The great, cathedral-like office tower at the heart of Dawnpeak Heights was awash in blood. Desks were overturned, computers smashed, and a whole mishmash of mangled body parts were scattered across the carpeted floor, leaking dark trails of thick red. Long threads of entrails, dripping gore, were slung from celling lights, ravaged chests –torn open to reveal their tangled innards- were propped up against bulky photocopiers, and teeth and fingers and toes were all jumbled up with the stacks of paper that had been hurled across the room in the ferocious and bloody slaughter.

“W-w-why are you doing this?” Sobbed a plump woman in a too-tight black skirt as slumped back against a panel of clear glass, resting her bloodied head on the window in defeat.

“Justice.” Growled Ameilkas, her immense fur-covered hand darting forwards and grasping the woman by the collar of her shirt.

Her victim let out a shaky yelp, but made no move to resist. The fight had gone out of her when she’d seen her colleagues torn in two.

She hurled the woman with a powerful flick of the wrist, sending her soaring across the office, and then she was nothing more than a chunky dark red smear on a crisp white wall. Ameilkas inhaled loudly, her black nose quivering with joy as the sweet, sensual scent of warm blood flooded every cell in her ginormous body.

She was a towering, feral beast of a lycan; with silvery white fur covering every inch of her body, a huge lupine head, a mouthful of deathly sharp white fangs, and two enormous eyes, one yellow one brown, which burned with a roaring inferno that looked ready to sear skin and bone straight off of all they fell upon.

“Did you catch the scent?” Boomed Brunkas, ducking his mammoth head under a doorway, as he came lumbering into the room, stomping in on all fours.

“Erikas, dead.” Ameilkas grumbled, a shimmer of rage rippling through her deep voice.

“Killed by some rouge pup,” Brunkas spat, slinking up besides the Den Mother “Must’ve gotten lucky.”

“They’ll be no more luck for this miserable, wretched shitpile of a city.” Seethed the great white wolf “Nor the mewling rats who call it home.”

Her powerful fist short forwards, punching straight through the glass in front of her, shattering the window pane into thousands of glistening shards. She slashed sideward, cutting through glass and metal alike, and the whole window came tumbling down in a shower of see-through splinters, clinking and crunching as they went pitter-pattered into the carpeted floor.

The icy nigh time window came howling into the office, slinking and shifting through her clumps of rough white fur and dancing over her steel-thick hide.

Ameilkas kicked back her powerful legs and leaped forwards through the broken window, soaring out into the night. She flew downwards, the leering tower of steel and glass falling beneath her feet as she plummeted into the streets below. The wind whipped and cracked past her, bellowing its thunderous tune in her feral ears.

She came crashing down into the road, her clawed feet smashing straight through the roof of an unsuspecting Range Rover, sending metal and glass and rubber exploding out around her on all sides.

A hundred thousand scents twirled upwards into her nose, begging her to seek out their source and silence them once and for all.

She tore down the grimy brick street, rows upon rows of shops and apartment blocks vanishing into blurred trails as she darted forwards, her powerful feet beating fiercely against the ground, tail billowing in the wind.

A towering stone statue, garbed in a shawl of rock and carved with the face of Chaerina Somabra, stood amidst a fountain of bubbling water, and Ameilkas came leaping up onto it, her nails biting into its leering features, holding her high up above the stone woman’s cold sneer.

“The Hunters have answered the call of the moon, and brought tooth and claw to your wretched city!” She bellowed out into the night, her voice carrying on the howling wind “Come and face me, little wretches! The last thing you see will be the eyes of the Den Mother bearing down into you as your souls depart this world!”

The soft city lights shone dimly through the blacked out windows of the stretch limousine, the buildings and streets outside gliding swiftly past as the long car sped onwards. Nyxvira sat comfortably in the back, her obese form spilling out over a lush leather recliner, her blazing red hair tied up in a swirling bun above her head, with two stray locks tumbling loosely down across her plump cheeks.

Three of her most trusted associates sat across from her, talking over the specifics of their plan.

“There’s no denying the element of risk involved,” Vincent Tűzst was grumbling in his rough drawl “but if we don’t kick these hairy fucks out of the city ASAP then there’s no telling how much damage they’ll do before they get bored and go slinking back into the countryside.”

“The Hunters have been wrecking my properties all across Santa Somabra,” hissed Imarus Vérafia “they’ve already caused more than enough damage to our operations. They need to be put down, and I don’t mean slapping them on the wrist and giving them a stern talking to. We need to make sure this is the last time they present a problem to us.” Imarus was dressed in a red turtleneck and black chinos, which hung loosely over his pale skeletal body. His eyeless sockets stared out into the air in front of him, and a permeant toothy grin was plastered across his smooth white skull.

“Using the police is a gambit in itself,” Lady Sharrahonzu observed dryly “we’d be foolish to assume we’re the only people to buy them out. There’s no telling if they’re double agents for the Martovanni’s, or the Nyctari, or someone else entirely.” Sharrahonzu was a lithe figure, with closely-cropped raven hair, and delicate Asian features. She had high cheekbones, and her blind eyes were obscured by a rich swathe of dark silk.

“There are alternatives,” Imarus admitted, scratching at his bony chin “but the longer we allow the Hunters to roam unchecked the longer we risk them dealing permanent damage to everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

“We?” Nyxvira spoke up in her sweet, sensual voice “I don’t remember any of you during the struggle to take Chinatown from the tong. I don’t remember any of you being there when the Hanged Men came crawling back out of the shadows, and the Old Jewellery district got burned to the ground. I don’t remember any of you being there when my own family cast me out of the grove that was mine –BY RIGHT-, and I had to carve myself a new home with magic and blood.”

She extended one fat hand, delicately scooping a martini glass up off of a nearby drinks holder, before taking a light swig from its liquid contents, feeling it burn lightly at the back of her throat.

“I built my empire singlehandedly.” She said firmly, placing her drink back down “you all jumped on board once the guns had stopped firing and the smoke had cleared, so don’t presume to lecture me on how to run my own creation. When I want your council, I’ll ask for it.”

“Apologies, Mistress.” Lady Sharrahonzu offered up with a slight bow of her head.

They spent the rest of the car journey in silence, until the limo pulled up outside the Golden Dragon Takeaway. Her three advisers were quick to file out of the car, but it took Nyxvira a great deal of awkward shambling and squeezing, and for a moment it looked as though she wouldn’t quite fit.

The interior of the shop was simple, with only a few tables, chairs, and a display counter containing a variety of mildly appealing-looking food. The staff and owners had been sent home, leaving the establishment devoid of life.

Tűzst leapt behind the counter, fishing out a paper bag and stuffing it full of a steaming batch of special fried rice, crispy prawn crackers, and sauce-slathered ribs. “We’re gonna be here a while.” He reasoned “Who wants what?”

“I don’t have a stomach or taste buds, you wrinkly old fuck.” Imarus snapped. If he had muscles, he’d probably be frowning.

“My bad.” Tűzst said with a broad grin. “Anything for you, ladies?”

“Ribs, special fried rice, sea weed, chicken satay, a bundle of prawn crackers, and some of those king prawns, if you’d be so kind.” Nyx chirped up, plopping down in one of the metal stools.

“Something with duck in it.” Lady Sharrahonzu croaked.

The group began tucking into their meals, all clumped around a tacky plastic table, whilst Imarus stared on enviously. Halfway through chowing down, Tűzst’s phone let out a sharp buzz.

“I fucking hate these smartphones…” Tűzst mumbled through a mouthful of noodles, tapping aggressively at the screen as it lit up with a bright blue light. “I can’t take this one out of the charger for five minutes before it bloody well dies on me.”

“Got a new snapchat?” Nyx asked with a smirk.

Tűzst’s glassy grey eyes swept over the screen. “They’re in position.”

On a distant rooftop, a team of armour-clad snipers fixed their guns on the Golden Dragon, their weapons loaded with hollow-point rounds.

“If anyone tries to disturb us, they end up in the next batch of sushi.” The old man said with a triumphant grin.

“Sushi is Japanese, you uncultured swine.” Lady Sharrahonzu scowled.

“Wait…which one does curry?” He asked with a look of confusion.

“Indian.” Nyx replied helpfully, failing to repress a laugh “I tend to steer away from it. Gives me terrible gas.”

“I thought Mexican was the one that gave people gas?” Imarus pondered.

“Everything gives her gas.” Tűzst smirked.

“D’you want to walk home?”

“Sorry, boss lady.”

Nyx ripped the meat off of some ribs, licking the sauce off of her fat fingers, as she gazed out into the darkness of the street beyond. “Our guests should be here soon.” She declared “Let’s be sure to give them a warm welcome.”

“Are we sure the police are gonna be enough?” Imarus thought aloud.

“Vérafia, you Silly fucking Symphony reject, what did I say in my bitching rant during the car?” Nyx chided half-jokingly.

“Sorry, boss lady.”

“Skulduggery Pleasant’s right though,” Tűzst grumbled “we might need an insurance policy.”

“I didn’t realize you were capable of referencing things which came out after the invention of the wheel.” Imarus hissed at the old man.

“I have grand kids.” Tűzst said with a shrug.

“We’ll be hard pushed to find reliable muscle at such short notice,” Nyx groaned, rubbing her temples before stuffing down a spoonful of special fried rice.

Tűzst looked down at his phone, a big toothy grin flashing across his face.

“What about some ex-Martovanni muscle, fresh off of the corpse cart?”

"Shut. Up!" SSPD officer Tom Barren hissed, cuffing a round faced, red cheeked, young man on the top of his pale blonde head. The man, fellow officer George Winter, drew in a sharp breath as the impact of Tom's heavy fist caused him to spasm in his seat. His eyes, watery and wild, darted between Tom and the mammoth shape of the golden brown werewolf behind them; it was as though he couldn't decide which one posed a greater threat. They're driver, another SSPD officer, John Kip, snorted superciliously at the sound of Winter's pathetic mewling.

Served him right, Tom thought self satisfyingly, for crying like a baby at the sight of a bound up, harmless...animal. He looked back disdainfully at Detective Chase Amelio, whose hulking, furry frame took up most of the back of the van. He had never really been an admirer of the SSPD's finer breed; detectives, after all, were just glorified police officers. Sure, they had flashier badges, but a title didn't really make a man, or so officer Tom forced himself to believe.

He wondered what amount of bribery Detective Amelio had utilized to garner himself a position at the top of the force. Money, sex, favors. The possibilities were endless

Maybe it hadn't been bribery at all. Maybe it had been something worse, something atrocious...he shuddered and spared a fleeting glance backwards, just in time to catch Amelio snapping his heavy jowls together threateningly. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Maybe, reporting Amelio would promote him to detective, Tom thought dreamily.

A strange sense of calm had engulfed the van ever since they had set out, and in his wishful reverie, this sense of impending goodness only seemed to further bury Tom in his hopeful thoughts. He didn't dare discuss this feeling with his fellow officers, fearing they would believe him to be bewitched, or the like. Of course, he didn't believe that either one of the two bozos in the back were quite capable of enchanting or bewitching, but one could never be too sure. The worse part was, every time Tom had felt frustrated the sense of calm had...well it had almost wrestled for control with Tom's frustration, only causing a greater amount of anger and irritation.

And then he'd been so pleasant with the girl earlier. They all had been sweet tempered with her, he'd noticed suspiciously as they'd hauled their breathing packages into the back of the van. It had been difficult for him to rouse himself into roughing her up. Instead, in a very gentlemanly manner, he'd grabbed her by the elbows and mellowly lifted her into the van. And then, more than ever, he'd felt the greatest desire to become an earth kissing hippie.

Even now, as he was worried again, his worry fought with the subtle but present desire to be at peace with the world. Maybe I'm developing some sort of psychological hippie disease, he thought fearfully.

"We're nearly there," Kip declared, interrupting Tom's anxious inner thoughts. To their right, just out the tinted windows of their dull, black, van stood the Golden Dragon. The takeaway seemed mostly empty; the only signifiers of life were the four silhouetted frames of people shuffling around on the inside of the restaurant. Nyx and her colleagues, no doubt.

"There are snipers everywhere," Winter said in a shaky and awed voice. He was pointing frightfully out the window and into the sky. Leaning over, Tom spotted the snipers perched on the roofs of various buildings, prepared to bring down those who threatened Nyx and her powerful lackeys.

"Don't be such a bitch, Winter," Kip said from the front, grinning meanly into the rearview window so that Winter could catch his lofty smirk.

Tom cracked a smile, appreciating Kip's humor and hoping that Winter would be replaced with someone else with actual balls.

The van pulled to a slow stop in front of the Golden Dragon, and Tom shifted in his seat to look back at their captives. They glared at him silently from the hard floor of the otherwise empty van.

"Listen up. I'm gonna give you," He pointed menacingly at Amelio, "some clothes, and your phone. We're gonna let you outta the van, and then you're gonna morph back and change. You're gonna march straight into the Golden Dragon, no questions asked." He paused, then tacked on as an afterthought, "And don't even try any funny business. Boss's got snipers everywhere that'll kill you if you even break an inch out of line. You understand me."

They stared at him.

"I said, you understand me?"

"Yeah, we got you." Detective Johanssen replied, giving Amelio a wary look full of caution, "Right, Chase?"

With her prompting, the werewolf seemed to grunt his approval. Feeling satisfied with his prowess (however little of it he actually had) Tom got out of the van and worked his way to the back, flinging the double doors wide open. Amelio, who had been positioned awkwardly against the left door, tumbled out in a heap of brown, tawny fur. Ignoring him, Tom almost eagerly abided to the needs of the lady, lifting her gently from the van and setting her vertically on her feet.

She smiled at him, and in a moment of blissful ignorance, he returned a broad, admiring grin.

Then his face contorted with fear and misunderstanding, and turning away from his gawking colleagues, he began to undo the binding ropes around Johanssen's wrists.

---

I almost felt sorry for poor Tom Barren, whose face had gone pale with fear and confusion. His friends, Kip and Winter, were staring at him mistrustfully, as though doubting where his loyalties lay.

My powers worked weirdly, and most certainly worked better on some than they did on others. Attraction played a role in their function. Attraction to women bolstered their effect. Furthermore, they worked even better if the "victim" just so happened to be attracted to me. People who fell into the "other" category also felt their effects, though maybe not to the extent of someone attracted to either of the two previous factors.

Because Mr. Tom seemed to be more enchanted with me than the others, I had no choice but to believe I had an admirer. He fumbled with the ropes around my wrist before finally freeing me and giving me time to survey what damaged they'd caused. I had a painful bump on my waist, where one of the idiots had cuffed me, and another black and blue bruise on my arm. My wrists had red sores, rope burn, ringed right around them.

By the time I returned my attention to Chase, he was human again, and fully clothed. He smiled at me, and I had the overwhelming urge to hug him, or hold his hand, or even kiss him on the cheek. Instead, I let my answering smile beam up affectionately at him.

Our moment was interrupted inconsiderately by the three SSPD traitors.

Well, traitors was a strong word considering Chase and I had already done our fair share of underground work, as Chase called it.

They jabbed us forward with the barrels of their long guns, and with no other alternative, we left them behind and made a beeline for the Golden Dragon.

"Are you ok." I whispered as we walked down the sidewalk to the restaurant. My hand ebbed towards his, and in a moment of consolidation, we held each other's hands comfortingly.

"I'm fine," He grimaced, "Those fuckers pounced one me when I least expected it."

"Yeah me too." Quiet reigned king for a moment and then I said, "Fuckers....as in more than one?" Kip had been the only person with Chase when we'd briefly convened at a fancy looking apartment.

"I...Well, I," He stuttered out, looking shameful, "I kind of fucked one of 'em up pretty badly. I mean," He said quickly, squeezing my hand gently, "He'll live. Nothing permanent. But yeah, he kind of couldn't move the way I'd left him. He still managed to help his friend subdue me though, so props to him."

