---

_{Nice, France | Jacqueline Aude’s Apartments | January}

“It’s cold.”
“So warm it.” Aude wasn’t even looking at Jacqueline, more intent on reading a letter held in one hand, stirring sugar into her own teacup with the other, of course hers was already steaming. Jacqueline swallowed her curses, stood, and tentatively lifted the tiny silver spoon over the tea.
In fairness, it did boil for a moment. Just before the quiet shattering then silent fall of china fragments and tea onto the thick carpet.
“Fix it.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Non ma Cherie, I know only that you will not try.” Jacqueline glared at Aude; who only sipped her tea, impassive as ever.
In the same time it took her to breath, the remains of the teacup went surging forwards toward the seated Aude, only to be limply bounced back to the floor by an invisible barrier. It was neither intended or expected to work, but the withering look she received was close enough to a victory. She stuck out her chin, childish and petulant she knew, but was already committed to it.
Aude sighed, lowering her teaspoon, and offered Jacqueline the letter. “I was thinking you’d leave tomorrow.”
“What? I-”

_{We are pleased to inform Jacqueline Glasse of her acceptance to Grimm University this upcoming semester-}

---

_{The Spires, Lilith | Cruz Campaign Headquarters | Monday 14:43}

This city had become nearly impossible to move around in. It didn’t help that Jacqueline Aude’s apartment lay so close to the water front. Prime real estate, except the water front had all but moved to the lobby doorsteps. Jacqueline's entire weekend had been spent indoors, attempting to study a month’s worth of missed lectures and ignoring Blanche’s complaints about the city, the weather, the food, and just about anything observable in the five room space. Rain or no, the solitary travel to the spires was a relief.

The office was empty when she walked in, and there was almost a flicker of hope at the chance of a day off. “Hello?” she called tentatively.

“Jackie! We missed you this weekend!” For half a second , Rebecca Strauss’ head was visible over the cubicle, before lowering again to leave only the top of her blond curls visible.

“I called, rain hit hard, they were sandbagging my street.” Jacqueline informed the curls, grimacing slightly at the un-asked for nickname. It was still two syllables, her full name was two syllables, what was the point?

“Well you’ve missed everything, big crackdown at a hotel over the weekend. ‘Course Simmons is getting so much credit you’d think he blasted in there himself. Smug rat.” The girl was passionate about the election, even more so about Cruz. Jacqueline shook the rain off while she waited for her to finish.

“Anyways everyone’s out. Obviously. Cruz went down to St. Abram’s to volunteer, draw the press’ attention back to us-” She clapped, suddenly and loud enough to make Jacqueline physically jump out of the last sleeve of her coat. Rebecca’s head appeared again, smiling at her, and still talking.

“Right - I was going to ask, I’ll need you to take over my job next week. I’m leaving town for a bit. Well planning to leave town, Christ knows what’ll happen with this shit weather. Either way, Gary wants you ready for it.”

Jacqueline frowned and walked to her own desk. She wasn’t invested in the campaign, for her it was just work. “Are you sure? I haven’t even been in the city that long and I’m not really qualified-” Rebecca was already brushing her remarks away, and came to lean on the desk, next to the too-large computer supposedly made sometime in past century.

“There’s nothing too it, you’re a fast learner and it’ll only be a couple days. News channels already love Cruz, pretty face and all that. It’s only the written media you’ll have to nag for and really, who still reads newspapers? I’ll take you out tonight to meet a couple of my contacts and you’ll have the whole week to shadow me.”

“Alright. But I told Gary I’d send him final charity dinner plans by seven tonight.” Rebecca nodded vigorously, curls bouncing.
“Sure sure. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll show you how to get a press report together then we hit the town!” She was gone to her own desk before Jacqueline had the chance to ask exactly what she meant.

---

_{The Bazaar, New Lilith | Cold Adder | Monday 22:09}

At least it wasn’t a club. And it was a Monday, though the fewer people also meant it would be more likely for someone to actually notice the underage girl holding a potent drink. Not that they’d had a chance to card her, Rebecca had bought the drink and the rain had made the doorman disinterested in looking too closely. Jacqueline sipped tentatively. It wasn’t that she’d never drank before, but whatever Rebecca had handed wasn’t wine or sherry. The clear liquid bubbled and burned as she swallowed.

“There you are, come on they’re back here” Rebecca had reappeared, noticeably a bit pinker than before with a glass much less full than her own. She was pulled to the far side of the bar, nearly the back of the room. Two men waited for them, though Jacqueline only noticed one at first. He towered over everyone else, standing well over six feet, and his build was no less impressive. The smile he gave Jacqueline made her suddenly away of the sparking power on her chest where her pendant touched skin.

“Jordan here is with CCPD” Rebecca gave a second to gesture to a second man, Jacqueline tore her eyes from Jordan to the small nervous figure to his left. He was introduced as Oliver West, assistant to Simmons’ chief of staff. Her eyebrows shot up at that, but he started spluttering before she could get a word in.

“Rebecca I’ve been trying to reach you all day, about what happened this weekend-“

“Just a minute West, I want you to meet Jackie. She’ll be taking over for me next week, and I don’t want any gaps this far into the campaign.”

“Jacqueline Glasse.” Jacqueline corrected, sipping at her drink again. No one offered hands.

West fidgeted for a whole second before speaking again, almost in a panic. “Rebecca it was human trafficking in the hotel last weekend, they’re saying the De Vitis where involved and Simmons-” Rebecca cut him off.

