[IC] Fairytale Noir: New Arcadia

[Hellis]

”Do you know what i Hate Mr Pigg?” Spat the man pacing back forth on the concrete floor of the downtrodded, abandoned factory in the declining industrial outskirts of New Arcadia. The place was a proletarian nightmare, a testiment to the brutal reality of capitalism. The building was once the workplace of a solid 500 boots of man power, 500 people let go in ons swift motion of a pen and a company changing hands. Years of decline in the local clothing production was due to cheaper labor overseas, That had been the culprit behind all those crushed dreams, along with old fasioned western greed of course. And now it housed around 60 boots, all leather and metal like the old days. The difference was that these were not factory workboots but the soles of the ultra violent Giants gang. Another self contained unit in the ever larger crew of madmen who followed the Fox.

The Fox was of course, the one pacing back and forth infront of Mr Pigg. Mr Pigg himself was a obese, middle management kind of person. You know the kind, the underachiever who somehowe got the job above you and who spend every waking moment yelling at you and others for incompetence. There was a great amount of bile that his position came with and usually he could at the most expect to get fired. The problem, and the reality of the current situation, is that Mr Pig was one of three brothers and his family buisness was in fencing goods. And now, he had run afaul of the men you didn't survive crossing. The Fox, Mr Fox, Kitsune, Räven, Fusch. A dear child have many names, but a feared monster have plenty more so. He was the menace of the streets, a serial killer made head of the most volitile group of people to ever breathe. A mastercriminal with the glee and enthusiasm of a 8 yearold with firecrackers. The reasons as to why people feared him where many and they were all very real. He was just that bad of a person. And now, Mr Pigg was sweating profusel as he sat, tied to a chair. At his feet was a pool of petrolium and between his lips were lit cigarr.

”I hate underachievers. I hate lazy, compliant, status que worshipping slugs like yourself. Why? Becouse you are all predicatable dullards.” Fox said as he stopped in his frantic pacing. He himself wasn't overly tall, 6'0 was a decent height from someone who so often claimed asian descent, sure. But his henchmen were all taller, all bigger then him. Yet none were close to being as menacing, more imposing, more dangerous. He was TNT in human form, liable to kill everyone in there the moment his fuse met the blackpowder that was his trigger. It was why they followed him, he was a destructive genius, a ruthless crimelord who consolidated his power by any means.

”I hate people like you Mr Pigg. Ronny the Middleman. Tommy the Brain. Connie the Corner. Ronny, Tommy and Connie Pigg., collectively known as the Three Piggies.” Fox said, to nobody in particular as he waved a ornate switch blade around in the air like the dirigents stick. In his head he was conducting a symphony. He stopped suddenly and tossed the knife at Pigg. It hit him square in the knee. To his credit, Mr Pigg didn't let the cigarr fall from his mouth.

”You see. You are so fucking predicatable. You saw the war and quietly retreated into your little apartment complex. You fortified yourselves, ran a tight crew and kicked out the local wolves as they were weakened by fighting my battles. You waited for the war to end and then prostated yourselves to the new Queen. But here is the kicker, yeah, you kept safe from the huffing, puffing big bad wolf. Becouse he was busy fighting on the streets at my orders. But I didn't forget about any of the ones who didn't come to our side when we called.” Fox eyes were large, like saucer plates, stretching his face in abominable ways, fis smile underneath mask was a grotesque display of teeth. He was so close to pig the poor man could smell him, a strange mix of gunpowder, blood and the plastic of his mask.

”You forgot that Foxes are smart, cunning animals. We don't care about your little pens. We dig under the fence, we make you see us in the shadows. We eat the hens, the kids, the whole fucking farm if you let us. And it was so fucking easy to just take over the neigbourhoods around you. You had nobody loyal left and you knew it. Now your use is gone. So I think it is time we have us grilled pork for dinner.” He grabbed the blade and yanked back and forth before pulling it out, causing Ronnie Pigg to bite trough the cigarr in pain. He looked as if in slowmotion as the lit cigarr fell towards the puddle at his feet. He screamed after Fox as the puddle lit up into a localized inferno at his feet.

”FUCK YOU PSYCHO: TOMMY IS GONNA KILL YOU!” Fox was allready on his way out as the words echoed along with screams of pain troughout the building. As he exited the old factory, men in red suits, some kids wearing fox hoodies and all kinds of other people joined at either side of him. He smiled beneath the mask. They all wore things like fox masks, hoodies or tattoes.

”Report.” Fox sounded incredibly bored. He motioned to one of kids to bring him a chair. They obliged with a big directors chair, complete with FOX graffited onto its back. He grabbed a cellphone from his jacket and

”The bomb is in place. The remaining Pigg brothers are currently sitting ontop of a box of c4 and gunpowder, none the wiser.” One of the men in red suits said, they all wore fox masks, but none as ornate or big as his. Theirs were cheap plastic things. Allegience, not identity.

”Let's see then.” He dialed a number on his phone. A voice crackled up on the otherside of the line. A helpfull female voice enquitred. ”This is 911, what is your emergency?”

”I believe you guys shoud send someone to the Ol'Boy pub.”

-Downtown Arcadia. Residential district.-

The Ol'Boy was the irish pub of choice for Tomas Pigg. He and his brother were having a war meeting in the back with some of their closest. They were all very angry. Their brother had gone missing. Nobody was taking the blame, nobody was talking. That generally meant one thing, the Fox had him. But why? They could not understand it. They had never lifted a finger against him. Sure, they had chased off some wolves off at the first days of the conflict between Fox and the rest of the city. But they had preyed on his enemies more then anything. But now, now they were feeling hunted. Tommy was about go over the plan with his closest when a knock was heard on the door. They all stopped. Eyes nailed to the door as it slowly opened. A kid wearing a plastic fox mask could be seen head outside the door running. At the opening of the door was really old tvset, heavy and obstructing. It flickered on and showed Fox. They all stood there as if glued to the floor, unable to move.

”I huffed. And I puffed.” The recording began. ”But then I remembered I was a fox, not a wolf. So I just rigged your place to explode. Neat.” and then the tape flickered off into a recording of Ronny being captured and beaten. And then, everything exploded. The Ol'Boys Pub went out in agush of flames. A giant heatwave exploded outwards as billowing flames and sotclouds pushed outwards with the shockwave. The windows became a massive wall of shrapnel that shout outwards. People close to the blast were perforated, clothing torn along with skin and flesh. Every carmalarm nearby began to shreek and complain as the Irish Quarters of downtown Arcadia was turned into a blazing inferno.

[Dmytra]

Aurora stared out from behind the curtains of her room barely blinking an eye as Downtown Arcadia burst into flame. This shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone - after all the tremors that had shaken this godforsaken city in the past year could only have culminated in this. But fire could be purifying couldn't it? Once the smoke cleared would all of the pain and death be erased or would the same ugly little phoenix rise from the ashes to keep crying blood on this hell scape? It was an interesting idea to ponder, but a rhetorical question really. Of course nothing would change, just another night in Arcadia filled with just enough violence and homicide to keep you on your toes. Aurora turned from the window as her door creaked open.

A slight girl with a round face but fierce eyes slipped in wearing a short mini skirt and an enormous hoodie pulled over her head to obscure her features.

"There's too much carnage to get an accurate reading of the situation. Could have been a random arsonist and it could have been damned Snow and her cronies. In other words - a clean job. Self consciously clean if you know what I mean," the girl spoke quickly as if she felt she were about to run out time. She pulled the hood off of her head and her brow was drenched in sweat. "It was rough out there A, lots of people hurt. This one's not gonna be ignored like the others."

"Thank you, that's all I needed to know," Aurora said as she focused her gaze back towards the window. Sirens roared in the distance and the sky was alive again, not with flames this time, but with flashing lights of the emergency vehicles and news vans that swarmed towards the scene like wasps to rotten meat. "Stay in Briar tonight. And tell the other girls the same thing, I don't want any of you caught up in this cluster."

The girl nodded swiftly and ran from the room. When she was sure the girl had left, Aurora took a seat at her desk and withdrew a large file from one of the drawers. She refused to use computers and only called with prepaid minutes. Electronics were the modern day version of writing in stone and she needed to be able to destroy any of her information on a moments notice. She opened the file and was met with the pictures of three of her girls. They were veterans of Briar and knew their way around Arcadia as well as any street rat could. They were smart enough to watch their step and experienced enough to know who to talk up and who to drop. So why had they all disappeared within weeks of each other, only to turn up dead in the harbor? The media suggested some kind of fucked up "vigilante" had been trying to clean up the streets, but Aurora knew better. She wasn't the only Madame in Arcadia yet only her girls were being picked off and in such an orderly manner that it couldn't be written away as coincidence any longer. The night was quieting down and Aurora felt herself too exhausted to stay awake, and after nodding off a couple of times without realizing what was happening, she fell into a deep sleep.

~

Aurora stares at herself as she is sitting by a screen, watching that old movie she would always watch after waking up from a hit of Dreamwalker. Some old Disney movie - the Fox and the Hound. Aurora recognizes herself from years ago. A gaunt, expressionless skeleton staring blankly with dark rimmed eyes as a stupid fox and an even stupider hound defy nature and become the best of friends. Aurora sits by the girl, the girl she used to be, finding her shoulder and resting her hand on it.

