It had taken every last credit on his stolen chit, but Rohaan Ja'aisen got himself a hotel room. It was the seediest, dirtiest, most sordid establishment in town, but he didn't care. For that night, the room was his. Of course, he would have preferred a nicer place, but clean, well-lit hotels usually paid attention to the name registered to the credit chit, and Rohaan did not look much like a Callie. And especially at night, the sunglasses he wore always gave people pause. They could be a HUD. Or they could be hiding something. People never knew for sure, but rarely gave him the benefit of the doubt at night, because one needed to have some amount of money to own something like a HUD. And clearly, Rohaan did not have such funds. So his domain would have to be room 34 at the Wyvern Inn.

He tossed his worn out pack in the corner and kicked off his sturdy but very worn-in boots first, reveling for a moment in the feel of free air flowing through the fabric of his socks before making straight for the cramped shower. Rohaan had a ritual whenever he stayed in hotels: he showered first and foremost, then went about washing his clothes in the sink. He hung them to dry wherever he could, then indulged in a microwaved cup of freeze dried noodles in some kind of tangy sauce as he basked in the glory of having a bed. A hard, springy, rickety bed, but a bed all the same. And a pillow! He never carried one--too much bulk--but a real pillow was miles better than a rolled up hoodie. Maybe one of these days, he thought, he'd have to scout out a nice house in the suburbs, or a high-rise loft downtown where the rich people lived, and find one who's owner had gone on vacation. Then he'd sneak in, live like a king for a few days, and leave. He imagined some uppity human snob's brain spinning as they found evidence that someone had been sleeping in their bed, or eating their food while they were away, and laughed out loud to himself. Yes, he'd have to do that.

A noise on the other side of the door made him look up from the insipid sitcom he was watching, and a moment later, the door burst into splinters. A leading pair of Crowns--the slang term for royally sanctioned law enforcement--rushed inside to find Rohaan Ja'aisen, notorious fugitive, murderer, traitor to the crown, arsonist, and high-profile thief, lying on a squeaky hotel bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, eating a plastic cup of instant noodles. Not exactly very illustrious, or intimidating, but the officers were still wary of him, and for good reason.

Where there had been a fairly content man in his mid thirties, there was suddenly a sleek black dragon showing snarling, graphite teeth as the bioluminescent lines that ran along his spine, the contours of his face, and shoulders, pulsed a dim, dangerous red. Without giving the officers much time to react, Rohaan's angular head snapped forward, catching one screaming officer between his dark jaws. The poor sap had body armor, but that didn't save him from the crushing weight of his maw. Rohaan bit until he felt the body give and heard a collection of snapping noises, then slammed the man down onto the sparse carpet. It was unclear if he was dead or alive. His partner, a woman with orange-red hair, raised her weapon at him, but there were very few people who could do such a foolish thing and get away with it. Rohaan's mouth opened again, but this time a small jet of incendiary liquid sprang from it and painted the woman's chest. The splash of liquid stuck to her skin and clothes like hot glue, and the fire blazed wherever it stuck. Her attempts to pat down and extinguish the fire only resulted in spreading the flames to her arms. She bolted, howling.
There was a cluster of armored officers outside, but they were reticent to pass through the door after that.

Damn, so they'd found him. Probably the stolen chit, it must have been flagged as stolen. Or maybe they had some other intel that let them know where he was. Damn, and he was having such a lovely evening too. Even if he torched every single one of them, the weight of his smooth-scaled body crushed the rickety bed, and that was by far the greatest loss of the evening. He roared, a discordant cry that sounded as if two voices roared at once. One was high and shrill like the sound of glass shards scraping together, and the other was a deep, resonant baritone. It was a deadly warning, and perhaps the last he would give to the others standing outside.

Try me.

Agent Miller inhaled deeply as chaos whirled around him. The orange-haired Crown scrambled out of the hotel room, the stench of melting armour and flesh stinging the air. Crowns tried their damndest to strip her out of the melting armour. Crowns barked like the scared dogs they were and pointed their weapons at the hotel room door. Pinpricks of green light emanated from their Ministry-issued weapons. The laser sights reflected off of something in the hotel room. The Crowns were thirsty. So was Miller. Maybe when all of this was over he'd treat himself to a much needed cold one.
Agent Miller exhaled and held up a black-gloved fist. "Hold fire! Hold your goddamn fire, you bastards!"
His partner next to him flinched. Miller cast a glance at her and grimaced. Why the hell would they send a rookie out with him on something like this? The last thing he needed was some bright-eyed punk chained to him. Rookies either ended up dead, or worse--dead-weight in Observe and Capture operations like this.

