Red7VII

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Welcome aboard. Definitely a fun place to get creative. I hope you like it!

X-Men: The New Era - Issue II: Avalon Rising

Drake “D” Edwards

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Interaction/Mentions: @Damo021 | Location: Ashford Institute > Cafeteria

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Drake's eyelids fluttered rapidly, a gesture that summoned both his consciousness and reality, guiding them together in a delayed and silent collision. Any just like that, he was back.

"Hrm," he grunted, his eyes wide, taking in the scenery as he looked cautiously and perhaps fearfully around the room as he tried to search for clues as to his current situation. He didn't quite recall how he had gotten here or how long he had stayed. As he took in his surroundings, his gaze fell upon a familiar sight. Though her face was concealed against the surface of the table, he knew that hair, that shape, the voice.

"Whuh," he finally managed to stutter out. His mind tried to reach back ten seconds in time and reanalyze what he'd heard. "Your... hole... hurts?" His face was painted with skepticism at his own guess. "I don't..." he started, struggling to process anything as his mind was still booting back up. "I mean, Hi Cleo. What, uh, what're you doing here? Or... How long have we been here?" His joints ached and his muscles were tight. He rolled his neck around trying to induce a chiropractic pop or two while also stretching out his arms, becoming a human impression of the letter Y. As his neck rolled, his face moved within close quarters of his armpit. His nose almost immediately scrunched up at the smell. It was as if he used swamp water as deodorant. He quickly put his arms down as a courtesy to his nostrils and anyone else in his vicinity.

"Dear God" he exclaimed with a look of bewilderment and disgust at his own state. He looked to Cleo once more, still trying to process one last visual. "What are you doing to that table?"

Red Dead Reckoning

I'm not closing the book, but my time management needs to be better organized. Short answer: Maybe

The Red Hoods: Rebirth

Apologies for the delay of the GM post. Life happened, minor crisis had to be/is currently being attended to. Will get GM post up as soon as I'm able.

The Red Hoods: Rebirth

There will be a GM post this weekend (Likely tomorrow) and then we're going to work toward moving on to the next day, so if you have anything you want to get wrapped up, please endeavor to do so. Thanks!

X-Men: The New Era - Issue II: Avalon Rising

Drake “D” Edwards

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Interaction/Mentions: None | Location: Ashford Institute > Cafeteria

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He stared at it without emotion. It was like it had it's own gravitational pull, sucking in all of his attention, unrelentingly demanding that he not look away. Drake's vision was a tunnel of blur, except right in the center... right at it... right at the bowl of cereal before him.

Sleep was a stranger with dangerous associates. The fire-eyed young man had been trying to distance himself from it through several means, some methods more ill-advised than others. The gas tank behind his efforts was running on empty, however, and the extreme drowsiness was beginning to take hold, threatening to rapaciously drag Drake's consciousness into the void where The Other lived: the malicious entity that dwelled within himself.

The other night he considered truly giving in. His own defiance was too demanding and his ability to fight against it was dwindling rapidly. But, alas, here he was standing his ground. A disheveled zombie in a mess hall so distracted by his one and only objective that his mind and body forgot how to do anything else but resist, leaving him in a waking coma.

He hadn't changed his clothes, nor showered. After the efforts at the club, his shirt was stained with sweat and his hair sat wild and unkempt, his beard in desperate need of a combing. He could only imagine that his breath was potent enough to peel back paint.

He could hear the sounds around him, but the voices and noises entered his mind with a sort of aquatic muffle. When Dean Ashford's familiar murmurs sounded off overhead, Drake couldn't be bothered to take in what the man was saying. All that was in his universe now was him, this table where he was seated, and the ever present bowl of cereal that stared back at him with such alluring intensity that he could never hope to break its grasp on him.

Magnificent Bastards

roleplayerguild.com/topics/179780-the…
The Red Hoods: Rebirth

Name:
Ezekiel 'Zeke' Midas

Image/Physical Description:
Standing just under 7 feet in height, Zeke maintains an imposing presence. His body is honed to near muscular perfection. He wears a beard and keeps the hair atop his head relatively short. He tends to dress in darker, casual clothes. A black T-shirt and dark blue jeans is his main staple, as well as a red leather jacket with a black hoodie when the situation calls for it.

