Location: Duncaster Streets.
Time: 5:00 PM.

---

Vitius let out a loud grunt as he peered out onto the sidewalk from a dark alleyway, watching the crowds pass by on their way to the first ever Duncaster Unity Celebration. He hadn't heard too much, being far more preoccupied with getting as far away from that plastic tool shed he'd been trapped in for the last couple of hours and its irate owners, but from what he had overheard the celebration taking place around the Unity Monument was supposed to help put to rest the maelstrom of controversy over its initial construction back in 1903. In all honesty though, the debates and bad blood surrounding the statue didn't concern him all that much. If living out three-hundred years of history had taught him anything, it was that people-normal or not-would always find something to fight over, be it resources or personal beliefs. No, what bothered him more than anything on this fine night was Colin's sudden appearance. Although he didn't devote much thought to it while wandering Hell, he had been thinking the whole situation over while waiting out the sun in that plastic box. The entire thing was puzzling to say the least. Last he'd seen his "companion" was on the night he'd left, meaning he should have died by now, yet here the man was alive and well three-hundred years later, seemingly without having aged all that much during that time.

He'd tried figuring out just how the ranger had been able to come this far into the future without any sort of supernatural or mystical form of immortality, but to no avail. Although he did have one possible solution, which was more of a theory than anything else at this point, and that was the potential use of teleportation magics. A mishap with rituals such as those involved with moving oneself or others throughout space could certainly account for the disorientation on Colin's part, or at least that's what he reasoned anyway, but that still didn't give him anything concrete nor did it tell him why the man would be messing about with such forces to begin with. From everything he'd seen, the ranger would have trusted in the strength of a wooden stick over mystical rituals and vague seances. While this was something Vitius himself could respect, to a certain degree anyway, it did not help make solving this any easier. There was the man's mentions of a Samael character though, and from what Vitius had been able to piece together from their very brief encounter the malevolent sounding figure in question seemed to have a wealth of magical power as well as a vast network of servants, at least if Colin's insane accusations were anything to go off of anyway. Could he have been the reason Colin was here? But if that were the case then how? Had the man figured out some way to send people through time or make them immortal without them knowing?

Vitius shook his head. There were too many questions and not nearly enough information with which to begin answering them. Leaving those thoughts behind Vitius turned his attention back to the busy world around him and stepped out onto the sidewalk, still clad in his plate armor. Ignoring most of the curious looks he got from various passerby along with the odd cry praising his cosplay, the old vampire slowly made his way to the monument and by extension the festival he knew would be taking place there. After all city officials had made certain to plaster fliers of the event all across the damn city. Why he must have passed at least six on his way here, each of them advertising free food for humans and supernatural entities alike, as well as fun, music, and fireworks.

A loud boom shakes the sky before fading away with a vibrant flash of red light.

Lots of fireworks.

To be fair though, after huddling in the darkest corner of a tool shed that smelled of musty grease, grime, and metal, he'd built up quite the appetite. And currently the closest source of fresh blood was sitting in the carts being wheeled out onto the freshly cut lawn in front of the monument. So, pushing his way through the crowds of people, Vitius quickly made his way through the busy streets and towards the waterfront where the celebration was taking place, eager to get his hands on some blood sausage or a freshly made blood soup.

---

Feeling the chill of an iced drink against his fingertips, Aiden’s dark eyes turned towards the respectably large windows offering view of outside spectacles. The angel had scarcely understood this celebration, in the past. However, the scenario was vastly different at this moment in time. He had come across a Red Hood, scared and alone. A traveler in time, and fracture in space. The concept was foreign to Aiden, which was perhaps understandable, but time itself was becoming more of a distant memory than an all encompassing force. He stood outside the grip of seconds, hours, and days, which was a new reality that he could do little but accept. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rose spoke, her voice breaking Aiden out of his thoughts. “A philosophical battle, and a physical one.”

”I’m not too read up on this,” Aiden offered, raising his fruit-mixed drink for a sip. If there was a time where he wanted to let alcohol take center stage and shroud his mind, this was surely it. Not a moment passed without images of his failure flashing by. However, at nineteen years of age, no bartender worth their merits would offer him such a beverage. If they did, the result would be lackluster, indeed. Alcohol had no effect on the boy, his angelic frame dispelling such impurities.

“It’s an interesting story,” Rose continued, and exhaled a soft breath. “The Red Hoods made a big difference, if controversial,” she motioned towards the crowd separated from them by polished glass. “It would be interesting to meet a Red Hood today. I wonder what they were like.”

Unable to hide a small, knowing smile crossing his slender lips, Aiden turned his head towards the monument. His experiences with the Red Hoods weren’t nearly as bombastic as Rose would have hoped. A smelly, dirty, damaged, and exhausted young man with no manners, and less trust. Perhaps the other ‘Hoods’, as he had called them, were more accommodating. ”I am sure they were just people, Rose.”

With a slight chuckle, the young woman leaned back in her seat, offering Aiden a roll of her eyes. “Well, naturally,” she smirked. “But people are more than we give them credit for.” Indeed, she was correct. A skeptical view of the crowd gathering beyond the safety of a bar interior was not unique, but cynicism aside, Duncaster had reached its splendor due to none other than its inhabitants. “What would you say to a Red Hood, if you ever met one?”

”You stink, take a shower,” the Angel casually professed. Of course, Rose could not possibly puzzle together what the boy had meant. However, her laughter did indicate a certain level of understanding.

“People did bathe back in the day, Aiden,” she informed. “Far more often than we give them credit for.”

