-: Twilight of the Dead :-

[Windra]

<CeNtEr>

All UV Rules Apply

--


Zombie/Virus Information © Max Brooks

Zombie Classes © Ashwings
Story © Loki

” … My name is Legion … for we are … many ...”

Twilight of the Dead



No one saw it coming.
No one could ever have possibly imagined this was what it would all turn
out to be.
I think even if they did ... there was nothing they could have done to
stop it.
They were already dead.

-::-

[Beginning]

March 2004

It started with explosions.

Almost all at once, every major city, airline, roadway, and factory was
hit all over the globe. New York, Los Angeles, Toronto, Paris, Hong Kong,
Tokyo, Sydney and many more were thrown into ruin and hysteria with
strategically placed bombs. Casualties were massive, reporting tens of
thousands within a few hours. The news blamed it on mass terrorist
attacks, the ones they have been trying to fight so vigilantly. They
pointed fingers everywhere except for where it mattered, and the daily
activities of those caught unaware ground to an alarming halt within
minutes.

Ash from the fires resulting from the explosions rose and drifted on the
wind for hundreds of miles, coating lands in dirty snow and dust. Within
twenty-four long hours, it was declared that the bombs that exploded were
dirty: they contained aerial viruses of unknown capabilities and danger.
People were advised to hole up, seal off any entrances to their homes,
including windows, doors and vents, and refrain from coming in contact
with those who still lingered outside and any ash.

”Hazmat teams will come around neighborhoods, distributing water and
antibiotics within the next forty-eight hours,” was what the lingering
voices reassured on the radio, and the heads nodded on the news. ”Just
remain indoors. Help will come.”

It didn’t.

-::-

[Outbreak]

Those that were desperate to find aid left the safety of their homes and
were often scooped up into unmarked black vans by people in full body
suits and gas masks, or executed on the streets. Even more shocking was
that there were mass operations gassing the homes of the infected,
fumigating mutating strains of the unknown virus before it too could
spread.

The viral infections were swift, and within days those infected would
succumb. There was no known cure and antibiotics were worthless against
this new strain. Those remaining indoors were advised to watch out for
irritableness, pale complexion, weakness, hacking cough, and bleeding from
their shelter mates and any visitors that came seeking refuge from the
outside.

When the infected began dying, there were new reports on the News that
were more horrifying than the last. Bodies went missing from crime scenes,
hospitals and morgues, and there were growing cases of murder and insanity
in mass. Within hours, reported murders tripled. Home videos of people
performing cannibalism were plastered all over the News. In fear, people
retreated to the old ways, seeking comfort in the bibles of choice, in
family, and even in suicide.

Soon, not even trained Hazmat teams dared to travel the streets. Radio and
television stations reported nothing by static, save for one channel which
repeated the same message every twenty minutes: ”Remain indoors. Do not
come in contact with the infected, even if they are your loved ones. Help
will come. Remain indoors ... “ With the Hazmat teams no longer
performing fumigations or executions, those that remained inside had
unwittingly come in contact with the aerial virus. The strain incubated and
mutation occurred. New and horrifyingly twisted versions of the 'common
cannibal' became a terribly new threat.

Nothing could save them now.

[Windra]

<center>

[Viral]

The virus works by travelling through the bloodstream, from the initial
point of entry to the brain. Through means not yet fully understood, the
virus uses the cells of the frontal lobe for replication, destroying them
in the process. During this period, all bodily function cease. By stopping
the heart, the infected subject is rendered ‘dead’. The brain, however,
remains alive but dormant, while the virus mutates. The most critical
trait of this virus is that it gives the host an independence from oxygen.
By removing the need for this all-important resource, the undead brain can
utilize but is in no way dependent upon the complex support mechanism of
the human body. Once mutation has gone on long enough, the body reanimates
into a form that bears little resemblance (physiologically speaking) to
the original corpse. Some bodily functions remain constant, others operate
in a modified capacity, and the remainder shut down completely. This new
organism is a zombie, a member of the living dead.

The virus is 100% communicable and 100% fatal. Infection can occur through
airborne molecules, as well as direct fluidic contact. A zombie bite,
although by far the most recognizable means of transference, is by no
means the only one. Humans have been infected by brushing their open
wounds against those of a zombie or by being splattered by its remains
after an explosion. Ingestion of infected flesh (provided the person has
no open mouth sores) results in not infection but, rather, permanent
death. Infected flesh has been proven to be highly toxic.

The virus is fatal to all living creatures, regardless of size, species,
or ecosystem. Reanimation, however, takes place only in creatures bearing
a physiological resemblance to humans. Studies have shown that the virus
infecting anything but relatively human will die within hours of the death
of its host, making the carcass safe to handle. Most infected animals
expire before the virus can replicate throughout their bodies. Infection
from insect bites such as mosquitoes can also be discounted. All parasitic
insects can sense and will reject an infected host 100% of the time.

Once a human is infected, little can be done to save him or her. Because
it is a virus, antibiotics will have no effect. Immunization, the only way
to combat a virus, is virtually useless unless the person infected is naturally
immune, as even the most minute dosage will lead to a full-blown
infection. Battlefield experiences have led to the immediate severing of
the infected limb (provided this is the location of the bite), but such
treatments are dubious at best, with less than a 10% success rate. Chances
are, the infected human was doomed from the moment the virus entered his
or her system. Should the infected human choose suicide, he should
remember that the brain must be eliminated first. Cases have been recorded
in which recently infected subjects, deceased by means other than the
virus, will nonetheless reanimate. Such cases usually occur when the
subject expires after the third day of infection. Regardless, any person
killed after being bitten or otherwise infected by the undead should be
immediately disposed of.

it has been suggested that fresh human corpses could reanimate if the
virus was introduced after their death. This is a fallacy. Zombies ignore
necrotic flesh and therefore could not transfer the virus. Injecting the
virus into a cadaver would be futile because a stagnant bloodstream could
not transport the virus to the brain. Injection directly into a dead brain
would be equally useless, as the expired cells could not respond to the
virus. The virus does not create life – it alters it.

There are three strains of the virus: Aerial, Pathological, and Mutated.
Mutated viruses can be transferred through pathological means only.
Results of infection vary. Those infected by a Berserk genus of undead
have a percentage of becoming a Berserk themselves, but are not
automatically entitled to transform into one. This is true for all
mutations. When dealing with an obvious zombie anomaly, caution, distance,
and protective gear is advised.

The timetable below outlines the process of an infected human (give or
take several hours, depending on the individual).

Hour 8: Fever (99-103 degrees), chills, slight dementia, vomiting,
acute pain in the joints.
Day 1: Numbing of extremities and infected area, increased fever
(103-106 degrees), increased dementia, loss of muscular coordination.
Day 2: Paralysis in the lower body, overall numbness, slowed heart
rate.
Day 3: Coma.
Day 4: Heart stoppage. Zero brain activity. Reanimation.

-::-

[Enemy]

Too often, the undead have been said to possess superhuman powers: unusual
strength, lightning speed, telepathy, etc. Stories range from zombies
flying through the air to their scaling vertical surfaces like spiders.
While these traits might make for fascinating drama, the individual ghoul
is far from a magical, omnipotent demon. Never forget that the body of the
undead is, for all practical purposes, human. What changed do occur are in
the way this new, reanimated body is used by the now infected brain. There
is no way a zombie could fly unless the human it used to be could fly. The
same goes for projecting force fields, teleportation, moving through solid
objects, transforming into a wolf, breathing fire, or a variety of other
mystical talents attributed to the walking dead. Imagine the human body as
a tool kit; the somnambular brain has those tools, and only those tools,
at its disposal. It cannot create new ones out of thin air. It can, as you
will see, use these tools in unconventional combinations, or push their
durability beyond normal human limits.

The eyes of a zombie, due to a post-mortem glazing of the eyes, are
utterly useless and sightless.

There is no question that zombies have excellent hearing. Not only can
they detect sound – they can determine its direction. The basic range
appears to be the same as that for humans. Experiment with extreme high
and low frequencies have yielded negative results. Tests have also shown
that zombies are attracted by any sounds, not just those made by living
creatures. It has been recorded that ghouls will notice sounds ignored by
living humans. The most likely, if unproven, explanation is that zombies
depend on all of their senses except sight equally. Humans are
sight-oriented from birth, depending on other senses only if the primary
one is lost. Perhaps this is not a handicap shared by the walking dead. If
so, it would explain their ability to hunt, fight, and feed in total
darkness.

Unlike with sound, the undead have a more acute sense of smell. In both
combat situations and laboratory tests, they have been able to distinguish
the smell of living prey above all others. In many cases, and given ideal
wind conditions, zombies have been known to smell fresh corpses from a
distance of more than a mile. Again, this does not meant that ghouls have
a greater sense of smell than humans, simply that they rely on it more. It
is not known exactly what particular secretion of signals the presence of
prey: sweat, pheromones, blood, etc. In the past, people seeking to move
undetected through infested areas have attempted to mask their human scent
with perfumes, deodorants, or other strong-smelling chemicals. None were
successful.

Little is known about the altered taste buds of the walking dead. Zombies
do have the ability to tell human flesh apart from those of animals, and
they prefer the former. Ghouls also have a remarkable ability to reject
carrion in favor of freshly killed meat. A human body that has been dead
longer than twelve to eighteen hours will be rejected as food. The same
goes for cadavers that have been embalmed or otherwise preserved. Whether
this has anything to do with taste is not yet certain. It may have to do
with smell or, perhaps, another instinct that has not been discovered. As
to exactly why human flesh is preferably, the answer is elusive.