Sex:
Male

Age:
420 years

Height:
6' 11" (211cm)

Species:
Exceptional Apex Werewolf

Physical abnormalities (tattoos, scars, etc):
Zeke has a scar, an animal bite, that rests on his right shoulder that has a spherical shape to it, looking almost like the scarification of a jagged sunshine. His arms are decorated with various tattoos, usually images that note a specific moment in his long history that he doesn't want to forget.

Anything else we need to know about you right off the bat (optional):
Zeke was the former enforcer of the Red Hoods, serving as the agency's ultimate weapon against the things that go bump in the night as well as living motivation for those donning the hood to keep in line.

His interactions with the members of the Red Hoods were fairly limited during his career, choosing to converse mostly and nearly exclusively with Commander Rouge. After the Red Hoods took their last stand and ultimately unraveled, Zeke initially tried to salvage the organization but was unsuccessful. He accepted that he was alone in the fight and operated solo, continuing the Red Hoods' fight as a monster that took down worse monsters. As the years went on, Zeke's personality, motivations and attitude changed and evolved with each passing year. The Zeke today is almost unrecognizable from the Zeke of yesteryear. One must determine for themselves whether or not that is a good thing.

The Red Hoods: Initiates

@ShieldsOfWar You're always welcome to try on a hood. You might like how it fits, my friend. Alma has initiated a second chapter to The New Era franchise and this merry group has jumped into the second iteration of The Red Hoods, bringing this fantasy/horror medley to the modern age. One way or another, don't be a stranger!

The Red Hoods: Rebirth

Kiri
+
Zeke

There was a mild chill in the air exacerbated by the humidity surrounding the city. Zeke found himself counting each step as he traversed the sidewalk, a rhythmic motivation that urged him to keep going onward. He saw more life and death than he cared to acknowledge in his elongated span of consciousness. As he considered his motivations for the next step forward he couldn’t help but picture another portrait of the fallen. Another soldier ended by the cause. The manner in which he walked was heavy footed with a strict and deliberate purpose. How could one walk any other way with the world on their shoulders?

Idle hands are the devil's playthings. Zeke considered as much as his footsteps echoed through the uninhabited streets, a lone soul humming passed the otherwise depressing urban scenery. Focus, he reminded himself. One foot in front of the other. In as many centuries as it’s taken to get him to this point, Zeke had seen his fair share of hate and injustice. The volatile change had been nearly enough to compel surrender. His baser instincts were an ever present influence screaming to get out. Things could be so much easier, so natural and logical…

As he mused about it, he saw the faces of his past sins in a mirage of shame. Their forms wavering in a shimmer of illusion before him. But he remained steadfast, stomping through the visages of his ghosts. There was Loona the meek, yet powerful. Her image shattered into stardust as he trampled through her along the sidewalk. Colin, the awkward, yet dutiful. His form faded like mist as he barrelled passed. And then there was Kiri, the strong willed warrior who would single handedly take on the world. He readied himself to walk through it as well. Then it spoke...

Kiri was frozen. She stood on a long, unending path made up of slate grey squares, lined up too neatly one after the other.

It’d taken her countless heartbeats, time punctuated by her coughs and rattling breaths, to force her way back up. Eventually she could stand without fearing she would fall again. There was that terrible tightness in her chest still, like a python wrapped around her ribcage. Kiri wanted to take a dagger and cut her sternum open, peel back skin and meat and bone, if that would release the pressure threatening to suffocate her.

Those groaning, shining things rushed by, pulled by some invisible current. Every time one passed Kiri had to pause, leaning on her wooden staff, and fight against the coughs.

It was so bright. Lamps lined the path, light steady and constant like the sun. Buildings stretched around her like cliff faces, shiny glass and steel, more pristine than anything Kiri had ever seen. She hadn’t encountered any people, yet. She didn’t even know where she was going. All she knew was that she had to find Samael -- find him, defeat him, and figure out how to get back to the battle.

But there was a small voice whispering in the back of her mind -- this was a mistake. Kiri didn’t know how his magic worked. What if he wasn’t even here? What if she was in this strange new world all alone? She’d run through the portal, abandoning her friends, and what if it’d been for nothing at all? Maybe….