I laughed. A little forced, but I actually laughed. This seemed to lighten Chase's mood (at least as light as it could get considering what position we were in), and we made our way to the Golden Dragon feeling more unified than ever, I think.

We entered cautiously, with Chase leading the way. His large frame blocked my view, and I squirmed my way past him. He let out a hiss of protest, pulling me back till I was leveled with his side.

The inside of the restaurant was small, but decent enough. Four people sat at one table. An old, wrinkled man who really ought to have been retired. An impassive looking skeletal undead. A short haired Asian woman. And a woman so heavy, overflowing, and lazy looking that I almost doubted we'd come to right place.

Chase let out a low cough to signal our arrival, and we waited, anxious and impatient, for them to turn their attention to us.

Max turned off the ignition, looking curiously at the strange scene around them. They were in a forested, swampy area at the outskirts of the city, having driven through shrubs and bushes alike, by Vigil’s explicit directions, till they reached a place of nowhere - far removed from the roads of St. Somabra. After a long moment of silence,

“So, who exactly is this woman again?” she asked.
“An old ...friend,” Her companion replied unsurely, he opened the door with his one good hand and dragged out the briefcase they brought along. Looking at a small trodden path not far from where they stood, “It’s further in.” He pointed.

“Uh huh.” Max locked the car and began to head in the direction Vigil had given her, casting a glance his way as she did so. “You look like hell, you know. You somehow manage to look worse every time I see you, it’s impressive really.”

“Well. We can’t all be pretty like you all the time.” He quipped light heartedly as he shut the car door. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck where several scratches had scabbed over just recently and the fingers of his left hand were wrapped in thick layers of plasters, even as he walked he seemed to drag his feet with an awkward limp.

As they walked through the path, the foliage seemed to bend away from them. Slowly but surely after a few minutes of walking through a convoluted maze of trees, they arrived at the edge of a clearing where the fog was heavy and the evening air made things eerier than they needed to be. Stale mud and rotting wood clogged every breath, dead trees littering the wetlands in some macabre fanfaire, far in a distance they could make out what seemed like a small hill.

“There.” He gestured.

“Good,” Max said. “Let’s deal with this and get it over with then, shall we?”

“Yes… err,” He reached out to stop her for a moment just as she was about to take a step further in, ”She can be a bit ….eccentric.” He warned, putting things lightly.

Max looked at him curiously for a moment before continuing forward. “I’ve met more than a few eccentric people in my life, I’m sure we’ll make it through somehow.”

The two traipsed up the hill at a somewhat slow pace, as the eighteenth century estate came into view. It was large, and something about it gave off a strange, somewhat dark aura. As they walked and Vigil’s eyes kept to the woods, furrowing his brow ever so often. When they reached the entrance, he took the initiative and knocked on the grand door seven steady times.

The main entrance to the estate slowly shifted open. A growling and fracturing sound hurried away from the ever evolving material of the door. It was unnatural, but perhaps to no surprise. One would think that some manner of protective enchantment rested upon the threshold, scaring away the creatures of the night.

The two weary travelers were shadowed by a towering Faceless, whom had answered the request of admittance. It did not speak. Its breath was heavy, as if it had consumed tobacco its entire life. An intimidating, metallic sound resonated within the pallid mask. “Mark,” Vigil grimly accousted the being, though it remained silent. However, only a moment later, Sophia emerged from the depths of the house.

The woman gestured to the Faceless to disappear. The hulking figure then seemingly hovered away and vanished into the darkness beyond. Sophia rested her physique against the wooden frames of the entrance, a faint smirk on her lips.

“Vigil, what a pleasant surprise… or lack thereof” she said. “You seem… well,” the woman continued with a slight sarcastic tone.

He softened his expression at her sight and tipped a genteel nod forward. “Miss Moldoveanu.”

“…which is strange as you’ve brought an immortal with you,”

Vigil’s quiet mien was quickly mixed with sudden perturbation, furrowing a look at her for answers and Sophia’s eerie gaze fastened on Maxine, who was resisting the urge to roll her eyes. The witch extended a flaccid hand for greetings. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure… Sophia Moldoveanu” she introduced.

Max gave a tight smile. “Maxine Lewis,” she said in reply. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at the woman, though her displeasure at having her inhuman nature exposed was kept hidden from view.

The witch gestured her guests to come inside, away from the damp and chilling air.
“Please, come inside,” she said. They took up her offer.

“I’ve been meddling in things I ought not to be…,” the woman mentioned to them casually as she walked through the antiquated hallway to the first door on the right, deep in the recesses of her home. “But, I assume you’re not here for any of that.”

Besides the massive cauldron, the kitchen in which Sophia settled herself was cluttered with myriad of things. There were bone remains of dead critters such as rats and frogs laying around, pendants and chimes dangling from the ceiling, mushrooms and roots and plants tucked away in the corners and around the stove, pungent incense faintly burning in pots filled with dirt and insects, and three cats of nightly attributes staring at the individuals as they entered.

“Have a seat,” Sophia invited.

Max looked around the room warily, eyes taking in the strange setting before she perched on a rickety, wooden stool that had been left in the corner of the cluttered room.

The two detectives made their way cautiously into the Golden Dragon; a hard-faced man with dark hair accompanied by a leggy blonde with striking blue eyes. The dark haired one cleared his throat, and Nyxvira looked up from her special fried rice, her big golden eyes flickering over the pair.

There was something other about the blonde, a whispering murmur in the air that would’ve gone unnoticed by most mortal races, but which Nyxvira could see shifting and slinking about the place like a gas leak. The SSPD records hadn’t mentioned this Johanssen as possessing magical abilities, but they were about as credible and susceptible to change as Wikipedia, so that wasn’t surprising to Nyx.

The Faerie ran her grease-smeared hands down the sides of her slick purple dress, wiping leftover sauce on her chunky thighs as the corner of her plump lips twitched ever-so-slightly.

“Please, take a seat.” Lady Sharrahonzu said plainly, her blind eyes staring into nothingness.

Imarus gestured to a pair of stools with one skeletal hand “We’d be honoured if you could join us.” He hissed in his clacking voice.

“Did you just reference Star Wars?” Vincent asked, cocking one grey eyebrow.

“No.” He shot back, abit too quickly.

It took a lot of effort on Nyx’s part not to roll her eyes or laugh aloud.

The obese young woman turned her attention back to the newcomers, sucking some rib sauce off of one fat thumb.

“I apologies for bringing you here on such short notice, or for interfering with any prior engagements you may have had.” She cooed in her sweet voice, her second chin wobbling slightly.

“I regret having to arrange this meeting through such unorthodox methods,” she continued smoothly “but the threat posed by these so called ‘Hunters’ forced my hand, and made extreme measures necessary.”

Vincent reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small white carton, before offering it to the two detectives “Cigarette?”

Nyxvira looked over the pair. The man had a chiselled, handsome look to him, and his muscular physicality appealed to Nyx’s more primal senses. The woman’s bombshell look struck a nerve with the Faerie, harkening back to the prissy blonde princess who she’d despised her entire life, and the shuddering rage they inspired. Now that she inspected it closer, the magical aura around her stank of a Nymph-like charm, which only served to fan the flames of disgust she felt towards this wretched creature.

Keeping her face a mask of warmth, the Faerie spoke on “I’m sure I don’t need to spell out to you both how much of a threat the Lycans pose to this city, if allowed to roam about unchecked, and what a disaster it could spell out for us all. I believe it to be in both parties’ best interests to deal with this menace as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

Nyxvira fluttered her long eyelashes, emphasising the distinctly magical golden orbs which dwelt beneath them.

“Our sources have identified the leader of this group of Hunters as ‘Den Mother’ Ameilkas.” Lady Sharrahonzu spoke up “a particularly brutal Matriarch who traces her ancestry back to the tribes of ancient Hungary, and the legend of the ‘White Wolf’.”

“She’s lacking in real world experience, but is exceptionally sadistic and cunning.” Imarus continued “And she holds the elitist laws and traditions of her people above all else.”

“Something which we hope to use against her.” Nyxvira said with a wicked grin.

“We’d like to use Detective Amelio’s…condition to our mutual advantage.” Lady Sharrahonzu said plainly “In an attempt to draw Ameilkas into a situation in which she can be quickly dispatched. It only seemed appropriate that his partner were to accompany him.”

“The mongrel gets put down, we pick off her rabid dogs next, and everybody profits.” Vincent said with a smirk.

“Before you answer our little proposition, I’d first like you to consider something.” Nyxvira said with a dark grin.

The back door to the takeaway swung open, and a stumbling figure was pushed inside, followed by two fat Hobbs in dark business suits, pump-action shotguns clutched tightly in their chubby arms.

A series of sharp prods and jabs, and the figure came shambling into the light. She was an olive skinned woman, whose hands had been bound behind her back with rope, and whose mouth had been gagged with thick oily duct tape. Short dark hair fell down around blue eyes that were wide with fear, and a dark red smear was plastered across her forehead. Her authentically tattooed form was splattered with blood, and she was struggling to stand up straight, possessing a noticeable limp.

“We make it our business to know everyone else’s business, Miss Johanssen.” Nyxvira smirked with a cold sneer, her warm mask breaking away into a visage which held utter hatred and contempt. She paused for a moment, spooning some more rice in to her fat face.

“As someone who’s been in this situations many times before, I’d suggested you choose your next few words very carefully, my loves .”

In a small dilapidated yard, around a smelly trash can fire, eight people sat on dirt splattered lawn chairs drinking ice cold beers.

It was a cool summer evening. Trees swayed genially in the afternoon breeze. Shining stars poked out from the edge of the earth. The setting sun left splashes of bright orange in the sky, and highlighted the darkening blue of the night with a pleasant, full purple. The moon was fading into view, its amorphous white form appearing layer by layer, a ghostly imprint on the waning daytime sky. It would be a crescent moon tonight, a crooked cradle in the air.

That was all for the best, Ann thought as she took another sip of her cold beer.

Ashley's rich parent's lived on the very edge of town. In their old age, they preferred peace and seclusion. They're small flat marked where the buildings began to give way to trees, and the houses started to become fewer and farther apart. A further drive down the road would open into the true country side, where, for miles and miles, only rolling hills and lush green pastures could be seen. Werewolves dotted this part of town profusely, but a crescent moon promised the Hunters would keep at bay, at least until the moon was a full, round circle in the sky.

Ann still felt uneasy. Werewolves did not solely operate as a whole, and the lack of a full moon did not insure autonomous werewolves would keep away. Ashley's father had a hunting rifle, but a hunting rifle didn't feel like much protection. He had a crossbow too, and the sparkling furs of a werewolf that had been skinned served as the family room's rug. Still, that had been only one successful and lucky kill, and Verizion said the fur smelled fake anyway.

"We look like hobos," Jose, who sat on Ann's right side, said in his delicate, ladylike inflection. He poked the trashcan fire with a pair of rusted tongs.

Jose was a thin, lanky twenty-one year old trans-woman of Hispanic descent. She wore thick globs of sparkling silver eye shadow, and her thin lips were painted a bright, rich red. To everyone but Ann, she was Jose the gay man. But Ann, who had befriended her first, and who was closest to her, knew that "Jose" preferred to be called "Jan" and that Jan was just holding out until she could afford her surgery next year.

Next to Jan posed as Jose, sat Ashley, a skinny, wealthy, pale white half-elf (half-human), and next to her sat Sam, a (human) lesbian who was heavy set and know-it-all-ish. Across from them was Kenny, a twig sized eighteen year old freshman that had somehow managed to wriggle his way into a group of older college students, and next to him, Verizion, a tall blonde centaur who happened to be another favorite friend of Ann's because of a shared sexuality. Then there was sweet faced, dapper, Donna (full name Dondiel), a short, good-willed dwarf (not the human kind; the actual species), and finally Kendra, an attractive, long legged dark elf.

Sitting around a trash can fire as they were, the large group of eight looked like a small hobo clan, camped in the yard of some poor unknowing soul.

"Well, if you ask me, we're a pretty good looking group of hobos," Sam said in a lofty voice. Half the group laughed, while the other half produced forced chortles.

Ann couldn't fathom why they hung out together. Kendra, Ashley, Sam, and Kenny all had largely divergent opinions from Ann, Jan, Verizion and Donna. Each group carried themselves differently, and the only unifying factor they had was college.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sam's eyes brightened, and leaning forward on her round bottom, she fished around in her back pocket and produced a small, rectangular calling card, colored brightly in hues of blue, purple, and pink.

"It's a bisexual bar." She said flippantly, waving the small rectangular piece of paper in the air between Ann and Verizion. She was clearly intoxicated.

"I saw it and thought of you two," she continued, with feigned sweetness. She shoved the card in Ann's face and Ann jerked her head back, pushing her "friend's" invading forearm from out of her space. Eyes narrowed, she snatched the grossly warm calling card from Sam's trembling fingers and began to read.


"Only thing is," Sam said, and her nose crinkled, "They let in freaks." One of her stubby, sausage like fingers reached out to poke languidly at the word "werewolf". Casually, her hand dragged away from the card, but Ann thought the tip of her stubby forefinger lingered a little too implicitly on the word "bisexual".

"Well, I don't mind freaks." Ann said dryly, tucking the card away in the back pocket of her jeans.

"Of course you don't," Sam said implicitly again.

"Do you have a problem with me, Sam?" Ann asked flatly.

"Yeah. You keep pretending," she shoved a chubby finger at Ann's nose, "You're not a lesbian. But I've only ever seen you date a woman."

"A woman," Ann said hotly, "Just because I've never dated anyone else in your vicinity doesn't mean-."

Sam raised a finger for silence. She was like this when she was sober too. In fact, she was like this all the time. Her word was law, her brain was best, and her ideas were ideal. Ann shook her head furiously, and Verizion got his feet. His pale white skin had flushed an angry red; he was offended too.

"Guys, guys," Kendra said, in what was supposed to be a placating voice. She went ignored.

Sam was far gone, and all the biphobic slurs she could think had found their way to the very tip of her tongue.

"I think I'm going to go." Ann said quietly.

"Me too." Verizion said.

"Shut up, Sam," someone said scathingly as Ann and Verizion thundered away madly.

Ann's head turned a fraction of an inch, just in time to see Jan and Donna trudging after them. She snatched Verizion by the elbow, and they waited patiently for dwarf and human to catch up. Then the four set out sourly from the yard, feeling as though the night had gone as un-pleasurable as possible.

---

"Sorry about that, babe," Jan said, and reached over to peck Ann on the cheek, "You know how some of 'em are."

Ann grumbled something, and Jan gave her a kiss on the cheek again before getting out of Ann's crowded car. They had already dropped Donna off ten minutes earlier.

Now it was just Ann and Verizion, who took up the entirety of the back seat.

Before they pulled off, he reached a muscular forearm into the front of the car.

"Lemme see that card."

"Hold on," Ann grumbled, still in a bitter mood. Sticking her fingers in her back pocket, she retrieved the card and passed it to her centaurian friend. He was quiet for a few moments, and then.

"There's an address. You wanna go?"

Ann turned around in her seat to peer back at his handsome, blonde face.

"Right now?"

He nodded.

"At this time?"

He nodded.

"It's 11 PM."

He nodded again.

Turning back in her seat, she stared out the windshield doubtfully. There were so few bisexual bars in and around the city. You either went to a bar, or you went to a gay/lesbian bar. Bisexual bars probably made up the 1% of minority bars around, just like actual bisexuals did.

"Fine." Unable to suppress his glee, Verizion gave a small whinny.