“Excuse us for a moment.” Both Rebecca and Oliver disappeared, leaving Jacqueline and the imposing policeman alone. With a drink in hand. She downed it quickly, and the world swayed for a moment only to steady itself after a few hard blinks. Jordan remained silent, just staring at her.

“So… Cruz fan?” That earned a chuckle and Jacqueline smiled despite herself as she was led to a seat at the bar counter.

“I’ve been in this job too long to blindly follow my morals. ‘Becca just pays for the drinks” He waved the bartender “Two whiskey’s, neat, on the Strauss tab.”

Jacqueline pressed her finger tips against the bar as she watched the drinks being poured, all too aware the man was still observing her. These drinks where much smaller, and she felt confident enough to take it all in one swallow after politely clinking glasses.

She choked, coughed, and tried to remember how to breath. Jordan was greatly amused, laughing and shaking his head. “The hell is a kid like you working with Rebecca for?” A kid. Jacqueline scowled at the empty glass.

“Could ask a cop the same thing”

He shrugged, “Like I said, the drinks. And it doesn’t hurt to have as many ears to the ground as possible when it looks like the world is going to hell. ‘Becca and West play off each other, each thinking they’re benefiting from the situation. I just drop the word on any investigations going on. Media trade tidbits really.” His hand fell to his thigh to lift a buzzing cellphone. It looked almost comically small in comparison to the man. The bartender refilled her resting glass. She sipped more carefully but still felt her face pinch at the taste.

“You good to get home?” Jacqueline blinked, Jordan was standing behind her now, cellphone still in hand but looking at her. “Not a good night in the city. Might be a good time to go.” The smile that had disturbed her at first was gone, somehow that was unsettling now.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine” She tried to stand and turn at the same time and wobbled. Jordan was blessedly too absorbed in his call to notice. A quick search for Rebecca proved fruitless, and Jacqueline left the bar alone.

T E L L T A L E 8 6: T H I S I S W A R

---

^{Monday, March 27 2017, 15:13 | Interstate Express Train line 304, somewhere in Pennsylvania}

"You alright there, kiddo?"

Henric suddenly looked up from his PC screen, eyeing the man in front of him. The old coot seated across from him smirked at Henric knowingly. "You look a bit distracted," the man jested, to Henric's slight annoyance - and entertainment.

"Har, har, Frank. You know I'm working," Henric retorted. His aging african-american associate chuckled, looking into an old-fashioned paper. He looked pretty dapper with his suit and reading glasses where he sat, a stark contrast to Henric - a white man in his tweens in a leather jacket, hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, sitting just staring at a laptop screen. The two looked like more of a mismatched pair than a green sock and a single bright-orange sandal - yet their banter reflected their relationship.

"Yes, I'm sure you're busy chattin' with your pen pals," the old man replied with a grin. He knew, of course, exactly what Henric was doing. Scanning online forums for keywords to gague how the public felt - metasystems analasys - as well as chatting with his associates in various online groups in order to get the most up-to-date information on what was going on in the city - not unlike pre-heist recon. "Why not sit down with a proper paper, son? Solve some sodukos or crosswords while you're at it. That storm doesn't look like it's going anywhere anyway," he said, smiling.

Henric looked over his screen at the most recent news, ignoring the old-timer. The forums were abuzz - reddit was almost on fire, and even the darknet was overflowing with speculation and chatter. "It's sudokus. And Crescent City's D.A. just got hit, at Blake's rally. Chatter says fatality." It was disgusting. Alright, so a D.A. was a representative of the powers that be, but Henric firmly believed that exposure had far more lasting effects than a bullet. Besides, she didn't appear to have been the target. If you're going to resort to violence, at least do so with precision, Henric thought to himself.

Frank lowered his newspaper with a look of slight surprise. "Really? Perhaps the situation is worse than we thought," he admitted, with an expression of slight concern. Looking at Henric, trying to find some trace of emotion, the man took a sip of his coffee. "You're sure you're not batting our of your league, kid?" he asked, knowing full well what the reply would sound like.

"There is no such thing as distance. And size on a computer isn't an asset to anyone but the hacker," Henric replied, predictably enough. "But we'll spend some time getting our bearings and doing groundwork before we do anything drastic," he continued. Caution was a wise man's tool, he knew, and he didn't want to drag his associate out of his comfort zone, either; he'd grown fond of and dependant on the old coot's experience.

Frank sighed, still looking at Henric for signs of actual emotional involvement. "Good, good... Well, we have our work cut out for us then, don't we?" he asked, eventually turning back to his newspaper.

Henric looked at his screen, nodding slightly. "Yes, that we have..."





Telltale sat outside the apartment building, in his car, taking a drag of a cigarette as the woman he recognized as Veronica De Vitis left the complex. He pondered what this all meant, as he had done for quite a few hours. Previously, tracking the woman he hoped would make for leverage to help slow down the arms race in the city, Telltale had found himself also stalking the son of the recently murdered D.A., which struck him as especially peculiar. Crime boss' daughter and son of a murdered district attorney. Coincidence? Hardly. But who's playing whom, I wonder. He hadn't dared enter the garage or apartment - there were no surveillance systems around to help him - so he'd resorted to the good ol'fashioned stakeout. Finally it was paying off. Telltale turned his attention to his computer for a moment, typing in a quick message.

>Telltale86: Vero De Vitis humpin DAs son. Coincidence?

