There was something different about this city at night. The dark melded with the city and hung there like a foul stench. The eerie streets with the flickering streetlights and the ones that were absent with light seemed like the jaws of a predator, dangerous and all-consuming. It was quiet too, absent of human presence. One with no knowledge of this city might suspect it was completely abandoned when the sun fell. Any citizen who was not in a gang hid among their homes, sleeping with a loaded gun under their pillow. Even some of the gangbangers wouldn't dare brave the night, unsure what was out to stalk them too.

A metal fence surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds stood among this silence, wrapped around a delapidated house. A butterfly, seemingly out of place in this ugly city, landed onto the fence. Fluttering it's wings gently, it ascended and flew into the gap of the boarded up window. Light beaming from an actually-working streetlaml cast an erie effect into the building. The dust from neglect were revealed. The butterfly darted around once inside, flying in and out of the light. The house was scarcely furnished, only a long coffee table and a chair in the dark corner could be barely seen from the light outside. The butterfly flew around the inside of the room, curiosity driving it's graceful yet quixotic flight. Suddenly it stopped still in the air, unable to move save for the twitching of forced wings. It hung there for a moment, silently struggling against an unknown force. A figure shrouded from the dark leaned forward from the chair in the room. His face obscured, he held his hand out towards where the insect floated. Making a pinching movement with his fingers, a high pitched whine sliced through the dead silence of night. The butterfly twitched furiously now, pain shooting through it's body as it's tiny head was being squeezed by an invisible force. The man held the butterfly there for a moment, closing his fingers ever so slowly and watched the butterfly from his shrouded seat. The whine became sharper and louder as the man squeezed tighter and tighter. Suddenly he extended all of his fingers apart, and the whine silenced. The butterfly fell to the dusty ground in pieces, and the man stood. His figures could be seen better now, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black pants and boots. Covering his upper body were scars and hastily inked tattoos. His fingers brandished lettering, but it could not be seen what was written. He walked across the room, dissappearing into the darkness once again. When he returned, his body was entirely clothed, gloves and sunglasses to match. He was dressed as a priest, but the robes were altered, with a black overcoat covering it. The man enhaled, breathing in the city's stench and eerie feel. He smiled, a familiar look in his scarred face. This place reminded him of home, and he was about to purge it just like he did back at Brooklyn.

Prodigal Son stood atop a bent antenna on the roof of an old office buidling. Surveying the city from his perch, he focused his hearing to be vigilant to any concerning noises. The cross hanging from his ear and the brim of his coat swayed gently in the soft wind. A scream cut through the air, female, young. It was close, maybe three or four blocks away. Prodigal Son let out a sigh of satisfaction. This place was his hunting ground, and he may have just found his first prey. Lifting himself off of the antenna with his power, he sped forth towards where the frightened scream came from.

Pitter patter of tiny feet across dirty concrete gave a despairing feel to the night. It raced like a heartbeat, small strained breaths layered on top of it. The girl was eight, maybe nine years old, and she wore clothes slightly too big for her. A long shirt with some cartoon character and baggy shorts, she ran barefoot through the alleyways that cut through the buildings. Her long blonde hair trailed behind her, swooshing back and forth as she checked behind her every five seconds. Prodigal Son floated some dozen feet above where she ran, watching her from the skies and tilting his head. What was she doing out at a time like this? Surely she knew the danger of the night and had somewhere to live, or atleast hide. Then again, filth always found a way to creep into even the smallest corners of the world. Prodigal Son turned his gaze to where the girl ran from, and a sickly smile stretched across his face as he saw what persued her.Three men, wearing dark clothes and jogging together followed the girl from a ways behind. PS watched them with a hunger in his eyes, breathing heavier now as he spotted his first perpetrators. He had his work cut out for him here, sin was a big ingredient in what made this city, aside from the concrete and metal. He did not let that deter him though, as he was sent to clean the world of scum. He would not let his lord down, and he would not squander the second chance that had been given to him. He darted to where the chase between the girl and the men was occuring, and licked his lips in excitement.

The girl's eyes darted around in panic, looking for a way out of this alleyway, but it seemed as if she ran into a dead end, and turning back now would only bring her into the hands of her persuers quicker. She called out, begging for aid as the men turned the corner and stalked towards her, breathing heavy from the chase and smiling as they neared victory. Drifting down gently, Prodigal Son placed himself in the space between the frightened girl and the men who stopped suddenly, eying PS with concern after he flew down from the sky. Prodigal Son only smiled and peered at them through his circular sunglasses.

"A jog at this hour, fellas? While excersize is important, a good night's rest is also key to maintaining a healthy lifestyle."

Prodigal Son grinned and felt the fear seeping off of their bodies.

"Why aren't you boys in bed?"

The man standing in the middle of the three stepped forward and smiled back, holding his arms out innocently.

"Jus' playin' a game of tag, ain't that right Nat?" he called out the last part to the girl behind Prodigal Son, who hid behind a dumpster.

PS glanced behind him to the girl, then brought his gaze back to the men, raising an eyebrow and changing his tone a bit.

"Maybe she doesn't wanna play, she seems scared."

The man stepped forward, casting himself into the light from a sigh light as he did. The men were wearing ripped up clothes and sported tattoos, a bit similar to those on the priest's body. They snarled and looked mean, looking as if the darkness of the city had seeped into them. The man glared at Prodigal Son and spat.

"Ain't your fuckin' business, get outta my way."

Prodigal Son chuckled quietly to himself and lowered his head, looking over the tops of his sunglasses to the men. He raised his arm and pointed a gloved finger towards the night sky.

"Maybe not my business, but it's his." he growled through a smirk. He signed a cross with his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it and waving it to the sky.

"May God have mercy on your souls."

He flung his arm back, and the man in front was ripped from the ground and flew towards Prodigal Son. The men behind him gasped as their comrade soared away, too stunned to make a noise. Prodigal Son began to walk forth as the man flew forward, and he flicked his wrist up, breaking the man's neck as he flew past and tumbled onto the ground, inches away from the girl who shrieked and cowered further behind the dumpster. The men flinched in fear and confusion, and watched Prodigal Son as he strode towards them, squeezing his gloved hands and sneering at them over his sunglasses. One of the men reached for something in the back of his pants, and Prodigal Son let an exhilarated sigh escape from his lips. He blasted forward, using his mind to close the distance in less than a second. The man pulled a handgun just as Prodigal Son reached him, and blew him aside with a wave of his hand. He slammed into the side of the building, dust and loose rocked flying with him. The other thug, trembling in place, watched helplessly as Prodigal Son turned to him and reached into his chest with his mind. He pantomimed crushing something wish his hand, and the thug fell to the ground, clutching where his heart had stopped beating. Prodigal Son turned to the man with the gun just to see him rise painfully, firearm pointed straight at the priest. The thug fired, and the bullet cut through the air. Prodigal Son raised his hand before him and the bullet stopped, hanging in the air just as the butterfly did. The thug froze and stared at the small bit of metal as it flipped over to point towards him. Prodigal Son closed his hand except for a his index finger and thumb, making the shape of a gun. He held the bullet there, smiling at the remaining man and dropping his thumb over his fist.

"Bang."

The bullet zipped into the man's head, flying two times faster than when it was fired from the gun. The man dropped to his knees, slouched over and still. The night was quiet again as Prodigal Son knelt, and held his hands up in prayer. He muttered something, signed a cross, then stood, turning his gaze now to the little girl who hid behind the large metallic container.

Natalie tried to blend into the dirt and shadow so that she would be invisible. She was tired of running, tired of always having to hide and survive. She wished that she could just dissappear into thin air just as her mother did, but she was stuck here, no way to escape. Natalie held her head in her hands and wept, trembling as she tried to avert her eyes from the dust covered man that lay inches from her feet, glass eyes staring up into nothing. The tall blonde man who had flew in had stopped the gangsters, but she was unsure of him. Natalie had never seen a Gifted in person, and the way he threw the thugs around like ragdolls made her uneasy.

Shaking still, she cautiously peeked out from behind the dumpster, a tiny hand gripping the metal as if she was afraid of being grabbed and dragged away. Natalie furrowed her brow as she saw the man kneeling and praying among the bodies of her former persuers. The man finished, stood up straight, and looked directly at her. Natalie flinched and sunk back slightly, but didn't break line of sight with the priest. He only smiled and held his hand out towards her.

"Not here to hurt ya, little lady. Why don't you come out from behind that thing?"

His voice was soft, sincere almost. It made her want to trust him, but she knew better. She had met people like him, people with a voice like that. All that she had got from them was trouble.

"How do I know you won't hurt me?"

The man shrugged and dropped to a squat, making himself smaller and closer to her size.

"If I wanted to hurt you, I coulda' done it a hundred times already."

Natalie swallowed, realizing he was right. Slowly, she rose from her haunches and stepped lightly toward the man, keeping her body pressed against the dumpster. Her eyes strayed from the man and fell onto the thug on his knees, blood dripping slowly from his forehead. She closed her eyes and froze up, stifling tears. She felt a leathery material brush against her hand and close around it gently.

"Don't look at them, look at me."

It was the man, his voice offering empathy and security. Natalie opened her eyes slightly and glared at him cautiously. She didn't trust him, but he seemed better than most people on these streets. Despite her best efforts, her voice trembled as she spoke.

"You killed them."

"I punished them accordingly."

"You one of them supers, right? You got powers, why couldn't you have just, like, tied them up or something?"

"Men like that don't learn their lesson, you lock em' up somewhere and once they get out they'll go right back to being scum."

He glanced to the dead men.

"They're awaiting judgement for their sins now, all I did was send them there."

Natalie didn't quite understand, but she was too tired to care. She felt her body wanting to collapse and fall into a deep sleep, but she kept herself composed and nodded to the man.

"Thanks I guess. For saving me."

"Don't thank me, I'm only the middleman. Do you have a home I can bring you back to?"

Natalie shook her head. She hadn't had a home in a couple of years. Lately she had been camping out behind a restaurant, surviving off of whatever they threw in the dumpster, but she couldn't go back there.

"Is there anywhere I can take you?"

Natalie's eyes began to flutter shut as exhaustion and sleep deprivation began to take hold. She fell into the priest's arms, and he picked her up and stood. The last thing she saw before sleep came over her was the buildings all around falling below them as the man brought them into the night sky.

The sun rose slowly, light peeking through the cracks of thr buildings. Prodigal Son watched it rise from the chair in the living room, flipping a quarter between his tattooed fingers. He blinked tiredness from his eyes and rose from the chair, stretching with a grunt. He didn't sleep much anymore, even less than he had before. Even with all of his power, he was too scared to face what he saw when he closed his eyes. Most nights he was out taking care of business , other nights he sat and just thought to himself and prayed, preparing himself for the approaching day. When he did sleep, it was short lived. Thrashing awake in a cold sweat, trembling from the nightmares. He had become less and less dependant on sleep, he had too much to do anyway.

He had spent this night exploring this house further, he had only arrived the night before, and was so excited to begin cleaning the city that he hadn't surveyed his safe house. There wasn't much to explore, a living room and cramped kitchen and two bedrooms upstairs. Most of the previous owner's belongings were gone with them, but he had found a box of stale pop tarts and a half empty pack of cigarettes in the master bedroom sidetable.

He had to admit, the cigarettes were tempting. He had been a big fan most of his life, but he had given all of that up. He wasn't about to waste his second chance for a little tube of tar. Slipping on a solid gray t-shirt, he trudged up the creaky stairs to the master bedroom, and opened the door gently. The girl was still sound asleep, the ratty sheets of the bed wrapped around her tightly. From her collapse the night before he'd estimated that she'd sleep a few more hours, so he closed the door and went back downstairs. Ripping open a pack of pop tarts, he held one in his mouth as he consulted the worn notebook he carried with him. He flipped from page to page, skimming the messy notes he had taken and reading off each city name. He finally got to the page titled 'Detroit' and sighed. The page was blank, he had no leads and barely anywhere to start. The encounter last night had been just lucky, and he doubted scouting the rooftops at night was going to give him any more than a couple street toughs looking for people to harass. He had to get a name, someone high up in the criminal world of this city. There he would purge their entire infrastructure, scrubbing the filth one gang at a time. He thought about the girl, perhaps she would have information about the underground workings here.

As if on cue, she dragged herself through the kitchen door and looked up at PS with a half-asleep gaze. PS gave her a lazy wave and finished his pop tart.

"Morning, hope you slept well." he said as he kept his eyes on his notebook, flipping back and reading his pervious entries. "That bed looked a little sketchy, but I'm sure it was better than the floor." He grinned at her as she pulled a package of pop tarts from the box and tore them open feverishly. PS watched as she devoured them in less than a minute, and chuckled as she wiped her mouth of crumbs.

"Bed was alright, any more food?" she looked up at him with big brown eyes, her ratty blonde hair falling over her face in a jumble.

Prodigal Son shook his head and sighed. "Nah, that's all I could find."

The girl's shoulders slumped and she dragged herself over to the living room, looking around as she scratched her stomach.

"You sleep down here?"

"I don't sleep."

She turned to him with an incredulous look on her face. PS met it with 'its true' look and she scoffed.

"How th' fuck aren't you tired?"

"Watch your mouth little lady."

She mocked him with hand gestures and rolled her eyes.

"You got a name, punk?"

"Yeah, why do you wanna know?"

"Just a question, you don't have to tell me."

She paused for a moment, eyeing him up and down cautiously.

"It's Natalie."

"Well Natalie, you're welcome to stay here since you don't have a home. I'm gonna bounce soon, got some things I gotta do." he turned around to the counter, gathering some of his things he had layed out.

"Got more people to kill?"

Prodigal Son stopped, swiveling his head slowly until his eyes met hers.

"More sinners to punish, yeah. This city is full of em'.

"Sinners, judgement, you dress like a priest. You a jesus-freak or somethin'? I don't get it."

Prodigal Son clenched his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. He turned a walked a few steps toward Natalie, stopping as he glared at her with intense eyes.

"I serve God, he has blessed me with these powers and I now bring him the filth of the earth for judgement. In everything I do, I honor him. With every life I take, it brings me closer to redemption. It would do you some good to respect him." he growled at her. "I am here to cleanse this city, I am here to do what the police and the government could not. I am here to liberate this place from the clutches of the devil."

Natalie stared at him, mouth agape. She averted her eyes and held her arm sheepishly. "You're here to take care of the gangs?"

Prodigal Son nodded, calming himself a bit with deep breathing.

"The 162's also?"

"Who're they?

"Those guys that were chasing me last night? They're 162s, one of the biggest gangs here. They're really mean, hurt a lot of people."

Prodigal Son could hear the fear in her voice and walked up to her, kneeling down to bring himself to her size.

"Why were they chasing you?"

" 'Cuz my dad was with em. After my mom left he tried to protect me the best he could. He joined the 162s so that he could keep me safe, but they got mad at him for it."

Tears began to form in her eyes as her voice became shaky.

"They said I distracted him, said he was slackin'. They shot him, and tried to shoot me too."

Through the tears she managed a mischievous grin, looking to Prodigal Son as she wiped her tears away.

"They never get me though, I'm too sneaky. I always get away, every time."

Prodigal Son offered a smile and brought his hand to rest on her shoulder.

"Know where these guys like to hang out? Know any names? Anyone in charge?"

She nodded, "Mhm, I usually see em' around this warehouse over at 8 Mile. Big yellow letters on the side, can't miss it. Guy in charge is called Gonzo." She pauses for a moment, "Or is it Gordo?.." She shrugs and continues, "Anyway, most of em are usually there, that's what dad used to tell me."

PS nodded and stood, walking to the kitchen to gather his things. He slipped everything into their pocket, donned his priest's outfit, and walked to the door, stopping to turn to Natalie.

"These guys are gonna meet their maker very soon, I promise." He smiled as he slid his sunglasses on. "I'm sure your father was a good man, and made it to heaven after his judgement came. You stay here, don't go out unless you need to. I don't need you meeting him there sooner than you have to, yeah?"

Natalie scrambled towards PS and grabbed his coat. "Are you gonna come back?"

Prodigal Son stopped and looked down at her, she peered up with hopeful eyes.

He offered a sympathetic smile. "We'll see, I'll try to drop off some food if I can. Other than that, stay here."

With that, he took off into the sky, using his telekinesis to force his body through the air with speed. He clenched his fists, the leather material squeeking from the pressure. He had something to work from, something concrete. He had no time to play babysitter, the girl could most likely take care of herself. The Hand of God had an entire city to cleanse, and he wouldn't stop until all who hid in the dark burned in hellfire.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:17, Fri 24 June 2016.

Perro Loco pressed his body against the stack of metal containers, the cool surface of the steel was a nice change from his rising body heat. Sweat dribbled down his temple and mixed with the fresh blood that spilled from his gashed chin. He held a hand up to it, applying as much pressure as possible. He had to hide, to get as far away from here as possible. Yet, what would his boss do if he ran? He was a dead man if he left, but he was a dead man if he stayed here. He pressed the back of his head into the container, closing his eyes and shuddering. The sounds of screams and gunfire began to calm, and Perro Loco opened his eyes, inching towards the edge of the containers. He had lost his gun in the confusion, so he couldn't do anything if that freak saw him. Keeping as much as himself hidden as possible, he peeked around the corner of his hiding place.

A frightened gasp escaped his lips as he saw the new guy, Ricky, crawling towards him. A trail of blood lead from his mangled arm into the cloud of dust and smoke from the battle. Ricky wasn't more than 16, just a kid, not even inked up yet. He looked up at Perro Loco with pain in his eyes, bloodshot with fear and desparation. Perro Loco grimaced at the kid's soft cries of pain and hesitated to pull him into his hiding place. The hair on Perro Loco's neck prickled as Ricky croaked out a call for help.

"Help...please help.." Ricky cried, clawing towards where Perro Loco hid.

This kid was going to blow his cover and get both of them killed if he didn't shut up. He held a finger up to his lips and shushed Ricky quietly, looking around for the freak. He crouched down low and slowly started to walk towards Ricky.

Then the whine appeared, the high pitched noise that made Perro Loco cringe and clench his teeth. It grew louder and louder, and suddenly Ricky looked up at Perro Loco with absolute fear in his expression. Perro Loco watched in horror as Ricky was dragged away by an invisible force. He screamed and clawed at the concrete with his working arm, dissappearing into the dust and smoke. He kept screaming, louder and louder as the whine grew sharper and bore into Perro Loco's ears like a drill. He covered his ears in pain as Ricky's pained cries melded with the whine. Even through his covered ears, Perro Loco could hear the sickening crack of bone. The screaming stopped, and so did the whine. He sat there, mouth agape and drenched in sweat. He couldn't move, he was too scared to move his body. The dust began to settle and clear, and a figure began to walk forth. He looked like a priest, but Perro Loco only saw the devil. His face and hair were caked with blood, and it dripped from his cross earring as he strode towards Perro Loco with a smile. His voice was silky and unsettling, and Perro Loco repressed the urge to cry.

