nitemare shape

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Posts coming soon

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

New York, New York
Later that night…

“She went that way!” one of the men who had been chasing her cried out.

Bobbi Jay had been minding hanging out with her friends near Bow Bridge in Central Park when the men arrived. At first, she thought it was the police stopping to give them a hard time like they always did at this time of night. Officer Bates had been an especially insufferable prick as of late, and it was just like him to rush up on them with the four wheeler on which he had recently been using to patrol the park. However, she soon realized that it wasn’t just one four wheeler that was approaching, but several. When the vehicles came to a stop before them, Bobbi counted four of the four wheelers. However, these were odd vehicles, slightly elongated with enough room to carry at least two men each.

As the men disembarked the vehicles, she noticed that they were not in fact, police. The men were adorned in head to toe black body armor, and the man who seemingly took the lead was holding some sort of device that looked somewhat like an EMF detector, the meter that electricians use to find electromagnetic fields. The men wasted no time, they rushed toward Bobbi and her group of friends with guns drawn.
She ran before she heard the first gunshot.

As she ran, her body began to change. Her bones and muscles twisted and reformed, her body was soon covered in a thick red fur, and she began to take on a decidedly more canine appearance. When she had first turned, the metamorphosis was excruciating. However, after over a decade of changes, it has become like second nature to her. Although it still was a painful experience, it no longer slowed her down.
She bounded across the park and made her way out into the city at 74th Street. With her keen senses, she knew that the men were close behind her. As she raced down an alleyway away from the street, she thought that she had escaped, but suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her hind quarters. From that point, she found it difficult to continue running. Her legs became heavy and her breath labored. Finally, she came to a stop in the middle of the dirty alley. Much to her surprise, when she looked down at her very human leg, she found a large needle of some sort sticking out of her thigh.

Some kind of tranquilizer… she thought to herself, whatever the concoction was made it impossible for her to maintain her wolf form, and she found herself laying naked in the grimy alley unable to move, waiting for her pursuers to finally catch up to her.
She did not have long to wait. Moments after she came to rest in the middle of the alley, the sounds of heavy boots striking the pavement rang in her ears, and she became well aware that they had surrounded her.

“Well, isn’t this a shame?” One of the men said as he stood over her. He then raised his pistol for her to see and leveled it at her. “These here,” he said indicating the bullets that were loaded into the gun’s chamber, “were made especially for your kind.” He finished before firing two shots straight into her skull.

***

Derby Street, Salem, MA

Christian May was a bit of a local celebrity. He owned several businesses in the Salem area, among them a “magic shop” called Casters, which was full of novelties like crystal wands and herbs, “spells” for everything from love and wealth to protection. His good friend Lorna set up shop in the corner of the store and read tarot cards for the tourists who flooded the downtown area each October. During the housing crisis, he and Lorna went around with local news crews “blessing” houses which had been foreclosed upon in order to prevent negative forces from afflicting the new homeowners once they had taken over the properties. On Halloween, May led a Wicca prayer circle. The spectacle involved a number of local witches leading tourists in a prayer ritual all while trying to be loud enough to drown out the evangelical idiots who walked around the circle with bullhorns and signs condemning the entire lot to the eternal torment of hellfire and brimstone.
His antics and perpetual self aggrandizing eventually paid off, as he was named “The Official Warlock of Salem” The recognition that came with that distinction was a boon for business. Casters saw traffic to the store more than quadruple within six months. In fact, he was so successful that he was able to buy his biggest rival’s store, Raven Feathers right out from under her. However, more importantly he was able to realize his dream and open a bar called The Black Mirror, which catered to real witches and warlocks, and others who were involved in the dark arts.

On any given night, you could find Christian behind the bar serving the best libations in the city to a number of his faithful regulars, along with any tourist who thought that they had merely entered an establishment that was keeping with a theme that had proven profitable. While it was true that Christian was motivated by money more than anything else, it was also true that The Black Mirror and her regulars gave him a sense of purpose that he had never felt before in his entire life.

“Away from the harvest the seasons have turned, the nights have grown colder and fires we’ve burned…” Christian sang the old Wicca hymn, which he always enjoyed because of the fact that it shared its tune with the Christmas carol Away in a Manger, which always seemed to rile up the crazy Christians who overheard his joyful renditions of the song. As he sang, the doors of The Black Mirror blew open and several armed men in black body armor rushed into the bar, immediately firing on the bar’s patrons. Then, the gunfire stopped as suddenly as it started.

