"I don't want to touch it."

"It's not nearly the worst thing you've touched this month."

"Worse than anything I've touched this year."

"I've literally seen you eat worse this morning."

"That was different."

---

At times, Mel's office felt more like an orphanage than a cleaner's base of operations. It wasn't uncommon to see children cleaning the windows or adjusting the letterboards. Mel always said it was charity without guilt; an attempt at making the 10th an ounce better than it normally was. While other offices used phosphor screens to display information, Mel always kept things more physical. She always said that phosphor made her eyes hurt.

Jobs were tracked on the letterboards using codes and ledger books. Usually, the codes were pretty simple to follow. "EXT 800cr" meant it was an extermination with a reward of 800 credits. There wasn't really any need to partition out jobs to cleaners; the steady flow of operations made first-come first-serve viable enough. Taking a job was as easy as signing a name and recording everyone's share in the ledger.

But "SEE MEL" on one of the boards was new. Same with not having a reward listed nor having any information in the ledger.

Mel's office--her private office within the overarching base--was the same as ever. Despite being the largest room in the building, the majority of space had been enveloped with tables, shelves, and most of all, books. Together, they formed a series of labyrinthine passages that forced eyes towards the ground.

Mel was the same as ever behind her desk. She was always busy. Always another phone call to make, always another book to read. Any attempt at getting her attention was always met with raised finger; a signal to wait for just a moment.

Various cleaners came to see Mel about what the job meant. The majority, of course, were met with her finger. Many couldn't stomach the wait and decided to take a simpler job. When Mel finally placed her phone back on the receiver, she gave a look over all of the remaining cleaners. After some brief thoughts, she shooed off some of those who still remained: those known for collateral damage, the inexperienced, the overly greedy. Soon, only four were left. Finally, Mel addressed them.

"Hello lovelies."

Her voice was as raspy as ever. Even though she flashed a smile, Mel wasn't the most expressive person. Her grin always felt like it was someone imitating what they thought a smile was.

"So," Mel began, "there's a rather curious rumour that found its way to me. A relic was apparently spotted at the abandoned theatre at Littown. Of course, rumours are just rumours. Normally, I'd either ignore such a thing or file it for the crown to deal with. But what we're dealing with, beyond a relic, is a book. I'd rather not let a book be to shreds and turned into some mâché. That means I need to get that book before the crown does, hence the vague secrecy."

Mel was always good at showing disgust. Especially when it came to people destroying books. It was one of the few emotions she could actually show.

"400kr per if you check it out. An addition 1600kr if you manage to actually find the book."

2000kr per person was a considerable. For a grade II cleaner, that was about ten jobs worth. For a regular civilian? About half a year's worth of wages.

"But do ask any questions."

At times, Mel's office felt like an orphanage...but really, that was what it was.

At least, for Yasu. Maybe for Cam and Emma too, judging by their looks. And perhaps Niid? Naw. This Niid looked like he had money, so no.

Yeah. In a third of the branches she saw, Niid wasn't even there.

Curled up on the patchwork couch that occupied Mel's office inside her office, Yasu flipped through her diary quietly, skimming through all the details, parsing together all the names. Faces familiar, names familiar, but relationships always offset, somewhat. Progressing with time, but diverging with time. It was good enough to know that she had a good relationship with her employer though! And that she was taking turns with Cam, feeding a stray cat. Better that Kelsey was alive here, though Mo Cheng was an enemy. And then there was the matter with the Pale Terror. Did that monster not exist, or was it simply never found?

She rubbed her eyes, then snapped her diary shut again. Mel was speaking, so she was listening.

"Can we read the book?" Curiousity brightened her tone. "Or is it one of those sorts of books?"

Niid was strewn casually across a chair he had managed to somehow find throughout the throng of books. He peered around curiously, examining the crack squad of hand-picked cleaners picked by the lead of this office. A little girl. A rich little girl. And a slightly (but only slightly) less little woman. As well as he, himself a rich kid with more than a few drug problems that needed funding and a very possible death wish.

