<span class="bbc_u"><strong>Name</strong></span>: Narrator/Daryl<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Location</span></strong>: The Inquisitor Newspaper, Safehouse<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Time</span></strong>: 12:30 a.m.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Tagged</span></strong>: Saxa, lockepick<br/><br/>Daryl hung up the phone inside the Inquisitor. When Kiara told him to come see her, he knew he had to. As a member of Network Zero, he felt it was his duty to keep in touch with Kiara and learn from her  as well as teach her, to some degree. He was a tall fellow, black like fine ebony, with a set of haunted brown eyes. He had shaved his head for convenience, but his girlfriend had made it clear this made him look like a convict, so he tended to wear business clothes. After all, the Inquisitor had to present a good face to the public, even if the public thought they were full of crap.<br/><br/>He was one of the Record Keepers of Network Zero; he disseminated information through the gossipmongering newspaper he did research for, and he also managed the Inquistor's small website, which was where he really got things done in his cramped and lonely office. Kiara's call was a welcome change of pace. Maybe he could get something new on the site. People didn't believe the paper, but to Daryl, it was his life. He needed to be able to show people the truth.<br/><br/>The Inquisitor was in the residential side of town, the good part, being privately run by a group of wealthy sponsors who happened to be conspiracy nuts. It was why a lot of the actual work fell to reserachers like Daryl so the newspaper didn't get sued for slander or libel. Driving to Kiara's safehouse would take a bit.<br/><br/>He got into his car and started the long drive down the winding streets of Atro. It was pleasant out, with the half-moon glittering like a gem fragment. Then his cell phone rang. Unknown number. Should he answer? It was a company phone. He probably should. It so rarely rang. He pulled out the secure line used to contact Kiara and other hunters. He left Kiara a message on their secure line. He called and said, “Daryl. It'll be at least thirty minutes before I'm over. My business phone is ringing.” He hung up that line.<br/><br/>He didn't like to drive and talk. He pulled over and redialed the call on his business cell phone. He didn't know, and if he did, he wouldn't have answered, that a vampire was on the other end of the line. He said, “Daryl James, researcher for the Inquisitor. These are my off hours, but what can I do for you? Sorry I had to hang up and call back; I was driving.”<br/><br/>Two crows made their ways across Atro, scouting places Kiara normally roamed. Lucky for her she was in her safehouse for now. But the crows could come out during the day, too. And they were loyal to  Garmr.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Name</strong></span>: Narrator/Ellen<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Location</span></strong>: In Route to MacEwan, Downtown Atro<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Time</span></strong>: 12:15 a.m.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Tagged</span></strong>: HangedMan<br/><br/>Ellen looked uncomfortable, like a deer in the headlights, and she said, uncertain, to Harth, “I'm not entirely sure I can explain the scope of the things happening to me. I know I said it's bad luck, but I don't know what else to call it. To claim someone has it in for me would be paranoia, because I have no proof. I've tried to find it, too, but every time I've acquired something that could explain the seemingly random muggings, the threats, the difficulty in going to work, things from my house turn up missing. I really think it's more than a coincidence, but again, I can't prove it. I've tried to turn this bad luck around. If it were really just luck, I probably would have by now. But I'm not sure. I guess that sounds nuts, though.” She adjusted the hem of her skirt, and stopped a minute to adjust one of her high heels, before continuing walking.<br/><br/>She gestured o the city around them, heedless of the odd scrawls and scent of blood, but uneasy, due to the chill and suspicious atmosphere, “I mean, Atro City has been a haven of corruption and conspiracy since it's inception, and that's easy to see on a larger scale. The newspapers and many of the big businesses are bought and paid for. But why would someone not want me to go to work? Why break into my house?” She looked around, and the gargoyles above, perched on the ledges of skyscrapers, loomed down at her, like demonic judges.<br/><br/>Something was watching them both. Harth had noticed the signs—the strange arcane graffiti, the smell of blood, the relative unease. But the two of them weren't prepared to stumble upon the decapitated corpse of a beautiful woman, her pale head resting in a nearby gutter.<br/>