’s not the same when they’ve got their brains hanging out!” he whined, stamping his foot on the ground, kicking up a cloud of brown soil.

“You know the arrangement,” Cedric snapped “Nyx needs to make someone important disappear, we take them out here –dispose of them-, you lug them back to the crematorium and have your wicked way with them, then they end up in the furnace –No questions asked-. The specifications of your sick little perversion doesn’t interest me.”

“You could at least take my needs into consideration…” Willis grumbled, gazing down at Maria’s corpse with frustrated eyes. “It’s harder to get it up when there’s a great big hole in their face!”

“Oh my God, enough!” Cedric bellowed “D’you want the skanks body or not?!”

“Yes.” Willis muttered with a pout.

“Then quit your fucking bitching.”

“What was so special about her, anyway?” Willis asked after a long silence.

“Some fancy-types painted whore, I dunno who. Nyx is really conservative with what she tells us.”

“Well, my dear, you’re gonna get it tonight.” Willis said with a sickly little laugh, the hitman rolling his eyes in response.

“Lovely evening for a walk, isn’t it gentlemen?” A deep, thundering voice called from out in the darkness.

Cedric and Willis looked at each other in horror, stunned, as three tall figures came striding out into a small patch of moonlight.

On the left was a savage looking mongrel of a man, at least 6 feet tall, with a shaggy mane of dirt brown hair, great barrel-like arms, and a hideous, gnarled face. On the right, stood a lithe, pointy-faced figure with greased back hair, vulture-like eyes, a hooked nose, and a partially bitten off ear that stuck out from one side of his face. Between the two large men, stood a much smaller, lightly tanned, woman, with messy black hair that had been shaven into rows on the right side of her face and left to grow into a thick dark mop on the other, an exposed left arm that was covered in a myriad of brightly coloured tattoos, and miss-matched yellow-brown eyes. She was dressed in a dark purple sleeveless top that was covered in straps and buckles, a grimy steel chain that was woven around her broad waist, and bass studded bracelets.

“That it is.” Cedric replied plainly, keeping his eyes locked on the figures, frantically gesturing for Willis to get behind him, who complied almost instantly.

“Nice girl ya got there.” The woman observed with a toothy grin, gazing down at the limp bloody on the floor “shame about her being dead and all, still; each to their own I suppose.”

“How about you carry on your merry way, and we forget we ever saw each other?” Cedric offered up coolly, slowly aiming his silenced pistol at the largest of the three figures.

“You ready to use that pea-shooter, little man?” Boomed the savage-looking one, his feral eyes tunnelling into Cedric’s soul.

“I suppose we’ll find out.” Cedric shot back calmly.

Suddenly, the lean one shot forwards, but before he could gain a footing Cedric had fired straight into his chest, sending the lanky beast stumbling backwards. Whilst he fell to his knees, the figure was by no means dead, and preceded to meet Cedric with a wicked grin.

“Oh shit.”

The change was sudden and rapid; what began as a small tick in the figure’s left arm soon became an immense, body—wide thrashing. Foam pooled out of his gaping mouth, and his already sharp teeth began to grow and stretch forwards, becoming dog-like fangs. A tuff of dark brown fur spread across his exposed neck, ripping across his skin, until all of his flesh was covered in a thick brown pelt. His limbs grew, his back arched, and his sharp face stretched outwards, adopting feral, wolf-like proportions. The monster that stood in the place of the lean figure was as much a wolf as he was a man, with a great thrashing tail, clawed-hands, a leathery black muzzle, dog-like ears, and a snarling, snapping mouth full of dagger-like teeth.

“Should’ve stayed home and locked your doors.” Cackled the woman, laughing darkly.

Similar transformations occurred in the other two, their bodies morphing, contorting, and shifting, until three humongous Werewolves stood in the moonlit clearing.

“Orders, Den mother?” One of the werewolves boomed in the guttural voice of some hellish monster.

“Let the hunt begin.”

The taste of the city was thick in the air, the stink from so many bodies in such close proximity, the tang of noxious fumes from so many cars and even the faintest hint of something else, something unique to the pit of filth that was Santa Somabra or so Atticus mused as he stood gazing over the sprawling cityscape that lay before him. The wind pulled and buffeted his clothing as he waited, lingering in the twilight like an unseen spectre with malicious intent.

He glanced down at the glowing screen of the cheap cell phone he had purchased, the time staring him back as it clicked from 20:32 to 20:33. She would be arriving at any moment he was sure, as she did each night after working a long and lengthy day. It bemused him how everyone always followed such predictable patterns and routines, only occasionally varying from what they had become familiar with. A woman who woke early and went jogging, each weekend going to a local gym to exercise and keep her youthful body in shape, a woman who excelled in finding her way into relationships with people in powerful positions or families who wouldn't want to know about her. She would finish her ‘work’ at about 20:00 and spend about 40 minutes making her way home, stopping for a coffee and a bite to eat from one of those god-awful chain coffee shops. Atticus reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly battered packet of cigarettes, slowly and deliberately pulling one from the pack and bringing it to his lips. He thought briefly about the day he had first seen her, arguing on the phone with someone about money to keep her quiet. That was what had grabbed his attention to begin with, but in truth he had targeted her because Kitiara had told him to. She didn't like the way the woman dressed, how she held herself and how she dealt with those around her. The more they had learned about her life the more that the decision to make her his next project had been justified.

“I thought you wanted to cut back?” came the soft voice of Kitiara from beside him, bringing his mind back to the present. She was wearing a dark and flowing red dress that complimented her figure, her blonde hair curled elegantly just how it had been that night. She was stunning and the relative gloom of their surroundings only served to contrast against her beauty and make her look all the more flawless to him.

Turning his head slightly Atticus smirked and responded “You know that I only smoke when I need to. Why else would someone be stood outside of an apartment block so late at night?” their eyes met for a moment and the familiar spark of electricity shot between them, the relationship between the two being stronger than ever.

Kitiara returned his smirk and pulled the silver lighter from his pocket as she pressed her body against his half embracing him slightly before holding it up and lighting his cigarette for him. She slipped the lighter back into his pocket, grazing her hand sensually against his leg for a moment as she did so before she responded “Perhaps because they are waiting for a whore and they don’t have a key for the building?”

He raised his eyebrows at her response and was about to retort when he noticed the familiar silhouetted figure of Anica Hironaka making her way towards the apartment building. Slipping back into the guise of a cold lonely smoker he shivered and coughed as he inhaled deeply once more before exhaling a large cloud of smoke into the evening air. The woman of course took no notice of him as she passed by and unlocked the door into the building and made her way brusquely through, people never did seem to take too much notice. After all he was just another person like everyone else, why should he be different from the numerous other people she had passed by tonight. Dropping the cigarette Atticus moved swiftly and with a slight lunge he stopped the door from closing with his foot, waiting for a few more moments as he knew she would be making her way up the stairwell and towards her apartment. Moments later he slipped into the building before slowly making his own way up the stairs towards the floor with her apartment moving with a deliberate steady grace.

The ground floor of the building was stereotypically fetid and rundown, several unpleasant smells reaching his nose as he made his way up. It took relatively little time for him to reach the eighth floor, just as he did he heard the sound of a door closing on the landing before him as the woman made her way into the assumed safety of her home. However he was already familiar with the inside of her apartment, or rather the view of it from when observed through binoculars from the building across the street. He had been watching her for some time now, a woman who liked to have frequent sexual encounters with different men he had learned, a woman who exploited those around her and more importantly a woman who had attracted Atticus's attention through her actions. She always had a shower when she got home he had come to learn, washing the grime and filth of another days labour from her body like some nightly ritual, he didn't blame her with what she did. He wondered briefly if she thought she was a good person, if she justified what she did or if she simply didn’t care and focused on the money. Pressing his ear to the apartment door he couldn’t help but smirk once more as he realised he could ask her soon enough, the sound of music blaring through the painted wood reaching him as he pulled on a pair of dark gloves and prepared himself for what was to come, Kitiara shooting him a flirtatious wink from beside him.

He had watched this woman time and time again arrive home before fiddling with her stereo and removing her clothes and going through into the bathroom. It was curious he thought as he waited a little longer, why these people didn’t close their curtains more often or change their routines occasionally - it was all but a happy mystery to him. Dismissing the thought he pulled out a small tool, an electronic lockpick that he had picked up quite time ago from one of his earlier projects. It drilled its way through the majority of locks in under thirty seconds, even quicker for cheaper locks like this one. With a tell-tale click the door opened and Atticus took one moment to pocket the tool before removing a small syringe and slowly making his way into the room. It contained a dark yellow liquid, a strong tranquiliser that was derived from one of the key components of fairy dust, its effects would make anyone slip into a deep coma for at least two hours or so and have euphoric and wild dreams whilst remaining completely still and easy to handle. It was one of his finest creations, though it did require him to deal with undesirables in order to acquire the drug he needed to make it

Never before had things been so easy, music blaring, no chain or other locks and she was already in the shower with the doorway only slightly ajar. It almost seemed inexcusable to him that someone living in Santa Somabra, especially such a vulnerable woman with so many potential enemies would be so careless with their safety and security. But then again no-one expected to be stalked by someone as detailed and thorough as he was.

Closing the door behind him he took a brief moment to ensure that it closed properly even with the damaged lock and wouldn’t drift open on its own before wedging himself quietly behind the bathroom door and waiting to strike like a deadly coiled cobra from the shadows. Atticus waited and endured the terrible droning of whatever was playing as he listened to the sound of her showering, counting roughly in his head as he did. Her showers were fairly quick, usually between 8-10 minutes before she would emerge with a towel wrapped around her before sprawling out on the bed.

His heart pounded and he could practically taste the anticipation in the air, his eyes fixed at the point she would appear. Soon enough he heard the water stop as Anica finished, moments later making her way into the room as she tussled her dripping dark hair and moved past him only inches away. She was of course completely naked and her dark tanned skin glistened with moisture, her body was slim and somewhat toned, very appealing to look at if you were interested in such things. Atticus spent one brief moment eyeing the supple shape of her buttocks as he emerged from his hiding spot and in one fast and deliberate action he stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her head as he clasped a gloved hand over her mouth with a sharp jerk. He expected her reaction, the startled woman trying to scream and thrash out as soon as she realised what was happening, everyone's natural response being the same and just as futile once he had struck. As she thrashed against his unmoving form, struggling and kicking at him with everything she had he quickly plunged the needle into her neck before squeezing the deep amber substance into her veins. The response was almost instant as she soon went limp in his arms and her struggling ceased as Kitiara emerged from the bathroom with a soft smile covering her face.

"Finally" she said softly "I hope you're looking forwards to this as much as I am, my love". Laying the unmoving woman out on the bed he walked over and pulled the curtains closed quickly before turning and rubbing his hands together with a smile. He made his way to Kitiara before he gently pulled her into his embrace before he kissed her passionately for a few moments, the two savouring in the success of another coming kill.

