"Err, uh, yeah. Let's try my other plan."

Kelso laughs. "Of course."

"Hey, both of my plans were better than your's." You argue, setting the dial back to where it was. Now that you think about it, you wonder why the Church never went out looking for the Zealot which your mentor killed, and you killed. Perhaps they did, just you and Kelso never noticed it. Or perhaps the Zealots often went out in long journeys without communication.

No matter now, You realize, they'll pick up at the signal. Somebody will.

Excitedly, you fidget for the WT, and grasp it firmly. You clear your throat to speak, but Kelso briefs you.

"Remember, just put the channel on. Listen in and wait for a while, and if nothing turns up then try speaking. But only then."

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

You cough again, then breathe in. Out. In.

You put the dial back to where it was in the first place.

Out. Nothing but static, for now. Minutes go by. You stand at the ready. But all is static. Ten minutes turns to half an hour, though your body doesn't stop tensing. Something is coming.
> You continue waiting for them to communicate.
You continue waiting. Time turns to an entire hour forward, and Kelso is getting antsy...

Crackling. "Sebastian? Sebastian, where are you?"

The sudden noise surprises you and  you let out a sharp, "Ahh!", which makes Kelso sigh loudly. Thankfully, they can't hear you unless you press the button to speak.

The voice repeats itself. You recognize it as female, cool and British.

"H-hello?"

"Sebastian! Thank the lord you're safe! We haven't been able to contact you for days!"

"Wh-why is that?" You stutter out, trying to mimic what you remember of the Zealot's voice best you can.

"GPS-tracker stopped responding a couple of days ago. I only saw this now, but that's probably why security has tightened around the City. Where are you? Are you alright?"

"I, uh, yes, I am." You try to think of a way to get some soldiers here. "I found another Creation."

"Another one? Like, one that isn't part of the Wolves?"

Her voice sounds nice, you decide. "Yeah, different."

"Have you made contact with the demon yet?"

"Um, no, but I need back-up."

"Wait, what happened? Are you alright?"

"Of course. I just... We need to catch these guys, don't we?"

She seems agitated as well as worried, "We don't tackle on Creations alone, weren't you briefed?"

You try your best to pull this off, "Listen I... Just need back-up."

She pauses, "Are you... Captured? Sebastian, where the hell are you!"

Nailed it.


Kelso rubs at his clean chin. "Elaborate."

You hold up the walky-talkie, "If they know where the Professor is, then that means they're either working for him, like you're assuming, or are just planning their vengeance; If we can get a message to them, get their attention--"

"Then the C.E. Soldiers will get to us and them."

"Not unless our signal is obscure, something only a Creation would know. Can I assume that we're the only one who refer to the Professor, as, well, a professor?"

Your mentor smiles, "Yes... That's what the greater Creations called him. Myself, the Werewolf, Stein, and several others. We all were forced under the bastard to look over Lessers, like yourself. One of them are bound to be in this town, has the smallest C.E. division in the East. We just have to hope we'll be able to handle them in the case that they're still loyal. So you want us to send a wide broadcast, maybe even a flare labeled 'Professor', and hope we catch some of our brethren?"

"That," you continue, "or we lure the church to us by contacting them with the Walkie, and just beat the information out of them. By the sounds of it, they'd be expecting a trap, so they wouldn't bring all their operatives to this location. Hopefully they have an idea where the other Creations are. It's not a perfect plan, but it's uh, better than yours. Don't think you can just nab one like you did with the last one, now that they're probably on guard."

Kelso nods, considering both of your plans, "Much better. Regardless, Mr. Plans, we need to train."

"Train, for what?" Crossing your arms as a child would, you question Kelso. "I feel like you're not telling me everything. Even if the plan is solid, but we need to be solid, with, umm, each-other."

With a chuckle, Kelso replies, "What do you think we're doing? We're fighting against an elite military operation, as well as bio-genetically advanced Creations. We're not playing here, son, there's going to be blood. I'm pretty certain that you'll be able to be very powerful if we train accordingly. This may be surprising, but I think you should cherish your undeath while it lasts. Not to mention that I'd rather not jeopardize myself."

"... So the Creations are going to be very hostile?"

He shrugs in return, "Maybe, more likely than not anyhow. We're betting on whether they're still loyal or not to their Creator."

"Why would they still be loyal to that... that bastard?"

"Well, he did save our lives." You stand in silence with a confused frown. Kelso continues. "Mind you, he also treated us like lab rats and played with our genetic-material. That's why we're going to find him and his Creations, to put an end to it once and for all, so no one else is 'saved' by that man." You nod in understanding. Kelso and yourself... You're going to help the world together. Clean it.

A hero...

"The valley of dunes at night is the best place and time. We'll train today and tomorrow, and by then you should be ready. Now, more about that plan of yours..."
> You use the WTs to lure a Zealot and interrogate him.
You spend the next couple of nights training with your mentor. Practically having a dead body is odd, and it took you a while to get the hang of using it, but with the tutoring you've become very adept at recognizing what abilities it grants you, it's limitations, and how to channel your inner strength. Kelso has noted to you that he thinks you're ready, and you agree. Mostly. It's nerve-wrecking; at least, it should be, even though you're just excited to spread your wings (metaphorically, of course.) Overall, you feel that you're ready for this.

About time too, you want to see more of the outside world, the part that isn't just dust and desert. Finding the rest of the Creations will help with that, hopefully. Your plan isn't overly elaborate, but you're certain it'll work. You pick up the walkie-talkie, and you wonder why on the other-side, why the Church hasn't tried to reach their operative. Maybe they knew he was dead, or perhaps the Zealots would routinely go on missions that took days. Who knows?

No matter now, You realize, they'll pick up at the signal. Somebody will.

It's night once again, the Moon is luminous and round. Kelso, is clad in your hoodie, his aged but intimidating features showing out from under it. It didn't seem like his ideal clothes (you could see him rocking a cloak) but when at night a hoodie is probably more practical. You're still garbed in the bulky, but inspiring armor of the Zealot, just with the lights on the outside turned off. You look to your Mentor, who's sitting beside you in the half-buried house. He nods.

Excitedly, you fidget for the WT, and grasp it firmly. You clear your throat to speak, but Kelso briefs you.

"Remember, just put the channel on. Listen in and wait for a while, and if nothing turns up then try speaking. But only then."

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

You cough again, then breathe in. Out. In.

Click

Out. Nothing but static, for now. Minutes go by. You stand at the ready. But all is static. Ten minutes turns to half an hour, though your body doesn't stop tensing. Something is coming.


Kelso rubs at his clean chin. "Elaborate."

You hold up the walky-talkie, "If they know where the Professor is, then that means they're either working for him, like you're assuming, or are just planning their vengeance; If we can get a message to them, get their attention--"

"Then the C.E. Soldiers will get to us and them."

"Not unless our signal is obscure, something only a Creation would know. Can I assume that we're the only one who refer to the Professor, as, well, a professor?"

Your mentor smiles, "Yes... That's what the greater Creations called him. Myself, the Werewolf, Stein, and several others. We all were forced under the bastard to look over Lessers, like yourself. One of them are bound to be in this town, has the smallest C.E. division in the East. We just have to hope we'll be able to handle them in the case that they're still loyal. So you want us to send a wide broadcast, maybe even a flare labeled 'Professor', and hope we catch some of our brethren?"

"That," you continue, "or we lure the church to us by contacting them with the Walkie, and just beat the information out of them. By the sounds of it, they'd be expecting a trap, so they wouldn't bring all their operatives to this location. Hopefully they have an idea where the other Creations are. It's not a perfect plan, but it's uh, better than yours. Don't think you can just nab one like you did with the last one, now that they're probably on guard."

Kelso nods, considering both of your plans, "Much better. Regardless, Mr. Plans, we need to train."

"Train, for what?" Crossing your arms as a child would, you question Kelso. "I feel like you're not telling me everything. Even if the plan is solid, but we need to be solid, with, umm, each-other."