"Looks like you're the last man standing. Congratulations, you'll be answering my questions."

Perro Loco's adrenaline kicked in and overcame the fear. He jumped up from the ground and began to run the opposite direction. Suddenly, his body felt as it was being constricted, every part of him was being crushed as he was held in place. He was pulled back, flying through the air and slamming back down onto the ground in a heap. He struggled to regain his breath as he brought himself up to all fours, eyed wide as he took in his surroundings. The bodies of his comrades littered the floor, laying in pools of their own blood and shell casings. Frantically, he began searching for a gun to use among the massacre. The freak had the same idea, except he found all of them. Pistols and submachine guns that once were gripped by his friends rose from the ground and pointed at him, held by an invisible army. Perro Loco froze, staring down the barrels of a dozen floating firearms. The freak walked up and stopped, cleaning his sunglasses with a white cloth. He placed the sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose, smiling at Perro Loco. That smile, that fucking smile. It chilled him to the bone, there was something completely off about it. Everything about this man caused Perro Loco to shiver, and he was not easily scared.

"I came here expecting to send the whole kit and caboodle of you guys to judgement, but I gotta say man." he ran a gloved hand through his blood specked blonde hair, "I'm a little dissapointed with the turn out." He walked up and knelt next to Perro Loco, who eyed him sideways.

"Where's the rest of the trash? I know this ain't it." he brought his face closer to Perro Loco's face. The heat of his breath and his intense stare made Perro Loco avert his eyes. The man grabbed Perro Loco's face with his hand and turned it back to meet his eyes.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Perro Loco shook his head from the man's grip and spat at him. "Fuck you freak, just get it over with. I ain't talkin'."

The man laughed in his face, "Bad choice of words muchacho. I'll do you one better, I bet I can get you to scream." he swiveled on his heels to one of the corpses surrounding them. "Worked for this guy, I'm sure you heard em'."

He stretched his arm out to the mangled body and made it rise with his power. Perro Loco grimaced as it rose to stand on it's feet, blood still pouring from open wounds in it's arm and head. The man was barely recognizable, his head almost completely crushed. The man twisted his fingers around and the body's mouth began to move. The man spoke with a mocking voice; "Pleeeaasee doon't kiillll meeeee."

Perro Loco, while trying his best to look away from the grotesque act, spotted a logo on the body's jacket. It was the same one Ricky always wore around. Perro Loco heaved and threw up all over the concrete, tears streaming down his face. The man let Ricky's body fall to the ground and grabbed his face once again with his hand, turning it to stare directly into his opaque sunglasses.

"I'll ask again, where's the rest of your gang?"

Perro Loco was scared shitless, trembling as if his body was at the epicenter of an earthquake. Yet, he wasn't going to give this man what he wanted. He had slaughtered his friends, laughing and chanting as he did so. He was going to have to beat it out of him, and even then Perro Loco wasn't going to talk. He knew where his loyalties lay, besides, he was more terrified of his boss than he was this prick. He stared into the black voids of the man's sunglasses and spoke with a steady voice.

"Go to hell."

The man smiled and paused for a moment before throwing Perro Loco to the ground and standing. He turned and walked away, raising a hand as he did. Perro Loco closed his eyes and tried not to think about the guns clicking to load the next round into the chamber. The guns fired, and Perro Loco fell into darkness.

That very night, the filth on the street struck again. A small warehouse-turned-hotel, named 'Nick's Place' after the man who made it so safe, sat by the old docks and served as a home for the people who didn't stoop to crime. Only three policemen were stationed there that night to keep the 30+ people living by the wharf safe; a terrible mistake as the sun set, darkness coated the streets, and the only light came from the large bonfire of trash in front of the doorway to the 'hotel', and the few scattered 'healthy' fires inside.

Before the police could even get a shot off, hooligans calling themselves the Red Hawks managed to club two of them into unconsciousness and shot the third right outside the hanger-like front door. Now, that massive door was open, the red-clad thugs were inside, and the innocent people in there had nowhere to run. The other exits were all barricaded from the outside, and as such, the only person left to stand up for these people was old Nicholas himself; a 60-something-year-old man in a sweater and slacks with a cane to help him walk.

The lead thug, a young man named Andrew, who was wearing an old Detroit Red-Wings hat, a leather jacket and torn jeans, grinned at the senior while spinning a smoking Glock in his hand, taunting:

"Well well well, grandpa, it looks like those police officers you threatened us with weren't worth their weight in crap after all!"

Nicholas narrowed his eyes and breathed heavily out of his nose, knowing that he and his patrons were at the mercy of the ten gangsters that were blocking them from the main door. This punk had called Nick's bluff from the last time they threatened to come around and ransack the place and he was right.

"So, if you don't mind, we'll just wander around, grab what we need, and we'll be on our way, right guys?"

The rest of the assembled thugs chuckled and began to step towards the people crowding closer to the back of the junk-cluttered warehouse. As Andrew began to pass him, Nick held his cane up like a parking lot barrier to keep the young man from passing, who actually stopped and looked at the old man in surprise before smiling; it was a sick, sadistic one, punctuated by the swift pistol-whip to Nicholas' head a moment later, causing the old man to fall to the floor. As the crowd of innocent people gasped, Andrew cackled at the sight, backing up a couple of steps and saying:

"What the hell did you expect, you old coot? You think I give a damn about whether or not you get hurt? "

Nicholas, however, grabbed his cane and shakily made it back to his feet, wincing because he had to put weight on his bad left leg, the sight of which caused Andrew to smile even more. He liked his handiwork, after all. With blood trickling down his face and over his eye, Nicholas looked at Andrew and speaking hoarsely in choppy English with a heavy slavic accent;

"Don't care either. I hate people like you. You can't take what's not yours and not be punished. Doesn't have to be me. Someone will make you regret this."

Andrew looked around at his goons and held his arms out as if to say 'can you believe this guy?', who shook their heads and laughed. Andrew looked back at the old man, who was glaring at him with all the hate he could muster. Andrew wasn't scared. Unlike that senile old man, he didn't believe in karma, god, or any of that spiritual crap. The stuff he did wouldn't come back to bite him in any way.

He was wrong.




A small way away from the outside of the warehouse door lay the waterfront, the only thing that separated the slums of Detroit from the neighbouring shore of Windsor, Ontario. The deepest part of the Detroit river was 53 feet, barely a fraction of the depth of the deep sea that scientists were finding horrific creatures in. For the longest time, the people here knew that there was nothing in that river that could harm anyone.

They were wrong.

With a splash, a hand wrapped in black latex shot out of the water and grabbed the ledge of the old, concrete dock. With a little effort, the body belonging to it was hoisted up; a tall, lean humanoid with thin limbs, wrapped in tattered, black latex like the ruins of old wetsuits, forming a bodysuit, a hood, a mask, and a short cape that hung off its shoulders. This person crawled onto the dock and stood up straight, immediately seeing the bonfire, the warehouse to the left of it, and the trail of blood leading to the edge of the slightly open door, where a bleeding policewoman had pulled herself into cover, bandaged her wound, and taken out her pistol, watching her surroundings.

The black-clad person began walking towards her, making no effort to hide. The officer didn't even notice this person approaching until they were about to cross the threshold of the door frame, into the sight of the people inside. She silently waved at the person and signalled them to stop, which they did. She continued to watch around the corner as the thugs inside laughed at Nicholas, who had just been hit in the head and knocked down. She gritted her teeth, frustrated. The bullet in her leg hadn't pierced a major artery, but she couldn't put weight on it. She couldn't run, her only cover was corrugated metal and crappy insulation, and it was a 10 on 1 fight if she shot one of them. There was practically nothing she could do.

The strange person from the river, on the other hand, looked in the direction of the thugs but was staring directly at the outer wall of the warehouse. Despite this, they could see; not the people's bodies, but their thoughts. A large throng of fearful and desperate at the back, a half ring of sadistic and cruel closest to him, and a single pillar of vindication and anger between the two others. In an instant, this strange person understood the pettiness of the thugs, the values of the old man that they never believed, the fears and hopes of the people behind him, and what would happen next as the bloodthirsty thoughts swelled in one of the people closest to them.

In that moment, it stepped out from behind the large doorway and into the sight of the people in the warehouse, its eyes locked onto the 10 masses of cruel, bloodthirsty scum, making note of which of those thoughts were the brightest before doing whatever amounted to a smile underneath its mask. It knew that this 'Andrew' didn't believe in karma, and this person had no right to lord over the boy; karma was a fairly new concept to it as well, but it knew enough to know that Andrew was wrong.

So terribly, horribly wrong.

Andrew was ready to put a bullet into this senile old man's head. If nothing else, it would crush the people behind him to see their landlord take lead straight to the skull. Before he could pull the trigger, though, he saw Nick's gaze shift and his face change; the old coot was looking past him, with a look of surprise on his face. Andrew was confused for a moment too, thinking it was some trick that Nick was trying to pull, but then he saw that face mirrored on the huddle of terrified people behind the older man, and worse still, the shadow of a person cast by the bonfire behind him against the far wall.

Andrew turned around, as did most of his gang, to see that black-clad person, silhouetted in the light of the bonfire roaring behind them. They were tall, skinny, in a hood and cape, and still dripping with water from the nearby river. There was something strange about him, no doubt, but Andrew couldn't give a rat's ass. This was his turf, after all.

"And who the hell are you?"

The person didn't respond, standing with their arms hanging by their sides, their eyes hidden in the shadows of their cowl. Andrew looked at two of his goons on his left and jerked his head to this weirdo. The two of them, both dragging baseball bats with them, started walking up to the guy.

"Hey, punk. The boss asked you a question, so you answ-huh?"

One of the guys approaching was in the middle of talking when he almost fell, letting go of his bat. For a second he thought it caught on something and he reached back to grab it, but then he turned around and saw it. Floating. Perfectly straight. 5 feet off the ground. He had a couple of seconds to stare open-mouthed at the sight before the bat swung full-force and cracked him across the face. The thug went sprawling, spitting out a few teeth.

"What the f-"

The second thug barely had time to respond before his own bat swung out of his hand and smashed into his head as well. Andrew and the rest of his gang stared, shocked.

"How the hell?"

Andrew decided to ignore the stupid people behind him; they weren't armed. This...thing, though, was definitely dangerous. He lifted his pistol, pointed at the freak, and fired. His target waved its hand as if waving off a fly, and Andrew saw a shower of sparks and a streak of light as his bullet was swatted into the sky. Andrew was dumbstruck,

"What?! What kind of magic s**t is this?!"

He looked at the rest of his gang and pointed at this creep, at which point, they all began to run towards it. Had it not been wearing a mask, this thing would have proven it was able to smile. Grotesquely and inhumanly, but still. It lifted its hands up to its sides and focused, not on the people in front of it, but the maelstrom behind.

Loose trash from the bonfire began to rise into the air, still burning, until a small fleet of burning refuse was hovering behind the strange person. The charge of the Red Hawks halted at the sight, before a hundred pounds of ash, fire, and garbage was flung full force at them. Andrew ducked, as did some of the other thugs. In fact, most of them escaped the fire unharmed, but the ash and smoke were the real motivation behind this thing's attack. No sooner did the thugs recover than did they start tearing up and coughing from the irritating, airborn ash.

That was when it struck. One by one, a loud THWACK followed by a cry of pain, until Andrew's vision cleared and he saw that the other seven goons he had were all lying on the ground, holding their heads or just plain unconscious. The two baseball bats were floating on either side of the warehouse now, while the freak was still standing in the doorway, arms down by its sides again. Its eyes were visible in the dim firelight in front of it; soulless black orbs with silver pupils, glaring at the only standing thug. Andrew was beginning to panic now, and he levelled his gun at this freak again, pulling the trigger.

The gun exploded in his hands as the monster in front of him blocked the bullet while it was still in the barrel. Andrew cried out in pain and stumbled back, his hand seared and cut. He looked up at this freak that had beat his gang into submission, tears streaming down his face from the pain, and saw it take a single step towards him. Andrew immediately stepped back a few steps and turned to run...face-first into Nicholas' fist. Unconsciousness, when it came, was a relief.

The old man rubbed his bruised fist as he stared down at Andrew. He hated this kid more than anyone on these streets, but he didn't deserve to die. If anything, living with his pride wounded and new fear in his heart was enough of a punishment. Old Nick looked back to see the people approaching from the back wall, still cautious, but very curious. He was much in the same way. This person, this robed, merciless being had come from seemingly nowhere to save him and everyone he was supposed to protect, and he was thankful for that. Nicholas smiled a gruff, yet genuinely happy smile and said to it.

"Thank you. He caused lots of trouble for us."

No response. Whoever this person was, they weren't the talking type. Nick decided that he'd get down to brass tacks; this person obviously didn't do what they did for free.

"How can we pay you back for this?"

The bats at the sides of the warehouse dropped to the floor, clattering. All the person did was raise its hand at Nicholas and his people, still silent as a ghost. Nick was liking this less and less. He felt like this person, or thing, was measuring him. It wasn't just him, though. He could feel it behind him; all of his patrons were uncomfortable. It was like they were being scrutinized.

In reality, this thing in front of them was sifting, probing, and gently poking through the thoughts of all the people in front of it. It was searching for something, anything. It knew that people didn't trust it, so it was trying to find a place where there were no people, but something to learn. Searching through their recent memories a little, it caught a flash of a fairly tall building, further inland. There were the faded remains of a red cross on it, and it was by an intersection; Beaubien and Mack...

And then there was another place, further up that same street...Wayne State university Campus...university? It didn't know what that word meant, but in the mind that held this memory, other words floated around it; school, people, students, knowledge, learn...learn...knowledge...it wanted to learn...it wanted knowledge...this place was...abandoned? It apparently meant 'empty'...there weren't any people there? Maybe this was the place it was looking for.

Before the older person could ask any more questions, this being waved its hand and the piles of burning trash and layers of soot slid back out into the bonfire. Then, silently, it turned and walked out, hooking left outside of the door and beginning the walk into Detroit proper.

The police officer sitting outside of the door had seen the whole fight, and watched as this person left for the streets. She called out to him:

"Hey! What the heck are you, anyway?"

The thing stopped and glanced back at the policewoman, pondering this question seriously, for some reason. It had asked itself that very same thing numerous times, but every time, it couldn't think of an answer. It knew that it came from under the water. Far under the water...deep under the water. It also knew that, to the best of its knowledge, it was alone. There was nothing else like it that it had found. There was only one of it. So it didn't know what it was or what 'name' to call itself. It was one thing from the deep water. One from the deep...

This had a strange sound to it...One from the Deep. It sounded...good. A little long, though. One Deep? No. It understood the English language and knew that was just wrong...Deep One? The Deep One? That sounded good.

It turned and, for the first time since it saw that little girl so long ago, used its gift to speak to the woman's mind, in a low, hoarse 'voice';

"The Deep One."

And then it turned and strode into the streets, leaving behind a warehouse of people with many questions, a gang of hooligans with numerous bruises, and quite the story to be told.

Swaying his legs over the edge of the building, Prodigal Son watched as an airplane flew overhead some thousand feet in the sky. He brought the apple in his hand to his mouth and bit into it, savoring the sweet juice that spilled over his lips. He made a silent prayer that the passengers of the plane would reach their destination safely, and looked around at the city. It was busy today, the rise of the sun brought people out to the streets and stores that lined the potholed streets and cracked sidewalks. Prodigal Son was happy to see this, knowing that the work he had been doing was making a bit of a change. The warehouse that Natalie had directed him to was a good start, pointing him in the direction of the rest of the 162's. It hadn't been the field day Natalie made it out to be, but it was useful nonetheless. The warehouse was being used as a distribution center for the gang's narcotics and firearms within the city. Taking out the guards and destroying the product had put a dent in the rampant selling of such goods within the city. From there, he pilfered the cellphones from the dead gang members which lead him to similar places around Detroit. All he had to do was exterminate the pests that guarded it, trash their goods, and burn the place to the ground. For one of the biggest gangs here, they were pretty sloppy. Now what was left of the 162's were scattered, too scared to do anything. Prodigal Son took this as a victory, but it wasn't enough. Beside him on the ledge was a plastic bag full of food and drinks he had purchased from one of the local gas stations. A basic paperback bible was also stuffed into the bag. He had planned to give this to Natalie, a way to bridge the gap between them, and also a way to more information as to the whereabouts of more sinners. This girl had spent her life on these streets, she was bound to know some more. All he had to do was get it from her.

Prodigal Son hefted himself off the ledge, grabbing the plastic bag by the thin wiry handles as he did. He suspected it was a little after noon, and that he should get these things to Natalie as soon as possible. Suddenly, as he was about to drift off of the ledge, the voice came back. It boomed through Prodigal Son's head, and his stance shifted. His shoulders sunk, he knelt slightly and brought his head down, looking submissive and almost afraid.

This girl that you shelter, are you so sure she is absolved of sin herself?

Prodigal Son shivered, when his lord spoke to him it was an honor, but also quite intimidating.

"As far as I know, she hasn't done anything to warrant punishment, father." he spoke aloud, a slight tremble in his words.

But you do not know for certain, correct? She has lived among the scum all her life, shifting through the darkness and mingling with sin itself. Her own father was affiliated with the men you punished, who is to say she is not unlike him?

Prodigal Son began to sweat, had he overlooked something?

"Holy Father, she's only a child. I'm sure her involvement is only coincidental, she is running from the dark aspects of her life."

There was silence for a long time, Prodigal Son began to worry that he was speaking out of turn. When his lord spoke at last, the words were filled with doubt.

Do not dissapoint me.

And with that, his lord's presence dispersed. Prodigal Son was left alone, shivering and mumbling to himself. What if God wished for Natalie's punishment?

Of course, he would do it without hesitation if it was needed.

But he did not suspect the girl of doing anything against God's will. With a clouded mind, he took off from the building's roof, flying toward the house that Natalie awaited in.