”Since when did you become such a Red Hood fan?” Aiden asked, drumming his small fingers against the lacquered surface of their table.

“I’ve always been a fan,” the girl shrugged, “it’s just hard to talk about, since we’re never alone.”

Yes, that was quite the conundrum, but one Aiden was not opposed to. What did Rose expect this evening to amount in? Another kiss, an embrace, or something far more passionate? It was simply another layer of frustration aching in the back of the boy’s mind. He would need to tell her the truth, eventually. He would need to tell them all the truth. There was only so much he could do when governing a company he cared nothing for. ”Are you going to start them up, again?” Aiden asked, earning another soft giggle from the girl in front of him.

“You’re silly,” she sipped her drink, before gently shaking her head. “Though, with the whole vampire mess going around, perhaps we need a good Supernatural Police.”

”Yeah it.., can be difficult for them to behave,” the Angel offered, releasing a heavy sigh. Difficult, as in summoning a demon, which was now his responsibility. How many people would die because of him? It was impossible to tell, but a few things needed to change, and one of them was his position as a rich man’s kid. With time, Aiden would be forced to weigh his standing. The wrathful Angel, or the insecure human.

The evening had begun to settle in, its humid embrace surrounding the pedestrians on the sidewalk. A sleek and pristine sedan that oozed with classic extravagance slowly rolled to a stop across the way of a QuikStop. It's boxy exterior was coated in shiny black paint that perfectly reflected the images of its surroundings. It would take a magnifying glass to try and find any evidence of dirt on the vehicle. Tinted windows concealed the faces of any occupants within the back seat, but at least one passenger was revealed when the suicide door clicked open.

Emerging from the immaculate vessel stood a trim, yet clearly athletic young man of slightly above average height. Donned in a white shirt and a black jacket, he seemed dressed quite casually for traveler in that specific carriage. He pushed the door shut, leaving his driver to keep the engine running while he made his way across the street toward the humming florescent lights of the convenient store.

A chime sounded off overhead as the glass door opened and the young man entered. He looked to the shopkeep, an elderly fellow who had probably worked that counter for most of his adult life, and gave a small nod of acknowledgement before turning down one of the aisles toward the freezers in the back. There was soft music playing through old speakers in an attempt to give the store some pleasant ambiance, but the melody soon ended and the voice of a radio D.J. took its place. As he looked through the glass doors at the various alcoholic offerings of this franchised establishment, the young man stared with hesitation seemingly unsatisfied with anything he was looking at.

"...that's right, Ken. It's happening right now at the Unity Monument off the waterfront. The Red Hoods certainly had a colorful place in history when..."

The Red Hoods, he thought to himself, catching the words being broadcast. He didn't even try to prevent his eyes from rolling at the thought. His family had passed down tall tales about the Hoods' alleged adventures from centuries ago. Warriors whose excrement smelt of roses who could make the Devil sweat with just a stare. With a huff of laughter, he finally opened one of the freezer doors and leaned in to grab a pack of ale, deciding to settle for what was available so he could move on with his night. As he walked back to the counter, he couldn't help but think on the Hoods some more. Would-be heroes with pointy weapons charged to fend off the worst that Evil had to offer. That's the thing with telling a story from one person to another. Embellishments were certain. More likely this group of jerks were running around claiming to kill zombies when really they just found themselves in a colony of lepers, or burning immigrants from far away lands as witches because they spoke in tongues. And here the town was conglomerating and recognizing their deeds of so-called valor. Whatever. Even still, curiosity tickled at the back of his mind. Might be interesting to see how this Unity Celebration was going to paint their sordid crimson history.

He was just a few more paces from the shopkeep when the overhead chime played once more, announcing the entrance of more patrons. He was sure the toll had become such a common sound to the clerk that he probably didn't even hear it anymore after all these years. One thing was sure, however. Both the young man and the keep most definitely heard what came next.

"GABE, STAY AT THE DOOR! NO ONE MOVE OR I'LL FILL YOU WITH HOLES!" As he turned his head, his eyes fell on three individuals with dark jeans, dirty hoodies and bandannas over their faces. The one shouting was surprisingly slender man for a person who appeared to be in charge. In one hand was an open backpack while the other gripped tightly onto a petite revolver of questionable quality. To his side was a husky woman of short stature, her hands empty but her fingers splayed. She pointed her palms at both the young man and the older gentleman behind the counter, the latter of whom looked like he was mere moments away from having a stroke. He wished he could calm the old fella down, but he was hardly in a position to do that effectively. The third, the appointed doorman, was a morbidly obese guy who might have only just recently graduated from his teenage years. In an attempt to be intimidating, he curled his fingers into animalistic claws and raised them up as if he were prepared to lunge upon anyone who failed to fall in line with their commands. A werewolf, the young man deduced, despite the fact that the crook's form was still still very much human. And a spellcaster... and a.... The gunman was harder to pinpoint, but of the small about of fleshy canvas he allowed to show between the bandanna and the hood, it was clear he had a particularly pale complexion. Vamp. Such a progressive group.

"You!" the vampire pointed at the shop keeper. "Open that register now!" He shoved the backpack into his thick accomplice's chest and gave her a nod to go fetch. She complied eagerly, almost skipping over to the terrified man, opening up the bag and presenting it as a child would on Halloween after exclaiming 'Trick or Treat'. "And you, Pretty boy! Let's see that wallet!"