With a chuckle, Kelso replies, "What do you think we're doing? We're fighting against an elite military operation, as well as bio-genetically advanced Creations. We're not playing here, son, there's going to be blood. I'm pretty certain that you'll be able to be very powerful if we train accordingly. This may be surprising, but I think you should cherish your undeath while it lasts. Not to mention that I'd rather not jeopardize myself."

"... So the Creations are going to be very hostile?"

He shrugs in return, "Maybe, more likely than not anyhow. We're betting on whether they're still loyal or not to their Creator."

"Why would they still be loyal to that... that bastard?"

"Well, he did save our lives." You stand in silence with a confused frown. Kelso continues. "Mind you, he also treated us like lab rats and played with our genetic-material. That's why we're going to find him and his Creations, to put an end to it once and for all, so no one else is 'saved' by that man." You nod in understanding. Kelso and yourself... You're going to help the world together. Clean it.

A hero...

"The valley of dunes at night is the best place and time. We'll train today and tomorrow, and by then you should be ready. Now, more about that plan of yours..."
> You bestial Training With Kelso (Optional read)
Hit hard and fast. Only then will you be able to puncture the stone.

Ugh. I'm trying!

Not hard enough! I know what you're capable of so this game won't work with me. Let's try again; watch me closely this time.

From what you're able to tell, your mentor is just throwing his arm at the boulder with as much brute force as he could muster, causing a large splintering in it's the middle of it, with his hand now stuck inside the middle. He withdraws it, and you notice the horrible scrapes on his forearms soon heal.

Notice how I hit it?

Looks to me like you just attacked it with all your might and nothing else. But I don't think that's the way it's supposed to go...

Whatever do you mean? Embrace the beast, boy. Our primal natures are what make us human. Savor that. It may seem unrefined, but you have power--  I know you do, power that can only be unleashed by your raw spirit. Now attack it again, unrestrained!

I... Isn't this supposed to be where you tell me I'm supposed to find inner harmony before I can unlock all of my abilities?

He squints at you, probably struggling to notice your humor. Kelso simply sighs, waiting for you to comply.

Right... just ust need to find out how to stop restraining myself. It isn't a conscious thought process... I think?

"Who or what do you hate more than anything?"

"Uh..." Who, the Professor? Maybe?

With blunt force to your head, you find yourself toppling over. "Get up!" Your mentor roars angrily. You groan, getting up slowly, allowing your body to heal itself, right before Kelso kicks at you again.

"What the hell?"

As if disregarding your cries for him to stop, he continues beating on you, up until the point you raggedly throw him off of yourself. Now that you're up, Kelso stares at you right in the eye, jumps in your direction, clawed hands out...

And you move out of the way, just in time to land a solid, unrefined kick at him. He tumbles, though with an uncanny dexterity pops back up. You rush at him, with a hand held high ready to strike, and at the last moment he drops to the sand-covered ground and lets your hand land into the rock.

Unfortunately, the tree remains intact and your hand has become horribly misshapen (though that'll no doubt heal soon), on the good side, however, the thick pillar has an obvious dent in addition to a new, more crooked position, leaning backwards from the force of your punch. Surprised by your success, you laugh even when Kelso trips you from the bottom.

"Now we're getting somewhere."


Kelso rubs at his clean chin. "Elaborate."

You hold up the walky-talkie, "If they know where the Professor is, then that means they're either working for him, like you're assuming, or are just planning their vengeance; If we can get a message to them, get their attention--"

"Then the C.E. Soldiers will get to us and them."

"Not unless our signal is obscure, something only a Creation would know. Can I assume that we're the only one who refer to the Professor, as, well, a professor?"

Your mentor smiles, "Yes... That's what the greater Creations called him. Myself, the Werewolf, Stein, and several others. We all were forced under the bastard to look over Lessers, like yourself. One of them are bound to be in this town, has the smallest C.E. division in the East. We just have to hope we'll be able to handle them in the case that they're still loyal. So you want us to send a wide broadcast, maybe even a flare labeled 'Professor', and hope we catch some of our brethren?"

"That," you continue, "or we lure the church to us by contacting them with the Walkie, and just beat the information out of them. By the sounds of it, they'd be expecting a trap, so they wouldn't bring all their operatives to this location. Hopefully they have an idea where the other Creations are. It's not a perfect plan, but it's uh, better than yours. Don't think you can just nab one like you did with the last one, now that they're probably on guard."

Kelso nods, considering both of your plans, "Much better. Regardless, Mr. Plans, we need to train."

"Train, for what?" Crossing your arms as a child would, you question Kelso. "I feel like you're not telling me everything. Even if the plan is solid, but we need to be solid, with, umm, each-other."

With a chuckle, Kelso replies, "What do you think we're doing? We're fighting against an elite military operation, as well as bio-genetically advanced Creations. We're not playing here, son, there's going to be blood. I'm pretty certain that you'll be able to be very powerful if we train accordingly. This may be surprising, but I think you should cherish your undeath while it lasts. Not to mention that I'd rather not jeopardize myself."

"... So the Creations are going to be very hostile?"

He shrugs in return, "Maybe, more likely than not anyhow. We're betting on whether they're still loyal or not to their Creator."

"Why would they still be loyal to that... that bastard?"

"Well, he did save our lives." You stand in silence with a confused frown. Kelso continues. "Mind you, he also treated us like lab rats and played with our genetic-material. That's why we're going to find him and his Creations, to put an end to it once and for all, so no one else is 'saved' by that man." You nod in understanding. Kelso and yourself... You're going to help the world together. Clean it.

A hero...

"The valley of dunes at night is the best place and time. We'll train today and tomorrow, and by then you should be ready. Now, more about that plan of yours..."
> You refinement Training With Kelso (Optional read)
It must be twilight by now... It's dark in the collection of sand-dunes, with several pillars of stone in the area, but the nearly full moon help your eyes adapt to the situation. You sit beside Kelso in a lotus position, waiting eagerly to here what he wants to say.

While we  may need to recognize our inner animal in order to fight, we need to also need to see what we actually are. Our limitations, our skills, both inherent and learnt.

Okay.

So, what are your main assets?

My claws and fangs?

Perhaps. What about your regeneration capabilities?

Oh, uh, right.

This is for you, not for me, kid. Use your newfound abilities wisely, and avoid situations where certain things won't help.

Like, my regeneration won't save me after my head is blown off, right?

Err, yes. But it will regenerate most limbs back, provided they hadn't been burnt to a stub. The body is interesting like that.

So basically I should stay away from explosions.

Indeed. We should tread carefully whenever dealing with the C.E. They no doubt have heavy-weaponry. But you should find out more about your abilities as time progresses, fairly certain your new genes are still stretching.

I'm not really sure what that means...

Neither do I, haha!


Creator Notes: Please maximize the window to fully enjoy. I made this to tell a story while allowing you to see first-hand what the characters feel, think, and what they've been through. I wanted to make something enjoyable and worthwhile, so here it is.

Disclaimer: All pictures are not mine - they are from google. Where the heck else will I, a 14-year-old, get  angel pictures? However, all characters and such are mine.

 We throw out our bodies on the fire and we die,
Settle into ashes as the flames keep piling high
We tossed and spread the kerosene and alcohol,
The ethylene ignited cardboard homes.
The second in a hundred and again as many years
Street signs, skyscrapers and names.
State Street, what a great street
When the places and the people stayed the same.

Winter beats the summer on the worst ones
I fall in love again on the first ones
Carbon vapor lines burn as a grid
Like the burning summer evenings like my fingertips did ...

This town is choking on our filth
Obstinate displays of wealth
Clog our Lincoln, Wicker, Rogers parks.
Here's to your health Chicago.
Fiddle as we burn.
Nevermore, nevertheless
Build it up and tear it down and never learn .....