Maybe she’d failed.

But then -- there was someone else. Kiri had stopped walking, hand immediately tightening on her staff. Whoever it was, was enormous -- a hulking mass that took up the entire path. Her heartbeat strained under the weight of her ribcage, the throbbing pain filling her up, constricting her breath. But no, no, no, she couldn’t afford another episode. Kiri forced herself to take in a slow, painful breath. She strained her eyes, taking in this new form, ready herself for more combat, gather what information she could --

Her eyes widened.

“...Zeke?”

The familiar voice called a halt to his advance. Doubt still circled his mind as he looked at the relic before him. His memory didn’t match up to what he was seeing, though. What he saw was a woman in distress, an individual who could barely breathe. His pupils dilated as the sobering possibility settled in his mind.

“Kiri.” It was a hard statement, but one that required confirmation. Zeke let a moment pass as he considered his own sanity before taking the reality of the situation into his own hands - literally. The wolf in man’s clothing reached out hesitantly, the distressed wheezing escalating his pause. His hand slowly but surely found it’s was to Kiri’s cheek. The sudden tangibility was enough to startle. Reacting first in anger, Zeke snarled, giving an enemy’s welcome. A second later, he began to accept components of what he was seeing. This was a young woman with a breathing problem who looked very similar to Kiri. And she knew his name…

“You need help,” he declared, his eyes scanning her up and down searching for something that made sense. Despite the few words that he spoke outwardly, he was asking himself far more questions internally. This can’t be real, can it? The last I saw her, she went into the void... Zeke shoved the impossible aside and stuck with what he knew to be true. This young woman couldn’t breathe. “You need to get to a hospital. I can help you.”

Kiri’s breath held still in her throat as ‘Zeke’ touched her face. He growled and Kiri stiffened, muscles coiled to fight. But he didn’t attack. Kiri forced herself to hold still, one excruciating breath at a time. He seemed to calm himself.

Kiri watched emotions flash and shutter through his eyes. Whoever this was… it wasn’t Zeke. He had the same build, the same features, the same voice… but he looked wrong somehow. His clothes were strange, his hair was different, something about the way he carried himself, the way his life was carved into his face. It wasn’t right. And the way he’d reached out, touched her like that. Kiri’d never known Zeke to touch anyone unless it was to block or strike.

In her mind’s eye Kiri saw Eliza’s body on the ground, twitching in pain, magicked to wear an enemy’s face and Kiri hadn’t figured it out until it was too late. She heard the click of a pistol readying to fire, the cold metal of a frozen gun held to the back of her head because she’d been stupid enough to let her guard down.

She wasn’t going to be fooled.

But even if this wasn’t Zeke, Kiri knew she was in no condition to fight. And this was the first lead she had. She needed to figure out where she was, why her illness had come back, and how to find Samael. The imposter could help.

Her eyes didn’t leave his. She nodded.

With that, Zeke’s mind began firing off on all cylinders, considering every possible option before him to rectify the problem as quickly as possible. He could drop this one-word woman off at the emergency room and walk away assuming everything went grand. Surely they'll have albuterol on hand. Then his hands would be clean of it. He’ll have saved a random asthmatic girl, a noble act.

But if she wasn’t random...

His eyes were far more keen than a typical human’s. He could see the wrinkles born of furrowed eyebrows and arced lips. He could notice the expectation that came with true dependence. This woman’s eyes were stone cold as she nodded for aid. The world was beginning to swirl. There were too many indications of the impossible. Out of frustration and surrender, Zeke finally asked the question. “Kiri Hae?”

She watched him, took in the way he studied her. He said her name like a question -- like he wasn’t sure she was herself. Why would he question it? Wasn’t he a construct? Wasn’t he there to trick her? She nodded again.

Her muscles ached. Every inch of her body cried for rest, for stillness, for air. But she couldn’t rest. Every moment wasted was another moment Samael got further out of reach.

”Where is this?” she finally asked.

Zeke's eyes had gradually become bloodshot, his adrenaline slowly escalating as the possibility of the skeletons in his closet breaking free had become a reality. He recalled the day the Red Hoods fell. The portal, the sacrifice. And now... the resurgence. Wrinkles instantly appeared on Zeke's forehead as he made his decision.