Pretty Boy just stood there for a moment, taking it all in. She's got her back to me, he silently noted of the girl at the counter. He's distracted, he observed of the wolf who kept looking out the glass entrance to the streets, trying to make sure there wasn't anyone bound to come inside. And he's only got 6 shots in that thing, he thought finally of the vampire with the revolver.

"Right." With that, Pretty Boy hurled the pack of alcohol straight at the vampire. He didn't wait to see if the throw connected. As soon as the pack left his hand, the young man shot forward in a crouched charge. The vampire's eyes went wide and the first bullet screamed forward with a bang. The hot lead met one of the cold cans of brew and suddenly the liquid exploded out like a miniature firework, aiding slightly in shrouding the young man's aggressive advance. The other two crooks were just beginning to turn their heads toward the action when Pretty Boy's shoulder met Pale Boy's stomach. Another stray shot fired off into the ceiling as the vampire went down with a hard thud against the tiled floor. Using the bloodsucker's shock to his advantage, the young man grabbed at the snub nosed gun and twisted it loose from the vamp's grip. A very human snarl erupted from the fat werewolf as it finally realized what was happening. He ripped off his bandanna to reveal his absolutely normal bared teeth and sprung forward to execute a tackle of his own.

With the vampire pinned underneath him and the gun now in his possession, Pretty Boy smoothly swung the weapon out and stopped with methodical abruptness when the front sight was aligned with the wolf's left knee. Two shots then went out, eviscerating the lycan's kneecap and shattering the glass door that stood behind him. The big guy, too, soon found himself on the ground in a growing pool of blood.

This is going pretty well, the young man thought to himself, his attention falling back on the vampire pinned underneath him. Before he could do anything else, however, he suddenly felt his weight lightening as if gravity, itself, was abandoning him. The sight of the vampire was growing further away as he realized he was beginning to float upward from the ground and into midair. With a sideways glance, he saw the open backpack tossed haphazardly on the ground and beside it was the husky witch, her eyes ablaze and her palm pointed directly at him, a mystical energy channeled through them and taking hold of his person. The vampire below scurried off to the side before climbing to his feet. Crows feet formed around his eyes which could only mean one thing. The bastard was smiling behind that mask.

Now he was in a pickle. Suspended and hardly able to move, the bloodsucker finally felt secure enough to approach and pry his gun out from the young man's fingers, taking back the upper hand. A bead of sweat escaped the young man's brow as his gaze shifted between the two robbers who could still manage to stand. The vamp aimed the gun directly at Pretty Boy's head and pulled back the hammer.

"That was a huge mistake, motherfucker!" he proclaimed. In all honesty, the young man was not all too sure he could disagree. He thought as quickly as he could, but his options were nearly out. He couldn't move, he was unarmed and at the mercy of a blood sucking asshole and his magic slinging girlfriend. Oh well. It was an interesting ride, he thought, reflecting, trying to comfort himself.

That thought was immediately interrupted when he heard a metallic thud and then quickly became reacquainted with gravity and, subsequently, the tiled floor. Rolling over on his side, he looked to see the witch our cold on the ground with the shopkeeper standing defiantly with a metal baseball bat slung over his shoulder. The vampire looked, too, and his eyebrows furrowed in rage before changing his aim to the old man.

"You fucking son of a-!" Before he could finish the sentence, Pretty Boy sweeped the vampire's leg, bringing him crashing down to his level once more. He crawled on top of the bloodsucker yet again, but he had to move fast. This hellish thing in a mansuit was capable of feats of strength that far surpassed his own, so the young man attacked him in a way that strength wouldn't factor in. In a fit of violent aggression, he plunged both of his thumbs into the vamp's eyes. It felt like two grapes frivolously resisting at first until finally they burst, covering his digits in warm, sticky fluid. The blood sucker screamed out, his arms waving frantically. Pretty Boy took advantage of the panic and seized the gun yet again before being thrown off, the vampire utilizing his supernatural strength to roll like an alligator having a seizure.

Pretty Boy stood up, revolver in hand and surveyed the room. Witch was snoozing but could wake at any moment. The vampire was spastic and blind, but was still certainly dangerous. The werewolf... well it didn't seem like he was going anywhere any time soon. In fact, there were still two bullets left. That thought in mind, the young man shot out the kneecaps of the vampire and the witch as well before tossing the empty gun to the shopkeep. The resulting ruckus was to be expected.

"Sorry bout all that, mate," he called back as he made his way down the familiar aisle over to the freezers once more, grabbing a replacement pack of booze before returning to the counter again. He put the beer on the counter and pulled out his wallet. The clerk stood there dumbfounded for a second. "Seein' as how I'm leavin' a bit of a mess, you think this should cover everythin?" He then left ten very large bills on the counter. The old man's gaping mouth curled up in one corner at the sight of the cash and Pretty Boy knew his offering had been accepted. With a wink and a click of his mouth, the young man took his leave, stepping over the whaling werewolf and through the door of broken glass. A crowd had already begun to form outside at the spectacle. "Someone might wanna call the authorities," he loudly suggested to them all. "They aren't gonna stay down forever."

As he approached the vehicle that he came in, the driver side window rolled down revealing a clean shaved middle aged man in a suit and a Chauffeur's cap. Beer still in hand, the young man gave a very dramatic shrug as if to say 'where the hell were you during all of that?!'

"Sorry, Finn. It seemed you had things under control and I didn't want to spoil your fun," he explained flatly.

"Ya, ya," Finn accepted sarcastically, knowing the truth; his driver was a damn coward. "Just get me to the Unity thing, you fookin dobber."