Zombies have, literally, no physical sensations. All nerve receptors
throughout the body remain dead after reanimation. This is truly their
greatest and most terrifying advantage over the living. We, as humans,
have the ability to experience physical pain as a signal of bodily damage.
Our brain classifies such sensations, matches them to the experience that
instigated them, and then files the information away for use as a warning
against future harm. It is this gift of physiology and instinct that has
allowed us to survive as a species. It is why we value virtues such as
courage, which inspires people to perform actions despite warnings of
danger. The inability to recognize and avoid pain is what makes the
walking dead so formidable. Wounds will not be noticed and, therefore,
will not deter an attack. Even if a zombie’s body is severely damaged, it
will continue to attack until nothing remains.

-::-

[Class]

There are seven known types of zombies, six of which have been
mutated to horrifying standards.

Basilisk:

”Gaze into my eyes, and you shall see.
I will make you a stone.
I will make you a tree.
Time will stop for you, but it cannot stop for me.”

Basilisk zombies are one of the most mysterious of all the classes, and
are most likely the third smartest type of undead. Although they lack the
ability to learn from example as berserkers do, basilisks have managed to
find other ways to get close to the living. The basilisk’s main attack and
defense is a piercing, bioluminescent, red glare that paralyzes their
victims. Researchers have yet to determine how this is possible as it
seems to be from the realms of science fiction.
Basilisks are known to be crafty, using mimicry to get close to their
intended victims. A basilisk may lay in wait, pretending to be a corpse,
or attempt to close the distance while acting like a less-dangerous
crawler.
Paralysis is fast-acting, if eye contact is maintained for more than a
second. During the first few seconds of eye contact, the victim would
appear to be going into a seizure as their muscles stiffen and begin to
lose function. After a few moments, the victim will go completely limp.
The initial seizure is described by survivors as being quite painful, but
once they have gone limp the pain subsides. The basilisk's paralyzing
effect tends to last between fifteen and twenty minutes, giving the undead
sufficient time to feed without having to hold down a struggling victim.
Though helpless, the victim remains completely aware of their surroundings
in this paralyzed state. Those victims who have been rescued from this
experience have described it thusly: ‘It’s like being trapped inside your
own body; you can’t even scream, all you can do is lie there while your
heart hammers in your chest—and blink tears away as that red eyed creature
makes its way over to you.”
Little can be done to resist the basilisk's glare; averting or shielding
your eyes is the only known method. Military scientists are working hard
at creating protective measures against this undead type.
OTHER NAMES: Gorgon, cobra, hypnotist.

Berserker:

“I am fear, I am hate, and I am rage. I am a demon's demon.
I loathe and despise you.
You are alive, where I am no longer.
I shall make you suffer for what you are, as I suffer for what I am.”

The berserker is possibly the most dangerous and rare of the seven known
zombie classes. Sadistic in nature, they take malicious pleasure in
causing pain.
These undead do not bite their victims immediately. Instead, the berserker
will brutally beat their wounded foes. This practice can last for quite
some time, depending on how resilient the target is. Some speculate that
berserkers might simply be playing with their food, like cats often do.
Only when the victim has become completely unable to respond, even
unconsciously, will the berserker begin to feed.
If the victims are rescued before they are bitten, they may survive,
though their chance of being rescued before the damage is too great is
very low. The torture can be so crippling and extreme that it may be
kinder to euthanize the victim.
Berserkers have been known to reach a top running speed of 30mph, which is
3 miles per hour above the world record for human sprinters. When
berserkers find a potential victim, they will immediately break into a run
and try to tackle their target. Because of their rarity, berserkers are
usually solitary, but they have been observed traveling in ‘riot groups’
ranging in number between ten and twenty individuals.
These zombies usually hold a frightening and aggressive appearance, and
unlike the other classes these zombies are known to have facial
expressions of that of a twisted grin, accompanied by a sick laugh like
death rattle.
Berserkers are one of the more intelligent zombie classes, being able to
learn from example. Some recorded cases describe a berserker opening doors
and using objects as bludgeoning tools. Fortunately, this mimicry seems to
be the extent of their learning capacity.
OTHER NAMES: Raver, the mad man, the sadist, 'Zerker.

Crawler:

“We are many, we are the same, and we travel together, going on this
long and lifeless, crawl.”

The least dangerous type of undead when alone, crawlers are also known as
the slowest (and dumbest) zombie class. However, they tend to group
together, where their sheer numbers can be just as overwhelming as speed
and adaptability.
Crawlers are the most commonly found zombie in the New World, outnumbering
any other class by at least twenty to one. Incredibly slow, they tend to
wander around aimlessly, waiting for victims to fall into their clutches.
If, by some poor chance, an individual happens to catch the attention of
an entire group of crawlers, the shambling undead will pursue them.
Fortunately, crawlers move at a moderate walking speed (depending on their
injuries) that would probably be easy to outrun. Still, getting close to a
crawler is very, very dangerous. Though many people view the crawler to be
harmless, if it can approach within arm's reach, it will lash out and
quickly shred its victims.
Spitters and Basilisks have been known to travel with groups of crawlers,
using the horde's superior numbers as a way to conceal their own classes.
OTHER NAMES: ‘The slow zombies,' groupies, the ‘in’ crowd.

Howler:

“I sing a song.
I sing the song of death.
You will listen, and you too shall die, and sing the song of death with
me.”

Their haunting cries carry across the wastelands, serving as a morbid
lullaby for hardened souls brave enough to venture into the New World.
One of the more recently discovered zombie classes, the howler is just as
slow as a crawler. However, speed isn’t important for the howler, when its
intended victim is unable to run away.
Howlers are basically harmless, if they are more than ten meters away. Any
closer, and a howler’s piercing moan can not only make a person nauseous
and cause extreme vertigo, but, if the victim is close enough, may cause
trauma to the eardrums and cause the victim to pass out. When their
victims are incapacitated, the howler will make its attack.
Fortunately, a howler’s low frequency cry is not infinite, and the howler
can usually only sustain its cry for a few seconds until it has to stop.
The howler's pause for breath lasts for about a minute, before it can howl
again.
OTHER NAMES: Singer, death rattler, death talker, siren, banshee.

Hunter:

“You can run from me,
You can hide from me,
You can cross the ocean, climb the highest mountain, or even fly from me.
But I will always find you, before you will ever find me.
I give you my word.”

A class that would have anyone constantly looking over their shoulder,
hunters are a very elusive type of zombie. Hunters can stalk their prey so
secretively that the victim won’t even know they’ve been followed until
the hunter's teeth are buried in their neck.
Hunters are extremely hard to identify, as they display almost no visible
difference from any other type of zombie. Only the hunter's behavior sets
them apart from a regular crawler. Unlike the crawler, the hunter is very
fast, flexible, acrobatic, and stealthy. They have been known to stalk a
person for days, weeks, or even months when given the opportunity.
Hunters are generally found in areas that provide concealment, such as
trees, old buildings, or even tall grass at the edge of the woods. They
tend to avoid open areas or large groups of other undead, preferring
stealth and cunning to mob tactics or overt aggression.
OTHER NAMES: Stalkers. Ghosts.

Mercy:

”I’m sorry that I hurt and scared you so.
Let me hold you in my arms, and comfort you while you cry.
Keep still now. Don’t struggle. Don’t run.
I will protect and watch over you, and I will sing to you, you can rest
now. It’s all over.
And until you feel no more pain, and you draw your last breath, and until
your heart beats for the last time, I will stay and hold your hand and
remain with you, until you slip into the lifeless black.”

Mercy zombies are one of the most peculiar in function of all the zombie
classes. They are also likely to be the most humane, thus earning their
name. The movement of a mercy has been described as elegant, fluid,
graceful movements, unlike their shambling cousins.
Mercies seem to travel long distances to seek out the sick, weak, and
injured. Unlike any other zombie, they will simply follow their victims,
not pursue them. Moving at a steady walking pace, mercies will patiently
track their target until that individual has finally collapsed. Only when
their victim is unable to carry on, will the mercy make its approach.
A mercy zombie will embrace its intended victim, and take a single bite
from the target's throat or from another vital artery. The mercy will then
gently hold its dying prey keeping them still and prevent them from
running away. This undead will emit a soft cooing noise, sometimes even
comfortingly run its hand over the distressed victims hair or face until
they die. Once the mercy's meal has turned, the mercy will release them.
The mercy may linger with the new undead for several hours, depending on
the undead type that the victim has become.
Amazingly, mercies will fend off other zombies, protecting their unturned
victims from being mutilated and eaten by another, not so merciful, zombie
class.
In the wastes, people who want to commit suicide may actually seek out
mercies to do the task. It is considered to be a morbidly comforting way
to die.
OTHER NAMES: Angels of death, mercy angel.

Spitter:

“I am sick for all eternity.
I am in permanent state of vertigo.
My head pounds,
My fever raises,
My insides wither and crawl like snakes.
Let me show you what’s making me so under the weather.”

Perhaps the most lethal zombie class, the Spitter is able to harm, kill,
or turn a human without even touching them. Unlike any of the other zombie
classes, which have to grapple with their victims, the Spitter does the
most damage from a distance.
As its name implies, the Spitter can spit virus-contagious, acidic saliva
half the length of a football field. This acid is a fast acting digestive
that makes it easier for this class to devour its prey.
Moreover, if some unwary individual is unfortunate enough to get too close
to this undead, it will vomit the acidic substance all over the victim's
body. The acid is very corrosive, and as soon as it hits skin, the victim
is considered to have been turned.
Spitters are known to travel with crawlers, but can be distinguished from
the crowd by their distinctive gagging sounds. Visually, Spitters are
known for their missing or acid-burned clothing and hair; damage that is
generally thought to be caused by poor aim or control on the part of the
zombie.
OTHER NAMES: ill talker, puke machine.