THE AFTERMATH





Opening to a cringe-worthy scene, it was softened only by the warm glow of lamps lit on every still standing table in the aftermath of the power outage. Broken glass and shattered sills were strewn as far as the eye could see, but the hustle and bustle of the city yet still managed to creep into such a place and it’s patrons, though few, had perhaps sought safety from the outage-induced chaos within the shambles of such a place.

There were worst things out there right now, after all ...



Ricardo Vigil pushed through the doors, slapdashedly stepping over a fallen board that had come crashing down from the ceiling earlier. The man bore a series of bandages that ran from his neck down his left shoulder and through to his arm where dark spots behind his short sleeved shirt hint at recent wounds, dried blood caking underneath it all. As he made his way to the bar, he soon came to meet every alcohol addled look at him with a grimaced scowl and clenched his knuckles so tight that they turned white, quickly sending stares the other way. Only when he found a familiar face did his expression relent into something friendlier.

"The usual," The man groused as he tucked into a seat wincing, the owner of the bar looked like she could use the business.

"Thought you might want these back," He slid a few trinkets out from his pocket and into the ashtray before him, not coins, but bullets. Bloodstained bullets. "...didn't think you needed the police questioning you and making things..." He said as he glanced behind at the wreckage of a room once more. "Worse."



Things had been continuously getting worse for some time now, and that hadn’t changed in the day since she’d last seen Vigil. She’d returned to her bar just in time to see that her bar was wrecked, with three imbeciles still there. She had scared two of them off, but the third… Well, after such an eventful night she had needed to replenish her strength, and she would have been lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed exacting a bit of revenge. In all honesty she regretted letting the other two go... Max shook herself from her reverie, silently gathering the bullets in an old bar rag and tucking the bundle in a pocket before turning to pour two drinks. One she slid over to him, keeping the other in her own hand.

“Come on,” she said flatly, turning to head towards the small rooms in the back, “It’s time you and I had a conversation, don’t you think?” Her voice trailed off.

Vigil looked down at his own drink, musing over it's swirling contents as she spoke, then she was already walking away on her own. She didn't even turn to see if he was behind and caught the eye of one of her employees as she went, signaling that Isaac was to take over the bar.

"...great." He muttered as he watched her disappear from the corner of his eye.


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




Max pushed open the door that led to her office, circling the heavy wooden desk that sat in the middle of the room before smoothly sitting down in her chair. A long, long moment later, Vigil entered the room holding yet another glass of absinthe. Looking at Vigil, she gestured to the smaller chair on the other side.

Swiftly unlocking a drawer, Max pulled out the large tome they had found the night before, setting it down heavily between them. She narrowed her eyes at Vigil cheerlessly. “So,” she said. “Would you like to begin, or shall I?”

He gestured for her to speak up first, still standing as he did so.

“Were you aware of what we would find down there, for instance?” She cooly arched one eyebrow before adding, “and hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s... impolite not to mention how much blood magic is going to be involved in something before you start?”

Vigil narrowed a look back at her, “Two nights ago, you were the last person I expected to be involved.” Vigil then shook his head tiredly, this was going to go nowhere.

”I didn't know what was going to happen. If I did then THIS -" He growled, pointing sternly at where the stab wound was on His own chest, "- would not have happened." He then flinched uncomfortably when he crossed his arms back once more, scrunching his nose slightly, "You might be touching someone's skin by the way." He remarked somewhat offhandedly.

Max waved a hand dismissively. “The stuff it’s bound in is the least of our worries. It’s the contents I’m more concerned with. It’s not exactly light reading.”

Vigil reluctantly ran his palm over the cover, trying to confirm his suspicions and his brow soon furrowed. “Resin preserved. Dammar.” He eyed the bindings and the inscription on the front, noting the font and style. “Masonian edition.” Then he opened up the book, reading it’s first few phrases before closing it sharply with a loud thump. The dreadful book detailed disturbing necrotic rituals, something he was not in the mood for at the moment.



“I see.”


“Sacrifices, reanimation, possession, it actually covers quite the variety of things. Some of it seems connected to the… spiderlike things we ran into. I’m sure some of it has to do with whatever got you involved in all of this in the first place as well.”

Vigil looked up upon hearing her words, then turned his gaze away from her and out at the nearby window, slowly, he took a few steps towards it and pressed one blind down with two fingers. His stare hardened.

"Something is happening out there right now..." He said, remembering her words last night. “This knowledge is valuable.”

Max looked surprised. “You want to sell it? I definitely know a few who would pay quite the sum for something like this. I hadn’t thought you would be interested in auctioning it off, however.” Mentally, she was already thinking of clients who would kill, or pay, eagerly to get their hands on a tome such as this.

“The book?” He had not considered that yet, “...Give me a few days to duplicate it and we can sell it to more than one person.” Vigil thoughtfully scratched his sideburns. “No point making just one sum.” He mumbled.

“But I’m talking about the note you found as well. Where is it?”


She produced the note from her desk with a flourish, handing it to him.


“You ...We could earn more than a few favours from the police with this. They’ve been cracking their skulls,” He held it and read it over, glancing sideways as he thought of someone in particular, “...on this. The missing bodies, the electrical disruption. We can make their job easier.”

Max scoffed. “The biggest favour the police in this city have done me was leaving me alone. Besides, they’re all as corrupt as can be. How would we even know we were giving the information to someone who wasn’t already involved?”

“We pray and hope our luck doesn’t run out.” He said as a matter of factly. “Not all of them are corrupt ...I ...well, I won’t mention you if that keeps you sound.”

“Prayer, hope, and luck, huh? That’s got to be a first in this city. And I’d much appreciate it if you didn’t mention me.”

“And Wit."

She paused. “...Fine. We’ll involve the authorities.”

Vigil nodded, "Leave it to me.” He said assuringly, picking up the book and turning towards the door, "I'll call you when it's done ...I have to take care of something now." Then swiftly made his way out of the office, the bar and into the evening air.

The front door was wide open. One of the things hung on a hinge. All the glass was shattered.

No blood though, so that was good. Barely anyone around this time of night.

I gingerly stepped my way through the field of broken glass, feeling shards and things crack and tinkle under my feet. The other guys had boots, but me? I had a pair of old dress shoes instead. If I got cut it wouldn't matter though. I was already dead, what did I care my feet got a line or two in 'em?

Inside, the main reception area was trashed. Empty. Brochures and other things were scattered all over the place. Posters torn down from walls. Shattered glass, broken tiles, you get the picture. Place was a fuckin' pig sty, and for good reason: the nutjobs that made the mess were still here.

I spied two hooded idiots at the far end of the lobby. They were standing in front of a door, sign read as "Main Control Room". And, as Alonzo and Hurk drew up next to me, I knew that they saw 'em as well. They were just standin' there, kinda swayin' left 'n right a little, weird motherfuckers, made a chill crawl up my spine. Alonzo leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"You wanna take 'em down?"

I gave it some thought. Surely these were the Cannoness' goons, the same doofuses that messed up Downtown. Trashed ol' Paulie's place and now they were here messin' up the city. My home. God it was good that they were here and not gone.

I looked at him, grinned and nodded. That made him recoil a little from how fucked up my face looked.

"Let's give 'em hell, boys. Make 'em pay for what they did to our city."

And with that, the two robed guys in our sights, we opened fire.

Rat a tat tat.

When we were done, I was out of bullets for my Typewriter, so I reloaded. Same for my two companions. The two robed idiots were sprawled on the floor, blood seepin' out of the myriad holes in their corpses. Ahead, through the hallways and corridors, I heard sounds, responses, footsteps and yelling.

Oh we had attention. We definitely had attention.

"Right boys, we got them lookin'. Let's give 'em somethin' ta find. You two okay with separating?"

Alonzo and Hurk exchanged a look, then both nodded.

Right, I had to get this out of my head. It was too much.

"Question: are you two, like, special forces or something? You guys are way too comfortable with this shit."

Alonzo glanced at his partner, who shrugged. With a shoulder he gestured to Hurk.

"He is. I'm ex-Navy Seal."

Ah.

"Right then, badasses. Alonzo, you good with goin' alone?"

He nodded and smirked.

"Hey, made a livin' out of it."

Oh I was startin' ta like these guys.

"Awesome, cause you're our distraction. You head that way, down the other hall towards the cafeteria. Make as much noise as you can, draw the attention of the uneducated loons. Me and Hurk will head towards the control room. Once you get done, meet us there."

"You got it Andy."

With his thumb flicking the safety off his rifle, he ambled off to the right. I waited a minute before motioning to the left hallway.

"Alright Hurk, my man. Let's get ramblin'."

"Roger that chief. Lead the way."

The three Lycans stood atop the Church of Saint Somabra, stooped with bestial elegance at the peak of the old building’s immense stone spire.

Ameilkas turned her lean fur-covered head, addressing the titan-like Werewolf who was crouching down to her right.

“Brunkas,” She barked in a hard voice that demanded obedience “Christakas and Dirakas are in position by the Police Station- their scent is strong on the night wind-. The forces of law may be nothing but puppet soldiers in this rats nest, but they are soldiers nonetheless, and must be dealt with accordingly. Go with them, and sever the serpent’s head before it has the chance to slither out of its lair.”

“Your word is law, Den Mother.” The great wolf bowed his head in respect, before leaping from the church roof, tearing through the air, and landing –unharmed- with an earth-shaking thud amidst the rows upon rows of graves below, his powerful legs bending as his clawed feet dug into the thick soil.

“Erikas,” Ameilkas acknowledge the slender Lycan with a gruff nod “Call the others.”

“All of them, Den Mother?” He asked in his scratchy voice.

“All of them.”

The lean werewolf pulled back his head, and a deafening howl thundered forth from his fanged mouth. It rang out across the city, tearing through back-alleys, streets, walkways, and roads. It beckoned to the most primal instincts within every hunter, awakening forgotten ferocities in a gurgling tide of sheer untapped power.

The replies came back almost instantly, a whirlwind of bestial cries, bellowed out for all to hear.

“AAAAAHHROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”

On the blurred edges of her view, Ameilkas could see hunched shadows bounding across the rooftops, darting across shingling on all fours, spilling out across the city in a bloodthirsty tide.

“What next, Den Mother?” croaked Erikas.

Ameilkas sniffed at the air with her small leathery muzzle “One of us, a rogue Lycan, was here, not too long ago.”

Erikas grinned, showing rows upon rows of razor sharp fangs “I smell him.”

“Find this traitor, and show him the cost of standing against the great hunt.”

“Your word is law, Den Mother.” And with that Erikas slipped away into the darkness, leaping down from the church roof.

“Too long have the lesser races been allowed to move about unchecked,” Ameilkas muttered to herself “a reckoning is in order; and the dammed will be held accountable for their sins. Look to your gods, rodent scum, for nothing of this earth will save you now.”









Nyxvira Bloodbloom stood in the main dining room of the Hall of Golden Petals, her obese form tightly clad in a scarlet red kimono, which hugged every feature of her enormous body. Her fiery ginger hair had been styled into two elegant red braids, with golden clasps on each one, which flowed delicately down her broad shoulders, and her great ethereal Faerie wings fluttered gently out of her back, stirring up an almost non-existent breeze.