-- The Lawrence Arms

PROLOGUE:

 BURNING CHICAGO

> You start the game.
'
There's a strange soft ringing in my ears, but I cannot open my eyes. Cinders of gray and red have blinded me, my movement halted by something large crushing into my back, my ribs. In an instant, I remember everything. A sound of gunfire and a thick, hearty smell of fuel makes me naseous.

"Yuzo! Aki!" I can't even recognize my voice, it's so torn and raggerd.

The apartment is no longer an apartment, but a pile of rubble and belongings - some of them I would know as my own. Swollen and burning with tears, my eyes try to pry open and see, and I'm made frantic by the sound of perpetual ringing and crumbling.

My leg is mingled under the thick layers of debris and rock, and I fear it will only mangle worse with struggles.
> You try to pry away.
When I finally decide to try to pry myself out from under the rubble, I brace my abused hands down and pull out with as much vigor as I had to muster. I had to tell myself, no matter the strain placed on my leg, that staying would not save me. I have to escape, and I have to find Aki and Yuzo. I can't simply abandon my childhood friends.

There was a loud pop that came after my leg was released from the painful hold, and I screamed. Oh, how I wish to see. I could feel hot ash brush under my face, in my hair. I tried so horribly to leep them away; I must've been pathetic.
> You go find Aki and Yuzo.
Slowly, I have gotten through much of the debris, though troubling. At the moment, my mind was set upon my two friends. If I was in such a wretched state, what was of them?

"Y-Yuzo! Can you hear me! Please answer me!"

They could've been buried in debris...
> You go find help.
I decide to find someone to help, someone who has better eyes and can see more than me. Someone who could tell me whether my friends have made it through; I would not make it without it.

"Is anybody out there?! Anyone?! Please, answer me!"

For a long time, there is no response, and suddenly a "Who's there?". It was a deep voice, like one's father would have. Then, a hand touching my shoulder. "My god, boy! You shouldn't be walking! You have a deep laceration in your side! And your eyes..."

> You say "Please, we need to find my friends."
He was silent as a grave, looking at me with sad eyes. "Kid, you're a miracle to be alive yourself. Your friends have a ghost of a chance. A ghost of a chance, I'm telling you."
> You say "No, you're wrong! Dammit, you're wrong!"
My face scrunches with anger, my aching eyes glaring. "Damn it, they are fine! They could be alive! You need to save all of the people alive right?! No matter the stakes! No matter anything!"

"Kid, calm down. You'll only hurt yourself."

"How can I be calm when...!"

The man was right - I think I'd fainted in the prime of my cursing and ranting. '

...This is where it will truly begin.
> You end of Prolouge

In 1954, Zempaphs were introduced into life; these newborns had contracted Schizophrenia Morphi, a specific type that allows into the baby a new part of the brain to use - almost like a locked door being opened up with a new key. Most are born insane, it's said, but out of every ten, there is a good three that have no symptoms of brain defunctions. Of course, only an estimated three hundred are recorded to date.

Of this small group through billions of the Earth's people, they are gifted with unusual abilities. Normally, telepathic abilities and telekenesis -- even more than those as well. They are normally instantly noticed at birth because they are born feeble; and the Umbilical cord detaches around five hours before birth. We speculate that that is because the brains oxygen lowers, except the part of the brain that can perform the Zempaph abilities that then 'vacuum' stronger brain cells - the many accelerated during the fetus phase - and use it to boost its power in the last moments.

Most births have proven fine to the mother - no miscarriages or mothers dying have yet to be seen. Now, the whole Zempaph debate (on whether to take more special... 'precautions'...) is in 1983, when one in certain, a young boy, had murdered his fellow classmates in Gates Elementary School. It spawned the Zempaph Hazard and Confinement Law, which would immediately put any one of the specimen into special classes to undergo brain alterations. In this way, they would not be as unstable, and the chance of murder is cut in half. When they brake laws, they are confined to special rooms.

Some people thought it wrong, but it had more support than protest.

The next incident... one of the most horrific incidents ever recorded in human history... would be The Devil's Act. In this, one Zempaph in specific had went on a rampage and destroyed cities near Canada... Chicago being a major one. Thousands or thousands had died from one: Julian Moore. He was around twenty-seven when the whole thing occured in 1989, using a manipulation of fire to destroy everything in sight. We still don't know if he is a 'Fire Manipulator' or a 'Fire Starter'. Fire Manipulators can bend an already lit fire, while a Starter can make it from components in the air.

Moore was taken down by the local police, but he was never found nor known to be dead. In fact, we think he is very well alive, surfing the State of the Union. We don't know if he's still dangerous, or if the insanity that drove him is gone.

--Doctor Elaine J. Rechell

Chapter One: Bana-Jxo
> You chapter One.
Chapter One: Bana - Jxo

Er wartet auf den Mittagswind
die Welle kommt und legt sich matt
mit einem Fächer jeden Tag
der Alte macht das Wasser glatt

Ich werf den Stein zu meinem Spaß
das Wasser sich im Kreis bewegt
der Alte sieht mich traurig an
und hat es wieder glatt gefegt

Im weißen Sand der alte Mann
zitternd seine Pfeife raucht
nur das Wasser und ich wissen
wozu er diesen Fächer braucht

Die Ahnung schläft wie ein Vulkan
zögernd hab ich dann gefragt
den Kopf geneigt es schien er schläft
hat er bevor er starb gesagt

Das Wasser soll dein Spiegel sein
erst wenn es glatt ist, wirst du sehen
wieviel Märchen dir noch bleibt
und um Erlösung wirst du flehen

Den Fächer an den Leib gepresst
im Todeskrampf erstarrt die Hand
die Finger mussten sie ihm brechen
der Fächer bleibt zurueck im Sand

Den Alten ruf ich jeden Tag
er möchte mich doch hier erlösen
ich bleib zurück im Mittagswind
und in dem Fächer kann ich lesen

Das Wasser soll dein Spiegel sein
erst wenn es glatt ist, wirst du sehen
wieviel Märchen dir noch bleibt
und um Erlösung wirst du flehen.

                    --Rammstein
> You begin.
Toronto

4.14. 1994

A lanky figure had spread itself out on the park bench of Toronto, a newspaper masking away his face, only showing a mass of red hair popping out from the top. His foot tapped a perpetual beat of three clicks, his eyes reading the words covering his face.

"Oh wow... another speculation about Julian Moore. I've become quite famous ever since that little squabble." he said in a soft, almost sweet voice. He lifted his hand, and twirled it slightly to create a splinter of fire in his palm. "Curses." he laughed, "It's funny, actually."

In truth, he felt a little bored.

Health:   100

Money: 5

Level:  1


He was silent as a grave, looking at me with sad eyes. "Kid, you're a miracle to be alive yourself. Your friends have a ghost of a chance. A ghost of a chance, I'm telling you."
> You say "So... What do I do now...?"
The man is silent for a moment, overthinking his decisions. "Come with me. I'll get you to our place. Maybe your friends are there... I'll carry you."

He lifts me up on his back, and I can't remember anymore. '

...This is where it will truly begin.


He was silent as a grave, looking at me with sad eyes. "Kid, you're a miracle to be alive yourself. Your friends have a ghost of a chance. A ghost of a chance, I'm telling you."
> You say "But Yuzo... And Aki..."
"I'm sorry, kid... but there's nothing I can do. We're to leave now - the city has gone to Hell."

    His hand feels heavy on my shoulder, and I can't remember anymore after that... '

...This is where it will truly begin.


Slowly, I have gotten through much of the debris, though troubling. At the moment, my mind was set upon my two friends. If I was in such a wretched state, what was of them?

"Y-Yuzo! Can you hear me! Please answer me!"

They could've been buried in debris...
> You continue the search.
I felt through the dirt and hot smoldering ash in search of them. I swear I could almost feel their warm skin, undead and uninjured, but it is only hot embers that burn me at the touch. Through my eyes, and feel warmth ooze down, and I do not check to see if its blood or tears.

No... my friends... it can't be...

I fell unconsious there, leaving my search uncompleted.'