He drummed the fingers of his left hand lightly against the carbon alloy section of his right pectoral. His leg began to jitter uncontrollably as he listened to his boss's instructions. An interesting proposal. His lips stretched across his face, his mouth widening into a beam under his thin faceplate. It was an interesting proposition indeed.

A sum that much would only be offered what would be quite possibly a risky job. And that was just the kind of job Niid was interested in doing. The savage beast of boredom had been steadily encroaching on him over the past few hours, and he had to resort to the classic pass time of homeless hunting to sustain his interest in life.

He narrowed his eyes in examination, nodding his head rhythmically as the boss spoke, attempting to ensure he appeared to be listening. And upon Mel's last note, ordering him to ask questions, his interest spilled forth out into the room. He cut straight to the point though and began with, 'What's in this book, something interesting? Worth me sitting down for a little read? Why yuh' wan' it so bad?'

Surrounded by Mel's books, Cam felt oddly content. Mel's room was like the den of some wild animal. At least that's what Cam thought. She had heard stories about forests. Passed down recollections of encounters with faded creatures such as wolves, bears, and one of her personal favorites, the apex predator known as the Adélie penguin. It saddened Cam that she would likely never have a chance to see one of the 1,700 pound, eight foot, razor beaked hunter gliding through the water like a sleek torpedo of death.

She found her thoughts flowed freely under Mel's roof and in her messy room. It had the soft, pleasant smells of familiarity and comfort. It was safe. It was a home, of sorts, a shelter at least. Good. More than good. Better than they could hope for. Sensing an unwelcome mixture of affection and embarrassment, Cam busied herself with adjusting the formal vest she wore. It was a gift she contended. And it had been, in a manner of speaking.

Leaning lazily against a bookcase she had deemed stronger than the rest, Cam had listened to Mel's impromptu briefing. Four cleaners was a good number. Not too many, not too few. Yasu. Niid. Emma. Familiar faces. Reliable faces. Cleaners she trusted. As much as one cleaner could trust another cleaner, of course.

400 crowns was not bad. 1600 crowns on top of that was very good. Cam was not a greedy creature. She prided her on this. She was a reformed criminal. Nominally, of course. A thief was always a thief. She had not forgotten everything. Only that which bothered her. Only that which hurt. She could change. She could be whoever and whatever she wanted.

Cam. Careful, reliable Cam was good for now. Tomorrow? Well, that was tomorrow. She could be a cat, prowling the city. She could fly, she could be a crow again...or perhaps a magpie soaring over the city.

Electing to focus on mere pragmatics, Cam broached a different topic from her younger comrades, "Will you be providing us with a CAT for the relic? I would prefer not to ask Honest if we could borrow one from her again..."

Yasu's question was understandable. After all, curiosity was why Mel wanted the book in the first place.

"It should be fine to read. Relics are fairly inert without intent." Mel paused to recall something. "If you feel enthralled by what you read or the book contains directions, put it down and stop thinking about it. Do not, under any circumstance, do what the book tells you to do."

Niid's question was slightly less understandable. Asking Mel why she wanted a book was like asking a fisherman why they wanted a rod. She didn't need it, but she wanted it. Mel refrained from immediately calling him daft.

"If I knew what was in the book, I'd have less interest. Relics are usually quite old and tend to spawn from objects with history. Let's go with a chronicle of the past for now. I'll give you a full answer when it reaches my hands."

Cam's question was the most critical out of all of them. Did they have to interact with Honest?

"I'll do you one worse. She'll be coming along with you. If this rumour found its way to me, then it likely found its way to some Hylics. Let Honest deal with any other parties who are interested in the book."

Mel reached under her desk and fumbled around. After some time, she dragged out a metal suitcase and place it on top of her desk.

"If you don't wish to carry it, throw it at Honest and tell her to. If she tries to backtalk you, just tell her I said to do it."