Fat little Hobbs, with gnarled faces- twisted and pointed-, and bark-like skin, waddled back and forth across the wooden floor, making preparations for the oncoming assault. A few of the stout creatures were fiddling about with an enormous black steel sentry turret, which stood proudly at the back of the dining hall, whilst others set about connecting humongous grey amps to the sound system. The primary focus seemed to be on the main stage, where Hobbs were fiddling about with sounds boards and electric instruments, methodically making note of the volume.

“You really think this’ll work?” Vincent Tűzst, SSPD Officer turned enforcer of the Bloodbloom Syndicate, said with a doubtful look, worry lines evident on his aged face.

“Not afraid of the big bad wolf, are we?” Nyxvira asked with a poorly hidden smirk.

“I’d be stupid not to be.” Vincent said honestly “Taintmarsh Park, 8th of May, 1978. One of these fuckers cut two high-school sweethearts straight in half, turned over a cop car, killed four good men, and took a pounding harder than Razghul’s mother before he went down. These things aren’t a joke.”

“Calm your tits, Tűzst, I’ve been dealing with Hunters for a good hundred or so years longer than you have.” Nyxvira replied snidely. Whilst she was young for a Faerie, and still had a youthful appearance, Nyx had a solid fifty or so years on Vincent, and a large portion of them had been spent navigating the criminal underworld, and dodging magical threats.

“Werewolves don’t like claustrophobic spaces,” Nyx explained “and Chinatown is just winding alleyways and cramped little streets. They’ll come down here trying to cause as much of a mess as possible, but once we push back they’ll fuck off to somewhere more open, and look for easier kills.”

“You know best, boss lady.” Vincent muttered insincerely.

Nyx’s vicious gaze bore into the old man.

“Bitch, have you forgotten who you’re talking to? I’m the matriarch of House Bloodbloom; the oldest, and, motherfucking, meanest family of winged badasses to ever grace you mortal fucking cretins with our presence. I was enslaving humans whilst your Dad was still a glint in your Grandad’s eye, I took on the Chinatown Tong and won, and I have danced this merry, motherfucking, dance many, many times more than thou. So shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down, and let the baddest bitch in Santa Somabra show you how it’s done. Peasant.”

Vincent looked at the floor.

“Now get your arse upstairs,” Nyxvira commanded, unable to stop herself from laughing “there’s some sick puppies on the loose, and they need putting down.”



There was silence in Chinatown, as Nyxvira had demanded it. The first few hunters came bounding nimbly over the rooftops, and crashing down into the dull orange lantern-lit streets below with otherworldly grace. They sniffed about, a mismatch of different scents all ripe in their nostrils, and then the singing started.

A sweet, sensual song, with the poisonous grace of forbidden fruit, drifted through the empty streets with honeyed beauty. The words soothed and provoked all at once, beckoning the Hunters to the Hall of Golden Petals, overwhelming all other scents and senses. They plodded down the winding cobbled roads, the ancient tune dancing in their pointed ears. The words were twisted yet graceful, curved in an inhuman manner, accented with tongues not of this world, and swirling with magical splendour.

Nyxvira stood on the wooden balcony which overlooked the dining hall, microphone held elegantly in one fat hand as she continued to sing one of the fabled ballads of her people, calling the Hunters to her doorstep.

No barricades, nor any other fortifications, barred the Werewolves from entering, and soon they had barged into the Hall of Golden Petals; great lupine beasts, hunched and snarling, standing amidst the rows of chairs and tables.

“You look plump and tasty.” Snarled one of the hunters, his great yellow eyes drifting up to Nyxvira as her song ended.

“What a sweet voice,” cackled another “will you sing for us when we rip open that big stomach of yours?”

Nyxvira smiled; a grin dripping with graceful cunning. “Care for one last song?”

The amps exploded in a fit of powerful rock, firing deafening tunes out of their ginormous mass, which vibrated through the very air itself with thunderous might. To a human such volume would be a potential harbinger of tinnitus, to the predatory ears of the Hunters such volume drowned out everything else in existence, flooding the brain with an all-encompassing tsunami of pain. The Hunters shook and wailed, their enormous bodies contorting in agony as the music blasted them to their knees.
It was then that the great oriental tapestry at the far end of the room, strung up between the winding wooden staircases, fell away, revealing the towering black steel sentry gun, and a tower of Hobs, stacked one on top of the other, who were manning it.

The gun blared to life, swinging from side to side like some hellish windscreen wiper, spraying a furious hailstorm of bullets into the tormented werewolves.

The beasts strived to move towards their prey, but the mixture of deafening music and the physical barrier posed by the roaring tide of bullets proved to be too much for them to overcome, halting the oncoming surge of feral bloodlust.

After a solid minute of being struck by a combination of powerful rock and substantially more powerful bullets, the hunters let out a whimpering howl, muffled by the hellish cocktail of noise that was flooding through the Hall of Golden Petals, and went scampering out of the door, tripping over each other to escape.

The gun ceased its bombardment, and the music slowly quietened, until it was gone completely.

Nyxvira removed her rubber earplugs, grinning to herself.

“Why don’t you go fuck with the Rats, you worthless mongrels?!” Vincent called after the Hunters, cackling darkly as her moved into place next to the corpulent faerie.

“Come crawling into my territory again,” Nyxvira roared “and I’m taking the safety off. There’s only once monster in Chinatown; and she doesn’t have a snout and a tail.”

The hallways were confusing, alright. Empty too. I guess Alonzo must've been doing his job right. I could hear the gunshots from here, too. Sounded like a party. Only rarely did I see some red robed asshole running down the hallway towards wherever Alonzo was, and we plugged 'em good as soon as we saw 'em.

It was a trek. The control room was way inside the place, far far in. The further we went, the darker it got. Some places, the backup lights weren't even workin'.

It was weird though. The further we went, I could swear there was somethin' else followin' us. Like, there was a faint tippity tap on the walls 'n ceiling. I thought it was rats, honestly. Hurk thought otherwise.

"Something's in the walls, man. I don't like it."

"Yeah, no shit, but whatever it is, we keep moving."

"You got it."

We had to keep moving. There was no turnin' back at that point. Either we got power back, or we were dead.

Trembling hands wound tightly around wires in the darkness.

The moon passed overhead, it's frosted light seeped through and caressed a pale ghasted face. It caught his attention and the man warily looked up at the night sky, shirking from the glow which poured through a hole in the ceiling - he knew he did not have much time left.

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

Vigil had spent the last few hours in a tunnel leading out to the canyons, an abandoned route that now only remained in the shadow of a brand new highway. With only his elixir to keep him sane, he worked through the nooks and crannys of the place. Stringing metal wires to the pipes along the walls and pulling them taut across the road. When a blood curdling howl pierced the night air, it elicited a reaction from him as he fought himself not to reply. Not yet.

When the last knot was tied, his hand grabbed hold of a bloody stump, part of a carcass - of something he knew not what and he dragged it along the path. But it smelled fresh, he could still sniff out in it's blood, the struggle it put up when it was still alive. He hated to admit it but there was something alluring about that scent. Something about it that satisfied a primal curiousity. Perhaps, even a lust. He grimaced. It would soon be over...

Vigil let go and looked back over his hunching shoulder. In the utter darkness, he could hear the faint chime of glass, where shattered remnants of mirrors strung to the wires danced unseen with every gust that came through. Like the wind, he knew the beasts would come running through as well and while his clothes had protected him from the deadly shards, their fur would not - for something as tainted as that would only burn from the virtuos metal. Something he knew all too well.

All Vigil needed now was to let them know to come...



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A second howl bellowed from the depths of the city, ringing the ears of all who heard this one deeper and louder than any other. It called out to those who understood it, telling them ...no, taunting them, to come find it's owner.

Progress was slow but at least there was progress.

We were makin' our way through a bigger part of the complex now. The room was massive, a whole set of these huge turbines sat in the center, connected by walkways that arched over and under each other. No control room, though, just monitoring stations at each turbine. Nothing to control them, just lotsa panels with lotsa dials and knobs and things, all of 'em dark.

Jesus. It was like we were doin' some major surgery with this shit. Tryin' to restart the brains of the city by jump startin' the power grid. Hurk was quite amazed.

"Shit, Andy. Ever seen somethin' like this before?"

"Nah, man. Pretty amazin', ain't it?"

"Man, shit, this is what the city runs on? Jesus Christ these things are huge!"

"Well this city's huge, Hurk. Takes a lot of power to run all of it."

There were robed guys here too. Apparently Alonzo didn't get all of 'em to move with his shenanigans. We were surgical with 'em, move 'n shoot, move 'n shoot, try not to hit any of the multi-million dollar shit in the center of the god damn room. These idiots weren't soldiers, even though they was armed like 'em. Hurk, however, was, and he was mowin' through these chumps like a lawnmower over tall grass. By the time we reached the end of the room, everyone else was dead save for us. I was busy loading up my shotgun while he was reloading his rifle.

Then we moved on. No time to waste, after all.

Atticus frowned as suddenly the room around him was plunged into darkness and silence, the scalpel in his hands only inches away from the face of the unconscious woman. He had been about to awaken her and begin a routine of interrogation and torment when every single electronic device had shut off at the same moment. Moving across to the window he opened the curtains slightly, looking out and the now pitch black cityscape that was sprawled out before him.

“How unfortunate” remarked Kitiara flatly from beside him, the sounds of panicked neighbours reaching his ears through the relatively thin walls that surrounded them. The sounds made it clear that Atticus would not be able to do what he had planned, not unless he wanted the entire building to know that he was slicing up a helpless woman right under their noses.

Furrowing his brow Atticus ran through several scenarios in his mind as he considered what he could now do, seeing as how this apparent citywide blackout had struck at the most inopportune time for him. He could not think of a simple and easy enough way to either create enough noise to mask the sounds that she would likely make or remove her from the building without taking a large risk of being discovered.

“You know” began Kitiara as she moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his frame and whispering in his ear “I’ve always wondered how much you’d enjoy a… killing spree.”

He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off as she continued to speak “Not the kind of mindless spree that would end with a shootout with police, but rather the kind of opportunistic spree that sends shockwaves of fear across the population as you move from darkened building to building, killing indiscriminately as you go…”

He turned and returned her embrace as she continued “I know how you do love to play with your toys, but when an opportunity like this presents itself it would be an awful shame to let it pass you by. Think of the rush of killing without all of that tedious watching and waiting, to just end the lives of those who you come across on a whim.”

A moments silence was shared between the two as he gazed into her eyes before pulling her into a fierce embrace and kissing her, the passion between the two being as real as ever to him. Moving away from her Atticus instead turned his attention back to Anica where she lay affixed to her bed. The woman looked to be in a peaceful slumber, her toned stomach rising and falling slowly as she took what would soon be her final few breaths in this world. Atticus had used the woman’s own handcuffs to affix her to the bed after he had found numerous pairs in a box under her bed with several other quite unmentionable items.