He took another drag of his cigarette while he waited for a reply, his gaze returning to the apartment complex. Joseph Thoreu just became a hell of a lot more interesting, especially considering his background. Wherever Telltale looked, the guy looked like a do-gooder, but Telltale didn't trust a man with no skeletons in his closet. He looked up into the window, noting the lights, before a ding from his laptop distracted him.

>BinaryAura99: Unlikely. U gonna check the crib?

Telltale looked back at the apartment, humming to himself. The guy didn't seem to have any security measures of note installed, and if the guy had power, there would be a computer to hack. Might be worth the risk, he thought to himself, before typing down another message.

>Telltale86: When he leaves. What's the latest?

He looked back at the apartment and saw shadows move. Not long after did Telltale spy a figure going down the stairs, into the garage.
Ding!

>BinaryAura99: Bounty on the girl. Gangs r meeting up. Do ur thang, ill cover the net.

Telltale watched as Joseph left the apartment complex on his motorbike, and waited for about three minutes. Then, stumping his smoke, he closed his laptop, and stepped into the downpour, towards the building's entrance, casually pulling out his lockpicks as if checking his wallet. The door to the apartment was picked in seconds, and Telltale went inside, looking at the mailboxes.

Joseph Thoreau, apartment 204. Telltale went upstairs, his mannerisms making him look perfectly at home in the complex. Going up the stairs, Telltale switched on his neural augmentations, preparing to go to work.

The door to the apartment took a few seconds to pick, but Telltale was soon inside, closing the door behind him softly. He looked around for a few moments - making sure to leave everything in its place - before finding Joseph's computer. Jackpot. Telltale picked a USB plug from his pocket and put it in the computer, rummaging around the house while he downloaded the browser history for the last few days, taking special note to save passwords and usernames in a seperate file. Finally, Telltale decided he'd seen enough. He left three bugs, two shaped like flies and the other like a small beetle, in the stuffing of Joseph's couch, under the spacebar on his keyboard, and the bedframe. He plucked his USB out of the computer when he was done, and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

J O H N S M I T H

---

John flicked his cigarette and put it back in his mouth, inhaling deeply. He was clad in underwear and stood reeling out his bedroom window, overlooking the busy but rather filthy street known as Crescent Avenue. Westwards, street prostitutes did their best to market their goods to passers-by. Eastwards, not much of particular note was visible, though John imagined crap drugs where switching hands right at this moment. Pointe Bordeaux was a cesspool, and it hadn't fared better during the recent blackouts, nor the torrential rain. The fact that this place was as miserable as it was was, naturally, the very reason that John had decided to set up his base of operations here to begin with. He didn't exactly have to look for degenerates - they were all around him. He wondered what the police response might have been if he had left a note at all the murders he comitted over the past few months. A proper manhunt, despite all the ongoings, he imagined. This was of course the very reason John had decided to only make the more high profile victims targets of the Tribunal. Eleven "victims" had been claimed by the Tribunal so far, seven of which during the last month. The CCPD had recently assembled a task force, but had they known John's victims numbered in the twenties already, they'd surely responded faster and more decisive.

He heard a noise behind him, and felt Alejandra ambling out from the dark and settling in at his hip, still naked.
"What are you thinking of?" Slowly, John turned his head towards her. She was hardly beautiful, but the soft light from the street down below managed to capture her glittering grey-blue eyes in a decidedly attractive way. Most of his friends didn't understand why John settled for the 40+ years old Alejandra when he "could surely bag any stripper in these parts" - not to mention that he "was out of her league", but it was something about those clear and bright eyes contrasting her rather dark latina skin and black hair John had found profoundly intriguing. He still did. And the way she carried herself with pride despite being an underpaid, aging stripper. How he'd later noticed the loving way she handled her kids no matter how exhausted she was. She had a courage and determination John thought sorely lacking in society in general. Yet every time he looked upon her, he felt something stinging his sides. She was his weakness, and the more he poked the belly of the underworld, the more at risk she and her kids would be put at. He'd have to distance himself from her sooner rather than later, but how? He shook his head. A short time ago, he would've laughed at the notion of caring about another human being, and now he felt as he might be falling in love with a junkie, unattractive stripper. What a farce. Staring into her eyes long enough for her to break eye contact in what seemed like embarrassment, John answered;
"I'm thinking about you." She smiled at that.
"How sweet."
"Just don't tell anyone, lest they think I've emotions other than anger and bitterness." he responded, giving her a wink.
"Oh, we don't wanna do that!" she said while grazing him with that laugh that made the hairs on his neck stand. It made him tense up. He had to stay focused.
"Your shift starts soon, yeah?" he said. Her smile faded with that.
"In forty minutes, we still have some time." Letting himself down, John ran his hand through Alejandra's hair and kissed her. He cursed himself for it, as always.
"I think I'm gonna head to the casino." he said as their lips parted. "Don't hold back on my account." He made a quick mock stripper's dance with his upper body and laughed it off, his hand spoiling any notion of it being casual conversation as it softly caressed Alejandra's shoulder before disconnecting. He quickly got dressed and they said their goodbye's as John hurried out of the apartment.