---

She was intoxicated, and kind of hot. And she kept giving me the eye. Her centaur friend was whispering something in her ear, his face molded into a broad, mischievous grin. He looked at me and winked, and I took that as my invitation to go sit with them at the bar.

"What's your name?" The olive skinned woman asked in a distinct New York accent, while hailing the pretty black-haired bartender.

"Charlize."

"Three please. One for my pretty friend, here." She patted me on the knee.

"So...Charlize. Pretty name for a pretty face." Drunk and flirtatious, I thought.

"I'm Ann, and this is Verizion." She jerked her head back at the handsome centaur.

I waved hello.

"So you two are....?"

"Oh God no," Verizion snorted, and Ann rolled her eyes. The bartender had brought us three cool beers. By the looks on my friends' faces, however, they'd had much more than just three.

"This our first time here," Ann explained, trying her best to not sound drunk.

"Me too." I said, and gave the bartender a friendly smile as she left the drinks. She blushed and looked away.

"You know you look familiar." Ann said. I looked her in the face. Her eyes were a bright blue in color, like mine. I didn't know if it was self-conceited, but blue eyes had always been one of my two favorite eye colors. The next was, for one reason or another, brown.

"I get that." I said, waving to myself with a flourish, pointing out my very basic appearance of tanned skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair, "I'm very California."

She caught my meaning and snorted.

"I don't mean in that way."

"Then what way do you mean?"

"I dunno. You look like someone I saw on T.V. recently, I think." For being drunk, she was possibly being extremely perceptive. I'd made a very brief appearance on the news two days ago after a massive break in had caught the force's attention. Overshadowed by Chase's massive height, I'd been doubtful people would have recognized me.

And I'd been right. Out of uniform, no one recognized me. Heck, even with my badge pinned to my chest, people didn't know who I was.

And yet, here she was, drunk and recalling my short five minutes of fame.

"You don't sound like you're from around here." I said, steering the topic away from opening up about me being a detective in training.

"Well," she said, and took a sip of her drink, "I'm a born and raised New Yorker. I moved here to pursue a creative arts degree."

"Ah, a college gal." She nodded and smiled

We fell into a companionable conversation. She was funny and sweet, even drunk. She kept complimenting me, and at one point, my face had flushed such a deep and hot, rosy red that I was sure I was melting. Her charm was working; usually it was the other way around.

Let me be honest. I am only average. My charm doesn't make me sexy...just charming. I'm not very sultry, and have never really been good at being effortlessly sexual, the way some other people are. That's why, when people come on to me, I need it to be a two-way effort. I can't do all the trying, and I don't like playing cat-and-mouse games.

What my charm does do, however, is , at times, fuck up the above scenario. Some people become so entranced they have trouble speaking to me. Others are so disinterested that they feel uncomfortable; they're feelings of disinterest clash with the encouraged need to be calm and charmed by me.

It's always great to have someone who falls in the middle. Someone who can hold their own against it, just enough to make me know that they're not just charmed, they actually like me.

"You know, you don't look very familiar, but you are very good looking." I said. She snorted.

"What are you?"

"Racially, you mean, right?" Shockingly, she seemed to have sobered up instantly and I wondered suspiciously if she had been pretending for the past half-an-hour. But the serious facade soon dropped in favor of a gentler, relatively out-of-it look, and I figured that the alcohol had gone back to workings its magic. Race must have struck a temporary cord. I was reminded, not for the first, that species was not the only thing subjected to discrimination.

"Yeah, racially."

"My mom's Indian, and Dad's as white as the whitest lily around. He's got blonde hair and blue eyes, like you. I just so happened to get lucky and get his blue eyes."

I edged my body away from her to take in her image more fully. She brazenly turned for me to get a better view, and I blushed. Shrewdness had been dropped.

"You're very ambiguous. You've got a nice mix going on. Like a sweet fruit concoction." The centaur snorted, but Ann smiled a big, wide, happy one and my heart swelled. She was sweet, and it reflected in her face.

Verizion nudged her with his elbow.

"I think its time to go, little fruit concoction."

"Right," she said, and wrenched her purse open. After a small while of digging around, she produced a ripped receipt from McDonald's and a pen. Shoving both of them in my hands, she said, "Your number." I obliged, and we traded phone numbers.

"How are you guys getting home." I asked them.

"We drove here..." Verizion said, his voice trailing off; he was eyeing Ann warily. She raised her hands.

"I'm not going to pretend. I'm drunk as hell."

"I could drive your car for you." I offered. It was a bold statement, but officer Johanssen was on the case and only a little tipsy. I was much better off than the both of them, and I would be careful.

They both looked a little apprehensive, so I dug into my jacket and retrieved my badge.

Well, that had them going for the whole car ride back.

"So, do you, you know, have a gun and whatever?" Verizion asked eagerly from the back seat of the car. I nodded.

"But's its at home. I don't think its very safe to bring a gun to a bar. Especially when you're not there for work..."

Ann nodded sagely from her seat, but I thought she was more jaded than anything. She kept looking out the window and smiling at nothing. It was kind of endearing in a weird sort of way. Some people act stupid drunk; others turn funny, and Ann was definitely not the former.

She gave me directions to Verizion's house, and after we'd made sure he wriggled through his front door safely, we headed for her house.

On the way there, she rested a hand on my thigh.

By the time we pulled into her apartment garage, her hand had traveled a little bit further up and my insides were boiling with excitement.

She turned to me, those blue, jewel like eyes boring deeply into my own, soft and needy and asking, and said,

"You're coming in, right?"

---

They wanted us to take somebody out. A werewolf, to be specific, and to be even more specific, a faction of the Hunters.

Something about the way it was presented to us made my insides writhe nervously. This was not a simple corrupt favor. This was murder. With Chase by my side, I had stepped from the gritty, saliva-filled sandbox of child's play and into the shadowed, no-nonsense arena where adult's prowled. The explanations were executed in an almost businesslike fashion. The four delivered their parts like a rehearsed presentation, outlining very clearly what their motives and desires were.

All the while, I had been nursing the improbable idea that somehow, me and Chase would manage to escape home free. It was wishful thinking, but this was a surreal experience, and wishful thinking seemed to fit its bill. And yet all of it, every small bit of hope that had latched onto my mind, was crushed in mere moments.

"Before you answer our little preposition, I'd first like you to consider something."

There was Ann, all bloodied and weak. They prodded her forward, into the light, so I could see the damage done. She had a laceration on her forehead, and blood smeared her small waist. Her leg looked crooked, and she limped with the urgency of someone who wanted to live. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and mine responded likewise.

I hated that fat woman. I hated her patronizing golden eyes, her contemptuous round face. I hated the way she moved with victory, the way her dark smile betrayed her knowingness. I hated that she knew, knew that she had her trump card, the thing that would ensure her victory, or at least ensure that we tried. I hated that she had taken Ann, the person I loved, the person's whose absence from my life would rip a hole so big in my heart that I would never be whole again. I've never hated someone so much.

"We make it our business to know everyone else's business, Miss Johanssen."

In that moment, her face showed to me a hatred matched by my own. I didn't really know if she hated me, or the world, but I didn't care. I wanted her to hate me. I wanted us to be on the same page.

"As someone who's been in your situation many times before, I'd suggest you choose your next few words very carefully, my loves."

I tried to push forward, to meet Ann, but Chase's big hand clamped around my much smaller arm. I wanted to kick and struggle and scream. I wanted to cry and vomit. I wanted to kiss Ann on her tender, swollen forehead and tell her everything would be ok.

When I realized Chase would not relent his grip, I reduced myself to begging. I had never begged. Not in my entire life.

I had never had too.

"Please." I whimpered. I had broken out into a clammy sweat and my entire body trembled. I was barely audible.

Chase guided me to a chair far away from the rest of them. He kept throwing looks behind his shoulder. He was nervous. We had never encountered a situation where one of us had become so...crippled.

He crouched beside me, his eyes full of worry.

"Jo. What do you want me to do?"

"Barter." I croaked, then looked at him, my eyes fervent, "Barter for her, please, Chase."

---

Johanssen seemed paralyzed. Her face had a look that would haunt Chase in his worst nightmares.

"It'll be ok, ok?" He said. She looked at him blankly.

Getting up, he straightened his shirt and became keenly aware of the audience of four behind him, who had kept up a cool and distant appraisel of he and Johanssen's exchange.

Chase had dealt with corrupt operations before. The SSPD was built on them.

This one, however, touched a special nerve. Chase had never seen Johanssen so distraught before. It was like she had shut down.

Quickly, he tried to review all the material the mysterious group of four had dumped on them. Between his fear for Johanssen's mental well-being, and his own apprehensions against the group, tidbits of information had slipped from his grasp.

From what he knew, they wanted to use him. He was the bait, or the infiltrator. Either one, he supposed. Whichever slipped the knife in the wolf's throat fastest would work best.

And the she-wolf...Ameilkas. The name seemed so familiar. Chase had to wrack his brain for a few minutes before bits and pieces of his days as a Hunter came flowing back to him. It was a repressive time in his life, a time which Chase chose bottle up and store away as far back in his mind as could be stored. Memories were painful and shameful, and an involuntary flush of red rose to Chase's face as he remembered horrific days spent wallowing in the remains of what had once been human.

But also, to his great success, he remembered the name Ameilkas. It was only a sliver of information, barely anything noteworthy. This sliver was just the mere fact that, in Chase's day, Ameilkas had been an upcoming she-wolf, one who had been scaling the ranks of the pack quickly and efficiently. Chase had certainly never run in the same circle as this Ameilkas. And the Hunters were a big enough coalition of creatures, spanning far and wide across the edges of Somabra, that Chase, therefore, thought it a great success that the name Ameilkas had ever reached his ears before. In a group so large, to be as upcoming and nameable as that, surely meant that one commanded a respectable amount of power, even back then.

With all that he could remember at his disposal, Chase decided he was ready.

Pushing his hair back out of his face and smoothing it along his head, he glimpsed at himself in the silverware hanging from a restaurant display. Presentable enough, he thought.

Then, in a few very long steps, he covered the distance between he and his captors, wrenched a chair from an empty table, and sat smack in front of the fat one.

She was the leader. It was in the inflection of her voice, the movement of her rolling girth. Chase looked at her the way all respectful lackeys were supposed too; just barely in the eye, with frequent glances to the side. He leaned out of her space, and knew not to invade unless she signified it.

"Your name, fair lady?" He said sweetly, "I'm at your service if you promise Ann lives. See, I love my partner dearly, and I'm afraid, if Ann dies, I'll never see Charlize happy again. But if she lives, I promise you, I'll be more inclined to do whatever you want, weather it be of a public or more...personal nature. I'll even let Ameilkas fuck me, if you want me too. I'll kill her while we fuck too, if you want it. Whatever you want, me and Johanssen'll try our best. But Ann lives...Please." He said the last word with a begging intonation, just the way he believed most power freaks loved.

"Well alright then, Raz. Follow me."

Without waiting, I entered the apartment block. I had to make sure Charlie was okay. He wasn't up that high, but that meant any of the fuzzy fucks that came from below could get to him.

I hurried up the steps. Without power this place was a death trap. No doubt the elevator had someone trapped inside it; I could hear the fella thumping on the walls, pressin' the alarm bell and yelling for help, all muffled through the metal and brick. No lights, no ventilation, but more importantly any alarm systems wired to the building's power grid were down. That meant Charlie wouldn't even know if someone broke in, though if it were a werewolf I think he'd notice.

After a few minutes of stair climbin' I reached Charlie's level. His apartment was at the far end of the hall, nice little defensible place, and from here I could see why. There was a big shaggy carpet decoratin' his front door, and inside I could see the twin barrels of the shotgun he'd rigged. Dumb werewolf musta broke the door and killed himself on it. I stepped over the corpse and gently knocked on his doorframe.

"Charlie? You still around?"

After a second he replied.

"Andy! Yeah I'm here! Still kickin' around, hehe!"

He emerged from his bedroom holding a pistol, no doubt loaded with silver bullets, alive but ragged looking.

"You look like death warmed over, Charlie."

"And you don't look no better, shortcake. And who's the goblin?"

"Oh, him? That's Raz. He's a friend. Don't worry about it."

Charlie merely nodded as he took a seat in his favorite easy chair. I remained standing.

"Good to see you're alright, Charlie."

"Yeah, good thing too. When I heard the howling I knew some bad shit was gonna go down. Grabbed my silver right away, set up shop. You're lucky that whole silver stash thing caught on in the sixties, Andy, otherwise I'd be dead."

"That's good, Charlie. Hey, Paulie sends his regards. He liked the bottle of chili brandy you gave him. A lot. Last I saw he was chuggin' the damn thing."

"Heh, good for him then. Say, Andy, after the power went down and this lug showed up at my door, I got a call from a guy."

"You still got cell reception out here?"

"Yeah, just barely. Anyway, bozo called himself Vincent, said Nyxvira Bloodbloom had business with you and Kiddo down in Chinatown, place called Golden Dragon Takeaway. The fella heard you two were in town and in cahoots with each other again, thought you'd make good muscle to take care of the werewolf situation. Frankly I don't understand why she can't get her mindless goons to do that job for her but hey."

Nyxvira Bloodbloom. Fat, ugly, but extremely powerful. A fae, believe it or not, in this case pigs can fly. Anyway, back in the day, I was privy to the goings on she had here. Came from England, lugging a boatload of mindless servants, a death wish and a metric fuckton of magic. The local squints took an immediate dislike to her. I was acquaintances with the leader of the bunch, guy called Old Feng, old guy, white mustache reaching the floor. He didn't like her and when she started muscling in on his turf, he responded in kind. Long story short Old Feng ended up Dead Feng and Nyx had herself the whole of Chinatown. If she wanted me and Kiddo as her anti-werewolf squad, chances are the money would be pretty fuckin' high. That, and she had a real bone to pick. Not like I didn't, but hey money.

"Alright Charlie, thanks. I'll tell Kiddo when I see him, he's checkin' on Paul right now."

"You got it Andy. Say, you sure you can't stay for a drink or somethin'?"

"Nah Charlie. Gotta split. Just makin' sure you was okay and all."

He chuckled quite heartily.

"Oh Andy, I'm old, my body's slowly wasting away, my time's gonna come sooner or later. If I gotta go, at least let it be with a gun in my hand rather than crumpled in a bed."

Yeah the man was real old. I smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Well don't die just yet, old man. We'll have drinks after all this shit's done, alright?"

"You got it Andy. Now go on, split. You got business waitin' for ya."

I nodded and tapped Raz on the shoulder. No doubt the little guy was curious about Nyxvira, but that could come later.

"Alright then. Let's go, Raz. Time to go meet up with Kiddo and give him the news. I'm sure you're pretty curious about Nyxvira anyway, so c'mon. I'll fill you in on the way."

That being said, I turned and left, stepping over the corpse of the werewolf on the way out.

---

"Nyxvira Bloodbloom. Faerie, believe it or not. Came from England some years ago, took over Chinatown from the local Triad gangs almost singlehandedly. 'Course she had her own form of help, but now she runs the place. She's who we're gonna go see."

"Nyxvira Bloodbloom. Faerie, believe it or not. Came from England some years ago, took over Chinatown from the local Triad gangs almost singlehandedly. 'Course she had her own form of help, but now she runs the place. She's who we're gonna go see."



"Yeah, about right."

We were outside now. Chinatown wasn't all that far away, but it was still quite a walk. 'N without transport from the Martovanni boys we were on foot and on our own. Not exactly heartening prospects for a night under the full moon. Besides, I had to get home first. My apartment was close by, just a block away from Charlie's place. Going up the steps, it almost felt like I was returning home after a long night out. No rest for the wicked though.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking the light switch to turn on the lights when I realised that the power was still out to this bit of town.

What a dumbass move.