---

Despite not getting enough sleep the previous night, Kassandra took herself out to the celebratory event. She went alone, avoiding the topic with just about anyone whom she had conversed with that day in order to dodge any level of commitment. She stood near the small crowd that had gathered in front of one of the vendors, listening to the various conversation highlights as she slowly sipped on her drink. Kassandra could have easily settled for a quiet night in, or maybe she could have gone back to the bar for a few rounds of pool, but such distractions wouldn't have been all that effective.

She stood in the same spot after ordering her second round. Since she knew one of the staff members, there was practically no juice mixed in her drink. But she had a high tolerance for alcohol given her profession, which more often than not served as curse more so than a blessing. Kassandra had skipped a meal earlier that day, and that, coupled with the diminishing tolerance for the neighboring group, prompted her to suddenly walk off to grab something to eat

Exploring the grounds a bit more thoroughly, she learned the layout quite easily. She walked back to the cafe before she heard her name being called. In response, Kassandra turned around to face the familiar voice.

"Detective Carson, what are the odds of meeting so soon?"

"Enjoying yourself, Kassandra?" he gestured at her drink with a slight nod, his voice carrying a friendlier tone than when she'd last spoken to him the previous evening.

"Yeah, something like that."

"I apologize ahead of time for having to be the bearer of bad news, but we need you for an assignment. The other individual backed out and we don't have anyone else."

"But I've been drinking..."

"Yes, I see that. You won't be going anywhere though, it's all happening within these grounds. Give me 20 minutes and then meet me behind the food carts."

Kassandra stared at him for a moment trying to wrap her head around his words. To say the encounter was strange was an understatement.

"Yeah sure, see you then," she waved, quickly heading back the way she came.

---

The remainder of Thane's day involved battling his splitting headache, so much so that he nearly forgot what the night held in store. Luckily enough the skull piercing pain dulled by the time the festivities began. He did his best to make himself presentable in a crowd, a difficult task with such a lovely facial feature covering most of his charming self but he made do and was a far cry from the mess of the previous night events.

Drinking was off the table for the night, he wanted to avoid a round two with his head until a later date. Instead he simply went to the cafe next door to the bar ordering himself a coffee to help kill the little bit of pain that still remained. Once coffee in hand he made his way around the celebrations area, occasionally mingling with a fellow wolves he might of recognized be from coworkers at the club he worked or drinking and fighting buddies. Pleasantries were exchanged with occasional gossip, a far less exciting night but a calmness that Thane welcomed while he walked about.

Sleep never came. With his associate snoring on the couch in the livingroom and Kiri being given her privacy in the man's bedroom, Zeke found himself sitting in a chair in the miniature dining area, just staring at the door. His thoughts were going out in several directions. He still wanted answers from Kiri, but knew the shock of their present circumstance was enough to overload anyone's grasp of reality. He needed to give her space. Let her come to terms with her new situation and then ease back into figuring out the mystery of how all of this is possible and what it truly means about Samael and what he may have brought with him in his escape through time.

His other thoughts hovered around his mission. Aldo has assigned him to a task. It was a means of proving himself to the powers that be who controlled the majority of Duncaster's underworld. Though the Red Hoods were officially no more, Zeke still lived by a code, even if he had to do it alone. With the recent appearance of Kiri, maybe that, too, will change. One must keep the horses in front of the carriage, as it were, which means that the first thing was first: It was time to abandon sentry duty start making some moves.

As Zeke left the apartment, squinted at the rays of sun booming down from overhead. He had lost track of time and the day was already well underway. Part of that was good. It means that there would be less to worry about in leaving Kiri behind, if only momentarily. She was hardly helpless. The Kiri he knew was a one woman army. But he never knew a Kiri that had asthmatic fits... With a small huff, he solidified his decision and began walking toward the street's sidewalk. He never could find many vehicles that could comfortably accommodate his size so he had become accustomed to using what Nature... God... the Devil... he used what he was given.

Vance Maxwell, he mentally repeated the name to himself. He didn't know the man, but he knew the name. Whole some modern werewolves tend to embrace independence, most with the curse have a natural urge to cluster together with those who share said curse. It's a natural instinct, a method of survival used since the beginning of time. They huddle together in packs to protect eachother and take on goals too large for any singular animal. Duncaster had a variety of packs with all different motivations. One that that is like to them all, however, is that they are led by a singular individual who was either born superior and have proven superiority with tooth and fang. This leader was known as the Alpha Wolf. While you could easily lose count of the werewolves that inhabited the city, the true Alphas could be counted on one's fingers with the assistance of a toe or two. They are, by definition, the strongest, most ferocious of the bunch and come with an inherent notoriety. Vance Maxwell was no exception.

By day, he's just like anyone else. A family man and small business owner, Vance runs Maxwell Motors where he sells and repairs used cars. By night, the man was a leader of a cult-like pack of monsters who were just itching for a little chaos while also presumably doing their part to help their kin survive. Where they met up at night to go over these devious plans, Zeke wasn't sure. But nighttime was still a ways off. Now, at this hour, the grand wolf had a fair hunch at where to check first.


"I told you, sir, Vance is not in today," the lady at the reception desk said, trying to balance a stern tone with a soft delivery. Her blue jeans and collared red shirt reinforced the casual atmosphere of the office, despite the fact that they were moving tens of thousands of dollars on a weekly basis. Meanwhile Zeke stood towering in his plain black t-shirt and black slacks secured by an ebon belt with a gold buckle.

"Who's his second in command," Zeke let the question rumble out of his throat.