"With your questions answered, I shouldn't hold you much longer." Mel announced and gave a clap. "If you need anything, you all know how to call me. Or ask Honest. She's touched most things in our storage."

...

The trip to Littown was uneventful. The four cleaners had been ushered into a small van by Honest who had taken the wheel.

The streets of the 10th district were claustrophobic as always. While the roads were once wide, buildings and makeshift living spaces encroached on the sidewalks, then further dipped into the roads. Only small vehicles could drive within populated areas. The main roads were better if you were willing to share the roads with haulers carrying petrochem and raw materials between factories. Most people used the subways and monorails to get around the district.

As Honest drove the group, it was easy to tell gauge the distance to Littown. Bustling streets turned to mothers ushering their children inside. Lonely roads gave way to outright abandoned lengths. A desiccated corpse lay on the side of the road, the only notable landmark within minutes of driving. Honest's choice in radio station didn't help the emptiness. Silence was her music. She said it was something that she had good reason for, but she never elaborated on why she always turned the radio off.

Littown was an especially sad part of the 10th district. It had once been named after the hundreds of neon signs that had gave life to a vibrant part of the city. The lights had since been shut off as austerity policies had tightened the average citizens' discretionary spending. What was once a block designed to entertain and relieve citizens was now completely abandoned. Not even the squalid enjoyed being within the area. There was nothing left save for broken signs, boarded buildings, and the dark. The theatre was no exception as Honest parked the van outside.

In one fell swoop, Honest had left the van, walked up to the front door, and kicked it in.

"After you." She sarcastically announced as she waited for the cleaners to enter.

Something wrong could be sensed immediately upon entering the building.

A muffled sound of an accordion emanated throughout the lobby but was inaudible outside. The building was a threshold. A boundary between the supernatural and the rational. This was both good and bad. The good was that this meant that the supernatural was isolated to the building. The bad was that there was definitely something supernatural inside this building.

The lobby itself seemed safe enough as long as they didn't touch the carpet with their bare skin. Most of the decorations had since been stripped from the building. The only remaining decorations were the posters: advertisements for a movie depicting the first hunter, a folk hero within the city. He was a historical figure, but it was difficult to tell where history ended and urban legend began. There was a large circular counter in the middle of the lobby. The door that Honest kicked in had been split in half. One side was on the floor in front of the counter while the other was behind. The halls left and right were both blocked off by collapsed sections of wall. That meant there were three paths forwards. The large closed doors across the lobby and a set of stairs on each of its sides.

Of course, the further within the lobby someone went, the louder the accordion became.

Niid found the ride arduous, sitting in the backseat of the van twitching. He almost vibrated as the group passed through the district. At first, as they wove through the bustling streets his knee bounced rhythmically as he occupied himself looking at the surroundings. He'd seen it all a hundred times, but he never knew if it would be his last time seeing it. And thus he savoured the saline grunge almost as much as he had when he had first seen it. He had the fortunate privilege of his perspective being that of an outsider, an interloper in the 10th district. And though he may be more comfortable in the benthos at the bottom of the city than parasol girl, he was equally a foreigner. Just an accustomed one.

He drew his firearm, polishing it and checking over it neurotically as the increasingly empty streets sped past. The tension in the back of the van was mounting as they neared their location. It was always tense attending a job, you had no idea what it would be like. But this anxiety was visible in none more than Niid. His actions radiated an itching nervousness, readiness, and the precursor to adrenaline as he fidgeted.

Finally, they reached their location. Littown was a desolate, melancholy place. The emptiness echoed throughout Niid, sending off an eery alarm in his head. He wanted to be here slightly less now. And that feeling continued as he stepped into the lobby. The music sent shivers down his spine as the group strolled through the bare building. He stood, still, but still full of energy. Like a compressed spring. Listening, even to the parasol girl's words.