The fox and the hound are rolling around in that absurdly green meadow and the fox grabs the hounds neck with its cartoony yellow eyes beaming out from the screen, staring straight at Aurora. But it's different. The fox never lets go of that hound and starts shaking it around in its mouth. Blood starts flying from the dogs neck and foam starts dripping out the fox's mouth. It's a pink foam, slightly saturated with blood and the fox just keeps shaking the dog as terrifyingly human cries brokenly emerge from that hound's mouth. The meadow isn't quite as green as before, in fact it's downright black. As the background rots the fox never breaks eye contact with Aurora and it keeps shaking and shaking. The fox slices through the jugular with his glimmering fangs and drops of blood fly out of the screen, hitting Aurora square in the face.

"If only the world wouldn't get in the way," the fox says to Aurora, dropping the bloody body of the hound to the ground, while his huge unblinking eyes unwaveringly stare out at her. "If only people would just let me play."

~

Aurora woke up screaming, scattering the papers she had been sleeping on across her desk. She felt like she screamed for hours before she could stop, but really the files had just settled to the ground. She noticed an odd paper, distinctive among the scattered notes. She picked it up and turned it in her hands.

It was an envelope of thick sturdy paper that was stamped with a black crown. She opened the envelope carefully, narrowing her eyes as she saw a simple note that's black ink cut sharply across the white page.

"Find me," was written across the card in bold, "Signed the Black Queen."

[Noxious]

The apartment smelled stale. A stale that permeated all senses and whispered of unnatural debauchery; half drank bottles, unemptied ashtrays, and something sweetly rotten. The floors, which had once been well maintained oak, were now scuffed, cracked, and covered with discarded clothing, weapons, shoes, and pill bottles. A shabby mattress lay in the center of the bedroom covered with an oversized comforter without bed sheets. The missing bed sheets were tacked with little care over the windows; they blocked out most unwanted light but added little to the decorator impaired façade. Maybe cleanliness really was akin to Godliness.

From beneath the comforter kicked a red dock martin, half laced, attached to a pale fishnet encased leg that was devoured by the large covering. A loud cacophony of guitar and bass rose over the constant beat of the forest, beckoning from a cellphone beside the bed. There was a groan and a stirring from beneath the comforter, and then an arm breached outwards towards the phone. It missed and struck a bedside table sending a beer bottle shattering towards the door. “O’re’ouFUGINkiddin,” or some such noise escaped and then the phone was found and pulled beneath the covers. “Da?”

"Hey red. You asleep? Not anymore. You should go look for a new clock at 33rd street. Just, don't go for a drink at Ol'Boys. Trust me on that. Bye, see you soon." His voice the kinda childish, ugly glee filled panic that only Fox was capable of creating.

She released a heavy sigh as her arm curled around the edge of the comforter and pulled it away. Messy short black hair scattered about red exposed eyes. The black tips brushed across a fair and freckled expression, cringing while she scooted towards the bedside table, groping for a pair of sunglasses. Once they were found the large rimmed black shades were pulled on. Her shoulders visibly relaxed as she tried to coax herself into accepting alertness. She reached back to the table and grabbed a joint and a lighter, placing the joint between lips the perky red of sexualized youth and sparked it up. She inhaled while slipping the lighter into her rhinestone studded bra. She glanced back at her phone. Fox. Seriously? Why did they like this guy? She smirked at her phone and rolled her eyes at her persistent enthusiasm despite the rude awakening.

In a few short moments she stood up, taping the joint into the bedside table ashtray while picking through an assortment of pills; yellow ovals, circles, red capsules, circles, green squares, white bars, blue circles, capsules. Manicured nails the color of brick clicked through the pills, separating four and pulling them into her palm. Once satisfied she headed towards the bathroom, grabbing a half drank bottle of dollar store champagne along the way.

She set the champagne on the bathroom counter and looked through the pills one more time. Her mind howled at the thought of Fox, at the mayhem, but also at the possible need for her services. She let the RED pill fall onto the counter as she downed the anti-anxiety and amphetamines with a swig from the bottle. She inhaled from the joint one more time, 3 more quick puffs, then she put it out in the sink and rested it on the soap dish.

She pulled on an oversized white tank top that read MAT and a red hoodie decorated with a black spray-paint wolf while brushing her teeth, she switched a skirt for short denim shorts while finishing the last unopened cold beer, and she relaced her shoes while she swiping a hand across the nightstand into her wood thatch purse acquiring pills, cigs, mace, phone, wallet, switchblade, a set of dice and a book of matches that read “The Gutter” and was decorated with tacky stars. She was ripping into the edge of a large piece of jerky while slipping into the hallway and slamming her door, it jammed otherwise, ever since the rain, and she had to turn the key hard while lifting just slightly. The jerky raised as her cheeks flushed and dimpled with the strain and then she was making her way past the elevator and towards the stairs.

She was humming her own little doom song by the time she reached the expanding steps that led into the lobby. She always seemed drawn to the railings with their chipped gold accents bleeding into teals and turquoise of a time when this place had been decent, hell, fancy. Sunglasses bounced upon her cheeks even as she moved from the stairs onto the tile that seemed like paradise during a London fog until you got to the boots of Rich. Rich was about 6’10” of smoky hell prick. A real jerk that guy. “Bye Richie, see ya’ later.” She waved as she moved a good 7 feet by him and outside.

The place glowed with streetlight even when the sun was set. She made her way towards 33rd Street slipping between people as unnoticed as possible. It was about half and half. Some were drawn to her certain aura of trashy innocence, but some knew to steer clear, and some new nothing at all. The latter were the most likely to find their wallet missing a bit later if they stood too close for too long.

She arrived at the block of Ol’ Boys and she spotted an antique store across the way that seemed to have quite a few clocks. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know whose turf this had become. She was aware of where she was and she was no fan of Piggs. Rumor is ol’ Wolfe and ol’ Pigg had it out even in the ol’ World and so even now the Wolves and the Piggs survived doomed to hate each other. Her red stained lips curled into a sort of snarl as she lowered her sunglasses and her pupils yo-yoed about the intersection. Whatever she saw was satisfying, for the sunglasses and her lackadaisical expression were replaced and her bouncy step continued and slipped into the antique store. She wandered about near the window, keeping shaded eyes out for the fox. When she didn’t find him she decided to focus her attention at Ole Boys, half glancing at a mirror that was displayed towards the view while her body still jittered from lack of sleep and searching for a balance. As she reached up to rub a smudge of mascara from beneath her glasses she saw someone, something out of place approach Ol’ Boys.

She pulled her phone from her purse, double checking real quick that it was, in fact, her phone and not one she barrowed. She clicked in a passcode and set the phone to record just as the place blossomed and kicked into the block around it. She held the phone up recording the scene as she fell to her knees behind a headboard, giggling like a goddamn idiot. Thankfully all those around her were too shocked at the explosion to be paying attention to her audacious behavior that only crumpled further into a childish display. The video cut off as red and blue lights barely shone through the flames that danced in the street. She pulled her hood over her head, still shaking with her attempts at containing giggles.

As she stepped into the alley, dodging the quickly building police barricade, she was already typing out a text to the fox with the video attached. “Never a disappointment Mr.Fox. Do I owe you one then?” Her phone was slipped back into her pocket as she jumped up and grabbed the bottom of a fire escape. She shook it for release and when none came she pulled herself upward and climbed to a better viewing point. She pulled out a cigarette and enjoyed the fire against the horizon. She smiled as she exhaled and even laughed again, but she was starting to feel a little itchy. She inhaled. The calm wouldn’t last long unless she medicated.

[Darog the Badger God]

Karen woke to the sounds of music playing, smooth jazz filling the halls of her family manor and flooding into her room. She heard the door to her bedroom creak open, and she pushed herself up to sit up straight, leaning to peer through the gap in the door.

"Honey?" she called out, expecting to see her husband return from one of his late shifts.

Nobody replied but the sounds of jazz persisted. Karen recognised the singing and the lyrics of the particular song playing, a record by her husband's favourite jazz quartet. The jazz duet "Jack and Jill" had taken Arcadia by storm with their surprise hit despite their rumoured connections to the serial killer Dullahan. Their songs reflected that connection in many ways, and this particular song was called "The Headless Horseman", but despite the frightening name Karen had always found it quite soothing. Calling out once more her husband still did not respond, and so she slipped out of the silk sheets of her bed and let her toes slip into her white slippers.

The song continued to play as she made her way down the stairs. She turned to her right and headed into the living room, the fireplace ablaze and the silhouette of her husband sitting on the sofa facing away from her. He sat unmoving, listening contently to the smooth jazz that came from the record player in the corner of the room.

A smile grew on Karen's face, the pleasant music and the sight of her husband calming her greatly. "You woke me," she said, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. "I thought you'd be back an hour ago."

The shoulder pad of her husband's suit felt warm and wet, and curiously Karen raised her hand in front of her face. In the dim light of the fire she could see that her fingers were soaked in red. Her eyes widened and her lips trembled, and all the while the soft lyrics of the jazz duet filled her thoughts. She walked around the sofa, slowly taking in more and more of the sight of her husband until she could do nothing but scream.

Her husband's suit was torn to shreds but his torso was in a far worse condition, cut so frequently and so deeply that he had been drained of blood almost entirely. Many of the man's organs hung loosely out of a cavity in his chest, dipping into the valley of blood that had pooled in the man's lap. None were quite so fatal, however, as the blood-red axe which had been embedded deep into the man's neck, severing his head almost entirely.