...This is where it will truly begin.


'
There's a strange soft ringing in my ears, but I cannot open my eyes. Cinders of gray and red have blinded me, my movement halted by something large crushing into my back, my ribs. In an instant, I remember everything. A sound of gunfire and a thick, hearty smell of fuel makes me naseous.

"Yuzo! Aki!" I can't even recognize my voice, it's so torn and raggerd.

The apartment is no longer an apartment, but a pile of rubble and belongings - some of them I would know as my own. Swollen and burning with tears, my eyes try to pry open and see, and I'm made frantic by the sound of perpetual ringing and crumbling.

My leg is mingled under the thick layers of debris and rock, and I fear it will only mangle worse with struggles.
> You remain there for help.
I can't say I remember how long I had sat there and remained so terribly still, so helpless and sightless and immobile. I called for my friends, but they did not reply, and it frightened me. I would scream in agony from time to time when the pain of my eyes struck a nerve. My eyelids were close to gone - I touched them beforehand in frightened curiousity just to touch bleeding flesh and soft eyeballs.

"Is anyone out there?"

I know my ears are not fooling me, they can't have!

"Hello? Hello!" I call, and the male's voice grows as he speaks. I feel a hand gripping my shoulder, and hear him speak.

"God..."


You need time and safety to train your new talents, wandering recklessly East while still developing is probably too dangerous as you don’t know what is lurking between you and the colony. Heading South would just take you right into the city center and that would be a death wish without better abilities so North is your final option.

You know there used to be small communities in the outlying areas, hamlets and villages that served the farming communities, retirement homes and even some affluent areas for those who no longer wanted to live in the big city. If you look around enough you are sure you will find a nice enough building to make a temporary base, food might be scarce but you can always subside on the infected for a few weeks.

You walk until the next off-ramp leading to a North-bound road and wander down. Looking around you see most of the buildings reduced to rubble, the military must have hit this area harder than others during the defense. “Maybe this was one of the areas they tried to make a stand and bombed the hordes of infected that attacked them” You think to yourself as you walk, but it is unlikely that you’ll ever find out for sure.

 There are not too many infected in this direction but you know if you find a small community that you should find some there to practice on, they never wander too far from where they turned after-all.

By night-time you have left the outskirts of the city behind and begin to see open areas of land a fields, some overgrown with crops of varying types, untended for years, the old clearly defined lines haven given away to a mish-mash of crops invading others fields while weeds and thorns try to choke them all out.

By nightfall you are looking for a likely place to rest and see a few options, in the distance you can make out what looks like a small grain silo, it would take a couple of hours to reach but they usually are made of metal, have small ladders right up to the top where you’d be nice and safe from everything, There is also an old broken down farmhouse nearby and a Barn on the same land. The House was clearly ransacked long ago, the doors are missing, windows smashed and everything looted out of it. The barn seems in better shape, the doors wide open but still intact at least.
> You check out the Barn, They often have second levels and old hay makes a comfortable enough bed.
You wander over to the Barn, may as well check it now that you are this close, though you are disappointed. The entire place is picked clean and the second level where you hoped to rest for the night has been collapsed down onto the floor. This place will be useless for shelter.

You head back outside and head over to the house to see what might be left behind and are quickly disappointed there too. The entire place has been ransacked with whatever was left destroyed, you do find human remains in the basement though. "looks like this is where they tried to hide from the infected or looters, had no idea that a single old trapdoor was not a good defense against attackers" You think to yourself as you examine the smashed in wooden trapdoor. This place will be useless for shelter, there isn't a single whole door in the place.


It's a dark night, with even the moon itself dim in the sky, its light incapable of piercing the veil of darkness that hangs over you. Your heavy boots trudge along stones as you stroll up the path to the old log cabin ahead of you. A pump-action shotgun sits in your hand, a solid determination clear in each of your steps.

You survey the cabin, eyes watching for any movements ahead of you. The cabin looks run-down, and you'd have guessed it'd be abandoned if you didn't know better. The cold air prickles your face, so you grab your balaclava, pulling it up over your mouth and nose.

You reach the old wooden door at the front of the lodge. Quickly checking your safety and checking you have everything for the third time, you loosen your shoulders and take a deep breath. Raising your hand, you rap your knuckles against the door. A few moments later, you hear a raspy voice call out through the door, as an eye peers through the eye hole at you.

"Minski Kuzkin?" you ask.

"Hello?" a thick Russian voice answers.

You step back, raising your shotgun and blasting it through the door. You hear a horrified scream, and have to actively suppress any trace of empathy that peaks through. You pump your shotgun, the shell flying to the ground as you blow away the door hinges, before booting the door. You step through the door, finding a pathetic looking figure in tattered, filthy rags, blood soaking through them and pooling on the floor around him. The stench hits you then, the air so heavy with rot and pestilence that you have to gag. The man seems to be in his mid-to-late forties, although you know he's barely in his thirties. His ogre-like frame, no doubt intimidating normally, is now huddled up as he desperately tries to stem the bleeding. You stroll forward, pressing your boot against the man's neck as you aim your shotgun at his chest.

"If you have any weapons on you, it'll be a lot easier if you tell me now."

"You twisted fuck! You goddamn...!"

You pump the shotgun, a shell flying to the ground. The noise quietens Minski's complaints to a pained whimpering.

"I don't," he answers, his voice a mere whimper.

"Good," you answer, grabbing a pair of silver handcuffs from your belt.

You grab Minski's arm, forcing them behind his back as you cuff him. He screams again as you roll him onto his stomach, but a quick knee to the head quietens him again.

You stand, taking a deep breath, your resolve in your duty strengthening.

"Wh-who are y-you?" Minski asks.

"I hunt monsters, Mr Kuzkin. Vampires, banshees, werewolves, wraiths, changelings, demons... you get the drift."

Minski lets out a cold, cruel laugh, his demeanor changing.

"Aah... I see. You've finally found me, after all these years. You've sensed my presence. You're after the demon that burns inside my soul. I've been waiting for someone like you."

You don't even bother to look at the man, instead taking a step into the lounge kitchen, your fears confirmed. At that moment, you're glad you're wearing a balaclava.

A badly burned body lies on the kitchen table, its face mutilated beyond recognition. The body's small, the victim not much older than fourteen. The smell is unbearable, filling the house. You look away, the sight burning into your retinas even after your years of doing this.

"You twisted fuck," you mutter, gritting your teeth.

You blink long and hard, trying to regain a semblance of your cold, methodical, professional demeanor, before looking down at Minksi.

"The demons tear at me, scream at me to do it! It's how you make them stop!"

You sigh, fingers dancing on the trigger as you aim it at the man's head.

"Demons are real, Mr Kuzkin, but they're rare, and they don't plague you. I thought they might've. It's why I investigated you. But you're not one of the poor souls cursed to deal with them. You're an animal. A pathetic creature so wracked with insanity and hatred that you take it out on the world. You're a mental case, an animal that needs to be put down, a... a..." you pause, looking to find the right words. "A monster."

"No, no, they're here! They talk to me, they tell me things, they...!"

"Quiet," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but still controlling the room.

The man's lost in his deluded fantasies, he's not worth talking to. Even though you doubted you would, you'd hoped that you could find some traces of demonic possession here, so you could help the poor man, but no, unfortunately you've only found yourself on the trail of another psychopath rather than any real supernatural presence.

"I... I didn't want to! I tried to fight them, but they wouldn't let me stop! I couldn't sleep, couldn't... couldn't eat, couldn't... I... I just..."

The pathetic figure breaks into sobbing, as you decide what to do. A quick call to the police station, and an officer could come out here to find their job done for them, the evidence lying around the house with their suspect neatly tied up. Minski would no doubt escape with the insanity plea, where he'd be taken to an institution to see if his shattered mind could be pieced together over days and months and years and decades.... of course, with your rifle belies an easier, more just answer.
> You kill Minski Kuzkin
You tilt your head, staring down the sights of your shotgun as you still your breath. With that, you pull the trigger. The shotgun bucks, Minski's head shattering as gray brain matter and bits of skull flies across the room. You don't flinch, simply wiping off what bits of skull land upon you. The sight of death and sound of gunfire are both as familiar as old friends to you, and you shan't be spooked by their visit.

