---

2017 was a confusing time to be alive. It almost seemed at times that reality was starting to collapse on itself. The truth no longer seemed to matter, and facts could be fabricated out of pure fiction. This is the sort of thing that Aloysius thrived on. It was his bread and butter. With enough intellect and cunning a person could twist this political landscape to their will, and Aloysius planned to do just that. He wasn't after much: just the total domination of humanity would do and to him, this would be a walk in the park. But all revolutions had to happen somewhere. Every revolution starts with a spark.

Aloysius had left his chauffeur on a bridge several hundred metres away, telling him to call his family, or just do something to occupy himself while Aloysius got himself some fresh air. This wasn't the case though. Aloysius didn't need air, he just needed to get away for some mischief. Walking down a trail that splintered off from the road, Aloysius eventually found himself at the crest of a hill, looking down on a railway track that ran through the National Park and into Washington DC. Looking over to the other side of the tracks something he noticed bought a grin to his smug lithe lips. Just as he had foreseen, a group of naturists were producing a documentary on the damage the railway was doing to the ecosystem of the park. Aloysius should know, he was the one who funded the documentary. Unlike these hippies, Aloysius couldn't give two flying fucks about the park. Tress were tress as far as he was concerned. He just needed the camera to be there.

Aloysius moved over to the side of the trail, approaching the highest point in the crest of the hill and sat himself down on a dull grey rock. He then reached into the pocket of his tan brown leather jacket and pulled out a brass pocket watch. He rubbed his fingers along its outer shell, taking a moment to admire the engraved serpent that adorned its surface. He would then open it and check the time: only a few minutes left it seemed. Aloysius would take a deep breath, he knew how important this was. This was the beginning. He couldn't afford to mess this one up.

In exactly two minutes, a train was due to pass right through here heading for the capital. It was private train that housed several business men and low tier politicians. No one of import. No one that would be missed, but important enough for Aloysius to make a quiet statement. This was certainly going to get noticed. Sliding the pocket watch back into his leather jacket he observed the camera crew and the documentary presenter, standing there idly and talking about something to do with nature, Aloysius couldn't hear her and he didn't care. He did however hear the train coming. Standing up, Aloysius began to focus on the railway tracks. Here, timing and focus were key. He needed to strike at the right time, but also with enough power to cause some damage, but at the same time, not too much damage. Balance was key here.

The train was finally in sight, and Aloysius was ready to strike. He curled his fingers upwards in his left arm, making sure his arm was dangled down normally, not to attract attention. It looked stupid holding your arm out to call your power. Milliseconds after moving his fingers, a large gust of category 3 wind suddenly picked up underneath the train lifting it off the tracks and causing it to barrel roll off the tracks. The links between the carriages quickly shattered and each one became a bouncing projectile, the contents inside, no doubt killed or seriously injured as each rotation crushed the trains bodies more and more. The train eventually stopped moving, and the presenter who had been talking hadn't managed to escape the chaos, her body getting crushed by one of the carriages, directly on camera.

Aloysius observed the destruction he had wrought. His eyes scanning the wreckage for any survivors. His eyes managed to lock onto a cameraman who had survived. That was good. He wanted someone to survive. Someone had to send the video to the media. The panicked male rushed for his camera, surveying the wreckage as he tried to help his already long gone friends. With his work done, Aloysius turned on his heels and left, the grin he had previously now growing into a full blown smirk. The arrogant leader was in a state of euphoria. The rush of victory was like a drug to him.

Something he hadn't counted on however was that the camera had managed to catch him smirking, walking around and leaving. Granted it was only a few pixels in the corner of the screen. But that was evidence enough to people who knew what they were looking for. Sure, Law enforcement would have no clue but there were other people out there who were keeping a close eye on Aloysius's actions. Walking back along the dirt trail, Aloysius eventually found himself back onto the road where he had abandoned his chauffeur. His chauffeur immediately started talking the second Aloysius had gotten into earshot with his broad New York accent

"Where the heck you been!? i was bout to start calling the cops to find you" Aloysius would sigh and raise his arm to try and calm the rather panicked male infront of him. Before Aloysius could actually say anything a ringing noise came from his pocket. letting out a sigh he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Looking at the caller ID only caused his sigh to get louder, the chauffeur backing off and getting back into the black Jaguar when he saw Aloysius's increasingly annoyed expression. He would answer the call, raising the phone to his ear.

"Ah, Mothers Lapdog, what has got you calling me?" Aloysius started the conversation. He was never a fan of his mothers PA. She was a bitch to the 'n'th degree, always using her condescending, non-approving tone when talking to Aloysius.

"Mrs Leighton asked me to call you" She started, not sounding impressed by tone that Aloysius had used. "She wanted me to remind you that you are having dinner tonight with the Speaker of the House at The Lafayette inside The Hay-Adams. You are then staying there for the night and then heading back to New York."

"It is almost like you are telling me what to do." Aloysius retorted.

"I am. Your mother is working hard to help maintain her political power and business contacts. You are a very useful tool for this purpose. Just don't be late." With that the woman hung up, leaving Aloysius talking to himself. Putting the phone away, Aloysius walked to the backdoor of the car and opened it, observing the forest around him one more time before climbing into the car, his body almost melting into the white leather interior. Closing the door once he was inside Aloysius sighed once more, the Chauffeur quick to speak.

"I am guessing that was Miss Perry? Reminding us we have a job to do?"

"Got that right." Aloysius would lean back in the leather seat and let out a chuckle "We need to keep heading for DC." Running his hand through his hair he would look out of the window as the car began to take off. "We are going to a hotel just outside Lafayette Park. I have a dinner date with Politicians tonight at the hotel restaurant. Then i am heading out to New York in the morning"

"Guessing then you need me to find myself some place to stay for the night?" The chauffeur asked.