Karen's face twisted in horror and another terrified scream escaped her. She collapsed under the weight of her own legs, falling into the thin sheen of blood that soaked the floorboards. It stained her clothes and her hands, tears streaming down her face and a scream so loud passing by her lips that it made her throat howl in pain.

Dullahan adored the sound of her screams, and after enjoying them for several moments, her moved from his perch in the corner of the room and walked towards Karen. His chair creaked as he moved, prompting Karen to turn her head towards the sound. The hulking biker clad in thick black leather curled his lips into a grin but it was obscured by his helmet. His grin might have been more terrifying than the array of razor shar teeth that were drawn onto the helmet.

"Boo".

xxx

The Three Blind Mice bar and grill never used to be quite so empty in the evenings. Less than two years ago the establishment was thriving, filled to the brim with people at all hours of the day from the time it opened the time it closed. Arcadia's fragile state, the growing strength of the city's crime families and the corruption which was seeping its way into all forms of local government, had left the people fearful, and the Three Blind Mice bar and grill was one of many places that had suffered.

However, the emptiness of the restaurant proved to be ideal for James Hooke, the old captain of the HMS Jolly Roger, who appreciated the privacy and vague sense of intimacy that the quiet established. He sat contently in the corner of the room, a small glass of scotch resting in his hand which he sipped at while he waited for his contact to arrive. It was 7:15PM and he was scheduled for a meeting with a police officer called Allesandro Bertolli at this very spot. The officer was supposed to have arrived five minutes ago.

Clearly impatient, James' foot rapped against the wooden floorboards of the restaurant and he ran his free hand, a metal substitute for a hand of which which had been forcibly removed, over the thin layer of black stubble that was starting to form along his jaw. He glanced up from his drink occasionally, looking across the room to see if Allesandro had entered, but every time he was disappointed.

Allesandro walked into the building, "Three Blind Mice bar and grill". Al had been here a number of times after work and during work. One in particular was a homicide case he had worked on; another crime family spat that ended with one man not getting the time he deserved in the big house and instead getting a knife through his ribs. Right now? Al was meeting a contact. Lumiere had arranged a meeting with Hooke, an old captain that was on the hunt for the infamous Peter Pan, an almost legendary human trafficker known to pick almost exclusively on children. He sighed seeing the place empty, but knew he wasn't here for pleasure and so the quiet would actually be beneficial. He was wary of his contact at first, a city well known for so many people to have two faces made it hard to trust someone. He knew from first hand since he used to be one of those people. Still, this was not the first time he had met Hooke, and the man seemed as genuine as they came the first time they had met. It was obvious he was not from Arcadia.

In truth he was looking for answers. He was working a personal case, looking into various organised but disjointed crimes that have happened since Mayor Gaston was appointed in office two years. Al had various run ins with Gaston and knew him as a self-righteous, hollier-than-thou prick who had more skeletons in the closet than Rumplestiltzkin had money. Since his wife had dissappeared his gut feeling about Mayor Gaston was on the fritz, and he was more determined than ever to find some solid evidence against him. Something in the back of his mind was tell him that maybe he was too focused on getting dirt on Gaston that he avoid the problem he really should be focusing on; finding Beauty. Finding his wife.

"Glass of scotch", Beast said, ordering a drink from the bar, seeing the older man across the room that he only just recognised. He picked up his glass and moved over to Hooke, giving him a short nod of the head to start his introduction. The man responded with his own nod, raising his glass slightly to welcome him over. "Hooke," he said, holding out a hand. "Good to see you again."

James extended his own arm and shook hands with Al, the Beast as he was known by some. "Bertolli," he replied. "Likewise."

Both men took a quick swig of their glass. Al sat himself down on the opposite side of the table facing James and they sat without saying a word for at least a minute. It was the captain that broke the silence, placing his glass down on the table a little firmer than he needed to. Al could sense how tense the man was just by looking at him, and he wondered how he managed to speak so calmly.

"Do you or do you not know where Peter Pan is?" James asked, raising one eyebrow.

Al sighed in response, adjusting himself as he then looked directly at James. "We have some leads on his location. The bastard likes to have a bunch of scapegoats at the numerous safe houses he has. We've only found five of them so far but it's not enough to go on. We need more, Hooke, and not just about Pan, but on what you know about the specifics of his job. Does he have a contact here in the city? Does he actually work for someone higher up? If yes, who?, You gotta work with me here" replied Al. He did not want to disappoint James but he was not focusing his efforts specifically on Pan. Al wanted to bring down the tyranny that had plagued Arcadia, not just a part of it.

"He's slippery. You know him more than I do."

"He works for someone else," James replied. "Or at least he's working with someone else. He may be slippery but he's not subtle. I remember overhearing a conversation or two about an associate of Pan's, although I never heard the name."

"But before he kicked me off of his ship he mentioned picking up a large quantity of fairy dust. Apparently the trade around here is quite lucrative."

Fairy dust was a drug that originated on the streets of Arcadia. It was growing more and more popular by the day and, along with being incredibly potent and highly hallucinogenic, the cost of even a small quantity was enough to bankrupt the household of even a minor addict. It made Al wonder how it had even become so popular, but then he remembered that the people who made it could make anything they wanted happen. It was a designer drug that was heavily associated with the local crime families. It was assumed that they were the only people with the resources to produce such a drug and to make it with so few contaminants. Any connection to fairy dust meant that Pan was in deep with someone particularly powerful in the city, which Al knew was bad news.

"Fairy dust? Really? ...shit" Al wasn't quite sure how to respond. He reached through his coat pocket and pulled out a notebook, making sure to write all this down for further inspection. "I was addicted to that trash a few years back," he finally said. "That shit ruins families and ends relationships in a heartbeat," he continued, still writing down the information that the captain have him. "The one person who's ahead of all things fairy dust is someone that goes by the name of Tinkerbell, or just Tink. Do you know them?"

James wracked his brain for a moment. The name sounded familiar, that he could not deny, but he could not offer much more than a vague recollection. "It sounds familiar. I may have overhead it while onboard his ship but I cannot offer much more help than that."

He took another sip. "Still, that's one lead. If we look into this Tinkerbell individual then we might find more information about Pan."

Al nodded in agreement. After months of dead end leads and fake evidence, it seemed he might actually get some useful information and even a big lead this time. Even if Arcadia's police force were unwilling to use it they had a sizable store of information to do with the fairy dust trade, and this could lead them directly to Pan, which could in turn lead to one of the larger crime families. "We can finally get some dirt on the rampant crime in this city for once...so? Let's not wait around for Tink to come to us. Let's get that junkie drug dealer right now." Al grinned taking a whole chug of his scotch. He took out his pistol, making sure it was loaded and ready just in case this situation would get out of hand. "I know a good spot in Downtown Arcadia where addicts usually hang out. A drug den. We might be able to get some info out of them about this Tinkerbell and find a connection to her. What do you say?" he placed his gun bck in its holster, the grin still upon his face.

Although surprised by Al's forwardness and willing to act on his own accord, James had to hide the small grin which appeared in the corner of his mouth. Life in the Navy had drilled him with discipline and taught him to either follow orders or give them. He had expected Al, a police officer, to be the same, but he was the complete opposite of a mindless drone. Now James was acting on impulse and it was like a breath of fresh air. He had no weapon of his own with him, having had his pistol confiscated by Pan shortly after his kidnap, but he did not expect the scene to become so violent. If it did then he would be resourceful.

He took a sip of his scotch, finishing off the last few droplets that remained at the bottom of the glass.

"Where do we need to go?"

xxx

James and Al arrived at a dark alleyway somewhere in the city's Irish quarter before the clock hit eight, although the sun had gone down long before they had even left the restaurant and the sky was now pitch black. It was cold too and the late evening wind started to bite at their skin. James pulled his coat a little bit tighter, burying his face into the collar of the article to stay warm.

"This is the place?" James asked as Al stopped by the entrance of a thin alleyway.

Al nodded. "I used to come here to get my fix. We at the station call it "No Hope Alley". One of the better known dens is just down here".

James could see why it had gained such an unpleasant nickname. No lights lit the alleyway, and the further one peered down into it the thicker the murky black seemed to become. Groaning, the sounds of pain rather than pleasure, echoed softly towards the intruding pair, followed by the coughing and wheezing of a woman who struggled to breathe. The alleyway itself stunk of death and desperation, and just being here made James lose a small part of what little faith he had left in this city; it was a perfect example of the sorry state Arcadia had fallen into.

"We should find someone willing to talk quite easily here," Al continued, looking dead ahead as he took his first few steps forwards. As they continued down the alleyway, James could see hazy black figures slumped down to the ground like lifeless corpses. Addicts, likely not just of fairy dust, too delirious from their drugs or the symptoms of withdrawal that they likely couldn't even tell Al and James were there as they made their way down the path. Al cringed as he walked past them, reminded all too much of a life that once belonged to him, weaving down the almost endless alleyway as they moved closer to the dealer's office of operations. A small, nondescript door in the side of the wall was the source of all the suffering here, and it was left slightly ajar. James dreaded to think what he would find inside.

Al noticed James' unease. "You'll get used to these kinds of sights when you work in the station. Fairy dust is the number one drug export in NA right now. Makes perfect sense for your boy Peter Pan to have his grubby hands in on it too."

"Let's just get this over with," James replied, slowly moving towards the door and peering inside cautiously. He immediately recoiled at the smell, surprised that it smelled worse than the alleyway they currently stood in.