T H E T R I B U N A L: T H I S I S W A R

---

While the pavement held plenty of people, there was a decidedly diminished amount of traffic on the streets ever since the blackouts started. People were urged to stay off the roads after dark as the city lights might go out at any point, and most seemed to heed the call. John wasn't one of them. He cruised the streets of Crescent City with a breeze entirely unusual of the usually crowded city, and thoroughly enjoyed it. he was debating whether he was going to get hammered tonight or not. On one hand, he felt it might dull his burgeoning and unwanted feelings, yet on the other it might simply make matters worse. It was a confusing thought, and John felt an urgent need to perish it. He had an objective. He was the Tribunal, and he had plans he needed to set in motion. Yet he couldn't rid his head of those grey-blue eyes. You're a fucking fool, he thought.

Still buried in his thoughts, John suddenly heard very loud gunfire. He snapped back into reality and saw a figure he recognized as Salvatore Raymundo dropping to the ground, gunned down by five assailaints John couldn't make out, as their backs where turned. Swiftly, John pulled over to the sidewalk and watched as one of the figures bent down over Raymundo and took something from him. The gang quickly dispersed with three of them jumping into a car parked in front of John, on the other side of the crossing in front of him, while the other two ran into an alley, presumably to another getaway vehicle on the other side of the alley.

This was a curious development. Who would dare gun down a known underboss of De Vitis on an open street? Had the Fierro's launched an offensive? John felt utterly uninformed. This was unanticipated. He brought his grey Subaru WRX sedan into gear and tailed the car in front of him.

T H E T R I B U N A L: T H I S I S W A R

---

The car he'd followed had parked right in the middle of the street, and the three youngsters - as it was now plain to see they were - had gotten out and started looking around as if waiting for something. Soon after another car had joined them, with the person John presumed to be the leader of the posse. That young man had barked orders John couldn't hear from his car, and the others had dispersed around the area. Clearly, they were waiting for someone to exit La Petite Mort.

John had parked his car some 100 yards further back in the street. He exited and looked around. He saw no sign of any other involvement, but was far from sure. Opening his trunk, John grabbed a duffel bag and threw it across his shoulder before closing the trunk again. The bag contained a loaded handgun with loaded spare magazines, a bulletproof vest and a couple of flashbangs, while the rest of the stuff in the bag served little purpose currently. Not much in the way of armaments, in other words. John had no intentions of getting involved in whatever was happening, but he also had no idea what actually was going on. He went into the closest alley and climbed the fire escape, eventually making it to the roof of the four story building.

Settling in on the roof, John opened his bag and put on the vest as well as a holster before arming himself and picking up the binoculars. He proceeded to patiently wait as he scanned La Petite Mort with his binoculars, noting the various positions taken up by the five armed men. This was dissimilar to the scene John had witnessed back at the Circus Maximus. There, the criminals had been gunning down Raymundo from close range, implying they where acquaintances. Here, they hid. John continued to spectate with his binoculars as people came and left La Petit Mort. He was struggling to keep up with the traffic, but then he recognized the obvious target. Veronica De Vitis stepped out of the club, with a bodyguard in front of her. Looking closer, John realized he recognized the bodyguard. He didn't know his identity yet, but based on John's previous reconnaissance of the De Vitis operations he was sure that this man had been present in several De Vitis meetings. An underboss? Either way, the man and Veronica made their way to a car. They were opening their respective doors when John noticed one of the previously hidden gangsters running up behind the bodyguard and hitting him in the back of his head with the but of his gun, while the others quickly moved in on Veronica.

John watched the scene unfold intently, unsure whether he should intervene on the girl's behalf or stay back. After all, what was the odds that she wasn't just as much of a part of the shit going down in Crescent City as her father?

---

---

As Anton looked up at the burning shell of the sawmill, he found that all he could think about was how much the smell reminded him of Christmas. It was a silly connection, he was aware, but Christmas was the only time of year that the cavernous fireplace at the Lindquist manor had ever done its job.

There was a resounding, splintering crack from inside as, presumably, a beam splintered and fell. Anton wondered what, exactly, he was doing here. He'd stepped outside for a breath of fresh air that didn't smell like marijuana, let his feet carry him, and here he was. He'd been thinking so far outside of his own head that he had barely noticed the fire until he could feel the heat on his skin.

'There's something here,' he thought to himself. 'Besides the fire, I mean.' Now that he was actively searching for it, he could feel the magnetic pull of the Vis; it was probably responsible for his subconscious destination.

Anton sighed. "I'm going to have to go in there, aren't I?" he asked the world. There was no answer except for the drumming of the rain on his umbrella. He sighed again. "Of course I am, damn me."

He folded his umbrella, setting it against the corner of a nearby building, where it would probably be stolen by the time that Anton got back. He didn't doubt it, considering the current state of the city. What a wonderful spot he'd chosen to hide out in. Truly wonderful. Anton fingered the first gold button on the left sleeve of his coat, feeling the enchantment tingling inside it. "I suppose this is a good time for a test run," he said, walking towards the burning building. "A trial by fire, if you woOOF-"

The rest of his words were lost as he stepped into the fire, and the heat slammed into him like a physical force. The good news was, the protective enchantment on his coat was working. A shimmering shield covered him like a thin membrane, keeping the fire from burning him, but it almost didn't matter, because the bad news was that it wasn't working very well. The shield kept the worst of the fire from affecting Anton, but what felt like most of the heat was making it through. It was like Anton had stepped inside of an enormous oven.

'This was a terrible idea!' Anton yelled at himself. In the interest of self-preservation, he abandoned his 'cool and aloof' walking pace and charged through the fire, holding his shirt over his mouth and nose to keep out the worst of the smoke.