"Nah, it is OK. My mother has arranged for the Jet to take me to New York in the morning. Once you have dropped me off you can make your way back to New York. Don't worry about picking me up when i land either, you just park the car at the airport and i can drive home." Aloysius would pull out his phone once more and open up WhatsApp. He had a group chat that he had created with all the members of the Dark Shadow in it. He would twiddle his thumbs as he began to send a message:

Rose Miller was sitting in her office on the top floor of the major technology firm she worked for, Codex. Her office had floor to ceiling windows on the east side of the building, she often saw the sunrise as she was at work before the sun rose most mornings. Her walls were painted the Codex firm colors, burnt orange and a charcoal gray, accented by hardwood floors that had been stained to look like driftwood. Her furniture had a modern appearance to it with pristinely polished glass surfaces and sparse décor, just a few paintings of the ocean were hung around the office.

It was a Tuesday which for most people would mean their workload was light; but, while the work for Codex was pretty lackluster on Tuesdays for the young executive, her work for the Guild was never done it seemed. She had been pouring over the dossiers of potential new recruits all morning, assigning members to recruit those she wanted or continuing surveillance on others she was not yet sure about. She was contemplating getting lunch when her laptop alerted her to a new e-mail from within the Guild.

The e-mail was titled: You Need to See This. Rose clicked on the link and a video clip played that mornings events in George Washington and Jefferson National Forest, Virginia. She watched the clip over and over again, focusing on the enhanced image she had been sent along with the link to the video.

“Leighton,” Rose said through gritted teeth as she printed out the still frame. She pushed her Italian leather desk chair back away from the desk, locking her computer almost as an afterthought.

She grabbed the warm print off her laser printer before marching down to the elevator, her heels clicking on the marbled floors. Impatiently she waited for the elevator to signal that she was on the 10th floor. Despite rarely coming down to the 10th floor Rose knew exactly where she was going. The office personnel she walked by greeted her and stood but didn’t seem at all surprised when the sharply dressed businesswoman didn’t acknowledge them.

She opened the office door without knocking and ignored the fact that people had been in a conversation before she entered. She slammed the printout onto the desk and hissed, “Take care of it, I will handle him.”

---

Everything was hot. It was the kind of heat she'd expected to live in on the road: latent, awful soup heat. It was the kind of soup that condensed in her skull and poured out of her ears. It rolled down her sides, moist and steamy and stinking of pot and wild yeists and mud. But she could retreat into her van and watch the world run past her on the road. The sensation wasn't overbearing because reprieve was just a key turn away. The drama of moisture and warmth coming from the world and not just other people could be left to other people.

But her van's air conditioning had died in the night, and now she had to stop in the middle of nowhere because, in all likelyhood, her van's front axle had cracked again. Even if Mani were here he'd not patch the axle a second time. No sane mechanic would. She would have to replace it. This, the AC, and the waning transmission. And maybe the driver.

"James says we have to start moving again soon."

...and Rozzle.

Paulie didn't move, her face still pressed into her folded arms. She was laying out on the browning grass in the empty lot beside parking for Gordon's station, face down. There had been good rains all over the northeast this year, but Gordon's was in an almost fifty mile patch experiencing this weird micro-drought. The surrounding woodlands and pastures seemed one accidental spark short of a brushfire. And here was Rozzle walking up with her tenth cigarette of the afternoon. Paulie winced into her arms, shaking her head mumbling unintelligibly.

"Oh come on, cheer up! You can pack up your shit in like, ten minutes. We squeeze into Nancy's bus and hit the city limits a little after sundown!" Chipper as a sunbeam in a winter storm. Paulie felt a weight against her lower back as Rozzle flopped onto the ground and rested her head. "James can tow your van to his parents' place in Rhode Island. You head west for a trimming season, save up, fix everything by the end of next spring."

A part of Paulie wanted to reach back and shove Roz away. But it wasn't as though Roz could actually make Paulie feel any warmer than she already did. Besides, a much larger part of Paulie still wasn't sure she could function without knowing Rozzle was near by. She needed Roz when she saw Simon tonight; someone to ease the tension. Paulie lifted her head to prop her chin on her arms, staring out at the empty highway. From her vantage point she could see Nancy's converted school bus and James' truck side by side in the parking lot, over a dozen people crowding around and busying themselves while everyone waited for Mister Gordon to tell them what they already knew. Paulie's van was fucked.

"Rozzle... Nancy hates me." Paulie said, watching a pair of Nancy's weird cult people wrestle with one another.

"Yeah, but she looooves me." Roz cooed. Pauling felt Roz rolling onto her side to look at the back of her head. She ran a hand through Paulie's mess of corn husk hair and started scritching gently at her scalp. "It's like, three hours to New York from here. Preeeetty sure she owes me that much for keeping her so comfy during tear-down." Paulie moaned something between mirth and disgust, closing her eye and delighting in Roz's touch.

They rested like that for a minute or two, Roz sitting up after a while to scratch with both hands at Paulie's back, digging nails deep. Then Paulie opened her eyes as Herb Gordon's voice rang out from his little garage.

"Yup! Your van is fucked! I dunno how ya'll got it here with this axle in one piece!" For being open fifteen years somehow Herb still had his accent, a southern drawl so twangy it reminded Paulie of her cousins on Sand Mountain.

It was still putting her back up, so obvious that Roz squeezed her shoulders comfortingly before rising from the ground. Paulie pushed herself up to her knees, looking through her mop of blonde hair over at James whom, like the rest of the convoy, was looking over at her. He was the calm center of a small little crowd of mournful faces sharing a sudden and pointed silence.

Then Nancy came out of the store with her daughter in her arms. Nancy was the big, billowy, bosomy whirlwind leading this mad tornado of people back to their homes. And her daughter was wailing, appropriately timed for the funeral dirge of Paulie's van. She didn't want to go west again this year. She wanted to stay in one place for more than a month for once. She didn't want her van.

Maybe it was the sheer discomfort of the situation, or maybe she just needed to mourn for a little bit. Paulie wasn't going to fix her van, and sitting there in the dead grass and dirt, with Rozzle offering her a hand, she started to cry.