I 'turned off' the lights and moved inside, letting Raz follow me as I headed for my bedroom. A small place, had a window view that overlooked the street, for safety reasons. Once there, I made a beeline straight for my closet. It wasn't loaded with much, just some empty boxes and general clutter. However, I kept a secret there that not many knew of. I ran my hands across the back of the closet until I found a little lip with my fingers. I prised it open and let the false backing fall into my open hands. As I stepped backward to clear out the clutter, I took stock. Everything was still there; my two shotguns, my own personal Tommy gun, and my pistol, everything in its place. What I was really interested in though, were the boxes on the floor of the hidden back. I grabbed those and replaced the false backing of the closet, kicking the boxes and other clutter back in place to finish the look. As I closed my closet, I glanced at Raz.

"You breathe a word about this and I'll will hunt you down and skin you alive, comprende, partner?"



"Good, well load up. Things are gonna get rough."

I tossed the boxes on the bed and opened them up. Each held silver ammunition by the boatload; bullets and shotgun shells of many varieties, all hand-made and hand-loaded by an old acquaintance of mine in the Martovanni family. I filled my Tommy gun drums with the good stuff and loaded my shotgun and pistol with the same. However, carrying all this extra weight around was kinda a hassle, so in the interest of good faith and to spread the love, I handed Raz the shotgun. Wasn't mine, anyway, the Martovannis could afford to lend out the extra iron. Me? I couldn't. Not anymore.

"Take this, Raz. A step up from that dinky little peashooter you got there."

That being said and done, I let Raz load up on ammo as I went to a drawer and withdrew my last set of weapons; a pair of brass knuckles, tipped with studs. These babies really did me good, and if I had to get up close and personal with a slobbering beast a few punches to the jaw did wonders. I got that done, I gave Raz a look.

"You good?"

The little goblin nodded without saying a word, which I took as agreement.

"Excellente. Now, to Chinatown. I gotta let Kiddo know we gotta head there too."

---

On our way towards Chinatown, we were gonna head through a neighbourhood that had power. I took out my phone, thanking whatever gods that were still alive that I had reception, dialed Kiddo's number and waited for him to pick up. I hoped the old number in my phone was still the right one, a thought I confirmed when I heard his voice come through.

"Andy, glad you called, listen -"

"Kiddo, hold up a sec, time for semantics later. Listen to me, I got some news. We got a job. Remember Nyxvira Bloodbloom?"

"The tub a' lard that runs Chinatown? Yeah I remember her."

"Well I hope you got your silver ready, cause we've been called to a meeting down in Chinatown. Golden Dragon Takeaway. Somethin' about us bein' the solution to the city's werewolf problem."

"Well now, that's interestin'. I was at our usual joint but I'll head over there now. But listen, Andy, bad news: I found Paulie earlier, and he was in bad shape."

I paled, not like I could get any paler bein' dead.

"Shit. He alright?"

"Yeah yeah! Werewolves attacked his place, Martovanni boys fought well but he got hurt bad. I managed to get him to a hospital before he bit the bullet."

"A hospital? But Santa Somabra General's out in another part of town where the power's still out."

"There's a hospice in Vulture Rock. I brought 'im there."

Comprehension dawned. That same hospice was where I'd watched Papa Martovanni pass on. Poor old guy. He made the best pasta.

"That place, eh? Nice job, good thinkin'. Anyway, I'll see you at Golden Dragon, alright?"

"You got it Andy. Catch you later."

He hung up as I stuffed my phone back in the pocket of my jacket. Things were getting more and more interesting by the minute. I gave Raz a glance and a little grin.

This was gonna be interesting.

---

A couple minutes later and we were there, passin' under the huge red archway that signalled the start of Santa Somabra's Chinatown district. From the city history that I could remember, the city council first set up Chinatown as a response to all the Chinese folks that were immigratin' here from across the Pacific, lookin' for work and a new place to live. 'Course, that also brought along its fair share of horrors; yao guai, snake spirits, Chinese vampires and whatnot, but they also brought along good things like Chinese food, spices, interestin' things that kinda strengthened the economy here. Through the decades, Chinatown turned into what it is today, controlled by Nyx, but still a good-natured place overall, if you overlooked the fat broad who ran it all.

Golden Dragon Takeaway wasn't easy to miss; after all, how could you miss a huge ass neon sign above the store of a big ol' dragon and the words 'Golden Dragon Takeaway' just below it?

Eh, go figure. Gaudy but it caught the eye at least. I could already see into the store from here; four fellas, one of them so overweight I knew it had to be Nyx. As I slowed to a walk, I saw a police van around the corner and skidded to a complete stop.

Cops?!

This was a fuckin' trap!

I quickly slipped into an alley, dragging Raz along with me whether he liked it or not. Once out of sight, I sighed and drew my pistol.

"Fuckin' A, just as I thought. Trap. Nyx wants me and Kiddo out of the game, fuckin' tub a' lard."

I peeked out from the alley to watch, and saw a few cops push out a woman, bound by her wrists with rope. Then they opened the back doors of the van and my jaw dropped a few more degrees.

A fuckin' werewolf?! They'd captured one?!

I couldn't hear the exchange from where I was, but I could almost immediately tell what was goin' on: Nyx had found out that the SSPD had a werewolf in their custody. She wanted it brought to her and interrogated, most likely. These officers were here to deliver.

However, the way the other officers were behavin' was suspicious. Guns drawn, they released the woman and watched as the wolf changed back into his human form, painful to watch as it was. They gave him clothes and then prodded them in the direction of the eatery.

Oh these weren't good guys at all. Most likely they were on someone's payroll, and I had a good idea as to whose.

I slipped on my brass knuckles. This was gonna get really dirty.

I turned to Raz and pointed upward.

"Raz, d'you think you can get up to the roof? I have a feeling there might be more cops watching us from up high. If you find any, menace 'em, knock 'em out if you have to, but don't kill 'em, alright?"

Without lookin' to see where Raz went, I exited the alley and advanced forward.

Now, these things usually got really ugly if more than three different factions were present at these sorta meetings without some sort of restraint. Here we had Nyxvira Bloodbloom, Monarch of Chinatown, along with some unknown werewolf and his partner in crime, then there was me, Raz and Kiddo who was on his way. Three completely different groups of people, three different goals. Lots of tension, lots of stress. No wonder Nyx had some backup.

Which was why I wasn't at all surprised when, after the three goons had 'escorted' their cargo to the eatery, they got jumped by a werewolf.

I was almost to the van when the lanky fuzzy thing jumped in out of nowhere, landing in the center of the trio. Fangs and claws flashed in the lights from the eatery as the wolf tore the three men to shreds. Damn if that wasn't a shocker. That thing's claws were like swords.

I heard a shot ring out from the rooftop and saw a hole ping into the side of the police van, just inches from my face. I swept my gaze to the building opposite and saw the sniper team on the roof there, that signature long, deadly rifle pointed not at me, but at the werewolf.

Either these bozos were warning me to stay away, or they were absolutely horrible at aiming.

But I had more pressing matters. That shot had drawn the werewolf's attention to me. My gaze returned to it and met its eyes as it stared at me.

It grinned.

Ohhh shit.

I barely had time to bring my hands up to my face as the thing pounced on me. Knocked me clean to the floor.

Motherfucker was heavy, but he had his paws raised up to rip me in half. I caught his downward swings with my hands and struggled to keep them up as he snarled and snapped at me with his fangs. I had to make my head dance just to avoid gettin' turned into doggie chow.

Then it stopped and I could hear it speak. Guttural, growling, deep voice.

"You're dead, corpse. I'm gonna tear you limb from limb and turn you into burger meat."

I grinned.

"Yeah, but you're already dead, dumb shit."

The werewolf was surprised. Genuinely surprised.

His arms loosened in my grip for just a moment.

It was all I needed.

I released my hands from its wrists and shifted my grip to its hands proper. I angled his fingers and claws inward, pulled them close to my chest, then shoved upward.

The wolf howled in pain as its own claws dug deep into its flesh, gouging into its chest. It reared up and I used that to kick it off me. As it sprawled to the floor, blood pouring out of its body, I scrambled to my feet and readied my fists.

It stood and yanked its claws out from its chest, howling and roaring in pain as it sprung at me again. I had to hop out of the way as it flew past me. Knocked the hat right off my head and cut a nice slice into the side of my suit jacket as he landed on the street next to the van.

My favourite suit jacket. He'd messed it.

"Oh you asked for it now, fuck face. You messed up my fuckin' suit!"

As the beast panted and raised itself up again, blood pouring from its chest, I ran forward, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and, without stopping, drove its face straight into the side of the police van.

"Motherfucker!"

As it reeled backward, I did it again.

"NO ONE -"

And again.

"- TOUCHES -"

And again, until its face was a mess, muzzle crumpled with blood streaming out of its nose and mouth.

" -THE SUIT."

I flung it to the floor and got onto it, straddling its chest as I flung my fists into its face, again and again and again until he stopped twitching and my hands were covered in blood. I stood as I straightened my jacket and adjusted my tie, panting in exhaustion.

"The Lost are back in town, bitch."

I went to retrieve my hat and, disregarding everything and everyone else, entered the eatery. I passed the once-werewolf and his female companion, the men and women seated at the table, the bloody woman tied to a chair, and went to the counter. Once behind it I loosed the brass knuckles from my fists and dropped them in the sink, turning it on to let the hot water wash the blood from them as I filled a bowl with ice and water. I got out from behind the counter, took off my jacket and draped it on the back of a chair, then sat at the counter, my hands immersed in the ice water.

My knuckles were sore and torn. I hadn't punched up a guy with this fury in years. Frankly it felt nice to work it all off.

I let my gaze sweep over the faces in the joint. Most unfamiliar, 'cept for Nyx. I caught her gaze and shrugged.

"What? Never seen a guy beat a werewolf to death before? And what the hell is all this? Did I walk into some sorta exchange?"

---

As I watched Andy's car drive off from inside the dark club, I smiled to myself. Cheeky asshole. That bastard was still the same Andy from all those years ago. 'Course, he was dead, so he changed little over the decades.

How'd I not recognise him in the power station? That accent, those clothes, why did it not strike me that I was hittin' my best friend?

Didn't matter now. We were back again. The Lost Boys, rollin' in Santa Somabra like it was the 50s. Fuck yeah.

Inside the club it was chaos. I could see the broken glass, shattered lights, overturned tables and the like. I stepped on a broken bottle as I walked in. There was a distinct lack of bodies though, which I found rather strange. I saw a few, guys with guns behind tables turned sideways, dead defenders of some unholy sanctum. There were two werewolf corpses too, their huge, furry bodies sprawled out on the dance floor, plugged full of holes. But I would've expected more, from such a big place.

Paulie's office was upstairs, no doubt. I could see it, framed above the...what was it? A disc jockey booth? I was still tryin' ta get used to all these newfangled things. Dyin' and stayin' dead for about twenty years does things to ya memory, let me tell ya that.

With my cannon drawn, I advanced slowly upstairs. What would I find? I didn't know.

As I got towards the office door, I saw why there were so little corpses: it was cause most of 'em were up here. There was a table turned over near the doorway, with another on the other side. Corpses littered the floor, all ripped to shreds like ham. I stepped over the gore and blood and got into the office proper, where I saw a werewolf body draped over the same oak desk that I'd last seen nearly forty years ago. Paulie was waterboardin' some dope who'd been stealing from him on that table, last I remembered. But where was the guy?

I stepped on another piece of broken glass and it cracked.

So too did the familiar racking of a shotgun slide catch my ear.

As I raised my hands, Paulie rose from behind his desk, saw me, sighed and lowered his gun.

"Oh Jesus Christ, Benji, next time knock before ya go around traipsing in what's left of my god damn life, will ya? I almost blew your damn face off!"

"Like that'd make me any more good lookin', Paulie."

"Ah shaddap ya psycho. Look at this place! God damn mother fuck -"

He suddenly clutched his side in pain and sank into his chair. I lowered my hands and rushed to his side and saw the reason why: he'd got hurt in the fight, and there was a huge gash in his side, no doubt from the corpse that had once been a werewolf decorating his desk. The blood pouring from it wasn't enough to kill him, but I was damn sure he was hurtin'. He gasped in pain as I pressed my handkerchief to the wound and he gave me a look.

"I would never...EVER let these bitches ruin my business. Never in a million years."

"Yeah yeah, honor and integrity and all that jazz, now shut up you're dyin'."

"Ya think I don't know that, Kiddo?! Jesus H. Christ, you really are a dumbass."

"Don't make me, Paulie."

He cracked a smile as he succumbed to another round of coughing. His spit was stained with blood.

"How bad is it, Paulie?"

"B-bitches got me and my guys real good, but they're all dead here. I got a few broken ribs, and a flat lung I think, b-but I've been through worse."

"Yeah but you'll die if we don't get you to a hospital, round about now!"

"I can try, Kiddo, but have you seen the city? There's no power!"

"There's some! I just got done with Andy, me and him we turned the main power station back on. The nearest hospital's in Vulture Rock, it's real close by, and we gotta get you there pronto!"

---

A while or so later of struggling with Paulie on my back, the guy now laid in a bed with all sorta wires 'n tubes goin' in him. Thank god we had the power back on, otherwise he would've been a goner.

The hospital wasn't an actual hospital per se. Santa Somabra General wasn't in this area. This was a private place, a hospice actually. Took care a' old, frail guys like me, gave 'em a place ta stay 'n live out their last days.

But Paulie, according to the doctor that was at the other end of the room, was gonna live. He'd be bed bound for a few months but he'd live.

The werewolves had attacked this place too, but thankfully the furry assholes still thought straight. One look at what this place contained and they bolted. Never even apologised for breakin' the door down, the pricks. I told the doctor I'd handle his medical bills personally, then left.

Just before he'd gone under, I'd told Paulie about Andy and asked about the stash of silver he had, and in return he'd given me a slip of paper, told me to write some shit down. I was on my way back to his club to finish it.

In his office, there was a safe, hidden behind a painting; a fake Mona Lisa, believe it or not. The picture was gone now, ripped to shreds in the attack. The safe was about as big as the painting, and the knob was about the size of my friggin' face. As I pulled over a chair to stand on, I couldn't help but wonder what was inside the huge thing. Then I realised: hey, I'll be gettin' in here soon anyway.

The piece of paper had the combination to the safe, and I glanced at it as I turned the knob.

42 right...
2 left...
38 right.

I heard the click of the tumblers inside the safe door and turned the handle. The door swung open without a sound, and what I saw inside surprised me.

I saw racks of bullets, specially made out of silver. Like, full of the stuff, in all the common calibers too. And one or two guns, handguns mostly, and one sawn-off shotgun. I found shotgun shells too, loaded with pellets of pure silver.

Now, lemme share a thing on the werewolves in Santa Somabra. Most of these dogs were friendly; they disappeared once a month during the full moon to let loose their animal rage somewhere without living peeps, mostly outside the city entirely. We had a whole district of the furry bastards, called Little Lupine. That whole place became a ghost town when the full moon came around. No one left there. But some of 'em were the bloodthirsty type and they didn't like the indecent, almost racist way they were treated. These idiots were the Hunters. Every now 'n then, when these guys turned, they hunted the citizens of the city. The SSPD had a whole division dedicated to hunting the Hunters to try and stop the damage they caused, but they could never win. Too many of 'em, too few cops.

Back in the day me and Andy, we had to deal with them a few times. That's when we came up with the idea of having a stash of silver whenever a new hunting season (when the Hunters showed up) rolled around. We each had our own, Andy in his apartment, me in mine, and every other capo and shopkeeper in Martovanni hands was supplied with silver to defend their premises. This was Paulie's stash, and he'd been a good boy, cause the wolvies never attacked his place. I never knew why, maybe he'd cut a deal with the Hunters to avoid trashing his turf.