[Windra]

<center>

[Overworld]

March 26, 2004
Friday

Day ONE

-::-

[Outbreak Level]
Green : No signs of a viral outbreak.

-::-

[Notes of Importance]
Nothing is posted. As there is no threat as of yet, life will continue as it normally would. </center>

[Windra]

<center>

[Life]

Character sheets are to be completed upon first post. One need not be excruciatingly detailed when explaining
his or her character, providing just enough information to allow other role-players to appropriately envision them.

Name:
Species:
Gender:
Age:
Class: (Civilian, Military, Scientist, Ex-Con, etc.)
Starting Location:
Brief Description:

-::-

[Vital]
Completed descriptions.

Name: Ashowan
Species: Human?
Gender: Female
Age: N/A. Appears 18/19
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: New York City, NY, USA
Brief Description: 5'6". Short brown hair with gravity defying bangs that partially hide her right eye, one of the dual emerald. Black bandanna tied around forehead. Black collar. Caucasian. Dressed in: Blue jeans, ruby red short-sleeved shirt with v-neck, long-sleeved pinkish-white hoodie shirt, black combat boots.

~

Name: Scarlet
Species: V-ACT 32
Gender: Female
Age: N/A. Appears 20
Class: S.T.A.R.S. Captain
Starting Location: Undisclosed Location, OK, USA
Brief Description: 6'1". Short bleached yellow hair with three lightning yellow bangs. Glazed eyes. Red skin. Lipless and eyebrowless with sharp teeth and a super long tongue. Dressed in: Camo jeans, black tank top, black military boots, tan wristbands, long grey trench coat.

~

Name: 'Zed'
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Class: Civilian/Student
Starting Location: Monmouth U., NJ, USA
Brief Description: 5'6". Short brown hair, hazel eyes. Caucasian. Dressed in: brown jeans, black Pink Floyd tee-shirt, black zip-off hoodie, fingerless gloves backed by Skull and Crossbones symbols, grey baseball cap with Skull and Crossbones on the front, black steel-toed sneakers, chain collar. Warning: Potentially a hereditary hypovolemic. Close monitoring required if badly wounded.

~

Name: Zom Imperizo
Species: Vampire
Gender: Female
Age: [random 3-digit number]
Class: Warrior
Starting Location: New York City, NY, USA
Brief Description: Image (Gaia Avatar). 5'3". Short pink hair, natural color unknown. Red eyes presenting a serpentine appearance. May look like a total lunatic on the outside, but in reality, that's exactly what she is. Always carries a magician's wand. Wearing: Some kind of magician's outfit or something, I guess. Who can really say? And what's with that helmet? God that thing looks ridiculous. Don't tell her I said that.

~

Name: Jack Panzer
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Class: Police Officer (6 Years)
Starting Location: New York City, NY, USA
Brief Description: (Australian) Brief Description: 6'1". Short black hair, spiked up most of the time. Caucasian. Dark green eyes, slim build, not too buff really. When on duty he wears his standard Police uniform, depending on the day or what task he's performing. But outside work he's mostly casual, nothing wrong with a baggy torn pair of jeans and a singlet.

~

Name: Jake Ashcroft
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: Los Angeles, CA, USA
Brief Description: Rough Estimate. About 5’7”, Caucasian, Skinny without much muscle. Wild red hair styled so he looks like he just rolled out of bed, vivid green eyes. Dressed in a plain white, form-fitting T-shirt and super baggy black jeans, held up with a studded belt. Wears fingerless biker gloves, and a coat like the one in the picture.
Loop and stud earrings, nine in total, run from the top of his ear to the lobe.

~

Name: Anani Linderwall
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: Los Angeles, CA, USA
Brief Description: Think something like this. 5'2", Native American, Slim. Brownish-blackish hair, brown eyes that have a touch of a golden-topaz color. Dressed in clothes in the link, orange tank, blue jeans. Has a pair of goggles and she either wears on top of her head or over her eyes.
Multicolored, bright bracelets, about thirty of them, adorn each arm.

~

Name: Juno Kumiko
Species: Nekomimi
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Class: Civillian?
Starting Location: Los Angeles, CA
Brief Description: See the avi in the corner, yes the one holding the two guns.

~

Name: Corey
Species: Human?
Gender: Female
Age: Appears 18-20
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: New York City, NY, USA
Brief Description: Quick Sketch. Tough, tall, skinny, and quiet. Just under 6', pale-skinned, with long auburn brown hair (straight and thick, often hiding her face). Dressed in: Loose grey pants, black t-shirt with an emerald green sleeveless shirt over top, black athletic shoes.

~

Name: #4751 aka "Duma"
Species: Unknown looks similar to a lynx, but anthropomorphized, previously human
Gender: Female
Age: 15
Class: Missing persons; Runaway experiment.
Starting Location: Undisclosed Location, OK, USA
Brief Description: Two feet high at the shoulder when standing on all fours, for all appearances "Duma" is in fact a lynx with the ability to walk on two legs. Her fur is an average color for a lynx with slightly longer dew claws that work like opposable thumbs. Eyes are a golden-green color and she has a single red collar around her neck with her serial number on it. #4751

[Windra]

<center>

Name: Ashowan
Species: Human?
Gender: Female
Age: N/A. Appears 18/19
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: New York City, NY, USA
Brief Description: 5'6". Short brown hair with gravity defying bangs that partially hide her right eye, one of the dual emerald. Black bandanna tied around forehead. Black collar. Caucasian. Dressed in: Blue jeans, ruby red short-sleeved shirt with v-neck, long-sleeved pinkish-white hoodie shirt, black combat boots.

8:29 P.M.
New York City

Ka-thump!

All three passengers of the vehicle flew an inch or so from their seats. Upon landing, all three groaned. The impact smarted. The driver, armed with tousled blond hair and blue eyes, rubbed his rear with an aggravated array of curses. Damn, that smarted. That really, really smarted. "Wish they'd pave these damn roads once in a while ..., " was his scathing remark, spoken in an alto-baritone voice. He was young, probably no older than seventeen.

"You do realize we're in New York City, right Jake?" quipped the passenger in an icy tone. Her arms were crossed over a black tee-shirt, violet eyes set in a narrowed gaze as they rested upon the driver. The wind whipped at her hair, dyed a peculiar mixture of black and purple.

"Yeah well ... !" Jake started to open his mouth to argue, but the purple-haired woman forced him to look the way he was going before anything else was said. The boy narrowly missed driving into a cab and swerved back into the right lane. More fabulous curses sprung from his lips. "All these damn post-its are getting to my head, dammit! I can't think straight anymore!"

"Then let yer brain cook while you have your eyes on the road, alright?" called a third passenger. This one was sitting in the back, clinging to the bars of the blue 1994 Jeep Wrangler so that she wouldn't get sent flying into the street. She had brown hair with gravity-defying bangs, and was dressed in common street attire like the rest of them. But even her gloves couldn't ensure a strong grip on the vehicle ... "I don't wanna get flung out of this thing."

"Again."

"Again."

Jake looked back, eyes sharp like a hawk. "You tryin' to say something 'bout my driving?" he barked.

The purple-haired woman blinked. "Jeez, what crawled up your ass? Normally you're giddy as shit."

"He's just ticked off cuz Mikhail handed you guys ... how many assignments? Jake got thirty ... I think you got twenty, right Cheryl?"

"Twenty-eight," corrected the goth, rubbing her cheek and careful not to get too close to the heavy black eyeliner. "Twenty-nine, actually, if you count the one Mik phoned me."

The three of them were Grim Reapers, assigned to take the souls of people before they died so that they could be escorted to the 'great beyond', whatever that was. Normally they would get about three to four jobs a day, depending on the happenings. According to the excruciatingly large number of post-its, something terrible was going to occur later on. In her gut, Ashowan wondered what it was ... Jake and Cheryl had been trekking around most of the morning looking for their Reaps. Ashowan? She just kind of trailed along for the ride.

"It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't get shot fifteen times today," scowled Jake, rubbing his chest where the bullets struck him. "Damn Adams ... thinking I was a cop ... "

"You did walk into a crackhouse asking, 'Is there a J.P. Adams here? I gotta talk to him ... ' Not a smart move on your part, kid." When Jake awarded her with a deathly glare, she just smirked in an arrogant manner. Ashowan chuckled. This was a flip-side ... Usually Cheryl was the ice queen and Jake was the jerky kid.

"Times like these I wish I were in the Plague division," said the boy, glancing back at Ashowan. The brunette looked over her shoulder at him. "You didn't get a single damn post-it at all today ... "

Ashowan waved him off. "Please. You're an External Influence jock. Bet you couldn't last a day without getting bored out of your skull." Green eyes flitted towards the street signs. They were jetting down East 66th and heading towards Central Park.