He drew his machete, a heavy object. Unusually simple for a blessed weapon. It was adorned with a mere sigil. But that was all Niid needed. He was no magician, not like most cleaners. Instead of fighting fire with fire, he would fight it with a head full of stimulants and some weighty steel.

He tapped a small screen on the inside of his wrist, letting out a grunt as a clear ampoule filled with an unknown yellow liquid plunged down into a port in the nape of his neck. Instantly his face, behind the heavy metal mask adorning it, relaxed. His lips returned to their normal position. His pupils: pinpricks. A shudder went through his body, entirely relaxing as it spread throughout him. He let out an awful grin and raised his blade, gesturing toward the heavy set of doors opposite them, marching at them without a second thought.

Where Mel was quick to cut questions off, Yasu was totally fine with answering in the older cleaner's place. After all, Honest never turned on the radio, so someone had to fill up the silence! Why not herself then?

Sitting in the back, with ol' Niid stuffed between the two of them, the odd-eyed cleaner was more than happy enough to chatter on about all the relic-demon-books that were absolutely awful to read. There were self-help books that turned out to literally be a possessive, controlling parent in text form that would brainwash you into becoming a perfectly boring adult. There were stereotypical books of evil that tempted you with the power to summon murder demons (rarely) or sex demons (commonly) at the cost of your soul (wallet). There were books that would consume all the time in the day once you made it past the first three pages, forcing you down deeper and deeper rabbit holes of fictional lore and conspiracy. And of course, there were books that had pictures in them that once seen, could never be unseen. Outis was no library, but that simply meant that forbidden books could proliferate to all corners of the cursed city, infecting even the mindspace of the illiterate.

By the time the car arrived, Yasu was about one-third of her way through her personal listing of cursed literature, and she was the third to enter as well. It was building barren, but not dilapidated. Accordion music flowed within, a novel instrumentation in a time of synthesized beats, while the poster that remained upon the wall...oh, fun! 90% of what she saw featured some form of the 'first hunter', but then there were outlier posters in the last 10%: fat green men traipsing in swamps, rock bands with wild hair and wilder makeup, a swordsman sitting on a lawn chairs, slasher films inspired by childhood cartoons. She was curious too though, about the consistency of music, and while Emm and Niid did as they wished, the Tiger Cub drew her sword as well.

Polished to a mirror sheen, enough to reflect her mouth. To reflect her mouth in the infinitely-branching presents and futures. To sate what she wished to learn, from the Yasus that found themselves in similar, yet alternate, situations. So she mouthed those words, and that odd eye of hers' read the reflection in the sword.

'Accordion music'.

'Violin.' 'Piano.' 'Grand piano!' 'Some sort of plinking thing?' 'Rock. Classical.' 'Just screams. Human.' 'A wolf howl.'

Damn. She sorta wanted to see a wolf...

"I'll take the right then," Yasu said, sheathing her sword again. "Or, wait, Emm, we could just get your friends to do all the searching, right? Flush 'em out with rats and all. Ah, but Niid's already off...Cam, could ya go with him?"
'

"Sure, we wouldn't want our metallic colleague getting lost, now would we?" Cam said, idly patting the wooden box strapped to her right hip. The strange magic of the relic waited and reassured her. Reality could be changed. Reality could be changed and so could she.

The metal suitcase Mel had given them weighed heavily in her left hand. Relics required CATs. Unless you wanted trouble. Unless you wanted reality bending trouble. And she wasn't going to leave it to Honest to carry it. Burning a small amount of vitas, her eyes shifted to those of a cat, deep amber, pupils turned to narrow slits. She was still relaxed, untroubled, but wary, she could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. The supernatural was not far. Predictably, given that a relic was in the mix. Mel had said so. And Cam trusted her. More than she trusted Honest, at least. Her ears shifted next. New frequencies of sound washing over her. New smells followed as she made subtle changes to her olfactory system. Surprises would not do. Not now. Not when the prize was worth 2000 kr. That was a lot of food. And a lot of wine.