---

Paulie and Rozzle sat against the wall across from Simon's door, leaning against one another, Rozzle's phone murmuring with today's stories from All Things Considered. Paulie was barely listening to the story, just concentrating on the smell of Rozzle's pungent odor and her weight. She leaned up for another kiss. Anything to keep Paulie present. Paulie couldn't remember the last time she'd gone more than a few minutes in a city without Blanking. This had been the most uncomfortable night of her life, having to pay for food and talk to everyone she needed something from. It had to be worth it to keep Rozzle here. It was the strongest connection to her normal life she'd had. Rozzle had been around since Paulie's first burn. She meant everything.

"...Virginia today." Paulie snapped out of it, jerking her lips away from Rozzle and staring blankly at nothing, listening to the radio stream. Rozzle moaned and tried to pull Paulie back in, and Paulie reflexively butted her head at Rozzle's chin gently. The girl laughed, but rested back against the wall. They listened.

"...Among those aboard were House representatives Mason Pike and Laura Eiselstein from districts in Maine as well as several senior staff of Pare-Shaped Solutions. A viral video of the accident has already made its way through social media, with several outlets hosting the video file after multiple youtube uploads were taken down for content flags. As of this broadcast those uploads have been allowed back on the site. Local authorities have not yet commented on the situation save to say that investigations are--"

The elevator down the hall beeped, and Paulie turned to look. Simon strolled out into the corridor, with two friends of his Paulie had met beforehand and one she hadn't. They all teetered behind Simon in various states of intoxication as she stood up, helping Rozzle to her feet. Simon just looked at them, his crew noisily making their way into the apartment. He closed the door behind they and Rozzle, who threw herself into the mix like the relentless lapdog she was. Simon just stared down at her for a few moments, Paulie staring back, each of them defiant.

"Look, I can explain,' they said in unison. Paulie guffawed and fell back against the wall laughing, and Simon looked away in that sheepish way he did when he felt guilty about something, ginger curls hiding most of his face.

It's going to be a good night. Paulie thought, grinning. She leaned down to pick up a couple of luggage bags, Simon following to help her as they began to tell each other the stories about their day. Paulie's van. Simon's latest production gig. Rozzle's hands. One small story after another, each wrapping the sharp stone that floated between... burying it as the night carried on into morning.

Maybe things would work out.

"Baby girl, we don't need to do this anymore." Mihaela tried to complain, pushing up from the couch that her daughter had made her lie on.

"Yes, we do!" Ro insisted pinning her adoptive mother to the couch again with a hand on her chest. Her eyes softened as she peered in Mihaela's. "You know we do. You need one last treatment, before this is gone. So lie still and let me do what you thought me to do." She paused. "For Mum."

Mihaela sighed. Ro always knew how to get to her. Of course she would do anything for Emily. She would do anything for both her girls. She nodded and lied back, relaxing. She wasn't opposed to Ro's healing. It was just that when people get diagnosed with terminal cancer, their mindset swiftly shifts to accommodate such a definitive news. When she was diagnosed herself she hadn't even considered Ro's powers as an option. Although why in the world not, she couldn't fathom. Thank goodness their little girl was so perceptive and had caught on that something was up with her. She didn't want to think what would have happened to Emily if she were to die.

"It's going to be okay now." Ro whispered and pressed her palm a little more firmly against Mihaela's chest.

The older woman opened her eyes wondering what had brought on those words and felt wetness on her cheeks. Oh, I see. She lifted a hand to brush away the tears, but her daughter's hand was already there.

"I won't lose you, not to this." Ro lowered her head and placed a soft kiss on Mihaela's forehead.

"Thanks, baby girl." The older woman answered around the emotional lump in her throat.

Ro pulled back with a smile on her face. "Plus, it was high time I returned the favor." She winked.

"Cheek." Mihaela laughed.

There was a short knock on the door. "I'm coming in now." A voice announced and a woman entered the room without waiting for invitation. Emily squared her daughter with a look. "So is she better now?"

Mihaela looked alarmed at Ro who raised her hands in surrender. "Hey, she found out all on her own. I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't you go blaming the girl!" Emily admonished, turning angry eyes at her wife. "You should have told me."

Mihaela looked crestfallen. "I didn’t..." She didn't manage to finish as a pair of lips silenced her own.

Ro watched without averting her gaze. She actually loved seeing her moms’ displays of affection. Well, not that she wanted to see, or imagine for that matter, something rated. But this. This was love pure and simple. It was adorable and endearingly beautiful.

"We'll talk about this later." Emily whispered once she'd released Mihaela's lips. "Now..." She turned to her daughter once again. "You didn't answer me, lass. Is my wife better now?"

Ro grinned and Emily squinted her eyes. Here it comes. She thought.

"How can anyone improve on perfection?" Ro deadpanned.

Emily shook her head and sighed. She cast an accusing look at Mihaela. "This is your fault you know."

"I take full responsibility of our daughter's marvelous sense of humor." Mihaela said with a straight face.

Emily groaned and shook her head. Ro relented and went to hug her mother. "I took it all away. She'll be fine now, I promise." She kissed her mum on the cheek.

"Thanks, little rose." Emily squeezed her daughter tight. "Now about this move to New York." Emily stepped away from her daughter's embrace.

Ro sighed. They'd talked about this. The Guild had summoned her to New York. Something was brewing there and the leaders had deemed her particular talents would be of better use there, than in Ireland where things were calm on the magical front for the moment.

"Mum, we've talked about this. You know I have to go."

"Oh, I know you have to go. I just don't have to be happy about it." Emily countered. "I know you two can't tell me everything Guild related, but I can gather well enough on my own it's going to be dangerous."

Ro and Mihaela shared a look. Emily wasn't wrong. In all probability there was going to be danger. But that's why they were transferring her to New York. With her aura manipulation abilities Ro could heal all maladies. Not just the physical variety. But those of the mind and the sole. She could calm people's minds and hearts and in doing so give them the chance to make decisions with a level head and a clear conscience. She'd pulled a lot of people from the brink. Ones that were teetering on the verge of joining Dark Shadow for all the wrong reasons. She'd also helped a lot of Guild members with their wavering hearts, members on the verge of revealing secrets that could prove dangerous. It was what had earned her the Captain rank within the Guild. She was a sort of councilor that helped Guild members deal with the burdens of their magical existence and the need to hide what they really were and what they were capable of. And this renewed attrition with the reemerging vestiges of the Corpus was not helping at all.