Jake was going faster than the speed limit. He was in a rush to catch his 10:33 appointment by the Museum of Natural History. With two hours on the clock, one wouldn't think of that as being a big deal ... but then again, one didn't have Mikhail remind all of them to be as far from the Museum as possible by 9:30 for reasons unknown. The Russian Reaper who was their boss had reason to believe that something big was going to go down. Back in real time ... Jake let off a long string of curses and spun the wheel to dodge a truck. He jumped the curve, missed a street lamp, and hopped back onto the street. Horns were blazing. Somewhere in the distance, an array of drivers were hissing obscenities. Ashowan leaned back and called up front to Jake, her voice teasing.

"Hey Jake, why don't you do that again?"

"Hey Ashowan, why don't you shut the fuck up?"

The brunette smirked. In an aside to Cheryl, she whispered, "He's fun like this. It's so easy to piss him off ... "

--

Name: Scarlet
Species: V-ACT 32
Gender: Female
Age: N/A. Appears 20
Class: S.T.A.R.S. Captain
Starting Location: Undisclosed Location, OK, USA
Brief Description: 6'1". Short bleached yellow hair with three lightning yellow bangs. Glazed eyes. Red skin. Lipless and eyebrowless with sharp teeth and a super long tongue. Dressed in: Camo jeans, black tank top, black military boots, tan wristbands, long grey trench coat.

7:33 P.M.
Undisclosed Location, Oklahoma

Rodriguez was asleep. He'd randomly decided to conk out in the briefing room of this random building they'd decided to camp out in. Whoever chose this place in the middle of damned nowhere was out of their mind. Empty fields and rocking thunderstorms, yes, but the place was so ... empty. The S.T.A.R.S. marksman decided a long time ago that he didn't like Oklahoma - too boring. And it made him tired very easily, though he couldn't quite explain why. Maybe it was the tumbleweed. Everywhere he looked ... fucking tumbleweed.

He hated Oklahoma.

About five minutes ago, he kicked his boots onto the table, leaned back in the chair, blew his beret down onto his face so that it covered his eyes ... and he was gone. Little did he know that a certain red-skinned woman was climbing the ceiling, claws gently clacking against the linoleum ... and she sneaked closer, and closer ...

BAM! A long tongue emerged from her mouth and lashed Rodriguez across the face. Jerked from rest and yelping in confusion, his hands flew to his gun but his body flew backwards. He struck the ground hard and at an awkward angle, splayed out like a poor ragdoll. "Graah ... "

Scarlet, the name of the blond-haired V-ACT mutation on the ceiling, dropped onto all fours onto the table. Her mouth split into a sharp-toothed grin and she beamed down at her teammate. "Gotcha!" she chimed.

Rodriguez offered her salutations with a middle finger. Groaning, he pulled himself upright, eventually settling in the chair after putting it in the proper spot. "Bored, huh?" he mused over his friend, cracking out a pack of smokes and searching for whichever one smelled the freshest.

Scarlet nodded. She stretched on the tabletop, looking for all the world like a kitten who drank too much milk and was now lazily basking in the sun. "Marcy and Daniel be's picking up some strange signals, but they can't figure 'em out," she complained. "Sooooooo, we're kinda stuck here until they decipher it. Dunno if it's an Umbrella code or anythin', ya know? Bruno poofed into one of the other rooms - I think he be's watchin' Jerry Springer. Michelle and Rino went to do their own thang." The context of her voice indicated just what she thought they were doing. Rodriguez laughed.

"Guess we're pretty much stuck in a rut." He lit up a smoke and puffed on it. Blowing a cloud from his mouth, he asked, "Wanna go get some coffee, then?"

"I been waitin' fer ya to ask, pardner," Scar grinned.

--

Name: 'Zed'
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Class: Civilian/Student
Starting Location: Monmouth U., NJ, USA
Brief Description: 5'6". Short brown hair, hazel eyes. Caucasian. Dressed in: brown jeans, black Pink Floyd tee-shirt, black zip-off hoodie, fingerless gloves backed by Skull and Crossbones symbols, grey baseball cap with Skull and Crossbones on the front, black steel-toed sneakers, chain collar. Warning: Potentially a hereditary hypovolemic. Close monitoring required if badly wounded.

8:45 P.M.
Monmouth University, NJ

Sooo ... yes!
We just spent the last hour and a half watching Robot Chicken in one of the abandoned classrooms in back of Pollak Theatre. There's no class in there today, and we're still waiting for doors to open ... They don't til 10:30, yay us! All of the brochure stacks are filled in the main lobby. The radios are ready and the headsets are out. Signs were put out. They're doing a sound check in the auditorium ... so we're basically just sitting and waiting.

Chris ordered Chinese a little while ago. All of us got General Tso's - what, it's addictive? So now the room reeks of yumness and all that's good. Like we're in the damned movies. Eileen's chatting it up with some of the maintenance guys. They're pretty damned bored themselves. Eileen and Vaune both came in here a few minutes ago to see what we were up to, stuck around to catch a couple of skits, and were off. Rosaly and Erika, in the meantime, are taking ticket orders. Not many walk-ups, which is a good thing. This isn't supposed to be a really big show anyways. The group we're hosting - 'Eric Duhnn and the Bass' - they're not very popular. I think we're expecting fifty people tops ... The theatre has a total of over 700 seats.

Just waiting for the clock to move a little faster ...

[Luxon Cobrat]

(OOC: I'll use that "journal" perspective for the first post to get into this character's head, but I'll switch to third person pretty soon, probably by the second post.)

Name: Zom Imperizo
Species: Vampire
Gender: Female
Age: [random 3-digit number]
Class: Warrior
Starting Location: New York City

Brief Description: Image (Gaia Avatar)

5'3". Short pink hair, natural color unknown. Red eyes presenting a serpentine appearance. May look like a total lunatic on the outside, but in reality, that's exactly what she is. Always carries a magician's wand.

Wearing: Some kind of magician's outfit or something, I guess. Who can really say? And what's with that helmet? God that thing looks ridiculous. Don't tell her I said that.

6:21 P.M.
Some Old Mansion, New York City

<center>Captain's log, Stardate 00197:

Looks like Boss W's split. I been tryin' to IM that asshole all day, but he's never on. Last time I talked to him, he told me somethin' big was about to go down on this world, and that he'd be headin' back to HQ soon. Guess that's where he's gone.

Guess that means I'm in charge here. 'Bout damn time. Gettin' tired of fighting with those damn lycans all the time. Tonight, I'ma go slaughter em, be done with it. Then we can feast. All the harman blood we can drink, and none o' those damn wolves to get in the way. Hells yeah!

Kinda worried about why the boss took off, though. I never seen anythin' that would spook him. I'll have to look into it. Maybe step up the watch around the base too. I swear, I'm gonna be pissed if this world's scheduled for demolition or something.

Sun's going down now. 'Bout time to head out.</center>

[Barbannis]

<center>Name: Jack Panzer
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Class: Police Officer (6 Years)
Starting Location: New York City
Brief Description: (Australian) Brief Description: 6'1". Short black hair, spiked up most of the time. Caucasian. Dark green eyes, slim build, not too buff really. When on duty he wears his standard Police uniform, depending on the day or what task he's performing. But outside work he's mostly casual, nothing wrong with a baggy torn pair of jeans and a singlet.</center>

<center>6:43 P.M.
New York</center>
'Always the same crap'

Those were the thoughts on his mind as he held his knee into the back of a kids neck, one arm on his opposite shoulder, his other hand pulling back a set of hand-cuffs. He could feel the kid squirming, though not enough to push him back from the street curb, his face planted nice and close, no trouble at all. Jack looked up slightly, sighing as he clicked the cuffs around both hands without any trouble, slipping his knee back,

"It's 7pm just about, and you're already up to no good mate?" he spoke out with no sort of jest in his voice, pulling the kid up to his feet and turning him around to face the flashing lights of his police unit car.

There was not much to the crime, the usual, throwing a full glass of any sort of liquid at the front of his vehicle was enough to piss anyone off, but not Jack. He knew it was coming when driving down some backwater street like this, the good ol' life of a cop, ready for anything. The kid was launched into the back seat of his car without any trouble, the sound of Jack's radio flicking on and off could be heard over the sounds of the kids buddies laughing and calling out. Jack only gave the a cold glare, the only thing he could do... but found it quite relieving that they weren't the defending kind of buddies.

With that done he slid back into his seat, a flick of a smile cornering his lips, hearing the curses and kicks of the kid in the back seat, his shoulder slamming against the metal grate. He adjusted his mirror, and put one hand on the wheel, speeding out from the curb. The night had only just begun.

[Silvereyesish]

<center>
Name: Jake Ashcroft
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: Los Angeles, CA, USA
Brief Description: Rough Estimate. About 5’7”, Caucasian, Skinny without much muscle.
Wild red hair styled so he looks like he just rolled out of bed, vivid green eyes.
Dressed in a plain white, form-fitting T-shirt and super baggy black jeans, held up with a studded belt.
Wears fingerless biker gloves, and a coat like the one in the picture.
Loop and stud earrings, nine in total, run from the top of his ear to the lobe.


Name: Anani Linderwall
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: Los Angeles, CA, USA
Brief Description: Think something like this. 5'2", Native American, Slim. Brownish-blackish hair, brown eyes that have a touch of a golden-topaz color.
Dressed in clothes in the link, orange tank, blue jeans. Has a pair of goggles and she either wears on top of her head or over her eyes.
Multicolored, bright bracelets, about thirty of them, adorn each arm.</center>

----
5:47 P.M.
A Quiet Neighborhood, LA


The slam of a front door startled her into moving back, sliding as carefully and quietly as possible into the shadow of the alleyway behind her. The man who'd slammed the door walked down the steps from his house and approached his car. A few mumbled curses escaped his lips as he noticed the door was unlocked, and he glanced up and around to see if the culprit was still there. She froze, barely daring to even breathe until he finally kicked at a tire and slid into the driver's seat of the car. She allowed herself to relax as he drove away, and she walked out from the dark, adjusting the goggles over her eyes.