Christian sat cradling himself on the floor behind the bar, unable to breathe, unable to think. He had never been more afraid of anything in his life. After a few moments of quiet, Christian slowly brought himself to his feet, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. As he looked around the bar, he saw that nobody had survived the onslaught. Not even Peter, his best regular, and husband had been spared. Then he looked over to the culprits. About a dozen men all in black body armor with their weapons trained on him, yet they didn’t open fire. Instead they stood around a thirteenth man, who in stark contrast wore white armor and a mask in the fashion of the Death’s Head.
The man in white raised his hand palm forward, and all Christian could see was a blinding white light as he was sent crashing into the rows of liquor behind him. Before he could react, a powerful pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him up onto the bar top. No sooner had he come crashing down on the surface, sending what glasses and mugs remained scattering all over the floor, than the man in white pierced his portly stomach with a nine inch blade.

“Who…who are you?” Christian weakly cried as he gazed into his attacker’s masked eyes.

“I’m the Revelator. And this is your end.” He said as he pulled out a small device, the very same type of device that had been used to burn Pixy Stix just hours prior. Then he turned away from the bar and motioned for his men to take their leave. As The Revelator left The Black Mirror, her could hear Christian May’s screams as his body was engulfed in flame.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

working on some stuff

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

I promised a big event. I believe that I just delivered. :D

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Los Angeles, California 7:01PM Western Time

Club Morte had long been a popular attraction among the Gothic lifestylers and those looking for a bit of excitement by stepping outside of their comfort zone. Located just a few blocks off of Sunset Boulevard, the club had been a haven for those looking for something a little bit different. Unknown to the majority of the club’s patrons, much less the tourists who on occasion passed through the front doors, Club Morte was not just your average alternative lifestyle club. While the club itself had a cheap, right off the rack of Hot Topic type of feel to it, something much more sinister was at work within the walls of the club.

For years, the local police department looked the other way whenever the occasional junky disappeared soon after leaving the club, or even vanish from within the club itself. Some within the department were aware of the true nature of the club, and because of that they allowed things to run their course without police intervention. The fact was, Club Morte was run by mobsters or gangs, but something much, much worse. Vampires had first moved into the area at the height of Prohibition in the 1920’s, and taking advantage of the state’s glamour seekers offered the best spirits that money could buy. And buy they did. People showed up to the original location, which was simply known as Stardust in droves. Stardust was an elegant establishment, a perfect reflection of that era’s Hollywood. Over the years, the club had evolved into whatever it needed to be in order to serve its purpose, and while entertainment was always important, the club’s main focus was to provide its owners with a steady source of food.

On this night, the club was at capacity. The club pulsed with the electric beats that the deejay was producing from his rig. The heat level within the club was rising as bodies swayed and grinded against one another with the beats of the music; the strobe lights gave the place an entirely otherworldly feel. The vampiric element within the club surveyed the dance floor, looking prime candidates to be their next meal. Suddenly, the front doors burst open and about a half dozen men in black tactical suits rushed into the club, seemingly opening fire indiscriminately. The staff of the club, which was made up almost exclusively of vampires rushed toward the intruders, only to be met with a hail of gunfire. However, as soon as the first vampire was struck, it was clear that these intruders were not using just any ammunition, evidenced by the fact that once the bullet pierced his heart, the vampire began to writhe in pain as she began to combust from the inside. Within a matter of seconds, all that remained of the vampire was a pile of dust that marked where she had taken her last breath. The scene repeated itself over and over as the vampires within the club fell one after another in short order.

However, the slaughter did not end when the last vampire had fallen. Soon, the attackers turned their sights on the club patrons and opened fire. The majority of the victims simply fell to the ground when they were shot, though several others combusted from the inside and left nothing but a pile of ash where their bodies should have been. The attackers hit the club with a tactical precision that one would expect to see out of a military special ops unit. The assault was fast and hard, and was over almost as suddenly as it began. When the gunfire stopped, the attackers left a pile of corpses and ash strewn about the club, and the only clue left about who they were, or what they wanted were three solitary letters spray painted in black across the top of the bar.
H-O-H

Little Ulster, Lost Haven Maine 10:01PM Eastern Time

For the woman known only as Styx, it has been a long year. After first arriving in Lost Haven and opening a portal to a demonic dimension and unleashing that realm’s inhabitants upon the city, an event that the locals have taken to calling D-Day, she has found it in her best interest to remain out of the public eye. She hadn’t thought that anyone had seen what she had done, but several months after the incident she had begun receiving threatening letters. So she had gone into hiding completely off the grid. She had been forced, quite literally underground. She had spent her days toiling in the sewers beneath the city. She had memorized every nook and cranny of the world below the city that most of the residents of Lost Haven were completely unaware even existed below their feet. It had been a miserable existence for the demon, who had survived by feeding on rats and insects, as well as the occasional scraps of rotting food that she had been able to liberate from dumpsters on the rare occasions that she had risked going above ground.