Over the roar of the spreading fire and the sound of the collapsing building, Anton heard a yell. It was an old man's voice, hoarse from screaming because there was nothing else to do. Anton followed it, and was for a moment surprised beyond words by what he saw. Ice. In the middle of a blazing building. There was a sheet of it covering the middle of the floor, and a massive icicle spearing up towards the ceiling, with a man's limp body impaled along its length. There was a man on the ground at the base of the icicle, his feet frozen up to the ankle inside the obviously-magical stalagmite. His eyes locked onto Anton, and even through the smoke, Anton could see a faint-lived flicker of hope.

Anton hurried to the man's side, and grabbed him around the shoulders. "Hold still!" he shouted, although most of what came out was a gasp for air and a few heavy coughs. The ice wasn't melting, and Anton didn't want to bet on his ability to break it. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to. He hadn't wanted to risk teleporting into the building - he didn't know the layout, and it was too likely that he would have appeared in the middle of a blaze too powerful for his shield to protect him from - but teleporting out was a different matter entirely.

He raised his cane - getting a confused look from the old man - and let the Vis flow through him. His enchanted shield flickered as the new spell was completed, lashing Anton with tongues of fire for a painful second before -

The two men vanished, without so much as a flickering of air.

Lisa’s emotions were high, her anger a hot, fierce thing, animal and passionate, pulsating waves of rage rising in her chest like the sways on the sea, beating through her arms and legs, sending shivers of uncontrollable excitement shooting through her limbs. Never in her short life had she ever felt like this before. Not when she was a little girl, confused and angry at the world because of her parents’ divorce, thinking it was all her fault for being ‘broken’. Not when those criminals were beating her within an inch of her life. There was a roaring in her ears, loud and rolling, echoey, like when you hold a shell to your ear and pretend to hear the ocean. It was so loud that it seemed to block out everything else. The pattering of rain on the streets around them. The continuous wailing of the alarm from the shop the bad-guys had broken into. The very thoughts in her head. It was so deafening that if she had the ability to think straight, she might have wondered if she would ever be able to hear anything above that roaring ever again.

Despite all that, Lisa heard the stranger’s words with crystal clarity, her utterances cutting through the fugue in Lisa’s head like a hot knife through butter. At first it almost seemed like the other woman was confused, as if something Fury said had managed to shake that iron-conviction she seemed to have. If that was the case, then the woman’s indecision lasted mere moments before her fiery self-assuredness came rocketing back to the fore, as she snarled at Fury to get off the streets, as condescending as ever, before spinning on her heels, wordlessly dismissing the aspiring vigilante.

Lisa screwed her eyes tight, fighting the tears of frustration that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. She hated that this stranger had pegged her as a weakling, and disregarded her as of no consequence. She hated the fact that she might be right to even more.

“What’s the point of fighting the darkness and cruelty of the world, if you let it make you dark and cruel in the process!” She cried, desperate with the childish notion that if she got the last word in then she might somehow win, whatever that would mean here. “Better to die with my morals intact, than end up like them! Or you!” But she might as well have been screaming at someone on the other side of the planet, because the gunwoman was long past listening to her. Having the last word didn’t do anything for Lisa’s argument, nor did it feel nearly as fulfilling as it seemed like it should have. It just felt like she was screaming in street during a rainstorm, a lesson in futility that she was sure she didn’t need right not.

She crunched her fists up tight, feeling the ache in her knuckles, and wondered just what it was she had accomplished tonight. Just what good had she done?

Wait, what was that? That sound in the distance? Sounded almost like … Lisa cocked her ear towards the noise, straining to hear over the hammering rain and the high-pitched squealing of the alarm. Wooo-waa, wooo-waaa, woo-wa-wa-wa-wa. Her gut fell. It was distant, but getting closer. The sirens of a police cruiser were almost un-mistakable, especially for someone who’d watched as many buddy cop movies and procedural crime dramas as her. She couldn’t be caught here. Vigilantism was still illegal in the city, and if they caught Lisa on the scene they’d throw her straight into lockup, no matter how good her intentions. She had to get out of here, and quick. She took a few faltering steps before some unidentified compulsion forced her to a halt, her attention moving to focus on the unmoving body slumped upon the wet ground. Hopefully they’ll be able to …

Able to what? Find the killer? Stop her before she struck again? The killer was right there, in front of Lisa, but getting further away by the moment, walking away casually and slwoly though she hadn’t seemed to have heard the sirens yet. Fury was supposed to be a vigilante, a hero, the last defence between the innocent of this city, and the ones who would hurt them. Shouldn’t she be doing her best to take the shooter down, and hand deliver her to the police? That’s what the hero did with the murderer, right?

But then, why did the stranger kill? To save Lisa, who she thought was about to be killed by all those violent thugs. That’s what she said. She thought she had been helping, just like Lisa had thought she was helping. Who was to say which one of them was the hero here, and which one was the idiot. The masked stranger had killed, yes, but maybe she was right. Maybe a fight was no place for morals. Maybe Lisa just was too inexperienced to know the rules about such things. Maybe it was all beyond her.

The sirens were getting closer by the moment, and any second now those police cruisers would come screeching onto the scene. Lisa had to be lone gone before they arrived, but before she moved she had to decided what to do about the gunman. Let her go, or stop her now. Her guts squirmed, and her stomach churned. What was the right decision here? Was there a right decision here? Where’s the black and white in this? Why’s it all grey?