"Damn, that was close..." she mumbled to herself, the bracelets clinking as she moved her arms. Movement to the side alerted the teen, and she glanced over her shoulder lazily, grinning at the boy who approached.

"Shit, Ani! He almost caught ya, ya dumbass! Be more careful!" The boy hissed, punching her on the arm. Ani merely snorted, hands falling to her hips as she gave him a skeptical look.

"Oh, put a sock in it, Jake. It isn't a big deal, he didn't catch me, and we're still good to go." She said, an eye-roll acompanying her words. Jake scowled, and dug around in his coat pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with the lighter in his other hand.

"See, this is why I smoke," Jake said, giving Ani a mock-glare, and she knew he wasn't angry. "Ya cause meh un-needed stress, ya little brat."

Ani grinned and punched the boy back on the arm, almost making him drop his cancer stick.

"You need the excitement, dude." she teased, looking up at him. She frowned then. "You also need to shrink a few inches. You're too tall, and I'm tired of having to look up at you."

Jake grinned in a sort of mocking way before turning to walk off down the street, ciggy hanging casually from his lips, hands in his pockets.

"It ain't my fault yer a midget." He called behind him. It was Ani's turn to scowl, and she ran after him, shouting, "I'm not a midget, you ass!"

The night had only just begun, and there was a wide selection of cars to choose from. The two were excited; the prospects hadn't looked this good in a long time...

[JunoZXV]

\Name: Juno Kumiko
Species: Nekomimi
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Class: Civillian?
Starting Location: Los Angeles, CA
Brief Description: See the avi in the corner, yes the one holding the two guns.

A sliver Prius. 2003. Sat in a parking lot with two crazy kids looking for a hit. Now the driver himself was a little... odd. And he was glancing up from the dashboard of his relatively-new car. THe sliver finish glintining in the rays of the setting sun...

Now the driver was slumped back, seat in the reclining position with his mirrored sunglasses on. Looking right up at the setting sky, noting the poluted smog of the city... and...

was that...?

*K-lunk!* The car door opened.

"Hey Sparky!" The driver called out, his read hair blowing about (ears unseen as they were hidding under his do, tail remained hidden as well.) He was looking right at Jake, then at Ani and he chuckled, closing the car door and locking the machine with a *beep*

He leaned against it. "So you finally got a girl, thats really suprising. How's it going man? I haven't seen you in YEARS."

[VPhoenix]

Name: Ace
Species: Demon
Gender: male
Age: NA/ appears 30
Class: Paladin
Starting Location: Vatican, Rome
Brief Description: ((human form)) short spiked black hair, pale white skin, sea blue eyes. Wears a leather jacket with a golden cross on the shoulders and the back. Black bike pants, boots. gloves and sunglasses.
http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y184/g ... 2871_6.png
((demon form))
http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y184/g ... libur2.jpg

5:00 PM Vatican, Rome
Ace looked up to the sky as the sun began to make its descent over the ancient city of Rome. Ace had lived in this city for countless years ever since the first humans discovered him in the frozen wastelands of Germany. Ever since that eventful day Ace was made into a paladin to slay other demons and other creatures of the night. This did not bother him much for even when he was part of the legions of hell he never cared much for other demons, but after his leader had left for dead so long ago Ace hated them even more, and in the process started to like humans a bit more as well. Things of late had grown quite too quite for Ace's like since he had not an assignment for a while now. That is why he was glad to be called in by Section XIII's leader hoping it was for a new assignment. Stepping into the main office of Section XIII he was surprised to see no one there but instead an envelope with his name written on it.
"Dear Ace, forgive me for not being there in person to tell you your new assignment but the Pope demanded my presence on an urgent a matter, a matter that deal directly with your assignment. Section XII investigators believe there is possibly scientist working in the USA on a new type of biological weapon like any ever created thus far. All other agents are looking into this further and that is why we are sending you to go straight to the source. A chopper leaves tommorow to take you to New York City once there agents will inform you of all recent information on this case. Sincerely Marquis"
Ace frowned as he finished reading the leader he hated dealing matter with American's in his mind they should deal with their own problems but undoubtedly the Pope felt like they might not be able to this time.

[Silvereyesish]

[OoC: Hopefully this won't throw off the posting order... also, took a few liberties with Jake and Juno's past, hope that's okay, Juno. Lemme know if you want me to change anything.]
----

"Hey Sparky!"

A wide grin spread across Jake’s face as he turned to locate the source of the familiar voice. Sparky… that was a nickname he hadn’t heard in years. And only one person called him that; a dude who’d once commented Jake’s hair looked like a mad scientist’s.

“Juno, mah man!” Jake called back, chuckling. “What happened to the pink?”

Juno glanced at Ani, who put her hands on her hips once more as she stared him down. He gave his own chuckle, and then spoke.

"So you finally got a girl, that’s really surprising.”

Jake threw an arm around Ani’s shoulder, making a face at Juno. Anani rolled her eyes and pushed her goggles up to the top of her head, her topaz orbs shining half in exasperation, half in amusement. She didn’t throw off the arm, but she didn’t exactly lean into the one-armed embrace either.

“More like he’s got a massive crush on me, and I think he’s just a big dork.” She said, sticking her tongue out at the taller boy. Jake faked a wounded look, putting a hand to his heart dramatically.

“Aww, Ani, that hurts, girlie.” He grinned back at her, and then glanced back to Juno. “We ain’t datin’… yet,” he added in a whisper, easily avoiding the half-hearted punch that came his way from the shorter girl. “But at least I ain’t wettin’ my pants at the thought of a girlie, right?”

Ani shot him an incredulous look. "You used to wet your pants at the sight of a pretty girl?" The girl broke into laughter, holding her sides as she did. "Hahahah, dude, that's hilarious!"

Jake sighed, ruffling his hair a bit. "Not literally, Ani..." he mumbled, a slight blush on his face.

“How's it going man? I haven't seen you in YEARS."

Jake nodded, taking a drag on his cigarette lazily. “It’s been a long time, ain’t it? Frickin’ what… three years since I saw ya last? Nothin’ too big has happened, ‘cept my lungs are a little blacker,” –he raised the cancer stick as evidence- “and I ain’t afraid of the girlies no more… what about ya, buddy? What have ya been up to?”

[Windra]

<center>

[OoC: A note! Um ... I forgot there were time zones, apparently ...
So a big fix-up/goof on my part. Ehe, sorry guys. I'm going to fix my prior posts so that the times are okay.

I guess ... we'll try to keep the times somewhat synchronized, eh? So the explosions happen at the same time everywhere, and everybody feels it at the same time.]

--

[Ashowan]

By the time the Jeep Wrangler skid to a halt in front of the Museum of Natural History, the sun was just getting down below the horizon. It burned into a bright orange as it started its descent.. Darkness was looming over the eastern portion of the sky, slowly spreading out like a torrenting flood eager to swallow everything whole. The time, however, didn't seem to have much of an impact on the life around here. There were goddamn peds everywhere. Jake and Cheryl stared out at the sea of personas with equally vile looks of frustration. One looked ready to tear hair out. The other? Close to smashing the head into the dashboard. From Ashowan's standpoint it was kind of amusing. But then again ... she'd never had to do their job. It had to be tough for them. Green eyes fell upon the multiple yellow slips clutched between Cheryl's forefinger and thumb. Yeah ... very tough.

Shaking her head, the brown-haired woman turned to Jake with a serious tone in her voice. Expression was blank, but stern. "You realize the Museum closes at five, yeah?"

"I know," he snapped (Ashowan grinned sheepishly). He peered at the yellow post-it he pried from his pocket. "10:33 ... yeaaah ... Um ... " A cheeky nod to Cheryl, the only one on them who had a wristwatch. " ... Ehm, what time is it?"

Rolling her eyes, Cheryl looked at her arm. "With all that time we blew in the traffic jam down there, we lost an hour. It's nearly 9:15."

"Damn, Mik wanted us out of here by 9:30 ... " Prodding the boy of the gang gently on the shoulder, Ashowan pressed, "Will you be able to find him?"

Something about the situation mellowed the angsty teen out. He frowned, poking at the paper, deep in thought. "Post-it says the job's inside the buildin'. One of the guards?" Blue eyes squinted at the massive pillars, then the doors. "Likely. I mean, some hobos get stuck in there and sleep the night ... Mebbe some random dude got left behind when they closed. Shouldn't be too hard to find the person."

"Certainly sound sure," grumbled Cheryl, rolling her eyes. "If they ain't guards, though, they'll be wanting to keep out of view. The minute they hear somebody coming they're gonna bolt."

Totally ignoring Cheryl's words, Jake suddenly lifted a grin and beamed. "Ohshit! Ya think maybe they're burglars?"

Almost as though seething at being defied or ignored, Cheryl glared at the kid until he flinched away. "Just hurry up and go in 'fore I knock your teeth out, okay?" she snapped, every word dripping with venom.

Jake drew back with a gulp. It took two seconds for him to push the door open, pluck off the seatbelt, and bolt up the steps to the museum. He didn't go right for the doors, however, but sauntered around the corner of the Museum instead. Apparently he knew another way to get into the place. Now to hope that he wouldn't trigger the alarms or anything. The least they needed was the fuzz to show ...