"Just promise me you'll be careful." Emily pleaded quietly. "No cheek this time, please." She added, before her daughter could respond.

Ro and Mihaela smirked. Emily knew them both so well. "I'll be careful, Mum. I promise."

"Well then, now that that's settled, you should go and finish packing. I'm afraid you're a little too big for me to pack your luggage for you, little rose." Emily petted her daughter's cheek.

---

As soon as it became known that Ro was to transfer to New York, real estate agent members of the Guild had provided her with options for long term lodgings. Ro's only condition had been for something close to a large park and far from the hustle and bustle. She was assured her conditions would be met and she would be greeted at the airport by a member of the Guild to help her get settled in.

Ro was sitting comfortably in her chair in business class awaiting for takeoff. It was her favorite part of flying. That and when the plane was turning. She loved that tingly feeling she got in her stomach. The rush of adrenalin when the plane gathered speed for lift off, her body pressed firmly to the back of the chair. It was exhilarating.

About seven hours later she'd landed at JFK Airport, gone through passport check and baggage claim and was heading over to the area where she was supposed to meet with her welcoming committee.

Olivia had only just really gotten started with her days work. She would always spend the first couple of hours of her day working through paperwork, lab reports, and filing data. Clerical work. None of her other colleagues deemed it necessary, and so she often would pick up the slack for them. She didn't enjoy either, but she was the youngest, and the easiest target for the others to pile it on to.

She clicked off the monitor of her computer, and stood up to dress into her lab coat when she heard her phone chime in her pocket. It was a very specific ringtone - the tone that alerted her that someone from Magbelievers.com had sent in an urgent report. This didn't happen very often but when it did.. It was enough to pull Olivia's attention to whatever it was.

Sure enough she opened her phone, and one of the Magic Conspiracy geeks had posted a link to a news article about a strange train explosion in Jefferson National Forest. The news wasn't quite onto what had really happened, and immediately the press were blaming the very group who were protesting the railway in the first place. Olivia knew better, Olivia knew that this was no terrorist attack - at least not a terror attack caused by someone like her.

This was a magic attack. Her fellow conspiracy geeks had found footage of a strange man walking away from the scene with a smirk. She opened the photo and looked at his face - his eyes. "They're so evil...." she muttered under her breath, unaware that her colleague, Dennis was behind her. "Whaz evil?" he asked, peering over her shoulder to look at her phone screen, his hooked nose just inches from her face - his grey nose hairs poking out of his wide nostrils - all spiky and disgusting.

"N-nothing! Just you know, stuff..." Olivia said. She was a terrible liar. "Didja file my lab reports Liv?" he asked, backing off to give his nose a scratch with his thumb - momentarily his nose hairs pushed back into the nostril - and just as quickly as they were gone, one by one they began to peak back out again. "I did, I just need to go up to the next floor to get some more toner for our printer so I can print.... you lab reports, for you, and Colin..." she stuttered over her words, pacing for the door of the office. "Sure thing, ya weirdo" he chuckled as he waddled off.

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief as she began to head for the elevator, phone in hand - staring at the evil face. Could this really be Magic? Could this be the occurrence that would blow them into the public eye again?

As she headed to the elevator she saw one of her superiors, Rose Miller, barrelling out and back down the corridor to the other offices. Maybe she's seen something too... thought Olivia as she watched her go through a door at the end of the corridor. Rose was usually even tempered, but Olivia felt something about her today that rattled her. Something was bothering Rose...

No time to investigate she thought again, as she made her way back down to the ground floor. She had to get home - and early lunch break - to get in touch with her fellow internet magic fans... Something was brewing - and she didn't want to miss anything...

---

Elena looked out the window, frowning, as she reflected on the events of the day. The train crash hadn't been all that incredibly far from the middle of nowhere house she called home, maybe a 5 hour drive, and it hadn't taken long for her to get a call.

She'd packed and headed out, taking longer than she probably should have. She didn't particularly want to leave the solidarity of the woods, but knew she had no real choice otherwise.

The Dark Shadows were moving. It was clear to her that bigger things were coming. Maybe it was war. Maybe it would be like it always had been.

Either way, she knew things needed to change. Everywhere. Everything. Everyone. Things couldn't remain how they were.

It was times like this that she wished she could contact her best friend. Hell, would Paulie even answer? Did she ever wonder about Elena?

She shook her head lightly, leaning back into her seat and sipping on the wine she'd requested.

Whatever was going to happen, someone higher than her felt that she was needed on site for missions. With any luck she'd continue operating on a solo basis, but her gut told her that wasn't going to be the case.

---

---

Elena stepped out of the car in front of the Codex building, sighing and waving the driver off.

Entering the front door, she flashed a badge and continued walking.

"Tell them I'm here," Elena called out with a wave behind her.

She continued up the stairs, preferring them over elevators, with a runners bag strapped to her back carrying her supplies. Several scrolls, notebooks, everything she thought she might need for whatever they wanted her for.

"The Artist, present and reporting for activity," she murmured to the secretary.

Mattius had crept around the archway and had entered a large hall, one decorated with detailed images of a man, woman, and child, lit only by the candles surrounding it. He was in the Coriptus Homestead, hunting for the last member of the dynasty and hopefully cutting off an influence to the Dark Shadow. He had his motive, one fuelled by anger and heroism, but that would've only hampered the young man as his mission was clearly not thought out. He brought only himself, unless there was a backup plan thought out, but that was extremely unlikely.

"Snooping around, young man?", calmly said a male voice, sitting in the darkened corner of the hallway. Mattius took no time to find where it was coming from, but kept calm as the gentleman sitting down became clear to him. "Don't you think it's a little foolish to be breaking into my home?"

Mattius reframed his posture. "Val Coriptus, I assume?"

The gentleman's hands gestured. "Who else would be here?"

Mattius reached for the knife on his side.