Living below the streets sucked, there was no way around that. But she was still breathing, and as unpleasant as that could be while living in the sewers, she was still alive. Or at least that’s what she told herself on a daily basis. That was her life, at least until recently when she began to get the sinking feeling that she was no longer alone in the subterranean hell that she had made for herself. It was true that from time to time she would cross paths with someone from above ground. She would see the occasional homeless person who found that the warmth that the underground provided was better than freezing to death up above. She would even see the occasional criminal who was using the tunnels beneath the city streets to move about undetected. Though it didn’t happen very often, she was accustomed to that. But this was different. She could feel that somebody was down there with her, watching her. Even though she tried to convince herself that she was being paranoid, it made her uneasy.

Up until this moment, she had almost been able to convince herself that she had in fact been paranoid. However, that debate was quickly and undeniably settled when she saw three men in black body armor coming toward her with guns drawn. She had been in a secluded section of the sewer which was secluded and cozy, with just a small corridor that led to a ladder and a manhole cover. The three men seemed to know exactly where she would be, and when. It was that moment that she knew that she had been right all along, someone had been watching her. She darted down the back corridor and nimbly jumped to the ladder, where she raced to the top and expertly forced the manhole cover open and pushed her way through it, up and out into the brisk night air.

“Sorry, so sorry…but no, no, no, no. You…you aren’t going to get me that eas--!” she was cut off mid sentence as a section of barbed wire was placed across her throat and yanked hard backward. The pain of the barbs piercing the soft flesh of her neck was unlike anything she had ever felt before and she almost blacked out from the shock, but somehow, she managed to stay awake.

In her rush to escape the threat below, she failed to notice the threat that awaited her above the surface. Several more of the black clad men were laying in wait just out of view in the alley in which she had emerged. Once the first man had secured her with the barbed wire noose, the men dragged her out of the alley to their waiting trucks. However, the men did not throw her into one of the vehicles. Instead, they bound her arms and legs with more barbed wire. Once she was secured in the wire, they each tied one end of the wire to the bumper of their trucks. Once she was tightly secured, they each began to drive away in different directions, pulling her completely apart in the process. However, the men did not travel far. In fact, they only pulled forward a dozen or so feet in any direction. Once Styx had been eliminated, the removed the barbed wire tethers from their bumpers and left what remained of her in a neat pile on the sidewalk where anyone who happened by would find her remains. However, they didn’t leave until one of the men carved the letters “H-O-H” into her forehead.

Las Vegas, Nevada 7:01PM Western Time

Pixy Stix was a relatively new hot spot in Las Vegas. Located just off of the main Strip, the patrons who frequented and tourists alike were always guaranteed a good time. Unlike other establishments of its ilk, the Fae that ran Pixy Stix were neither shy nor did they conceal who, or more importantly, what they were. In fact, they included it in their marketing. Most people thought that it was nothing more than a clever gimmick to stand out in a city of clever gimmicks. But the fact remained, that within the walls of Pixy Stix, nothing was off limits, and nothing was too taboo. In fact, if you were one of the lucky VIP’s, or even if one of the girls, or guys for that matter took a fancy to you, you could end up in the back room, which had been nicknamed “Eden,” which was more or less a thinly veiled brothel where you could live out your wildest fantasies with some of the most desirable creatures from all of mythology…as long as your credit card cleared, that is.

To the patrons who visited Pixy Stix, a night there was much akin to spending an evening with the fabled Lotus Eaters, time just seemed to pass by ever so slowly, and with each passing moment, you were less and less inclined to leave. However, unlike the Lotus Eaters, the Fae who resided at Pixy Stix did not need to keep you under a mystical thrall to keep you there; you wanted to stay all on your own accord. Once inside Pixy Stix, you were surrounded by beautiful people wearing very little, and in some cases, nothing at all and an abundance of the very best booze from all around the world, as well as several “secret brews” that unbeknownst to anyone but the Fae, were not of this world at all.