Cheryl groaned, brushing a lock of purplish-black hair from her forehead. "That kid ... has a death wish." She blinked at Ashowan, eyebrows quirking. "What's with him and thieves? Every fucking time we run into a crime - burglary, looting, Mafia ... whatever - he gets all hyper shit."

The brunette stared at her. "You've known him for five years and you don't know yet?"

The Goth shook her head. "He never said a word."

Ashowan cackled. At Cheryl's confusion, she told her, "He'll tell you if you ask him."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Click!
Rheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Rheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Rheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

"Shit!" Ashowan and Cheryl yelled in unison, jumping in their seats. Jake was barreling back to the Jeep, eyes wide and face red ... charged with ecstasy. Two figures chased after him, their details hidden by the shadows but their uniforms quite clear - guards. Jake was many feet ahead of them. He hopped into the driver's seat, revved the engine, and pulled away from the Museum before he even got to close his door. The guards had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.

"Jake!" screamed Cheryl. She pointed to the door and the blond Reaper slammed it shut. Ashowan was clinging to the bars for dear life. "What the HELL was that?!"

"The guy on the post-it!" barked he, laughing. "It was just a hobo, sneakin' into the building. He tripped the alarm and the guards thought it was me cuz I was right next to the door ... !"

"Anticlimactic," laughed Ashowan, watching the silhouettes of the guards vanishing in the distance. Pedestrians watched their speeding vehicle and pointed out to them, whispering and yelling. Some were cheering, flashing the 'horns' ... while the more random ones flashed the 'shocker'. Cheryl clung to her seat, losing grip on the post-its in the meantime. The yellow slips went flying everywhere.

And the guards? They radio'd the cops.

[ddpej]

<center>Name: Corey
Species: Human?
Gender: Female
Age: Appears 18-20
Class: Civilian
Starting Location: New York City, NY, USA
Brief Description: Quick Sketch. Tough, tall, skinny, and quiet. Just under 6', pale-skinned, with long auburn brown hair (straight and thick, often hiding her face). Dressed in: Loose grey pants, black t-shirt with an emerald green sleeveless shirt over top, black athletic shoes.

9:15 PM
Museum of Natural History, New York City

Amid the sea of pedestrians pushing their way past the Museum, one olive green pair of eyes watched the three teenagers with sharp intensity as they argued in their vehicle. The owner of the eyes wasn't anyone meriting attention -- just another tall tomboy with a grudge against the world, based on the hard set of her shoulders and the look in her eyes. Her gaze held a purpose, however. There was something about those three...unknown, as yet...that called for investigation. In New York, to get where you want to go, sometimes the best way is to head in the other direction. Altering her path through the crowd, the slim figure vanished into the sea of faces, aiming for the far side of the crowd.

She emerged not seconds later, at the base of the steps to the Museum. Unaware that one of her quarry had emerged and headed for the steps as well, Corey almost blew her cover by stepping out right in front of him. Only a flash of movement alerted her in time, and she quickly changed the intended step into a shift of position. Recognizing the teen that sauntered up and past, she raised an eyebrow and looked back at the Wrangler. Both girls remained inside, talking. Shrugging, she took advantage of their momentary glance at each other and slipped up and away after the male.

Her intent was not to follow, however, but only to find a spot where she couldn't be seen. As soon as she was out of sight of the sidewalk, and a glance to all sides verified that the boy was the only other, and facing forward on his way...as soon as she knew the path was clear, she sidled.

As an adept Walker, Corey had the control and focus to hold a sidle for nearly a full day. In this case, however, she only needed a few hours perhaps. Only audibly present, she could not be seen or felt, and thus it was a simple matter to run back to the steps, down, through the crowd, across the sidewalk to the waiting Jeep. The door was still open from the boy's exit, but it wouldn't have mattered; she could step through car doors as easily as she moved through people when not physically present. The car didn't dip or bounce as she climbed aboard, nor any sign give away her presence -- as far as either girl could know, she wasn't there at all.

A grunt would have given her away, as any sound she made would be heard loud and clear, but she was no young Walker, to be so easily found out. She'd held her job for many years now, and though not an elite, she was nevertheless quite good. Settling unnoticed into the seat next to the brunette, she opened her ears and waited. She already had a few suspicions--

Hardly half a second after she 'sat', the Museum's alarm system cut through the air in piercing discord. It caught her off-guard, and it was only through sheer luck that she thought herself physical again in time to dodge a pull to the Gates. The sudden extra weight was, fortunately, unnoticeable as the vehicle itself rocked on its wheels, thrown off balance not only by the startled girls but by the sudden and violent return of their companion, and the lurching takeoff as all four -- three visible, one hidden -- fled the scene.

It was an unexpected turn of events, as far as Corey was concerned. She had intended to simply listen in on the conversation for a time, to determine why the three had caught her attention, and then to be off and away. Now, though, she was in the chase with them, even though they didn't know it, and she wasn't sure just how soon she could make an escape. Besides, she still had her suspicions. Better off sticking around until she figured things out, since she was here anyway.

She saw the post-it notes begin their flight as if in slow-motion. There was just enough time to line up her next sidle with another rock of the vehicle before the flurry of slips reached her...and continued through to the seat without pause, for once again she wasn't truly there to block their path. Even if the girl next to her reached over to gather them up, Corey would go unnoticed. Shaking her head slowly, the Walker decided she might be better off just holding the sidle for a while.

The number of post-its seemed unusual. Turning her gaze to the nearest, she read the contents with rapidly narrowing eyes. A name, a time, a place. She looked at the next -- the same. Every post-it had the same type of information, and with that, her suspicions were both confirmed and heightened. One of them, two even, since the boy had post-its about as well, were Reapers. It was a job she'd considered, at her Choosing, and the post-its were a tell-tale sign. She couldn't be sure about the one next to her, but the other two -- yes.

The fact that she was in the company of Reapers was not strictly strange. That there were two together, though, and possibly even three...that was unusual. Reapers were by far more common than her own kind, the Walkers, but they were not so common as to regularly travel in packs. The only good reason to do so -- particularly with that many appointments to keep, which seemed unusual in and of itself -- was if the Reapers in question needed to be in the same place, at the same time. That, of course, was the problem. If she was right, something big was going to happen, and yet by the looks of it the Reapers (and friend?) didn't know what any better than she did.

Weighing her choices carefully, Corey looked at the girl next to her. She was traveling with Reapers, and chance were good that she knew it. Chances were also good, then, that she was either a Reaper herself or someone in a similar position of some sort, especially since the two known Reapers seemed to consider her one of their own. Choices, choices...

Taking a chance, the Walker stood slightly and dropped her sidle, becoming physical again but remaining unseen. Reaching back, she carefully and silently scooped up the scattered post-its in her seat, the yellow slips seeming to coalesce into a pile all on their own, then to slide over next to Ashowan's legs. Sitting back down, only the weight of her presence noticeable, and leaning close to the girl's ear, Corey spoke in a whisper for the brunette alone to hear.
"Your friend dropped these."

If she was right, this girl next to her would know of Walkers, and be able to figure out what she was. If she was wrong...well, with any luck the girl would think she was just going crazy, and Corey wouldn't have to return to the Gates. It was a rather large gamble, but something wasn't right here, and she needed to find out what.</center>

[JunoZXV]

"Heh, it's a wig" Juno replied scratching the red-hairdo having it move around like lit really wasn't upart of his head. "For obvious purposes."
Juno replied giving a bit of a more serious look at Jake, a look that said: I really don't want to have to explain my cat ears AGAIN.

Juno decided to come up with a false story. "Oh yeah, Jake was really shy a while ago. Never as outgoing as he is now. Nervous reck. I used to be his baby-sitter. I remember the time he stuck his finger in a lightsocket, isn't the right, Sparky?" Juno joked around, hoping that Jake would forgive him of his white lie. Specially since Juno looked younger than Jake now. Fact was... Juno never seemed to get older, or younger for that matter.

"Anyway you know me. Ever since I stopped hanging around LA I've been going to conventions, selling and buying random and shiny things. Making a living offa working for the animation industry. You know, pushing and makeing speeches and overall advertising. I just happened to be in LA for the week because of the recent convention. In fact, I'm heading to Las Vegas tonight, another convention and whatnot. An you know I can't pass up a free ride, meal and room.

But if you're wonding why I'm here specifically is becase I just wanted to say hi and catch up. It's been a while, man. Oh and I wanted to give you this..."

Juno opened up the back trunk of the prius and pulled out a pair of black gloves, holding them up and handing them to jake.

"Crazy new product I got from an anime convention. Ignition gloves, you just snap your fingers and BOOM fire. Nothing big, but enough to create a small light. Keep 'em. Ive got 50 in a crate that I have to sell in Vegas."

[VPhoenix]

Night at lasted reached the ancient city of Rome, Ace's favorite time of all the day. Being a demon Ace did not care far too much of the world of day time mainly cause he grew sick of how beings human and supernatural during this time of day hid they truly are. During night though is when beings showed their true color, and that is how Ace preferred it. Down in the basement of the Section XII headquarters was Ace's liar. There lied down on his bed no longer in the disguise of his human appearence, but his true demon self. Turning on the television an American news channel came on showing a person running from a museum and then speeding of in a jeep. "Stupid American's I swear" changing the channel to Fuse TV his favorite music channel, his eye glistened as his favorite American band, Avenged Sevenfold music video Beast and the Harlot was being shown, this being one of Ace's favorite songs. "That is much more like it, Americans might not be too bright but at least they have good music."