"His what," she shot back, seemingly dumbfounded. "You mean the vice president?" Zeke stared her down for a moment as if trying to decide if the suggestion was a trick or a joke at his expense.

"Sure," he answered finally, his eyes narrowing into slits, showcasing his shrinking patience. The receptionist then picked up her phone and pressed a few buttons before turning her back to the visitor and whispering into the receiver, covering her mouth as she did so to maintain some sort of confidentiality. Little did she know he could hear every word. The curse also came with some gifts. When she was done, she hung up the phone and looked back to the giant.

"Mr. Maxwell will see you now. Please, follow me." As she stood up and began walking away, Zeke's eyebrow raised up before he followed suit.

"I thought you said Vance was out," he reminded as he matched her pace down a hallway toward an office door.

"I did," she admitted as she opened one of two doors at the end of the hallway. "Vance Maxwell is not here. This is his vice president and son, Mark Maxwell." She stepped out of the doorway and Zeke peered in. He found himself looking as a very lightly decorated office with bland white wall, a few chairs made of wood and fake leather, and a cheaply constructed desk make to look like it was built of oak. On the other side of it was a man in a three piece blue business suit. He was trim and freshly groomed. Definitely looks like he controlled more of the sales floor than the workshop.

"Thank you, Carla," he said as he stood up before gesturing to one of the empty chairs. "Please, come in. I hear you're looking for my old man, but perhaps I can be of assistance." Zeke turned his gaze to Carla until she took her leave. He then entered the room, shutting the door behind him and taking an awkward seat in an uncomfortable chair. "Name's Mark," he reiterated, extending his hand for a shake. "How can I help you, uh..."

"I need to see your father. I need to discuss business with him." Zeke made no attempt to take the hand so Mark hesitantly brought it back to himself before sitting down once more.

"I assure you I'm authorized to make business decisions in his absence," Mark tried to assure him. "You've got a car you want to sell to us or something?"

"No." After the word, Zeke let the silence permeate for just a moment, building power behind his next words. "I have other business with him. Business he would likely be more comfortable dealing with tonight." At this Mark sat back a little further in his chair and began to look upon Zeke with increased suspicion.

"Who are you?" he asked finally, almost accusing him of wrong doing with his tone alone.

"Kin," was the sole answer. His lips bared back and he allowed his unnaturally sharp teeth to present themselves before hiding them once more.

"I see..." The suspicion hadn't left Mark's voice. If anything, it was amplified. "Do you have a phone number... brother?"

A phone call wouldn't suffice. Zeke shook his head and leaned in. "He needs to meet me. If it'll make him feel more comfortable, he can wait until dusk. Then I want to see him on the bridge by the River Dunne. All I want to do is talk." Mark considered and was about to continue their conversation but Zeke abruptly stood from his chair and walked out. There was nothing more that needed to be said. He was sure Mark would deliver the message and even more sure that Vance's curiosity would get the best of him. As he left the office and started down the sidewalk again, he heard a monstrous growl. He looked down at his stomach. It was clearly trying to tell him something.

Just visible through the grimy car window, the oily slick of the River Dunne curved through the Duncaster like a scar. Jagged and black with night, pimpled with streetlights and the occasional ferry, it was more human than it was water, fenced in by concrete flood walls, under control, but barely. Some people would’ve thought it sad - nature caged up and trapped, no different than a lion in a zoo, or circus animals back when that was still legal, but Anna couldn’t help but stare. Right now, the River Dunne was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Return…

The voice was kind, soft. Only good things waited. A feeling like home, relief from the itching, crawling sensation that crept across her skin. All she had to do was unbuckle her seatbelt, open the door, return…

“Anna.” her father’s voice, she snapped to attention. His knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel, the rest of his skin was red and blistered. Peeling like a sunburn. Worse. It had to be driving him mad. It drove her mad.

Cold air blasted from the little grate over the glove box, the radio blasted some of her dads metal, she watched him mouthing the words to himself.

Return…

The bridge had suicide railings, the car doors were child locked. She buried her hands in her hoodie, the feeling of the fabric burned, but she couldn’t bear the sight of her poor skin, reached to turn the radio off.

Her dad stopped her, his hand on her arm hurt so she shrugged away.

“I said no.”

“I can’t think-”

“Good.” His voice was acid. Not more than the quiet return…

The water was a soothing balm. Rain after a drought. A cool tap on a hot pan.

A red light stood out against the black of the road ahead, and the car started to slow. Anna’s dad’s knuckles grew paler. The water glimmered beneath the bridge. Dark and promising - there was a whole world under there, she just had to RETURN.

Glass smashed. Blood ran down her fist. The window spilled out across the shining road.

“Anna-”

RETURN

Her hoodie slipped off her shoulders, bunched up in her dad’s hand. Broken glass tore rivers into her skin - arms, belly, thighs. Out. She had to get out. Hands gripped her legs. Strong. She kicked, pushed, toppled out onto damp concrete.

“Anna! Anna get back here!”

RETURN. RETURN. RETURN. RETU-

Cold iron. She pulled herself up, up, up- barbs dug into her palms but she couldn’t feel it. Everything just itched.

Below her, the river stretched out.

“Anna please!”

Her dad was on the ground still. She could see it in his posture, the way his fists balled up, muscles taut. He wanted to come too.

“Come with me.”

A slow head shake. His eyes shone.

It wouldn’t be long before he changed his mind.

RETURN

The river reached up to greet her.