"Please, have a seat." A small movement of Coriptus' hands changed Mattius' position. He was knocked off his feet and speeding towards the older man, having been forcefully seated by a moving chair. It stopped in front of Coriptus, only at arms length distance. "Tell me, what do you hope to accomplish by breaking into my home?"

No answer.

"I mean it, not rhetorical," calmly added Coriptus, leaning back in his chair with an uneasy smile on his face.

Mattius struggled to get his words out, obviously uncomfortable and confused about the situation. "To get to you?"

"An honest man, good quality."

"I can't exactly say I came to look at your paintings."

"Nothing wrong with that. Precisely the reason why I come here, to this room." He glanced at each of the images, each one depicting a different time, place, moment. "Not a fan of older people reminiscing on the good old days but..." His smile faded. "...mine were too short, stolen from me." He looked back at the man who had broken into his home. "You have family?"

"I'd rather not say."

"That's fine. No pressure, perfectly reasonable explanation." His smile returned. "I presume you're from the Guild?"

"What make you say that?"

"Because I can see that the mark on your neck isn't a tattoo and that you somehow are familiar with my home's general layout." There wasn't another word from Mattius, only silence. "Don't worry, I don't plan on doing anything yet, but your arrival is well timed." Mattius' chair moved back to where he once stood. "I'd like you to tell Miss Miller that Our ascension is coming, and that it would be wise of you all to not interfere with our plans, for your greater good. Got that?"

Mattius was slow getting up, confused as to why the high ranking Dark Shadow member was so easily letting this young prospect go. He was comfortable talking to his enemy, yet didn't lift a finger to inflict serious harm.

"No harm, no foul? Deal?" Coriptus asked, his smile maintaining and uneasy tone through out.

Mattius was hesitant, but then slowly started making his way to the archway he had come through originally, now his way out. He took his first few steps, before--

"No deal." A flick of his hands produced two sharp knives that flung towards the seated gent, who only flicked his wrists to change their direction to towards the floor, and before Mattius could strike, Corpitus stood up and rose his arm.

"Stupid boy," he exhaled in a much lower tone, clutching his fist quickly after.

Mattius had tried to get hold of his other knives strapped around his waistline, but the command of Coriptus had stopped his progress in his tracks. His arms were stiff and motionless, and his struggle to make his next move rendered him uncomfortable. He was completely frozen from the head down, and the only thing in his line of sight was the target who gave him an open door.

"You young prospects are always so eager to prove themselves to your glorious leader." Corpitus started his walk around the hallway, glancing at his prisoner and looking at his decorations. "Wanting to make the world a better place, wanting to ensure magic and non-magic folk alike live in harmony." He kept looking at his parents. "You helpless fools are unable to see what's behind that awful facade." He glances at Mattius, still struggling to get free from the invisible barrier forced on him, letting out only grunts of struggle.

"My family contributed to the Guild, some time ago actually, believing they were the best people to turn to when inquiring about anything magic related, and what did the Guild do to them? Nothing." He walks towards the painting of his parents, mesmerised by the detail as his tone got increasingly harsher. "They sent me an apology basket, did nothing, and let those PIGS continue their rampage." He turns to Mattius, now struggling harder as the pathway he set himself upon got increasingly dire. "We have this power to show those insects what happens when they target the wrong people, and your leader would rather it whittle away, for nothing. NOTHING!" He screamed, his pent up frustration now starting to overwhelming him. "Your little treehouse club that claims superiority is led by feckless idiots, wanting to keep that seat within family regardless of ability." His anger calmed a little, and his uncomfortable smile returned. "No matter, that'll change soon."

Mattius was now moving, though not by his own intuition. The barriers that held him still were now bringing him towards the manor's owner. His feet left the floor, and the struggling boy tried harder to escape the bonds that bound him to his path. "No! Stop! Don't do this!" he begged, but the pathway didn't stop, and Coriptus paid no attention to his pleas.

"You see, I gave you the option to send the message I wanted to your little leader. Either leave, or stay, you'd bring that message to Miss Miller." Mattius was close to the man now, and Coriptus reached out for his head. "Now, let's see who you really are."

Mattius screamed as Coriptus made contact--

Training, mother, recently born son, job as a waiter, looked at Guild intel, gathered items, set off.

--Mattius collapsed to the floor, clutching his head and continued screaming as the sensation of being invaded never left him. He was shaking, screaming no, before crying and crawling on the floor before the sight of it's owner.

Coriptus chuckled lowly, observing the insanity that sometime came with the memory invasions he would conduct. The job was done, and Coriptus commanded the window to be opened. He took control of Mattius again, who struggled loudly and babbled incoherently continuously.

"Now, send that message to Miss Miller," before throwing the boy out the window, and back onto the streets on the outskirts of New York City. A gathering was going to take place, and thankfully it wouldn't require much travelling.

---

Dorm 3.

Oak stared at the door number in the run-down building. The fake bronze plate was barely hanging onto the door and had lost most of its coating. Maybe once he opened this door into his new lodgings he would find that outside appearances could be deceiving, but he doubted it. He was staying in the cheapest hostel he could find, and he’d get what he’d paid for. Cheap looking brown carpet that had not been hoovered in a long time, peeling wallpaper and old dirty looking wall sconces. He stuck in the key into the rusty lock and rattled it around for a few seconds before managing to find the sweet spot. Pushing open the door revealed a large untidy room containing half a dozen bunk beds, a couple of shared drawers, and a couple of his new roommates. There were two north facing windows that were covered by drawn black-out curtains, making the room look very dark and gloomy. He took a single step in before being hit by a mixed-aroma of weed, body odour and damp, causing him to instinctively step back out.

“It’s only for a couple of weeks whilst I do this job.” He reminded himself silently, grimacing over his surroundings. He wasn’t exactly flush with cash at that moment, and given that he was here for an indeterminate amount of time it made sense to go for somewhere cheap where he didn’t have to worry about contracts or anything. Though personal privacy was a big price to pay.

“You the new guy?” piped up a voice from an unseen individual on a lower bunk. Oak took a few more steps in so he could see the face of the guy speaking. A youngish man laid on a bottom bunk in the corner of the room, his black quilt hiding all but his head, which was covered in dreadlocks. “That bunk over there is the only one not occupied, so I guess it’s yours.” And with that gave a nod to the one in the adjacent corner.