To the Fae, as well as those in the know, Pixy Stix was more than a raucous nightclub. It was a sanctuary. It was a place that Fae, humans, meta humans, and all variety of supernatural creatures alike could go without worrying about being judged. This was a place where no body had to worry about petty rivalries and violence. Pixy Stix was a place of fun and peace. It was a place where the promise of entertainment and sex were more important than the need for conflict. From the moment you walked through the front doors, you were among friends. These were friends who didn’t care about the things that you may have done in the past, or might do in the future. Everyone was welcome at Pixy Stix, and everyone got along.

That was until a dozen men in black body armor kicked in the door and began opening fire. The men stormed the club, not just with guns, but hunting knives and what looked like machetes. However, they were not just any blades, these were forged from wrought iron. The men went about Pixy Stix, slaughtering everyone in their path, not just Fae and other supernatural beings, but humans as well. There was no rhyme or reason to the attack, there was just unrelenting, indiscriminate killing. When they had finished, there was not a single being, human, meta human, or Fae left alive inside the walls of Pixy Stix. They had even found the secret entrance into Eden, and slaughtered anyone there as well. Once the assault was over, and the attackers were satisfied that everyone was dead, the leader of the raid pulled out a small spherical device about the size of a ping pong ball from his utility belt and pressed a button on the top of it, which caused the device to glow red. After ordering his men out of the club, he threw the device among the carnage just before he took his leave of the club himself. Moments later, Pixy Stix exploded in a torrent on flame and wind that eradicated everything inside.

The men did not leave until they had left a message scorched into the street in front of what had until tonight, been Pixy Stix. They had poured gasoline into the street, and when they lit a match and tossed it into the gas, the letters H-O-H could be seen from the heavens.

STRIKE Headquarters, Washington DC, 10:01PM Eastern Time

Alexander Anderson stood around the vast computer arrays that were housed in the Situation Room of STRIKE Headquarters. He and his top advisors were focused on one screen in particular. Neither Anderson nor his advisors knew what to make of the anomaly that had been tracking, and neither did the few within the scientific community that they had brought in to analyze it. They only thing they knew was that they knew absolutely nothing.

“Director, it seems that the anomaly is-” the man was interrupted by one of the men monitoring one of the other many computer screens.

“Sir! We have multiple att-” the technician never finished his sentence as the console in front of him, as well as the rest of arrays exploded at once, sending glass, bodies and other debris flying in every direction.
The explosion had been so big, that it punched a hole in the titanium reinforced outer wall of the complex, killing untold dozens of men and women within the headquarters of STRIKE. The only fortunate thing about the explosion was that it occurred late at night when the vast majority of agents and general employees were at home with their families. However, as the rescue crews made their way down to the epicenter of the blast, it was clear that nobody could have possibly survived such an explosion. Agent Marcus Ryder, had been outside when the explosion rocked the nation’s capital, the blast’s concussion had been so powerful that it threw him a dozen or so yards from where he had been standing.

“My God…” was all that he could muster when he looked up and saw the utter devastation that had befallen STRIKE Headquarters. Agent Ryder, who had served in the same military unit with Director Anderson in their younger years, and who had maintained a close relationship with him, rushed toward the inferno that had been his base of operations.

He ran into the building and made his way down to the Situation Room, where he knew Anderson had been holding a briefing with some of his advisors. As he raced through the halls, he was amazed by how quickly the response teams had sprung into action. As he got closer to the Situation Room, he was nearly overcome by the noxious fumes of the black smoke that billowed through the halls. As he reached the room, visibility was very limited, but from what he could see, he knew that the situation was bad. The heavy steel doors that led into the Situation Room had been blown clean off of the hinges. Ryder rushed blindly into the room, hoping against hope for a miracle.

“Alex! Alex!” he cried out to his friend. However, he was greeted with silence. It was in this moment, that he knew nothing would ever be the same again.

***

All across the country people settled in for the night. Some chose to watch the evening news, or old Friends reruns. Some people chose to spend the night binge watching their favorite shows on Netflix or Hulu. However, none were expecting what they were about to view. Instead of their program of choice, they found themselves gazing at a figure surrounded in shadow, much like what you might expect to see when a show like 60 Minutes is interviewing a mob witness. As the man spoke, it was through a voice modulator that made the message all the more sinister.

“People of America, we find ourselves at the precipice. For far too long, our elected leaders and those who have been put into place to protect us from the threats that we face have failed to act. Instead, they have sat idly by and watched as freaks in capes, mages and monsters have taken the security of this world into their own hands. For the most part, the people have accepted the rule of gods amongst us, at the detriment of humankind.” The man in shadows said before pausing to allow his words to find their mark.