"You can wait in the patrol car, kid." It wasn't a suggestion.
Mercy shook her head, her brown curls bouncing with her, "N-no, I got this sir."
Miller narrowed slate-coloured eyes, "No, you don't."
Mercy watched her partner through a sideways stare. The sqaure-jawed, grey-haired man seemed to command the world.
"Rohaan Ja'aisen!" Miller continued. "By order of the King de Leon the Wonderous, may his reign last forever, I am placing you under arrest for--"
He paused for a moment. Who the hell was playing--

Oh, you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man, no time to talk

The music got louder.

Music loud and women warm, I've been kicked around since I was born

Oh, no. Not these idiots.

Mercy was the first to turn around. Miller turned with her, his heels crunching in the gravel beneath him.

A black van approached, headlights burning bright into the night and the Bee Gee's Stayin' Alive blasting from its speakers. The black van rolled up. The side door was emblazoned with the image of a vampire's skull and a thin knife sprouting from the crown. It sat inside of a hexagon and the words "Semper Paratus" was emblazoned underneath.

Mercy looked at Miller. Miller gritted his teeth.

The van door slid open and out jumped a tall woman dressed in black armour, similar to their own. Her bare arms rippled with powerful muscle and tattoos danced on both of her biceps. She with a flick of her head she flicked short auburn hair out her eyes. She reached a gloved hand back into the van and dragged out a long, heavy, metal case. The other doors opened as the woman made a hurried dash passed Miller and Mercy, the metal case slung over her shoulder. Mercy moved as if to stop her but Miller cleared his throat. Mercy hesitated for a moment but before she could do anything Miller spoke.

"Aldis, what the hell are you doing here?"

A tall, broad-shouldered black man approached. He too wore armour, the breastplate of which had the same image that was on the side of the van.

He smiled disarmingly, "It's nice to see you too, Miller Lite." He grinned at Mercy. "Who's your new boss?"

"You didn't answer my question."

Mercy looked confused.

Two more people spilled out of the van and walked passed Mercy, Miller and the newcomer Aldis. One of them carried a pair of speakers.

"And I don't have to," Aldis folded his arms over his chest. He looked at Mercy again. "He didn't tell you, did he? C'mon now, Miller, is this how you treat a superior?" He gave them both a knowing wink.

Miller clenched his fist.

"This is our case now. So why don't you and your boy scouts go make cookies someplace else, eh?"

For a moment there was only silence between the three of them. Mercy could feel the tension between Miller and Aldis. She didn't like the look on Miller's face. Something was there. Something dangerous.

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Autumn worked quickly. Her movements were swift and deft. She flicked open the locks on the metal case and popped it open. She mostly ignored the Crowns that kept their weapons trained on the maw of the hotel room door, but she could feel eyes on her. She was a giant of a woman, about as tall as Agent Miller. Muscles rippled across her body so much so that the armour designed specifically for her wouldn't contain her biceps. And why would she want to hide her guns? She was a strong supporter of open-carry anyways. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a pair of red leather gloves, the same symbol that was painted on Betsy--the van--and on her breastplate had been sewn into the gloves. She slid them on and then, gingerly, reached into the case and pulled out a long, bronze staff, wrapped in decaying bandages and smelling of earth and decaying matter.

Her three coworkers sidled up to her.

"Bringing out the big guns, I see?" Ray said as he set the speakers on the ground. He reached into his leather jacket, the back of which also bore the symbol on the van, and took out an iPod.

"Oh, you mean these?" Autumn flexed her biceps and wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

Ray chuckled.

Dr Alucard smirked.

"Magic must defeat magic," the doctor said. He motioned to the Crowns dismissively. "Something these brutes wouldn't understand."

This brought a few snickers from Ray and Autumn and more than a few disgruntled mumbles from the Crowns. Dr Alucard thumbed over at Aldis and Miller. "And if those two can put their little spat on hold..."