[Blue]

Name: #4751 aka "Duma"
Species: Unknown looks similar to a lynx, but anthropomorphized, previously human
Gender: Female
Age: 15
Class: (Civilian, Military, Scientist, Ex-Con, etc.) Missing persons; Run away experiment.
Starting Location: Oklahoma
Brief Description: Two feet high at the shoulder when standing on all fours, for all appearances "Duma" is in fact a lynx with the ability to walk on two legs. Her fur is an average color for a lynx with slightly longer dew claws that work like opposable thumbs. Eyes are a golden-green color and she has a single red collar around her neck with her serial number on it. #4751

Font: #f4a460

The following are excerpts from the journal of Dr. Glen Jackson, Genetic Scientist


January 4th, 2001
New specimen brought in today, experimentation begins right after physical examination. Younger than most with short black hair and brown eyes, but hopefully a younger test subject shall prove highly useful. Standing at four feet two inches, thin for her age, but found on the streets. Twelve years old. I hope my experiments go well with this one, the last five didn't make it.

February 21st, 2001
Experiment #4751 code named "Duma's" birth records, social security number, and all forms of identification has been nullified. Being well taken care of, no unnecessary or uncomfortable situations have been brought forward while patient was awake to keep mental state stable, kept in a single room with a few things to keep the subject occupied. So far taking to the injections and genetic enhancements well. No side-effects yet recorded.

April 13th, 2002
Subject "Duma" has taken ill with a flu virus. Of all the time for her to become ill. I do admit that I'm worried for we have put so much into this single experiment and have no others to continue this work on. The flu virus is quite harmless and the subject should be better within the next week, I however remain concerned.

Before this she's been taking well to the experiments and has shown incredible progress. She's proven to have become immune to the common cold and a few strains of lesser diseases. We are still a long way off however on our quest to find immunity vaccines, maybe looking into an animalistic immune structure would prove enlightening.

January 2nd, 2003
Two years now into this experiment and subject #4751 has turned fourteen. We've begun training her in various fields as would be-fit a young fourteen year old female. Mathamatics, Science, English, etc. So that if we were to test her out in the wold she would know enough to pass by without suspicion. I have my doubts however on whether "Duma" would be able to survive out in the human world. She seems to be forgetting things and no longer remembers her original name and simply comes by her serial number or her code name. This is a slightly alarming side-effect, but however does not seem to effect her ability to function. She remembers how to act within a group of people and the normal necessities of life.

There have also been a few other side-effects which involve the subject's pupils, they are slitted rather than circular. Along with this there are a few odd patterns showing up on her amrs, legs, and her face along with small patches of fur. We are unsure as to why this is, but so far it neither seems to aid or harm her. In note with the subject's pupils her eye color has changed from brown to green-gold. Perhaps these are side effects to our genetic therapy.

February 5th, 2004

There have been alarming side-effects in the subject. For a while now the girl has been excessively healthy. At an age of fifteen she stood at six feet tall. Over the last month and a half I have recorded fur sprouting on her body that we simply shaved off, but during the last two weeks the side-effects have escalated to a rate that we could not keep up with. Her height shrunk down and her bone structure took on a form that is similar to a feline.

By the end of the two weeks, Duma shrank until she was only two feet tall at the shoulder while standing on all fours. Yes; all fours. Duma has seemingly become a human and lynx hybrid form. Duma is still able to stand on two legs (this being because of the particular flexibility of her hip, back, shoulder, and neck joints), along with this her dew claw has grown out into an almost opposable 'thumb' of sorts on each front paw. While this does not mean that just the dew claw alone has grown out, the tissue of the 'thumb' has also grown out. Though slightly shorter than a human thumb it is still very similar. Her 'toes' or 'fingers' of her front paws are also slightly longer than average, but once again more stubby in comparison to the size of a human hand.

Tests have shown that she has all the dexterity of a feline. Leaping up to two meters (six feet) and running up to 30 miles per hour*. More studies are needed however to determine the total effects this change has brought on the subject.

( * leaping 6 feet and running up to 30mph are real lynx stats and not made up.)


March 18th, 2004

Subject "Duma" has escaped. We found her missing from her room at o-fivehundred hours. We believe she has gone to a near-by small town possibly, but a squad has been sent out to collect her and bring her back to our facility. They should be able to track her using the microchips I have embedded in her collar and just under her skin. If she is not found our studies may possibly be ruined.



______________________________


There was no way that she was going to go back, wherever it was she had been... she couldn't even remember really. Where had she come from? The small feline moved through a slightly vast landscape, no city in sight but she was hoping to find one. Had she known there was a town in the opposite directly she might have gone that way, but she didn't know about it and had gone out away from the town.

She panted slightly and glanced up as a tumbleweed rolled past her. She had a single small backpack on, though it was highly oversized considering how large she was now. Her ears twitched on the top of her head as she listened for anything. She was thirstier then anything else and would have grabbed some water if she could have lifted the huge water bottles onto her back, but she had left without them and only had a few fruit bars, which for some reason tasted funny to her and had made her slightly sick. She didn't really understand what had happened to her, but she needed help.

Looking up, she noticed that a single building seemed to be sitting out here in the middle of no-where. She panted slightly but like most cats she didn't pant for long before she trotted up towards it. Duma was trying to stay on two legs, but she couldn't stop moving down to four in order to run more comfortably. As she got up closer to the building she noticed that it was boarded up, good that meant no-one lived here. Looking up at one of the windows Duma crouched down low to the ground before leaping up.

Her nose turned up slightly with her mouth open to 'taste' the air, Duma sniffed and thought she smelled a human, recent, but she couldn't tell where he had gone, and she smelled something else, but she couldn't figure out what. Squeezing herself between the boards that were keeping the window shut, Duma sat on her haunches and pulled her backpack through before dropping to the floor with a thump. Glancing around she noticed that there was quite a bit of dust in this room along with something covered up with a cloth. Curious she moved over and pulled the cloth off.

It was a mirror and in the mirror facing her where her reflection should have been was a cat.

With a yowl and a hiss Duma leapt up into the air only to slam into an old wooden chair causing it to crash on a table where a single glass sculpture of dove sat forgotten and dust ridden. It's dulled surface flew once in the air, feeling a freedom, until it came crashing to the ground in a shattering of millions of pieces.

Hissing and growling with rage Duma struggled and ran around the room in a panic until she tripped over the cloth that had been covering the mirror and rolled to the side getting tangled in the fabric.

[Windra]

<center>

[Scarlet]

Rodriguez and Scarlet stalked through the hallways, pausing briefly at the door to the pool room with snerks across their faces. Noises were coming from inside, defining that this was indeed the spot that Rino and Michelle had chosen to play their own version of billiards. Nodding to her partner, Scarlet pressed her face against the thick wood, took a deep breath ...

"OH YEA BABY!" she yowled loud enough for the world to hear. Rodriguez had to cover his ears, but lifted one palm briefly to hear the satisfying thunk! and numerous curses from within the room. Michelle and Rino had fallen from their perch.

"Scratch!' thrummed Rodriguez tauntingly. When the curses grew louder inside the room, he grabbed Scarlet by the crook of her arm and dragged her down the hallway before either of them could be targets for the lovers' rage. One thing's for sure, though, thought the man to himself. I ain't ever using that table again.

Judging form the look on the V-ACT's face, she was thinking the same thing.

Once they were out of the line of fire, Scarlet and Rodriguez paused in the hall, puffed out their chests in proud dignity, and walked off arm-in-arm like the greatest Butch and Cassidy ever. The two headed into the 'on-call room' with victory punctuating their presence. The coffeemaker was across the room and the pot was filled. Both sidled over and poured mugs for themselves.

"I could live like this forever," purred Rodriguez, gesturing to their domain.

They inhabited this little shanty building outside one of the smaller towns. It was in the middle of nowhere and had been abandoned some years ago for no reason at all. S.T.A.R.S. found and infiltrated it two months prior, discovered useful materials in the basement, which was massive - it included all of the rooms they were using now, while the ground-level was simply one room stacked with crates and porcelain creations. Scar's team decided to hole up there for the time being. They were researching a possible Umbrella racketeering coup heading down to Nevada ... SO far there was no news on the subject. While they waited for some kind of update, they chilled hear ... with nothing to really do except, well, relax.

Rodriguez hadn't relaxed like this in years. His Umbrella resistance group was always active. Any breath of fresh air was a welcome relief, no matter how brief.

Scarlet, however, was more the actiony type. She couldn't sit still for long, especially when it involved waiting for Umbrella to make a move when they could be doing terrible things in another part of the country or the world. Each little S.T.A.R.S. team was assigned a certain location to investigate, however. As much as she would like to join the Indian Umbrella Infiltration, they were stuck here in the breadbasket.

"Too boring," she groaned, sipping her java. "I wanna shoot up dem Hunters again ... "

"You and your - "

Crash!

Scarlet snapped to attention. Her head twisted towards the ceiling of the basement, as did Rodriguez's. Both stared in silence for a moment, waiting to hear if anything else was going to happen. For awhile there was nothing ... then thwumpthwump!, like something was rolling alone the ground ...

"Think it's a mouse? Or a coyote or something?" Rodriguez asked, glancing at Scarlet ... only to blink at nothing. The V-ACT had dropped her cup of coffee on the ground and bolted down the hallway, her boots causing some massive footfalls as she tore up the stairs leading to the main room of the ground-level area. Cursing, Rodriguez quickly chased after her. "SCAR! What're you - "

"BOW!" Juggernaut shouted back. The word made Rod cringe. His hands flew to and withdrew the magnum revolver at his side. A BOW?