“But let me ask you, how long? How long before these so call saviors decide that playing hero is not enough? How long before they turn their powers against us?” The man asked, again pausing for effect.

“We cannot sit by and wait for these beings to decide that it is time that rushing to our aid and solving our problems is no longer prudent. We cannot wait for them to decide that it is us, the human race, that is the problem. And we can no longer wait for institutions that have been put into place to protect us from such a cataclysm to follow their charter and do what must be done. So we have taken it upon ourselves to take the necessary steps to protect all of humanity from the threat of the meta humans and all of their ilk. Tonight, we have completed multiple, simultaneous operations against known threats. We have also eliminated the organization known as STRIKE, for their failure to act against hostile forces. We will no longer tolerate the meta human threat to our world, nor those who support them. We will continue to act, until all meta humans, as well as those who provide material aid or support for their kind, are wiped from the face of the Earth.” The man paused as he leaned toward the camera, however, even as he moved closer to the camera, his face remained obscured in shadow.

“Inaction is no longer acceptable. We are the last line of defense against these monsters, and we will not rest until every last one of them is eradicated. We are here, we are everywhere. We are the…”

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

The night had gone about as well as Scott had expected. They all ate in a relative, awkward silence as Janice tried to make conversation, which Jonathan masterfully avoided. Whenever Jonathan did participate in the conversation, it only served to point out how woefully inadequate he found Scott to be not only in just about every facet of life, but especially as a partner for his baby girl. In fact, it had been so brutally unbearable that Alexa almost abruptly ended the dinner with her parents on several occasions. However, as much as she wanted end the whole affair and spare Scott any more torment from the unrelenting passive aggressive assault of her father, she didn’t. Instead she tried to make the evening as smooth as possible by changing the topic whenever her father’s attitude warranted it.

Mercifully, after just over two excruciating hours, dinner was over. Scott had hoped that once the bill was paid, he and Alexa would be free to take their leave of her parents and salvage the rest of the night together. He had hoped for a nice quiet night at home, either her apartment or his, which one wasn’t relevant, relaxing on the couch watching some Netflix or anything for that matter, just as long as they were together. However, fate had other plans. Instead of finally going their separate ways after dinner, Janice proved to be a true sadist and suggested a night cap at Alexa’s apartment. What was worse, they had decided to walk the three blocks from AnGio to her place, which left Scott with no chance to avoid further conversation.

The night went from bad to worse when Jonathan suggested that the ladies walk ahead so that he and Scott could “bond.” As the two ladies moved further ahead of them, a tight knot developed in his chest as he had an unsettling feeling about what was surely to come. Thus far in his relationship with Alexa, any and all interactions with her parents, particularly her father, were about as pleasant as a colonoscopy, and here he was, walking side by side with the man who had been the bane of his existence since they had been introduced.

“You know Scott, I really do think that you’ve got me all wrong.” Jonathan said almost out of the blue.

Here we go… Scott thought to himself as he looked into the windows of an upscale women’s clothing store as they walked past it.

“I know you think I don’t like you, and while I don’t approve of you dating my daughter, I don’t dislike you.” He said in an almost friendly manner.

“You certainly seem to go out of your way to show me otherwise.” Scott countered.

“The thing is, for me to dislike you would mean that you matter. And I want to be crystal clear, you don’t.” Jonathan told him.

Scott was about to respond, but was completely taken aback by the older man’s statement that the words just wouldn’t come. A thousand things came to mind that he wanted to say, but for Alexa’s sake, he didn’t. Instead, he walked along silently wishing that Umbraxis would suddenly show up and attack the city again.

“Look Scott, you seem like a nice kid. You seem to have your head on your shoulders. You’ve got that little club of yours, and it allows you to…do whatever else it is you do in your spare time.” Jonathan said with a sideways glance and a smirk. “But you just aren’t what she needs. You can’t support Alexa, and you can’t protect her.”

“To be perfectly honest Jonathan, Alexa doesn’t need to be taken care of. And she sure as hell doesn’t need anybody’s protection.” Scott started. “I may not make the kind of money that your family does, but I would never, ever let anything happen to Alexa, and if she needed it, I would give her every penny I had.”