Whatever it was, they'd gone back on it or whatever today. Now a friend of mine was unconscious in a hospital and I had every resource to hunt down and end these sorry fuckers.

I took the two handguns from inside the safe and loaded several magazines with the silver bullets, before grabbing the shotgun and stuffing my pockets with silver shells.

These silver bullets were somethin'. The bullets themselves weren't made of pure silver, nah, the metal was too soft. Instead these were alloys, made mostly of silver but with a bit of lead or iron in 'em to give 'em strength to be fired. A dozen of these bad boys could put down a big ass werewolf. Just like the types I was huntin'.

I stuffed the other two handguns in the inside of my coat and grabbed a few more bullets for my revolver. Could never leave home without my hand cannon. .44 Magnum Special. Any low lifes who saw this piece usually pissed their pants and fled. Intimidatin' gun. S'why I had it.

Now, time to go huntin'.

---

The "usual place" me and Andy always met at was a small Italian cafe down near the park. Had an amazing view of the place at sunset, and it served the best tortellini in a tomato 'n herb sauce I'd ever eaten. He preferred the classic spaghetti but hey, to each his own.

The place was empty now. Lights off, door locked, but I still waited there anyway. I was in a chair overlookin' the park, just lookin', watchin', when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. It was Andy.

Damn, my old number still worked? And he'd bothered to keep it too? I picked up and put the phone to my ear.

"Andy, glad you called, listen -"

"Kiddo, hold up a sec, time for semantics later. Listen to me, I got some news. We got a job. Remember Nyxvira Bloodbloom?"

Nyxvira Bloodbloom...yeah, familiar. The dope who ran Chinatown with an iron fist.

"The tub a' lard that runs Chinatown? Yeah I remember her."

"Well I hope you got your silver ready, cause we've been called to a meeting down in Chinatown. Golden Dragon Takeaway. Somethin' about us bein' the solution to the city's werewolf problem."

Golden Dragon? I was tempted to ask how he knew the place was still around, but I bit my lip. Place had fuckin' good fried noodles and prawn paste chicken.

"Well now, that's interestin'. I was at our usual joint but I'll head over there now. But listen, Andy, bad news: I found Paulie earlier, and he was in bad shape."

"Shit. He alright?"

"Yeah yeah! Werewolves attacked his place, Martovanni boys fought well but he got hurt bad. I managed to get him to a hospital before he bit the bullet."

"A hospital? But Santa Somabra General's out in another part of town where the power's still out."

"There's a hospice in Vulture Rock. I brought 'im there."

"That place, eh? Nice job, good thinkin'. Anyway, I'll see you at Golden Dragon, alright?"

"You got it Andy. Catch you later."

I hung up and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. Chinatown wasn't too far away, just across the park. I think. Took the phrase 'a walk in the park' to a whole different meanin'.

God, twenty years in the dirt does this to ya memory, I sure as hell don't wanna find out if bein' dead longer does worse things.

---

Couple of minutes later and I was outta breath. Even in death I wasn't a marathon sprinter, and who could I blame? I loved food, still do.

But Chinatown was in sight, and the eatery too.

Just then I heard yellin' in an all too familiar voice.

Andy.

I rounded the corner to watch him disappear into the place. He left the corpse of a werewolf behind. It sure was a corpse alright, its face was hamburger meat on the street. I went into a jog towards the eatery as I admired the scenery around me.

The eatery itself had a police van outside of it. Strange. Was this a trap? I didn't know. Too many questions. I'd get more answers inside.

Y'know, it'd been ages since I left. Santa Somabra was alien to me when I returned all those years ago, and it still was. I'd left in the seventies, came back in the nineties, died and woke up in a new millenia. Shit, time was a fickle, cold-hearted bitch to me. At least my body wasn't all bone or somethin'.

I approached the door and stepped inside, drawin' more incredulous looks as I took a seat next to Andy. He gave me a glance and cocked his head at the small group nearby.

"Hey, don't be such a rudeface and go introduce yourself to the guys, dumbass."

Oh, oops.

"Oh, well, uh, I'm Benjamin Kiddo. I kill things for a livin', just like my pal here."

Andy snorted.

"Yeah, great job, wonderful presentation, flawless execution, dumbass. Now lookie what we got here, Kiddo."

"Oh, what, Andy?"

It took me a minute to take in the full scene. That tub a' lard Nyx was there, along with three other fellas I didn't recognise. Two fresh faces, youngsters. A lady, bound and bloody, conscious but barely, seated in a chair.

"Ooh looks like we got ourselves a little prisoner exchange, Andy."

"That's right Kiddo. Feels just like the good ol' days again, eh? Old fashioned, but 'ey it works."

Andy stood and flicked water from his hands, wiping them on a towel as he ambled over to where Nyx was. He draped the towel on his shoulder and stuffed his hands in his pockets, grinning a little as he peered down at the tub a' lard.

Oh here we go. Andy was peeved about something. He always grinned like that when he was mega pissed.

"Nyxvira Bloodbloom. The big cheese of Chinatown. Last I heard of you, you were putting your grubby fingers into what was left of Old Feng's chest to pull out his heart. Now this? You sure have a knack for pulling this shit out of a fuckin' hat because I sure as hell didn't get a warning that you would involve the fuckin' SSPD in this shit, let alone bad cops. Next time you want us to meet you it better be without fuckin' guards."

He leaned in quite close and leered at her.

"Besides, what're you so afraid of? In this business, it's better to accept death than be scared of it. Makes the, eh, transition a little bit less shocking."

Pure Andy. He was the more vocal of the Lost Boys. Me? I hit things a whole lot when I was pissed. There was a reason why I was known as Grumpy. Andy straightened up and returned to his bowl of ice water, immersing his hands in it again.

"Now, Nyx, you got the two deadliest guys in the city right here in your shop. Kiddo 'n I, we're not gonna get involved in whatever shit is goin' on now. We're only interested in what you got with the Hunters. That's it. Ain't that right, Kiddo?"

"You got it, Andy. Anything t'do with the SSPD ain't our deal. Our deal is the wolves. But, in return, we expect somethin'."

Andy's eyes went a little wide.

"Wait wha -"

I cut him off with an index finger.

"Just watch, Andy."

He sat as I went over to Nyx, a little casual, y'know, hands in my pockets.

"See, I've been havin' a problem recently with an undead bitch. This undead bitch almost made me shoot my pal Andy over there in the face back at the city's main power station. I'm sure you know who I'm talkin' about."

I slowly strolled around her as I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it.

"Now, y'see, I absolutely hate it when people double cross me. I ain't sayin' you did any a' this, but you've got more connections than any of us in here. What me 'n Andy want is simple: we do this shit for you, we deal with your Hunter problem, and in return, we want everythin' you know about the Cannonness. Names, addresses, locations, connections, everythin'. I've got more than my fair share of bones to pick with that bitch, and I'm sure you do too. Chinatown wasn't that far from the riots, last I heard. And the power goin' out? That was her doin' too."

I smiled as I returned to Andy's side, cigarette clamped between my lips.

"Simple deal, right? We take care a' the Hunters, you give us the stuff we need to take care of the Cannonness ourselves. Done deal, everyone goes home happy."

Andy clapped me on the back and nodded in agreement.

"Not bad, dumbass. You're learnin'."

"Oh please Andy, you know we both had ta do this for a livin'."

Nyx grinned as she watched the leggy blonde whimper and buckle, her eyes welling with tears at the sight of her beloved all bound and bruised and broken.

“Please.” She managed in a hushed voice, trembling and sweaty as the dark-haired detective held her back.

The Faerie delighted in watching the pair move anxiously about, Detective Amelio nervously sitting his partner down in one of the rickety stools, trying his best to reassure her.

He turned, casting a glance back at Nyxvira and her associates, striding boldly towards them and wrenching a chair out from the table before sitting brashly down infront of the obese Faerie herself.

"Your name, fair lady?" he asked in a voice that oozed charm, His bright blue eyes staring confidently into her large golden orbs.

“Nyxvira Bloodbloom, but you can call me Nixie, handsome.” She cooed. He seemed to consider that for a moment.

"I'm at your service if you promise Ann lives. See, I love my partner dearly, and I'm afraid, if Ann dies, I'll never see Charlize happy again. But if she lives, I promise you, I'll be more inclined to do whatever you want, whether it be of a public or more...personal nature. I'll even let Ameilkas fuck me, if you want me too. I'll kill her while we fuck too, if you want it. Whatever you want, me and Johanssen'll try our best. But Ann lives...Please."

This one was good; probably smarter than the snivelling blonde wreck who was slinking back in the shadows. He knew his place, and he knew the power that Nyxvira wielded. She’d earned the respect of this city, yet she never tired of seeing its people grovel at her feet.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t make promises when I’m the one calling the shots…which is you know, like, all the time.” Nyx said nonchalantly, flashing a quick smirk.

She pushed her chair backwards, emphasising the sheer size of her stomach as it spilled out underneath the table.

“Here’s how this is going to work, honey; you and blondie clear up this little situation for me, and I give the pixie-haired-priss back to her lovely lady, but my boys make house calls every now and then, just to make sure you aren’t saying anything you shouldn’t to people who’ve no business hearing it. I keep you both on my friendslist, and drop you a message whenever I need something…delicate to be taken care of.”

Nyxvira scooped up another hearty mouthful of rice, scoffing it down in a flash, before belching loudly.

“Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this personal business you mentioned.” She added brazenly, shooting Chase a sultry wink.

Suddenly, the front door of the Golden Dragon flung open, and a bedraggled looking zombie in a ruffled up suit and hat came stumbling in, striding defiantly right through the crowd and straight behind the counter. Running himself a bowl of water, the zombie proceeded to cool his bloodied hands, whilst he sat casually down at the counter.

Nyx’s shimmering gold eyes caught his cold dead ones, and he shrugged loosely.

"What? Never seen a guy beat a werewolf to death before? And what the hell is all this? Did I walk into some sorta exchange?" He snapped in a surprisingly chilled tone.

The group’s eyes collectively wandered outside of the takeaway, where the mutilated corpse of a man which had reverted back from its lycan state lay sprawled across the grimy pavement.

“Oh.” Said Lady Sharrahonzu.

“Well then.” Said Imarus.

“Niiiice.” Said Vincent, nodding his approval.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the eatery, which was lifted when a second, rather more decomposed, zombie came strolling in through the open door.

"Hey, don't be such a rudeface and go introduce yourself to the guys, dumbass." The first zombie called out to his pal.

"Oh, well, uh, I'm Benjamin Kiddo. I kill things for a livin', just like my pal here." The second zombie stammer rather awkwardly.

"Yeah, great job, wonderful presentation, flawless execution, dumbass. Now lookie what we got here, Kiddo." Zombie number 1 called over to the walking corpse who’d called himself Kiddo.

"Oh, what, Andy?" Kiddo chirped up, his eyes lingering over Nyxvira as he took in the large Faerie’s humongous frame, before settling on the bartering chip that was Charlize Johanssen’s flame.

“Ooh looks like we got ourselves a little prisoner exchange, Andy." Kiddo said rather casually, inkling his head to the zombie he’d called Andy.

"That's right Kiddo. Feels just like the good ol' days again, eh? Old fashioned, but 'ey it works."

Imarus leaned over to whisper in Nyxvira’s ear.

“I told you it was dated.”

”You’re dated, you lanky skeletal fuck.” She hissed back.

Andy swaggering up to Nyx, looking her over as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Nyxvira Bloodbloom. The big cheese of Chinatown. Last I heard of you, you were putting your grubby fingers into what was left of Old Feng's chest to pull out his heart. Now this? You sure have a knack for pulling this shit out of a fuckin' hat because I sure as hell didn't get a warning that you would involve the fuckin' SSPD in this shit, let alone bad cops. Next time you want us to meet you it better be without fuckin' guards."

Her shot her a look of disapproval, before leaning in towards her, prompting Vincent to reach for his sidearm.

"Besides, what're you so afraid of? In this business, it's better to accept death than be scared of it. Makes the, eh, transition a little bit less shocking." He added.

The zombie paused for a moment, making sure he had the room’s full attention.

"Now, Nyx, you got the two deadliest guys in the city right here in your shop. Kiddo 'n I, we're not gonna get involved in whatever shit is goin' on now. We're only interested in what you got with the Hunters. That's it. Ain't that right, Kiddo?"

"You got it, Andy. Anything t'do with the SSPD ain't our deal. Our deal is the wolves. But, in return, we expect somethin'." Kiddo pipped up.

His friend went wide eyed and started to say something, but Kiddo cut him off.
"Just watch, Andy."

He came swaggering up to Nyxvira as Andy took a seat, prompting her to raise one fiery eyebrow.

"See, I've been havin' a problem recently with an undead bitch. This undead bitch almost made me shoot my pal Andy over there in the face back at the city's main power station. I'm sure you know who I'm talkin' about."

Based off of the reports, she could tell where this was going. She grinned inwardly.

"Now, y'see, I absolutely hate it when people double cross me. I ain't sayin' you did any a' this, but you've got more connections than any of us in here. What me 'n Andy want is simple: we do this shit for you, we deal with your Hunter problem, and in return, we want everythin' you know about the Cannonness. Names, addresses, locations, connections, everythin'. I've got more than my fair share of bones to pick with that bitch, and I'm sure you do too. Chinatown wasn't that far from the riots, last I heard. And the power goin' out? That was her doin' too."

He strode back over to his partner’s side.

"Simple deal, right? We take care a' the Hunters, you give us the stuff we need to take care of the Cannonness ourselves. Done deal, everyone goes home happy."

"Not bad, dumbass. You're learnin'." Andy said with a slight smirk.

"Oh please Andy, you know we both had ta do this for a livin'." He shot back.

Nyx enjoyed watching the two zombie’s go to work. They had an elderly charm to them, like two old folks who’d been through thick and thin together, with a load of back and forth banter passed between them to help smoothen the journey.

“Well, gentlemen,” The Faerie began, her great gut pulsing in and out with each breath she took. “You’re certainly right when you say I’ve got connections, and you’re also right to assume that I can get you what you want in regards to this ‘Canoness’, a name I’m sure you’re as sick of hearing as I am.”

“There’s a very specific hunter I want you to take care of,” she continued in her sensual voice, linking her sausage-like fingers together. “My sources inside the lycan community tell me he goes by the name of ‘Brunkas’. Second-in-command to the Den Mother, and a royal pain in my gorgeously proportioned arse.”

“He’s been rampaging up and down the Red Lights district, and giving me a real bitching headache.” She snarled, ripping some chicken satay off of a wooden skewer and gluttonously gobbling it down.

“Take care of him and his cronies, and you’ll get what you want.”

Nyxvira cleared her throat loudly, addressing the entire room.

“We’ve got a long fucking night ahead of us, boys and girls, and it only gets rougher from here.” Her golden eyes flickered from person to person, taking in the group that had assembled.

“I want results, not excuses. If any of you come back to me with anything other than what I’ve asked for then you’d better learn how to dig you way out of a shallow grave really fucking quickly.”

Chinatown was a mini metropolis within a metropolis. Its streets were often dense with thick, bustling, crowds, and it’s cluttered, tightly packed stores often concealed illicit underground on goings. Sweatshops, sex slaves, contraband…you could find it all in Chinatown.

Werewolves had some of the most sensitive ears among the supernatural. It was a miracle that Chase didn't flinch at every loud noise that greeted him on the city streets of Somabra. And, if he remembered correctly, his integration back into society after his defection from the Hunters had been difficult and wearisome. Days had been wasted holed up in his room, hiding away from the overflow of information that urban Somabra presented his senses with.