Autumn stood back up and stabbed the bronze staff into the ground. She spun on her heels and called back to Aldis, "Yo! It's set up! If you two can stop measuring your dicks we can get this show on the road!"

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Miller narrowed his eyes. "Fine." And shoved passed Aldis.

"Pack it up boys! We're going home."

Miller thought he heard sighs of relief, mixed in with disgruntled grumbles. The Crowns began loading up into the squad tanks.

Mercy jogged, trying to keep up with Miller's long strides.

"Sir?"

When they reached their squad car he motioned with his hand and muttered something under his breath. A smoldering ring of green light flickered into existence over his palm and that same green ring lit up on the squad car door. The door sighed open.

"Um, permission to speak, sir?"

Miller sighed but didn't say anything.

Mercy continued, "Wh-what just happened?"

Squad tanks rumbled as they booted up and began pulling out the Wyvern Inn parking lot.

"We're done here," Miller slid into the squad car.

"W-wait, what happened?"

Miller sighed, "We're done here. It's in their hands now."

Mercy looked over her shoulder at the five individuals who pulled up in a black van with the Bee Gee's blaring loudly.

"Those guys? Wh-who are they? Whose hands?"

Agent Miller adjust his glasses and followed Mercy's gaze. He narrowed his eyes. Mercy saw a glint of that look again.

"The Bizarre Patrol."

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Aldis took one last look at the staggering countdown that was synced with his watch. Only twenty more seconds before the spell took full effect. "He'll come barrelling out of there any minute."

Autumn reached for the small of her back and took out two, glowing, golden rings, the size of dinner plates.

Aldis raised an eyebrow, "Halos? I thought guns were your thing?"

Autumn raised an eyebrow, "Dr Klaus wants us to intercept a shapeshifter...and you expect me to use guns?"

Aldis shrugged, "I don't have a problem with it."

Ten seconds

"It's just that guns are your thing and magic is my thing.

"Aldis, focus!"

"Hey, hey! That's my thing too!

"Besides, Alucard said only magic can beat magic! Speaking of which, Doctor, why aren't you wearing a vest?"

Autumn, Ray and Aldis all looked at the doctor.

He blushed for a moment. "They hurt. I have sensitive nipples."

Ray guffawed, "Oh, look at me I'm the Doctor and my titties hurt soooo much!"

Alucard sighed, "Ray, as Autumn said, you need to "focus". And what are you contributing to this?"

Ray grinned and plugged his iPod into the speakers. "I'm getting this set up so we can listen to tunes while we work! It was Aldis' idea!"

Five seconds

Autumn, Alucard, and Ray looked at Aldis.

Aldis shrugged, "What can I say, I work better when--oh damn! It's showtime, Bizarre Patrol!"

Zero seconds

There was a snap that cut through the air. The staff stopped humming. Thick, black goo began to bubble up from where the staff had been placed.

"Oof, that never stops being gross," Ray muttered.

"No, no, no. This is the cool part, Aldis smiled.

The goo lurched forward and inched towards the hotel room door. Then came the clicking as the gelatinous mass began to take shape. Small shapes. Tiny shapes. Each shape moving individually on its own but all moving in the same direction. The clicking became more audible. It was buzzing. The buzzing of a plague of scarabs.

Aldis pointed to Ray. "Cue the Elvis! It's time to rock and roll!"

You ain't nothin' but a hound dog! Cryin' all the time!

Clearly, this fool Crown had no idea who he was dealing with if he thought he could just announce Rohaan was arrested and call it done. Was this supposed to be a joke? He actually rolled his slitted dragon eyes at the stiff formality. It was an odd thing...Rohaan preferred his enemies to be incompetent to a degree, or else he wouldn't have lived as long as he had. He didn't exactly want them to be terribly good at their job but...well...this just felt insulting. Partly, he was sour about it because he hadn't been in the mood for this game and had really just wanted to go to bed. But even if he'd been in the mood for this cat and mouse game he'd always played, this was just...boring. None of them had any kind of technomagical shielding, wards, or even special gear that might protect them from fire. Sure, they had body armor. That would--oh no--prevent him from shooting them...at least in the chest. But what a lot of Crowns failed to understand is that body armor only protects from projectiles. A body cooked just the same in armor as it did in a hoodie. And, as he demonstrated with the first poor sap, they could still be crushed. He huffed, and a little puff of smoke billowed from his dark nostrils. Didn't they do their research?