"And so ends the tale of Minski the Muscovite," you remark.

You turn, walking to the nearest bedroom, searching for the cleanest sheets you could find. Taking a pair of brown sheets from the bed, you walk back into the kitchen, where the flies are having a feast. Your eyes water, and even you can't tell if it's from the smell or the sight. Carefully laying the sheet across the body, you step back, bowing your head as a matter of respect.

"It's OK, boy. The horrors are over," you whisper.

Your job finished, you turn, heading out to your truck outside. You walk out to the old, beaten gray pick-up, your eyes peering to the back where a pair of red diesel cannisters lie. It's a struggle to know whether to use them. This deep in the woods, you could burn this whole fucking place to the ground, and destroy any evidence of what happened here. Part of you thinks that no one should have to know what happened here. The dull city of Bergen should just continue in its sweet, sweet bliss.

You'd happily burn away any memory of Minski the Muscovite, but the boy leaves a pressing question. Perhaps he deserves a right to have his tale told, to be returned home for a proper burial. And of course, his parents deserve a right to know, don't they? But, then again... perhaps it's better they don't know. Perhaps they live in eternal hope that their boy was just another runaway, or suffered an accidental death rather than the awful fate he held. No parent deserves to see their beautiful boy in the state that that boy is now.
> You inform the police of the grizzly scene
You decide it's best his parents learn what happened, no matter what. It's not use hiding the world in shadows and keeping them from knowledge. They deserve to know the cold truth. With more certainty than before, you turn to the old gray pick-up, clambering into the front seat as you start your engine. The high beams illuminate the dark track ahead of you, as you quickly do a U-turn, heading back down the path back towards the city.

Halfway through the drive back, you put in the call to the police, quickly telling them the address and telling them to send police and medical assistance. Hanging up when they ask for your name, you continue driving, trying to forget the memories of tonight. The night's still young, and you have work to do. It's not the time for weakness.

It's a long and lonely drive, with only the darkness for company. Once you've gotten far enough from the death of the night and that chained up lunatic, you switch on your iTunes, listening to a podcast on cooking. You don't cook, nor do you ever aspire to, but something about it tends to calm you, to normalize your situation. You can almost imagine you're just a normal man for a while.

You follow the back roads until you're long gone from the woods, at which point you can safely head back to the lodge. The current lodge is situated at an old, secluded country house, dating back to the Victorian manor. You've actually heard rumors of the manor being haunted before, and when you see it illuminated by the pale moon that's broken through the dark sky, you'd almost believe it. Of course, as a hunting lodge, it's probably about the safest place there could be in regards to the supernatural. With two dozen residents armed to the teeth and trained in fighting the creatures of the night, blessed by the holy men of more religions than you could name and with enough silver than the Queen herself had, it was as safe as could be.

You speed up the long drive of the old house. A flashlight beam illuminates the road ahead of you and a voice yells at you to halt. You slow down, holding your hand out the window as the car stops besides a fresh-faced boy holding a hunting shotgun. He smiles when he recognizes you, a goofy looking face on a man you know to be a cold-blooded hunter.

"Good hunting, Willy?" Sven asks in his thick Swedish accent.

"Just a fucking slasher," you say. "Bastard cut up a wee boy."

The superstitious man blesses himself, before nodding.

"Poor boy. Well done to you anyway, Willy. You righted a wrong tonight. Boss is looking for you anyway."

"The hunt never ends," you shrug.

You drive up the long path, parking alongside the collection of pick-ups, vans, sedans and "heftier" vehicles parked outside. Pulling into your space, you step out of the car, walking into the Lodge.

Walking through the front door, you're hit by the wave of heat and light coming from the roaring fire in the fireplace, illuminating the old sitting room. You walk up to it, removing your gloves and stuffing them in your pocket, holding them out into the fire's heat to try get some warmth into your bones. Wherever the Lodge is set up, be it an old country house, a farmhouse, an apartment block, an ancient Celtic castle, a former military base or anything else there could be, there's always a fireplace there. The fireplace is the heart of the lodge, giving heat, warmth and a sense of safety to the every lodge member. There's something primordial about it, the brightness of the fire acting as a beacon of hope in the dark night of horrors.

You pause, memories flooding into your mind. You remember sitting here as a wee boy, hearing your father tell you tales and stories. The memories take hold of your mind, as you remember sitting there as clearly as you feel the heat on your face now.
> You remember your father's lessons on the history of the lodge
You embrace the memory, taking refuge in the past for a moment's rest from the laboring of the present.

Your father was a good man. A hard man, but a good one. When you sat by the fire with him, his already large, muscular frame seemed almost akin to a giant's at that early age. His thick bushy black beard was like solidified smoke drooping down from his chin. He rarely smiled, but he was far from a stern man. No, Dad smiled with his eyes. Whenever he was in a good mood, the man's eyes would shimmer with joy, a sight that could've brought joy to the most fatigued and broken of Hunters. You rarely saw him in your younger days, with his "job" taking him all around the world while you stayed in the miserably wondrous city that was Glasgow with your mother. She gave you your fiery mane, your manners, your demeanor and your think Scottish brogue, and life was easy.

When your father visited, the world seemed to change. He'd always told you that he knew you'd be a hunter from when you first stated kicking in Mum's belly. He taught you how to hunt rabbit and deer, how to fish, how to track... he taught you everything you knew. When you were a wee teen, barely hitting fourteen, Dad took you on a trip to an old manor hidden away in the Scottish hills. The men there were hard-faced and stern, but Dad told you to pay them no mind. He simply sat in front of the roaring fire, and put you on his knee, something the giant man could still do with his size even then, and told you about the Hunters.

The Hunters were born in a time where darkness, horror and superstition reigned over the land. They were simple men with no knowledge of what prowled the nights. They were plagued with mysterious killings from things beyond understanding, and they set out to stop them They soon formed groups to help fight the supernatural, and these groups grew larger and larger, establishing alliances to fight back against the greater threats, be they Vampire Covenants, Werewolf packs, Witch Covens or worse. These groups survived via funding from rich and powerful patrons who knew the threat that dwelt in the shadows as well as heavy support from the Catholic Church, who saw these creatures as demonic enemies of God.

Nowadays, things are far different from the days of men venturing into the darkest woods with torches and pitchforks. Nowadays, the Hunter Lodges had established funding from government grants, private assets controlled by the Lodges and of course, still a considerable helping hand from the Vatican, who had never stiffed in their duty against the demonic. With a flexible support network including suppliers, equipment experts, silversmiths, occultists and the ever-needed "cleaners" who made sure that no trace of this fight was revealed to the public for fear of mass panic, as well as dozens of other roles needed to ensure the survival of the Hunting Lodges,

Dad inspired you, and when you hit sixteen, you dropped out of school and took to the Hunting Lodge. For the first two years, you worked on simple jobs, doing house work and maintenance, and doing what investigation work makes up most of a Hunter's life, tracking for traces of the supernatural. Eventually, however, you got your chance to go on a hunt when you hit eighteen, and went out with your father. A maddened Vampire Thrall, a Wight and an actual wolf with a taste for flesh all found their bodies burning on the bonfire by the next morning. With your job started, it's been your work ever since.

Dad didn't last too much longer after that. While tracking a Wendigo in the Rocky Mountains, he found out that the beast was stealthier than him, and a better hunter. His remains were found weeks after when a Hunter relief team came to find him. The Wendigo was caught and eliminated, but it had managed to kill a Hunter of twenty seven years experience and dealt your Lodge a serious blow.