He moved so he was stood above her with the scalpel held in his hand as he took one final moment to think about the lost opportunity to torment and question the woman as well as the now wasted time he had spent building to this moment. Turning his mind away from such thoughts he moved the scalpel to her neck and prepared to end her life. He looked over to Kitiara who simply nodded at him before he applied a moderate amount of pressure and quickly ran the blade over her throat.

Her eyes shot open suddenly and she tried to cry out as she started to thrash a little against the bonds that held her. Even in the darkness Atticus could see the terror in her eyes as her scream came out as nothing more than a weak gurgle, deep crimson blood spilling so generously over her body and onto the bed. Her gaze met his for a moment, her terror and her desperation spilling over him and making him feel almost euphoric as he watched the very last moment of her life drain away as she looked into his eyes.

He took a step back as the blood started to spill from the sheets onto the floor, his heart still pounding from the excitement of what had just happened. Kitiara smiled and moved behind him once more as she wrapped an arm around him and they both stood looking at what remained of the woman.

“I didn’t expect that to feel so… good” he said eventually as Kitiara kissed at his cheek, still picturing that moment the life had left Anica’s eyes. She had died so suddenly and without warning, that desperation and that look of unknown fear on her features being more satisfying then he would have ever thought.

Moving back to the window he looked out again over the city as Kitiara joined him, the dark pair gazing out into the world.

“Here we come Santa Somabra” said Kitirara softly as their faces reflected in the glass, their smiles hovering in the darkness.

Several Days Later.

“Fuckin ‘ell bro!” shouted Reece as he jumped backwards, his rough voice echoing around the street as a bag filled with silverware crashed into the ground beside him. He looked back up towards the window the bag had just flown out of, the head of his brother poking out with a buffoonish grin spread across his features before it disappeared back into the building.

Reece grumbled to himself as he picked up the bag and moved back across to their truck before slinging it onto the existing pile of their ill-gotten gains, numerous televisions, laptops and other expensive items being visible amongst the sacks that were also filled with stolen goods. If it wasn’t for the ridiculous amount of money they would make from this blackout Reece wouldn’t have tolerated this kind of behaviour from his brother again anytime soon. Without alarms these higher-end apartments were ripe for the picking, especially Kyle’s moronic inclination to do everything Reece told him to, even if it included beating tenants to death with a bat so they could loot their belongings.

Reece looked up towards the window again, waiting for his brothers head to appear once more as he threw down the next bag, but he wasn’t prepared for what happened a few moments later.

Suddenly his brother’s head did emerge from the window, but it was followed by the rest of his body as he tumbled forwards with some force out of the window. He hurtled down and smashed into the edge of the parked truck, the force of his body and the momentum from the fall causing quite a bit of damage as the roof buckled and windows smashed. “Kyle!” screamed Reece in disbelief as he rushed forwards towards the bleeding body of his brother which had crumpled onto the floor and now lay in a pool of rapidly accumulating blood. Falling to his knees and turning him over Reece saw his lifeless eyes gazing up into the darkness, causing him to cry out in confusion and anger as he wondered what had happened. Examining his body aside from the damage caused by the fall there were also several stab wounds in his back. Turning frantically to look back up at the window he saw for the briefest moment the silhouette of a figure which soon faded back into the darkness of the building.

“What the fuck!” Reece shouted as he stood and pulled out his pistol, running into the building with his torch in hand. He made his way up the landing and into the open doorway with his gun raised aiming from left to right as he scanned the rooms. The inside of the once luxury apartment was trashed and stripped, Reece’s torch revelling the extent of the damage they had inflicted as he moved through the hallway and into the main room. The figure was nowhere to be seen and there were several bags still lying in the centre of the room waiting to be thrown down.

“Where the hell are you?” he yelled again as he began to point his torch towards the bedroom, moving into the room quickly as he scanned his darkened surroundings. Across the room he saw the figure of a man standing, a knife of some kind in his hand as he simply stood staring at Reece with his features hidden in shadow.

“Motherfucker!” he screamed as he opened fire, anger still burning through him at the thought of his brother’s lifeless body. As his hail of fire hit the figure there was a shattering sound and Reece realized too late that he had opened up on nothing more than a mirror with the reflection of the man watching him. Reece twisted on the spot, turning to face the direction of the reflection just in time to see Atticus lunge forwards with almost inhuman speed before he felt a sharp painful sensation in his stomach as he plunged the knife in burying the blade completely. Reece tried feebly to aim his gun at this man, but already his strength was fading as the man pulled the gun from his hand with a jerk.

Reece tried to plead, barley getting out a word before the man withdrew the blade and once more stabbed it into him several times, the entire time he gazed into Reece’s eyes with his cold unmoving face. Reece’s vision began to fade as the man stepped back, watching him slink to the floor slowly before he turned and said something, though the words were lost to Reece as his vision faded and he knew no more.

Cicero part 8: Louis' story: Part 1

Light, how fickle, protector of the living, illuminator of truth but abandons us all at death no matter if you keep moving or not.

Louis Nyctari watched the evening’s rays shine through the cracks in the curtains like deadly golden spears; while many vampires found the sun’s gaze repulsive due to its corrosive nature on their kind, Louis had marveled at its beauty his entire life. Ironically he had never bathed in its warmth being a pure blood vampire; not much interested the Nyctari Lord, he had been rich all his life and therefore nothing material brought him considerable amounts of pleasure. On the other hand this deadly adversary, this antithetical bane that had been present since his birth was the one of the most beautiful and intriguing things he had ever seen.

“What an elusive and torturing pleasure. Life, at its most despotistic, again proves it only becomes more spiteful in age; a vampire…in love with light.”

The tenebrous silhouette stepped into the light, spiting Louis and souring his mood. The figure didn’t show any emotion in his tough, clenched jaw but the trained vampire could see the glimmer of bemusement in his cold eyes. His long coat brushed against the curtains as he slowly walked towards Louis, shifting his weight from his right to left leg leisurely. The stalking jaguar kept his unwavering, unnerving gaze on the old vampire, but to the Lord it was all too familiar, and no longer held the effect it enchanted upon others.

“Oh yes, life at its most malicious, how about a raven in love with a little dove?” Retorted the old vampire, he revealed no emotion either, however the twinkle of humour in his eye mirrored this jaguar perfectly. While Louis Nyctari had the appearance of a strong war-hardened man in his mid-fifties he could remember wars fought between long-past empires; the fall of Kings and Emperors and the destruction of his own slight sanity in the lengthy night-ridden years of his cursed life. “Yes I learnt of your little escapade. You can’t hide all of it under that black hood of yours.”

Cicero might fool the others with that masquerade; but he’s only the old, miserable fool, he really is, to me.

“Do you know the problem with vampires? You’re always looking for secrets and other hidden lies in the dark, and in doing so, miss the truth in the plain light of day.” Cicero walked up to the desk Louis was sat at, towering above the seated Lord.

“What are you doing in Santa Somabra? You’ve killed a Nyctari cousin, stolen a surveillance company and God knows what else you’ve been up to. I’m not going to act against you but I won’t be able to interfere if any of the others find out…you’re playing a dangerous game.”

Cicero turned to gaze out of the window to the astonishment of Louis; he had never known him to break eye contact with his conversational recipient. “After spending my whole life in the dark, it’s time to step out into the light, despite its misgivings this is the only way to live with my destructive state. And for once I’ll know that I’ve actually done something even if it’s the name of some forsaken city.”

Self-sacrifice, it wasn’t the first time Louis had seen him take on an honourable task but what was he taking of? And was he actually talking of sacrifice?

Louis had learnt from a young age that whoever this enigmatic and surreptitious man was, he hid it, beneath a myriad of masks and masquerades; he wasn’t what anyone saw and he was far more and far worse than anyone could imagine…

Light, how beautiful, its eternal presence gave Louis obstacles for the games he played around the huge palace of his home. While many of his father’s friends stared in awe at the golden furnishings, the carved covings and the intricate architraves; Louis found the ways the tiny trickles of daylight seeped into the vampiric refuge a cause for constant wonder. He loved jumping, ducking and running in-between the thin streams of corrosive sunlight which had brought him to his father’s gallery on that fateful day.

His lithe, fast, athletic legs jumped past a pillar of deadly brightness before skidding to a halt by his father’s golden, inlaid, double doors. Inside he could hear the whispers of his father’s councilors as he pressed his ear to the decadent doors. “You could escape, travel to Florence with little Louis; the Nyctari have got an iron grip over their peasants after the plagues they sent among them. Travel through the sewers and catacombs out of the city; then a barge will…” The anxious and vexed advisor was interrupted by the swift and harsh tones of his father that normally signaled instantly to the scared eight year-old that he must be left alone.

“No you don’t understand! My brothers have already been executed by the amassing crowds, if they capture us now they know how to kill us! One slice from those terrible guillotines and we die. After the Bastille was broken into we were left with hardly a slither of a chance. If I left with my son they’d…”

Suddenly the door opened outwards under Louis’ weight causing him to tumble into the room under the worried gaze of the councilors. “Don’t start jumping at shadows Vicomte. Don’t forget we’re the stalking predators of the night." A silky smooth voice condoned the wizened vampire, who had leapt from the boy at his accidental arrival; before turning to the embarrassed child.

She was the most beautiful person he had ever met, with a long mane of crimson curls that jostled around her shoulders as she moved. She wore a black corset that was tied with scarlet cord giving it the appearance of a vicious and bleeding claw wound. A long flowing skirt made of coal coloured silk covered her lower half, and finally to finish off this dark aura, she wore a black silk hood over her head. Her face seemed to have the unnatural elegance of the undead but still held the glint of wondrous life in those large knowing eyes. She smiled playfully at the blushing boy before returning her gaze to his father.

Louis’ heart raced as if he had been cornered by some giant jungle cat as she walked with the accentuated prowl of a stalking jaguar towards the tightly knit circle of advisors. Their eyes did not flicker from her attractive figure as she neared, but it was his father who broke the incredible silence. “Maharet you wish to escape Paris?”

She looked lazily around at the luxurious office before replying in sweet but indifferent tones, “The art and culture of this city was engaging while it lasted, however it seems I have outstayed my welcome and this rabble of revolutionaries bore me.”

Louis’ father nodded before replying in strict serious tones. “Then you will accompany my son out of the city and take him to Florence, I am sure the wealth of culture my cousins provide in Italy will be quite amiable for you.”

She replied quickly and with a hint of humour laced in her lovely tones. “I’m not used to being ordered around but for the sake of the child I will make sure no harm comes to him. I must have the map of the sewer systems however…” She held out her left arm in anticipation; gesturing for the boy without concentration with her right hand.

Reluctantly, Louis’ father handed the secretive and treasured map over. “You will be rewarded, my son is my heir and therefore a Nyctari Prince and next in line to the vampiric French seat of power.”

“Which is slowly disintegrating around us, I notice.” She replied, rapid as a rapier and with the sudden sting of its steel bite.

“Father?” Louis asked slowly and unconfidently.