Repeating in his mind were his objectives and he mentally sorted and resorted their levels of priorities, not quite sure how best to tackle the tasks. On the one hand, he was closed to the meeting spot he chose to pass along to the Maxwells. On the other hand, the sun was already beginning to set and he had left Kiri behind hours ago without checking back in on her. And then, of course, there was always the matter of hunting down Samael. Perhaps his elevated status within the underworld would lead to a wider network of information, a way for him to better track the rogue wizard's whereabouts. And when he finds Samael, maybe that will lead him to a way to help Kiri get back to her world of yesteryear, the world Zeke had already lived through and left behind.

In contemplating the possibility, he couldn't help but theorize about time travel and how it would affect his own history and the future that he currently lived in. His earshot began to fill with jovial commotion, prompting him to look down the street upon which he was walking and take in the sights of a growing crowd amidst newly erected festive structures. The Duncaster Unity Festival. He looked upon small children wearing red hoods and holding hotdogs, teenagers with werewolf masks and others with vampire makeup. He could spot the authentic specimens that were peppered within the crowd as well, all of whom appeared to share varying degrees of interest in this celebration that took the lore of the Red Hoods and capitalized on it in an attempt to bring all of the diverse species that made up the citizens of Duncaster and unite them together for at least one night.

Zeke's stomach growled again. His previous conundrum of how to prioritize his objectives was suddenly straightened out by his hunger. Food first. Food is right by the river... Maxwell second. After completing his task he could report back his success and finally be one step away from the criminal kingpin of Duncaster, who could hopefully point him in the direction of Samael who would either help Kiri or die... that's third.

Franks A Lot, he read as he approached one of the food cart. Hotdogs were easy enough. As he made his way to the front of the queue, a husky, balding man inside of the trailer poked his head out and said, "What'll it be, big guy?"

"Five," Zeke said.

"Five?" the cook repeated, seemingly dubious. "Five what?" he gave a nod toward the menu plastered on the side of the trailer.

"I don't care. Just give me five." The cook squinted his eyes for a minute and forced himself to get passed the strange order and got to work. Minutes later, he produced five franks dressed in a variety of ways. Zeke slipped him a couple of large notes and left, forfeiting his change. After four massive bites, he was down to just three hotdogs left. He decided to take those and sit on the curb of the street, his eyes glued to the waterfront as he waited for Vance Maxwell to show up.

There was a part of Anna that wanted to stay here forever; warm and sleepy, floating in the moment after sinking and before waking. Where here was, she didn’t know or particularly care to find out. What mattered was the gentle thumb rubbing circles into her temple, head pillowed in somebody’s lap, heavy blanket tucked under her chin. This wasn’t the dead weight of her father’s mechanical embrace. It wasn't hurried words in the dark whilst her skin itched or the cold click of a seat belt, ripping her away from the only thing that would grant relief.

If she stayed here for long enough, in this warm, in-between place, the before might just float away. Lost.

It was a fantasy. Anna was old enough to know by now that the only things that went away were the good ones.

She cracked open her eyes, and the grey afternoon light quickly swept away what remained of the blissful, semi-conscious haze. She was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar living room. The room’s owner seemed to be more preoccupied with collecting ugly porcelain birds than they were with cleanliness or organisation, and it showed. Dust collected visibly on surfaces, ran in a long line across the fireplace. Eventually, it gathered in the crook between the ears of a doleful looking tabby curled atop an over-filled bookcase.

The animal blinked lazily at her and leapt to the floor, and it took everything Anna had not to jump. She’d been convinced it was just another ornament, frozen in time, no different than the faded sparrows or hand-painted peacocks lining the room. Instead, it shot Anna a parting glare, before swiftly retreating through a door that had been left slightly ajar.

The thumb, which had just swept a strand of hair from Anna’s face, stilled. After a few moments, “Anna?”

Electric familiarity pushed Anna up into a seated position, the blanket falling away from her shoulders, taking most of the warmth with it. Cool, musty air drew goosebumps across Anna’s bare arms, but it didn’t bother her. All she could do was stare.

Dark, almond shaped eyes, far prettier than Anna’s own. Soft curls that grazed her chin but no lower. Lips, nose, the smattering freckles that brushed the woman’s cheeks - these features were infinitely recognisable. After all, they were almost identical to the ones Anna saw in the mirror every day.

Anna hadn’t seen her sister, Matilda, in over a year, and now she was less than a metre away.

“Matty?” the name was a ghost, and her tongue tripped briefly over its strange form.

Matty grinned, and something in her chest eased ever so slightly. This was her sister. Anna had spent months after they left screaming and crying and begging to go back, dreamt of this very moment every single night. Every time she saw a woman with the right shape, or the right colours, or the right smell, she was surprised when the face didn’t match. Every time she turned a corner, she’d expected her mother to be there, waiting.

And now. Here she was.

She wasn’t sure why she asked it, but she did, “Are you real?”

Lightly, she batted Anna’s shoulder, before grabbing her arm and tugging her closer, “Of course I am shit-for-brains.”

Anna’s shoulders sagged. She wanted nothing more than to crawl closer and curl up under her sister’s arm, bury her face in her side and never move. She did, screwing her eyes shut as she did so.

“You’re not gonna cry on me are you?” Matty’s voice rang with amusement, but all the same she held Anna tight, the grey scratchy wool of her jumper irritating Anna’s cheek.

Anna shook her head firmly, not looking up. Something in her throat ached and swelled, and she didn’t trust herself with words just yet.

For a few minutes they stayed like that, Anna clinging to her sister as if that would stop her from leaving again. Not that it had been Matty who left the first time. Even if it wasn’t entirely her fault, it was ultimately Anna who had packed her bags in the middle of the night and fled.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “for leaving.”