Pushing the door open and sliding inside as silently as he could, the two immediately took in their surroundings. While better lit than the alley the entire building was still dark, cold, and damp, and was littered with even more people who were drapped over mattresses or the floor with their minds rattled by drugs. It stunk of a thousand foul things, and James found himself bringing the sleeve of his coat up to his nose to try and mask the smell.

"Who are we looking for?" James asked, just as unsure here as he was outside.

"Goes by the name "Tommy the Rat". He used to be my seller before I decided to get off the shit". Al led James through a door and into a hallway, eventually reaching a small flight of stairs that went up. They climbed upwards six floors before they reached another door, this one seemingly leading into a small apartment. "Here's the place he sells it from when he's not downstairs," Al continued. He knocked on the door as hard as he could, pressing his ear gently against the door to listen in on any signs of movement. subtle sounds could be heard, sounds of footsteps and a door slowly closing shut. Al knocked the door harder than before

There was still no response. Al looked to James and he looked back. "I don't think they're planning on answering," James said. He moved his hand to the handle and pulled it, and while there was some give the door stayed firmly shut. Pushing a little firmer, the captain tried to force the door open but was having very little luck.

"Allow me" Al said, a smile on his lips. With a swift kick aimed just beside the lock the door gave way, swinging open with a bang. The lock hadn't given way but the wood connecting it to the rest of the door had, leaving a great gaping hole in the main part of the door where the lock used to be. "I've done this plenty of times"

Al quickly moved in as he looked around the apartment. As it always was, piles of dirty clothing, food containers, and other waste lay scattered on the floor. The walls were rotting and covered in cracks, and a thin layer of smoke hung low in the building, slowly seeping out now that the door had been opened.

When Al passed by an archway, the door long having fallen off of its hinges, the sound of a bullet echoed throughout the apartment block as Tommy pulled the trigger of his pistol. It narrowly missed Al's neck but the man instinctively dropped the floor regardless, dragging himself forwards and away from the doorway. James meanwhile held his position, back pressed against the wall and well out of the way of the gunfire.

Al quickly took cover, pulling his gun from its holster and checking the clip once out of habit. "Tommy!" he yelled. "Don't embarass yourself. We're not here to hurt you. We just want to ask you a few questions," Al continued as calmly as he could, slowly moving towards the doorframe again. He wondered what had made Tommy so jumpy, but nevertheless he needed to get some answers out of him.

Another shot was fired the moment Tommy could see even a strand of Allessandro's hair, pinging off the wall in a flurry of sparks and plaster.

Al narrowly got out of his sights, barely missing the bullet a second time. Tommy cursed, fumbling about for another clip for his gun, and Al's eyes never left the man's hand as he charged. Al moved in as quickly as he could, far faster than Tommy could reload, his eyes twisted and the pupils became a deep red. He tore through the furniture that stood in his way, grabbing Tommy by his throat with one hand and his gun with the other. Tommy fired the gun aimlessly, bullets flying into the ceiling, but Al slammed him into the nearby wall in an attempt to silence him. It worked.

"I told you, Tommy! I'm not in the mood for your bullshit!" Beast's voice was lower pitched than before, nails extended into what could almost pass for claws.

"Now," continued Al. His grip tightened, and a small amount of blood trickled around where his nails dug into Tommy's skin. "You're going to tell me everything you know about Tinkerbell. Where she lives, who she works for, hell, how many fucking cups of coffee she drinks in a day! And don't you dare think about lying to me because I will know."

Tommy wheezed out a response as best he could. "If I te-"

He might have finished answering Al's question if it had not been for deafening scream which roared through the building and across half of Arcadia as air ignited, concrete shattered and an entire building was torn down to nothing but rubble in an instant. James, who now stood aimlessly in the doorway, could see it through the window ahead of him as the large stone building on the other side of the street, the Ol'Boy pub, was engulfed in a massive fireball. The heat could be felt from here and the sound of the explosion was deafening. Fragments of brick, wood, and glass shot out in all directions, and a large chunk of the building's wall crashed through the side of the appartment tower of the drug den only a few floors below where Al, James, and Tommy stood. The entire building shook violently.

It took out a sizeable portion of the den's own wall beneath them all, and only seconds later the entire floor gave out beneath them. Al felt the brief sensation of weightlessness, and it took him a moment to realise that he was falling. James stood in awe as the floor of the entire room in front of him collapsed at Al fell, but was silently glad that what floor he stood on in the hallway remained steady. Al was not so fortunate and was dragged down as the floor vanished beneath him, and even with his new bestial strength it was not enough to leap to safety. Still, even he felt lucky when he saw Tommy slip out of his grip and fall, his entire body tumbling out of the new gaping hole in the wall and down half a dozen floors until he struck the rubble-littered ground with a crack that would have been sickening if he had actually heard it.

Only a moment later, Al felt a sharp pain run down his neck. His entire body struck the ground at once, and with nothing to cushion the blow he felt it across his entire body. It carried up his spine and he felt his bones crack and shatter, and then his head hit the concrete floor. With a throbbing pain like nothing he had felt before his senses vanished, his vision turning black as he lost consciousness entirely.

[Hellis]

Music thumped into his ear like a second hearth tythm. Pumping in his veins along his blood, making him more daring, more careless. He was running, but the world wasn't keeping up. ”White Rabbit” was the undisputed king of couriers. Light feet had him catjumping and vaulting over obstacles without slowing him down. He was the wind, he was fucking unstoppable. Feet hit the curved cheremics of a roof with the fleetest of movement and he was already running as if he had not jumped across a alley. Inside backpack was evidence of murder, sent to him from Black Queen. She needed him to get it to the some atorney dude, and make sure it didn't fall in the head of 'Chesire'. He picked up speed, feeling the chilly night air grow more humid as the night fell upon him.

There was a large leap just up ahead, between a 6 story building and a 4 stories building. People like him called it the 'Devils leap'. The fall made it easier to clear with enough momentum. But the big problem was the landing, due to the drop you gained to much momentum and were liable to break your legs with a bad fall. The second reason to its name was that the landing was not on a fla surface but the tiled slope. Rabbit knew however, that if you aimed towards the large chimney you could grab it and shift some of that momentum before landing in nice roll. Timing was everything. Rabbit drove his feet, the song in his head phones met a vivid, angry crescendo and he flew. For a few second he was weighless, a god in flight. Then two streets down, the air bristled with heat as a bomb went off. His concentration broke, he hit the goddamn chimney hard, and bounched panifully of it. Scrambling for foothold on the slippery slopes as he started to roll he just badely managed to keep himself from becoming a smeer on the pavement alone. Catching his breath he stared down toward the smoke and fire.

“Holy.. Shit. They done it this time” He mumbled as he stared in awe at the destruction. What kind of ordinance did those guys have to make something like that. Getting back onto his feets, he winced and felt the side of his leg. Bruised and tenderized like a texas beef, but he had somehow avoided major injury. He carried on, getting on with his route. He mustn't be late.

[Kingfisher]

The white duck was large, squat, and ugly. One of the more expensive night clubs in the area, the duck had large glass windows that were rimmed with steel, and an immense stone archway running over the front door. On one side the brickwork was splintered, and tuffs of sickly ivy clung to it at odd angles, tightly hugging the cracks and dents.

An immense neon sign read “THE WHITE DUCK” in huge letters, accompanied by a large electric rabbit. The sign cast sprays of flickering neon light down into the long alleyway the wound its way up to the clubs entrance, the only sauce of light amidst the all-encompassing darkness of the moonless night-time.

The young girl took once last drag from her cigarette, a thread-like trail of smoke billowing back over her shoulder, before casting it down onto the flagstone path, and making her way up to the club’s entrance. She stopped as she reached the flight of stairs that led up to the front door, taking in the scene before her.

“What a piss hole…” Tiny Tim observed from behind her, crossing his muscular arms.

“So, the Ol’Boy was completely fine, but this joint is too much?” Tanithka turned to face him as she spoke, repressing one of her face-consuming grins as she did so.

Tim shrugged. “This place is a heap of festering shit dressed up as something it ain’t. The Ol’Boy knew what it was.” He ran one bulky hand over his stubble-covered chin.

“Until some wanka blew it up?”

“Until some wanka blew it up.”

The young girl laughed to herself, batting a tress of dyed hair out of the way of one eye.

“This place is still here…must be doing something right. “

Tim snorted, but otherwise said nothing.

Tiny Tim was a giant of a man, towering above his female companion. He had arms and legs like tree trunks, and a chest like a barrel. His jaw was square, his hair cleanly shaven, and a whole myriad of scars and bruises criss-crossed his body. He was dressed in tattered jeans and a wife beater, showing off his powerful muscles.

While Tanithka was more than capable of handling herself, it never failed to keep some hired muscle around for backup. Tim was that and so much more.

“Shall we get going then?” The young girl led the way, with Tim trailing just behind her.

The bouncer at the front of the club was huge, but even still Tim was at least a head taller than him. Nevertheless, if he was intimidated by the size of the man, then he made no indication of it.

“Name?” Queried the Bouncer, gazing down at the clipboard he held.

“Baba Yaga” She replied, her voice calm and otherwise void of emotion.

The bouncer looked up from his list, something that could only be described as sheer terror flashing across his eyes. His breath became raspy and disjointed, as his body started to visibly shake, a mass of sweat pooling across his forehead.