“I’m sorry Louis, I know you don’t understand but I need you to go to our cousin’s in Italy for a while. Remember you have powerful blood, you are a Vampire Prince don’t let anyone forget that.” He kneeled to face his son speaking in hard but calming tones, easing a little of the stress Louis had felt. Then he rose as quickly as he knelt. “La Purezza del Sangue.” He uttered before being bombarded by the councilor’s mirrored chant; then they strode towards the door.

The exit opened before they could leave and in strode a tall, armoured man; without weapon from a glance and calm as if he had entered his own home. In a flash his father drew his rapier pointing the blade towards the intruder’s chest. Soon Louis realized the eccentricity of the man’s attire; on his chest was a thick cotton jacket with a collar that dramatically sprung up to hide his neck; on one shoulder he wore an enameled silver pauldron with intricate carvings covering it, this was accompanied by the same style silver great helm and gauntlets that protected his entire forearms. He wore a pair of ‘loose slops’ which had been out of fashion since the 1600s, Louis thought; while his footwear consisted of two brown leather boots that folded over themselves in a rugged fashion at the top. A black cloak was attached at one shoulder covering one side of his extraordinary outfit with the golden emblem of a rose stitched faintly into the fine velvet.

“What is your purpose in my house?” Louis’ father’s voice rang throughout the palace, in a controlled but forceful tone.

“I have come for the map of the sewer network so I may escape the city.” The man replied in a tone as forceful as his father’s but without its controlled aspect hinting at a dark malice.

“And what makes you…” His father’s rising anger was cut off by the intruder’s own sharpened fury.

“You are in no position to question me.” He shouted his voice now full of that cold, terrifying fury and malice; suddenly a wave of spine-chilling ecstasy passed through Louis like the high of some incorporeal drug.

The old Vampire Lord looked visibly shocked, something Louis had never seen in his only living parent. “You must be…quite powerful to be able to hide…”

“I don’t have time for your pleasantries, give me the map.” The warrior’s tone showed his insistence as he calmed down from his outburst; he then held out his gauntleted hand for his desired map.

Slowly Maharet took a step forwards, questioning the intruder herself. “Would you accompany the child and myself, Sir Knight.” The crimson lady asked in a courteous, polite and innocent voice as she stepped in his direction with the same stroll of a jungle cat.

“I am no knight, my lady, they are only false protectors of a dead code of chivalry. And why would I take the Vampire into my care?” The cold fury remained but it seemed he reined in his harsh tongue for the lady.

“It seems it isn’t an entirely extinct race, Sir, you honour me with your tamed tongue and a title; will you show the same honour to this child with protection?” She smiled half-playfully and stood hands on hips, one eyebrow arched; her every movement making Louis’ heart flutter.

He knelt, holding his right arm across his chest in salute to the two in silent answer to her question; his eyes cold and unmoving, staring into Louis’ soul.

A beautiful trill of notes escaped her lips like birdsong as Maharet laughed; quickly she returned to the lowered knight. “Well isn’t it lucky Sir, that I have the map.” She told him closely in humoured tones as she brandished the scroll for him to see.

His cold, steady reply parried hers like a rapier’s counter. “Please profane from naming me ‘Sir’, my lady. If you are short of words to name me then you may call me Scipio.” He got to his feet and strode from the room, his long legs carrying him across the office in the space of a few seconds. Maharet walked to the door leisurely as a house cat reluctant to follow its master, before stopping abruptly and turning to the astonished boy.

“Are you coming? It seems without a Knight I’ll need you to protect me.” She said in mock tones, the half-smile shaping her full ruby lips.

“I’m only eight…” Louis replied walking swiftly to the door, taking one last peak behind him at his sorrow filled father.

Little did I know that this was the last time I would see my father…

Eventually we reached a sorta crossroads. By then, me 'n Hurk were panting a little. God this place was huge. But the signs told the whole story, alright. We were close. A map displayed on the wall nearby showed our progress. Straight ahead, next left, and bam, there we were.

Hurk pulled a small silver flask from inside his jacket, uncapped it and took a swig, offering it to me right after.

"Drink? Whiskey."

Ah how could I resist. I took the flask and, not wanting to make the poor guy taste death the next time he drank from it, poured a shot into my mouth instead of drinking directly from it. The liquor was smooth, silky down my throat, and it lit a nice fire in me that drove away the growing cold.

"Thanks."

"No problems, Andy. We good to go?"

"We're golden. Let's roll, we're almost there."

A few minutes later and we were there. The double doors with a sign sayin' "Main Control Room" above it were right ahead of us.

Jackpot.

"Made it. Finally."

"Jeez, yeah. Took long enough. C'mon, let's get inside and fire this puppy up."

I strode forward and swung open the double doors.

"...shit."

Inside, carnage. Wires strewn everywhere, consoles smashed into pieces, broken glass and metal all over the place. It would be a damn miracle if there was even one working console, let alone enough to turn this whole place back on.

And another thing. We weren't alone. There were bodies. Bodies that moved.

Bodies that...weren't bodies.

From behind me, I could almost hear Hurk's jaw hitting the floor. Figuratively, not literally.

"What the flying fuck are those things?"

Well for starters they looked like spiders. Gross, deformed spiders. In the dim orange light I couldn't see much detail, but I could swear that each of their eight feet were...hands? Fuckin' creepy crawlies, there were like, eight or nine of 'em in the whole room, on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Like they was asleep.

Jesus Christ what were these things?!

"Hurk."

"Yeah Andy?"

"These things gotta die."

"Yeah they do."

"Kill 'em."

"No arguments from me there."

He leveled his rifle at one of the spider things and opened fire.

There was a godawful screech as the bullets tore into the thing. Blood and guts splattered out of it as it spasmed underneath his fire. Then he stopped to reload and the whole thing just sorta splattered onto the floor, fell right apart. The stench of death instantly filled the air and Hurk gagged. I struggled not to.

These things were made of corpses.

What. The. Fuck.

The noise had apparently woken the rest of its friends, and as Hurk swiveled his rifle to down another one, they began to swarm and charge.

One of the freaky buggers came right for my face, but I stopped it with a helping of buckshot. I pumped my shotgun as another one came in from my left, crawling over the ceiling with its feet-hands. I struggled to raise my gun in time and squeezed the trigger just as it leaped, splattering the floor with its guts as it flopped in a head in front of me.

Hurk, now beside me, reloaded his rifle and took aim at the main bulk of 'em and opened fire. Some of 'em dodged the spray, but two of the things took the full brunt and fell apart at the seams, screechin' 'n dyin' as he tore 'em up.

Five left.

I heard him yell out and spun around to see one of the nasty fuckers right on top of him, trying to claw his face out with a mouth that wasn't a mouth but an assortment of hands that ended in bony fingers. He was yellin' 'n screamin', trying to get the thing off of his chest.

Just then another one of the things charged me, but I had to get to Hurk. I swiveled round and pumped it full of buckshot, wasting no time to go get Hurk right after.
I ran over and flipped my shotgun round, grabbing it by the barrel. Didn't matter that it was still hot from my last shot, cause I only held it for a second to club the nasty thing over the head. It screeched and went slightly limp, so I kicked it away, switched my gun back around, pumped the slide once and then pumped it full of buckshot.

"Behind you!"

Gunfire filled the air and another pile of what used to be a corpse spider thing skidded to a stop at my feet. Hurk, panting and gasping for air, was sitting up, rifle pointed in that general direction. I helped him to his feet and shoved my shotgun in his chest.

"Still loaded. Thank me later."

He took the gun, pumped the slide and immediately went to work. The last two spider things splattered and died as he filled 'em full of twelve gauge buckshot. Panting, he racked the slide and handed the gun back to me.

"Empty. Thanks."

"Don't sweat it."

Corpses were all over the floor, some whole, most in pieces. There was blood all over the place too, made walkin' real slick and slippery, but we had to, to get to the consoles. Leave the cleanin' up for the civil service, they'd get the job done better than we could. Right now, power was our concern, not clean up.

We were still pretty damn shaken, though. Wasn't every day that you fought spiders made of dead bodies sewn together then filled with enough red juice to make 'em explode. Jesus, stuff a' nightmares, right there. Probably sure Hurk would be havin' some a' those when he got home after all this.

For now, we had to get power.

"Alright Hurk, start from over there, try to find a workin' console. Then just press buttons until you get a reaction, alright? Maybe if we press enough buttons we'll get juice flowin' again."

"Only choice we got, Andy. Let's do it."

He slung his rifle and jogged to the far end of the room while I started nearer where we were. The consoles were trashed, yeah, but I thought right. There were a few still intact or with minor damage. I found one almost immediately and began fiddlin' with it, pressin' all the buttons and pulling a lever or two and turning knobs until I heard a whirr and a clanking and saw my console light up, among several others. I panned my gaze out to where Hurk was and saw all the other consoles begin lighting up, well, all the ones that were workin' anyway. A lotta them were trashed, and sparks were flyin' from some bad connections or open wires.

But we'd done somethin'. And somethin' was better than nothin'.

"Yo, Andy? Get over here, take a look at this."

I turned. Hurk was lookin' at a big ol' board on the wall, looked to be a city map or somethin'. I ambled on over and sure enough, it was a city map. Each neighbourhood and borough had a little bulb on it, but none of 'em were lit.

"What is this, Hurk?"

"I'm no electrical engineer but I think this is a power board, Andy. See the lights? These probably indicate if these areas of the city have power. Like, y'see here? That's Chinatown, right there. Now, if I press this..."

He pushed a button and the light on the Chinatown district lit up. The man grinned as he gestured at the board and looked at me.

"Baboom. Power. I'm bettin' each of the consoles here controls power to a certain district or area. We better find all of the working ones and turn 'em on, what d'you say?"

I grinned back.

"Fuckin' A, Hurk. You're a genius. Let's do it!"

And so we went, scamperin' around the place like hamsters as we looked for workin' consoles. Each one we found was labeled with a different area of the city. Dawnpeak Heights, Redcliff Hills, the old Jewellery District downtown, Southgate Square, Nytestar Canyon, Taintmarsh Park and Vulture Rock, and Lover's Hill. Not exactly the whole city, but when we were done we had a little connect-the-dots of lit bulbs on the power board. Those areas had power.

Finally, progress.

I rejoined Hurk in front of the board and smiled, clapping him on the back as he grinned and pumped a fist in the air.

"Woo!"

"We got it, Hurk my man! Whole city ain't up but we sure as hell helped it along. Fuckin' A, that's the best thing we've done all night!"

"Yeah man! Woo!"

"And soon it'll be the last thing you've done all night. Hands up and turn around, nice 'n slow."

I heard the click of a hammer being thumbed back.

Company? Shit. We'd been too busy celebratin' to notice. I held up my hands and turned around, just like our mystery visitor said. 'Cept, when I saw who he was, my jaw dropped.

"....Kiddo?"

Chinatown was the first neighbourhood in Santa Somabra to flicker back to life, suddenly awash in juddering white light, which aided in keeping the rampaging hunters out of Nyxvira’s turf. The young Faerie wasn’t an idiot though, and she knew that, whilst her little display at the Hall of Golden Petals might have kept those three Hunters out of her hair, it was only so long before she got a pack of vicious mongrels knocking on her door with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth and a major bone to pick.