Prodigal Son stood outside of the abandoned old house that he had left Natalie in. He wasn't even sure she was still here, not really caring much about the girl in the past few weeks. He was much too busy, but now that he needed more information, he didn't have too much else at his disposal. PS slipped his black sunglasses off of the bridge of his nose and brought them onto his forehead, squinting at the house. From this distance, he estimated that a powerful enough blast from his mind could vaporize the building without much trouble. He shrugged and returned his sunglasses to their usual perch on his nose and started towards the front door, the plastic bag in his hand. His lord was being cryptic, more than usual. Did he want Natalie to come before him at the gates of Heaven? Or was he just testing him? It troubled him, the last thing he needed was something like this to cloud his mind when he had things to do. He had stashed his priest's garb on a rooftop, buying some regular civilian's clothes with money he had taken from the gangster's wallets. He didn't see it as stealing, the way he saw it those men gave up all of their mortal possessions the second they fell to sin. It belonged to the Earth, and Prodigal Son wasn't going to waste resources. He wore a plain white t-shirt with some black jeans and boots, nothing too flashy. Pride was an easy sin to fall victim to.

He pushed through the front door and stepped into the dim interior, smelling the scent of dust and mildew. Closing the door behind him, he stood in the entryway for a moment, listening to the house. Finally, he called out into the silence.

"Natalie?"

Only more silence preceded his voice. He waited again, listening.

"It's me, the 'Jesus-freak'." He cringed, making a mental note to ask for forgiveness for using the name in vain.

A creak came from the upstairs bedroom, and a head covered in ratty blonde hair popped out of the doorframe, eyes wide.

"You're back."

The prodigal son returns. he thinks, and smirks.

"Brought food, you hungry?" He holds the bag up.

Natalie's eyes grow wider and she bolts from the doorway, still wearing the same clothes since he last saw her, although a bit dirtier. She races down the stairs, bare feet slapping against the ground as she makes a beeline toward the bag. Prodigal Son holds a hand out and Natalie's forehead collides with it. Prodigal Son holds her there as she struggles to break free and tear into the bag of food and drink.

"Not so fast, punk. I need something from you first. A trade, you get it?"

Her face contorts into one of confusion and disgust.

"You left me here and then ya finally come back with food and you need something?"

Prodigal Son shrugged pushing her head back gently as he strode over to the kitchen and set the bag onto the counter. "I was busy, and I've still got things to do. I'm here now aren't I?"

Natalie glares at him, then glances at the bag.

"I been stealing food, you know that?"

"You shouldn't steal."

"Fuck you, I been starving here while you were off dancing around in your stupid costume."

Prodigal Son met her glare with a furrowed brow, but said nothing.

"You're all over the news, lady across the street has a T.V. I can see from upstairs. You been hurting a lot of people.

"I have."

Natalie shook her head and sighed.

"Whaddya want from me then?"

"I need to know the locations of more gangs here in the city. The 162's were a great start, mopped them up real nice, but it's not enough."

"The 162's are gone?"

"Most of em, the rest are probably soiling themselves in some rank corner."

Natalie smiled at this, for a moment a flash of happiness came over her face.

"Well, the Gamblers and Clowns hang around 8 mile, they don't like each other too much. Red Hawks are down by the water, they mess with all the people down there, but I heard someone messed with em' back."

She scratches her chin pensively, finally shrugging.

"That's pretty much it, 162's were the big dogs."

They died like dogs, barking and begging, that's for sure. he thought to himself as he jotted this new info down in his notebook. The Detroit page was quickly becoming cluttered during these past few days. Things were looking good, the kid was being helpful and so far he hadn't encountered any other Gifted opposition. Gangs like this usually had a super among them to turn the tide of turf wars or just to make sure nobody stepped up to them. Prodigal Son had dealt with a few of them, all of which met the same fate. He sent them and their gifts back to God. He clicked his pen and stuffed it and the pad into his pocket, fishing a box of Cheeze-Its from the bag of food. He tossed it to Natalie who snatched it out of the air and immediately tore into the cardboard.

"Thanks punk, I appreciate it. With your help i'm gonna get this city back into shape."

Natalie didn't answer, a mouthful of crackers and engrossed by the graphics on the cardboard box. Prodigal Son smirked and stretched, holding his hand up to where Natalie crouched like a feral creature. He could just flick his hand and her tiny little neck would snap, and just like that she'd be in a better place. She'd be away from this mess and with God, with her father. He brought his hand down and sighed, fishing the Bible out of the bag. He tossed it next to her as he walked to the front door.

"Read that while i'm gone."

She turned to him, orange crumbs covering her mouth.

"Can't read."

Prodigal Son frowned, he had forgotten. This girl had probably never been a school in her entire life. He glanced away and turned to the door.

"I'll teach you when I get back, don't eat all of that at once."

Natalie began to say something, but Prodigal Son was already out of the door, taking off from the ground and accelerating into the sky.

Since its appearance, the Deep One had caused a lot of theories to start floating about the scientific community, or the part that actually believes it exists. Some believe it can regrow its limbs, others think it still possesses' an ink duct for land and water use, and a few even think that it's actually a sentient alien that crash-landed on this planet. A serious question that few scientists can agree on, however, is whether or not it is capable of feeling distinct emotions. Does happiness, anger, sadness, love, and other emotions occur in The Deep One in the same way they occurred in human beings?

If those same scientists could see it now, they would agree on one thing; The Deep One is certainly capable of feeling annoyed.

It was currently glaring up at a street sign by a ruined 4-way intersection. The road was shattered and webbed with cracks, bathed in the dim light of the full-moon in the cloudless night sky. There was no sign of any cars or other abandoned vehicles, as one might have thought there would be; it felt like a ghost town. The only sign of life to be seen was the intrepid outsider, glaring at this intersection's signs, which read 'Hale' and 'St. Aubin'.

The Deep One snarled aloud, clearly aggravated. Had anyone been following it for the last few weeks, especially tonight as the moon climbed higher into the sky, they would have seen its nighttime excursions from the water to the land as it mentally mapped the city, trying to find this one street. In the past week especially, the Deep One had been getting bolder, foraying deeper into Detroit proper with each passing day as its patience grew thinner. Now it was getting too weary and frustrated to ponder risks, because it had seen a hundred intersections almost exactly like this one. Each time, it grew more and more annoyed. The images the Deep One saw in the mind of one of those people it saved clearly showed that this was the way! It should have already reached Mack Street, turned left, and then found the intersection with Beaubien street! And yet it seemed it had to go even further inland, away from the docks and the water, where it felt safe from these people who called it a...what was the word...freak?

The Deep One huffed and snarled and crossed the street, ducking into an alley after it successfully crossed and making it's through it, silent as a ghost. It had learned over the last few months that humans relied on two senses more than anything; sight and hearing. If a person didn't see it, they had to hear it, and if they didn't hear it either, then they thought nothing was wrong and the Deep One was safe. This had been an easy enough thing to learn after it was chased away from the only human it trusted; that little girl on an island far away from here, being 'protected' from the Deep One as if it meant any harm to her in the first place...

The Deep One shook it's head and continued onward, feeling another emotion scientists would be interested in; discomfort. It didn't enjoy pondering itself and its past. Doing so even with a fragment of its current knowledge was enough to make it realize how insignificant it was and the thought never agreed with him. Still, it marched on, approaching another street where it prepared to be disappointed again. As the Deep One peered out of the alleyway, though, it was greeted with a surprise; this next street was big. Far bigger than the other streets that intersected with St. Aubin street. It had twice as many lanes as the other streets and a metal barrier down the middle, which made the Deep One wonder if it was a more important street in the layout of whatever this was. A town? A city? It didn't bother to learn the difference between the two. Still, it crept out of the allyway and down the sidewalk to the nearby street sign in order to read it. 'St. Aubin' and...'Mack' Street!

Another emotion surged inside of the Deep One; Satisfaction. A person who had scoured almost a hundred city blocks in a month to find the one place they were looking for would probably have thrown their fist in the air or at least laughed a little. The Deep One, though, remained cool and poised, the only indication of its feelings being a curt nod at the sign before it crossed St. Aubin street, ducked into an alley parallel to Mack, and began the long trek southwest. From what it saw, the distance between it and the University was closing fast; a right hand turn on Beaubien street, and past the old building with the red cross on it. After those milestones, the Deep One would be at its destination and all the happier.

The thought of learning more made the creature quicken its pace. Its cape flowed in the wake of its widened strides as the Deep One pressed on. It was getting close, so close...

"Hey!!"

The Deep One halted instantly. The voice seemed to have come from all around him, bouncing off of every surface. It was definitely human, but that was all it could place. The alley was dark and lined with old trash bins and tin garbage cans, and there was nobody in sight. It couldn't hear anything either. The Deep One decided to look through its mind instead, trying to see this person's thoughts. What it saw was 4 separate minds hiding amongst all the rubbish in the alley, surrounding him no less. All of them rose, causing the Deep One to switch back to its normal sight and see that four, brown clad young men and women had straightened up from behind their hiding spots. They were in street clothes, like baggy pants and hoodies, and were watching their target behind balaclavas and other face-coverings. One of them, a young woman, and no doubt the first speaker the Deep One had heard, said:

"Alright, big, black and skulkey, you've got some explainin' to do. Nobody should be wanderin' around here this late at night."

The Deep One said nothing. Instead, it switched to its telepathic sight to view it's captors thoughts with greater detail. As it did so, the woman barked:

"Hey! I'm talkin' to ya, buster! When a Bricker asks you a question, you snap to it and answer!"

Having glimpsed the thoughts of its no doubt soon-to-be opponents, the Deep One saw that all of their focus centered around itself, this silent 'person' who they had just spotted as they too were sneaking down the same alleyway, intent on catching someone tonight. And the Deep One had the misfortune of being that someone. Words such as 'catch' and 'question' connected to the senses with which they viewed the interloper. The Deep One had seen those words in other's thoughts far too many times to not know what they meant. Was it safe from scrutiny anywhere?! Even in this lawless hellhole, there were people who wanted to take into custody and study it, as if it knew something they didn't! It was getting frustrated with this constant feeling of being hunted everywhere it went. A fresh wave of frustration washed over the Deep One, and as it was fuming silently, the 'Brickers' began to circle it and take out their weapons: a baseball bat, a crowbar, a shiv made of glass and wood, and a metal pipe respectively. The girl who had been talking began to bounce the head of her crowbar in her free hand, growling:

"You've got one last chance to say somethin'. If you don't, I swear, we'll just assume you're a Gambler or somethin' and pound the truth outta ya!"

That was the last straw. The Deep One flashed a glare at the girl and snarled in a guttural tone. The noise was so inhuman, shock was visible on the Brickers faces as they reappraised their intruder. That moment of pause was just long enough for the Deep One to dart down the path, slithering past the one gang member blocking him with ease. It gained about 15 feet of distance before those goons recovered and began to chase it, their leader shouting:

"Don't just stand there, ya lumps! Chase him!

The Deep One raced through the moonlit alley with its pursuers hot on its tail. It passed by a tin garbage can with the lid still on and decided that it would make a good weapon. Without slowing its pace, the Deep One triggered it's gift, causing the disk to glow with a violet charge before zipping off of the can and straight at the head of the thug who was first in line. The resulting CLANG and a shout if pain was all the notification the Deep One needed to know it had hit its mark. With a glance behind it and a flick of its wrist, the Deep One caused the lid of the trash can to swivel around the stunned goon's head and slam into his back, causing him to stumble and fall face-first into the can that the lid came from. This ended up trapping him with his head in the trash and his feet kicking in the air in futile protest. Anyone else would have laughed, or at least snickered at the sight, but the telepath stayed focused on his remaining three pursuers...no, wait...two. The other girl had stopped pursuit to help her friend out of the trashcan.

Perfect.

That left the woman who had been doing the talking and the other man toting a shiv pursuing the Deep One. Those two were all it needed. Looking up ahead, there were two more intersections before the alley opened up into another street. The Deep One could have kept going or hung a right to take this fight into open ground, but it didn't. It recalled its time in the sea, sliding in and out of rocks, coral, and other tight spaces to avoid predators who used to be much larger than itself. Now, though, it was a much smarter piece of prey than before, and it had an idea that might throw other predators off its scent. Instead of turning right or keeping a straight path, it took the first opportunity to hang a left, going deeper into the alleys.

The Deep One caught sight of something long and thin on the ground up ahead, like a rope of some kind. It grabbed the object telepathically and brought it into its physical grasp, seeing that it was, in fact, an old, sturdy extension cord. The Deep One concealed it and continued to run and turn at every chance it had, winding its way deeper into the alleyways of Detroit as a plan began to take form in its mind.




Bailey was not going to let this hooded slimeball slip out of her hands. The Brickers weren't a gang like the Red Hawks or the Gamblers: They were just a bunch punks who beat up members of the big gangs for messing with innocent people or looking shifty in general. They were the ones the people liked, and they weren't supposed to lose a target this shifty. Sure, that noise had thrown all of them off, but it had just been a show to catch them off guard. Still, whoever this guy was, he was one slippery son of a gun. He also had some voodoo crap to work with from the looks of things. As it was, poor Derek was getting fished out of a trashcan by June, and only Max was left to back Bailey up with his glass knife.

Good thing this guy's just running. She thought.  He seems a lot more interested in staying the hell away from us than kickin' ass.

As Bailey thought that, her target rounded yet another corner and she scowled. She had barely been keeping pace with this worm and he was wriggling way too much for her taste. One last corner and then she would stop and turn around. She and Max turned that corner and found themselves in a clearing; a small pocket in the alleyways where there was more space to move in between buildings. It was littered with scrap metal and garbage, and there where three other openings out of which their target could have slipped, going northeast, northwest, and southwest respectively, but regardless, the intruder had gone completely out of sight. She could hear laboured breathing, though. It was coming from the northeast passage.

Bailey huffed, glaring at each of the other 2 exits in turn before looking at Max. He nodded and reached into his waist pouch. Bailey held her crowbar ready as Max pulled out a patched up flashlight and flicked it on, pointing it at the entrance to the new alleyway. Bailey hesitated for only a moment before rounding the corner, ready to swing. All she saw in the light cast over her shoulder was another trash-lined alleyway. Whoever this guy was, he had gotten away and nothing could be done about it. Wherever he was in this maze of alleyways, he wasn't about to be found, that was for sure. Even Bailey could get lost in those suburban catacombs.

She sighed, staring down the dimly lit alley with a confused expression, wondering just how slippery this guy had to be to have gotten away so quickly, and without being seen, no less. She had managed to keep pace with this guy for the whole chase, so he didn't outrun them. The breathing she had heard wasn't fading in any way as she approached, so this guy hadn't been sneaking away. She had just turned the corner and the alley was as quiet as a graveyard. It didn't add up. Whoever this was, this guy should have been right here. How had hhe gotten away?

The light from behind Bailey dropped away and she heard Max shout. She turned around to see that Max was gone and his flashlight was rolling on the floor. To her horror, she could still hear him struggling, but nobody was anywhere in sight. Then she looked up and saw her friend was hung up on a light fixture on the side of a nearby building. His body was wrapped in a cord of some kind, with a fading violet energy crackling along the length of it just like that trashcan lid from before. Bailey realized too late that she had fallen into a trap as she heard a snarl and the shifting of refuse behind her. She turned to see her former target lunge from the shadows.




It was almost too well executed. The Deep One had rounded the corner and found the open area it needed to lay its trap. With a short distance between the turn and this clearing, the Deep One had just enough time to make it past the opening, duck to the side, and trigger its sense-altering telepathy, tapping into its pursuers minds and allowing it to basically throw the sound of its breathing to a distant passage. They took the bait all too eagerly, running right past where the Deep One had flattened itself against the wall by the entrance to the clearing. From there, it was childishly simply to sneak into an advantageous position in the shadows, telekinetically snake the cord it had picked up around the male while they were distracted, hoist him into the air, and lunge at its final pursuer.

The woman was shocked at first, but quickly attempted to swing her weapon at the Deep One. It caught her by the wrist, prompting her to try and pummel the creature with her free hand. That attack was easily caught as well. It was the third attack that caught tge Deep One off guard; a swift headbutt that sent the Deep One reeling. It howled horrifically, backing away and clutching its forehead, feeling something warm beginning to trickle between its fingers. Pulling its hand away, the Deep One stared at the smear of blue blood in its palm in disbelief. Then a wave of fresh anger washed over it and it clenched its hand into a fist. It was not happy with this. The veil of calm seemed to disappear from the Deep One's mind as it's brain shifted gears, a burning fury rising to the surface. It looked up at its attacker, who was holding her crowbar aloft and ready to take another swing at the Deep One, but she was standing back, staring at it with a look of fear and disgust on her face. The noise it had made from being hit was enough to deter her momentarily. That was just enough time. Using telekinetics, it disarmed the woman with a wave of its hand, sending the crowbar clanging to the ground as it lunged with blinding speed and grabbed the girl by the wrists. Before she could try another headbutt, she had the privilege of watching as eight violet skinned tentacles shot out from underneath this freak's mask and fastened around her neck and head with a grip like a vice. It happened too fast for the poor hoodlum to react at all. She still held her ground, despite the onset of suffocation and the surprising speed of the attack. That complication, though, was easily remedied. With a thought, the discarded crowbar glowed, lifted itself off the ground, and swung into the woman's gut, impacting with a muffled crunch. She doubled over from the blow, giving just enough for the Deep One to force her back against the wall of the nearby building. She began to struggle less, a sign that she was running out of breath. That was when the Deep One sealed the battle by telekinetically swinging the blunt end of the crowbar into the side of one of her knees, causing a muffled crunch to be heard.

The girl reflexively screamed in pain, using the last of her air. Fortunately for her, the Deep One wasn't going to kill her. It let go of her throat and arms and allowed Bailey to collapse to the ground, gasping for breath and clutching her knee. It wasn't dislocated, but it was definitely a painful blow to have suffered. The Deep One, though, wasn't beyond being brutally thorough, and brought down the blunt part of the crowbar on the unprotected side of her chest. With another crunch, some of her ribs fractured and she let out another scream. All that was left to do was leave her here...but the Deep One made one final move. It crouched down where Bailey lay writhing in pain and grabbed her head, lifting it upright like it was looking at a fruit in a market. All the poor girl could do was look this monster in the eye, gasping for breath with tears streaming down her face as two silver and black spheres bored into her soul. Then, with a crackle of psychic lightning, the Deep  One burned a new memory into her brain; the sight of the University of Detroit, and three words:

LEAVE ME BE.

And with that, the Deep One let her go. It straightened up, dropped the crowbar with a loud CLANG and walked away, leaving the girl to writhe and groan with her restrained friend as their former target stepped back into the alleyways.




Not 10 minutes later, the Deep One was staring up at the sign it had been looking for: Beaubien and Mack. The new road curved northwest after meeting Mack street, which continued straight southwest itself. This was the final stretch, the last obstacle between the Deep One and its prize. This time, though, there would be no interruptions. Its shenanigans involving those 'Brickers' were not only evidence of that, but the very thing that would ensure it.