"I am Zeke and you are in a whole new fucking world." Her breathing was not improving and they were running out of time. Without waiting for permission, he swept Kiri off her feet, cradling her in his arms and began sprinting, his eyes like lasers staring straight ahead. A sobering notion crept into his mind. She was a centuries old undocumented relic of the past. A trip to the hospital would be a bureaucratic nightmare. There were places and people who would provide medical treatment with an added bonus of discretion. Zeke decided he was going to call in a favor. Lucky for him, the city was rich with seedy individuals that preferred that sort of currency.

After running down a wet block, the thumps of his feet firing off with the rhythm of an assault rifle, they eventually found themselves outside an apartment door in the middle of a complex that was in dire need of maintenance. The once pristine pearl paint that decorated it had turned an off-putting brown like a spreading infection. Zeke considered how he must’ve looked to Kiri after all this time, age affecting his own appearance, pulling the color out of his now silver hair with the face of a season veteran. He carefully set Kiri down and squinted.

“The man on the other side of this door can help you tonight. Short term.” As he spoke the words, he attempted to come up with new solutions, but failed miserably. Of all the things he could have learned in these centuries, he never thought to study the medical profession. What good is medicine to someone who can’t find death? “But the decision is yours.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a flash of silver went arcing towards his neck. It was her cousin Haru’s thorn dagger, the one he’d given to her when they’d seen each other last. Kiri had dropped her staff. Thoughts of biding her time and gathering information had flown out of Kiri’s head when he’d picked her up and whisked her away to who knew where, and now she was trapped between him and a door. Kiri moved as quick as she could, forcing her way through her pain and exhaustion. She tried to slip around his hulking mass, air burning in her chest. She was stopped though, nearly doubling over as a wave of coughing overcame her.

“KIRI!” He shouted, his words supernaturally thunderous as he stood as still as a gargoyle. His intentions were to simply to give her pause, but the volume of his call permeated through the doorway as well and a very nervous, extremely awkward fellow crept out of the entrance to his domicile

“Oh! B-Bishop! Uh, I didn’t know we w-were on tonight.” As Zeke looked at him, all he could imagine was the realistic interpretation of Shaggy from the Scooby Doo cartoons. The young man with a face sprinkled in prepubescent hair starred on in bewildered curiosity. Zeke looked to him and made a simple, rumbled demand.

“Inhaler.”

With a seemingly permanent look of confusion, the young man disappeared into the shadows of his apartment and reammerged with a cubic device that had wires and hoses sprouting from it, one of which was tethered to an extension cord and plugged into one of his internal outlets. “Alright” he said looking to Kiri, awkwardly holding the nebulizer in one hand and the mouthpiece in another, presenting the latter with a healthy dose of nervousness as a zookeeper would when trying to feed an alligator, “When I flip this switch, ya gotta breathe in this end and just, you know, do it slowly.“

Zeke looked upon it all with a healthy suspicion, but also as an opportunity. “While you’re regaining your breath,” he started, his casual voice sounding like slow rolling thunder. “Maybe you can give me the short version of how your presence here and now, is possible.”

Kiri glared up at him, sparing a glance at the second man, not moving towards the device he held.

“Where am I? Where’s Samael?” she demanded, hating how labored her voice sounded.

The name raised the hairs on the back of Zeke’s neck. The enemy that got away… the enemy that took so much with him… The enemy that threw him on his ass… The werewolf strode passed the man holding the nebulizer and shot Kiri a look, beckoning her to follow him inside. The place had an odor to it. The smell of burnt plants and dirty dishes filled the air. It was the epitome of a Man Cave. Decorations were largely absent. This man owned only what was essential. White walls, cheap wooden and plastic furniture and a big screen TV that would likely burn out in a year.

As Zeke took a seat at what passed for a dining room table, he looked at Kiri with an inquisitive brow. “It’s been literal centuries since I have seen you. What year do you think it is?” As he asked the almost rhetorical question, he raised his arms up in the humble apartment and did a small whisk, highlighting the internal electronics and electrical lighting. If she, too, was nigh immortal, he wanted to know how and why.