A groan creaked from Fury’s battered lips, but one that spoke of moral indecision rather than physical pain. She still hadn’t made up her mind over what the right thing to do was when she started to move towards the stranger. The sirens were so loud now that the gunwoman had obviously heard them, but perhaps she just didn’t care, as she was still ambling towards the alley mouth as slowly and as confidently as she had been beforehand. Lisa crashed into the back of the masked figure, and only in that moment of contact did she decide upon what action she was going to take. She part-pushed, part-shoved and part-dragged the gunwoman into the alleyway, then deeper into the shadowy confines, safe from the prying eyes of the law.

The woman had saved her life, or at least she thought she had. That had to count for something, Lisa decided. Her actions were misguided and brutal, and wrong on so many levels, but she had to see the good in them. She’d made a choice to help a person she’d never met before, and for that she deserved a chance. Well, a second one to be more precise. Maybe next time she wouldn’t be so quick to pull the trigger, to end a life. Maybe next time she’d think about the last person she saved, and think twice about the morality of her actions.

And maybe I’ll figure out what’s causing these storms and save the city. Truth be told, Lisa wasn’t sure if she’d made the right choice, but it was too late to second guess now. She’s have to live with her decision, like it or not. She turned to the mysterious stranger.

“Next time I see you …” She began, but then didn’t know how to finish. She’d meant to come out with some kind of raspy ultimatum, the kind to make the woman rethink her life choices, but on second thought that just seemed like it would end up sounding empty. Lisa just didn’t have the energy, or the vitriol, to make any kind of threat. _{“I don’t want there to be a next time.”} She finished instead, unable to keep the exhaustion and hurt from her voice. With a sigh, she turned her back to the stranger, wanting nothing more in that moment than a mug of hot coco and her mom to kiss her forehead and to tell her it was ‘all going to be alright’. She began the long walk home.

Welcome to the hero-business Fury.

She wondered when the world started feeling so hollow.

---

Claire Quinn stood among the crowd outside of the alleyway. Rain washed over her dark jacket, pooling beneath her feet as she stood atop her tip toes to get a better look at what was going on. The young woman had only recently caught wind of the spree of killings that had been happening in Larrisa. The media believed it to be a serial killer of some sort, but once reports of how mauled the victims were reached the Venari huntress she knew that no human could have been responsible. She wasn't sure what was responsible for the attacks; pictures weren't available to the public, leaving her and her scholar, Kletus, in the dark on the matter. He'd suggested she come out to the site of this particular murder to get a good look at it herself so they could determine what kind of Hellion they were up against. Now that the girl was here, however, she wasn't able to do that. The police had arrived first and made sure no one could get anywhere near the body. Claire manuevered her way through the crowd, pushing anyway that didn't budge as she stepped up to the front of the group. From there, Quinn could only see a portion of the corpse's leg and little more. Damn it. Noctis wasn't going to be able to determine a damn thing from where she was standing. I need to get at the body. But how?

It was then that the Venari huntress noticed another man just as eager as her to get a better look. Her first assumption was that the man was either a necrophiliac or a psycho. However, as his conversation with one of the beat cops continued, Quinn was able to guess that he used to be on the Force. Probably Forensics. It was a mostly baseless assumption, but a normal beat cop wouldn't be so eager to get a look at a dead man. The stranger was an anomaly that would've only briefly held the Venari's interest if it weren't for what he did once the cop told him to beat it. The civilian Richards had identified as Sheridan used the flash on his camera to blind the officer, and then used the brief opening to toss a small drone behind him. It was quite resourceful of him. Quinn found herself impressed with the clever little move. She pushed through the crowd once more, slinking in behind the man and glancing over his shoulder at the phone he was using to control the drone. Claire was able to make out a rather huge bite mark in the victim's throat, like a rapid dog had tried to rip it open. It was a gruesome sight to be sure, but it helped narrow down what could have caused the attack. She wanted to know more, however.

"Hey, buddy." Claire tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "I could use your help." Claire didn't know a damn thing about forensics. If she did get at the corpse herself, she wouldn't know what to do with it. However, this guy seemed like he might be at least a little bit useful in that regard. "I'm gonna get us a closer look at the body. Just stay here, kay?" The blonde smiled.

Quinn took a moment to take in her surroundings. The alleyway wasn't very large and there was little room to maneuver. With the crowd at her back, the officers wouldn't dare try to shoot her. There were four beat cops in total, with Richards being the closest. Two more Forensics cops were bent over the body. I can handle this. She thought confidently.

The short young woman lifted up the yellow crime scene tap, bending down a little to get underneath it. Claire wasted little time, stepping right up to Officer Richards and throwing a clean punch directly at his nose. The blow held far more power than a girl her size should have been able to deliver. Quinn took a quick step forward, moving one hand to pull the officer's gun from it's hostler while using the other to shove him to the ground, kicking his feet out from under him for good measure. Claire let the magazine slip out of the pistol before tossing it with surprising accuracy toward the closest beat cop's temple. The officer stumbled from the blow, but did not fall. He pulled out his own gun, anger clear on his expression. "Freeze-" He started. The huntress then vanished from sight, catching the men off guard. "Hyperhuman!" Someone shouted from the crowd. She moved quickly through the shadows, appearing directly in front of the third officer. Claire opened up on him without pause. She threw a left handed blow at his diaphragm, and then a right blow into his ribcage, aiming for the liver before finishing up with a headbutt directly to his nose.

Without skipping a beat, the girl disappeared once more. She crossed to the final officer, a bullet impacting against the wall behind her as the officer discharged his firearm. Shit, that was close. Claire thought as she swept his legs out from underneath him just as she reappeared. Claire dropped to the ground atop him, raining down a series of bone rattling blows to the skull until she was confident the man was unconscious. With that handled, she pulled his firearm out of it's holster.