It was a desperate strategy, and it was a little twisted by the end, but the Deep One did accomplish most of what it desired. The whole point had been to lead its pursuers away from where it was going, causing an audible ruckus along the way to attract attention, and actually engaging the thugs deep in the alleys where it would be hard to get to. The resulting noise would lead other predators to that location, where they would find the beaten hoodlums rather than the Deep One. It would be difficult to get to and leave from, and once any other predators had done so, the Deep One would be far enough away that it didn't have to concern itself with them.

The Deep One winced and reached under its hood for the covered forehead wound it had suffered. It was no longer dripping with blood, but the spot was still tender, like a broken bruise. That wound had clouded its judgment, and the final stage of the plan was a little off course as a result. The screams of the last attacker definitely would have stirred other predators, but the time it took maiming her meaninglessly was time slightly wasted. As for the  memory it planted...it didn't know why it did that. It had still been in a bit of a frenzy from the wound, but part of it wanted to do that anyway for some reason...

In one of a few rare moments, the Deep One turned its thoughts towards itself. Why? Why would it give its bait the location it was going to? In truth, it was always curious about humans, despite how vile and disgusting they acted towards it. They seemed so different, one to the next, that the Deep One didn't know what to expect. A rare few had seen its face on accident and treated it with kindness rather than disgust. Maybe it wanted the same thing here. It expected other humans to be fearful of what had happened to those Brickers and not want to run into the Deep One, but if there were some who were brave enough to want to find it...they could also be smart enough to not want a fight or curious just like it was. Finding a like-minded people was an enticing idea, and exceptions could be found to every rule, after all. Then again, any wretch brazen and bloodthirsty enough to just want a fight could follow that trail too. Had laying that message been a conscious effort, it would have taken the stupidity of humans into account as well.

The Deep One snorted aloud, surmising that it was a meaningless gesture, planting that message; an act born of its rush of anger at being wounded. There was no logical objective for it and it wouldn't be an asset in the long run. It would have chastised itself for letting such a vital piece of information slip, but it was focused more on what it would learn. Turning its attention back to the outside world, the Deep One stepped into an alley once again, following the road to its destination and, though it could barely wait to earn more, it grimly wondered what disaster may follow it after such a mistake.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Thu 06 Oct 2016.

A red-tinted point of view watched up from beneath a set of weathered floorboards. Above it people were talking. The drone had been eavesdropping on them for a month, almost it's entire lifespan, although it'd never overhead anything of interest. Not until now, at least.

Oculus didn't maintain many drones within Detroit. The area was quiet for Gifted conflicts, and although criminal struggles were frequent and violent their after-effects never seemed to cause significant waves outwith the city itself- as such any information she could gather tended to have a limited market, and the city's criminal classes were neither able nor inclined to trade services with the Gifted information broker for long. The only reason that this one 'Sentry' had been dispatched was as a lazy way to gather rumours, and to keep a half-disinterested eye on which gang had managed to claw their way to the top of the scrapheap this month.

Imagine her surprise, then, when the group above her mentioned two hot-ticket items. The gossipers talked in hushed superstitious voices, but from the scattered facts Oculus began to fear that she had perhaps underestimated the city's turbulent nature.

The first story was of a lone vigilante. The facts were scarce, but the rumour had left little in his wake save for mangled corpses and stories about a single man dismantling a group named the '162's'. He operated with neither mercy, nor hesitation. What had truly seized Lynne's attention, however, was the statement that a figure dressed in a leather robe-like coat had been seen atop a building- seeming to search the city when the sun had faded and it was at it's darkest. Even as far as Boura similar tall tales had spread, and although stories about rouge vigilantes were popular campfire fodder, fearful whispers about a certain man in particular sent shivers down even Gifted spines. Oculus rarely paid any mind to baseless rumours since they often exaggerated their own facts, or were outright fabrications- yet a small part of her hoped that the same could be said about the gossip surrounding one Prodigal Son. She felt compelled to verify the matter herself.

The second had more substantial evidence to back it up, yet seemed even less credible than the vague 'killer priest' claim. Eyewitnesses had claimed to had seen a band of hooligans named the 'Red Hawks' confronted and defeated by a dark-clad figure, who had acted to defend a group of wharfside hotel guests. The figure was said to have slunk away without a word, and had used some kind of Gift to defeat its foes. Wild rumours, but ones backed up by scientific basis and reliable accounts, had once claimed that a non-human had acquired a Gift. A fact that was generally thought to be impossible, even now. It went without saying that there were no shortage of people who would bend over backwards for any information about the creature- both Namidian, ITSDA, and private ventures wanted to be the first to claim the discovery. The issue was further compounded by rumours that the creatures Gift was said to be particularly powerful, and that fears that the species naturally short lifespan might invalidate any scientific chance at study. Being able to finally track down 'The Deep One' was the information-broker equivalent of winning the lottery, and in the long run would be just as lucrative. Even though she could only operate on a hunch she was willing to follow this lead without reservation.

The gangsters Oculus was ogling seemed to be under the delusion that both Gifted vigilantes were one and the same. That was understandable, given that they'd operated under similar means and with similar Gifts- yet Oculus had dissected enough information to recognise that both aggressors were in fact two individuals. For one thing, half of the criminals had been let off with bruises, and the other half were reduced to meat-jam. For another, both events appeared to have happened at the same time.

The spyball continued to sit and listen. It and it's fellow drones were always operating with the most attention they could muster, but if the small sphere had been capable of listening harder it would have.

---

Soon, Detroit received a delivery.

A cluster of metal spheres flew high over the city, before dipping downward dangerously towards the city's Windsor district. 24 'standard' drones were attached magnetically to the hull of a larger 'carrier' type. A jet of burning red flame shot from behind the delivery drone as it taxied its smaller brethren from Boura faster than they'd be able to manage on their own, and as it broke the dark grey clouds hanging over the city it released it's magnetic hold over them to seed the eyes throughout the city like hailstone. With the last of it's power almost depleted from the rushed trip the carrier shot itself toward Lake St Clair where it knew that it'd be able to crash without drawing attention.

The two-dozen smaller spheres split themselves up, and dropped from the air to quickly find new hiding places. Detroit didn't have the full-scale coverage that Oculus could boast about most of her mental-network, and she knew that she'd have to play it safe if she wanted to track down both potential sources at once. She doubted that the small team would be enough to subdue even one of her targets, much less both, but her goal wasn't to start a war- no- all she had to do was confirm her suspicions. Once she was sure that either target existed she'd be free to make a call, and let someone else handle the dirty business of 'collection'...

Robert Balfour thumbed the 'on' button of his phone, smiling as the screen illuminated the dark backseat of the cab. His eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, and gave a soft laugh as his wife's face shined up at him from the small screen. He had taken that photo of her at the park near their condo, it was a beautiful day out and they had brought a picnic. Glancing up at the rear view mirror, Robert noticed the cabbie was giving him a dirty look. He apologized and quickly shut his phone off, returning the inside of the vehicle to it's original darkness.

They sped toward the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, Robert checked the time on his watch and raised an eyebrow. The LED numbers read 3:18 AM, but it didn't feel that late. Robert chalked it up to not getting much sleep lately, and who could blame him? He had just broke 30 years old, newly married, and a baby on the way, it was safe to say that Robert was under a bit of stress. It didn't help that with his job it required him to leave his wife and unborn child alone for weeks on end. She assured him she would be fine, that she was tough. Robert had chuckled at this, but he still felt uneasy. The cab pulled up to the drop-off parking at the airport and Robert unbuckled his seatbelt. The cabbie was already out of his seat and unloading Robert's suitcase from the trunk. Robert thanked him and handed him a crumpled wad of bills, lazily insisting that he kept the change. He looked up at the entrance doors to the quiet airport and sighed. He thought that this might be a bad idea, that he should be with his family and not here. Waving it off, he walked through the doors and navigated the hallways and lobbies until he arrived at the Westin Hotel. This is where he stayed before work, and he had to say it was some pretty nice digs. He smiled when he saw Marcella leaning on the counter of the reception desk, her attention buried in a thick book. He strode up to the counter with his suitcase in tow and cleared his throat. Marcella jumped a bit as she pulled her head out of the book and looked at him with wide green eyes. Her body language calmed when she saw it was only Robert, and gave a relieved sigh.

"Christ, Bobby."

"My bad, forgot how much you can get into those things."

He nodded to her book and smiled. He always had liked Marcella, she was a short Hispanic woman with early wrinkles stretched across her face. She was in her mid 30's, but she looked much older than that. If Robert thought stress was wearing him out, he had no idea how Marcella felt.

"Yeah, you should try it sometime. Books are good for your brain."

He chuckled, "Maybe I will."

She smiled and moved to the computer on the desk, speaking to him without moving her eyes from the screen as she typed rapid fire into the keyboard.

"Usual setup?"

"Mhm, although I doubt I'll be sleeping much tonight."

She gave him a sideways look, filled with worry.

"Worried about Dahlia?"

He was always worried about Dahlia.

"I just don't like leaving her alone, what if she needs me?"

"Honey, that girl can take care of herself. Four months pregnant ain't gonna stop her from doing just that."

On some level he agreed, especially since Marcella knew what she was talking about. She had to go through her entire pregnancy alone since her husband had ditched her as soon as he had learned he was going to be a father. Marcella raised her son from the beginning all by herself, although not everything was good on her end. How old was her kid now? Fifteen? She had raised him as best as she could, but something inside of him preferred to stray from his mother's teachings. Instead he affiliated himself with one of the many gangs around the city, and Robert knew this was the biggest cause of those wrinkles.

"You're right, you're right. This is just new for me, that's all."

Marcella nodded without saying anything and fished under the counter until she held a keycard up for Robert to take. He slipped it from her fingers and into his pocket.

"You get some good sleep, you hear me? I don't need you passing out up there tomorrow."

He chuckled again and grabbed the handle of his suitcase. He turned and began walking to the hotel's elevator.

"Goodnight, Marcella."

She was already engrossed in her book and waved to his departure, "Night, Bobby."

Robert rode the elevator up to his floor and tromped down the hallway until he found his room. He swiped the keycard, entered the room, and flicked on the light. He liked to think that this was he personal room here, but he knew that wasn't the case. He closed the door behind him and swung his suitcase onto the bed with a grunt. Looking down at his slightly protruding belly, he made a note to get back to the gym as soon as he could. Robert unzipped his suitcase and stared inside. Neatly folded on the top of the rest of his belongings was his pilot's uniform. He looked back down at his stomach and sighed, soon he wouldn't be able to fit into it anymore.

One more thing to worry about.

It was almost picture-perfect; had the sky been blue and speckled with clouds and the streets packed with more cars, the building that filled the Deep One's vision would have been exactly the same as the one in the memory it saw from the wharfside warehouse; it was blocky, brown, made of stone, and it sat next to the street called East Cantfield, whatever that meant, with several flagpoles standing in front of it. The Wayne State University School of Medicine; maybe here, the Deep One could find some answers. It had spent the last few months of its life swimming, hiding, stalking and watching, all to no avail. It had been hunted its whole life, but now that it was in a different body, in a different world, and fighting a different predator, the rules of the game had changed. It needed knowledge on humans, and there was no better place to learn than where they learned as well.

A flicker of movement caught the Deep One's eye and it looked to its right. A small black orb had hovered around the corner of the building, looking down the street in the other direction with a glowing red eye. The Deep One didn't know what it was, but it had seen several others like it on the trip to the University. They were silent eyes, always moving, watching, looking for something. The Deep One's paranoia served it well by assuming they were looking for it, as many things seemed to be doing so. With a wave of its hand, The Deep One made a loose rock that was once part of the sidewalk fly across the street and into an alley, hitting a trash can and causing a ruckus. The orb snapped around to look at the alley, giving the Deep One just enough time to silently creep into the front door without the eyebot noticing.

Inside the front lobby, the Deep One strode further into the university, its eyes unhamprred by the lack of light. It saw an alcove of sorts with a plaque that read 'Help Desk' and walked past it without a second glance. It was either furniture in need of assistance or a place where a person would 'help' it, neither of which intrigued the intrepid creature. It saw a strange structure that caught its attention, though: a three-sided pillar with strange, multicoloured designs on it. The Deep One approached and circled the thing, seeing words like 'bathroom' and 'stairs', as well as strange icons of jagged lines, two sticks in a box that had a round head and one with three points respectively, and a separate box holding a square with three dots in it on a small neck. None of these symbols meant the slightest thing to the Deep One, but one caught its eye: a rectangle that had been split open with several squiggly lines inside.

That was a familiar symbol. A book, obviously. It had seen those before. The girl from so long ago had shown it a few, like the one about a boy who made friends with talking insects and sailed across the ocean in a giant fruit...man, that was a weird story. Regardless, it looked around this face of the pillar and found a square containing those same symbols with words next to them. It was called a 'legend', apparently. The Deep One read that those two sticks with weird heads were the 'cafeteria', the box with the dots was a 'terminal', the jagged lines were 'stairs', and the book was a 'library'.

The Deep One sucked in a breath. Another thing it recognized was the word 'library'. The Deep One had never seen one before. It only knew that it was was a place full of books, where people could learn without disturbance...and this building had one? This abandoned building devoid of people had a library? The Deep One looked excited. Finally, a place where it could learn without being harrassed by predators! A safe haven where no 'agents' or thugs could find it while it looked for more knowledge! It was the perfect place for it, at least for a while, until it had to return to the water. The Deep One looked at this map and saw the library was at the south end of the building on 'floor 3'. It made a mental note of where the stairs where and what directions it would need to turn before it strode into the darkened building, flexing a hand in anticipation.



That was at least 4 or 5 hours ago. As it was now, the Deep One had found the library: a dry, old, gymnasium-sized room lined with shelves that were filled with old books. The place seemed practically untouched: the blinds that had been drawn over the south-facing windows were stiff, the floor was still clean from its last sweeping, and the books were spotless. It was no time before the Deep One threw open the curtains to let the light of the full moon shine in and had begun to gather...no, consume...no, ravenously devour the contents of the library.

Had anyone been present, they would have seen the Deep One blend an introvert's passion and glee at being alone in a room full of books with the mental capacity and speed of an overclocked supercomputer. It's advanced eyes and sophisticated brain allowed it to process pages in seconds and whole books in no time. It started with pamphlets and magazines, but soon the Deep One had begun to put away whole textbooks, the knowledge in them having been stored in the cavernous archive of its mind. With those longer books, as the Deep One continued to read, it began to go from page to page faster as its understanding of the content snowballed. On top of that, it read books on a variety of topics, like language, sciences, geography, and even a little history and math. Hell, it devoted a whole hour to just consume the Encyclopedia.

The experience looked sublime to the gifted creature from the third person. The black orbs that were its eyes which once seemed soulless and cold twinkled with joy as it strode about, sat on the banister of the second floor, and even lay atop free-standing bookshelves, reading. In this place, this sanctified haven of knowledge, the Deep One even felt secure enough to remove its hood and mask and reveal its whole face; a bald, lavender-skinned head with a thick cranium, a pair of large, black eyes in sunken sockets, and a mouth obscured by a beard of cephaloid tendrils, devoid of suckers, but still rippling with strength like a constrictor snake.

This freak of nature who's face alone would chill the bones of any person was now curled up on a windowsill like a child, reading a book on the creatures of Earth's oceans. The pictures of vast, blue stretches of water, beautiful fish, and colourful coral reefs compelled the Deep One to read more slowly as it saw its old home through the eyes of human language and science. It read more and more on dolphins, manta rays, sharks, whales, and even recognized those creatures from its time in the sea. Reading this book was like looking at an old family photo album for the Deep One.

Then it turned another page and froze, staring at the picture that greeted it; a bulbous creature with big eyes, a thin mantle, and eight long, flexible arms. An 'Octopus', it was called. The Deep One gazed at the image in wonder, running its fingers down the length of the page. It was so strange, staring into this looking glass of knowledge of a creature that seemed so familiar...the Deep One suddenly felt as if it were being watched again and its head snapped up to scan the surrounding library. It saw nothing suspicious, but what caught the Deep One's eye was the plaque bolted to the end of the bookshelf a short distance away. It was made of clear plastic, and had a white slip of paper inside that said 'O to Q, by author', whatever that meant. What intrigued the Deep One, though, was its reflection. With the moonlight streaming in and the mostly blank paper behind it, the plaque perfectly reflected the Deep One's image. It stared at its reflection, specifically its face, with its multitude of tendrils, its big, black eyes, and its swollen head, and looked between it and the picture of the octopus in the book before it clicked.

That was me...

Was. Whatever happened to it, the Deep One was no longer a little octopus. But it was once so small and simple that the Deep One couldn't help but feel nostalgic. All it remembered about its past was crawling, floating, hiding, and eating in the great, big, blue ocean. Now, it mostly hid, from new and more terrifying predators than it once had to worry about...come to think of it, aside from its new body and powers, the life of this former cephalopod had scarcely changed; the streets and buildings of cities were its new coral and rocks, air was its new water, and people were its new hunters. In essence, this was nothing truly new to the Deep One. But still...

The Deep One sighed audibly and looked out of the window it sat next to, staring at the moonlot cityscape. In retrospect, it understood the old predators completely: they needed to eat too and the Deep One was made of meat. These new ones...not so much. From what the Deep One had seen in its travels from the girl's house to 'New York', humans had all the food they needed, secure homes, no predators to hide from, and even devices the Deep One didn't understand: things that let them keep in the best physical condition without having to be hunted. They even passed time by wacking spheres around in a variety of ways. So if not for food or sport, then why were they hunting it? What was so important about the Deep One that they absolutely had to find it?

 The Deep One looked down and reached to a small pile of reading material it had amassed next to its spot, pulling out a pamphlet and looking at the glossy cover. This 'book' depicted a quartet of men and women in blue and white uniforms, one wreathed in fire, another armoured with ice, and all of them firing guns at a mass of black-armoured soldiers, who appear to have been felled by the fictional onslought. The headline was made of large, blocky letters coloured with a series of bright primary colours.

Join the ITSDA today!
Push back against the NAMIDIAN WAVE!

There were two terms that the Deep One immediately recognized: 'ITSDA' and 'Namidian'. It had seen them floating in the minds of all the humans that attacked it, but in a few, those words had polarized emotions attached to them. Both were never liked side-by-side, nor were they equally hated: where one was trusted, the other was reviled. It wasn't like the 'normal' hunter/prey relationship the Deep One was used to, where one was chased by the other. It felt more like...competition. These two things were like two alpha males battling over a mate, near as the Deep One could tell, but they were made of multiple people. So it was like a school of alphas against another school of alphas competing for...a school of mates?