Chinatown, with its noisy shops and packed streets, was a werewolf's worst nightmare. The quite seclusion of the Golden Dragon was a poor reflection of the morning activity that defined Chinatown. Chase had rarely visited it; not only was its clamorous streets intimidating, but it held no merit for Chase. He had never had dealings in this part of town, and had never intended to do so.

But that was beside the point. All had become clear with Nyxvira Bloodbloom’s name, a name that, previously, Chase had only heard from the SSPD grapevine. It was a name that held weight (both physically and figuratively) among the corrupted cops of the SSPD. Chase had, obviously, never had explicit dealings with Nyxvira and her clan before; he had stoutly avoided Chinatown, and therefore, avoided her employment.

And yet, here he was.

Nixie. Had he just prostituted himself away? He wasn't sure.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t make promises when I’m the one calling the shots…which is you know, like, all the time.”

Chase nodded sycophantically. Anything to appeal to her ego, Chase thought. Those grapevine rumors had left enough of an impression on Chase to have roused some sense of respect for the great bowling ball of a woman that sat before him. She seemed relaxed and unfazed, and Chase couldn't blame her. When you held that much power in the tip of your fat pinkie finger, what was there left to fear?

Prying herself away from the cluttered, food heavy table, she allowed her richly round stomach to fall out before her, no doubt giving it freedom from the restrictive tabletop. Chase tried not to stare as pronounced ripples traveled through the round, flabby mass that was the Faerie's stomach. Give it a week or two, and maybe he'd see it naked. He shuddered ever so slightly and coughed quietly to cover up the movement.

“Here’s how this is going to work, honey; you and blondie clear up this little situation for me, and I give the pixie-haired-priss back to her lovely lady, but my boys make house calls every now and then, just to make sure you aren’t saying anything you shouldn’t to people who’ve no business hearing it. I keep you both on my friendslist, and drop you a message whenever I need something…delicate to be taken care of.”

House calls. Chase could deal with house calls. He didn't live with any relatives or loved ones, and while the threat of a goon abducting a family member remained a looming possibility, Chase was obedient enough that he hoped he could forge some sort of pseudo trust between himself and the massive faerie, an imitation of a genuine working relationship, something that would persuade her not to seek out his family. Or harass poor, sweet, Johanssen and her loved ones any further.

The humongous woman shoveled another spoonful of rice into her gaping mouth, and then released a burp so loud that Chase flinched and asked himself again: had he just prostituted himself out to this?

“Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this personal business you mentioned.”

One of her heavy lids winked lustfully at Chase and he felt his face pale ever so slightly. He had. He had prostituted himself out to this.

Still, somewhere else, in the bowels of Chase's chest, his heart soared with some optimism. This dictator of a woman was showing some semblance of being willing to release poor, broken Ann. And he knew Johanssen well enough. She would make up for it to him in other ways. Her calming presence alone had already done a good deal for Chase; and her sweet personality had changed him to some extent. In a way, however little it seemed, he owed her already.

---

Pathetically mewling in a corner of the takeaway restaurant, I had left poor Chase to do all the work. With very little hesitation, he had thrown himself into the bowels of that woman's gaping, manipulative mouth and sacrificed himself.

Pulling myself up from under my lake of misery, I focused in on the conversation, trying to ignore Ann, who had slumped down pathetically by the feet of the men who had prodded her forward.

From my distant observation, I could only infer that the evil creature seemed pleased with Chase. Her name was Nyxvire Bloodbloom. A minute change in Chase's posture told me that the name rung a bell. But, no matter how much I racked my brain for information, I couldn't place my finger on where I'd heard the name before.

Her golden orbs raked over Chase's handsome, confident face lustfully, and I felt some apprehension rise in my chest, protesting against what my dear friend had seemed to promise her. Chase accepted her appraising gaze with the ease of an old pro; he had, had a few years ahead of me to perfect his groveling persona, and the effect was astounding. The fat faerie seemed immensely pleased with him.

“Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this personal business you mentioned.”

Chase paled ever so slightly, but the shadow of a triumphant smile played on his face. We had a chance. Ann had a chance.

I looked at Ann, and her pure, blue eyes meet mine. Though she sat weak and crumpled by the feet of her captors, her eyes were filled with resilience. They seemed to urge me on.

I pried my gaze from her face and focused back on the exchange going on before me. I had looked just in time to see Nyx winking lustfully at Chase.

Before he could respond, the front door exploded open, and a zombie shuffled in at an alarmingly fast pace. He wore a suit that seemed as though it had been freshly ripped, and his stooped stature seemed disgruntled somehow. Without a word to the assembled crowd, he stumbled to the back of the counter and filled a bowl with water, dipping his bloodied hands in it so that red dispersed into what had once been fresh, cool, crystal clear water.

He looked up at our incredulous faces, and for a moment, his cold eyes seemed to search among us. Finally, they rested on Nyxvira, whose commanding stare was almost as flat and dismissive as his.

"What? Never seen a guy beat a werewolf to death before? And what the hell is all this? Did I walk into some sorta exchange?"

Almost as one, the group turned to look at the entrance of the Golden Dragon. A werewolf, in human form, having morphed back upon death, lay sprawled out eagle style at the front of the restaurant. Its mutilated face had been smashed to a pulp on the pavement of the sidewalk. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat and swallowed frantically. My skin must have look swallow and green, because Chase's worried eyes caught mine.

I was imagining him there, instead of a stranger. Fear and anger mixed in my stomach, and I had the overwhelming urge to draw the gun I didn't have.

An awkward silence blanketed our oddly assorted group. Another surprise, when a green goblin slipped into the establishment. Then, minutes passed, and finally, another zombie trudged through the front door of the Dragon.

"Hey, don't be such a rudeface and go introduce yourself to the guys, dumbass." Said the first.

"Oh, well, uh, I'm Benjamin Kiddo. I kill things for a livin', just like my pal here." The second responded, flustered-like.

"Yeah, great job, wonderful presentation, flawless execution, dumbass. Now lookie what we got here, Kiddo."

"Oh, what, Andy?" The eyes of the zombie called Kiddo found their way Ann's stooped body.

“Ooh looks like we got ourselves a little prisoner exchange, Andy." I felt like throwing myself in front of her. As it was, several choice profanities came to the tip of my tongue. They were treating it too casually. A voice in the back of my head asked me, "How else would they treat it?" But I ignored it. Right now Ann was suffering more than ever because of me. I didn't care that the rotfaces didn't know who she was. But, at the same time, I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted. My thoughts were jumbled, disorderly. What was it that I desire? For them to treat her with more respect? To not eye her like an inanimate object, a simple trading card?

"That's right Kiddo. Feels just like the good ol' days again, eh? Old fashioned, but 'ey it works."

The zombie called Andy sauntered casually into Nyxvira's space. Chase leaned away as the corpse, frozen in a state of rot, pressed in closer to the obese faerie before him.

I didn't understand most of the subsequent exchange. They were bartering for something, but I didn't quite grasp the concept of what it was. It seemed there was another, unknown, factor involved, something Chase and I were not privy too. Most of the rest of the room, however, seemed perfectly at ease with the conversation, and eagerly soaked up every word that transpired between the zombies and Nyxvira.

“Well, gentlemen, you’re certainly right when you say I’ve got connections, and you’re also right to assume that I can get you what you want in regards to this ‘Canoness’, a name I’m sure you’re as sick of hearing as I am. There’s a very specific hunter I want you to take care of. My sources inside the lycan community tell me he goes by the name of ‘Brunkas’. Second-in-command to the Den Mother, and a royal pain in my gorgeously proportioned arse.”

So they were here for a purpose similar to our own. My head pulsated with pain. There were too many limp links to the connect. Chase was sitting before Nyxvira, his fingers entwined, listening politely to her commanding speech. His body was relaxed, his face, impassive. Clearly, he seemed to have everything straightened out.

A long list of instructions continued to pour forth from the faerie's mouth.

“He’s been rampaging up and down the Red Lights district, and giving me a real bitching headache. Take care of him and his cronies, and you’ll get what you want.”

She cleared her throat, and her voice boomed over the heads of the assembled crowd.

“We’ve got a long fucking night ahead of us, boys and girls, and it only gets rougher from here. I want results, not excuses. If any of you come back to me with anything other than what I’ve asked for then you’d better learn how to dig you way out of a shallow grave really fucking quickly.”




Chase looked from the confident zombies and the quiet goblin, to Johanssen who now sat straighter, to Ann, who looked damaged, to Nyx's three submissive lackeys, and finally, his eyes came to rest on the enormous figure that now commanded them all. He wondered with genuine curiosity if the obese faerie planned to extend her grasp beyond the streets of Chinatown anytime soon.

Chase let out a subdued coughed, a small, diminutive noise, something to catch her attention. The zombie had invaded Nyx's space, but Chase held nowhere near that amount of blind confidence. Good for the, if they could beat the shit out of Nyx. But Chase, he just wasn't in a position to do that, or risk offending her. It could very well mean the end of Ann.

"Nixie," He pronounced the word delicately, making sure to wrap every syllable the cadences of his voice that would make him sound most respectful. He did it because he hoped it would help Ann live, but his face burned red in the light of the restaurant; not so much because he was attracted to Nyx in any way, but more because of the embarrassment that now boiled under his skin like a hot stove. Surely the zombies, who clearly had not been put in the same servile position as him, would be judging him harshly.

Trying to ignore their presence, he turned his attention to more pressing manner. They where to eliminate the she-wolf, most likely in a timely and proficient manner. He would have to impart everything he knew about killing werewolves to Johanssen in a brief amount of time. But, a few questions still floated in the air unanswered.

"Where exactly are we going to find Ameilkas? And is it in our jurisdiction, how we...err...," he mimed the blade of a knife cutting across his throat, "get rid of her?" He needed information. He needed to know how the she-wolf ran, what kind of characters composed her packs, how easily she trusted.

And that opened up another question, one of genuine curiosity, that slipped from Chase's mouth before he could phrase it in the most politest of ways, "Does she need anyone? For her pack, I mean. Any replacements."

"Nixie," Detective Amelio said carefully, his handsome face flushing red. "Where exactly are we going to find Ameilkas? And is it in our jurisdiction, how we...err...," he made the universal gesture for murder, sliding one finger across his sturdy throat. "get rid of her?" He seemed uncomfortable in the Faerie’s presence, which made her grin. His chiselled features and muscular body were pleasing to Nyxvira, and she found her great golden eyes constantly looking him up and down. She doubted they had much in common, and that they’d ever be able to discuss anything other than business, but he had certain aesthetic charms that made her want him beneath her and ontop of her and in several other, more explicit, positions.

"Does she need anyone? For her pack, I mean. Any replacements." He added in a cautious voice.

“The lads tell me she’s parading around Dawn Peek Heights, stomping about on some fountain.” Vincent spoke up, gesturing to his smartphone.

“Make your way discreetly through the back entrance, keeping your arms where we can see them.” Imarus said sternly “We’ve got a taxi to take you where you need to go. The driver will give you a Python with silver bullets. Ameilkas is built like so many brick shithouses, but silver should still stop her in her tracks.”

“If you’re planning on trying to sneak your way in to her little group, then forget it.” Lady Sharrahonzu croaked “She’ll be able to smell the city on you, and the Hunters despise city wolves.”

Nyxvira’s eyes flickered briefly to Charlize.

“I’ll have my people drop Ann off somewhere out-of-the-way, once we’ve had confirmation that you’ve held up your end of our little bargain. Make sure you’re nice and thorough, or you’ll get your lady love back in pieces through the mailbox.”

She turned her attention to the Lost Boys, trying to mask her surprise as she spotted the goblin who’d been lurking about behind them.

“You two and your…little green friend get your arses over to the Red Lights district. Some prozzies, and a good slice of my weekly income, need saving.”

Her golden gaze fell upon the goblin. His kind were extremely useful for sneaking into tight spaces, and getting about unnoticed. She’d have to keep tabs on him, maybe reach out to him with a proposition once this whole business had cleared itself up.

“Now, if you’ll all excuse me; I have a hot tub that needs my attention.” She smirked. The Faerie gave Chase one last lingering look “I’ll have my guys text you the address.”


Having been dead for a good 74 years, it had been a long time since Madeline had felt hungover, but as her eyes slowly fluttered open, and the world flittered back into her vision, a hangover was all that the vampress could liken the thundering throbbing sensation in her skull too.

The room around her was small and cramped and dark, and through the pounding hammers that were raging in her head it was impossible for Maddie to make out its finer details.

A door swung open, letting a searing crack of light spill into the room, forcing Madeline further back into the corner, all bundled up on the floor as her eyes slammed shut. She tried to move her hands, but cold steel shackled her to the wall behind her, clinking and jangling with each frustrated jerk.

“You are resilient, even for a child of the night.” A thin voice seeped through the darkness, and only then did Maddie become aware that there was a tall, statuesque figure standing over her.

“Take these chains off me and I’ll show you how fucking resilient I can be.” She hissed, her vision blurred and hazy.

“You mean like how you showed the Barrison’s?” The figure chided, disapprovingly “their only crime was attempting to liberate this city from its oppressors, yet you saw it fit to paint their living room walls with their brains.”

It took Madeline a long moment of deep pondering for her to remember why the name ‘Barrison’ held significance.

“You mean those fucking deadbeat cocksuckers in their shitty little apartment?” She spat with a harsh laugh “Let’s get one thing straight, disembodied voice; they stole from me, and those bastards got what they deserved.”

“I agree entirely.” Said the voice, the smile that graced its face evident in the manner which it spoke.

Madeline’s vision cleared now, and she became aware of the figure who was standing before her.

A graceful being, poised elegantly in a long crimson riding coat, and trousers as black as coal, which tightly hugged her muscular legs, stood over Madeline. She had a delicate, sculpted neck, a long braid of milky white blonde hair which hung loosely over one shoulder, and piercing blue eyes that whirled and crackled like a thunderous monsoon, even within the dark confines of the cell. Her skin was deathly pale, smattered with the faintest hint of grey, and the ghostly indication of a grin twisted at the edges of her smooth lips.

Madeline stared daggers up at the woman, her fists clenching.

“When I get out of here….” She began to fume, her words failing her.

“By all means.” The figure responded with a thin smirk, removing a long silver key from her coat pocket, undoing the manacles that bound her to the wall.

No sooner had the shackles clattered loosely to the floor, then Madeline had shot forwards, wrenching the woman up off of her feet with supernatural strength, and dangling her in the air by her throat.

“You think you can just sweep me off of the streets like some fucking rabid dog?!” Maddie hissed, tightening her grip around the woman’s delicate throat.

The woman’s hand moved swiftly forwards, her palm resting gently on Madeline’s forehead, and then a jolt of hellish electricity shot through her, sending her thoughts veering backwards into the past.

In her mind’s eye the bombs were falling, cascading downwards all around her as her home was bathed in fire. She sat, weak and frightened in Daddy’s special room, listening to her neighbourhood melt into the ground.

When she came to, she was sprawled out across the floor, a limp little girl from Liverpool in a frilly dress with tears in her eyes.

“Who the fuck are you..?” Maddie choked wearily, gazing up at the woman whilst bitter tears poured down her cheeks.

“I have gone by many names,” she said nonchalantly “but you may call me the Canoness.”
“Well then, ‘Canoness’” Maddie wheezed, her head lolling backwards “If you’re planning on torturing me can we just get this show on the road? And it had better be a pretty fuckin’ good show; I’ve been dead most my life after all.”

The Canoness laughed plainly “I don’t want to torture you, Madeline Hollinghurst,” She assured her softly “I want to empower you.”

“I don’t know how, but you sent me back to a place I never wanted to go to again.” Maddie laughed without humour “And I haven’t felt this weak in a looooong time, so you’re fuckin’ failing, missy.”

“You’re no creature of heaven’s light, Miss Hollinghurst.” The Canoness observed “so you’ve bathed yourself in the embrace of the darkness, and run across half the world to burry your head in the sand, and forsake your true purpose.”