“Thanks buddy” Oak replied with a tip of his black fedora. He went over to the bunk bed and slid his charcoal padlocked suit-case underneath the bed, marking the top of it with one of his dark eyes as he did so. To him it seemed like a faint black eye, similar to his birthmark, but he knew that others wouldn’t be able to see it (at least no-one he knew of). He imagined it would be relatively safe in the dorm, as there would have to be a level of mutual trust between the inhabitants, but at least if it came to the worst and someone snatched his stuff he’d be able to find them. He then sat on his new bed, immediately feeling the wooden beams beneath the mattress and wondered how the bed managed to be worse than the one he’d had in prison. He then looked back up towards the friendly guy from before. However, on closer inspection he noticed movement from under the covers and a second pair of feet poking from the bottom. Again, his mind then wondered back to when he was in prison. “Ah! Time for me to go explore the city” he said hastily as he jumped to his feet and headed to the door. He wasn’t in the mood for a show, and it seemed like a good time to get his bearings.



Oak sat alone on a two person table in the middle of a fairly busy diner. As he was in America for the first time, he felt obliged to try out what he hoped was an authentic American diner and scoff down as much heart-attack fuel as possible. He was waiting on his “Unbeatable 7 Oz. Fonzie Twin Double Cheese Burger w/ Extra Bacon” and passed the time by taking the odd sip of his chocolate shake and researching his target on his smart phone.

Melisa Mayweather was her name. 19 years old. Female. Her parents both corporate lawyers and filled to the brim with cash. She on the other hand was somewhat unskilled and rebellious. She ran away from home seemingly of her own volition, and there was no evidence to say she was at risk of harm, which was why the police were unable to help. Her parents claimed that she had become obsessed with the occult and believed herself to be a witch. On the balance of probability, she was likely to just be unstable – but given what Oak was capable of, he couldn’t rule out any possibility.

Using a VPN and TOR, Oak logged onto a fake facebook account that he had created. Using information provided by her parents, he made a profile of a non-existence guy that went to the same school as Melisa and was in the same year. Although she clearly didn’t actually know him, it was enough for her to accept his invite. For someone that had run away, she wasn’t doing a great job at hiding her tracks. She checked in just the night before at a bar in Manhattan, which is where Oak would be chasing leads after he had eaten his grub. She tagged a couple of friends in the post too, who’s profiles he was able to check out. Already he had a few photos and leads to chase.

“Here’s your food sugar. Can I get you anything else?” said a buxom blond waistress in a red polkadot apron as she placed down his plate. Oak could not help but smile at the cliché, but figured it was probably an intentional part of the service.

“I’m fine thank you, it looks delicious” he replied before digging in. As he savoured the tender meat, the crispy salad and the fluffy bun, he found himself looking up at one of the many TV screens and caught a glimpse of a news story regarding a train accident.

---

The journey into D.C was uneventful. Aloysius had spent most of it looking through various pieces of media on his mobile, watching the live reactions to the train crash and how no one suspected it was because of supernatural causes. Aloysius was feeling smug with himself right now. He was confident that The Guild had nothing on him, that he was untouchable. Sure they had all the resources in the world, not to mention most of the magic worlds popular support. But Aloysius had shadows and surprise. No one knew where he was going to strike next.

As they approached the outskirts of D.C, Aloysius received an email from one of his informers. Another part of his plan was coming together it would seem. Tomorrow night in New York there was going to be an auction... nothing special, except one of the pieces up for sale was actually a magic artefact. Not that these scummy humans could actually know one when they see one. Now Aloysius had a plan of action, and now he felt even happier. The Guild would never see it coming.

Aloysius sat in the back of vehicle pondering deeply what he was going to do with the information given to him. He could just go steal the artefact. He had the power to overcome any filthy human firepower they tried to bring to bear against him. However an attempt that brash would only serve to further agitate The Guild and cause them to further hunt down Aloysius. He was currently oblivious to the fact The Guild were onto his little train stunt. Instead of going in charging, Aloysius decided to take a more... subtle route. He decided he was going to use his wealth to outright buy the artefact. He knew he alone had more money that Miller could ever hope to muster, and was therefore guaranteed to get that artefact. Things were good.

As he got closer and closer to the centre of DC, Aloysius started to switch his clothes into his dinner suit. He wanted to pull over, however his chauffeur insisted that if they pulled over they could possibly get caught in the rush hour traffic. Now, hastily dressed in his more formal attire, Aloysius was ready for his dinner date with politicians. Pulling up outside the hotel. Aloysius let himself out as he straightened his suit jacket and looked over to the chauffeur.

"Get her to the hanger in NYC, I will drive her when i land. Have a few days off" Before his chauffeur even had a chance to respond, Aloysius was off to the entrance. Entering the hotel, Aloysius span on his heels towards the restaurant. While talking to powerful politicians gave Aloysius the chance to acquire new intelligence and favours. The family business made it very easy for Aloysius to make friends. After all, Government types needed guns. Aloysius happened to make them. It was a match made in heaven. Nowadays however his mother used him as a sort of crowd pleaser, sending him around the country to schmooze with every influential politician she could find.

Entering the restaurant it didn't take him long to spot the all important Speaker of the House. With a nod and a hearty handshake, they greeted each other as they both sat down. It was a strange dinner as it was just the two of them. They talked for a while, the usual subjects came up; money, politics, campaign donations and of course China. It took several hours to conclude, but the meal was very productive. Aloysius had managed to score himself some political points and at the same time possible a favour or two. Saying his goodbyes, Aloysius coyly slid away to his suite on the hotels upper floors.