At thirty four years, you've given sixteen years of your life to the cause. In that time, you've completed a dozen hunts, with this being your thirteenth. The others have pointed out that the unlucky thirteen might not be the best omen for your odds tonight, but you're not a man of superstition. You're a Hunter.

With that, you're reminded of your duty to the Lodge, and remember it's time to get going. You have a job to do. For the cause. For the Lodge. For Dad.
> You get back to work
You quickly get to work, preparing your truck for the night's next hunt. You get a few more shells for your shotgun, knowing by now what a necessity it is to carry all the ammo you can on the hunt. You fill up your truck's gas tank from the diesel cannister you've left in the truck, before getting two replacement cannisters from the house's shed. You double and triple check every detail you've got on your next target. For him, your regular shotgun shells won't do, so you replace a few shells for incendiary rounds. The beautiful thing about fire is it doesn't distinguish between psychopath or demon, monster or beast.

As you prepare for the next target to hunt, you watch the other grim-faced, stern Hunters arrive and leave off, silently preparing for their missions. Few Hunters can deal with the horrors of mutilated corpses and brutal beasts without hiding inward, losing any joviality and become stern and determined stoics, although black humor is common among your types. A few men manage to survive their time with grins and jokes to cover up their pains, but they're few and far between. Most of the Hunters you pass just give you a nod and continue on their way, a single, thread-bare sign of support and brotherhood. It would seem cold and dark to outsiders, but to you, you know the respect that these men hold for you, and you hold for them.

Your next target of the night is a traditional Lodge target, a young vampire. The target, to your knowledge, is barely thirty years old, with only nine of those years plagued by the red thirst. That young, he should barely have a grasp of his powers, and should be easy prey. In addition, the vampire has a single Thrall, a human either so mad, so desperate for something, so lustful for power that they're willing to sell out their humanity and their very soul to a Vampire, serving them as a servant to be used for day-time work and tasks beneath their Vampiric master.

With your target set out, you head back to your truck, ready to head out and kill what's already dead.
> You head off to the take out the target
After clambering into your pick-up, you head off down the road, speeding along the streets as you head towards your target. The target house, due to the nature of what happens there, is very secluded. This means that it'll be all the easier for you to hit, as you won't have to worry about avoiding witnesses or police detection. You sure as shit don't want another police officer walking in on you mid-execution. You've dealt with it before, and things got... well, best not to let the mind dwell in the shadows.

It's a long drive to your target, so you take the time to mentally prepare yourself, running through the plan again and again. The Vampire's secluded nature means he wakens to feed every two to three nights, before retiring to sleep. It seems the creature still struggles with fatigue, meaning he's particularly untrained in his power. He fed last night, so he should be easy prey. Kill the Thrall, and simply kill the beast in it's coffin.

You pull up far enough away from the target house so not even an awakened vampire could hear its engine rumbling or see the flickers of its light. You kill the lights and leave the engine running, just in case you need a quick get away, before stepping out of your car, grabbing your weapon and making your way up the road.

The veil of darkness that hung over the early night sky has been pulled from the sky, revealing the beauty of the stars. The moon shines bright, big and round like a light, surrounded by a billion shining stars that dot the heaves. It's stunningly beautiful, you must admit. The moon almost seems full, but you know it's not. The full moon has a tendency to alight some passion into the hearts of beasts, so the Lodge never has a hunt on those nights. However, nights lit by the moon are often the safest and brightest, so you tend to pick nights close to it. Best to have a bright sky watching over you when venturing into the shadows.

Heading towards the house, you keep the shotgun tight in your hands, ready to fire at a moment's notice, the dragon's breath rounds in the chamber. You see the lights . The thrall should be asleep, as should his master. It's nearly two, and the man's frantic work last night in capturing prey for his master should've left the exhausted bastard craving sleep. Never mind. Him being awake only heightens the challenge. As long as his master's asleep, this should be doable.

Although, if he's awake, it's out of schedule. Perhaps something's afoot, and perhaps his master is too. If that's the case, perhaps you should lean on the safer side of things.

Then again, it is the night of the hunt. Calling on back-up means depriving a Hunter from somewhere else, and that could have lasting consequences. Perhaps another team is short a member, and a Necromancer's flesh hounds get the drop on them. Perhaps a Skinwalker manages to escape the trap set for him, and hunt fresh prey in the safety of the far north, away from your reach. Either way, your actions, as always in this field, have consequences.
> You call for back-up
You retreat to the car, calling into the Lodge. They report back that they've a spare Hunter to send out, one who is only acting on stand-by. Father Paul Féval. You know the man well, and have worked with him before. The man's a representative from the Vatican, a priest even, and as adamant in following the laws of the Bible as you are in never leaving the Lodge without a spare, but the man's a professional and an experienced Hunter. The man's permanent cold, professional demeanor means you'd be hesitant to call him a "friend", but you feel it'd be disrespectful to like anything.

You get in your car, driving back a minute away from the house just for some extra space. Once you're out there, you wait outside your car, your weapons ready in case the vampire or his thrall emerge. The wait is long, but after fifteen minutes, you see a pair of dazzling head beams approaching you. A blackened sedan seems to almost form from the shadows, pulling in behind you.

The sedan's driver door opens, as a tall, gaunt figure with spectacles and a black jacket and pants steps out. His long, bizarrely slender fingers tap against his side as his lips turn upwards very slightly in the barest facsimile of a smile. You know it's simply a polite sign, the man's professional nature means he takes no joy in this, instead simply seeing it as his religious duty.

"William," Father Féval nods. "The Lodge informs me we're dealing with a thrall and a youth, correct?"

"Correct, Father," you nod. "But they might be up."

"Best not to take risks, William. We have enough risks inherent to our job, don't we?"

Father Féval leans into the car, pulling out a vile of holy water. He dribbles it into his hands, blessing himself, before leaning back in and grabbing a silver crucifix. He affixes it to his belt, before flipping his jacket tails back, pulling out a pair of shining pistols. He looks at them both, examining them for a moment, before nodding.

"I'm ready and willing, William."

"Let's go."

The pair of you begin walking down the street, ready to strike. You soon come up again to the house once more, walking up the path towards the house. You know from surveillance that the house has the main entrance as well as a back door. The lounge, dining room and basement are located near the front door. The sitting positions would give anyone in there the sight of the door, but it would allow for the quickest contact. If the vampires awake, eliminating the thrall would give you far better chances against the Vampire shortly afterwards.

"You did the ground work. Suggestions?" Father Féval says unemotionally, seeming entirely focused on the situation with no fear, dread or anticipation.
> You go in together, through the front
"We both go through the front, take the fucker out quickly so we'll have time to get the drop on the main target. The longer we take with the thrall, the more likely that the night haunt will wake up and get the drop on one of us."

"I understand. Best of luck, William."

"And to you, Father."

The two of you walk towards the house, weapons at the ready. Surprisingly for a vampire's lair, your surveillance has said that the house is completely lacking in any serious security measures. Locked doors and windows, sure, but they're lacking the reinforced doors, security cameras. It's a young vampire, so you're not expecting legions of Thralls protecting him or runic blood magic protecting the house, but clearly the power's gone to this creature's head.

Striding forward to the house's wooden door, you raise your shotgun, pointing it at the lock and firing. Booting the door open with a solid kick as you pump the shotgun, the door collapses to the ground as you quickly step through, making contact with the Thrall.

The Thrall stands in the kitchen, a short, bearded man with crazed eyes and grime and dirt stuck in his beard and on his face. He shakes his head repeatedly, growling and swearing as he divides a pile of crushed and broken white crystals, no doubt a substitute between his feedings on the vampiric blood he's heavily addicted to.

His eyes dart up to you as he growls, an animalistic sound that could only come from a beast. His blood-shot eyes bulge, as he kicks the table with incredible strength, flipping it onto its side as he dives behind it. You immediately open fire, bullets and shotgun blasts easily tearing through the table, but it was a simply distraction, and the Thrall's already ducked behind the kitchen counter.