Trying to comprehend these two nebulous beings with what little scraps of information it had from its past encounters had gotten the Deep One nowhere thus far. This pamphlet that it was holding was its first clue as to what the Wave and the ITSDA actually where. With a look of trepidation on its alien face, the Deep One slowly opened the flimsy plastic thing it held and settled in for a long read, taking care to absorb and process every word as thoroughly as possible. This was its best source of information on who was hunting it and why, and the Deep One was going to exploit it to the utmost.

The smell of the city was becoming overwhelmingly nauseous, and the waterfront was no better. Prodigal Son stood in an alleyway alone, surrounded by the shadows cast by the dying streetlamps. He pressed his back into the rough concrete and stared at his notepad with a frustrated glare. The two gangs near 8 mile that Natalie had mentioned seemed to be fruitless ventures, he had not found any trace of either the Clowns nor the Gamblers. It was as if they both vanished from the face of the Earth, and Prodigal Son knew that wasn't the case. The only way they would be gone is if he himself removed them, but it still puzzled him greatly that he could not find any hints to their whereabouts. Natalie did say that he had been on the news recently, and he cringed at that. Had he been so careless? Of course, he had not done much of any clean-up after his kills, but who could blame him? He was excited, but that did not excuse sloppiness. Prodigal Son thought about the difficulty finding the Clowns and Gamblers, perhaps they were hiding from him. The thought brought a smile to his face as he slid the notepad into the back pocket of his pants and pushed away from the wall, standing in the light of the streetlamp. He would look harder for them tomorrow night, he had something else he wanted to check out before the sun rose.

After giving up his search for the 8 mile gangs, he decided to visit the waterfront before the night was over to search for any signs of the Red Hawks. Those he found, but it seemed like someone had got to them first. The gang members were scattered and wounded, not putting up much of a fight at all, but what really interested Prodigal Son is what the leader told him about their previous attacker. As Prodigal Son held the young leader Andrew up onto the wall by his throat, he pleaded and cried to let him go, saying that they were done harassing the people of the waterfront because of the other super. The first part he had heard countless times before, slime-balls trying to weasel their way out of judgement, but the last part piqued his interest. Nobody had ever come before Prodigal Son, especially not another super. Andrew told Prodigal Son everything he knew, and was quite compliant with his questions. Afterward, Prodigal Son even thought about sparing Andrew's life because of his usefulness. Did he? Of course not, but wouldn't that have been something? He put the boy to rest peacefully though, and went on his way with a curiosity burning in his heart. That curiosity lead him to where he stood now, a weathered looking warehouse called "Nick's Place." The sun began to peek up over the water, and cast a hazy blue light into the sky. Prodigal Son thought it was peaceful, it signified the end of his vile duties, but he still had things to do. Trudging into the warehouse, he searched for the old man who ran the place.

Prodigal Son was wearing the civilian clothes he had purchased earlier, and they were still looking clean. He had changed and stashed his priest's garb on another nearby rooftop, he needed to be a bit more careful with his appearance since he had some notoriety. He hung his sunglasses by the collar of his shirt, revealing his bright green eyes to the world, but they were looking less and less bright every day. Shifting through the people in the warehouse, he finally spotted who he was searching for. The cane gave him away, as he remembered Andrew's description of the man. Prodigal Son whipped his notepad and pen from the back of his pocket and gripped in his hand as he stepped up to the old man, who seemed to be sporting a fresh bandage on his head.

"Hey, you the owner of this place?"

Nick looked up and furrowed his brow, not recognizing Prodigal Son.

"Yeah, that's me. Don't think I know you, though, you looking for a place to stay?"

"Nah, nothing like that." He holds a hand out to Nick, who takes it and shakes it feebly. "Lucas King, I write for a news website on the internet, mind if I ask you a coupla' questions?"

Nick eyed him with precaution. "About what?"

"This place was attack a couple of nights ago, that right? By a local gang?"

Nick nods slowly, still searching Prodigal Son's face for any more clues to his intentions.

"Well, from what I hear they were dispatched, and not by the police officers that are usually outside, that also true?"

Nick nods again. "Yeah, that's right. Beat all of those punks up in a flash."

"Any idea who?"

"More like what, definitely a Gifted, had some sort of power."

Prodigal Son flips his pad open and holds his pen at the ready. "Can you elaborate?"

"I mean, yeah. Whoever it was was a super, used it to grab their bats and smack em' upside the head. But... Something about em' didn't feel right, like, didn't feel human I guess." He pauses, and glances down at his feet before continuing. "It came up to me and... Well it felt like it looked into my mind, y'know? Took somethin'. Then it left."

A mind reader too? Whomever this was, they bore a strikingly similar ability to Prodigal Son's, but this was new.

"What did this thing take from you?"

"Well, nothing too out of place, just a sight of the water, but I talked to some of the people here and it seems like it took things from them aswell. They all talked about there being similar things, learning, books, one person even saw an intersection."

"An intersection?"

"Yeah, Beaubien and Mack. Right by that old university.

Prodigal Son wrote this down in his notepad, right by the notes from what Andrew had told him earlier. He thought this should be enough to get somewhere, he had an address, and from what the old man said about this mysterious person's interests, he hoped he would find it at the University.

Prodigal Son gave a grin and a nod to Nick. "Thanks, you've been a great help."

"Wait! What website did you say you were from again?"

Prodigal Son didn't turn, he pushed through the people standing in front of the door and hurried out from the disgusting warehouse. He had put himself at risk by being in there, he had just hoped the reward was worth it. Whoever this was was going to answer to Prodigal Son for doing his job for him, and what a poor job they did too, didn't even finish those scumbags off. Once he was sure he was out of sight, he lifted off of the ground and soared up onto the rooftop where his gear was stashed, eager to get answers.




Using a map he had picked up while buying food for Natalie, he maneuvered himself to the intersection of Beaubien and Mack, flying among the clouds so to not be spotted. He tried to limit his flying to the night, harder for anyone to track him that way, but he couldn't wait until then. Rocketing down toward the street at a high speed, he stopped himself just before hitting the concrete. He straightened himself up, dusted his robes off, and folded the map back up. Striding into the University, he did a quick survey of his surroundings. Satisfied that he was clear, he walked inside with caution, readying himself in case the other Gifted tried to ambush him. He crept through the main area, reaching out with his powers to try to detect anyone near him, but no luck. He hadn't had much luck with that in the past, but it never hurt to try. Spotting the sign for the library, he assumed this would be the first place to check from what he had gathered from the cripple back at the waterfront. He followed the signs until he came across the entrance, and ducked inside, unprepared for what he would find.

He saw it curled up on the windowsill, clutching a book in it's hands as Prodigal Son strode slowly toward it. To be honest, he hadn't really expected to find anything here, but he was gleefully surprised at his luck. He began to speak to it, not yet close enough to fully see it's face.

"So, you're the punk who's been causing a mess around my city, huh?" He began to slide his leather gloves off of his hands as he walked, flexing his bare fingers as he slipped the gloves into a random pocket in his robes. "That's right, my city. I was here first, and I plan to finish what I started without any-"

He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw what he was dealing with.

Prodigal Son recoiled at the sight of this... thing. Andrew and the cripple had been right, this thing was no human being, it was an abomination .

"You... What ARE you?!" Prodigal Son was getting angry. The absolute nerve that this repulsive creature thought it could invade Prodigal Son's holy hunting grounds was infuriating. "You're some sort of... Spawn of Satan. You have no right to be here."

Pent up aggression and raw power welled up inside of him as he glared at the creature by the window with balled fists. He knew this thing wasn't going to leave quietly, and he was more than happy to send it back to the pit from which it came.

The Deep One closed the pamphlet and leaned back. Now things made sense...sort of. It was still wrapping its head around the sheer scale of what it was caught up in; the whole world was chasing it? It was a stunning and frankly terrifying thought. From what it had seen, the ITSDA was a group consisting of the physical and intellectual alphas of every 'nation', the largest groups of humans in the world, and these apex predators shared whatever resources they could obtain to accomplish certain goals, all of which were supposed to lead to something called 'peace'.

Peace sounded like a nice concept; a state in which there is no conflict or strife and individuals coexist without competition for resources. The Deep One couldn't think of anything it would enjoy more than peace, other than quiet and solitude...but if the agents that had pursued the Deep One before were any indication, one of the ITSDA's objectives were to capture it...did that mean the Deep One was stopping the achievement of peace? How?

Near as it could tell, the Deep One had done nothing wrong; It didn't live among humans or like humans, so it couldn't disobey the 'laws' people lived by because they didn't apply to it. It only ever made friends with one human, but others reacted to it either aggressively or fearfully. It hadn't committed 'murder'; if anything, it had acted in self-defense against others and any violence it had committed against people was justified to the best of its recollection. The Deep One thought it wasn't that much of a threat to this massive organization of humans, and if anything, it thought the ITSDA's goals were noble and well-founded.

So the Deep One knew it couldn't have been as evil as these 'Namidians', a similar organization of people to the ITSDA, but with conflicting goals and morals that had caused the two sides to become adversaries. They were the ITSDA's main opponent if that pamphlet was to be believed, but...if the Deep One wasn't as evil as the Namidians, why was the ITSDA chasing it? And if it wasn't aligned with the ITSDA, why were Namidians hunting it too? There had to be some common thread to the violence the Deep One had been subjected to every time it encountered a human being...

The Deep One scowled and shook its head, frustrated. For its whole, if brief, life, it could not understand what was causing these humans to be so aggressive towards it. Again, they didn't need to eat it like the Deep One's old predators, so that was off the board. Sure, these cities were the human's 'territories', but so what? They let other people who didn't have homes skulk in alleys while burning paper and breathing in the fumes and they weren't attacked, so what was so wrong with the Deep One being curious and walking around like most other 'normal' people did? At least it didn't smell as bad as those drifters, and if it did, salty water was a step up from roasted leaves and sweat, at least to the Deep One...there had to be something it was missing; something so fundamentally simple, so immediately discerning about itself that people based their whole reactions on that one, simple thing...



That was when he came; a tall human in black clothes, slowly walking towards the Deep One from the library entrance, talking about how it had trespassed on his territory and how he wanted to finish something. The Deep One's head swiveled around and stared at this man, in part because it's fairly juvenile mind wondered how the library's protections had failed it, but mostly because the words he used pierced through the umbrella of logic the Deep One possessed and struck a chord in its primitive brain; it had entered an alpha's territory, and the alpha was going to fight the Deep One out. The Deep One momentarily thought to end this fight peacefully for once, by communicating and trying to tell this human that it wasn't any harm and wanted to be left alone to learn. It created a telepathic link to do so, but all too late, when this man's expression changed upon seeing his target's face in the moonlight.

He suddenly started hurling insults at the Deep One, calling it a 'spawn of Satan', and the Deep One's mind was barraged with this 'Prodigal Son's' thoughts through the link it established, seeing words like 'abomination', 'monster', 'demon', along with all of the accompanying images that the Prodigal Son attached to them. This wave of unbridled hate left the Deep One in a state of shock, seeing itself in such a horrible light through the eyes of a human; its eyes widened, its face slackened as if it's jaw was hanging open, and had the Prodigal Son had any familiarity with such an alien face, he would have seen a clear expression of pain and surprise. Just by seeing its face, this Prodigal Son immediately went from wanting to talk to wanting to kill the Deep One indiscriminately; a transition so swift and shocking that the spawn of the sea sat in its nook, stone still in spite of its screaming primal instincts, staring at its soon-to-be-opponent.
This message was last updated by the player at 04:35, Wed 31 Aug 2016.

A metal eye hovered uncertainly above an alleyway. A flash of motion and a sharp noise had diverted it's attention away from it's post overlooking Wayne State University- although all it had found was a topped-over trash can. The Orb assumed that it'd simply been startled by a stray cat, or something. The Spyball's dim mind registered something that could almost be classified as irritation, before it continued on it's patrol.

It and it's comrades were not having a successful mission. There was a lot of the city to search, and without any solid leads the attention of only a few dozen Sentrys did not provide a great deal of coverage... for now all they were able to do was distantly observe key areas of interest such as the dockside, the university, and the slums. It was a slow game that only rewarded luck and patience, but for now keeping an idle eye open for trouble was the only option available to them...

---

A cheap clamshell phone buzzed across a table, which a heavy hand with scarred knuckled gingerly picked up, and flipped open with exaggerated care.

"Michael's landscaping; Weeds whacked and plots filled."

'Michael' listened to a female voice on the other end of his phoneline talk at some length. The man tore a page out of a notebook and scrawled a few select sentences of text. Eventually the voice finished it's instructions, and the man had an opportunity to speak again.

"I can quote you a price of 200 dollars, per item. Please let us know when the clients are available for service."

The phone clicked shut, and Michaels oversized hands delicately replaced it on the table. The man himself stood up, rolled idle weariness out of two boulder-like shoulders of pure muscle, and instinctively patted his side to feel the reassuring weight of his concealed pistol waiting in it's proper place...

Suffice to say that the man wasn't actually a landscaper. He was probably also being paid several orders of magnitude more for his work than he'd quoted over the phone. Michael was a hitman of some skill, and as violence was one of the few industries that had thrived under Detroit's various economic declines he never found himself out of work for very long... This job, however, was going to be something special. He fished a second cheaply disposable phone out from the hip pocket of his worn jeans, and auto-dialled a contact simply marked 'Contractors'.

"Jim. Yeah... it's me... Listen! I hav'a job that I could use a few extra hands on. Tell the boys to be ready at short notice."

Michael had never met a Gifted in the flesh before, much less 'worked with' one, but he knew for a fact that they were dangerous. Furthermore, his newly-accepted contract would force him to act at short notice, and for one of his 'clients' he was even obliged to attempt a kidnapping... Needless to say that he was charging his highest rates for this job.

With so much risk and reward on the table he felt that it would only be prudent to bring some more muscle into his own side. Jim ran a small group of unscrupulousness individuals that he had worked with in the past, which he was sure would prove themselves useful.

Their mission was simple: the moment that 'Oculus' found confirmation of her targets Michael would be contacted, and he would in turn contact his own assistants. He would be paid on termination of his clients, as per usual.

The night air was still and silent. The only noises that were present was the occasional whistling of wind through the streets and the rustling of old newspaper as it cascaded down the road. Even for a cyclopean sphere of metal, this place was a bore. One of Oculus' familiars was floating atop the roofs of buildings, getting a good look at the streets below. Whether or not it could specifically feel 'bored' was something of a mystery, but the lack of visual stimulation was definitely taking some kind of toll on the little sphere. It had begun moving and acting abstractly, like increasing its elevation, changing vision types, even looking at an area upside-down (an idea it tried once and discarded), all to try and find its targets. It was going to give up on this area and move on when…

BOOM!

A section of the south wall of the nearby university's 3rd floor exploded violently, raining shards of glass and stone on the adjacent rooftop. The little sphere swivelled 180-degrees, staring at the sudden anomaly with razor-sharp focus. Through the clouds of dust and glass, a black-clad shape could be seen tumbling onto the adjacent roof from the hole in the wall almost 10 meters above it, screeching horrifically. It was nothing like a person's scream; this sounded ungodly even to the mechanical sphere. Through the hole in the university building, another black clothed figure stepped into view, although this one was definitely human.

Oculus' sphere hovered closer, using the various outcroppings on the roof as cover and watching as the human in this engagement hovered from the hole in the wall down to the roof his target was on, which was some violet-skinned, tentacle-faced freak of nature in black, ragged robes. The orb felt something close to excitement as its mission parameters were finally met after such a long period of monotony and deprivation of interesting input. Fulfilling its role, Oculus' little spy settled among the chimneys nearby and watched the battle unfold.


The world was spinning, its head was hurting, and the Deep One wasn’t fond of either. It was on its side, aching from the unseen impact this human had suddenly caused and jarred from the rough landing on the hard ground. All that was clear was that a fight was underway and the prize was living another day. The Deep One managed to push itself onto its knees and elbows, looking up and around in a daze at the rooftop strewn with stone chunks and glass shards...but no paper. No leather. It turned its head sharply to look at the university, where it saw the Prodigal Son floating down from the hole in the wall about 8 feet above the Deep One, and he had no scraps of leather or paper on him either.

Relief washed over the Deep One. On instinct, it had shoved the stack of books with its gift to get all of the reading material out of the way of the attack it had barely sensed coming. The Deep One wanted to keep those books safe from damage in whatever scuffle would have happened in that library. Fortunately, no such fight was going to happen in there now because both combatants had sailed out the window. Unfortunately, the Deep One was flat-footed and disoriented whilst facing an opponent who it could tell, even without telepathy, was looking to kill it indiscriminately.

Suddenly, the Deep One began to rise from the ground. It was surprised, looking down at itself as it began to float from its position on the ground into the air, hands and legs outstretched. For a few moments, the cephalopod marvelled at this anomaly. Then the Deep One saw the Prodigal Son had his arm extended with an open hand towards it and realized he had it right in his claws. Panic set in as the Deep One felt its limbs straighten and get pinned to his sides. It began to struggle against its invisible bonds, screeching as the Prodigal Son slowly walked towards it, growling:

“Scream all you want, demon. You'll get no mercy from me!”

Slowly closing his hand, the Prodigal Son's telegraphic grip began to tighten, squeezing the air out of the Deep One's lungs. Losing air and being unable to move, the creature's primal brain screamed in protest as it shrieked, its struggles intensifying as it stared at its predator, wide-eyed with terror. In a panic, the Deep One used what concentration it had left to use the connection it had made with this human's mind and looked into his thoughts, trying to see how he was crushing the Deep One without even touching it.

...his ‘gift’?

In this moment of terror, a shard of curiosity took hold of the Deep One. What was this ‘gift’ that this human had? It took hardly any probing to see what the Prodigal Son had done with his powers; moved people, himself, and objects, often in violent ways. Feeling around the section of the Prodigal Son's psyche that controlled this power, it felt familiar. It almost felt like the Deep One was sifting around inside of its own head...did they have the same powers? Could the Deep One do what this Prodigal Son did?

The Prodigal Son, meanwhile, was staring this monstrosity in its black, wide eyes when he felt a chill go up his spine. It felt like something was watching him right over his shoulder and breathing down his neck. Taking a moment, he glanced away from his captured prey to look behind him, but he saw nothing. Then he remembered old Nick's description of this demon's abilities and realized it was trying to pierce through his mind. More to himself than his opponent, the Prodigal Son thought:

Keep trying, hellspawn. God’s on my side and His will protects the faithful. Your powers are nothing!

And with that, his grip tightened like a vice, forcing a sick choking sound out of the Deep One. Suddenly, the creature's vision started to blur and its body felt weak. It was running out of air, and if those first-aid booklets it had read meant anything, unconsciousness was imminent. If it was going to do anything, it was now. Reaching out with what power it could summon, several small tendrils of violet lightning flared out of the Deep One's immobile hands to touch the Prodigal Son. Feeling nothing from them, the human looked at the pitiful attempt at what he believed was an attack and laughed, taunting his opponent:

“You’ve got nothing on me, demon! Now, I’ll do us all a favour and return you to your master in the ab-”

“SCREEEEEEEEAAAAA!!!!”