She'd never liked Littown. She'd never liked carpeting. Gross. Gross all around. Filthy. Dirty. And perfumed with rot. In and out. Get the book and get the money. She wanted it to be easy. She wanted it to be that easy. Just for once, Cam, wanted the credits to come with no strings attached.

Sighing quietly to herself, Cam waved a lazy goodbye to blade wielding girl and Emma, vanishing down the middle passage after Niid.

---

---

With Niid boldly leading the way, Niid and Cam found themselves in front of the heavy door. Thankfully, Niid had taken something that relaxed him rather than a pure stimulant. Nobody had kicked the second set of doors down as Honest had done to the entryway. The heavy door opened without a sound and revealed the next room to Niid and Cam.

Opposite of the entryway was a mixture of theatre and stage. Far above the entry group, a projector without a reel buzzed while illuminating a tapestry screen. In turn, the front half of the theatre was given light. The top half of the walls gave way to balconies full of seats. The ground floor was much more sparse; the seats that had survived the scavengers were long since reduced to an uneven rubble.

There were six entities that they could see near the stage.

An unconcerned ringleader with a lion's head paced the stage. It growled at a non-existent audience as if to narrate a performance. The lack of response of the nonexistent crowd was interrupted by the ringleader cracking its whip and pacing to the other side of the stage to repeat itself.

An elephant-headed figure on a unicycle rode in circles on the stage while juggling three bowling pins. Perhaps "on a unicycle" wasn't the most accurate description; its lower half seemed to be the unicycle itself with flesh making tire and bone making spokes. The bowling pins were made out of similar organics.

Another elephant-headed figure dangled from the roof above the stage. Following its rope-leg up to the roof revealed something distinct: the roof had been covered by a web of flesh and party streamers. The flesh made sense, but the party streamers were new

In front of the stage lay three half-man sized clowns and a small upturned car. The three clowns seemed to push and pull at the car. The clown with accordion arms was the most involved as it pushed and pulled. Its arms made that signature sound that filled the building. The other clowns--one wielding a large axe and another wielding a small club--were no help in returning the car to its upright position.

The existence of these figures was confirmation that something was in this building. Supernatural occurrences in unpopulated areas usually confirmed the existence of a relic. It was either that or a hiding immortal. Sometimes it was both.

Thankfully, the shadows had allowed their entry into the theatre room to be undisturbed. Not one of the entities had noticed them open the door.

Honest had followed Nid and Cam. She entered the room and stood against the wall opposite of the stage. When someone looked at her, she gestured her head at the stage as if to say "deal with it already." She wasn't exactly keen on doing the dirty work when her job was to look after the kiddos.

Though maybe Honest should have kicked the entryway to this room in too. The door probably would have cleaved the three entities on the stage in half.

A strike of her sword, accurately placed, sliced cleanly through through the gap between frame and door. The lock that barred the room stood no chance. As plain as her sword may have been, Yasu always made sure it was unreasonably sharp as well, and once all that was done, she hooked her hand around the door and opened it up, revealing a projector room filled with the recently-deceased, old films and reels that may be worth something to a collector, and something else.

She had been in danger her whole life. Had trained as a hunter at a young age. And she had learned too, that where there was light, there was shadow. Where there was shadow, there were monsters.

And here?

"Emma!"

The scepter of death loomed within a green finger, death that bloomed heartily, that slew with timed intent. And Yasu wasn't done with this world yet. Frenetic footsteps shot her across the room, one hand reaching out to grab the shadow-puppeteer's own. The other, gripping her relic's handle, smashed it into the window before she slammed the rest of her body through it to break it open completely. The strength that befit a Cleaner wasn't the strength that belonged to a slight waif, and it was with that same strength that she continued onwards. One foot pressing against the window's ledge and then pushing off, the two of them flying through the air!

Fragments of glass, sparkling like diamonds. Their backs against the projectors, shadows larger-than-life.

And as for the first target, captured within the half-millisecond of her odd-eyes sweeping over the stage?