What… what year? Kiri’s eyebrows furrowed together. Her eyes flicked around the room at the furniture and odd things she couldn’t identify.

“I saw you-” she’d seen Zeke “-today. Fighting Samael.” Her fingers tightened around Haru’s dagger like a lifeline, the last weapon she had. “Answer me. Where am I?”

Zeke took in an audible breath through his nostrils, the puzzle coming together. If she thought she saw him fighting Samael today then… “You’re in Duncaster, same as before. Only now you’re about three hundred years older than you once were. Now put down the knife and catch your breath.” He looked to his associate before returning his gaze to Kiri. “This is Dave. He’s not going to hurt you. I could break him before he ever got the chance.” A glance at Dave would reveal the face of someone in an utter state of confusion. One could hardly blame him after what he was hearing.

Kiri didn’t obey, remaining standing, knife secure in her hand. Dave wasn’t the one she was worried about. But then his other words registered in her mind. ‘Three hundred years.’ She stared at Zeke. This… this was Duncaster? No, that… wasn’t possible, right? If this really was Zeke, and he was telling the truth… no mage could possibly be that strong. Brighid had sold her soul to get enough power to just call a storm. But what Zeke was talking about…

“I have all the time in the world…”

Samael’s words echoed in Kiri’s mind. At once, things snapped into place. The pressure that never released its grip on her windpipe tightened again, her heart rate picking up. Kiri squeezed her eyes shut, doubling over to cough again. The back of her hand came up to cover her mouth. Her abdomen ached with every cough, the muscles tired and overworked. Everything was overworked. She was still exhausted and filthy from the battle, disoriented, alone --

Kiri was tired. Exhaustion flowed through her body like blood, painful and heavy. She needed to keep moving forward, to do her job, to follow through. She couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t tired. Not since before Fallcliff -- not since before the dopplegangers, or Locksley, or… her uncle.

Her family. If she was three hundred years in the future… they were gone. Her parents. Her clan..

Haru.

She had to get back. She couldn’t have just… abandoned them all, not again.

And what about her companions? The other Hoods? The tethers connecting them all were burnt and frayed. It was like a phantom limb, severed and healed over. But the nerves hadn’t quite realized they were dead yet -- every now and then she’d forget herself, try to move it because it was natural -- it was easy. Despite their many differences, despite how difficult Kiri knew herself to be, and how stressful their lives were and the mistakes they made, they were a team. They relied on Kiri, trusted her, and that… that was everything.

Then she’d look up, and see Eliza across the room, sunken and withdrawn. She’d see Colin, hair shorn close to his skull, ashen like death. And she’d remember.

And it was… it was her fault. Wasn’t it?

Kiri told herself it didn’t matter. If they didn’t trust her, if they hated her -- fine. She didn’t care. She couldn’t afford to care. She still had a responsibility to them. She had a job to do. And so Kiri swallowed her pain, forced it down her too-tight throat, into her aching chest., told herself she couldn’t feel it every time she breathed.

Kiri forced her head up as the wave of coughs passed. “I have to… find Samael.” The wheezing was coming back. Why was it back?

“Mmm.” A lone grunt was all Zeke could offer as he stared at her inquisitively, studying. The consequences of her presence here and now was not lost on him, but the possibilities that came with it were too vast to immediately consider. As he looked on, he recognized certain tells of emotion, but they seemed so foreign on her specifically.

The Kiri he knew was hardened, driven by a specialized purpose, not unlike himself. She was motivated. The intention was there, but perhaps it needed a push.

“And when you find him, what next?” he posed. “Are you going to throw a punch and then spend five minutes recuperating from the effort?” His brows descended into an arch of aggression as he looked to her. “Are you going to charge at him and then call a time out?” His lips slowly began to reel back from his teeth. “If you have any hope of standing against anyone you’ve got to trust me,” he growled, his words becoming sharp as his patience gradually vanished.

Kiri matched his glare with one of her own, though the effect was dampened by the way she struggled to hold herself upright, skin pallid under the layers of mud and gore. “Do I?” she spat back. “Say you’re telling the truth, this isn’t some illusion, this —” she cut herself off, struggling against her own breath. “Say this is Duncaster. Three hundred years have gone by. I follow Samael through the portal and you’re the first person I see? Zeke should be dead.”