Claire stood up, brushing off her jacket. She turned toward the crowd, lifting the gun into the air and firing off a couple of shots to drive everyone else away. "Get over here and take a look!" She shouted at Sheridan. "Won't have long until more cops get here, so be quick about it. I'm Claire, by the way." The young woman was incredibly casual about the whole thing, even if she was horribly out of breath now.

---

Gavin exited from the shroud of the forest, heading for the sawmill. All the while formulating a plan, and figuring out possible paths. He begins to sprint, but keeping an eye out for anyone else. If anyone is in the raging inferno, they certainly are running short on time. However, Gavin needs to avoid contact with others if possible. Minimal contact reduces any the likelihood of fatal injuries for the other party. Fortunatly, the small delay he is creating gives him all the more time to plan.

‘About 150 meters. Don’t see an entrance. Fire likely damaged integrity of wall, possible to make new entrance. Limit exposure to five minutes. The less time on fire, the better…’

‘This fire… something is not right. It has an unusual energy source. I doubt this was accidental.’

’so… someone brought s few matches? What does it matter? Do you see anyone inside?’

‘I sense something unnatural about this inferno. The heat is not being transferred from one source to another; it seems to be emanating from a source. Something I do not recognize.’

‘Well, that is comforting. Are you trying to stress me out? I have not given up control for weeks now, and I’ll be damned if you trick me into another ríastrad, even if the immediate area is barely populated…’

Gavin stopped when he noticed a lone individual walk on the side of the building before disappearing out of view. While too far away, and facing the wrong direction, to glean many characteristics. The individual was dressed rather dapper, walking towards the building more calmly than any sane individual heading towards their death.

Now breaking into a full sprint, Gavin neared where he lost sight of the individual and found a door. While taking a brief moment to decide whether to venture in after the individual, he could vaguely hear a voice coming from inside, barely more audible than the crackling of the fire. Lost in thought, Gavin did not notice his blood begging to gain luminescence. His body began to build tolerance to the heat. What would be painful for most was merely uncomfortable to him.

After deciding to breach the threshold; locate the individual and any survivors, bring them outside to safety, and then interrogate the lone individual, Gavin began to open the door.

‘Wait!...’

Gavin paused.

‘… The guy is behind us. Not sure how he got there so fast but I can feel that unusual energy around him, though I am not sure if he is behind the fire.’

All this was thought silently by Beithíoch as Gavin quickly turned around. There indeed was someone behind him, about 5 meters away. Fortunately facing away from him. The well-dressed individual was with another, this one injured. It was then that his mask, expanding from the heat, fell to the ground, exposing a series of thin orange lines that glowed on his face. Gavin’s luminescent blood along with the sound of the grass crunching from the mask might gain Gavin the attention of the man.

‘Shit. Well, I need to make first contact, look intimidating, hopefully avoid a violent confrontation and find out what is going on here…’ Gavin quickly reached for his leg and produced a Howdah pistol concealed in one of his pockets. Hoping it would deter any aggression, he pointed it towards the well-dressed individual. “HEY!” Gavin yelled, waiting to grab his attention. ”Who the hell are you and what are you doing here around this fire?” Gavin said, mentally preparing for a fight.

---

Archie's attempt to reach out his hand went wholly unnoticed by the woman. Her eyes were locked on the corpse, a grim fascination bubbling behind them. Whatever had attacked this man was truly bestial. Claire tilted her head to the side, watching with a strange fascination as the stranger started his examination. She wasn't able to make much of it herself, except for the obvious fact that the body had a massive gash in it's throat. The fact that someone like Archie, an apparent expert at this sort of thing, had been around was a stroke of good luck for Noctis. If the odd man hadn't been there, the Venari wouldn't have known that the victim's body had been drained of it's blood. 'Narrows things down a bit.' Claire went through the list of monsters known for sucking blood out of their prey. It wasn't a long one, and the number of beasts like that native to North America was even shorter. 'I'm betting on a Chupacabra or Vampire.' Her initial assessment, while accurate to the blood being drained out, didn't fit with the way the blood was obtained. A Vampire's bite was typically far more precise than the grizzly mauling this man had received. Chupacabras almost never attacked people, typically getting their blood from pets or farm animals. Either the young Venari huntress hadn't heard of this particular monster species, or...

Or it really is a serial killer and I'm wasting my time.

The forensics scientist she had recently recruited began to empty out his satchel, drawing Claire out from her thoughts, curious what he was up to. He didn't go for any of the tools, but rather an ancient looking book. "What is..." She muttered, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the leather bound tome. The moment Archie opened it and started to flip through the pages, the Venari recognized the invaluable item he held in his grasp. A bestiary! This random loser actually had a real Venari bestiary in his possession. Quinn's first instinct was to try and take it from him. After all, she was the Venari here; he couldn't know how important the book he held really was. Noctis stayed her hand for the moment when he stopped flipping through the pages. The illustration of the disgusting, long tongued beast was the only thing Claire could understand. All of the descriptions were written in languages she didn't know. Hell, Noctis's didn't even know the two tongues were Korean and French until Archie pointed it out.