Tanithka smiled inwardly, but her face remained a blank mask. This never got old.

“Ehrmmm…r-right this w-way…” He stammered awkwardly, trying his best to keep his cool, but failing miserably.

The pair strode casually past the bouncer, the young girl gently pushing open the front door.

The clubs main room was obscenely large, and the guttural thumping of dance music and obnoxious flashing lights were beyond overpowering. A few luscious looking booths lined the farthest corners of the room, and women wearing less than little pranced about on the large stage at the rooms centre, twisting and twirling around poles.

The dance floor was packed to the rafters, and Tanithka and Tim had to shoulder barge their way through the sweaty crowd of patrons in order to make their way over to the entrance to the manager’s office. The way was guarded by two burly looking figures in suits, and Tanithka had to yell over the music to be heard, but a repeat of the display at the front door soon had the guards stepping aside, and even had a few of the nearby customers frantically filing out of the club.

The officer itself was comparatively cramped, and consisted of little more than a large oak desk and some expensive chairs. Two looming figures that looked like they ingested nothing but steroids and protein shakes stood behind the man seated at the desk, the pair of them eyeing up Tim the moment he stepped into the room.

Caterpillar sat smugly behind his desk, taking a delicate puff from his elegant wooden pipe. He was an obese man, with flabby cheeks, multiple chins, and a belly so massive in girth that he had to sit back a good few paces from his desk. He wore a suit of bright green silk, inlaid with gold, which was stretched tightly across his immense form.

“Have a seat, my little lotus flowers.” He said with a giggle.

Tanithka sat lightly down in one of the padded chairs, whilst Tim remained standing. The seat was clearly made for someone of Caterpillar’s bulging frame, as the young girl found herself lost in the sheer vastness of it.

“Now, how may Caterpillar be of service to you, my rosy cheeked rapscallions?”

The crime lord may have appeared to be all giggles and warm smiles, but there was a darkness hiding behind the perfumes and rich silks.

Word on the street was that Caterpillar had been a major player on the Chinese crime scene, but a series of bad moves and unfortunate twists had left him crippled, forcing him to flee to New Arcadia in order to escape bounty hunters.

Tanithka cracked her knuckles, before leaning towards the obese mob boss. She was small even for a girl of her age, and her feet dangled off of the edge of the chair, failing to reach the floor.

“Things have been going well for me, as of late,” she began “and while I’m –SURE- that you’ve already heard about all of the trump cards the worlds been throwing me, I’m thinking about…expanding my horizons.”

Caterpillar’s powdered smile fell ever-so-slightly. “Perhaps Caterpillar is misunderstanding you, little orchid, but are you presuming to come into Caterpillar’s abode, and take what Caterpillar has worked so hard for? Caterpillar is sincerely hoping that Miss Baba Yaga is joking with him.”

Tanithka sat poised on the edge of her chair for some time, carefully thinking over her next words.

“Meaning no offense, your Caterpillar-ness , but how long can I be a lowly dealer for? It’s a dog eat dog world out there, in Arcadia more than anywhere, and if I don’t keep on moving up the ladder then someone’s just gunna come along and knock a sweet little thing like me straight off of it.”

By the time Tanithka had finished speaking Caterpillar’s smile had completely vanished, replaced by an unmistakable scowl, his fat brow furrowed.

“You would come into Caterpillar’s home, accept Caterpillar’s hospitality, and them presume to take Caterpillar’s throne?!” He bellowed, his flabby cheeks blaring a bright scarlet.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Insolent little brat! You presume too much, filthy whore!”

Within an instant, Tiny Tom shot forwards, grabbing the bottom of the large oak desk, and hurling it over Caterpillar’s head. It went sailing through the air, hurtling towards the two guards.

One was quick enough to get out of the way of the flying furniture’s path, but the larger of them was too slow, and the desk smashed into the side of his head, leaving it little more than a red smear against the wall.

The other guard drew a handgun from the pocket of his hand tailored suite, firing off a round in Tim’s direction.

Tim dived to the left, and the bullet slammed into his shoulder, burrowing straight through and flying out the other end, leaving a trail of scarlet droplets in its wake. The big man collapsed to the floor, cursing under his breath and clutching the bloody wound.

Sticking one hand down the back of her miniskirt, Tanithka drew her switchblade, unsheathing the razor-sharp knife with the flick of her wrist.

The guard turned to face her, but by the time he could register what was happening it was too late. Tanithka bolted across the room in the blink of an eye, slashing him with one fine movement, and soon a stream of hot red blood was gushing from his neck, his cries of defiance muffled by the gore that was bubbling in his mouth.

Tanithka snatched up the fallen man’s handgun off of the floor, wiping his blood on her ripped leggings, and placed it firmly against Caterpillar’s head, the fat man letting out a yelp as he sat helplessly in his snug chair.

“So I’m a filthy whore am I?” She arched one eyebrow as she spoke, her tone as casual as if she were asking about the weather.

“No! Most…beautiful and gracious little girl! Caterpillar did not mean such things!” Words were pouring out of his mouth like blood from his henchman’s neck, as he frantically waved his hands about.

“Why did you say it, then?”

“Caterpillar forgot himself…most honourable Baba Yaga!”

“You called me a brat.”

“Caterpillar was angry! Carried away! He loves his club very dearly, and-“

Tanithka cocked the hammer of the handgun, pressing it even more tightly against the fat man’s head.

“-MY- club.”

“Yes, Yes, of course! Baba Yaga’s club! Club belong to Baba Yaga!”

Tanithka steadily lowered the gun, Caterpillar letting out a loud sigh of relief as she did so.

“My associate was hurt: I’ll expect compensation.”

“Of course! Of course! Baba Yaga will be compensated most handsomely!”

“I want three quarters of –EVERYTHING- that flows through here. Every cocktail, every bit of smack, every evening out with one of your working girls, -ALL OF IT- comes back to me. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes! Yes! Terms are most agreeable! Baba Yaga is very gracious…and beautiful!”

“I’m glad we understand each other.” The young girl flashed Caterpillar a quick smile, before turning and making her way from the room.

“Come on, Tim.”

Tiny Tim lumbered up off of the floor, still clutching his bloody shoulder, before trailing after his employer, staring daggers at Caterpillar as he followed her out of the room.

[Sathanas Rex]

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[Hellis]

Mr Fox was in a good mood. Indeed, he was in a splendid mood, the mayhem downtown had been fun and it had erased one of the many things that annoyed him. He has a whole list, indeed, like a giant murdersous bucket list full of name, factions and organizations he wanted destroyed. But he wasn't hasty, every tick on the list would come in time. He was certein Chesire would complain about the mess he was making. Chesire had a hand in everything, his clients were everyone from the local druglords to basket cases who could be released on good behavior due to some legal magic trick of his. Fox appreciated Cheshire for what he was, a paperwork wizard. With his help there was no papertrail to follow, no way to trace the explosives back to any of Foxs sellers. The bodies found in the river, impossible to pin on Snow White becouse they were accidents, or random occurences. It was all so very impressive, in a legally corrupt kind of way.

And well, Fox was moving onward with his plans as well. He had the city in his palm, he knew it. Now it was time to enjoy himself to the fullest. He grabbed some random kid from his posse and stared into the eyes of the poor boy. He wore the same hoodie with fox ears many others did. A stuppid little gimmick the kids came up with. Fox liked it.

Said boy stared back with awe and fear as Fox spoke.

”What's your name kid?” His voice was smoth, unervingly so.

”A-alan” The boy, 17 at most, stuttered.

”A-Alan?” Fox mocked him but not with any real malice behind his words. Well no more then usual at least. ”Well A-Alan. You are now Fox. You know what Foxes do?” He asked and planted a gun in the boys hand. The boy looked down at the gun then back up at Mr Fox. But as he did someone came up from hehind and pressed a mask onto his face. There was a terrible whirring noise and blood poured down the sides of the mask. The boy, now only reffered to as Fox, stared blankly ahead. He had not screemed as the mask attached itself, metal spikes shooting into the skin and meat, injecting him with a mixture of Fairy Dusty and strange opiates. It was really a simple thing, metal clamps on the side dug into the side of the face and injected the boy with drugs that made him succeptabl to Foxs influence. The patterns and text on the insides served to deepen the trance. Everyone that wore one no longer had a indentity, they were just another face of Mr Fox.

”Foxes don't take stupid fights, they are smart. There is a cop, up on 44th. He is a boyscout, no bribes or nothing. I want you to shoot him. And his wife.” Fox grinned as the boy left to do his newfound duty. The masked goons around him all stood perfectly still, watching him. Their boss was a maniac after all. Here was a crazy person with homicidal tendencies so agressive and full of uncontained malice it made all of them nervouswas safer to stick your head in a furnace then to look his way.

As if he was aware of this sudden tension all along, Fox spoke in a interested, casual tone to one of them. ”Tell me, what was the first thing you guys though off when i made you wear the mask?” Fox asked as he played around with his switchblade. One of them answered. The rest stood like statues.

”That I was gonna die in a motel, choking on my own blood. Sir.” The speaking one was very tall, by far the biggest one in the room. Mr Fox ponded this for a second before he nodded. He looked to the tall, suitwearing minion of his and asked.

”Why a motel though? It feels Oddly specific. I pay you better then that.” He began but stopped himself. ” There was terrible, gleefull tone as he said the last sentence. Fox clasped his hands together.