“On that, we can agree,” he shot back, his words sounding poisonous with spite, heated from several lifetimes of remorse. “And yet, here we are.” He took in a breath and allowed a moment’s pause to recenter himself. Proof, perhaps, is what was necessary and there was only one way he knew to help accomplish that. “Dave, please excuse yourself,” he requested in a fashion that better resembled a direct order. The young man threw his arms up, seemingly surrendering any hope he had of making sense of this before walking down the hall to his bedroom, muttering under his breath about getting out of this sort of business. Zeke’s pupils remained fixated on Kiri’s own and as he stared, his teeth began to grind against eachother and his irises began to turn. The dark hazel that once encompassed most of his eye seemed to change to a vibrant shade of yellow. Even the shape itself took on a subtle transformation.

“You’re not dead,” he began, his human voice rapidly deteriorating into something animalistic. “You’re not dreaming.” His tone was soon composed of sheer rasp. “This is real. And I am Ezekiel fucking Midas.” His jaws began to click in a sickening, destructive way as the bones beneath the skin broke and reformed. But as quickly as the transformation began, it subverted. His teeth, his eyes… they found their soul once more. “And I swear… I’m here to help.”

Fear was slow and icy as it crawled up Kiri’s spine. She watched Zeke’s form distort, eyes never leaving his own, listening to the cracking and growling and changing. Kiri was small. Mortal. Breathless and frail. But she didn’t flinch away. It seemed sheer stubbornness and pride were the only things keeping her upright. She was aching and tired and alone, and all she knew was that she couldn’t back down — it tethered her, when everything else slipped out of her desperate grasp.

Then Zeke pulled back. The monster faded beneath the surface and the man returned. Her heartbeat thundered in time with her weak breath. Her exhausted mind tried to piece itself together, find some thread of sense in this new reality. Her mind flashed back to Eliza’s body wearing and enemy’s face, twitching in pain beneath her. If this was another distraction, another trick... she’d almost killed Eliza because she’d allowed herself to be fooled. Zeke could’ve killed her at any time. It stung to admit it, but even when she was in top form, she’d never been a match for him. If this was meant to be a distraction, then… for what purpose? And if he was telling the truth, wasn’t this good? Kiri was in uncharted territory, her illness was back, and this was possibly the one person alive who could help her.

And Kiri… Kiri was tired of feeling alone.

She nodded.

Zeke squinted, as if dubious, trying to read any deception, anticipate any surprise that might be hiding behind the gesture. When none were presented, his body slumped a bit as he exhaled, his muscles releasing their tension as they accepted that the potential fight had passed.

“Well,” he started. “First step is the most obvious. If you’re going to be any use to anyone, we’ve got to get you back into combat shape.” He ended the sentence with a hard glance to the nebulizer, a contraption that even he would not have trusted, much less let enter his mouth centuries ago. “Once you regain your faculties, you’ll need to regain your wits. You’ve been through a lot. I imagine you’re exhausted. We’ll get you a place to sleep. And then… Well, then I guess we’ll try to figure out just what the hell happened on that night so long ago.”

Hell of a night, he thought silently. As much as he tried to pretend he had a plan in place, he’d hoped she couldn’t tell that he truly had no idea what to do next.

The Red Hoods: Rebirth

Location: The Last Drop, Blood Bar, Duncaster

His hands and arms felt sticky, but wore no grime or residue on his skin. It was this place... a den of manipulation, debauchery, desperation and wanton pleasure. The first fiend bar to ever open was aptly named Bloody Mary's. Cheesy, easy. The landmark still managed to do business decades later. This bar, however, was a bit newer to the scene. Zeke looked at the embroidered napkin sitting below his glass of water and read the logo: "The Last Drop".

The patrons around him appeared to be keeping to themselves, but only to someone with a shallow control of their senses. He could hear the whispers and smell the unease. He didn't belong here and everyone present was aware of this fact. It didn't matter, though. There was an understanding known to most of the shadow dwellers, an extension of Zeke's infamy among his less than reputable peers. Translated though the words of a younger generation, the policy was "Don't start nothing, won't be nothing."