The two Cleaners landed atop the elephant-headed aerialist, and without hesitation, Yasu's sword flashed out the second time that day, intent on severing the strings that suspended it and dropping it down upon the monstrosities below. There was a time for subterfuge, of course. But what was a stage girl if not dramatic?

Dropping the metal case next to Honest with a shrug, Cam turned to face the stage. She felt no joy at seeing the theatrics. Only hunger. Only the hunt. Prowling forward with light feet, he lips shifted into a sharp toothed smile as magic moved through her. Nails turned into claws, predatory muscle rippled beneath her clothes, and tufts of fur swept over her pale skin.

She saw hints of movement in the rafters, but didn't waste time, she could see her prey, she could smell them, and she could hear them. The only sin was hesitating. The only mistake was waiting. She had to move. She had to act. Before the creatures on the stage reacted. Before the disquieting car man thing managed to rise.

Bounding forward with violence in mind, Cam crashed into the misshapen accordion creature, razor sharp claws raking through the air toward the throat of the creature. She felt warm blood spilling across her hands as her claws cut through skin, muscle, and plasticized bone piping that crumbled like brittle plastic. Rolling to her feet with a feline grace and all the fury of a spurned alley cat, Cam leapt at the clown carrying the oversized axe, reaching down to grab hold of the shoulders of the pint sized clown and chomping down on the neck of the unfortunate creature with an audible crunch.

Grinning, full of adrenaline, coursing with fresh vita, and enjoying the hunt more than she should, Cam circled the remaining clown, keeping her front to the stage, watching the mallet it carried cautiously, waiting to see what it would do.

---

---

With a swift cut of the blade, the trapeze had been wrested from its ceiling domain. It plummeted to the ground, its natural fortitude preventing damage from the fall. The stage was a different story as the trapeze's body created an indent. The trapeze didn't move in response; it required a brief moment to recover.

The supernatural did not conventionally have brains, but they were still beholden to the concept. If a monster had a head, slicing it off would defeat it. Of course, that only held true if the monster didn't possess using qualities like false body parts and regeneration. Luckily for Yasu and Emma, this was a case of a simple monster. The mind of the trapeze, if mind was even the appropriate word for it, was contained within the dangling body.

If they managed to--or even wanted to--grasp the limp length of sinew that now helplessly dangled from the roof, they could dangle above the stage out of reach. However, the falling party streamers and lumps of flesh signified that the sinew would not last long.

The performance was ruined. That's what the expression of the ringleader's face said. It warped and contorted with rage and anger. Its previous disgust at the troupe's lack of audience seemed to be nothing in comparison. The whip cracked as the ringleader swung it. This time, it slashed a deep gouge on the stage. It would stop these interlopers from ruining its performance. It approached Yasu as a quiet growl escaped its lips. The difference in height became apparent with each step; the ringleader was approximately two Yasu tall.

The unicyclist had chosen a different target. Not swayed by an innate rage, it had chosen to violently throw its pins at Emma with a remarkable lack of accuracy.

Reckless brutality was enough to silence the accordion clown. Cam's choice to bite down the neck of the axe clown wasn't the best. What flooded her mouth was not the familiar taste of blood, flesh, and evil. What she had tasted was spoiled cream and mouldy pastries. It wasn't poison, but it was still not pleasant for someone who one job away from eating the finest the district had to offer.

But there was one thing Cam's violence missed: the true reason why the clowns were trying to upturn the car.

A rumbling came in front of the bestial cleaner. The innards of the car groaned and creaked. The doors rattled as something tried to emerge. Suddenly, it stopped. A brief moment of silence before the door violently swung open. A clown covered in party poppers had been launched towards Cam.

A supernatural car that lacked eyes, of course, could not aim. The party-popper clown flew above her by a few feet and did what it does best: exploded in a shower of red mist and confetti as it struck the ground behind her.