Lycans hate noise, and the hustle and bustle of the newly reawakened Chinatown would buy Nyxvira the time she needed to set up a permeant solution to the cities werewolf problem.

Nyx sat in a ginormous hot tub in her private bathhouse, dressed in a designer bikini, her enormous gut spilling out in front of her as she relaxed in the hot bubbling waters, feeling their nurturing warmth wash over her overly-plump form, massaging both body and spirit. Her fiery red hair fell loosely down her shoulders, resting gently on her the dome-like roof of her fleshy stomach.

Standing sentinel on the side of the hot tub were an assortment of glass vials, each one filled with a different brightly coloured liquid. Nyx opened a shimmering blue vial with her plump hands, pouring its frothy mixture into the bubbling waters. A web of brilliant azure spread throughout the hot tub, swirling and sparkling, filling the room with a pungent, swampy scent. Just like home . Nyxvira let out a sigh of ecstasy, basking in the moment, before scooping a chunky satellite phone up off of the side of the hot tub, and quickly punching in the number for one of her contacts with her sausage-like fingers.

Ring…

Ring…

Ring…

“Hello..? Cedric, is that you?”

“Cedric Bradberton is dead.” Nyx said calmly, inhaling the enchanting scent of the blue concoction through her nostrils, feeling its hot moisture wash over her.

Silence on the other end of the phone, then “To whom might I be speaking?”

“Nyxvira Bloodbloom.”

“Shit,” the voice laughed without humour “Fifteen years on the job and all I got were second-hand instructions from one of yer goons, now suddenly I’m talking to the big cheese ‘erself.”

“An insurance policy of sorts, I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah, it’s just abit...jarrin’.” The voice confessed “So wat can I do for ya, Miss Bloodbloom?”

“You have contacts in the SSPD.” Nyxvira stated “That’s what your and Cedric’s partnership was built upon.”

“I know a few guys.” The voice admitted.

“I need them to direct two individuals to a place within my dominion.” Nyxvira instructed “The operation must be quick, discreet, and go unnoticed. I want them bagged, thrown in a cop car, and dumped outside of the Golden Dragon Takeaway in Chinatown.”

“I dunno if that’s doable…what with all these wolf-men stomping around and ripping folks up like beef jerky.”

“I have in my hand a list of contacts.” Nyxvira lied “If you’re not able to pull off this job then I hang up and find someone who can.”

“Now hold on! There’s no need for that! ” The voice squawked suddenly. “I’m ya man. I’ll get it done.”

“Good.” Nyx replied, a wicked grin creasing her multi-chinned face.

“Who d’you need? Gimmie some names.”

“Detective Chase Amelio. Detective Charlize Johanssen.”

“Gotcha.”

“You’ll get it done?”

“Whilst the full moon is still high in the sky.”

Nyxvira hung up.

Santa Somabra was a cruel city, full of mystery and backstabbing. There was danger around every corner, and people went missing each passing day; a footnote on the memorial to the dead. Nyxvira had risen to the top by stomping on the little guy, and she’d learned long ago to fight fire with fire. There was every possibility that her plan would fail, but she hadn't become queen of Chinatown by buckling every time she was forced to take a risk. By the time the week was through, Santa Somabra would have lost another major player, and she’d be dammed to all the circles of hell if it was her.

Shutting her eyes, Nyx slipped steadily beneath the hot waters, her vast jiggly form vanishing slowly below the bubbling surface, as she waited for the phone call from her Hobbs to tell her the plan was underway.

There is a distinct charm to observing things that crawl and flounder and fester consume the tender beauty of nature and flesh. All that is built upon the essential pillars, of dust and earth and bone and fluid, sooner or later return to whence they came and nurture the circle of life. Such was the case with the unfortunate soul who had ventured too far, stretched and reached his liberties where they had neither purpose nor privilege being. His body was devoured by earthworms and spiders, woodlice and pillbugs, moths and beetles, poisonous toads and snakes, and many other insects of the Wormwood Marshlands. The man was a bookie and a drug peddler, an individual of lesser talents forced to seek the superiority of others in order to survive in the unforgiving city of sin and vice. Many of his kind sought out the services of that shady Witch of the swamp, thinking; what could that old hag possibly do to hurt me?

Sophia fiddled with one of many chained pendants in her possession. It had some esoteric meaning described in ancient tombs, none of which mattered much in this day and age, but they certainly had sentimental value to her. After all, the elegant woman did not aspire to be cruel in spirit even if what she did in the flesh and material world had minuscule moral meaning or impact. Besides, she lived in Wormwood for a reason. It was a garden of ingredients for alchemical and occult practices. She had called upon one of her servants to do the dirty work of collecting insects from the feast of the bookie’s rapidly decaying body. Sophia did not know the servant’s name or who he was now or back in the old country. The brainwashed goons in her horrid cult were known in Santa Somabra as the Faceless, as they wore pallid masks and dark clothing in order to be one with the shadows and embrace the unknown. The Faceless were eerie and uncomfortable, a chilling presence.

The dark clad woman pointed and selected the ingredients for her servant to acquire. She refused to speak to the Faceless unless she absolutely had to, as their presence and voices were utmost disturbing. Sophia had never seen their actual faces, but she knew that they were horridly scarred from whatever vile ritual her father had put them through during initiation. However, the Faceless themselves did not seem to care, no matter how badly Sophia treated them. They were completely blank, ghosts of their former selves, thoroughly detached from the material world and their personal being, and wherever they appeared, the Faceless struck fear and despair into the hearts of even the most hardened individuals.

Apparently, the bookie nearly died from a heart attack when he awoke from his slumber in the middle of the night, feeling the presence of a silent Faceless looming in his apartment. They surely had a talent for sneaking up on people, simply existing and not existing. Even Sophia herself was always startled whenever a Faceless seemingly transitioned itself into her abode to deliver a message or heed her call. They were just…creepy, like the Grim Reaper itself arriving at your door step. When another one of them now appeared at Sophia’s side, in the midst of the dank swamp and the burial ritual of the bookie, her body twitched at suddenly realizing the hulking and chilling presence, the metallic voice.



“Mistress………,” the second Faceless said. Sophia’s heart jolted, but instantly settled as per routine.

“Would it hurt you to announce yourself a little earlier? It’s like a constant horror film around here,” she muttered in annoyance while returning her focus to the first Faceless, whom collected insects from the bookie’s body. “What the Hell do you want?” She continued.

“The full Moon stirs the pack….. rivers of red engulf the streets…. silhouettes approach from the city, invading the haven….,” the second Faceless spoke. However, it did not remove itself from Sophia’s presence, which they usually did when delivering a message or information. The woman glanced at the dark presence.

“You’re still here,” she said, implying that the Faceless should remove himself.

“The source of the rumor exists within this domain….. however…. its soul and flesh unknown….,” the second Faceless concluded.

“Let the others know that I hereby lift my decree of pacifism. Do what you must to discover who this wretched being is,” Sophia said. Her voice was cold and monotone, her eyes pale and dead. “Also, ensure sentinels around the haven… those rabid dogs can slaughter the entire city for all I care, but I don’t want them here,” she continued.

“Yes, Mistress…..,” the second Faceless said and seemingly vanished into the shadows and fog of the swamp.

“That’s enough… give me the ingredients,” Sophia spoke in Romanian, grabbing a small bucket of insects from the first Faceless. “Get lost,” she continued, ordering the Faceless to discard the body of the bookie and return to his duties in the city.

Sophia retreated into the depths of home. The Wormwood Estate was the abandoned haven and escape of some Eighteenth century aristocrat turned mad, meddling in black arts and necromancy. Lucien was his name, as Sophia had discovered in old journals and documents. The structure had several bedrooms, living spaces, two kitchens, a wine cellar, and a basement. The underground of the estate was vast. It also had an escape tunnel that led all the way out of the marshlands. However, in all her years, Sophia never had to use the means of escape or be afraid. She was too much of an asset to the psychopaths of the city. And with a small army of creepy, Voorhees -esque serial murderers at her back, Sophia was an influential member of the underworld community. However, unlike many other kingpins and dangerous individuals, she was mostly uninterested in running things or disrupting the business of others, which had made her a neutral party in most situations.

The woman seated herself beside a massive cauldron in one of the kitchens. The apparatus was boiling with a pitch black liquid. It was the beginning of an enchantment recipe, her own design. After the proper ingredients were added to the putrid fluid and the complex rituals preformed, it was ready to be coated on a melee weapon of choice, and then heated to form a strong crust. An individual, who would then be penetrated with the weapon, would suffer horrid nightmares every night and hallucinate during the day for at least a week. The enchantment was a passion project, a personal pursuit, a potent mix.

Sophia fell into a deep trance, as she devoted herself to the ins and outs of alchemical practices. A light hum of some ancient melody emerged from her presence. Some of the Faceless patrolled the outer rims of the haven, hulking minions of nightmares equipped with vile hatchets and machetes, ready to strike and murder the unwanted. Something was going on in the city that would sooner or later reach beyond its borders and invade everyone’s privacy. Sophia could feel it in the dank air. She could feel that a knock on her door was imminent. They would once again drag her into their shady dealings, drama, and emotions that always ended with extreme bloodshed. Maybe it had something to do with the rumor of her father being alive and in Santa Somabra, the man who had once attempted to sacrifice her to his imaginary God, the man from which she had acquired her uninvited talents.

A Faceless appeared behind Sophia, but she was too deep into her meditation to react.

“Mistress….. someone approaches….,” it said.

“………………let them in,” she silently retorted, elegance and depth in her tone.

The full moon hung over the city, the pallid guardian showing neither conscience nor malice as it watched feral shadows stalk the streets. Remorseless, as it watched those shadows shed blood in it's name. Untouched, by the waning breath of those at death's door.

How could an immortal be so cruel? One might ask. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it's heart has simply has long died, sometime during mankind's eternal swan-song of violence.

Perhaps, in his euphoria at their successful escape from the confines of the muddled crowd, Chase had not noticed the full, round, moon hanging low in the sky like a meteor teasing of impact. It shone, pale, but tinted, and gave off a silvery bluish light. The night around him and his companion had become strangely quiet; a dreadful silence broken by the worse of omens.

Several wolves howled. Their moaning call pierced the night, sending chills down Chase’s back. They were singing, like all wolves do, of the hunt.

Chase’s head snapped up, and, as if with little resistance, his eyes found his silver-white god. They glowed brighter, his pupils contracting with the beginning of his transformation and sucking in more light than his almost previously anatomically human eyes could have managed.

“The key,” he muttered. The hand with which he pointed twitched spastically. Johanssen stared up at him befuddled, her thin elegantly carved arm reaching to jerk the key from its cradle in the ignition.

“No,” he snapped, “Go, go home!”

Johanssen's blue saucers seemed to stare up at him with a dawning comprehension, watching the way his features began to twist grotesquely under the white moon beams. Months of work, Chase realized bitterly, wasted on one overly packed night. He could only blame himself; he had been careless enough to forget what night it was, though he had been planning his excuse for the better part of the month.