Maty pulled away, but she didn’t let go. Instead, her hands found their way to Anna’s shoulders, “Listen,” she said, intense gaze yet another thing Anna had missed desperately, “Whatever happened with dad,” disdain dripped from the word ‘dad’ in great, soapy suds, “you’re here now.”

Anna bit her lip, but nodded.

“You probably don’t remember last night, you were so deep under the thrall,” Matty said, and she was right. Anna didn’t really, just shattered glass, falling, then nothing more than brief snippets. The crunch of metal. Somebody screaming. A smooth, round object that had fit so perfectly in the palm of her hand she looked down to check if it was still there. It wasn’t - just an assortment of pink plasters sloppily patching the tears in her skin and a burgeoning ache in her temple.

“But you did well,” Matty continued, tone not leaving room for argument, “You got what we needed. Mum’s very happy.”

Anna couldn’t help the way her brow peaked in surprise, “Mum’s here?”

Matty nodded, smiling.

Warmth flooded Anna’s chest. She hadn’t seen her mum in as long as she hadn’t seen Matty - where they’d been rent in two, it felt like they could maybe, just maybe come back together. All of them, “Can I see her?”

“Come on, she’s in the kitchen,” Matty unfolded, long legs swinging out from under her as Anna followed suit, “you needed sleep, something big’s coming.” she paused, eyes fixing very deliberately on Anna, “We all need to be ready.”



Colin didn’t know where Violet had gone.

They’d come back from the tower that was apparently where the Witwings lived now and immediately gone back to ‘the internet’. That was where they found out about the festival - a memorial for the Red Hoods. Colin’s first instinct had been to swear loudly about how they didn’t need a memorial, but then he remembered the whole three hundred years thing. What felt like yesterday was actually much, much longer. If he thought about that fact for too long, it grew long and wrapped tight around his throat, so he didn’t. He had to focus his energy on something, anything else.

‘Something’ was finding the others. Finding Samael. Stopping for good the plan that had only been put on pause three hundred years ago. Colin didn’t know for certain who else had come through the portal, so it made sense that Samael wouldn’t either. He only knew about Eliza, Kiri, and Brighid because of the people they left behind - people with blood rich enough to leave a stain. That wasn’t Colin. What he’d suspected, Violet’s device had confirmed - nobody remembered him, not in a way that left a mark. It stung, but he had the upper hand.

The memorial was the next logical step. It was Violet’s suggestion, maybe the other ‘time travellers’ would see the advertisement and head there as well - and besides that, it would be a good way to find out more about what had led to the Red Hoods dissolution. They were grasping at straws, but straws were still better than nothing.

And now, Violet had disappeared into the throng of people gathered at the event, and Colin was lost.

On all sides people who talked strangely and wore clothing in styles Colin had never seen before crowded. Elbows and stray bags and small children cut across what little space he managed to find. He grit his teeth as someone bashed into his bad arm, a wave of pain and irritation crashing over him. He had to find Violet again. Had to find someone he recognised. Had to get away from all these people.

Colin struggled to the edge of the crowd, it was pointless trying to see anything from within it. He found a space to breathe by the side of a big metal box that seemed to be selling food - some kind of futuristic market stall. It smelled good, but the money still tucked into his boot was no use here. His stomach twisted. Violet had been unnecessarily kind, but he couldn’t keep taking advantage of her generosity, not if he wanted to survive. The thrill of giving only lasted so long, and the sting of irritation that followed wasn’t always metaphorical. He couldn’t rely on someone that had no obvious stake in this. That was just stupid.

He took a breath, focusing once more on the crowd. He had to find Eliaza or Brighid. Avoid Samael, Kiri, or Vitius. Rushing into anything would cause him to fuck up again. For now, he had to be patient. If he was patient, everything would be fine.

Location: Unity Celebration.

---

Vitius gracefully weaved his way in-between the tarped stalls littering the area like some sort of impromptu shanty town, as he began making his way towards the booth catering to his kind sitting somewhat off to the side on the other end of the tarp jungle. Pushing past various passerby, the old vampire could have sworn he bumped into someone familiar on his way over, but quickly disregarded the feeling once he'd arrived at his destination. The smell of fresh Cruor-an old term that had developed into a slang of sorts for a certain type of spiced blood soup that had become popular among his kind-temporarily overwhelmed his senses as he drew close to the stall, his tongue hungrily dragging itself across his lips as he stared down at the speckled sanguine liquid.

"What can I get ya?" A feminine voice asked from somewhere nearby.

Blinking rapidly as he gradually reestablished control over the insatiable demon that was his bloodlust, Vitius tore his attention away from the displays of Cruor, and shifted it upwards to the owner of the stall and-presumably-the voice.

"Uh, sorry, I'll take a..." He fell silent. Now that he was actually taking the time to consider his options, Vitius found himself at quite the loss over which one to choose. Hell the first three alone, dishes consisting of three different blood types combined with three different herbs and spices, made it hard enough. But when you threw in three other choices-each with their own types and flavor combinations-alongside those, you truly had old bastards like him stumped.

Absentmindedly tapping his chin with a steel covered finger as his gaze flicked from bowl to bowl, Vitius stood there for a few seconds before eventually settling on the last soup in the row. An odd AO type combination with cloves and cilantro sprinkled on top, in addition to bite sized chunks of duck scattered throughout.