”S-sir?” The man gulped. And suddenly the switchblade in Foxs hand was lodged in the mans chest . He leaned in and grinned vichiusly.

”Liar.” Fox hissed as the man slowly grew paler and paler, life leaving him. ”People who wear my masks never remember their first time. Its like prom night if the legal drinking age was 15 and not 21.” The man gurgled, a crimson river of blood pouring out over the blade and the Foxs hand. The others had allready grabbed the man by his arms, holding him up. Fox pulled it out and stabbed it back in a few times for good measure. Once satisfied, he removed the mask from the man.

”Have Cheshire find out who send the ugly bastard. And then send someone to Baba, the little scamp has been making a ruckus of late. I like ruckus, I want to steer it onto some of the duller areas. Oh. And threaten to kill one of her dear orphans if she refuses.” Fox spoke without looking at the other goons. He wiped his knife off on the dead mans suit.

”Go fetch the car. I need to talk things over with Snow White. I am done waiting.”

[Kingfisher]

Order had been restored within the White Duck. Relatively speaking, anyhow.

The first few days had been spent steadily kicking Caterpillar’s crew to the curb, and replacing them with Baba’s own men. Having a cabal that consisted mostly of children and young adults, Tanithka had had Tiny Tim handpick some muscle to fill the role of bouncers and other guards, seeing as potential hell raisers were unlikely to feel threatened by someone who could barely grow a moustache .

Tanithka had kept the Chinaman around to help deal with the transition, and he had admittedly been helpful in dealing with the admin side of things. Within a few days everything was running smoothly again; The pushers were back to selling their wares, the hookers were back on their street corners, and the club itself was bringing in as much revenue as it had under its previous owner, with all of it now lining the young girl’s pocket.

Eventually the Chinaman had exhausted his usefulness, and was becoming more hassle than he was worth. Baba Yaga had never tried insect before, but she must confess: She certainly liked the taste of Caterpillar.

Tanithka polished off what was left of her steak, letting out an unladylike belch as she placed one hand on her swollen stomach, grinning contently to herself.

She’d had Caterpillar’s obscenely large chairs replaced with trim leather ones, and the immense oak desk had been substituted for an elegant yet more practical transparent plastic one. Today her top was low cut and her skirt was short, but her choice of attire went beyond sluttyness for the sake of sluttyness: She was expecting a guest.

Smartly dressed men with neatly combed hair tidied away Tanithka’s plate and cutlery, leaving the young mobster to prepare herself for her visitor.

The visitor in question arrived a few minutes later, being ushered in by some of the establishment’s guards. He strode coldly into the office, and sat down in one of the leather chairs without being invited to do so. Tanithka had had the chairs designed to accommodate her meagre 5ft 2inches, so that her feet could touch the ground, and the man practically dominated the seat with his large frame.

He wore a grimy hoodie and ripped jeans, looking tremendously out of place amongst the moderate splendour of the room in question, but neither Tanithka, nor anyone else in the building would call him out on this fashion blunder. The mask he wore was tacky and plastic, the kind that would have attracted scorn and mockery if one were to wear it into the den of a drug lord, had it not been for the likeness which it depicted.

That of a fox.

Within Arcadia, such a mask commanded fear and respect, granting one the ability to saunter into the lair of a certified psychopath unannounced, and to leave intact.

Baba Yaga was beginning to earn herself a reputation as the looney bitch that you did your very best not to cross, but even she didn’t have quite enough screws loose to make a move against The Kitsune. Not yet, anyway.

“Awfully kind of you to grace us with your presence.” She began, after a prolonged moment of silence. The young girl drummed her fingers lightly across the surface of the desk, leaning forwards ever so slightly, giving the masked thug a glimpse of the goods that her low cut top so eloquently put on display.

The man remained completely still, his form composed, his mask hiding even the slightest trace of an emotion.

“So, what does your boss want with me?” She queried, after it became clear he wasn’t planning on giving anything away without prompting.

“The Fox believes that it would in your best interest to focus your particular talents on the more well off areas of the city.” His voice was a dry monotone, with the faintest hint of a Bronx accent. His body remained motionless, lacking even the slightest twitch.

Having lived her entire life within the criminal underworld of New Arcadia, Tanithka had assumed she’d seen every time of goon, but this was something new. Some gangsters beat their men into line, inspiring unquestioned loyalty through whatever means were at their disposal, creating blank faced thugs whose utter lack of emotions were a testament to the unbridled viciousness of their employers, but even then she’d never seen anything quite like this before.

Every criminal had some little quirk-a dry sense of humour, a weakness for women, or an aptitude for sparking fights-but the figure before her was quite literally a robot, possessing now trace of a personality.

Whatever the Kitsune was doing, it was working.

“I see…” Tanithka ran her tongue across the edges of her plump lips, the taste of her last meal still fresh in her mouth.

“He strongly advises you to take the suggested course of action.” Droned the robot-man, as emotionless as ever.

“Or…?” Asked Tanithka, arching one dark eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Or what?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Or he will do what exactly?” She playfully tossed back her dyed hair, fluttering her eyebrows.

The robot-man didn’t respond, but given the Kitsune’s fearsome reputation, no verbal response was needed.

“Thanks for popping by to see me. Tell your master that I appreciate his friendly counselling.”

The robot-man left as quickly as he had arrived, offering her a wordless goodbye as he strode from the room.

[Darog the Badger God]

Financial District, New Arcadia

“He did what?!” Chester growled over the phone, his face twisted into a scowl. He stood in his office, a neatly organised room where everything was arranged and organised exactly to his tastes. The room was large and spacious, the walls taken up mostly by huge bookcases which were filled to the brim with books; most focused on the topic of law and psychology, some written by Chester himself, but a few were for more recreational reading. A simple oak desk sat in the corner of the room, paperwork piled high and almost completely covering the dark brown piece of oak furniture. Chester sat behind it in in a large leather deskchair, slowly fingering through a large black folder, and he sat in silence until eventually his furious expression changed to one of disappointment.“Okay, okay, calm down Tommy…" he said, sighing audibly. "Yes, this is some serious shite he’s potentially put us in. Just look for the Fox and send him to me, capiche? I’ll have a word with him once he gets to my office” Chester continued.

He had recieved the call from a young naïve brat by the name of Tommy Thum a few moments ago. Despite his frustration Chester liked the kid a great deal. He showed great promise as an intellectual despite his young age and Chester wanted him to work for his firm. He looked out of the largest window in his office, seeing flames slowly die down in the distance. His office had a perfect view of Arcadia's downtown district, and fifteen minutes ago a building had burst into flames with an explosion so loud that Chester could feel the vibrations even here.

“What the hell are you planning this time, Fox? You’re gonna get the both of us in some deep shit…” Chester said, thinking out loud, but he fell silent the moment he heard heavy boots tread into his office. He looked up from his work, peering over the mountain of paperwork before him, to see a familiar figure dressed in black stand in front of him. Tall and heavy set, Jonas Dullahan would have been an imposing man even if he did not have a heavy bag clutched in his hand, stained with still-warm scarlet red blood. Two silhouettes could be seen through the material of the bag; the decapitated heads of a young man and a young woman.

He dropped the bag onto the only clear spot on the desk in front of him. “Special delivery…” he said. Jonas’ voice was deep, with a soft southern twang that had stayed with him all these years. Chester looked at him with contempt and spoke. “Speaking of psychos walking the streets, I see you sorted out an altercation for one of my clients? Well, luckily for you, I’ve got some payment. Take it and get the hell out of here quickly!”

Chester reached down, pulled a medium sized bag from behind his desk and tossing it to the biker. Jonas pulled it open and inspecting the contents, seeing that the bag filled with green paper. His favourite colour. Jonas turned and headed back towards the door to leave the office, but Chester’s voice beckoned to him once more. “One more thing, Dullahan. Do you mind helping to clear up around the Ol'boy? The pub that your employer may have just toppled to the ground? It would be a great help if you took out any unneeded trash you happen to stumble upon, thank you”

Jonas nodded, a grin curling up across his lips, and left the room. Chester’s façade of a happy smile quickly change to an expression of disgust and contempt. “Freak….”

Downtown District

Allesandro slowly began to stir as strange sensations ran from his limbs up to his spine, eventually jolting him awake. He tried to flex his fingers first, but found that they would not move, and when he tried to kick with his legs his body felt solid. The tingling sensations became more intense, and it took Allesandro a while to recognise the feeling. Pain shot across his body as he finally registered the shards of glass that dug into his body, his bones that had been shattered, and his limbs which had been mangled. He groaned in pain and opened his eyes, but could only see a murky darkness before him.The blast had knocked him out cold, clearly, and it was a miracle that he was still alive. Al tried to pull his limbs in closer to himself, but immediately he felt the rubble dig deeper into his wounds. It was pure agony. When he opened his mouth to speak he swallowed dust, and spluttered painfully gasping for breath.

Al recognised that he was trapped, but considered it a miracle that he was still alive. He spat, trying to clear out his throat of dust as best he could, and called out to whoever might be able to help him. "Hey, I could use some help over here! Anybody?! For fuck sake!" Al yelled at the top of his lungs, but he quickly swallowed another mouthful of dust and let out another sequence of harsh coughs.