Enough of this game, he was tired of it. He would scrape together his things and sleep outside--again--but at least he'd sleep and be left alone. But first, he had to get rid of these pesky Crowns...He took in a long breath, tensed the muscle responsible for spraying the incendiary liquid that lurked in his belly, and--

Music. A little old fashioned for him, maybe, but...music? Crowns were not the sort to play music, and it was getting louder. A vehicle he could not see from his position screeched to a stop, and he heard the sound of multiple doors opening and shutting. Voices. Detective Miller. He'd remember that name for sure. Whoever had arrived was evidently not a cop, and in fact had some tension between him and the Crowns. Some casual banter. And...

He huffed, exuding more silvery gray smoke as he tasted the air with his black tongue. Free magic. He could taste it and smell it in the air, a scent like hot steel that told him that something out there exuded free magic, and not the more controlled technologic. Rohaan snaked his angular black head over so he could peer through the opening of the door with a blue eyeball the size of a lemon. A woman had an odd, ancient looking staff planted in the ground, and as he saw it, he began to form an idea of who these people were. He didn't know much about them, but if they were who he thought they might be, things were going to get interesting tonight. They operated with an arrogance and confidence that the shifter decided he at least admired in a way. It made them more interesting opponents, anyway. But then, he thought with a wicked snarl, every man burns.

Rohaan waited to see what this staff was going to do before striking. It would be foolish to make a move without knowing the situation. So he crouched, harboring a dangerous growl in his dark chest, and waited. A crack sounded outside, and a dark substance began to crawl towards him. Oh, this was going to get interesting indeed. As the dark mass came closer, it split into distinctive shapes. Crawling black bugs. Rohaan actually groaned, and the sound was a low, languid growl in his current shape. He didn't want to have to do this. He was going to have such a nice, relaxing night before they showed up. He was going to slip away tomorrow morning and go off in search of his next mark. But no. They made him do this.

His graphite teeth showed like neat rows of small black daggers as he opened his mouth and without any hesitation, blasted the whole front of the hotel room, paying special attention to the door where the creatures were filing in, with flames so bright they blazed like furious white streaks that streamed from his mouth. The dark of night was deeply disturbed and scarred by the searing light of his fire, and the heat from it was like standing near the open end of a forge. Somewhere at a safe distance away, the hotel owner wailed and howled about the damage, though he was not about to get himself involved in this tangle. The wall that separated the team from the increasingly angry shifter dissolved into smoke and flickering orange fire (as did the scarabs) revealing the smoke-veiled form of a crouched black dragon. The creature's scales did not reflect light, and even the spikes on its neck and its claws were a night black. The red glow stripes were the only contrast in its shape. Those, and the two lapis lazuli eyes that stared down the intruders with an evil glint. The creature roared in defiance; the sound reverberated through the ground like an explosion. And then it was gone.

A man stood there instead. Shirtless, wild blonde curls still wet from showering, and wearing only a pair of dark blue boxers. It was difficult to reconcile the somewhat trashy image of the man with the dragon he had been only seconds before. Except he had those same eyes; they were a shade of blue that nature only gave to toxic, poisonous things. He seemed unperturbed by the fire cracking in front of him. Rohaan laughed, a low, derisive chuckle and he spread his arms as if to dare them to come closer. "Is that it?" he jeered. "Is that all you have?" Another incredulous laugh. "Don't you know who I am?" It was faint, but he had an accent that was difficult to place. A diluted remnant of one that had once been much stronger, and meant that wherever he was from, it wasn't here. One of his ribs appeared to have been broken long ago, and improperly set, because it sat crooked to the others. A pale scar on his side indicated he'd once been shot.

Rohaan snarled, showing teeth. The expression gave him a wild, feral look. "You'll have to do a lot better than that if you want to bring me down! But if you all want to walk out of here alive tonight, you'll turn around and go home." he warned. "If you think I'll hesitate to kill every last one of you if you press me, you're sorely mistaken. But leave me alone, and I might just overlook the fact that you ruined my evening. What's it gonna be? You gonna get the hell out of here, or are we gonna dance?"