He knew himself as a wolf. His sentience remained intact. But he would attract others. Normally, his well thought out plans would have involved him hiding away somewhere, underground possibly, where most wolves dared not to venture. Tonight, it would be a race to escape to the sewer systems before he was seen…or smelt.

Admittedly, Chase hated the underground mazy sewage pipes that sometimes served as his solitude away from the Hunters. Already, it was hard enough dealing with the more central parts of Santa Somabra. Werewolves were, perhaps, even more hypersensitive than dogs or wolves. The blissful ignorance that many canines seems to develop for the overflow of information their brains received, was, in actuality, only natural. Born with that level of sensitivity, it had dawned on Chase that it only made sense for canines to cope with the noise the way any human would cope with normal noise; in other words, noise levels that were regular to their ears would not make an impact on them. But Chase hadn’t been born a dog; he had been born a man (a human baby), and his disease had required his brain to make major changes and adaptation that otherwise his body would have never experienced. He, and so many others, had been forced to accept the overflow of information in ears, eyes, and noses that had been modified to a body that had, originally, been ill-equipped to handle that amount of sensation.

So it made werewolves jumpy in claustrophobic situations. It made them wary of crowded, stuffy places, where their senses received too much information; and, in an empty sewage line, they jumped at the impact of a droplet onto the surface of murky, reeking, water.

Chase decided he would relish the freedom of wind on his transforming skin in the few moments that he dashed from the streets and down into the manhole at its end. Before, he was in engulfed in the sickening, tight silence of the sewer system.

Johanssen had already stuffed herself in his sedan’s driver’s seat, turning the ignition violently, and speeding off. She looked back once, fear swimming in her big blue eyes, and then turned on a corner, no doubt heading home.

Chase, in the meanwhile, slinked into the nearest alleyway to complete his transformation.

---

My heart was racing, and I could feel globs of dense slimy spit thickening in the back of my throat. Chase was a werewolf, which put a lot of things into perspective for me. His monthly disappearances, for one, were like something straight out of Harry Potter or Twilight…ok, no not Twilight…well maybe, I mean, Edward disappears once a month to go—

I’m getting way of topic.

His temper was something else. I know before he had met me, he had been known well enough for his sometimes less than docile nature. Or rather, while he’d always been relatively genial, he had been quick to anger, as though he went through massive personality shifts between his happiness and the catalyst for the rise of his temper.

I know what my "powers" do, what the nature of my nymph ancestry bestows on me; I know well enough to understand why they’ve had such an effect on him. I’d be willing to bet a good dollar on the fact that Chase probably hasn’t had a nasty temperamental outbreak since we’ve become partners. It’s allowed his personality to shine through very strongly, and it’s a beautiful personality he has. Most of the time, anyway, when he’s not being stubborn.

The moon was out tonight in full force, which meant the Hunters had swung on by to fuck up Santa Somabra.

I racked my brain for any sparse tidbits I knew on werewolves. For one, they were bipedal-quadrupedal, mish-mashed beasts with ample stamina and big, shiny, serrated teeth. They traveled in packs, at least the Hunters did. They liked to prey on human, though, for some reason, I doubted Chase’s ability to eat a fellow…well actually no humans and werewolves aren’t really fellows per say…

I didn’t know anything about personality. Did a werewolf keep its human traits? I would ask mom. She would know. I would feed Chase’s dogs too. Actually, I would get to them first. They were probably starving. Chase had been gone since the afternoon. I wondered if it would be too much to have hoped that his neighbor across the hall, old Ms. (previously Mrs.) Worths, would have gotten around to it. Eh, she had always been more of a cat lady.

---

His apartment smelled pleasantly of…of dog. Well, it smelled like wet, slobbering puppy. All the same, since it reminded of Chase, I chose to think of it as pleasant. The dogs were happy to see me, bounding up to greet me like I was dog-Jesus. After I had made sure they’d been well-fed and watered, I made my way back out into the hall, intending to pay my mom and Ann a visit. I had decided I would head back out to the streets. See if I could find him. It was a highly dangerous and extremely stupid idea, but he was my friend, and I had turned my back on him because I had, for a split second, believed he was about to rip my frail mostly human trachea from my neck.

I never really made it past the middle-of-the-hall elevator. I was, unexpectedly, ambushed. The idiots, dressed in the uniforms of cops (possibly, actual cops), jumped on me almost as soon as I’d locked Chase’s apartment door. There were two of them, both men, both strong enough to overpower me. But for, good measure I was sure, they injected me with some type of tranquilizer.

---

I woke up in a fancy place to the unpleasant screeching of a lacky looking for its boss. He kept calling for the person, sounding anxious and frightened.

My vision swam, and I could barely make out the blurry figures moving in front of me. Someone else was speaking in a high pitched panicked tone, a man by the sound of it, talking fearfully about something “big, angry, and furry” and pointing next to me on the floor where I became faintly aware that I was leaned up against whatever the man was scared off.

When my vision cleared, I understood his panic. Chase sat next to me, his dull brownish fur warm and welcoming, his blue eyes familiar and easy. They had wrapped his muzzle tightly in rope, and for extra reinforcement, it seemed as though someone had tried to chain his mouth shut, but failed from fear of getting too close to him.

I smiled at him what I hoped was placating smile, and his left ear twitched with recognition. If my hands hadn’t been bound so tightly, I would have patted him on the head, teased him a little. Instead, I settled for waiting in tense silence for whatever was to become of us.

Light crept over his eyelids, gently warming them and rousing him from his slumber.


Vilgil turned his head to the right and slowly opened his eyes, greeted by the sight of a warm glow that gently rose out of the distant sea, tinting the far end of a still starry sky with a vivid red that washed through the streets and over the million lights of somabra's skyscrapers - slowly flickering back to life.

Still in a bit of a daze, he quietly watched the serene beacon of an airplane floating away, in the midst of all this, into distant lands just at the edge of the horizon, spurring in him in that moment, the urge to follow it. But as Vigil tried to stand his left side felt too numb to move, so he sat back down onto the cold, hard concrete and contentedly watched as the sunrise lit up the tunnel.


How did I get here last night? He wondered as his eyes trailed the fleeing shadows in front of him, along the floor, and unto a severed hand. As the darkness receeded, What he saw next made his stomach turn.


...Tangled in thick cords of wire, the corpse of a naked male lay sprawled across the tunnel, it's entire face was torn off from the neck up, leaving only the mashed remains of it's crushed skull, bits of brain, and a single eyeball still attached to it's stalk dangling out from the bloody cavern.

Vigil retched when he felt a warm wet drop fall unto the back of his hand. Not because he was a squeamish person, no, Vigil was lomg hardened from seeing such things - but because as he touched the red liquid that smeared his neck he remembered doing it. He remembered sinking his jaws around the other werewolf's face to silence it while it cried for it's pack, he remembered the satisfying crunch of it's bones under his teeth, he remembered tugging and pulling till the sickening snap of it's tendons was heard ...And he remembered not stopping there.

As Vigil stared at a mirror shard, convincing himself that he only ate an animal and nothing more, clinging tightly and desperately to his humanity, a name came to mind,

"Ameilkas."

It was something that werewolf said during one of his taunts, before Vigil's trap sprung on him. It was hard making sense of things through the full moon but if he could recall a name even in all that rage, it was probably one worth remembering.

"That's what everyone calls me, bub. Now step forward, put yer guns on the ground, nice 'n slow."

I complied, nice and slow, unslinging my Tommy gun and shotgun and placing them on the floor. Behind me, I heard Hurk doing the same. When all of our guns were down, Kiddo stepped forward and kicked them away, far out of our reach. Since he was this close...

"Kiddo, what're you doin', pal?"

He looked up at me and scowled.

"None a' your fuckin' business, wise guy, now get on the floor, hands behind ya head."

I did as he said, slowly of course, and behind me Hurk complied.

This was Kiddo. I knew it. That face...through the age, I knew it was him. The voice was the same too.

What the hell was he doing here?

And more importantly, why in the hell was he a zombie like me?!

No way a man like him would've gotten himself turned. No fuckin' way.

"Kiddo, pal, please, what're you doin'? This ain't you, Kiddo."

"Andy, you know this guy?"

I sighed as Kiddo patted me down and removed the switchblade I had hidden in the back of my pants.

"Yeah. Me 'n him, we ran together a long time ago, in the fifties 'n sixties. My best friend, who is now havin' me face first on the floor."

"Shut ya trap, wise guy. The only best friend I had is dead. I don't know you."

He stamped on my back real hard.

Fuck that hurt.

"Gah! Fuck me, Kiddo, please! Ya gotta listen to me! It's me, Andy!"

He stopped. I heard him walk over to me and I saw him kneel right in front of me, staring at me from above. The barrel of his revolver, that signature revolver with his name on the side, was pointed right at my face.

"How the hell do you know Andy, huh, wise guy?"

"It's because I AM Andy, dipshit! Now let me up!"

He fired a shot into the air, making me flinch, and then pressed the red hot barrel of his gun against my cheek. I felt the flesh sizzle and it HURT.

"AAAAAH MOTHER FUCKER Kiddo stop it please!"

"Andy would've never called me a dipshit, dipshit."

"Y-yeah, cause that ain't what I normally called ya! I always called you dumbass, remember?! And you always let me cause you thought it was cute! Now FUCKIN' LET ME GO IT HURTS."

He pulled the barrel off my face and I felt skin peel off, making me wince as he withdrew the gun.

"...go on."

He was promptin' me.

I had to make him believe that it was me he was torturin'.

"Andy -"

"Shut it, Hurk! Not now!"

I glanced back at the soldier man, who was shakin' his head at me, and then returned my gaze to Kiddo, who was kneeling in front of me.



"R-remember, in the spring of '57? I showed up at the doorstep of the Martovanni family. Lost 'n lookin' for work. You answered the door by pointing that revolver in my face. Asked me who the hell I was. I told you I was Andy Fontaine diMaggio. Papa Martovanni, he was behind you. He told you to let me in. You remember that, right?"

I couldn't see past the brim of my hat but I knew he was thinking. I kept pushing forward.



"A-and what about June, '68? You came knockin' on my door with a few beers and you told me that you had a kid! Name was Julius Kiddo! Your first kid! Your son! You were so happy back then, Kiddo, you remember? Right?"

"...I remember. Tell me somethin' else."

This was it. I had to bust out the big guns.

I took a deep breath and let it out slow. Now or never.

"Fall. 1973. You told me to meet you on the roof of the Martovanni mansion one afternoon. Said it was important. So I met ya, and you were there, dressed just like this, your coat 'n hat 'n all. We talked a while, y'know, about life. How things were goin' in the Martovannis. I told you that the family was expandin' into business outside the city, but no violence, remember? You were happy that we were both gettin' a good income and that life was peaceful. Then you told me that you wanted to leave. I was heartbroken, Kiddo. My best companion wanted to leave the family we'd helped build through those fifteen fuckin' years of bloodshed and violence and death. You told me that you'd just gotten word of your second kid. Beatrice Kiddo. Your daughter. You 'n the wife 'n kids wanted to move out of state, go somewhere safe and enjoy life, remember? You told me you was headin' up to Washington, settle down there."