As hard as he was trying to remain optimistic, Al still knew he was not getting out of here without help, and wondered if anyone ever would find him. He did not know which way was up and which was was down, nor how deep he was buried underneath the rubble of the building. While he had not seen him fall, Hooke may have easily been buried in the fall with him, meaning the only man who knew he was there might be incapable of finding him. Worst of all, Al's favourite suit had been torn to shreds, both by the shards of glass that litered his body and his beastly transformation only moments earlier.

He assumed that was moments earlier. He knew not how long he had been unconscious, and he may have been trapped here for over a day without even knowing it. There was no sun overhead to judge the time and his watch was trapped with the rest of his arm.

"Shit," he groaned, realising that he might never be found.

"Al?!" called a voice from above him, as heavy boots trod across the rubble that trapped him.

Allesandro immediately recognised the strong English accent. It was Hooke, he was sure of it. "Hooke!" he called back, and immediately found the drive to push on.

He loostened his arm, pulling it close to his body and ignoring the searing pain that shot up it, and began to push and shift the debris above him. He slowly dug through the wreckage, calling out Hooke's name, and the voice responded in kind. Thin trickles of light began to seep through the gaps in Allesandro's prison, and as a large piece of metal sheeting was pushed out of the way it poured in. His eyes watered, the sheer intensity of the sunlight burning them, but his vision never left the red evening sky above.

There was a figure above Al, peering into the hole he was trapped in, his features obscured but the lights in the sky. Al heard Hooke's voice again, and the figure began to dig down towards him. The detective grinned, overjoyed that the captain was so willing to rescue him. He knew he had chosen well in working with the man. Soon enough the path between Allesandro and freedom was clear, and all he had to do was wriggle himself free from the debris that trapped his limbs.

He stretched his arm out far up into the sky, reaching for the silhouette above him, desperately trying to grab onto the one thing that could help him escape from this prison of rubble. The figure extended his own hand and Al grabbed it, and the familiar figure in black dragged him free. Al kicked and pulled his legs as best he could, no longer caring about the blades of metal and glass that cut into him, and his whole body worked towards forcing himself upwards.

Allesandro's eyes spent a moment to adjust to the light, and he was briefly dazzled as he finally tasted fresh air again. It smelt of smoke and ash, but it was still fresher than what he had been breathing down their, and it was more than worth the blind scramble back to his feet, cutting his hands and arms on the loose stone that littered the floor. The man helped him too, pulling on his arm until Al was finally standing up straight once more.

"Boo," said Dullahan, as he let go of Al's hand and wrapped both of his tightly around the Beast's neck.

Outskirts of New Arcadia

The large family ranch owned by the Frollo family was rife with activity this evening, and people in robes and other strange looking clothing entered the ranch grounds in small groups. Tiny candles lit the path that they took, acting as borders and guiding them towards the main building in the grounds, which was a rather grandiose manor house.

These individuals were members of a group known by many, both inside Arcadia and outside of it, as an extreme and highly religious cult. Believing themselves to be the only people actively trying to save Arcadia from the strong grip the crime families held on it, they were lead by one man known as Father Darrel Frollo. A tall but stocky man sporting both greasy long hair and a full beard, he was to the eyes of many an uneducated and overly zealous madman. However, Darrel Claude Frollo was a remarkably charismatic and energetic man who desperately wanted to repair Arcadia's wounds, and knew that he would need an army of loyal, eager men and women to support him.

Frollo's cult was considered by Arcadia's police force as being more of a threat than many of the crime families. The lengths that him and his followers were willing to go to to get results ranged from peaceful protests to sadistic, gruesome displays of violence in public, and while this erractic nature had poisoned the public's view of them, it gave them enough cover to claim deniability. Their greatest strength had been avoiding persecution from the law, even when the evidence was as clear as day.

The many followers pooled into the building's main room, a large foyer that looked like it could fill a few hundred people. More candles illuminated the room, flickering gently as people passed them. Even when the room was completely full, more and more people tried to force their way in, eager to hear the speech that they had been invited to witness. Many spoke among themselves, but their voices were hushed, never daring to interrupt should he arrive soon. Frollo made his presence known to his followers very swiftly. He stood on a small raised platform that added a modest extra two feet to his height, but it was enough for him to tower over most of the crowd. His close relatives stood by him and watched eagerly as the patriarch of the family started to give his speech.

The man looked upon the faces of his many followers, a welcoming but oddly troubled grin etched upon his face. He walked closer to the front of the stage, raising his arms slightly from his sides and greeting his followers. "Welcome! brothers and sisters!" he said, and the crowd immediately fell silent.

"I, Father Darrel Claude Frollo appreciate y'all for taking the time to come to this rather unexpected meeting. My loving wife and daughter have some nice treats all prepared for you all, so feel free to help yourselves," Frollo exclaimed, his voice carrying easily across the foyer. He paced slowly from the left of the stage to right, clearly pondering his every word but his stride was full of confidence. "Today I visited the sinking hole of sin and debauchery that is New Arcadia, and as I walked I wondered to myself how this city, so grand and beautiful from a distance, could be the hive of scum and evil that we know it to be. I wondered if, maybe, the people of Arcadia had seen the error of their ways, abandonned their sins, and decided to work towards a better and brighter future for us all. I smiled at the thought, and carried on into the big city with great optimism."

"And to my surprise the city was still festering with sinful filth and diseased debauchary as it has always been. How could I have expected anything less? It disgusted me, but as I walked down the desolate streets a thought occured me, then and there. I had hoped, on that day, that New Arcadia possessed the capability to change on its own. That it's people were, by their nature, good, and trying to rebuild something from the ruins they had created. We have tried to save the people of Arcadia, but perhaps it is not enough."

Frollo looked down to his feet and his expression changed. He no longer looked happy or optimistic, but instead determined and saddened. "The time has come where saving the people is not an option. We must cleanse them."

The crowd muttered amongst themselves, wondering what exactly the Father meant. Some gasped, others looked worried, but some showed the same determination and conviction that Frollo did.

"If these people are beyond saving then they are a poison, weakening those that truly care about their fellow man. That is why I have decided to take action. This is the theme of today's meeting, my brothers and sisters! Taking action in your own hands. If we plan to really cleanse Arcadia, then we must act now!"

Motioning to Frollo's two eldest sons, they turned and headed through the doorway and into another room, and then brought out a young man with them. No older than twenty-five, seemingly normal compared to many of the more hard hitting drug addicts that littered the city. He was well dressed, but his clothes were torn and frayed, his hands were tied behind his back, and a rag had been stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet. The two sons pushed the man down to the ground onto his knees, at the very front of the stage where all could see him.

"I have managed to lure one of the lost to my home. He is one of the sinners, the scum of Arcadia, and he will be an example to the entire city. This man will be the first to be cleansed, and the rest of the city will follow." Frollo's voice was cold and monotonal, like metal, and he motioned to his sons again.

Once again they vanished, but came back carrying large metal pots and wearing thick protective clothing, inccluding. Filled with a thick liquid, cooking oil, steam rose from top of the pots and the liquid bubbled violently, boiling to the brim. Another man came up onto the stage with a chair, and after pulling the "sinner" up to his feet, forced him onto the chair and tied him in place with metal chains. He struggled to move but was unable to, rooted in his spot.

Frollo cleared his throat and spoke again. "This man has been found guilty of all seven of the deadliest sins; lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. For his crimes he will be cleansed by fire and boiling oil until he is dead. He will be the first of many to face this grim fate, because today we commit to cleansing all of the evil that plagues New Arcadia. Join me, brothers and sisters, in taking back this once-great city!"

With his last words finished, Frollo took a step backwards from the man. His sons lifted the large pots of oil as high as they could, the man beneath them whimpering and squirming in a desperate attempt to get out, and eventually poured the boiling hot oil over the man.

Even though the rag forced into his mouth muffled his voice, it was clear to everyone that he was screaming. The oil seared through his flesh and clothes, his skin slowly turning black as the boiling oil soaked his entire body. The man writhed and screamed and panicked, his mind overwhelmed with pain, until eventually the chair he sat on tipped over to the side. The crowd gasped in shock and fear, and everybody in the room backed away from the gruesome sight before them.

Everyone but Frollo, who stared down the dying man and seemed unphased by his screaming. The Father fumbled through his pocket, eventually pulling out a small silver lighter from it. He flicked it open and a tiny flame appeared from the top, illuminating his face.

"May God have mercy on your soul," he said as he threw the lighter onto the burning man. The oil covering him burst into flames a second later, and his screams grew even louder.

[Noxious]

Meanwhile, back in the Forest….

Robert Nash Hood

There are certain things you never get used too; the taste of second rate water, baby faced teens mimicking the corrupt ideals of rap videos, and being in the den of the wolves. He didn’t mind the surrounding permeation of poverty in the Forest, even though the majority of his breeding type found neighborhoods like this oppressive and intimidating. He actually found a lot of beauty in the honesty of this place, rarely were you confronted by the two faced mask of beauty on a monster. The monsters here most often looked like monsters. But it was the abode of the Wolves, the gaping tower created and then forgotten by the self-promoting hands of capitalism, which caused a gentle tremor to rise across his spine. Perhaps part of it was a self-reflection, but more likely it was the presence of so many wolves. They moved about the shadows of the building throughout all times of the day. They came and went as groups or lone, occasionally staring at his presence from the corners of their view. This was the one place in the Forest he would never feel at home.