“And what would that be?” Maddie asked.

“To punish those who’ve hurt you.” The Canoness replied.

She walked steadily towards Madeline, and, for some reason the vampress couldn’t fathom, she let her.

“You couldn’t punish the Nazi’s who left your home in rubble.”

“My home was with the Blackwood’s!” she roared, renewed life coursing through her frail body.

“And what did you do to punish the man who took the good Doctor from you?” The Canoness asked plainly.

“You are about to push a nerve you don’t want to, sister.” Madeline hissed through tightly gritted teeth.

“Your passion and grace are wasted upon such minor obstacles, Miss Hollinghurst.” The Canoness chided “You could be an instrument of vengeance, sweeping through the coiling tendrils of darkness, and leaving the dammned nowhere left to hide, yet instead you’ve spent your entire un-life trying to conquer battlefields which no longer exist.”

“You sound like my therapist.” Madeline remarked drily.

“Which one?” The Canoness queried “The man who you bled dry to absorb his power, or the woman who tried to pull you apart and stitch you back together again?”

“Fuck you, blondie.” Maddie snapped effortlessly.

“You have a savage side to you, Miss Hollinghurst.” The Canoness said after a pause “One which this city has yet to see.”

“Hah!” Maddie spat “This city and my savage side are in bed together, bitch! Ask anyone on the street who the mother fuckin’ Reapers are and they’ll shit their pants.”

The Canoness shook her head.

“You’ve been in control, without a real challenge, for far too long, Miss Hollinghurst. There is a beast inside you, but it’s taken the backseat in your psyche, and you’ve let it grow slow and complacent.”

Maddie stared into the woman’s whirling monsoon eyes “If we’re talking about the same thing, then that’s not a beast you ever want to let off of the leash, sister.” She said, almost pleadingly.

“I disagree,” The Canoness shot back “You can’t kill a dragon with a pheasant. You need a bigger dragon.”

“What dragon are you planning on catching?” Madeline asked cautiously, her maroon eyes narrowing into slits.

“The Elfchewer has been sitting on his golden throne for far too long.”

The Canoness reached into her breast pocket, pulling out a clear-glass vial full of a molten red liquid, which seemed to bubble and boil and scream all at once, fighting against its container.

Maddie could feel the vial of hellfire howling to her, begging to be inside her.

“The fuck is that..?” she asked in a slow, dulled voice, wide-eyed and mesmerized.

“Demon’s Blood.” The Canoness replied.

“I’ve seen demon’s blood,” Maddie said, shaking her head. “I’ve taken it from a needle before, gives you a nice buzz. That ain’t demon’s blood, sister.”

The Canoness smiled, a cold, knife-like grin of a smile. “What you get off of the street is watered down and pumped full of so many drugs and narcotics that it’s nothing like the pure, unaltered specimen. It has taken me over two hundred years to acquire this, and it is –to my knowledge-, the most potent sample of Demon’s Blood on this planet.”

Maddie’s maroon eyes danced around in the frothing concoction, watching it hiss and swirl.

“A very, very, very long time ago, a green star fell to this earth.” The Canoness explained “Inside that star was Yultierow the Howler. Yultierow’s presence on this planet is the most recent recording of an Arch-demon setting foot on mortal soil. During his residence, Yultierow destroyed three of our most prominent and sophisticated civilisations, all but erasing their memory from existence.”

The Canoness gave the vial a gentle swirl with the flick of her wrist, and its contents began to thrash about like a raging whirlpool.

“In my hand I hold all that remains of Yultierow the Howler, and I want you to have it, Miss Hollinghurst…”

Maddie moved forwards, ready to snatch her prize, but the Canoness raised one finger to stop her.

“On the condition that you help me drown my enemies in a tide of blood.”

Madeleine Hollinghurst locked eyes with the Canoness, grinning darkly.

“Brownie’s honour.”

The Canoness tossed her the vial, and she caught it in a vivid blur, pouring its hellish contents down her through, and glutting herself on demonic power.

“This part might hurt a little.” The Canoness said dryly.




Ruzghul Elfchewer sat in the darkness of his bedroom, glowering at a nearby wall. Humiliated. Cast aside. Beaten. He seethed, a tide of red hot anger coursing through his hulking body.

“That Elf cunt will get what’s coming to her.” His second head sneered, gnashing its crooked teeth together.

“Oh, don’t be so Gods dammed melodramatic.” Grumbled his first head, limping forwards.

“What good are brains if we don’t fuckin’ use them?!” Roared the second head, spraying a tide of frothy spit across the room.

“You focus on being big and imposing, I’ll deal with the rest of our problems efficiently, like I always have.” The first head snapped back sternly.

“All our smarts and long words did fuck all against that twig bitch and her zombie fuckboy!” The second head bellowed.

“Keep your voice down,” the first head sighed, rolling its eyes “we’ll be even more of a laughing stock if the entire bloody house can hear us bickering.”

“There is no US!” The second head hissed, slamming down one powerful fist. “We’re one being! You’ve never understood that! You’d be just as limp and worthless without me as I would without you, yet you always put yourself above me, you arrogant fucking prick!”

A fist wrapped gently against the door.

“Come in.” boomed the first head.

Talavoil, his Sardinian bodyguard stepped into the darkness of the room.

“Sirs, you may want to see this.”



I tear through the night sky, clouds whipping past me like so much cotton wool, an icy wind unlike anything I’ve ever felt dancing across my body. I open my mouth and laugh at the world bellow, a furious growling that booms out of me, dark and powerful.

My new wings beat fiercely behind me, propelling me forwards as I watch the city lights flicker away beneath me, buildings spilling out in a tide of steel and concrete and glass.

The great tiled roof of the Martovanni estate phases into my vision and I come hurtling down towards it, bolting through the air and zipping back towards the earth, my wings bunching up as I plummet down to the front lawn.

I land in the great green field with a deafening crash, sending grass and mud exploding out around me as my clawed fight bite into the ground, tearing up huge chunks of lawn.

“Ruzghul!” I bellow, my voice carrying on the wind “come out and face me, you greasy fucking cunt!”

A shot rings out from somewhere inside the great white mansion, but the flimsy metal bullet pings harmlessly off of my hide, tumbling softly into the grass with a wet thud.

A furry of gunfire comes screeching towards me, Ruzghul’s private army of thugs taking pot shots at me from their hiding places, but none of them do so much as scratch my skin.

I feel so alive!

I go tearing forwards, bounding up the lawn, the world melting away around me, until I’m standing right infront of those garish mahogany doors, my bare feet pressing down on the marble steps beneath me.

More gunfire.

I yank the door off of its hinges, sending it sailing backwards over my shoulder, and stride triumphantly into the enormous lobby.

A line of men in suits greet me, stood at the bottom of the great winding staircase, aiming meekly up at me with their shitty little handguns.

More bullets ring out, and then I’m dashing between them, severing their pathetic shivering bodies with my new claws, feeling the sweet sensation of hot blood washing over me once more as I cut them in to bloody ribbons.

I clear the staircase in one huge leap, landing boldly at the top of its winding enormity, before going stomping off in search of the Ogre himself, slinking through the great corridors of his home, slashing and stabbing whoever gets in my way, until I’m standing in his bedroom, some Italian-looking bloke lying in two mangled and bloody pieces at my feet.

“Too pussy to come face me, Ruzghul?” I sneer, my eyes dancing across the great Ogre’s body.

He’s not as tall as everyone made him out to be.

“You’re something new.” His first head observes, caressing its thin black goatee.

“You must have a death wish, bitch!” Hisses his second head.

“I’ve been dead a long time, cur.” I say with a toothy grin “Care to join me?”

My clawed hand shoots forwards, tearing through flesh and bone, ripping the second head straight from its bloody stump and sending it tumbling to the floor, a fountain of dark red spurting everywhere.

Its fleshy lips muttering and splutter as the head thumps to the soft carpet, splattering the walls with blood, but pretty soon they stop moving.

Ruzghul falls to his knees, clutching at his bloody stump, gawking and gasping at the air.

“I only need one head.” I laugh.

“K-kill me…” he wheezes.

“Soon enough,” I assure him. “But first, you’re going to sing for my new friends.”





The Canoness stood in her chambers, gazing into the great fireplace that was assembled before her. A searing flame was crackling amidst the long wooden logs, shifting about and coiling as it blazed upwards. The fire let out a sharp roar, and the slithering tendrils of inferno began to find form, leaping out of the fireplace and crawling across the stony floor. They leaked into the air, bursting upwards as they began to take shape, twirling towards the ceiling. A trio of loose fiery bodies stepped out into the chamber, vaguely human shapes garbed in long hooded cloaks of crackling flame.

“It has been a long time since you answered our summons, Chaerina.” One of the illusions hissed in a tepid voice.

“I’ve been otherwise preoccupied.” Chaerina Somabra replied in her soft tone.

“Self-important imp!” snarled another figure “You would seek to defy the Pale Circle?!”

“I’d say we’re long past defiance now,” Chaerina smirked “your council of doddering old fools no longer holds dominion over me.”

“Then you answer our call simply to mock us?” spat one of the other conjurations.

“I’ve answered your call to warn you that once I’m done here I’m coming for you.” She replied darkly, flashing her knife-like smile.

“Insolent girl!” one of the fiery voices screeched, sending rouge sparks pitter-pattering on to the chamber floor “you are but an instrument of our order!”

“It was Grigori I shackled myself to,” Chaerina snarled “and the changeling has been dead for nearly a century.”

“You forget yourself,” snapped another of the arcane projections “It was the Pale Circle who breathed life back in to your broken body.”

“I remember well,” Chaerina shot back “and that is why I shall be giving you all quick, and merciful deaths…although I cannot speak for what comes next.”

“Your arrogance will be your undoing, wretch.” A flaming mouth cackled “our agents shall soon be upon your doorstep.”

“Send whomever you like.” Chaerina laughed sharply “by the time these lupine mongrels have finished smashing up cars and lampposts you’ll already be too late to stop me.”

“You are about to cross a threshold that bares no returning from, girl.” Frowned one of the figures, its eyes narrowing into searing slits.

“You have all exceeded your use to me.” She yawned “I thank you for your tutelage, and bid you farewell with the promise of your imminent destruction.”

She cast her delicate hand forwards, sending the flaming conjurations reeling back in to the fire place, vanishing in a great burst of crackling reds and yellows.

The hingeless stone panel which served as an entrance to her chamber slid open, and a tall, dreadlocked figure came striding in, his marron eyes snapping about with gleeful abandon.

“Mistress,” he tittered “news from the other Disciplines; The Lady Hollinghurst has retrieved her prize, as commanded.”

“Excellent,” Chaerina exclaimed with a sharp grin “so begins the dissolution of this wretched establishment, and the birth of the empire of the common people.”

Nyxvira's golden eyes steadily grazed over Chase's face; her plump lips formed an amused smile. The werewolf shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the attention. His eyes darted back and forth rapidly as he pretended to appraise the decorative appearance of the Golden Dragon's interior.

Behind him, Johanssen had sidled up to be closer to the assembly. He could feel the heat of her smaller body against his back as she came to a stop just before his chair. The warmth was comforting in the AC chilled environment, and Chase accepted it gladly. A gentle sense of calm seeped through Chase's clothes, and with some concentration, he tried to ward it away. Now was not the time to feel rainbowish.

"The lads tell me she's parading around Dawn Peek Heights, stomping about on some fountain." The old man's voice broke the brief silence that had blanketed the tense and awkward group. His thin wrist signaled to the smartphone clutched in his other, equally withered, hand.

Dawn Peaks, Chase thought, grimacing ever so slightly. It was a district of Somabra that Chase had infrequently visited. Maybe once or twice in childhood, when his parents had been feeling particularly generous and in the mood to spoil their brood of two, but never as a werewolf. It's noisy climate and posh, flashy, businessmen were the neon highlighted markers that warned away people like Chase; average Joes whose average-ness would only become inflated when they arrived, poorly dressed, to a high class supermarket like Whole Foods.

“Make your way discreetly through the back entrance, keeping your arms where we can see them." The skeletal undead's spoke, his ivory white dome as impassive as ever, the small cracked indents in his skull stiff and unmovable, his voice strict, and unfriendly, "We’ve got a taxi to take you where you need to go. The driver will give you a Python with silver bullets. Ameilkas is built like so many brick shithouses, but silver should still stop her in her tracks.”

Chase nodded methodically as the instructions were doled out to him like a well recited grocery list. Silver bullets...silver anything...made the werewolf nervous, and rightly so. He had almost instantaneously decided to defer possession of the killing weapon to Johanssen, whose venomous, revenge stricken mind would have no problem pulling the trigger when the time came.

“If you’re planning on trying to sneak your way in to her little group, then forget it.” The Asian woman's raspy voice piped up, “She’ll be able to smell the city on you, and the Hunters despise city wolves.”

Chase would have liked to believe the woman's rederick was aimed more so at Johanssen than himself. If there was one thing Chase knew, it was that country werewolves loathed city werewolves. And while Chase didn't count himself as an active participant in the flourishing city life around him, he still stuck close to its tightly built neighborhoods and tall, towering, skyscrapers. The city's heavy metallic scent would reek from his fur.

Chase glanced back at Johanssen, whose face was the spitting image of painted steel. Her eyes looked cold and indifferent. Piercing blue in color, and presently with pinholes for pupils, they slowly settled on Chase's face and a silent preparedness passed between them.

“I’ll have my people drop Ann off somewhere out-of-the-way, once we’ve had confirmation that you’ve held up your end of our little bargain. Make sure you’re nice and thorough, or you’ll get your lady love back in pieces through the mailbox.”

Johanssen blanched, and in a brief moment of weakness, the steely facade dropped. Her eyes flickered frantically to Ann, curled in a fetal position at the feet of her captors. Her body shuddered ever so slightly, and Chase knew she would need to vomit before they left. The small palpitations on her smooth long neck told Chase she was swallowing frenetically, and her paled skin tinged green ever so slightly. Then she focused on the back of Chase's head, and the green melted back under her bronzed skin.

Nyx's stare rested on the two undead and the sly goblin that had slipped in at the very last moment.

“You two and your…little green friend get your arses over to the Red Lights district. Some prozzies, and a good slice of my weekly income, need saving.”

For a moment, she seemed to appraise the goblin, and Chase thought he could understand why. The wily creatures were adept spies; he would be a handy asset if ever one was needed.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me; I have a hot tub that needs my attention." She leered at the group, and her lusty gaze lingered longingly on Chase, "I'll have my guys text you the address."

Chase gave a strained smile.

---

Chase didn't bother with the unneeded phrases, the "are you ok"s and the "it'll be alright"s. Maybe in another situation, those would have worked. But not here, not now.

We made our way to the back entrance in silence, our hands clamped by our sides dutifully, afraid to move a finger an inch out of place, terrified it would place a bullet in the center of Ann's forehead. Behind us, we were leaving two zombies, a goblin, that nasty beast of a woman and her posy, and most importantly, the person I loved.

Outside, the warm air felt uncomfortable against my already clammy skin. Chase moved forward, but I raised a finger for him to wait.

I ebbed slowly towards the dumpster leaning against the Golden Dragon's brick wall backside. Prying its heavy, green, debris splattered lid up, I peeked my head over its edge. Then I let out most of the contents of my stomach, along with some bitter tasting yellowish green bile. Chase allowed me to retch uselessly for a few seconds, before gently take me the arm and guiding me to the front of the Dragon, where our taxi awaited us.

A black, privately hired taxi, rested ominously by the sidewalk. It's back door was flung open, flanked threateningly by two of Nyx's darkly dressed muscle men. Their guns, shining black rifles cradled comfortably in the crook of their arms, glinted maliciously under the glare from the walkway lights.