With a bloodcurdling scream and a surge of violet light in its eyes the Deep One threw every ounce of power its mind could muster at the crusader that held it. The Prodigal Son was shoved with the force of a car crash and sent flying into the wall of the university behind him. Brickwork cracked and crumbled as the Prodigal Son was sent through the wall and tumbling into an abandoned classroom, crashing into desks and chairs as he tumbled to a halt against the far wall. Having lost focus on his target, the grip on the Deep One vanished and it fell to the ground on one knee, gasping in the air that its foe had deprived it of.

Taking a moment to catch its breath, the Deep One's mind raced. It could move people! It had never even occurred to it to try that! How it hadn’t thought of that already was a mystery; it had always thought that all those times it sat in an alley's shadows while making tin cans dance around a gaggle of spooked goons was time wasted, but it never crossed its mind to just lift them and shove each one into trash cans. For such a keen creature, the Deep One often felt like it was unbelievably dim. It never wanted to try things like that before for fear it would give itself even lesser standing among humans. Still, looking at where that had gotten it, it didn’t really seem to matter.

Standing up in full, the Deep One looked at the groaning, slowly recovering mass that called itself the Prodigal Son, and in one of few moments in its life, an unbridled hate began to swell in its chest for this man. As tendrils of telekinetic lightning flared from its hands to crackle across the shards of brick and glass on the ground, the word 'demon' kept on running through the Deep One's head, along all the evil thoughts and images that were attached to it; things the Deep One had never even thought to do, things it would never, ever do, and yet from one look at its face, this human wanted to kill it for these crimes it didn't commit. Every other time it was attacked for seemingly no reason, the Deep One had simply hid and ran. It wanted to show that it wanted to be left alone, that it didn't care about humans in the slightest and wanted to leave these predators in peace.

But for first time in its life, in the face of a man who only saw a monster, it didn't want to disappoint.


The Prodigal Son crawled to his feet, groaning. He should have been that attack coming but his pride had gotten the better of him for a crucial moment and he did not feel good about it. He had barely enough time to blast the wall out from behind him before he was sent tumbling through the resulting hole.

That damn demon. It’s going to pay…

Using a desk to help him stand, the Prodigal Son looked up and through the newly formed hole in the wall and saw his hellish foe straightening up as well, violet lighting trailing off its body. This disgusting creature raised one of its hands, and with it, the small shards of stone and glass scattered about the rooftop around it rose as well, trimmed with a violet aura. Shaken from the first attack, the Prodigal Son couldn't out-attack the monster now. So instead, as the demon threw its hand forward to start the onslaught of stone and glass, the Prodigal Son used his gift to pull two desks towards him and turned their tops toward his opponent. Hunkering down behind them, the storm of debris thudded against the Prodigal Son’s improvised shield, stones leaving dents and glass piercing the wooden tabletops to stick out the other side.

When the brief attack subsided, the Prodigal Son mentally shoved his shields with a roar, launching them towards his target before running and throwing himself with his fist drawn back. The demon batted the two desks aside with bolts of lightning, but upon seeing the human missile approaching it, it ducked under the Prodigal Son's charge, letting him pass over it. Having missed, the Prodigal Son soared into the air beyond, flying 50 feet out and up before stopping and turning around. The demon was a speck below him now, but no less dangerous as he saw glints of light fast approaching him. The Prodigal Son willed an invisible wall into existence in front of him, blocking the shards of glass and chunks of stone that were thrown at him whilst hurling a missile of telekinetic power back at the monster. Ceasing its attack, the tiny demon leaped away before a crater formed where it was standing a few moments ago. Not letting up, Prodigal Son threw more blasts of invisible force at the spawn below, forcing it to dance about the rooftop as holes were hammered thunderously into the concrete roof. As fun as it was, the Prodigal Son had a job to do. Wreathing himself in a shell of solid willpower, the modern paladin rocketed earthward to crash straight into his demonic opponent, roaring:

“TASTE GOD’S WRATH!!!”

In the few seconds before impact, all the Prodigal Son could see was the demon running its foul lightning through the shattered stone on the roof around it before-

BOOM!

With a crushing impact, the Prodigal Son crashed into the rooftop, cracking the already shattered concrete floor into gravel and kicking up finer particles of dust into a smoky cloud. Though his vision was impaired, the Prodigal Son could feel his hand wrapped around something thin, cold and round; the demon's neck, no doubt. With a savage grin, he forced the weight of his mind onto the brittle thing, feeling it twist and crack underneath his-

FWOOOOOSH!

In an instant, The Prodigal Son was blasted full in the face by a fountain of cold water. Choking and sputtering, he stumbled back, staring at the crater her had left. Wiping the water out of his eyes, he saw a broken copper pipe, bent and ruptured like a flimsy tin can and spewing water. Needless to say, the Prodgal Son was both confused and further enraged.

What?! Where’d that hellspawn go?!

A hum rippled through the air from behind him, and the Prodigal Son turned around to see the demon hovering a few feet away from the rooftop with a haze of violet energy outlining its body. Its hands were outstretched to either side, with oscillating tethers of lightning trailing back to the roof the Prodigal Son was standing on, to his immediate left and right. Following them with his eyes, Prodigal Son saw that they were attached to large, mostly solid blocks of concrete on either side of him. Sadly, he realized his predicament just as the demon brought its hands together in a clapping gesture in front of it.

Dammit.

CRACK!

The sound of stone on stone thundered through the sky as the two slabs of concrete slammed into each other, crushing the Prodigal Son between them. The sound echoed on the wind for a few seconds before a hush fell over the dead city. The Deep One cut through the silence with an audible sigh. That was that, it supposed. It also took a moment to marvel at itself, hovering 3 stories off the ground with the power of its mind alone. It really had to experiment a little with its abilities if it was going to fend off attackers like this in the future. Being able to just fly up and away from trouble would completely change its means of travel. It was better than flicking stray cigarette butts and pebbles around to just freak out whoever was chasing it until they were sufficiently distracted.

The Deep One suddenly shuddered slightly, feeling a crawling sensation across its skin. It was a sign he had learned to read since he began venturing to land; its skin was drying out. Barring the fact that it had been walking for the better part of a couple of hours trying to get to the university, the Deep One also had worked up a sweat trying to contend with the two ambushes it had suffered from. Needless to say, it had sufficiently taxed itself of precious hydration, and though its clothes were woven to retain moisture from the last body of water it was in, it needed to refill. Fortunately for the Deep One, there was a nice, clean spring of water right next to where it had murdered his most recent opponent...almost too clean of a spring...

...shouldn’t there be blood dripping out from between the rocks?


“RAAAAAAGH!!!!”

With a roar, the Prodigal Son’s gift erupted like a bomb, shattering the cold, dark cocoon he was encased in and returning to the twilit rooftop. Stone flew in every direction like shrapnel while he landed in a pool of water, catching the breath he had held in order to survive in that prison.

That was way too close.

When he saw the two slabs of concrete closing in, the Prodigal Son desperately attempted to erect a barrier at the last second. It didn’t have time to fully form, but he managed to create a small pocket for him to fit in while he gathered the power to break out, like an avocado if it’s pit was made of seething, divine hatred. There was only so much air trapped with him, though, so it was fast-thinking and a stupid amount of good luck that he managed to summon the power to break free.

Or it was Him, giving you one more chance. C’mon, Quinn, make the Father proud!

Looking up and around, the Prodigal Son locked eyes with the demon that had almost killed him, which was still hovering where he had last saw it, and it stared back with shock writ large on its alien face. It tried to gather some more stones with its infernal magic, but the Prodigal Son didn’t give it the chance. Thrusting his fist out, his gift projected a heavy punch straight into the stomach of the demon, which doubled over with a grunt. The Prodigal Son didn’t let up, swinging with right hooks, another few jabs, an uppercut or two, and finally, a solid punch to the face. His gift replicated every blow, leaving the demon stuck in midair as invisible attacks beat its torso and head, until a final blow sent the creature tumbling through the air to the opposite rooftop, landing with a heavy thud. Leaping using his gift, the Prodigal Son landed right next to the limp, beaten creature, grabbing it by the throat before hoisting it into the air in front of him. Spitting out a glob of blood that had slowly bloomed in his mouth, the Prodigal Son snarled.

“Like I said, you’ve met your match, scum.”

The demon croaked, trying to breathe. Its head was covered in welts and blue-violet bruises and there was some blue blood trickling over the Prodigal Son’s hand. Its chest was probably no better off. It could barely open its eyes and look at its opponent, some sparks of its power still flickering across its face and body. The Prodigal Son sneered, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. This was the first time he fought an actual demon. He thought they’d be tougher.

I thought this would be a challenge, but it feels more like a dangerous joke...maybe I could let this thing go...

He grunted, pushing the thought out of his mind. Duty was duty, and he didn’t want to disappoint the almighty Father. He had to kill it, no matter how pitiful the demon was. Summoning his gift, he wrapped the creature’s throat with his mind’s power, preparing to strangle it to death. Without a shred of pity for the monster, he began to squeeze just as he felt something warm behind him. His shadow became visible on the demon, illuminated by a balmy, golden light. Quinn raised an eyebrow and relaxed his grip, confused. Turning around, though, he saw a sight he swore never to forget;

Floating in the air behind the two of them was a glowing, robed man. The robes were clean and tan-coloured, and behind him was a great sphere of light, much like the sun. The light was so bright that it hid most of the man’s features, but the Prodigal Son could make out a white beard. His hands, though wrinkled and aged, looked strong. In fact, the man seemed to radiate power as much as he did light. There was a seemingly divine aura about him that the Prodigal Son couldn’t place until the man spoke.

“Quinn Price.”

The Prodigal Son froze, staring.

“How did...nobody knows my name anymore.”

The man chuckled.

“I remember all of my children, Quinn. And I am proud of the most pious among them. Especially you.”

Quinn suddenly realised who this was, the shock rippling through his body. He numbly released the demon, and the two of them crumpled to the ground. Quinn was on his knees, his head bowed, and his heart hammering. The fight prior all but forgotten, Quinn stammered:

“F-Father, forgive me! I didn’t know it was you! I was-”

“You are forgiven.”

Looking up, Quinn stared, awed at the majesty of the holy Father before him. If anything, God’s smile grew and moved to the rooftop, landing on it and kneeling so he could put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

“You have done very well in my name, Quinn. You’ve saved innocent lives and sent those sinful ones to be judged by the heavens. You have my thanks.”

Despite his slight fear, Quinn’s heart welled up with pride. To have God himself thank you for your piety was no compliment to take lightly. It was almost too much to take. Bowing his head again, unable to look into the Lord’s eyes, he stammered:

“T-thank you, Father. I-I don’t deserve such praise.”

“True. You’ve gone against one of my commandments, ‘thou shalt not kill’, and have claimed to do so in my name.. But still, in doing so, you’ve served the highest good; you’ve punished the wicked for their deeds here on earth and spared the faithful from their evil. Even if you’ve gone against my commandments, it cannot be denied that you’ve ultimately done a service not just to me, but to all mankind.”

Now Quinn was at a loss for words.

God himsef is forgoing one of his commandments and forgiving me? Am I really worth that much?

“Father...words cannot describe my thanks...”

Lowering his head even further, Quinn couldn’t think of any other way to show his gratitude. God remained silent. Silent for a long while...Quinn couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.

“Is there something wrong, father?”

Still no response. Looking up, Quinn asked again:

“Fathe-?”

He froze, staring in shock. God stood before him, fading away into black smoke and tendrils of violet lightning. His golden aura faded, the incredible being was suddenly nothing but smoke on the wind. Quinn sat there, slack-jawed and horrified. Wracking his brain for an explanation, he remembered the demon he had fought and stood, turning around. The spot where he had dropped the demon was vacant, save for a splatter of blue blood.

“WHAT?!”

Rushing to the edge of the rooftop, he looked down at the street, his head roving left and right as he tried to find his quarry. Seeing no trace, the Prodigal Son stamped and growled, enraged. Then he realized; the wounded demon, God appearing out of nowhere, fading into that same violet lightning the demon used, and then the demon was gone...

It was an illusion; the whole thing had been faked. The demon had plucked the image of God from the Prodigal Son’s head with its magic and created a beautiful facade long enough to slither back to the nearest hole it came from. The Prodigal Son grit his teeth, fury welling up inside of him, ashamed and enraged that he’d been tricked, and by a bruised, bleeding excuse for a demon too. Furious, the Prodigal Son threw his head back and roared. The sound was so furious, even those dead in Detroit could hear his anger, and know to be afraid.


The door to Nick’s Place opened and Nick walked out, grumbling.

“What is it, Judy?”

Then he stopped, taking in the sight. She had to use a crutch made from recycled PVC to stand, but Judy, the police officer who was on duty when the Red Hawks attacked a few nights ago, insisted on taking the late night watch. She was standing up from her usual seat outside of the door, pointing her gun at someone on the ground. The person in front of her was unmistakable; it was the person who had saved them. The black clothes, the height, everything. Nick didn’t need to see his face, if only because the weird vibe he gave off was powerful enough. Looking up at Judy, Nick asked:

“What-?”

“I have no clue. He literally hovered over from the street, all glowing an’ sh*t and just collapsed right here. I think it’s unconscious.”

“It?”

Nick couldn't contain his curiosity at Judy's choice of pronoun. He moved next to her and sucked in a breath. Their hero’s mask and hood was gone, revealing the monstrosity beneath; a face full in tentacles and coloured violet, like something out of a Pirates of the Carribean movie, covered in bruises and cuts and bleeding blue. Its whole body was limp, and its chest was barely rising and falling. It was obvious it had been beaten pretty badly. Nick dropped to one knee and rolled the thing onto its back, watching as every tentacle moved. This was real. Real nasty. Judy shook her head.

“I guess that explains its name.”

Nick looked up.

“Eh? Its name?”

“Yeah, I guess I forgot to say. When it saved us a few nights ago, I asked for its name. It didn't speak; it was almost like it just put the words in my head, but it said it was called ‘The Deep One’ and left.”

Nick looked back down at the Deep One, which was unconscious and helpless now. Grunting, he stood back up and walked back through the door, looking around inside of his warehouse and picking out the strongest looking guy still awake.

“You! Get out here! We got another guest. I need some help getting him in.”

Judy, still pointing her gun at the thing on the ground in front of her, did a double take.

“What?! What are you doing?!”

“Repayin’ a debt.”


In the shadows of a neaby alleyway, a faint red light was visible, watching as an old man and a disgusted younger looking man threw the Deep One’s arms across their shoulders and dragged it into Nick’s Place. Oculus’ familiar, the same one that saw the Deep One fight against the Prodigal Son, blinked as the door to Nick’s Place closed. It saw that others of its kind had shown up to watch the fight between the two gifted, but when the Prodigal Son turned around and started talking to air, the cephalopod used its gift on itself to make a quick escape, levitating at high speeds through the streets. This particular eye had decided to follow, judging the Deep One to be the more interesting of the two sights.

It could only hope, though. With no line of sight and a location full of paranoid people to spy on, the little sphere could only calculate just how it could keep an eye on its target now...

-= NON-CANON BATTLE POST =-

Across the dark Detroit skyline Oculus's familiars continued their subtle but tireless work. The dozen eyes fanned over the worn-out city's night skyline, but no matter where they looked their prey simply seemed untraceable. Oculus had known that it would be a long job, but she couldn't help but to chide herself for only deploying a handful of her sentry's for such high-profile targets.... where the hell were they?! It was going to take months to find her targets in a city this large!

...Inside Wayne State's library, an altogether different scene was playing out...

"Any last words, abomination?!"

Prodigal Son announced himself. Righteous and slightly unhinged fury all but burned from the vigilante as he leveled an accusing finger at the inhuman Deep One. Deep one looked at the man with a mixture of surprise and fear, unsure of what to make of this sudden new development; The Gifted animal's telepathy brushed out to touch his opponents mind, and made an instant appraisal that it was dealing with a exceptionally dangerous predator. The book in deep one's hand quietly slid from it's fingers, and it's natural instincts took over as it made to quietly and slowly step away from the threat. In the wild fighting predators only attracted more danger and left you injured, and so every survival instinct Deep One possessed urged him to make a quiet escape without resorting to conflict. It began to inch towards the darkest corner of the unlit room, while it's blue blood surged as the color and texture of it's skin beneath it's wet-suit involuntarily tried to match it's surroundings.

Quinn's fury was intense, as were his delusions, but he wasn't a fool. The shocked manner in which the creature stared at him, and the strange- almost animistic- way that it shied non-threateningly away from him sent alarm bells howling through his thoughts. The monstrosity he'd found couldn't be anything but a demon, he was sure, but it wasn't behaving in the way that he'd expected...
He'd never encountered a literal demon before, although after he'd found his new path he had become absolutely convinced that they did exist. His bible claimed as much, after all. He had anticipated more malice... most of the scum he exterminated were violent and seeping with sin, but the worst that his intuition was able to sense from the hooded figure was a high degree of caution. Looking at Deep One's monstrous form sent shivers of unnatural revulsion down Quinn's spine, but his hatred seemed to be unaccountably absent.

"What kind of unnatural creature are you?!"
Son demanded. He needed to know why the 'demon' wasn't meeting his expectations. Deep One continued to slowly back away, desperately trying to put as much distance between itself and its 'predator' as possible without making any startling movements.
"Answer me! Monster!"

Deep One's path almost took it to the edge of a bookshelf, where it intended to break Son's line of sight and sprint a hasty escape. Fury flared up again in Quinn as he was seemingly ignored yet again, and he started to take threatening steps towards his target. He opened his mouth to shout out another warning, but the second that the distance between the two began to close Deep One recoiled in visible panic- only to surge forwards and try to deter Prodigal Son with a burst of it's 'Nightmare Telepathy'!
“Nya-aARGHH!!!-”
For a brief but startling moment the vigilante felt as though he were consumed by the horrors of his own past!- years of abuse from Quinn's mother, his moral failures, and years of prison life, all came flooding back to him all at once! Quinn's nerve wavered and for a moment as he felt sure that he was going to be overcome- but he dug deep- and forced himself to act! With a scream of defiance he threw his full telekinetic strength at his attacker!

There was a shatter of glass as the Deep One was thrown from its feet and out the library window! Most of the library in Quinn's line of sight followed him. The 'holy' killer took a few pants of breath, and shook his head to clear it of the suppressed thoughts that the Deep One had pulled to the surface. Once he'd recollected himself he glared to the hole he's blasted open and shouted a furious warning into Detroit's night sky.
"THAT WAS A MISTAKE!!"
Suddenly the Prodigal Son could feel the anger he'd missed earlier.