His fingers wrung within themselves, cracking his knuckles at first and now just repeating the process to release apprehensive energy. He was hunched in a chair, sitting in what used to be the front desk of the building. Richie stood with his back towards Robert, he really wasn't a threat. In fact, there were moments when Robert and the Wolves were even comrades. They just didn't want him poking around unattended, and no one got past Richie without the permission of B.B., except maybe Red. She was the reason he was here. She was always the reason he was here. It was true that he no longer felt the full weight of responsibility for the girl, but that didn’t mean that a downtown explosion didn’t get him thinking. He’d tried to call and that probably would have satiated him, but with no answer it only proved to dig deeper into his consciousness. He worried about her, almost as much as he worried about what it was she was up to.

B.B. Wolfe

He hung up the phone as it clicked over to voicemail, again. His patience, which was already rather illusory, had dissipated about 3 one-sided phone calls ago. There was a sort of dread that always began to stroke him when Red wouldn’t answer. He didn’t deal well with dread, so it was simply recalculated as anger. Easier to process. He removed his top hat and pressed a large palm across slick black hair and let out an exaggerated sigh. A gentle tap came at the window of the heavily tinted town car and he obliged the request by cracking the window. An enveloped slipped through the crack from what looked to be a fox, though it could have been a young wolf. B.B. seemed uninterested as he slipped the envelope into a briefcase and rolled up the window.

He looked down at his phone one last time, the screen simply blinked the time, no missed calls. The explosion was already being removed and the phone calls had begun shortly after. It was Richie who pointed a finger towards Red, his account was shoddy, but with Red now MIA….

“Butch, we are going to need to stop back by the Forest Tower.” B.B.’s voice was gruff, dark and scratchy. It was the kind of voice that made innocent women feel dirty and weak men feel woeful. It was the kind of voice that called, and you answered, unless you were Red. He was thinking now that he had spoiled the insolent little minx. Perhaps he would have tighten her leash, but he had been saying that for years. She batted those long lashes and smiled that smutty smile; the image had him tightening a fist around the cellphone until it almost snapped within his grasp. “Fuckin’ Red.”

A few moments later the town car squealed to a halt out front of the Forest Towers and B.B. stepped out. It was habit to glance about, sensing for anything amiss. Having decided everything was as usual, his movements once again became predatory. His fingers seemed to almost rip the massive intricate gold leafed handle from the door of the Towers as he huffed his way in. His steps were forceful, his gait wide. While he was not an impressive stature, especially in relation to Richie…there was just something about him. B.B. locked eyes and pace towards Richie who was already raising his hands in a blame refuting manner. Rob began to rise but B.B.’s eyes flashed towards him and a finger shot up. Rob was quickly reclaiming his seat. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but Richie’s tone was a submissive apology and Rob could swear that there was actual smoke venting from Mr. Wolfe. His tone was guttural and harsh. It seemed to Rob that he did not get the answer he was looking for, but did get directions as Richie pointed towards the indoor pool. B.B. stride, purposeful without looking rushed, headed down a badly lit hall in the offered direction.

Richie turned towards Rob and offered him a shrug. Rob let out a measured sigh and attempted to get comfortable, returning Richie’s gesticulation. He had so many other things he needed to be doing, but he was glued here now, his only real recourse, save leaving and hoping B.B. could handle Red, was to pull out his PDA and start issuing orders to his own staff.

Little Red

The indoor pool resembled a ghetto fabulous atrium more than a pool. The concrete pit was empty save for a few broken chaise lounge chairs and used spray paint cans. The tiles had been imported, glittering in defiance beneath sprawling art pieces that depicted wolves and other tableaus of Forest life scrawled in a variety of colors and life experience. The ground around the pool was soft tiny pale pebbles, ferns and other vines sprouting through and clawing about the area no coherent pattern. Even in this disarray the room hinted a need for classical music, but it was currently being fed a song unrecognizable beyond thumping bass. B.B. pushed open the wooden doors only to be assaulted by the bass invasion. He quickly turned to the stereo by the door and clicked it off, turning to face Red complete with a “WHAT THE FUCK MANYA?”

The little girl, still dressed in the same attire she had donned before the bombing, was perched atop a bar stool with a box of Chinese food resting on her knee. “Shhhhhhhh.” The chopsticks moved from beneath the hood to point at a figure a few feet away the pool. The figure was gagged, eyes large and pleading, tied eccentrically to the chair. What she lacked in skill she made up for with dedication. For a moment B.B. looked floored. His eyes rolled towards the ceiling as he made his way towards Red, putting his back towards the bloody faced rabbit.

“Shhhhh. You’re fucking kidding me. Shhhhhh. What the hell is going on Red? What have you done?” She lowered the chopsticks to her food and gazed at B.B. There was a few blood sprinkles kissing her cheeks, thankfully not enough to portray crazed violence. Her eyes were slightly glazed, but they saw him and focused. A good sign, and at this point B.B. was really needing a few good signs before he knocked the crazy bitch out.

“It hops so fast, bouncing, hunting. Do rabbits eat wolves? Wolves eat rabbits. Rabbits eat carrots. But who likes carrots? Raw carrots?” She twirled the chopsticks about in her Chinese food, focusing her attention on the cooked carrots sprinkled in her Lo Mein.

B.B.’s voice was measured, speaking calmly now though the rage threatened just beneath. “Manya, little Red, I need you to tell me what happened.” She raised her eyes back up to meet Wolfe’s. She looked a little hurt that he was mad at her. For a moment he remembered how broken she was and it influenced a downward curl of his lips. He couldn’t tell for sure if she was trying to play him or not, but he reached out a hand and rubbed a piece of blood off of her cheek. “It’s going to be okay Manya, start at the beginning. Did you have anything to do with the pigs?” She looked awkwardly insulted that he would ask her that. Her indignation flared and B.B. smiled. “I thought maybe you did it for me,” he added in attempt to pry the story from her.

“I did not blow up the pigs.” Her frown deepened. “Did you want me too?”

“No, no, no.” He ran a calming hand over her head, smoothing her hair. It took a lot for him to not push the weight of his palm forcefully into her temple and crack that pretty demented little head on the floor. Red could sense his indecision and flinched a little at his touch. He pulled his hand away and tried a sympathetic expression. “Look Manya, I just want to know what happened. Who is that? Why is he here?” He gestured over his shoulder at the Rabbit and was tempted to add an enthusiastic HERE IN MY HOME, but he restrained himself.

She considered his expression and dropped the chopsticks into the Chinese food. Thick lashes fluttered over focusing eyes, blank yet grasping for clarity. He hadn’t noticed before but her pupils were drowning out the gentle gray. It was as if you could see the mental gears trying to shake off rust, either trying to remember what happened exactly or to make sure the light she shone was not cast brightly upon her own faults. She set the Chinese food down and dug around for a joint in the deep cotton pockets of the hoodie; buying time while she decided if Fox should be mentioned at all. B.B. let out what would most definitely be called a growl and she abandoned her search for a lighter, slipping the unlit joint behind her ear.

“Well, you see, I decided to go for a little walk.” B.B. did not like when Red was in these moods. He actually preferred her vicious. At least the story would be more interesting than this awkward half high stage she floated about in. He knew this was going to be long winded and was already rolling his wrist and waving his palm in a gesture he hoped would fast forward the tale. “Dusk was starting to kick in when I left…” She noticed his gesture and decided to skip the entire part about the star alignments and the way she always felt frosty slipping over 6th Avenue no matter the time of day. “Well, I was minding my own business, smoking on top of a fire escape. I thought I would catch the sunset. The sunset has been hinting at something as of late, don’t you agree?”

B.B. was plucking a piece of lint off of his suit and just barely raised an eyebrow toward her at the question. She was relaxing and even giggled a little bit. But his expression offered no solidarity on the light hearted front. There was a man tied to a chair and this bitch was talking about sunsets. Realizing he was not going to answer, she offered an answer for him, “Of course you have, you notice everything.” While B.B. was a fan of flattery, he missed that as her attempt. He really was not in the mood for any of this. He probably should have just let that sad sap Rob Hood deal with her, and he most definitely would have if he didn’t feel protective of his turf and the blow back upon him from Red’s action.

“Where did you find him Red?” The guy had seen B.B. now, so the problem had not only curled up on his floor, now he was invariably linked to the situation.

“Okay, so, minding my own business. Walking along the roof so I could get down and head back home when all of a sudden he comes leaping at me. I hit him. I didn’t know what else to do. He looked crazed and you can never be too careful. Like Grandma used to….”

“Focus Red.” B.B.’s stern expression made her forget what she was about to say anyway. She stared at him while trying to remember where exactly she was in her tale until B.B., with an exaggerated eye roll helped her out. “You hit him, and?”

“AND he started bleeding like a bitch in heat.” She gestured to the bits of blood upon herself as proof. “I didn’t want to leave him assed out on the roof top. And then I noticed this…” She reached beside her and picked a messenger bag off the ground and held it out towards B.B. She peered around him at the rabbit while narrowing her eyes. “He works for someone.”

“So you tied him up and brought him here?”

“Yep.”

“Red….” He was going to explain some things to her but then he decided she probably wasn’t in any state to absorb the basic knowledge he wanted to drop on her. Instead B.B. turned towards the rabbit. He walked over with measured strides, evaluating the man with a moderate interest. He stood there, looming over him for a few moments, before he hooked a finger on the side of the gag and pulled it out of him mouth. “And you, what do you have to say for yourself?” He tone was cold, but interested. He wiped his hand on a handkerchief he had pulled from one of his pockets. You never know what kind of diseases these vermin carry.