At first, the mallet clown was as distracted as Cam was. Bewilderment turned to scorn as tears (blue paint, rather) began to flow from its glassy eyes. It swung violently at Cam, its surprisingly quick little swings only diminished by the fact that its arms and choice of weapon were too small to even scrape her skin. Cam could have simply stuck her hand on the clown's forehead to completely stop his reckless advance.

Poor mallet clown.

They fell with speed, Yasu driving her sword into the Trapeze's body during their swift descent, before allowing the force of the impact to jolt her off its gelatinous form and tear an even greater gash into it. She didn't have time to spend on finishing it of though, not when their suitably dramatic entrance drew the attention of the ringleader itself. The lion-headed man stalked towards her, and she smiled in return, the kaleidoscope of scenarios and appearances splintering in her vision.

There were ringleaders far larger, far strong, far scarier, and far prettier than the one she saw right now. And prodigious size alone did not dissuade the sharpened blade.

Thus, she advanced, dropping low as she dashed for the beast, stagnant air given life in the wake of her swift movements. Emma's shadows and Cam's shapeshifting covered all the performers, so it was up to her to take on the leader. Anticipating the necessity of evasion, the odd-eyed girl adopted serpentine movements as she neared, before finally dropping into a slide as her blade flashed and aimed to slice into the groin of the monstrosity as she slipped between its legs.

A bit unkind? Sure! But in the legendary words of a famed Cleaner: "It's nuts or nothing!"

Niid locked his steely gaze on the strange feline ringmaster. While examining the beast, and thinking how exactly he should approach it, his attention was suddenly torn away as the two women that hadn't accompanied him crashed from above and onto the stage. A truly dramatic entrance. At least one of the two shared his raconteur-ish nature.

He blinked thrice, before acting. As chaos unfolded on the stage and his oppo quickly advanced and tore up the pair of little clowns. He crept towards the stage as the violence considered. He mulled over firing a couple shots from his current position, but he turned down the chance in favour of taking a prime position to take down his target.

He took a moment to dose himself with a new experimental chemical: Methalog. Yet another compound-in-testing. The sludge-like fluid entering his veins with a distinctive shocking cold. Almost immediately he felt the effects kicking in. As it improved his perception speed, slowed down his processing of time, increased his responsiveness, and improved his fine motor skills. This made it even easier for him to silently pad down the center of the theatre. Perfectly positioning his person to pugilise the pompous patriarchal performer.

Niid watched the ringleader square up to the feral undersized samurai. And though he had no doubt in his mind she could defend herself, he decided she would make an excellent little distraction. He began to tense his leg muscles, taking bigger and heavier strides as he wound up to jump straight up on to the stage. The tightly strung muscles in his robotic lower legs preparing to let loose and launch him onto the stage.

He took one last bound and the tension in his calves was let loose, launching him easily above the stage and into the air. He somersaulted elegantly, drawing his arms as he intended land directly in front of the ringmaster. However it seemed he had miscalculated, and he was a few feet long. He landed behind his target and came to a skidding halt.

He whipped around to the ringmaster, quickly aligning him in the rugged sights of his industrially furnished handgun. He let off a pair of staggeringly powerful shots vaguely at the supernatural's head. Finally, as little girl slashed the beast's crotch and rocketed past him as well, he lunged a few feet forward and attempted to lop off a limb with his crude blade. Hopefully he'd managed to finish the beast, but with his clumsiness likely not.

Cam felt no pity for the mallet clown trying to ineffectively murder her, only cold hatred an a hunger unfulfilled by the vita she had already consumed.

Dancing out of range of the pathetic mallet being swung at her, Cam spat out the disgusting clown insides and outsides that filled her mouth with flavors beyond foul. For a moment, she regretted bitterly her choice to bite down on the now dead creature. Such thoughts passed with the sounds of fighting, battle however base, around her. She could feel energy in the air. Magic. The strange and weird of the supernatural. More vita. More prey. More fun.