Turning on the television as he took off his dinner jacket he could see the media was covering the train wreck story. He could not help but give himself a small smirk as he looked at the coverage. His plan was coming together nicely. Opening his luggage bag he pulled out the laptop he always took with him and booted it up. Once it was ready he began to browse the web, looking at more news stories about the crash, wallowing in the moment of pure victory. He then jumped onto the Tor browser and into the darkweb. The Dark Shadows, they had a website and every now and again, Aloysius would post to it. He knew The Guild watched it. He wanted to make sure she saw this. He simply wrote a single paragraph:

---

The first drag always felt like the first time to Paulie. Every one after felt forced, a fling accidentally turned relationship because it was the thing to do. This is why she preferred to smoke with friends, passing rolled tobacco or pot around like a shared experience. It was just another example of community working itself into something to be wanted if you were looking. Alone, she had all of these singular instances where engaging felt like the first time every time. The next man she pulled into her van felt like the first man pulled into her van... and then he was every other man she'd pulled into her van.

The next friend she'd abducted at the end of a burn to take on an interstate journey for comfort felt like the first friend she'd abducted at the end of a burn to take on an interstate journey for comfort. Then, they were every other friend she'd abducted at the end of a burn to take on an interstate journey for comfort.

Paulie was sitting cross-legged on a street bench, laptop in front of her, her expression sleepy and pensive. She had a cigaratte in one hand and a homemade mug in the other, coffee from a vending machine, irish from a bottle in the backpack at her side. She was wearing some of Rozzle's clothes; a kaleidoscopic, baggy tie-dye t-shirt, manycolored patchwork baggy pants, and a pair of Simon's boots that fit her giantess feet. Music played faintly from a usb speaker plugged into her phone. Ms. John Soda, part of a playlist of their complete discography a friend had sent her some time ago.

On her screen was a blog post. It was the first one she'd written in over six years. When she'd been more active on this site these posts had a strong following, mostly from people who seemed to have no concept of the nomadic lifestyle she was living or how to make it work. They expressed envy, mistrust, revulsion... but always a sense of wonder about her pros. She'd stopped posting because of how unhealthy the process made her feel when she wanted to talk about it with other people. For them, she could write music. This writing space was all about her. Masturbatory. Jubilant.

It reminded her of being too stoned to stop.

But here she was, her cursor over 'send'. She reread the piece a fourth time, looking for things to change.

---

---

Everyone on The Guildserv had a blog space. Some people posted every day, some posted yearly. Some were careful, some treated it like a full case study of their abilities and how magic shaped their lives. Poet used it as a space to express her passions. Love-sick. Fuck-sick. It was cathartic. One person knew who Poet was as far as Paulie knew. They never posted, never shared, never looked for who was sharing. They didn't know her wanderlust.

She clicked send and then closed her laptop, stowing it in her sack and then setting it up as a pillow to sit against as she just sat and took in the place. People strolled past and spoke. Paulie had a sip of her coffee and another drag of smoke, looking at the matching blue patches of corduroy on the tops of her knees and thinking.

It wasn't a good night. She didn't want to stay. Simon was getting worse. The pattern was thicker--every few minutes the conversation would flow one way and Simon was stone. It made her sick to think about now. Rozzle shouldn't be here. Paulie shouldn't be here. But they both needed money, and Paulie owed Rozzle her time and protection. Her companionship.

That was how you kept the community running. You did right by your friends, even the ones you hated. And Paulie didn't hate Rozzle.

Paulie looked up at the bar across the street again, taking a noisy sip of her coffee. She wasn't waiting for anything in particular. It was just what she'd written. She wanted to be seen. She just didn't know whom she wanted to be seen by.

---

Elena woke up with a jolt, finding her covers on the floor and her pillow nearly there itself. Flopping back into the bed she ran a hand through her tangled hair muttering a soft damn at the clock. Nearly twenty minutes later she was still there, wide awake, still unable to recall what had awaken her so abruptly.

So she started running through things in her mind. She was awake at this point anyways.

Yesterday had been fruitless. There was too much going on, but not enough for her to get involved with yet. She was a field agent, not a desk jockey. And Rose was too engaged to speak with, given the train incident that they were certain was caused by the Dark Shadows.

So she'd picked up a hotel and settled in. Relentlessly bored, she'd take to starting Tokyo Ghoul, having been interested in the anime for a while now but never finding the time (or motivation) to begin. She'd been hooked from episode one and had finally gotten herself to sleep not long after midnight.

Rubbing her eyes, she started her morning routine.

Shower. Handle her hair. Brush her teeth. Start some coffee. Make breakfast.

She'd made it to the coffee when she pulled out her laptop and logged into The Guildserv. She looked at it occasionally, every few months or so. And honestly, she was just bored.

After skimming a bunch of crap as she sipped at her coffee she paused in the middle of lifting her mug.

"No. It can't be. Can it?" She murmured, staring at a post from one in the morning.

It had to be. There's no other explanation. That's... That's her. It has to be...

Her mug clanged on the table as she set it down quickly, pushing it away as her hand shook slightly.

With a shake of her head to move the hair out of her eyes, Elena started typing quickly.

---

---

Elena hit Send on her first post on The Guildserv, ever, releasing pent up breath. When had she started holding her breath?

This had to be her old friend. She wanted - no, needed - it to be.

And only her friend would understand the hidden messages in the post, the details of their powers and shared experiences, of Elena's own location in New York.

She sat there for a while before reminding herself she needed breakfast, her laptop open behind her.

---

Oak slowly waddled along the relatively quiet New York Streets, his eyes periodically flicking between the path ahead and the map displayed on his phone. On more than one occasion his multitasking caused him to bump into another bystander or cross clumsily into someone’s way. What a tourist. He thanked the gods of technology though, for without google maps there was no way that he would have found that bar.

“The Musketeers” he exhaled with relief as he finally set his eyes on the place. He doubled checked the photos that Melisa, his target, had posted the night before and confirmed that he was indeed at the right venue. The place had a more traditional style, and almost reminded him of the pubs he was used. A wall sign with three crossed swords hung suspended off the wall just by the unmonitored front-door. The windows were mostly obscured by royal blue curtains, a typical way of hiding how quiet a place could be (though it did not take much effort to gaze through if one really wanted to). Walking inside Oak found the place relatively empty, with at most a dozen patrons. Perhaps not surprising considering it was a Tuesday night, but at least it meant it would be easier to survey.