I tell ya, recountin' this memory, broke my god damn heart just repeatin' everything he said. It still felt...fresh, like it was only yesterday that my best friend was leavin' for good.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek and my voice wobbled as I went on in his silence.

"You told me you were finally happy, that you had a life to look forward to, to grow old to. I was fuckin' happy for you, Kiddo! I was so god damn sad that you were gonna go but you had a family and everything! Me? I was fuckin' dead! I had nothin' left, I told ya. You nodded, you said you understood. Then you told me that you'd already talked to Porfiri Senior 'n gotten a clean slate and transport out. Everything was settled and I was your last stop before you disappeared. I couldn't bear to have you leave but you had a family, Kiddo."

God damn it. I could feel the water welling in my eyes but I pressed on.

"In the end, I had to. You looked at me, gave me that smile, y'know, told me to look up. Things weren't all over. I could still send letters. Phone in, talk to you 'n the family. We were still friends, through 'n through, all the way until the sky fell down. And y'know what I told you? I told you, 'Kiddo, you better go now, otherwise -' "

"...I'm gonna regret lettin' you leave, you dumbass."

That was it. Whatever doubt I had broke the instant I heard him finish my sentence. I felt hands on my shoulders and got hauled right up to my feet, facing the friend I'd thought I'd lost four decades ago. He looked at me, hands on my shoulders, shook his head and gave me that same shit-eatin' smile.

"Well, did you regret lettin' me leave, Andy?"

I nodded, burying my tears.

"Every single fucking second, Kiddo. Fuck you, you dumbass. You stopped replyin' to my fuckin' letters. I got so worried I nearly wanted to go up there to see if you was still alive."

"Truthfully, Andy? I kept all of your letters. I stopped cause I changed my address a while back, and I forgot to write back to tell you."

I had to smile. I had to.

"You great, big dumbass."

"Yeah, I missed you too, Andy. Say no more."

He clapped me on the shoulders and grinned. Relief surged through my body as he let go of me.

"So, Andy, what're you doin' here?"

That snapped me back to the real world.

"What does it look like, Kiddo? We're jump startin' the city."

He smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun.

Nice to see old habits haven't died hard.

"Yeah, well see, 'bout that...I, eh, kinda had a hand in it. Indirectly, but eh, yeah."

"What?!"

Kiddo sighed and stowed his revolver.

"The chick I'm workin' for, she ordered this place to be trashed. I didn't know for what, but all I know is that she pays good and she's the only thing I know in this city 'sides you and the family."

The Cannoness. That bitch.

"Well as of now you're better off not workin' for that skank, Kiddo. She's bad news. Why d'you think she wanted to ruin the god damn power station, dumbass?"

"Well I dunno, I -"

"See? Ain't no rhyme or reason to it. She's the one behind the riots Downtown too, and now this? She's turnin' the city into a hellhole, Kiddo. Our lives are at stake here, man! If we don't fix this shit god knows how long it's gonna take city services to get the rest of the god damn infrastructure back up. 'N that means living without heat and without power! Crime's gonna run rampant, not like we care, but it jeopardises our lives man."

"Okay, alright, eh, you proved your point, Andy. I'm sorry."

I picked up my weapons and brushed dirt off my jacket.

"Well, no use cryin' over spilled milk. Hurk here, me an' him we already got the shit that works back up. Now we just leave it for city services, they'll fix the rest of this shit. In the mean time, we gotta wait for Alonzo, then we can -"

My phone buzzed. Mobile service was back? I took out the slim black device and saw a number I barely remembered. I picked up just as I saw Alonzo waltzing in, gave 'im a wave.

"Tommy fuckin' Vercetti. What brings the Vicar of Vice City to me again?"

"Andy, a pleasure. Listen, I sent one of my guys down to the station to help you. New guy, goblin, name of Arcan. Said he wanted to roll with the big boys, friggin' joke if you ask me. Frankly I hope he dies down there, but if you see 'im, take 'im in. He's useful, at least. I couldn't phone you earlier cause the power went down. Knocked out all the phone lines."

"Got it, Tommy. And 'ey, what're you doin' back again?"

"Fucks ruined my business! Attacked my club, made me and my boys look like fools! Shit like this deserves retaliation, Andy."

"Yeah I hear ya. Look, I'm already on the trail of the skank that did this, alright? Goes by the name of the Cannoness. If you got anything, just phone me."

"With pleasure, Andy. That bitch needs to pay for what she's done."

I hung up as Alonzo and Hurk gave each other a fist bump. Man that was somethin'.

But there was somethin' else though. Tommy'd mentioned a goblin.

" 'Ey, Alonzo, you ever run into a goblin when you were coming here?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Andy! Said Tommy sent him. He's right behind..."

Alonzo turned around to gesture to someone that clearly wasn't there and he got stunned for a second.

"...me."

He looked back at me and shrugged.

"Iunno. Yo Arcan, come out here, little guy, we're done here."



"Well, Raz, it's a pleasure, but the fight's already over. We were plannin' on leavin', actually."

I shrugged. The goblin being here didn't add much to the situation, as much as he was crafty, hidin' up in the vents where no one could see him. My neck was gettin' sore from looking up at him so I waved him down.

He could tell the man below was annoyed, he almost gave off a scent. Not used to looking up at people... one day though... one day he would kneel.

"Get down here, dumbass. We ain't gonna look up at you all day. Got work to do."



Just then Hurk tapped me on the shoulder. Apparently he'd been on the phone with someone.

Someone important, by the look on his face.

"Andy? We got more trouble."

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

"The large, furry and dangerous kind."

I exchanged a look with Kiddo.

"Aw fuck."
"Oh fucknuggets."

I'd completely forgot about that. Hunting season was open. The prey? Us.

Fuckin' A, the only full moon of the month and it had to fall on the only day when the power was mostly out. Shit, the city was gonna turn into a slaughterhouse.

I immediately thought about Charlie and Paul, stuck in their homes without power or protection.

That was a problem I had to solve quick.

"Kiddo, I have a plan."

"Do tell, Andy."

"You remember Paul Santos?"

"I sure as hell do, Andy."

"Well his club's Downtown, and that's one a' the places without power right now. If huntin' season's officially open, we gotta get down there and make sure he ain't hurt. Well, you do anyway. I gotta go check on Charlie."

"Wha-, Chimichanga Charlie? That coot's still alive?"

"One 'n the same Kiddo. He lives near me."

"Man and I thought I felt old."

"We're both old, dumbass. But we gotta get to those places pronto."

"We could drive you guys there."

Alonzo piped up from where he was standing, next to Hurk, the latter of whom nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, Ted's still outside. I could buzz him, let 'im know we're not done yet."

I just had to grin. As bloody as this night was, it just kept gettin' better.

"Exe-fuckin'-llente, gentlemen. We got ourselves a little dealio right here. Let's get movin', Hurk? Tell Ted we're gonna hafta drop off Downtown first, if he can get there. Place called Santos' Skins. That's where my pal here's gonna get off. After that, he'll be droppin' me off at Richmond Heights."

"Gotcha Andy. Let's roll."

"But what about the goblin?"

Kiddo pointed at said goblin, who still had that shit-eating grin plastered on his greenskin face.

"Hmm. Alonzo, Hurk, you two take care of 'im."

"You got it Andy. We were gonna head back to the mansion after we were done anyway. Boss' gonna get right furious if we take too long."

"Let the dumbass ogre fume, s'what I say. But hey, s'your lives not mine. Ya'll go ahead 'n go on back after we leave."

"Thanks Andy."

And so we left the power station, all five of us. Outside, I greeted Ted as he started the engine and gave it a few revs to warm up the car.

"How'd guard duty go, Ted?"

"All quiet on the home front, other than the howling bitches. Saw a goblin go by me earlier, didn't see where he went though."

"Yeah, his name's Raz and he's with us now. Tommy sent 'im. You got the messages?"

"Yeah, Hurk was simple enough. Now get in, time's a' wastin'."

I nodded and got into the front seat, with Alonzo, Hurk and Kiddo piling into the back. I didn't know where Raz would get in, although I'm pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy sitting on the knees of any one of them.

---

The drive Downtown wasn't uneventful. The city was startin' to swarm with werewolves. I told Ted to avoid goin' through Little Lupine like the plague, which he did, thank god. All around, as we drove, there was the sounds of glass smashin', people screamin', but most of all wolves howlin'. The damn howls came from everywhere! This year's huntin' season must really be somethin' to the furry fools.

As Ted drove, my mind wandered back to the start of this madness. My visit to Charlie, spurred on by the curious thought of who was behind the riot. Paulie, who told me of the Cannoness. The dead body of the biggest info broker in the city, Dagmar Hahn, shot in his bed in a quiet corner of Little Lupine. The bright and pretty Anthea Pendleton, who'd called me to the Martovanni Estate to discuss business. The power going out. The trip to the station. And now here I was, reunited with only my biggest and best friend in Santa Somabra, on a trip to make sure my other friends weren't gonna get hurt in the madness.

The car pulled up next to Paulie's skin joint and my heart sank. The front of it was trashed, and I saw deep gouges and claw marks in the concrete and walls.

Shit.

But this was where Kiddo had to get off. As he hauled himself out of the car I tipped my hat to him.

"Hey Kiddo! Make sure that other dumbass in there isn't dead, dumbass!"

"Yeah yeah, I got it Andy! Paulie's my friend as much as he is yours!"

"And see if he's still packin' the silver heat we got in that one heist from '58! We're gonna need it!"

"You got it! But what about you?"

I grinned.

"I got my own stash, don't worry. Just make sure Paulie's alright! Once you got 'im, or if he's dead, you meet me at the usual place, got it?"

"Got it Andy!"

As he turned to leave, I stopped him.

"Oh, and Kiddo?"

He stopped and turned to glance at me.

"Yeah Andy?"

I gave him my signature smirk and tipped my hat at him.

"Give 'em hell. Show these canine motherfuckers that The Lost Boys are back in town."

He gave me a grin back, drew his revolver and spun it on his finger.

"You bet your ass, Andy. Nice to see you too."

He turned with all the drama of a cheesy action film and entered the club. His trench coat was even flutterin' in the breeze too

As I sat back and Ted continued his drive, I had to smile to myself.

Man it felt good to be back.

---

"Like I said, Andy, sorry we can't join you guys. We gotta get back to the mansion pronto."

"Yeah don't sweat it fellas. Ya'll did good! See you soon and good luck!"

I stood outside Charlie's apartment block in Richmond Heights. Same old same old.

I watched Ted and gang drive off. Raz was on the sidewalk next to me. I'd told the other guys to leave him with me instead of takin' him back. The little guy wasn't ready to face Ruzghul yet, not by a long shot.

But hey, now was a good time to show him the ropes. Teach him how the real men in this damn city operated.

I drew my Tommy gun and checked the drum. Full, and I had one more drum hanging on my vest inside my jacket. I looked at Raz and smirked.

"Alright little guy, ready to learn how the real men work in this town?"