From what her translator could make out, the beast drained the blood of it's targets with it's tongue after tearing open the victim's throat. That fit the crime scene in front of them to a tee. The rest of Archie's speech was lost on the huntress. She was too busy looking at the book over his shoulder, desperately trying to figure out what it said on her own. Claire Quinn was a Venari by blood. She should be able to figure shit like this out on her own, without the help of some...mundane man that couldn't even hold down a job working for Crescent City's police department, without a doubt the most incompetent department in North America. Claire despised having to rely on anyone but herself. Other people would only ever get in the way. However...

I can't read any of this shit.

Kletus, her scribe and the only other Venari she knew, wouldn't be any help. His own bestiary was incomplete at best, and hadn't been updated in decades- the mechanic hadn't thought he'd need it anymore after the Order broke down years ago. A real, completed tome like the one Archie had would make hunting monsters so much easier. Claire might actually be able to prepare to fight these things whenever they popped up. Even if Claire simply took it from him, neither her or her master could understand the many different languages it was written in. They might be able to use the internet and other sources to translate it all into English, but Claire was far from a linguist and Kletus was a God damn mechanic. Trying to work through a full, hundreds of pages long Bestiary would take forever- and they were both incredibly busy already. Claire had no other option other than to play ball with this...guy.

"Oh, I more than believe." Claire wore a smile she didn't mean. "I deal with this kind of thing all the time. If you've got that book, you've probably heard of the Venari, right?" She stood back up to her full but none too impressive height. "I'm a monster hunter, in other words. I kill the freaks that do stuff like this. I'm pretty new at it, and I don't know much, so..." Claire hated to do it, but she needed to guarantee this guy would help her. She could knock him out and take the book if he refused. "How would you like to join me in hunting down the thing that did this? I figure we...can help each other." Noctis took a step closer to the scientist. "Please?" She tilted her head a little and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes in a way that made her want to puke. 'Come on you awkward little nerd.' Noctis thought to herself. 'Take the bait so I don't have to hurt you too.'

Darkness On The Edge Of Town

Killbride Sawmill Interaction: @Lurking Shadow@Ferrocerium

---

---

As Vernon drove up the winding gravel path through the woods, he saw a thick black plume of smoke coming from the direction of the Sawmill. Maybe they were just burning trash or something up there? The path continued uphill and smoke began to obscure the road. Vernon looked to Bongo and mumbled, "Oh no." She looked over at him and "Boof'd" warily. Once he drove up a final steepness in the hill, Vernon's 'Oh no' became an, "Oh shit".

Flames rolled out of the Sawmill, greedily eating away at the wood, and the only thing Vernon could say as he put his truck into park was, "I guess the firewood's dry." He hesitated. Seated within his vehicle, a reasonable distance away from the Sawmill, Vernon stared toward it and felt as if the universe was trying to tell him something. Bongo meanwhile was barking and scratching at the door before she turned and licked at his face. "Shit-- you right. You right. Okay," Vernon told the dog as he opened his door, "Better go see if everything's okay-- I mean. Well..."

Clearly everything wasn't okay.

Bongo leapt across his lap and began running toward the Sawmill then stopped. Vernon very nearly tripped over his dog. He stopped and asked, "What? What's up?" as Bongo began sniffing around. She whined and began backing away from the Sawmill. Tilting his head, Vernon stared at Bongo in mild surprise. What was it that scared her so much? Bongo continued backing away, but barked at Vernon still. She clearly didn't want to go but certainly wanted him to do something. He began patting himself down, mumbling, "You seen my phone, ol'girl?" Had this been one of those days where he just didn't carry the phone? "Damn it," he grumbled before starting to job toward the Sawmill. Bongo barked after him briefly before turning away and leaping into the truck bed.

“HEY!”

Vernon heard the voice call out then ran toward it-- quickly given the fact that he had augmented legs. It came from the other side of the Sawmill, which must have conveniently obscured his position from... "It ain't nearly that cold out here," Vernon mumbled once he caught sight of Gavin. Immediately he paused and quickly assessed the situation. He eyed the layers of clothing with an arched brow. People only dressed like that when they were homeless, addicted to some terrible drugs, or cold. It was possible this dude was a mix of all three and was the arsonist himself. Next his eyes landed on the well dressed Anton and could only form one word: "Weird." But just as Veronon saw Anton, he saw a very singed looking Whittaker nearby-- well at least one person was familiar. They had been acquaintances for years since Vernon moved into California. While they weren't friends, there was no doubt he'd recognize Vernon. Quick conclusions in the matter of moments were drawn:

Overdressed dude - Bad
Well dressed guy - Enigma
Whittaker - Kind of cooked

"Hell no, not about to wait," Vernon told himself as he charged into the clearing near the other two. "Don't know who any of y'all are but that man needs to be in a hospital now. Right now! I got a truck and I can get'em there," Vernon called out. He halted again once he noted Gavin's hand on his hip and assumed the worst. If that guy made any moves, any slight moves to draw a weapon, he was going to shit every single one of his teeth with Vernon's assistance. Then again, if he was more focused on Suit over there, then perhaps he could dash out and get Whittaker without much trouble.

"Whittaker-- you'd best get movin' if you can," Vernon called out to the man, "If you came from in there, ain't not tellin' what sort of inhalation burns you done picked up. I'm sure it's gettin' hard to breathe! I ain't got a phone and you know ain't no fire department comin'. Get over here, man!" Whittaker gave Vernon a very familiar look, the one where someone was just a couple of minutes from passing out or puking-- Vernon assumed it was the former. He eyed the other two people warily but wasn't going to give them more than ten seconds to figure themselves out.