A young woman with more weight in her chest than in her skull skipped into view, her nearly jet black hair dancing across her the tops of her shoulders which were wrapped up in a white dress shirt accented by a mostly red tie that ended in an epitomous blood drip. She made her way to his table, her stocking covered legs fighting to make distance in her short, tight skirt that matched the color of her hair.

"Sorry for the wait! I'm Jessica," she announced, her voice surprisingly loud, energized with naivety and ambition. "What'll it be?" As Zeke looked her over, he could already see the mark peaking out of her collar. Her neck was decorated with a rapacious kiss of the damned, her skin broken and scabbed. She hadn't quite experienced the full potential of her curse, but she would soon. Zeke was never much for small talk, especially when it came to disposable interactions. He was far more interested in cutting to the chase.

"I need to see Aldo." There were no inflections in his voice. It was cold and matter of fact, carrying with it an heir of authority as the words rumbled out of his mouth. The young woman raised an eyebrow at the request and started to inquire further, but she could see it in Zeke's eyes. This was over her paygrade.

"Oka-... I'll be right back..." She left him alone once more to sit in solitude at the dirty rectangular table as his massive form took up most of his bench seat's real estate.

He hated waiting for anything. It wasn't because he was impatient; he had all the time in the world. It's just that when he mind was left alone, undistracted, it began to wander and bore into his own psyche. It would dig up memories he tried to bury, whisper thoughts that he didn't want to muse upon and constantly test the power of his will to fight against his own nature. History knew him as a grand malevolent monster. Rouge changed that in him, set him on a different path. The trail to redemption was set on a steep incline of slippery mud. It would just be so easy to turn around, to slide back into darkness...

"Right this way, sir!" Her voice nearly startled him, breaking his concentration and effectively pulling him out of the rabbit hole and back to reality. With one more large gulp, he finished his glass of water before standing up and following the waitress to the back of the bar.

He was led through a standard doorway that placed him in a hallway ending in another, much more elaborate door. The metal sheen of it reflected the lights overhead as well as Zeke's image as he looked upon it. To the left, in the high corner of the hall was a surveillance camera pointed right at him. Just below that was a keypad and speaker that had been installed into the wall.

"You got it from here, big guy!" She said delightfully before giving a small wave, a nonverbal tootles, before she skipped back out into the bar area. Just as he was out of sight, a loud buzz could be heard followed by the metal door cracking open. Zeke advanced, opening the door. There was a metal staircase leading down a poorly lit tunnel. At the bottom, the fluorescent glow of halogen bulbs could be seen. The further down he went, the more he could see until he was finally at the bottom looking out to a massive warehouse that you would never know existed from out on the streets.

It was a blood distillery. This is where the owners of this establishment would store, treat and distribute their product for consumption upstairs and all around. The sound of footsteps, forklifts and rattling bottles echoed throughout the space, nearly overwhelming Zeke's senses. It was a lot to take in at once and he counted himself lucky when he finally heard his summoning.

"Bishop!" The voice was accented with very specific mannerisms and a tempo that made you wonder why this man didn't work in a pizza shop instead of the blood bar. He stepped out of the shadows and into the fluorescent light as he walked over to the werewolf. "How you doin', my friend?"

"Aldo. The job is done."

"Of course it is. That's why I sent ya, Big B. Results. C'mon, let's go to my office." The vampire extended his hand for a shake, but the offer was silently declined. Also didn't expect much less, but was a victim of habit and had to try. His slim framed body was dressed in a black pinstripe suit and pristine black leather shoes. His dark hair was short cropped and slicked back with what looked like the entire contents of a hair gel bottle. As he led Zeke though the aisles of product his footsteps were marked by distinct clicks that came two at a time. Normally, he would use the travel time to make small talk, but he already knew the effort would be lost on this particular individual. They finally came to an elegant looking door with a large window to its left that used two-way glass, a feature Aldo undoubtedly used to keep an eye on his employees without being seen. Once inside, you could see a large oak desk with an expensive looking leather chair sitting behind it and to its front sat two guest chairs that were far less impressive. Also took his place on his throne while Zeke begrudgingly sat in one of the smaller seats, easing himself down slowly to help insure that his weight didn't destroy the pathetic furniture.

"So tell me, how did the great Bishop Wolfe do it this time?" Aldo said finally, breaking the silence between them. "Run into any trouble?"