--

[Zed]

Okay ... so it appears there was a misconception about the time. Whoops? Turns out the Asbury Park Press, the Monmouth Arts Council, and a whole bunch of other organizations that listed Pollak Theatre's events said that tonight's show started around 9:30 P.M. That was late as it was ... Usually our shows are around 8:00, with some few beginning maybe an hour later, and never earlier than that time ... This, though? Shit. A lot of people thought it was going to start at 9:30. And by a lot, I mean ... everybody.

The turnout was bigger than any of us expected. We had about fifty walk-ups. Rosaly, Jaimee, and Heather had their hands full. After cleaning up the classroom we were using for chillaxing, Chris and I went to work patrolling the theatre and getting ready for open doors. Eileen, our bosslady, got wind from the leader of the band that they would start early to please the crowd. It wasn't worth it to have everybody get pissed over the wrong time, was it? So we were going to start early. 9:30.

Chris and I had gotten our headsets and radios. I stuck the headphones over my hand and tested the mic. Alright, good to go ... I stood with Chris, Erin, Erika and Stan at the main house doors. With a wave and a nod from Eileen, we propped them open and watched as the crowd surged forth, their eyes lit up with excitement. They all seemed giddy as shit. Was the band really that good?

The first of them walked into the theatre with dazed confusion stretched across her face. I stepped up and offered my aid. "Hiiii ... need any help finding your seat?"

In the meantime, Chris suddenly burst into song through the radio so that everybody (including the people selling tickets at Box Office, since they had two radios handy just in case) could hear him.

[Blue]

Facies ad lucem...

Look to the Light....

But was there any light to look to?

Duma squirmed and growled at the cloth that had been tangled up around her, clawing at it and ripping it only for the fin threads to get wrapped around her claws and seemingly tangle her worse. Finally when she was too tired she paused for breath, whiskered cheeks back as she panted in the heat. A few passes of her sand-paper tongue against her fur and Duma looked up at her surroundings. Her tawny-brown and cream fur blended in relatively well with the dingy room but her green-gold eyes stood out brilliantly against a pelt that would melt away in the vast forest landscape... if she were in a forest that is.

Where had she come from? She remembered playing on the street with a bunch of little girls, they had been playing hop-skotch and it was her turn. She always kept her hair short in the summer it was too hot but in the winter it was sometimes too cold. Was that who she use to be? A little girl? She couldn't really remember, there was a woman wasn't there? An older lady who took care of her and a man, an even littler boy, but who were they? Duma mused to herself without any sense of panic, but merely of perplexity. She remembered the man that came and asked her to come with him, she remembered the nice room he gave her, the toys. They never were mean to her though sometimes she did sleep a lot, but the man never seemed to mind.

She was Duma, or at least that's who she thought she was, but had she been someone else before? She didn't know. She didn't remember. It wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable feeling, yet it wasn't entirely comfortable either.

Glancing up at the dusty window she had snuck through Duma saw the light of the sun coming through and she found that she'd love to lay in it, even if it was hot out. There was a difference in running around hot and basking in the sun hot. Slipping out of the tangled mess she had left herself in Duma shook out her paws slightly to rid herself of the strings and leapt back up to the windowsill once more, glancing outside at the tumbleweed that had gotten stuck somehow. The small feline flicked an ear and then proceeded to lick at her paw and rub it against her head; it would do her no good to leave her fur all dusty.

There was a noise, a shout from below. Duma looked down but tilted her head forgetting, for a moment, the sounds that humans make but with all the dignity of a feline and a twitch of her stubby tail, Duma returned to cleaning herself. Whiskers pressed back and eyes closed in the simple bliss of cleansing one's fur, Duma purred softly from deep in her chest. The one problem was her tongue was always bouncing up against the collar on her neck. She growled slightly at it only to take a moment and realize that her neck itched under it because of how warm it kept her skin. Stretching out just slightly on the window as only a feline could, Duma sat back down and scratched luxuriously at her neck letting her claws move against her skin just right to rid herself of the itch. The moment the annoyance of itching skin was out of the way, Duma turned and landed back on the floor moving to the small patch of light that lay there up on the table from before. Nimbly moving around the broken shards of glass, Duma jumped up onto the table and sniffed around slightly, her head moving up and down just a little as she stepped paw after paw further onto the table.

Purring gently to herself she slowly sat down, gave her face a few more passes with her paw, moist slightly from her tongue, and curled up in the sun. She curled in a crescent like shape with her tawny-brown fur catching all the sunlight and giving it a soft halo of golden light. There was almost a 'smile' on the small feline's face as she lay her head down so that one ear was flipped under her head and her head itself seemed to be upside down. There was that look on her face that most cat's get when they're basking in the sunlight: pure and utter bliss, the kind that leaves you thinking you should leave them alone because they look so content.

Her chest rose and fell softly as she continued to purr.

[Barbannis]

Jack Panzer
New York

'Here come the Fuzz'

Sirens blazed out in the distance, the echo flooding through parts of the city...

The call had been made.

"Officer Panzer we have a 459A, Museum of Natural History. Getting calls in now of a Alarm going off, two, maybe three suspects have left the front street at high speeds. Officer 39 and 47 are on Route, are you in location, over" Came the static voice over his shoulder radio,

"Officer 22 here, I'm only a few blocks down, I'm already coming in, you say a 459A? Over?" He spoke back, placing his cup of coffee down in its holder and rolling his vehicle out to the side of the parking side. He reached up, flicking his hand across to the dial, lighting up his sirens. Red and blue blazing lights lit up and across the street as his radio came back in reply,

"Confirmed, suspects triggered alarm on front doorway. Multiple witnesses are calling in now, over"

"I copy, over and out" he spoke back, suddenly putting his foot down his Saleen S281 Mustang ripping down the street and on through the first red light, he pulled his hand back, changing gears and throwing the steering wheel across, giving off a short skid before speeding up after he came onto the road. His sirens and colors tore down the street, but odd enough he could hear the other sirens of Officer 39 and 47... but not close enough to get the glimpse of what sped off in the distance.

Jack looked up slightly as he sped up towards the road that crossed the museum itself, a frown forming across his brow as a single post-it note flicked across his front window, not giving him enough time to see the witting on its form as it flew back with the wind. He turned slightly, dodging across from a passing van, even with the larger streets people still had trouble understanding the concept of getting out of the way when a siren was behind them. But Jack had other thoughts on his mind. Most of the crimes he had taken care of were minor, he had had an unhealthy amount of training, and was considered one of the best in his line, but there were no promotions, no medals, no full action jobs that risked his neck.

He passed the museum with ease, knowing their direction, he wasn't about to stop and check things out, seeing the two security guards still on the steps, one of them heaving for air as if he had tried to catch them on foot.

There was no smile across his lips as he looked onwards, being as late there were barely enough cars on the streets, making it easy to get through. But whoever the offenders were, they had a lead on him so far.

((Saleen S281 Mustang))

[Luxon Cobrat]

Standing on top of a building and looking down on the commotion below is a very cliche way for a character to enter an RP. However, that was still what Zom was doing. The location did offer the best vantage point available, after all. She was, of course, invisible at the moment, and had previously been leaping from rooftop to rooftop- the safest policy when crossing long distances at unnaturally high speeds on foot if one wants to avoid detection by the common mortals down on the streets.

Normally, Zom wouldn't have looked twice at such a minor thing as a museum's alarm being tripped. But this time, something had caught her attention. Among the humans down there, there were some that... didn't smell the same. They weren't alive. Animate, but unliving. Not vampires, though. Zom could have recognized the scent of another vampire.

Zom would still normally have been inclined to brush the incident aside and continue on her way to the battleground where she was due. If anything important was happening below, her newly inherited house's intelligence network would find out about it. She likely already had agents observing the scene without even knowing about them, and they likely didn't know that she was present either. Though she had always paid attention to reports that were deemed important enough to be handed to her since the day she had been made second-in-command, she rarely micromanaged any of her house's activities. The exception to this was warfare, as she had risen to her position through the ranks of her house's warriors, and that field was where her greatest expertise and interest lay. But in any case, she didn't plan on changing her policy even now that she had become the house's full leader, her philosophy being not to fix what isn't broken. Plus, this was Zom's first night as head of her house, and she didn't want to spend it doing a bunch of boring recon work.

Before Zom could set her mind on moving along, though, one of the cars below sped off. As it turned out, that car was where the undead creatures were. But the two things that really got her attention were the post-it notes that flew out the back and the sudden slight intensification of the creatures' scent, an indication that one more of the creatures had appeared momentarily. With that, the vampiress developed an immediate guess as to what three of the creatures were and a slight suspicion about the fourth one. Reapers, the vampiress knew of quite well. The other creature was something she didn't have a name for, but a few rare rumors did exist of some type of being that could vanish into nothing at will. The latter creature was most commonly associated with reapers, so...

Zom immediately found herself following the same reasoning the disappearing creature had followed. If three reapers were travelling together, then they must have been needed in the same place at the same time. But the question was, could that have had anything to do with what had caused the previous lord of Zom's house to abandon it so suddenly?

The vampiress stepped away from the edge of her building. She turned visible for a split-second, giving a quick gesture with one her her hands to the apparently empty air before immediately vanishing again, then broke into a run in pursuit of the speeding car. Around her, a hundred other unheard and unseen feet also burst into motion.