...The sound of shattering glass, and Quinn's threat, carried out over the city's rooftops. Not far away a red eye swiveled it's unblinking point of view directly onto Wayne State University...

---

Deep One's thoughts were conflicted and confused by panic! It was actively having to suppress it's natural instincts from overtaking the sentient intelligence that had been picked up alongside it's other Gifts. Deep One tried to think straight, and forced itself to it's feet. It had landed a floor beneath the window, and even despite being able to soften it's fall with it's telekinetic abilities Deep One's wetsuit was still covered in slashes sustained during it's abrupt exit.

Both it's instincts and it's intelligence told it the same thing, though; that the stranger that had confronted it in the building would kill without a moments hesitation- the attack he'd just thrown was proof of that. Deep One forced itself to stand, and ignored it's instincts which demanded that it immediately sprint off without a moments hesitation. If it wanted to survive it was going to have to be smarter than that. Deep One's eyes saw a dark and looming alleyway tucked between two buildings, and remembering their tight and twisting design from it's previous experience exploring Detroit the creature made it's choice...

A mere moment later Prodigal Sons boots hammered into the ground where Deep One had landed, and the man himself looked for his missing target with a sneer. A flicker of motion caught his eye as it darted into a nearby alley- and with a irate tut of disappointment the vigilante chased after it! Quinn had hoped that he'd be able to put a quick end to this, but that obviously wasn't going to be the case!

With a mental shunt of his Gifts Quinn chased after his monster! He tore through the alleyways mouth with a billow of displaced wind only to find that the Deep One had stayed a step ahead and taken another turn through the twisting backstreets. The man pursued with another blast of force that dented trashcans and tossed surrounding dumpsters off their feet!
Firing himself around a corner he was greeted to another unrewarding sight... there was still no trace of the Deep One, but he'd come just in time to spot a manhole cover rattling back into place on the alley floor! The demon must have gone to ground!

"You won't escape your judgement!"

Quinn grasped the air between himself and the manhole cover and threw his arm back wildly. The manhole was wrenched violently from the earth and sent skittering across the ground to embed itself in a pile of loose garage bags nearby. He caught himself shouting, but found it difficult to calm himself- wrath was a deadly sin, but his darkest and most private thoughts had been turned against him so it was righteous... right? Quinn rethought, and forced himself to think calmly with a supreme force of willpower.

He stared down at the open manhole with a cleared mind. His thoughts instantly warned him that something was wrong. There was no sound coming from beneath him; no sound of wet hands handling ladder rungs, no grunts of pain from his nearby injured prey, no splash of fetid sewer water beneath Deep One's retreating feet... nothing.

He turned his eyes upwards from the manhole, and up again, and saw the Deep One staring at him from above; Perched on a half-climb above an apartments fire-escape ladder. The whole scene was thick with silence, broken only by the quiet patter of dripping blue-blood that had betrayed Deep One's trick.
The silence broke almost instantly as Quinn took the initiative! The entire fire escape rumbled under Deep One's feet as the vigilantes telekinetic force tried to tear it's footing out from under it! Deep One desperately climbed away from the tortured metal screeching out of shape under it!
With a heave of effort the Gifted animal cleared the last few rungs from it's escape ladder and made it onto the roof, only moments before the entire roof shook as the bolts securing the fire escape warped and shot from their anchors like bullets- and the entire abused stairway of rusted metal finally fell away with an almighty crash!

Deep One wanted to roll over and rest- it's injuries had only been aggravated by it's escape, but it knew fully well that it couldn't. It's predator was right behind it, and if it stopped moving now it might never move again...

Deep One forced it's feet underneath itself again, and forced itself to stagger to the building's edge. The vigilante would be hot on it's trail, and it's natural instincts knew that it's best chance to survive was to break away from Prodigal Son's line of sight and make it's escape. The hunter was right behind it, and if it wanted to survive it was going to have to move! Now!

As The Deep One's feet toed the ledge of the far side of the building it's eyes caught another- from a short distance away a red-eyed sphere was hovering and watching the animal with incredibly focused attention. Deep One's psychic tendrils lanced out as it tried to get a measure of this new opponents mind, only to find that it hardly possessed one at all. There was a hint of a deeper and infinitely vaster intelligence lurking behind the little eye's mind, but the object itself hardly possessed any more intelligence than any of the other flying or scuttling vermin that seemed to infest the city's dilapidated streets. Deep One decided that the newcomers mind was passive and inconsequential, and so ignored it to jump into an almost abandoned car-lot that lay between itself and it's next most promising route for escape. Once again it's animal instincts demanded it's attention, and it had to suppress it's urges and attempt to out-think it's opponent...

Moments later, and with a billow of his leather priests coat, Prodigal Son found his way onto the roof- he had propelled himself there with a Gift assisted jump. The mans expression grimaced as he saw that his prey had already moved on and remained a single step ahead of him- still, he wasn't about to surrender his chase so easily! The man cast eyes about for any clue which might betray his preys position, but only found a single red eye hovering at the roofs edge watching him with undivided interest. The same eye that Deep One had spotted and ignored only a moment earlier.
"I don't have the time to spare on you, devil!"
The vigilante crushed the sphere without a second thought- he wasn't going to take the risk that it was a threat, and his mind was too focused on it's current target to be divided away to chase another anomaly.
As he destroyed Oculus's familiar he caught something in the corner of his eye; a very slight shift of shadows among a nearby car-park at the foot of his building prickled his intuition, and without a second to waste he pursued after his prey! Prodigal Son had spent enough time catching up- and he promised himself and his lord that he was about to put this fight to a quick end!

---

The Deep One slunk and darted between the numerous shadows that the concrete street-level square offered. In a time gone by the Detroit car-park might have been filled with shiny new Ford and Chrysler automobiles- but now whatever vehicles remained were hardly functional wrecks, which were hardly lit by the sparse and thin lights which still remained working on the city's streets.

Deep one's retreat was suddenly arrested as a motorcycle sailed over it's head and crashed into pieces on the lots far wall. A crushed tire would have even scythed the octopus's head off if it's reactions hadn't flinched it out the way with a drunken and boneless stagger!

"I'm finished chasing you! Why don't you stand and fight- maybe I'll even let you die with a shred of decency!"

Quinn raised his hand to his victim, and to Deep One's horror it's whole body began to feel a pull of irresistible force towards it's aggressor! The animal tried to resist yet again, although it's attempts to flee only set it's feet dragging and kicking uselessly across the ground as the distance between the two Gifted closed with inescapable certainty!
"Make your peace hellspawn! Maybe our Lord will spare you mercy, but I will no-" *Ea-ARRRGHHHHHHHH!!!*
Backed into a corner, Deep One''s intelligent and instinctive thoughts finally aligned- it was going to have to fight it's way out! Deep One's flight-or-fight instincts flipped, and with a mental battlecry that Quinn felt rather than heard the creature finally lashed out offensively with it's own Gift!
The air between the two Telekineticists suddenly and violently blurred with clashing power! Slashes of wild and misdirected energy tore gouges out from the concrete between them, sparks flew as a dark lightbulb shattered above them, and the burnt out cars nearest to them were rocked off their suspension and sent flying backwards like bowling pins!
Deep One's thoughts changed tone as it recalled it's own cold and predatory mind, while Prodigal Son focused his righteous fury into a holy weapon to strike down the great adversary before him!

Uncontrollable strength radiated out from between the two as they fought for supremacy! The air distorted unusually, and then the Deep One grunted in pain as it was taken by a stray bolt of kinetic force to the chest and thrown savagely to the far side of the lot! The Gifted creature was reduced to a bonelessly flailing ragdoll as it crashed against an ancient 1966 Ford Mustang with enough force to tear it in half!
Quinn opened his mouth to shout out a litanous battlecry as he prepared to finish the job, but all that escaped was a shrill scream of pain as a violet bolt of lightning escaped his downed victim and struck his leather coat! The Prodigal Son too fell, as his nervous system fried numb, his clothed arm caught fire where it had been struck, and his nose filled with a disturbing scent of overdone barbecue!

Both Gifted struggled on the ground as they tried, and largely failed, to find their feet. Their Gifts had both protected them from a violent death, but they were both in a critical condition. Quinn was badly burned, whilst the labored and wet heaves of breath emitting from the Deep One suggested that it had surely broken something vital. After a too-long time they were finally able to stand and face one another, and the air crackled with potential as they gathered their Gifts to clash against one another other yet again...

"They're wounded! Take-em down! -The one in the mask is worth triple alive!"

Hi-beams flashed along the car park on all sides as a number of vehicles screeched into position! Dozens of gang members wielding cheap but serviceable-looking pistols and sub-machine guns started pouring around the two Gifted from every angle! Almost a dozen red-pupiled spheres watched the display from above with passionless but unwavering interest.

Prodigal Son staggered around in a slow circle, and he placed his injured arm behind his back as thought to hide his weakness- an unconscious habit picked up from his own former criminal life. He turned his back on The Deep One to face a dense wall of gangsters with drawn weapons and backed away a few steps to make himself a slightly harder target for when the bullets started to fly. In his injured state he knew that he was narrowly outmatched, and he made a silent prayer under his breath for his lord to offer him a path out of his strife...
As he stepped backward away from the weapons arrayed against him his back bumped into The Deep One's- who was also backing away from the violent and malicious minds facing him from the opposite end of the lot. Quinn shivered in disgust and the slimy and slightly fishy smell that his enemy seemed to give off, but before he could react violently the first of the Gang-members finally broke their nerve and opened fire!

*BLAMNN!*

A hail of lead thundered towards The Deep One, but the bullets somehow deflected off empty air and managed to avoid striking their intended targets! A moment later those who fired the weapons were rendered insensible and screaming as they imagined the sensation of thousands of spiders swarming along their feat, under their clothes, and biting into their flesh!
Bullets failed to hit Quinn, too- although those fired at him were hampered by they owners weapons wildly being pulled away by an invisible force and misfiring dangerously into the gang's own ranks! In desperation one thug threw down his weapon and tried to tackle the Prodigal Son directly with a small switch-knife, although he only managed to close within a few feet to his target before an invisible hand seemed to scoop him into the air and crush him into a bloody mess of bone and flesh!

More bullets crashed into the two Gifted, and invisible lances of force fought alongside violet strikes of lightning. Although the gangsters had been warned that their targets were Gifted, and were incentivised by a very generous reward, the effect of seeing two powerful Gifts in use at the same time was enough to send the group fleeing before even half their number had been incapacitated. The Deep One relented in his mental illusionary assaults once he sensed that his prey had given up the will to fight, whereas Quinn only allowed himself to feel a flicker of satisfaction after the last of his enemies had retreated into the night- leaving their injured comrades behind to face his lack of mercy.

Quinn paused- listening to the last rattling breath of someone he had only found time to wound. He'd finish him off soon, but first the religious fanatic wanted to end his fight with his 'demon'.
An unwelcome thought crossed Prodigal Son's mind; he had prayed for a way to survive the fight, and had been granted one- in the very enemy that had led him into the situation in the first place. What did that mean? Was the inhuman-looking Deep One actually a servant of his Lord, how could such a thing be possible? Had he been mistaken when he'd chosen his enemy, or was he simply overthinking it? He silently prayed for a sign of direction...
A wet fish-smelling hand tapped him on the shoulder.
Quinn turned.

“SCREEEEEEEEAAAAA!!!!”

Deep One had removed his mask, and Quinn was treated to a facefull of tentacles and a headfull of nightmares as his 'demon' took revenge for the trouble it'd been put through! Nightmare telepathy rendered the vigilante terrified and insensible for only a moment, before shock finally and mercifully set in to send him collapsing to the ground!

---

"Demon Bastard!"

Quinn awoke from his nightmare, sitting bolt upright and breaking out into a cold and terror-drenched sweat! He had thought himself immune to fear before now, but whatever The Deep One had been it had seemed to find a way to trigger his most private and horrifying nightmares. Sitting up so suddenly made the injuries along his body and burned arm known, and he slouched back to the ground involuntarily with a gasp of agony.

"Cursin' is a sin."

Natalie chided him. What the heck was she doing here?! Quinn forced himself to re-examine his surroundings- somehow he was back in his safehouse...

"I brought you back here."
Natalie explained, anticipating his question.
"The gangs were all riled up about someone- they were even gonna' work together! I thought that you might have been involved... so I went to look... and, I mean, I wasn't wrong..."
The girls tone turned defensive at the last part of her admission. She knew for a fact that Prodigal Son wouldn't approve of her choice, but there didn't seem to be any avoiding that fact for now...

"Did you read your bible?"

"I- What?!"

"Did you read it?"

"...Can't read. I told you that!"

Quinn groaned in a mixture of exasperation, and also in real physical pain. He was furious at his new ward for disobeying his orders- but at the same time he realized that teaching her God's virtues was going to be an uphill struggle.
...Besides, she had saved him. It was an incredible turn of events which Prodigal Son could only put down to being god's work...
A promise was a promise, and the man asked the girl to fetch the book so her study could begin.

A wet trickle ran from his forehead and blurred his vision. Assuming that it was his own blood he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The hand came away marked by dirty black streaks...
Ink?!

---

Water lapped at filth-encrusted bargepoles. Detroit's Lake St Claire was far from clear, but it was as close to home as The Deep One had felt in a long time. The creature had found a dark corner of wharf, and had finally gotten the breathing room it needed to account for it's injuries and make sense of all it had learned.

The creature's curious but Machiavellian mind was learning fast, and although it would have preferred to remain in the library it had nonetheless gained significant knowledge merely by it's encounter with Prodigal Son.

The land was full of predators, densely so- it now knew.

The creature also realized that it should stop thinking in terms of it's previous life. Neither the other Gifted's, the gangsters, or the odd little 'eye's it had encountered had behaved in a way that seemed to make natural sense- it seemed as though the Deep One would need to stop thinking in terms of territory and food chains, and learn the new natural order of the surface.

Deep and unknowable thoughts swam through the creature's head.

---

A day had passed since the battle in the car park- and although the area had attracted significant interest from Detroit's denizens the only eye's looking over the area for now were red and metallic. A team of six fresh 'spyballs' looked over the battlefield with forensic interest. They noted the damage that had been inflicted to the area, and to the attacking gangsters, with the closest thing to excitement that their limited range of expression could convey.

Oculus had not gained what she'd hoped from this encounter- but then again, she had lost nothing either. Even just confirmation that The Deep One and The Prodigal Son were both more than mere rumors, and that she'd seen both in action, would be an incredibly valuable boon for her.

A sphere with a more brightly glowing pupil than the rest split from the group. It hovered over a patch of drying blue blood, enhanced it's vision to microscopic proportions, and began collecting samples...
This message was last edited by the player at 00:19, Tue 27 Dec 2016.

A single man, tall and broad-chested, dressed in a black leather jacket with a red scarf covering his mouth and trailing behind him in two long tails. Every step conveyed a mix of anger, purpose, and desperation.

Nitro was in a foul mood. The Red Scarves' failure during the train heist was going to have Kane absolutely livid when he showed up. And since Nitro was the only one still alive, Kane was going to have take it out on him.

So naturally, he had to do something right for once. Now that Kane was out of the Prison in Maine, he was going to have to proceed with the next project. And now that he had scattered the rest of Kane's Drones in small groups throughout the country...

 that's exactly what he was going to do...
This message was last edited by the player at 23:30, Tue 07 Mar 2017.

CANON BATTLE POST

The night air was still and silent as Oculus' familiar circled the skies above Detroit's twisting roads. The only noises present were the occasional whistling of wind through the streets and the rustling of old newspaper as it cascaded down the alleyway. Even for a cyclopean observation sphere, this place was a bore. Whether or not it could specifically feel "bored" was something of a mystery, but the lack of visual stimulation was definitely taking some kind of toll on the little sphere. It had begun moving and acting erratically. It increased its elevation, changed its vision types, and even briefly turned on its head to scan an area upside down before rapidly discarding that idea. It had to find its target, complete its mission. It was going to give up on this area and move on to their next possible locale when...

BOOM!

A chunk of the Southern wall of the nearby university's third floor exploded, raining shards of glass and stone down onto the adjacent rooftop. The little sphere swiveled 180-degrees and locked its cameras on the blast's epicenter. Through the clouds of dust and glass, a black-clad shape tumbled out of the crater, hit the roof 10 feet below, and let out a horrific screech. The noise was nothing like a person's scream; it sounded ungodly even to the mechanical sphere. Soon, another black clothed figure stepped through this makeshift exit; the only difference was that this one was definitely human.

Oculus' sphere hovered closer, using the various outcroppings on the roof as cover and watching as the human hovered down to the roof his target was on. The violet-skinned, tentacle-faced freak of nature in black, ragged robes writhed and hissed as the man drew closer. The orb felt something close to excitement as its mission parameters were finally met after such a long period of monotony and deprivation of interesting input. Fulfilling its role, Oculus' little spy nestled itself among the chimneys nearby and watched the battle unfold.

---

The world was spinning, its head was hurting, and the Deep One wasn’t fond of either. It was on its side, aching from the unseen impact this human had suddenly caused and jarred by the rough landing on the tarmac. All that was clear was that a fight was underway. The Deep One managed to push itself onto its knees and elbows, looking up and around in a daze at the rooftop strewn with stone chunks and glass shards...but no paper, nor leather. It turned its head sharply to look at the university, where it saw the Prodigal Son floating down from the hole in the wall about eight feet above. He had no scraps of leather or paper on him either.

Relief washed over the Deep One. On instinct, it had shoved the stack of books with its gift to get all of the reading material out of the way of the danger it barely heard coming. Fortunately, no fight was going to happen in there because both combatants had now sailed out the window. Unfortunately, the Deep One was caught flat-footed whilst facing an opponent who, it could tell (without telepathy) was looking to kill it indiscriminately.

Suddenly, the Deep One began to rise from the ground as if buoyed by an invisible tide. It was surprised, looking down at itself as it began to float upward with hands and legs outstretched. For a few moments, the cephalopod marveled at this anomaly. Then the Deep One saw the Prodigal Son had his arm extended with an open hand towards it. He had it right in his claws! Panic set in as the Deep One felt its limbs straighten and get pinned to his sides. It began to struggle against its invisible bonds, shrieking as the Prodigal Son marched toward it, growling:

“Scream all you want, demon. You'll get no mercy from me!”

Slowly closing his hand, the Prodigal Son's telegraphic grip began to tighten, crushing the air out of the Deep One's lungs. As air tore itself free of his lungs, the creature's primal brain screamed in protest as its hysterical cries continued. It stared at its predator, wide-eyed with terror. And in a panic, the Deep One used what concentration it had left to force its way into the predator's thoughts. How was he doing this?!

