CHAPTER 1: ODD LOOK
Los Angeles is known around the world as the "City of Angels," but as far as you're concerned, the city should be better known for its devils. Like any big city, it's always had its fair share of unsightly elements, of a mundane criminal variety or otherwise. Well, alright, perhaps a bit more than its fair share. However, since the record-breaking Olympic Games the city hosted three years ago, things seem to be growing out of control. The monsters of the night that previously seemed content to stay within the confines of darkness and secrecy become bolder with every passing day, and are starting to be noticed by the day-walking population. In addition to the usual problems caused by an overpopulation of predators, these activities have been attracting undue attention from forces usually delegated to fixing said problems. This, of course, is putting unwanted pressure on those unrelated to the problem; denizens of night that stay in the shadows and keep well enough alone. The city is a boiling pot of tension, and no one is sure what would happen if it spills over. Many have taken up arms to fix the problem themselves, but not all utilize the most effective methods, and fewer yet have completely pure intentions.
Mount Zion Cemetery
Deep within the shadowed cemetery, lit only by the stray flashes of passing headlights, a lone figure worked. They went about their practice diligently, sowing the earth with strange and foul substances, and muttering in a language best forgotten by man. The specter of the new moon was high in the night sky, nearly at its apex. The proper time was nearly at hand. Finishing their ministrations, the unknown agent went about the final stages of their ritual. A flash of silver in the night, and a spattering of blood on the ground. A curse on their oppressors, and a wish for retribution against them. Rather than stay to witness the fruits of their labor, the dark practitioner fled the cemetery, not entirely sure themselves of what was to come.
To call what followed "good" or "bad" luck would be entirely subjective, but the ritual was enacted flawlessly, and the expected result ensued. A rumbling from beneath the surface of the ground sounded as the soil convulsed and split. Gravestones cracked and toppled as the miniature earthquake continued, before stopping as suddenly as it began. The ground burst open, and forms blackened from mud and rotted from worms crawled up onto the surface. Some two dozen of them, all in proximity of the dark sacrament, rose from their graves, eyes ablaze with unnatural green light. They shambled to their feet and milled about before they caught the scent of fresh and unspoiled flesh, and slowly stalked down their living prey.
Venice Beach
Even at night, there was a constant party on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Inebriated youths frolicked and reveled on the sandy beach, while others gathered around bonfires or indulged their lust by starlight. Laughing and howling, a small pack of them ventured into the waters and chased each other into the blackened waves, Though man believes that he has conquered the seas, another world rests beneath its surface. A world hostile to those that live above it. One by one, the swimmers vanished into the inky waters, dragged under without so much as a yelp. The last of them to be pulled under was the only to suspect anything, assuming that there was a shark among them. Unfortunately, the truth was nowhere near as convenient.
It rose from the sea with slow, unsteady steps. Its slick, slimy body reflected the lights of many shore homes and bonfires, as its yellow, alien eyes peered through the night at its human prey. One of the many tentacles sprouting from its thick body dragged one such prey behind him; the drowned and half-eaten corpse of what had been a swimmer a few minutes before. As it took its tentative steps onto dry land, a silent figure watched it through binoculars a fair distance away. They smiled, knowing that the effort in baiting this beast from the deep sea had been worthwhile.