One of the men's wide palms gestured in a big swooping side arch, pointedly resting on the entrance of the black taxi. Chase and I piled in, Chase sparing a backward glance for their nastily carved faces. The door slammed shut behind, and in no time, the car was jetting off with a pronounced screech.

The driver, an Arabic man with a sharp, hawk nose, and a stiff black mustache, groped around haphazardly in the passenger seat for something, his other hand balanced precariously on the driver's wheel of his taxi. When his hand came up into our view, he was holding the silver tinted barrel of the Python Nyx had promised us.

We stared at for moments before he snapped in a thick accent, "Well take it, one of you!"

My hand jerked forward and I snatched the weapon from the man's flat, calloused, brown hand. Next to me, Chase shifted away. He had always been particular about silver. It all made sense now.

I holstered the gun on my utility belt, as I liked to think of it.

The flurried drive went by in silence, with me and Chase occasionally exchanging worried, tense glances. Towards the end of our speedy adventure, our driver began speaking to us quickly in his low, accented voice.

"I'm going to drop you at Dawn Peeks, entrance," He said, gesturing to where the buildings began to become increasingly official looking, "You walk."

The taxi came to an abrupt and jolting halt where our driver seemed to mark as far as he would go. It was very near to Dawn Peeks' entrance; he had done us the courtesy of driving a few feet beyond the big green sign that indicated we had arrived at "Dawn Peek Heights". We were hurried out, and then in a puff of gritty brown dust, our taxi had sped away to safety.

"How do we find her?" I asked, looking around at what was a relatively empty street.

"We listen for the screams, and watch for the people. Besides, one of them mentioned she was at some fountain. So let's look for a fountain."

---

Chase's super hearing dragged us along in our endeavors. Eventually, we were greeted with sparse flocks of people, screaming and running, dragging comparatively heavy feet away from the source of their distress. In the distance, eerie howls pierced the air, sending chills down my spine.

Chase and I weaved through the loose rushed crowds with as much speed and vigor as we could muster, but sometimes there's just no easy way to get around a frenzied crowd.

At some point, we converged, and managed to make our way to a secluded alleyway; our meet up before the confrontation.

"They can't be too far away from here." His handsome face was covered in sweat, and I wondered if his nerves were getting to him. Chase, if you knew him, wasn't typically a nervous guy. A little bold, pretty stubborn, but also very laid back. Watching him squirm at the idea of confronting werewolves...his own kin...was both, sadly, amusing and nerve wracking.

My hand traveled the gun strapped at my waist. This was our Hail Mary (and if I believed in religion, maybe that would have given me a stronger push).

Chase had always been a smart guy. Sure, we'd done some illicit stuff. Sure, we'd hooked up with some pretty dirty guys. We'd taken frequent trips on Somabra's sprawling underground railroad of unlawful activity. But he had never let us get close to danger. He didn't like the idea any better than I did. I mean, really, who out there wanted to needlessly throw their lives away?

He grinned at me, and it took me so forcefully by surprise that I felt tears welling up on the side of my eyes.

"Don't cry," He said, snorting. His lips trembled, wanting to say something else. Maybe, this was the time for the "it'll be ok"s. At least, in some cliche movie, it would be that time. That time where the characters sentence themselves to death by uttering that one sealing phrase; "it'll be ok."

So I can see him zipping his lips shut and throwing the key away. We won't silence ourselves to that faith.

"Can we hug," He muttered. Oh god, he's so corny. I wanted to say, "This is no time for hugs, Chase." But I didn't. Instead we embraced, briefly, but tightly. He patted my head like an old grandpa, and I snorted dumbly into his tear stained blue shirt.

"I have a plan," He said, as we broke apart.

"We use the buildings," He motioned to side entrance of one of the buildings flanking our alleyway, "Get a high vantage point, see if we can take her out from there."

"And what about her lackeys," I said nervously, the howling in the background growing louder and more pronounced. Chase's eyes seemed to zone out, look off into some faraway world.

"I'll deal with them, as best as I can, I promise." I hadn't felt like such a little kid in a long time. I wasn't cut out for this business. He wasn't really cut out for this business anyway. But he was willingly to sacrifice himself if it meant one of us came out alive. And by one of us, he meant in his mind, me.

---

"Remember, don't turn on the lights."

"I know," Johanssen scowled, her pretty face contorting into a look disbelief.

"I'm not doubting you," Chase said, smilingly teasingly. She rolled her eyes. In an eerie silence, they carefully picked their way through the cluttered remains of what looked to have been a pretty respectable office. No blood smears, or splattered entrails. Just the telltale signs of the rush for freedom.

People had heard the call of the Hunters and fled. Chase didn't blame them.

"They're close by." He muttered. They were on the fourth floor of a glassy skyscraper. The building overlooked the plaza where Ameilkas and her lackeys could be seen gallivanting around on the plaza's semi-crippled fountain.

"She's ugly," Johanssen said, her nose crinkling at the sight of the white furred she-wolf, her lips lopsided in a half-amused smile. Chase grinned back. Because, the very opposite could be said to be true. It wasn't so much Ameilkas's big rippling muscles that got to Chase; rather it was the beauty of her white glossy fur, blanched to an almost heavenly white by the soft moonlight.

"How many bullets?" Chase asked, jerking his head in the direction of Johanssen's hips.

"Three," She was looking out of the window skeptically, and her lips began moving without sound. Praying. Johanssen had never been a big believer in religion; and neither had Chase for that matter. A lot of the city was without religion, or God for that matter.

"What if it misses," She whispered, leveling the silver revolver ever so slightly, her line of sight zeroing in on the target.

"Then we have one big fucking problem."

A silver bullet burst forth from one of the surrounding skyscrapers, ripping through the air and tearing towards Ameilkas. A ripple of searing pain shrieked through her body, snapping and cracking at her senses, as the projectile tore through her shoulder, erupting in a sickly smattering of dark blood, painted black in the moonlight.

The She-wolf gritted her teeth, letting out a guttural snarl as gore trickled over her fur, staining her white pelt red.

All around her, the pack let out a booming wail, frothing viciously at the mouth as their eyes snapped up to the great glass skyscraper.

Ameilkas sniffed at the air, catching a strong whiff of feral scent on the nigh time wind.

She let out a strained grin “At least –THIS- outcast has made something of himself.” she laughed.

The Den-Mother craned her neck, turning to address her brothers and sisters.

“So the little lost lamb has come wading blindly into the stream of blood?!” She bellowed “Run with me now, my fellow hunters! Let us show this city-rat why sheep do not play with wolves!”

A collective howl of bloodlust shook through the pack, and then they were bolting across the courtyard, stomping over smashed cars and over-turned rubbish tips, ripping through the night with monstrous speed.

They bounded up the towering expanse of the skyscraper, working their way up winding staircases and empty elevator shafts, leaping from floor to floor with untamed ferocity. Ameilkas stooped to take a whiff of the polluted air. The pup is close.

“Rejoice!” She called out to her unseen prey "The Den Mother has come to speed you on to the long sleep. You will be rid of your troubles soon.”

The Fourth floor was near. It would not be long until they were upon their attackers.

Henning Maddirish felt the same cold throbbing clawing away at his innards as he had always felt, the same overwhelming emptiness in his chest, and the same dull pounding within the confines of his skull.

He pulled his Ninjatō free from the dying man’s stomach, letting a sudden surge of dark red blood spill forth with a wet splatter. The dying men let out a slow, bubble-ridden, gurgle before collapsing to the ground, clasping frantically at the new hole in his belly. He thrashed about in the snow, staining it red, but then his eyes lolled back into his head and his body went limp.

The steady fluttering of paper-like snow which fell upon Henning’s skin did nothing to stir his frozen soul, nor did the icy wind which was pounding against him as he stood on the mountain top.

He gave the dead man’s corpse a gentle kick, and he went tumbling down into the abyss, bursting into a bloody smear as he struck a jagged spike of rock on his descent.

A crisp white sky dominated Henning’s view when his earpiece began to chirp, a few rogue flakes of snow nestling on his armour-clad form.

He answered plainly with a click of a button “Stavon is dead.”

“Excellent work.” rasped the response “but it seems that the Circle already has another job for you.”

Henning laughed without humour. The Pale Circle’s desire to keep him from their precious and impressionable acolytes never ceased to amuse him. It validated his sense of power, and reminded him that they held him with just as much dread as they did contempt.

“Who might that be?”

“An old friend of yours; she’s been causing quite a stir.”

The Lich grinned darkly “Have your people arrange a plane to take me to Santa Somabra.”



The flight was faster than it ever would have been on a public aircraft. The private jet was furnished lavishly, and the extra legroom was always appreciated. The jet landed on the outskirts of the city, in a dark clearing amidst a clump of twisted trees.

“Mr Maddirish.” A plain looking man in a grey suit greeted Henning as he stepped down from the jet, his boot-clad feet pressing down on the wet grass. “We appreciated your punctuality.”

“I assume there’s a reason we’re not using the airport?” Henning replied dryly, more than a little jetlagged.

“They didn’t tell you?” The man frowned. Typical of the Circle to leave me in the dark. “The city is working through a slight Lycan problem.”

Henning let the frustration show clearly on his pale face. They hadn’t given him any silver.

“The Hunters are of no concern for me. I’m here for the Canoness.” he told the man bluntly.

“Of course.” The figure gave a respectful nod “If you’d be so kind as to follow me to the jeep…”

Brunkas watched the two dead men speeding around in their van, toying with some of the newer hunters, who were naive enough to go charging blindly into a blatant trap. The great beast rolled his huge yellow eyes, blowing hot air out of his muzzle.

The scent of necrotic flesh was thick in the night air, souring his nose and mouth. Those who dined on the dead were considered less than mongrels amongst Hunter society, but Brunkas had no intention of getting their sickly bodies anywhere near his mouth.

Christakas and Dirakas slunk into place besides him, stooping down beneath his feral majesty.

“These zombies must be tiring of their second lives.” Dirakas cackled, his golden fur glowing in the moonlight and his eyes fell upon the van.

“Brothers,” Brunkas boomed “reacquaint them with death.”

The two hunters roared from the pit of their stomachs, before leaping off of the squat building upon which they had stood, thundering down into the grimy streets bellow. The twins tore off after the Lost Boys, giddy with bloodlust as they closed in on the battered carcass of the van.

“Degenerates…” Brunkas mumbled. He did not expect them to last long, but they would bide him the time he needed.

The great beast slipped quietly off of the rooftop, keeping to the shadows. He heaved a rusty storm drain open, wincing as the foul stench of ripe sewage came wafting up into his nostrils. Grunting slightly, the werewolf vaulted down into the tunnel below, landing in a river of thick sludge with a pronounced splash. His fur was damp with waste, all manner of filth leeched from the tunnel celling in mucky spikes, and rodents scattered about in the darkness.

Slinking forwards, Brunkas padded quietly through the tide of muck, softening his footsteps with shadow-like grace, until he found himself under the storm drain which was positioned right beneath the Lost Boys. He grinned to himself, rows of sharp teeth glistening in the grim darkness of the sewage tunnel.

Once the twins struck, he would burst out from beneath the wretched zombies, and tear them asunder.

Michael Lopez

Duncan Garcia

Taylor Moore

Joseph Lee

SSPD captain Teddy Hall went over the names of his targets once last time, scrolling methodically though his memory bank. All pawns of the Nyctari family, using the Hunter's attack as cover to close down a deal with some rouge Matrovanni pushers.

His whole squad sat in the back of a reinforced truck; each member clad in bulletproof body armor, and clutching an automatic rifle. A cold silence had fallen over the SWAT team, as they dutifully prepared themselves for the oncoming battle.

Once, not too long ago, the squad themselves had been puppets of the Nyctari, paid for by the deadly night lords, but since then they had shaken off the greasy chains of capitalism, and found a greater calling. They had answered the call of the Cannoness, and Captain Hall had sacrificed everything to become a part of the army of the people. His wife, his brother, and his children were all gone -a testament to his undying devotion to the disciples-, but his faith an resolve had only been strengthened.

"Ready, sir?" Walden, a young member of the team, asked eventually, breaking the calm before the storm.

"Move out." He instructed his squad.

"Today we deal another blow against the dominion of greed." Walden grinned proudly, his bright blue eyes sparkling from beneath his tinted visor.

The squad burst out of the back of the truck in a blur of militaristic swiftness, stampeding out onto the streets. Hall's eyes fell upon the faces they had been assigned to destroy. The dealers had been laughing and joking mere momments earlier, unaware of their ensuing fates. They sat in the cafe, seated at a round table, a flimsy sheet of glass separating them from the outside world.

Hall's heart thudded and pounded like a beating drum in his ear. For the Cannoness.

"TAKE THEM OUT!"

A rattle of gunfire ripped through the night, as the hailstorm of bullets burst forth. They cut through concrete and glass alike, raining down upon the startled criminals. Blood erupted in a brilliant burst of vibrant crimson, splattering the walls and staining the floor. The dealers fell limply from their chairs, tumbling to the floor as flesh and furniture were ripped to pieces. Smoke was thick in the night air, and shards of glass littered the streets, twinkling with ethereal radiance as they caught the moonlight.

A mangled pile of bodies littered the cafe. They had done well.

Suddenly, the corpses began to twist and jerk, thrashing about wildly amidst the haze of smoke. The squad exchanged frantic looks, gazing on in horror as the hole-ridden bodies slowly shambled to their feet.

A pale figure, dressed in a dark suit which matched his slicked back hair, walked forth from the cafe, striding out into the street, rows of bloodied bodies standing sentinel behind him.

"Your timing is impeccable, officers." Henning Maddirish said with a dark smile, his calm voice carrying out into the streets.

"Get down on the ground! NOW!" Hall barked, his eyes flicking worriedly back and forth between the figure and the risen corpses which stood in the blown-out husk of the cafe.

The figure fixed his gaze upon Hall, regarding him with a soft, blank look. His sunken eyes burrowed into the captain. seemingly devoid of even the most faint spark of life. Hall suddenly became very aware that his own raspy breathing was considerably louder than he was comfortable with.

"GET DOWN, OR WE WILL SHOOT!"

An icy twitch of a grin crept at the corner of the figure's lips, sliding up his mouth's cold edges. His lean frame was shrouded in the misty haze of the night, but the moonlight seemed to be somehow drawn to his pale, deathly features.

The figure took another step out into the street, and his lines of risen drug dealers came stumbling out after him, limping forwards on broken and twisted limbs, shambling at odd angles.

The squad moved to fire, seemingly as one entity, but found themselves frozen in place, rooted in an icy stasis. Hall tried to open his mouth to scream, but his jaw had sealed itself shut.

"Tear them apart," Henning instructed his undead minions "But leave the captain alive, atleast for now."

Brunkas pricked up his ears as the sound of a new voice echoed through the sewers. More meat joins the pile he mused inwardly.

The Lycan's predatory senses could make out the muffled beating of paws on the streets above, signalling the oncoming tide of Hunters, and the feral destruction which they would bring with them. The Wolf grinned darkly, his yellow teeth flashing in the shadowy tunnel.

On the world above, the remaining Hunters in the Red Light District drew ever closer to their prey, snapping and cackling and snarling as their lupine howls grey louder and louder.

Just as the last few footfalls cleared his Storm drain, Brunkas burst forth from the underground dwelling, springing out into the moonlight.

The pack were descending on the lost Boys and their ally, fighting to make it through the sharp rattling of gunfire.

"It bodes badly to bring a gun to a claw fight." Brunkas called out to the trio, flexing his knife-like talons.

The great beast took a running leap over the rabid pack of Hunters, landing with a thundering thud infront of the zombies. He snapped back one fur-covered arm, aiming a wild swing with the force of several trucks at the group.