The assignment was a mission to escort some goods from a warehouse to a private airport. The rules of this trade was to ask as few questions as possible. You want the job, take the job, but don't ask what the job is. You're given a brief set of instructions, an objective, and it's typically up to you how to pull it off. Zeke was no fool, though, and even though he didn't specifically ask, he knew what he was moving was illegal narcotics.

For the past few months, he's had his eyes set on finding a man that lived in the shadow. A nameless puppetmaster that existed only in whispers but still struck fear in criminals and cops alike. After trying to find the mystery man on his own and failing miserably, Zeke decided to go a different route. He took on an alias and decided he needed to find the kingpin from within his own organization, starting from the ground up.

"It got a little sloppy," he said solemnly. "The driver, he was green. Saw flashing lights and panicked. Started driving erratically. He might as well have rolled down the window shouting at every officer we passed to pull us over."

"Really? So what happened?"

"They acquiesced." Aldo's eyebrow raised a bit, obvious confusion painted across his face.

"I thought you said you did the job. Did it make it to the airport or not?"

"It's in the air now. The job is done. But it was sloppy," he repeated.

"What happened to the cops that pulled you over?"

"They hit me with lead when I got out of the car and then they took a nap." Is was only just then that Aldo noticed the two bullet holes in his associate's shirt to the left side of his abdomen. The skin underneath, however, looked almost completely undamaged. One of the upsides of Zeke's curse: he could heal quite fast.

"Why didn't you just kill them?" Aldo asked. It seemed ludicrous to him that the question even needed to be posed. In his mind, it was the natural response to the situation.

"You didn't hire me to kill cops. You hired me to move goods. The goods are moved." Zeke's eyes were stern as he looked into Aldo's. He didn't like being criticized or questioned.

"Right, but now the cops know your face."

"That's my problem."

"Sure is, but that makes us liable, too. You're gonna have to cool off now. Take a few months for things to settle d-..."

"No," Zeke interrupted. "In fact, I'm tired of being stuck with these little errands. Give me something bigger. I want to meet the real guy in charge. I want in." The reaction caught Aldo off guard and the slender man was not good at hiding that fact.

"Listen, Bishop, they've got your face now. You're on a slippery slope, big guy. If you're exposed and further than that, we've gotta cut ties." Zeke didn't care to respond. The guy was just stating the obvious, something the werewolf didn't feel needed any concurrence. As the silence continued second after very long second, Aldo's defenses eventually fell. "Alright, I've got a bigger job for you. You do this one and you do it neat and maybe we can talk a little more about a permanent spot on the roster." Zeke gave a singular nod.

"That stuff you moved, it's a chemical that our lab coats cooked up. We mix it in the blood and it does for vampires what steroids and cocaine does for humans. Makes 'em stronger. A lot stronger. The wolves are usually the ones with the brawn, but this stuff gives fiends the power to make you puppies heel, you know what I mean? Makes a vamp physically stronger than the strongest werewolf." Doubtful, Zeke thought to himself. "The effects are only temporary for now, but the coats are still working on it." The behemoth in the undersized chair had heard about it before, but had never seen the effects first hand.

"So naturally, the wolvies aren't too keen about it," Aldo continued. "They've started jumping our couriers and raiding our warehouses. The Boss is pissed and it's only a matter of time before this place gets hit. You've gotta take care of the problem. Confront the pack, kill the Alpha. Dude goes by the name of Vance Maxwell." Zeke took in the information and then waited for a beat in case there was more that Aldo would offer but, as is his modus operendi, Aldo was done delivering any info he planned on giving. The rest of the blanks were Zeke's job to fill in.

Without another word, he stood from his chair and walked out the door. He heard Aldo say something about wiring over the money for the last job as the werewolf ascended the staircase and made his way out of The Last Drop and onto the streets of Duncaster.

Suddenly the hairs on his arm and neck stood on end. He felt something. As quickly as it started, it had stopped. He couldn't place his finger on just what it was, but it was familiar. He was sure he felt the same sensation a long, long time ago.

Eventually, Zeke shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it and get back on the case. Bishop Wolfe had to track down Vance Maxwell. He just had to figure out where to start.