"That'll be $6.00," the stall owner said, examining the armor he wore with mild interest as he reached into a pouch tied to his belt and pulled out the requested amount, handing it over to her.

"Thanks," she remarked, placing the cash into a nearby register, before turning back to examine him quizzically. "So are you an old or new blood? If you don't mind me asking that is. I mean your skin would peg you as a new blood, it being all smooth and wither free, but your armor would pin you as one of the old guard. Unless it's just a really good cosplay that is."

"I'm sorry, what?" Vitius stammered, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Old blood, new blood? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, sorry," she replied hastily. "I thought you knew. Old and new blood is a sort of colloquial term used among our kind to classify age groups. Sort of like how you have Fiends like you and me, vamps who live in society, and Outcasts, vamps who don't, but based on age instead of how well someone abides by societies laws."

"I... I see," Vitius replied, more confused than before.

"Basically," she explained, noticing his confusion. "If you have the bearing, demeanour, or garb-authentic of course-of someone born before even the telegraph was invented, you're probably an old blood. And it's kind of easy to tell because there aren't many of them around these days. But if you're dressed like I am"-she gestures to her clothes which consist of sneakers, jeans, a grey t-shirt, and a white hoodie with rolled up sleeves-"and generally act like someone born in this era, then you're probably a new blood like me. Got it?"

"Yeah, I think I do," he said, nodding slowly while taking a modest sip of crimson colored soup. "So I'm an old blood then?"

She nods, "Mhm. If your armor is genuine that is." She gestures to it. "Like I said earlier though, I have my doubts. Your skins a bit too smooth for someone turned before modern times, though I suppose you could have been able to get away with feeding on more... suitable prey back then. Can't do that nowadays though. Not with all the camera's and whatnot."

"Ah, well in that case you're right on both counts," Vitius replied, nodding slightly. "My armor is indeed genuine, though not what I was originally wearing when turned, and as for my eating habits... Let's just say I did what I needed to survive."

"I thought so," she said, a slight smirk twisting its way across her lips. "Though again I find myself amazed at the fact that you managed to stay so..." She briefly flicks her gaze up and down his armor clad form. "Fresh. Most old bloods became outcasts for one reason or another, or just weren't able to keep fed. Again, you must have gotten pretty damn lucky."

"Huh. Suppose I did," Vitius said, shrugging slightly. "Anyway, I'm going to go check out the rest of this..." He motions to their surroundings. "Celebration. Thanks for the soup."

The stall owner nods. "Thanks for the conversation, not everyday I get to meet one of you. Anywho, enjoy the festival!"

Vitius raises the bowl to his lips for another drink with a small nod, before lowering it and making his way back into the ever shifting crowd, quickly becoming one with the throng...

---

Kassandra entered the nondescript van parked some distance behind the restaurant. The outside of the vehicle didn't do the inside any justice. She walked towards the back, noticing the two rows on either side full of monitor screens and other equipment too sophisticated for her to identify them.

"Sorry, where's Detective Carson?" she asked the lady standing in the back looking over some paperwork. She was a bit shorter than Kassandra, dressed in professional, yet comfortable attire.

"Miss Murdock-Voss, right? I'm Detective Jensen," the woman reached out a hand to greet her, "I'll be conducting your briefing for today. The subjects we're looking into are related to my case...here," she reached for a water bottle on the counter and handed it to Kassandra. "I'm aware of your current state but don't worry, a lot of these buys don't happen sober so it's good cover."

"Yeah, of course," Kassandra smiled. She took a sip of water and sat down on one of the chairs Jensen had pointed out.

"Today's deal is very simple. Our subjects chose this event in order to blend with the crowd. They suspect we have been watching, which we have, but they don't know they shared today's details with one of our CIs, and that's an advantage we have." Jensen then reached within her jacket and pulled out a small piece of jewelry. "This is yours," she handed it to Kassandra, motioning towards her chest, "pin it somewhere below your collar in order for me to get the best feed. The brooch transmits both audio and video which I'll activate once you step out of the vehicle."

Kassandra nodded. "Okay."

"Now, I'm going to need to conduct a pat down before I give you the cash. It's departmental policy that we do this before we exchange monetary funds, or anything that becomes evidence or property of the department. I'm sure Carson went over that with you."

"He did, yes."

"Great. And he also showed you a picture of the guy and his location according to the information we received?"

"That too."

Jensen got up, followed by Kassandra. She put her purse down as instructed and stood there as she was searched, although nothing was found aside for a receipt from the bar. Kassandra then went on to affix the brooch to her blouse. Jensen helped her in the process, making sure it was set in place.

"Alright, here are the funds. You will purchase a gram and then wait a few moments before making your way back. You already know the role you gotta play, so with that said, do you have any questions at all?"

"Can't think of anything, no," Kassandra replied, shaking her head. "Let's do this."

---

Tholo had made his way to the open bar of the celebration, though he simply spoke with the fellow wolves he saw there and avoided any hard drinks after the previous night. The celebration was a blessing and a curse to him. It was a breath of fresh air but at the same time a plague in that he had to be a storyteller most of the night for any who wanted to hear about his ancestor. Tholo mostly kept his connection to the old legends to the Red Hood secret but one or two words might of slipped from few nights of to many drinks in the fight pits. Luckily the night so far seemed to have few of those questions and rather just good old banter and a few jabs from those who were smart enough to not challenge him in fights.

Instead it led to an impromptu arm wrestling match against those wanting to test their might without unsheathing fangs and claws. Tholo humored them with a few rounds before making a quick and sneaky exit to wander around the grounds as the night grew darker.