“That’s nice to hear. It’s inconsequential, but still nice. The fact of the matter is, I don’t trust you. You aren’t good enough for my little girl, but for some strange reason she chose you. Scott, you make my daughter happy, and to me that’s the most important thing. So let me be crystal on this…if you hurt her, if anything happens to her while you two are together…I will make your life a living hell. Your club, your apartment, hell…your mother’s home…everything that has ever meant anything to you, will be mine. I will erase you with the snap of my fingers and I’ll sleep like a baby while doing it. Because that little girl is my whole world, and I will destroy anybody that causes her any pain.” Jonathan said, his tone indicating to Scott that it wasn’t just an idle threat, but that the older man meant every word.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. I’d never do anything to hurt her.” Scott told him.

“I know that you believe that, but I’ve been around, Kid, and I just don’t see this lasting.” This was the last thing that Jonathan or Scott said for the remainder of the short walk back to Alexa’s apartment. With each step, Scott wished that he could just take off and get away from this miserable human being, but again for Alexa’s sake, he stuck his chin out and endured for the rest of the night.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Zoe and Silas are both approved

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Looking to finish some stuff up tonight after work, as well as work in the collab with Fallen

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Hey guys, I was working on some stuff tonight but then I got blindsided with some really, really bad news which kinda knocked the creativity out of me. I'll try and do some more around my work schedule tomorrow.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

Several days had passed since Harry had directed Lyger to find Dr. Jason Miles, who had recently pulled off a bloody escape from Acadia State Hospital, an escape that left several employees dead. Dr Miles was a sleep researcher who had been looking into a cure for insomnia, a plight that after some research of his own, Lyger learned that Miles had suffered from himself. He believed that he had gotten close to finding the cure, and even went so far as developing a serum that he believed would prove to end insomnia. Unfortunately, he took the supposed cure himself before it was ready for human testing, and to say that the serum proved to not be the cure was an understatement. In fact, the cure proved to exacerbate the problem. It rendered Dr. Miles unable to sleep at all. Over the course of weeks, and then months, Dr. Miles slowly lost his grip on reality. Over that time, he began to develop a sort of god complex, in which the only things that were real were the things that he declared were so.

With each passing day, Dr. Miles became more irrational and violent. He was prone to violent outbursts, and within the first month had maimed a nurse, disfiguring her face with a fork. After that incident, the hospital staff were under strict instructions not to interact with him alone, as they were to use the “buddy system” whenever they were to enter his cell. It was a violation of that rule that allowed Dr. Miles escape, leaving the orderly who broke protocol as well as a nurse, and several security officers dead.

Dr. Jason Miles, who now calls himself Insomnia had vanished without a trace, and despite his best efforts, Lyger was unable to come up with so much as a lead as to his whereabouts. It was almost as if he had completely vanished. The though disturbed Lyger, but not as much as the realization that Jason Miles, the man now known as Insomnia would not be found until he was ready to be found.

***

Detective Jason Hart hated working nights. In most cities the night working nights was just another shift, but in Crown Ridge, there was something different about the nights. It was as if the entire goddamned city lost its mind and acted like savages. At least, that’s how it seemed sometimes. Detective Hart had seen the absolute worst that humanity had to offer. Over the course of his fifteen year career with the CRPD, he had grown cynical as he watched the people of his city seemingly invent new ways to cause pain and despair to their fellow man. He had seen men, women, and children tortured and executed in some of the most brutal ways imaginable. At first, it haunted him. He took the things he saw home with him, it had cost him his wife and their children. His wife Liz had learned to hate the man that he had become, or at the very least, not want him around to influence their kids. So after a night of drinking away the images that were burned in his mind, she upped and left, taking their kids with them to Seattle, almost as far away from him as she could geographically take them.

But this…this was something completely different.

“What’ve we got?” asked his partner, Gwen Brady.

For the past four years, Gwen had been the best partner any cop could ask for. She always had his back, and at one point during an arrest, took a bullet for him. She was also the best detective that he knew, and in the time that they had been working together became more than just partners…they became best friends.

“The victim’s name is Courtney Hill, 23 years old. She's a local, works at Nick's Gym as a personal trainer...and what you see is what you get.” Jared Cook, one of the CRPD’s best crime scene investigators told them.

The two detectives stood in front of the body, which had been hung by the neck and suspended against the exterior wall of Calvin’s Automotive, which had gone out of business three months prior. She had been beaten badly and stripped of nearly all of her clothes, wearing only a pair of sneakers and her jogging shorts. However, as Cook explained, neither the hanging nor the beating had been the cause of death. There was a single gunshot wound to her left temple which had been the killing blow. However, there was something odd about the body, three bloody letters had been carved into her chest, the letters H-O-H.

“What do you think that means?” Hart asked his partner.

“I’m not sure, but we’re sure as hell going to find out.”