Timing her step, Cam step forward, catching the arm of the desperate tiny clown with her left hand and striking out with the pastry viscera covered claws of her right hand aiming straight for the eyes of the weeping monstrosity. She heard a lout pop as the eye she had pierced exploded like a balloon, sending more disgusting clown viscera onto her. Shaking the itsy-bitsy clown from her claws, Cam noted with growing revulsion that whatever the clown monsters had that might be called a brain, felt more like quivering gelatinous desert.

Letting out a string of low curses that shifted into a lower growl, Cam turned her attention to the strange automotive monstrosity that while still upturned had tried to kill her (she presumed). Dodging to the side, Cam moved around it with the pace of a cleaner uninterested in being covered in further flesh, blood, guts, or bones. Her only thought as she struck instinctively downwards onto the undercarriage of the clown car, aiming for where all the delicate pipes and parts critical to the engine should be, was that she really, really wanted a shower. A spa visit perhaps. She'd try to get Honest to pay. Or maybe Emma. That girl was always too kind.

---

---

The shadow that Emma had called leapt and chomped down on the unicyclist. While it had not been as loud as Emma had hoped, the sound of flesh tearing and bones crunching filled the stage. What Emma had discovered, however, was how much mobility a single wheel gave. Alongside the noises of flesh came the screech of a flesh-tire and the smell of burning flesh. While the maw closed, the unicyclist had reversed course and leapt. The maw had only caught part of its torso; its arm and a good portion of its chest had been taken. If the stage was shrouded in darkness, then her creature would likely have been fast enough to snag the unicyclist in its entirety.

The unicyclist would not stop and lick its wounds. Its flesh splattered and sputtered as the wheel spun faster. It skirted around the shadow beast. What remained of the unicyclist's body painted the stage with flesh and blood as it made an impossibly agile corner. It was attempting to run down Emma.

Yasu's blade further cut the trapeze. While it had not been finished, its body became unrecognizable. Its familiar form had been gashed and bashed into a blob-ish bloom of cut flesh and spurting blood. Awakening from the pain, it crawled towards the only target it could see with its blade-mangled face pressed against the stage floor: Cam.

The bestial shifter had been dealing with the clowns. In her brief moment of respite, she found enough time to attack the car. The car's undercarriage rattled as Cam struck it. Metal--if it could be called that--became dented and connections came apart. However, it was not enough to destroy the vehicle. After all, she was still only one person. What chance did a single person have at destroying a car by hand?

The clowns, it would seem, arrived as easily as they left. The doors of the car opened once again. A clown quickly crawled out, its body noticeably larger than the previous ones. Immediately after standing, it leapt at Cam in an attempt at delivering a flying punch directly to her dome.

Niid and Yasu's tag-team attack worked well. Niid's shots bore holes in the ringleader's visage. While they did not penetrate beyond its skull, a twin pair of flowery blooms replaced one eye and dripped foul blood above the other. The shots were enough to get the ringleader to one arm in front of its head and change its attempts at stopping Yasu to desperate blind swings. Her blade cut through the groin of the ringleader. Not the deepest cut, but enough of a cut to wound the beast. It roared in response; perhaps one was expecting it to purr instead.

What Niid learned from leaping at the ringleader, however, was that lopping a limb off was considerably more difficult than a makeshift neutering. If his blade had been wreathed in chains or had been a refined blade, then he could have made it. However, a machete made to hew would only become stuck within the dense flesh of a lion-man. Niid could only dangle awkwardly as the blinded ringleader's muscles seemed to thicken with each wound.

Niid's hang-time was cut short as the ringleader responded with a powerful shoulder check. The close distance meant that Niid was thrown--not struck--towards Yasu. Nothing would be damaged, save his ego.

Of course, that was only if the ringleader stopped there. It didn't. The ringleader pulled back its whip-holding arm.

Visions of death. Niid and Yasu both understood that, if they did not move, they would be bisected where they stood.

And the ringleader's arm, bulging and ripping with power, swung the whip at the two.