Suddenly, you see the barrel of a gun emerge from behind the kitchen counter, as the Thrall attempts to fight back. Father Féval, however, fails to spot it, as he rushes forward. The gun's muzzle flashes and screams with the crackling of gunfire, as Father Féval collapses with a scream, smacking into the floor.

"Zut! Mes jambes!" Father Féval screams.

You look over to the man, whose right leg is now heavily bleeding and torn apart, his right thigh bleeding heavily as well as dark red blood quickly pools around the floor.

"I'm coming over!" you shout to Féval, who breathes heavily in trying to control his pain.

"Non! Stay there, you fool! He'll get us both!"

You nod, knowing he's right. Going over to try assist Father Féval right now would be suicide, and you'd just end up with a blast of bullets to the chest. The priest's pinned down, and you need to decide what your course of action is. Retreating, as always, seems promising. The racket you're causing has no doubt awoken the vile monster you've come here to kill, and you're going to be hard-fought keeping Féval alive and yourself facing these two foes. Of course, if you can rush the Thrall from his flank and take him out quickly, you'll be able to face the Vampire one-on-one and have some chance.
> You fall back to the truck
Knowing that staying there is a slaughter and every second you spend fighting is only going to make it more likely the sound of death and smell of flesh blood is going to awaken the thrall's master, you turn, looking at Father Féval one last time as he lies there, bleeding heavily. His eyes meet yours, and he knows what you're going to do.

"God be with you, William," he says.

The man struggles to raise his arms, the strength clearly sapped for them, but nevertheless the priest opens fire with a burst of gunfire towards the Thrall, giving you your chance. You break for the door, sprinting low and fast as your shotgun swings in your hands. You leap forward with every step, quickly bursting out the front door as you sprint towards your truck.

You're running as fast as you're able, when suddenly, you get hit from the side with the strength of a truck. You're sent flying through the air before you can even realize what happens, as you skid along the cold earth and roll to a halt, feeling your now broken jaw smack into the frozen tundra. You lie there, broken and hurt, as you try to pull yourself to your feet. As soon as you put weight on your knee you're put through incredible pain and forced to do nothing but grit your teeth and bear it.

"You seem tired, Hunter," a voice says.

Your voice chills when you hear the voice, but you know it's not the time for tears. Turning your head, you find yourself staring up at a tall, deathly pale figure. It's skin seems almost entirely hairless except for the thick black hair that hangs down from its head. Its eyes, however... its blood red eyes betray an inhumanity that you'll never be able to comprehend.

"Hello," the Vampire smiles, revealing a fanged mouth stretching from ear to ear. "And of course, goodbye."

"Fucking... blood thirsty... prick," you say, struggling to keep from collapsing to the ground.

The Vampire strolls forward, savoring this moment, as his smile stretches further and further across his face, almost seeming to cut it in half. He lifts a polished boot into the air, placing it on your broken leg. He applies pressure, and you grit your teeth and try not to give him the satisfaction of screaming.

"A strong one. Your lodge will weep tonight. You can die quick, Hunter."

The Vampire slowly drops down to his knees, as you struggle to reach for your revolver at your side. You're far too late, though, as she grabs your head gently. You breath carefully, before he snaps your neck in a single motion.


"We both go through the front, take the fucker out quickly so we'll have time to get the drop on the main target. The longer we take with the thrall, the more likely that the night haunt will wake up and get the drop on one of us."

"I understand. Best of luck, William."

"And to you, Father."

The two of you walk towards the house, weapons at the ready. Surprisingly for a vampire's lair, your surveillance has said that the house is completely lacking in any serious security measures. Locked doors and windows, sure, but they're lacking the reinforced doors, security cameras. It's a young vampire, so you're not expecting legions of Thralls protecting him or runic blood magic protecting the house, but clearly the power's gone to this creature's head.

Striding forward to the house's wooden door, you raise your shotgun, pointing it at the lock and firing. Booting the door open with a solid kick as you pump the shotgun, the door collapses to the ground as you quickly step through, making contact with the Thrall.

The Thrall stands in the kitchen, a short, bearded man with crazed eyes and grime and dirt stuck in his beard and on his face. He shakes his head repeatedly, growling and swearing as he divides a pile of crushed and broken white crystals, no doubt a substitute between his feedings on the vampiric blood he's heavily addicted to.

His eyes dart up to you as he growls, an animalistic sound that could only come from a beast. His blood-shot eyes bulge, as he kicks the table with incredible strength, flipping it onto its side as he dives behind it. You immediately open fire, bullets and shotgun blasts easily tearing through the table, but it was a simply distraction, and the Thrall's already ducked behind the kitchen counter.

Suddenly, you see the barrel of a gun emerge from behind the kitchen counter, as the Thrall attempts to fight back. Father Féval, however, fails to spot it, as he rushes forward. The gun's muzzle flashes and screams with the crackling of gunfire, as Father Féval collapses with a scream, smacking into the floor.

"Zut! Mes jambes!" Father Féval screams.

You look over to the man, whose right leg is now heavily bleeding and torn apart, his right thigh bleeding heavily as well as dark red blood quickly pools around the floor.

"I'm coming over!" you shout to Féval, who breathes heavily in trying to control his pain.

"Non! Stay there, you fool! He'll get us both!"

You nod, knowing he's right. Going over to try assist Father Féval right now would be suicide, and you'd just end up with a blast of bullets to the chest. The priest's pinned down, and you need to decide what your course of action is. Retreating, as always, seems promising. The racket you're causing has no doubt awoken the vile monster you've come here to kill, and you're going to be hard-fought keeping Féval alive and yourself facing these two foes. Of course, if you can rush the Thrall from his flank and take him out quickly, you'll be able to face the Vampire one-on-one and have some chance.
> You push forward and take down the Thrall
You charge forward, rushing past a bleeding Father Féval and raising your shotgun into the air as you run low and fast, fingers ready on the trigger. You emerge from behind your choice of cover, rushing forward as you raise your shotgun, firing through the thrall's chest. He screams, his clothes lighting into flames as he screams, catapulted into the wall. He lets lose with his rifle, either as his twitching body pulls the trigger or in one last burst of dying energy, and bullets slam into your chest.

You feel the air knocked out of your lungs as you bounce against the wall and collapse to your knees. For a moment, you just feel a cold swelling through you as you're left unable to breathe, before the pain begins to burn its way through your chest.

Gasping for breath that won't fill your lungs as you find them filling with warm, wet, blood instead, and you're left drowning in it. You manage to pull a few strangled breaths from the air, as you stay on your knee, knowing that if you collapse you'll end up letting the darkness taken.

Then, somewhere in your struggle, you hear loud footsteps to your right. Turning your head, you find yourself staring up at a tall, deathly pale figure. It's skin seems almost entirely hairless except for the thick black hair that hangs down from its head. Its eyes, however... its blood red eyes betray an inhumanity that you'll never be able to comprehend.

"Hello," the Vampire smiles, revealing a fanged mouth stretching from ear to ear. "And of course, goodbye."

"Fucking... blood thirsty... prick," you say, struggling to keep from collapsing to the ground.

The Vampire slowly walks forward, it's grin stretching further and further until it seems like it should be tearing its face in two. You know he could strike far faster, but the vampire seems to be savoring his kill.

You go to your revolver, hidden at your side, grabbing the ivory handle as you attempt to draw your gun. You fumble to pull it from the safety of its holster, before the Vampire grabs his wrist, bending your arm behind your back as you scream. His jaw snaps forward, a fanged mouth tearing into your neck. You let out a scream, teeth bursting through flesh and slicing into veins. Your body weakens in the creature's grasp as it begins to drain you of your blood, and the world rapidly goes dark as blood loss takes you.


You retreat to the car, calling into the Lodge. They report back that they've a spare Hunter to send out, one who is only acting on stand-by. Father Paul Féval. You know the man well, and have worked with him before. The man's a representative from the Vatican, a priest even, and as adamant in following the laws of the Bible as you are in never leaving the Lodge without a spare, but the man's a professional and an experienced Hunter. The man's permanent cold, professional demeanor means you'd be hesitant to call him a "friend", but you feel it'd be disrespectful to like anything.