“Could I get a pint of stella please?” Oak asked the bored looking barman as he took a seat on one of the many tall wooden stools lining the marble bar. A row of taps sat before him, mostly advertising beers and ales that he was unfamiliar with.

The barman, a lanky looking hipster with ironically large glasses and a man-bun, raised an eyebrow in response to the request and he sluggishly dragged himself over. “Sorry, we don’t sell that.”

“Erm… Could I get a bud then?” Oak replied, trying to think of the most ‘American Beer’ he knew of. The bartender clearly didn’t like that brand either and rolled his eyes in response before typing the order onto the till and turning around the car machine for his customer. What a dick.

Once he got his drink, Oak didn’t bother trying to make conversation and instead found himself a quiet corner to sit in whilst he logged onto the bar’s wifi and carried on his digital stalking. Looking over the profiles of Melisa’s new friends, it was obvious that this place was a regular drinking hole for them. It seemed unlikely that they would just happen to come in tonight, especially having been here the night before, but until any the persons of interest posted anything fresher, waiting around the bar was the best course of action. He’d just have to sit and wait.



You know what’s not fun? Slowly nursing five bottles of bud over a four hour period in a dead-bar with no company.

Oak futilely rubbed his darkened eyes in an attempt to rid himself of his tiredness – and for a moment it seemed to work, before a long yawn seemed to throw him back into sleepiness. He could not sit here any longer, and the place would be closing soon anyway. He had wasted the night, and although it wasn’t like he had anything else better to do, he could not help but feel disappointed. He took a big breath before standing, allowing him to accidentally get a waft of body odour from another nearby patron. He grimaced slightly and headed for the door, his hands already reaching for his pack of cigarettes.

His leads might not have shown up that night, but he knew it was likely they would eventually. It was a bit of solace at least. Oak was not so prepared to spend his nights there though, but fortunately for him he would not need to. Having left the premise, Oak wandered over to one of the windows and placed his hand flat against it for a few seconds. The dark eye mark on a transparent surface like this would let him get a good view of both the inside and outside of the bar, so he could observe from elsewhere.

With that done he lent back against the wall and placed a cigarette in his mouth. He looked around with a hint of caution before using his pyromancy, but there wasn’t a great deal of footfall – at least not on his side of the street. There was a girl in multi-coloured clothing sitting on a bench opposite, but Oak doubted she would notice anything from where she was. It only took a light pinch between his index finger and his thumb (and some concentration of course) for a small spark to set alight the dried paper, and in moments he was inhaling sweet toxins. Wisps of grey rose in front of his eyes as he enjoyed the first toke. Satisfied, he then began the long walk back to his accommodation.

Out in the bustling streets of New York, Olivia noted that while many people stood around the shop windows to watch coverage of the train explosion, many more just kept on with their day. The speculations seemed to linger around this being a terrorist attack of some sort, but of course there was no mention of the chance of magic. How could people be so blind? It frustrated her.

She was the sort of non-magic user who was ready for full disclosure - for both magic and non-magic alike to live together freely. There was so much to learn and achieve from this. Still, few people agreed. She wondered what the political situation in the magic world was like. What was their protocol for this attack. Sadly this was a world that was hidden behind a veil, and she might not ever get to peep behind it, and certainly never step behind it.

As she paced towards the subway, she began to see a crowd of disgruntled commuters leaving the station - and then she saw the sign. The subway was being closed. A precaution until they had dealt with the situation in Jefferson National Forest. She supposed that yes, the subway lines of New York City were certainly not safe against magical users. It was too far to walk home, but she had left the office. If she could get to a cafe with WiFi she might be able to squeeze in a visit to her forum and even accompany it with a latte or two.



She took the frothy hot drink from the barista before taking a seat by the window, her laptop booting up as she took the first sip. There was a flyer at her table about an art auction in the city this evening. She was to be there, representing her company who had been a sponsor in the event. She knew that Rose was going to be there - not that Olivia would see her. She'd be in the back, taking requests for information and details from any of the attendees who were interested in the company's service. She might even get roped in to packaging the art work too.

It would be a boring evening though, and most likely dampened heavily after the events of today. At least she got to wear a nice dress though; paid for by the company too! She remembered the executive who had chosen her and several other women from various departments, his exact words had been "you look very nice, at least for someone who works in the laboratories." A backhanded compliment if ever she had heard one.

As expected, her friends were going wild over the news and were already speculating on who the strange man was. One user had theorised it was the leader of a faction who wanted to wipe out all humans... Olivia chuckled at the thought. "You watch too many movies my friend..." she muttered as she took another sip, staring out of the window and into the streets. She wondered just how many of the people walking past were gifted.

It was now 6 hours until the event. She would have to think about getting ready soon, with the subways shut down she'd have to take a cab to her apartment... This changed the course of the day indeed.

The two doors opened up, and advancing through them was the isolationist individual. "Your seat sir", said one of the staff members, pointing out the value of his position.

Coriptus took his seat, and simply said, "thank you, if you'd like to get me a glass of lemonade that would be much appreciated." He was left alone, with only the view of the main floor below to accompany him.

Coriptus liked seeing the stage set up, there was an elegance to their construction that he couldn't help but find attractive. The blood, sweat, and tears in even a small aspect was attractive; effort displaying itself to the world. In this case, the 'world' was in actuality a gathering of wealthy upper-class business men with deep pockets and little sense. Property was the showcase of wealth, something Coriptus wasn't shy of acquiring as evident by his Homestead, but this particular performance was to be a pantomime between one man, and a good chunk of the audience.

Auctions are interesting in the behaviour between the catalyst and the reaction, with the noise sometimes being inaudible yet understandable based on pure numbers of increasing value. See something you like, be ready to shout or hold up a sign. Feuds spawn between individuals demanding certain items, value skyrockets, and the victor gains the spoils with only their accounts losing something of worth. This particular auction was, on the surface, to be no different, but one item of importance had cropped up and needed to be secured. The arrival advantage was to serve it's purpose, to see the item delivered, and verify it's existence.

In the meantime, there was someone he needed to meet, someone he sent summons to. It was time to meet Paulie Cooper, and so he waits.