You get in your car, driving back a minute away from the house just for some extra space. Once you're out there, you wait outside your car, your weapons ready in case the vampire or his thrall emerge. The wait is long, but after fifteen minutes, you see a pair of dazzling head beams approaching you. A blackened sedan seems to almost form from the shadows, pulling in behind you.

The sedan's driver door opens, as a tall, gaunt figure with spectacles and a black jacket and pants steps out. His long, bizarrely slender fingers tap against his side as his lips turn upwards very slightly in the barest facsimile of a smile. You know it's simply a polite sign, the man's professional nature means he takes no joy in this, instead simply seeing it as his religious duty.

"William," Father Féval nods. "The Lodge informs me we're dealing with a thrall and a youth, correct?"

"Correct, Father," you nod. "But they might be up."

"Best not to take risks, William. We have enough risks inherent to our job, don't we?"

Father Féval leans into the car, pulling out a vile of holy water. He dribbles it into his hands, blessing himself, before leaning back in and grabbing a silver crucifix. He affixes it to his belt, before flipping his jacket tails back, pulling out a pair of shining pistols. He looks at them both, examining them for a moment, before nodding.

"I'm ready and willing, William."

"Let's go."

The pair of you begin walking down the street, ready to strike. You soon come up again to the house once more, walking up the path towards the house. You know from surveillance that the house has the main entrance as well as a back door. The lounge, dining room and basement are located near the front door. The sitting positions would give anyone in there the sight of the door, but it would allow for the quickest contact. If the vampires awake, eliminating the thrall would give you far better chances against the Vampire shortly afterwards.

"You did the ground work. Suggestions?" Father Féval says unemotionally, seeming entirely focused on the situation with no fear, dread or anticipation.
> You go in together, through the back
"We both go through the back, take the fucker out quickly so we'll have time to get the drop on the main target. Get the drop on the Thrall, finish him, The longer we take with the thrall, the more likely that the night haunt will wake up and get the drop on one of us."

"I understand. Best of luck, William."

"And to you, Father."

The two of you walk towards the house, weapons at the ready. Surprisingly for a vampire's lair, your surveillance has said that the house is completely lacking in any serious security measures. Locked doors and windows, sure, but they're lacking the reinforced doors, security cameras. It's a young vampire, so you're not expecting legions of Thralls protecting him or runic blood magic protecting the house, but clearly the power's gone to this creature's head.

Moving slowly and softly through the garden around to the back, you still your breaths and do your best to be as soundless as the shadows. You creep through the rose bushes, whose petals look almost eerily beautiful in the moonlight. The sky's light brightens your path, but also makes it harder to sneak, and you just stay low and hope that if the Thrall happens to be looking out the window, he isn't looking too hard.

Edging around to the back, you draw close to the  wooden door. You look to Father Féval, who nods to you almost imperceptibly slowly. You move to the door, standing ready, before striking. You raise your shotgun, firing through the door's lock as you boot it open, quickly stepping through the now opened doorway and into the house.

The Thrall stands in the kitchen, his back turned to you.The Thrall is a short, bearded man, growling and shaking his head repeatedly as he divides a pile of crushed and broken white crystals, no doubt a substitute between his feedings on the vampiric blood he's heavily addicted to. The man quickly turns, his crazed, blood-shot eyes bulging at you as he sees you.

His eyes dart up to you as he growls, an animalistic sound that could only come from a beast. With a roar, he charges for you, as you pump your shotgun and put a round into him, firing straight through the thrall's chest. He screams, his clothes lighting into flames as he screams, catapulted into the wall. He slides down the wall, screaming out in anger and pain, a noise of such intense rage that it chills you. Father Féval walks in quickly, his guns raised. He stands over the bleeding, burning man, raising his pistols to aim at his heads.

"Les flammes les plus méritées brûlent le plus chaud, pécheur. Que Dieu ait pitié de ce qui reste de votre âme misérable et trouve la miséricorde sur votre âme," Father Féval says calmly.

The two pistols fire, the Thrall's face exploding as blood and gore coats his wild hair and thick beard, his head caving in as the bullets carve their way through.

"Let's kill this Vampire and be done with this place," Father Féval says to you.

"Let's," you say, pumping your shotgun as your next shell enters the chamber.
> You take out the coffin
You quickly head down the staircase of the basement, descending into the dark basement, lit by a dim candle. You slow down as you notice the counters piled with jars filled to the brim with red liquid. A bloody metal table sits there with unopened leather straps, a series of tubing and IV's connected to it. You're certain that it's equipment to drain the blood of victims the Thrall captures, to feed his master when he doesn't wish to hunt for himself.

However, the highlight of the room is a large, ornate coffin, leaning against a concrete wall. You've seen enough coffins in your life for any man, but this one is a fairly nice one. It's solid wood, cherry, with brass handles, sitting up on its side so its resident can sleep standing up. The face on the front of the coffin shows a grinning, gargoyle-like face made of brass, its eyes shining at you. You flinch at the sight of it, nervous about what lies behind it.

"Let's do it," Father Féval says.

You hurry up to the coffin, readying your shotgun as Father Féval takes the other side.

"I take the chest, you take the head," you say, as Father Féval nods.

Quickly, the two of you perform the breaching mechanism. Swinging around and standing back, you quickly measure the size of the coffin and roughly calculate where the center of its heart is. You aim, your fingers tightening on the trigger as you fire the weapon, as does Father Féval.

Your shotgun bucks, firing lead and magnesium shards directly through the heavy wood of the coffin. You fire three times as the wood splinters and explodes away, your shells bursting through them as they tear through the coffin. Father Féval's rounds tear through where the head of the vampire should lie, bursting through the wood and hitting through inside. After a few seconds, the sound of gunfire calms as you look at Father Féval.

"Let us confirm the kill," Father Féval says.

Stepping forward, you grab the handle of the coffin and wretch it open, tearing open the splintered and almost destroyed door. Staring inside, you find splintered wood and torn apart coffin... but no vampire, or no ash to show a clean kill.

"That was expensive," a dark, chilling voice says. "You'll pay for that."

Your voice chills when you hear the voice, but you know it's not the time for tears. Turning your head, you find yourself staring up at a tall, deathly pale figure standing behind Father Féval, its arms wrapped around him, baring a pair of ivory daggers that descend from its upper jaw, fangs so sharp and long they could tear out Father Féval's throat in an instant. It's skin seems almost entirely hairless except for the thick black hair that hangs down from its head. Its eyes, however... its blood red eyes betray an inhumanity that you'll never be able to comprehend.

"Don't move, or your friend gets it," the Vampire says. "Drop your weapons. Slowly."

"Shoot it!" Father Féval gasps, as the Vampire steps almost perfectly behind the priest, obscuring your shot.

Surrender isn't an option. This creature needs to die, or neither you nor Father Féval will ever get out of here.

> You shoot through Father Féval
You fire your shotgun straight through Father Féval's chest without a moment's pause, knowing the way of the Hunter. You're going to do what's right, not what's empathetic, and you'd expect Father Féval to blow you away in a moment in order to fight the good fight.

However, the blast fails to completely burst through Father Féval's chest, the burning magnesium shards lacking the penetration power you require, and the few lead balls tearing their way through his flesh are simply incapable of killing a Vampire.

Father Féval's dying corpse is tossed into you, and you shove the body aside with a yell. However, it's far too late, and the vampire rams you against the wall. His fangs tear through the air and into your throat, biting down and tearing it out of your neck with a burst of blood. You gasp for air, but only blood fills your throat and lungs as you find yourself incapable of breathing. You paw desperately at the Vampire's face as he laughs again, before dipping his face into your bleeding neck and beginning to drain your blood.

Soon, the blood loss and shock snuffs the light in your eyes, and your body goes numb.