...his "Gift?"

In this moment of terror, a shard of curiosity took hold of the Deep One. What was this "Gift" that this human had? It took barely any probinh to see what the Prodigal Son had done with his powers; moved people, himself, and objects, often in violent ways. Feeling around the section of the Prodigal Son's psyche that controlled this power, it felt familiar. It almost felt like the Deep One was sifting around inside of its own head. Did they have the same powers? Could the Deep One do what this Prodigal Son did?

The Prodigal Son, meanwhile, was staring this monstrosity in its black, wide eyes when he felt a chill go up his spine. It felt like something was watching him right over his shoulder and breathing down his neck. Taking a moment, he glanced away from his captured prey to look behind him, but saw nothing. Then he remembered old Nick's description of this demon's abilities and realized it was piercing his mind. More to himself than his opponent, the Prodigal Son thought:

Keep trying, hellspawn. God’s on my side and His will protects the faithful. You are nothing!

And with that, his grip tightened like a vice, forcing a sick, choking gurgle out of the Deep One. Suddenly, the creature's vision started to blur and its limbs felt heavy. It was running out of air, according to the library's first aid booklets, unconsciousness was imminent. If it was going to do anything, it was now. Reaching out with what miniscule power it could summon, several small tendrils of violet lightning flared out of the Deep One's immobile hands to touch the Prodigal Son. Feeling nothing from them, the human looked at the pitiful attempt at an attack and laughed bitteryly.

“You’ve got nothing on me, demon! Now, I’ll do us all a favor and return you to your master in He-”

“SCREEEEEEEEAAAAA!!!!”

With a bloodcurdling shriek and a surge of violet light in its eyes, the Deep One threw every ounce of power its mind could muster at the crusader torturing it. The Prodigal Son was shoved with the force of a car crash and sent flying into the wall of the university behind him. Brickwork cracked and crumbled as the Prodigal Son was sent through the wall and slammed into an abandoned classroom, plowing through desks and chairs before finally tumbling into the far wall. Having lost focus on his target, his grip on the Deep One vanished. The creature fell to the ground on one knee, gasping in the air that its foe had deprived it of.

Taking a moment to catch its breath, the Deep One's mind raced. It could move people! It had never even occurred to it to try that! How it hadn’t thought of that already was a mystery; it had always thought that all those times it sat in an alley's shadows while making tin cans dance around a gaggle of spooked goons was time wasted. It never even crossed its mind to just lift the thugs and shove each one into trash cans. For such a keen creature, the Deep One often felt like it was unbelievably dim. It never wanted to try things like that before for fear it would give itself even lesser standing among humans. Still, looking at where "diplomacy" had gotten it, it didn’t really seem to matter.

Standing up in full, the Deep One looked at the groaning, slowly recovering mass that called itself the Prodigal Son. And for once in its life, an unbridled hate began to swell in its chest for this man. Tendrils of telekinetic lightning flared from its hands and crackled across the shards of brick and glass on the ground as the word "demon" and all the images associated with it in Son's mind raced through the Deep One's head. These horrible creatures did things the Deep One had never even thought to do, things it would never, ever do. And yet, from one look at its face, it knew that this human could only see those "sins" each and every time he laid eyes on it. Every other time it was attacked, the Deep One had simply hid and ran. It wanted to show that it wanted to be left alone, that it didn't care about humans in the slightest and wanted to leave these predators in peace.

But for first time in its life, in the face of a man who only saw a monster, it didn't want to disappoint.

---

The Prodigal Son crawled to his feet, groaning. He should have seen that attack coming but his pride had gotten the better of him for a crucial moment and he did not feel good about it. He had gotten barely enough time to blast the wall out from behind him before he was hurled through it. One more second, and he'd have been dead!

That damn demon. It’s going to pay!

Using a desk to help him stand, the Prodigal Son looked up and through the newly formed hole and saw his hellish foe straightening up as well while violet lighting trailed off its body. This disgusting creature raised one of its hands, and with it, the small shards of stone and glass scattered about the rooftop rose up amidst tiny violet auras. Shaken from the first attack, the Prodigal Son flinched at the sight of the monster. He couldn't beat him head-on, not now! So instead, as the demon threw its hand forward to start the onslaught of stone and glass, the Prodigal Son used his gift to pull two desks towards him and turn their tops toward his opponent. Hunkering down behind them, the storm of debris thudded against the Prodigal Son’s improvised shield, stones leaving dents and glass knives piercing the wooden tabletops to stick out the other side.

When the brief attack subsided, the Prodigal Son mentally shoved his shields with a roar, launching them toward his target before running and throwing himself at the demon with his fist drawn back. The monster batted the two desks aside with bolts of lightning, but upon seeing the human missile approaching it, ducked under the Prodigal Son's charge, letting him pass over it. Having missed, the Prodigal Son soared into the air beyond, flying 50 feet out and up before stopping and turning around. The demon was a speck below him now, but no less dangerous as he saw glints of light fast approaching him. The Prodigal Son willed an invisible wall into existence in front of him, blocking the shards of glass and chunks of stone that were thrown at him whilst hurling a titanic missile of telekinetic power back at the monster. Ceasing its attack, the tiny demon leaped away before a crater formed where it was standing a few moments ago. Not letting up, Prodigal Son threw more blasts of invisible force at the spawn below, forcing it to dance about the rooftop as holes were hammered thunderously into the concrete roof. As fun as it was, the Prodigal Son had a job to do. Wreathing himself in a shell of solid willpower, the modern paladin rocketed earthward to crash straight into his demonic opponent, roaring:

“TASTE GOD’S WRATH!!!”

In the few seconds before impact, all the Prodigal Son could see was the demon running its foul lightning through the shattered stone on the roof around it before-

BOOM!

With a crushing impact, the Prodigal Son crashed into the rooftop, cracking the already shattered concrete floor into thousands of pieces and filling the air with smoky clouds of shrapnel. Though his vision was impaired, the Prodigal Son could feel his hand wrapped around something thin, cold and round; the demon's neck, no doubt. With a savage grin, he forced the weight of his mind onto the brittle thing, feeling it twist and crack underneath his-

FWOOOOOSH!

In an instant, The Prodigal Son was blasted full in the face by a fountain of cold water. Choking and sputtering, he stumbled back, staring at the crater he had left. Wiping the water out of his eyes, he saw a broken copper pipe, bent and ruptured like a flimsy tin can. Needless to say, the Prodgal Son was both confused and  enraged.

What?! Where’d that hellspawn go?!

A hum rippled through the air from behind him, and the Prodigal Son turned around to see the demon hovering a few feet away from the rooftop with a haze of violet energy outlining its body. Its hands were outstretched to either side, with oscillating tethers of lightning trailing back to the roof the Prodigal Son was standing on, to his immediate left and right. Following them with his eyes, Prodigal Son saw that they were attached to large, mostly solid blocks of concrete on either side of him. Sadly, he realized his predicament just as the demon brought its hands together in a clapping gesture in front of it.

Dammit.

---

CRACK!

The sound of stone on stone thundered through the sky as the two slabs of concrete bashed into each other, crushing the Prodigal Son between them. The sound echoed on the wind for a few seconds before a hush fell over the dead city. The Deep One cut through the silence with an audible sigh. That was that, it supposed. It also took a moment to marvel at itself, hovering 3 stories off the ground with the power of its mind alone. It really had to experiment a little more with its abilities if it was going to fend off attackers like this in the future. Being able to just fly up and away from trouble would completely change its means of travel. It was better than flicking stray cigarette butts and pebbles around to just freak out whoever was chasing it until they were sufficiently distracted.

The Deep One suddenly shuddered slightly, feeling a crawling sensation across its skin. It was a sign he had learned to read since he began venturing to land; its skin was drying out. Barring the fact that it had been walking for the better part of a couple of hours trying to get to the university, the Deep One also had worked up a sweat trying to contend with the two ambushes it faced. Needless to say, it had sufficiently taxed itself of precious hydration, and though its clothes were woven to retain moisture, it needed to refill. Fortunately for the Deep One, there was a nice, clean spring of water right next to where it had murdered his most recent opponent...almost too clean of a spring...

...shouldn’t there be blood dripping out from between the rocks?

---

“RAAAAAAGH!!!!”

With a roar, the Prodigal Son’s gift erupted like a bomb, shattering the cold, dark cocoon he was encased in and returning to the twilit rooftop. Stone flew in every direction like shrapnel while he landed in a pool of water, catching the breath he had held in order to survive in that prison.

That was way too close.

When he saw the two slabs of concrete closing in, the Prodigal Son desperately attempted to erect a barrier at the last second. It didn’t have time to fully form, but he managed to create a small pocket for him to fit in while he gathered the power to break out. He was like an avocado if it’s pit was made of seething, divine hatred. There was only so much air trapped with him, though, so it was fast-thinking and a stupid amount of good luck that he managed to summon the power to break free.

That wasn't luck. It was Him, giving you one more chance. C’mon, Quinn, make the Father proud!

Looking up and around, the Prodigal Son locked eyes with the demon that had almost killed him, which was still hovering where he had last saw it. It stared back with shock writ large on its alien face. It tried to gather some more stones with its infernal magic, but the Prodigal Son didn’t give it the chance. Thrusting his fist out, his gift projected a heavy punch straight into the stomach of the demon, which doubled over with a grunt. The Prodigal Son didn’t let up, swinging with right hooks, jabs, an uppercut or two, and finally, a haymaker to the face. His gift replicated every blow, leaving the demon stuck in midair as invisible attacks ripped into its torso and head, until a final blow sent the creature rocketing through the air and crashing down onto the rooftop opposite them. Leaping using his gift, the Prodigal Son landed right next to the limp, beaten creature, grabbing it by the throat and hoisting it up into the air in front of him. Spitting out a glob of blood that had slowly bloomed in his mouth, the Prodigal Son snarled.

“You’ve met your match, scum.”

The demon croaked, trying to breathe. Its head was covered in welts and blue-violet bruises and there was some blue blood trickling over the Prodigal Son’s hand. Its chest was probably no better off. It could barely open its eyes and look at its opponent, though some sparks of its power still flickered across its face and body. The Prodigal Son sneered, but couldn’t help but feel disappointed. This was the first time he fought an actual demon. He thought they’d be tougher.

I thought this would be a challenge, but it feels more like a joke...maybe I could let this thing go and warn its allies...

He grunted, pushing the thought out of his mind. Duty was duty, and he didn’t want to disappoint the almighty Father. He had to kill it, no matter how pitiful the demon was. Summoning his gift, he wrapped the creature’s throat with his mind’s power, preparing to strangle it to death. Without a shred of pity for the monster, he began to squeeze just as he felt something warm behind him. His shadow became visible on the demon, illuminated by a balmy, golden light. Quinn raised an eyebrow and relaxed his grip, confused. Turning around, though, he saw a sight he'd never forget.

Floating in the air behind the two of them was a glowing, robed man. The robes were clean and tan-coloured, and behind him was a great sphere of light, much like the sun. The light was so bright that it hid most of the man’s features, but the Prodigal Son could make out a white beard. His hands, though wrinkled and aged, looked strong. In fact, the man seemed to radiate power as much as he did light. There was a seemingly divine aura about him that the Prodigal Son couldn’t place until the man spoke.

“Quinn Price.”

The Prodigal Son froze, staring.

“Be not afraid.”

“How did...nobody knows my name anymore.”

The man chuckled.

“We remember all The Lord's children, Quinn. And we are proud of the most pious among them. Especially you.”

Quinn suddenly realized who this was, the shock rippling through his body. He numbly released the demon, and the two of them crumpled to the ground. Quinn was on his knees, his head bowed, and his heart hammering. The fight prior all but forgotten, Quinn stammered:

“F-Father forgive me! I didn’t know I was-! I was talking to--”

“You are forgiven,” said the angel.

Looking up, Quinn stared, awed at the majesty of the holy representative before him. If anything, the being's smile grew and he moved to the rooftop, landing on it and kneeling so he could put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

“You have done very well in the Father's name, Quinn. You’ve saved innocent lives and sent the most sinful to be judged by The Lord. You have our thanks. All of our thanks. ”

Despite his slight fear, Quinn’s heart welled up with pride as an almost literal chorus of angels appeared in the sky behind their commander. To have an Archangel thank you for your piety was no compliment to take lightly. It was almost too much to take. Bowing his head again, unable to look into the being's eyes, he stammered:

“T-thank you. I-I don’t deserve such praise.”

“True. You’ve gone against one of the commandments, 'thou shalt not kill,' and have claimed to do so in the name of Christ... But still, in doing so, you’ve served the greatest good; you’ve punished the wicked for their Earthly deeds and spared the faithful from their evil. Though your service is unconventional, it cannot be denied that you’ve ultimately saved many and driven them to fear and respect The Law.”

Now Quinn was at a loss for words.

They are forgoing one of His commandments and forgiving me? Am I really worth that much?

“...words cannot describe my thanks...”

“We've not come to ask for gratitude. No, we've come to ask for service. On command of the Highest, the time has come, Quinn, for you to join our number. ”

Lowering his head even further, Quinn's tears of joy soaked the Earth beneath him. Finally, his greatest wish, his fantasy. It was coming true!

The beings remained silent. Silent for a long while...Quinn couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.

“Is there something wrong, great ones? Is this a test?”

Still no response. Looking up, Quinn asked again:

“Father? Why have--”

He froze, staring in shock. The being faded away into black smoke and tendrils of violet lightning as he stood before Prodigal Son. His golden aura faded, the incredible servant was suddenly nothing but smoke on the wind. Quinn sat there, slack-jawed and horrified. Wracking his brain for an explanation, he remembered the demon he had fought and stood, turning around. The spot where he had dropped the demon was vacant, save for a splatter of blue blood.

“WHAT?!”

Rushing to the edge of the rooftop, he looked down at the street, his head roving left and right as he tried to find his quarry. Seeing no trace, the Prodigal Son stamped and growled, enraged. Then he realized; the wounded demon, the angel appearing out of nowhere, fading into that same violet lightning the demon used, and then the demon was gone...

It was an illusion; the whole thing had been faked. The demon had plucked the fantasy from the Prodigal Son’s head and created a beautiful facade long enough to slither back to the nearest hole it came from. The Prodigal Son grit his teeth, fury welling up inside of him, ashamed and enraged that he’d been tricked by a bruised, bleeding excuse for a demon too. Furious, the Prodigal Son threw his head back and roared. The sound was so furious, even those dead in Detroit could hear his anger, and know to be afraid.

---

"Demon Bastard!"

A day later, Quinn awoke from his nightmare, sitting bolt upright and breaking out into a cold and terror-drenched sweat! He had thought himself immune to fear before now, but the thought of the demon worming its tendrils into his brain, making his own faith betray him, and turning his eyes away from God triggered private and horrifying nightmares. Sitting up so suddenly made him realize his head felt like it was about to burst.

"Cursin' is a sin."

Natalie chided him. What the heck was she doing here?! Quinn forced himself to re-examine his surroundings- somehow he was back in his safehouse...

"I brought you back here."

Natalie explained, anticipating his question.

"You was passed out by the water. The gangs were all riled up about someone, said he was tearin' apart the city headed South! I thought that you might have been involved... so I went to look... and, I mean, I wasn't wrong..."

The girls tone turned defensive at the last part of her admission. She knew for a fact that Prodigal Son wouldn't approve of her choice, but there didn't seem to be any avoiding that fact for now...

"Did you read your bible?"

"I- What?!"

"Did you read it?"

"...Can't read. I told you that!"

Quinn groaned in a mixture of exasperation, and also in real physical pain. He was furious at his new ward for disobeying his orders- but at the same time he realized that teaching her God's virtues was going to be an uphill struggle.

...Besides, she had saved him. It was an incredible turn of events which Prodigal Son could only put down to being God's work.

A promise was a promise, and the man asked the girl to fetch the book so her study could begin.

A wet trickle ran from his forehead and blurred his vision. Assuming that it was his own blood he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The hand came away marked by dirty blue streaks...

---

Water lapped at filth-encrusted bargepoles. Detroit's Lake St Claire was far from clear, but it was as close to home as The Deep One had felt in a long time. The creature had found a dark corner of wharf and finally gotten the breathing room it needed to account for it's injuries and make sense of all it had learned.

The creature's curious yet Machiavellian mind was learning fast. And although it would have preferred to remain in the library, it had nonetheless gained significant knowledge merely by it's encounter with Prodigal Son.

The land was full of predators, densely so - it now knew.

The creature also realized that it should stop thinking in terms of its previous life. Neither the Prodigal Son or the odd little "eyes" it had spotted had behaved in a way that seemed to make natural sense. The Son didn't want to devour it, nor was he guarding his territory. He just wanted to kill. It seemed as though the Deep One would need to stop thinking in terms of territory and food chains, and learn the new natural order of the surface.

Deep and unknowable thoughts swam through the creature's head.

---

A few days passed. And although the area of the battle had attracted significant interest from Detroit's denizens at first, the only eyes looking over the school on this night were red and metallic. A team of six fresh "spyballs" looked over the battlefield with forensic interest. They noted the damage that had been inflicted to the area and reconstructed the order of battle with the closest thing to excitement that their limited range of expression could convey.

Oculus had not gained everything she wanted from this encounter (the battle gave her little time to do so). But then again, she had lost nothing either. Even just confirmation that The Deep One and The Prodigal Son were both more than mere rumors, alongside the information she gleaned from getting a close look at them in action, would be an incredibly valuable boon for her.

A sphere with a more brightly glowing pupil than the rest split from the group. It hovered over a patch of drying blue blood, enhanced it's vision to microscopic proportions, and began collecting samples...

A long period of darkness, weightlessness and pleasant cold slowly came to an end as the Deep One roused itself through force of will alone. It heard nothing but the sound of motion all around it, felt itself floating with ease, and when its eyes finally opened, it peered through the murky waters of the Detroit River; its temporary home. Though the sleep was not as restful as the Deep One had desired, it could dream with almost perfect lucidity. As sleep overtook its body the night before, the Deep One had slipped into a familiar trance, sorting through the sea of information and images it had seen just the day before, making sense of what it could in the solitude of its dreams before pulling itself back into cold, harsh reality.

The Deep one was floating in the Detroit River, feeling the water flow past it as its body as it hung from a rope that was tied to the dock above it. Though it was meant to keep the Deep One from floating downriver, it could feel the harsh fibres of the rope digging into its skin, and with an inaudible grunt, the Deep One untied itself and floated freely. Blinking a few times to wake up, the Gifted creature peered towards the surface of the water. It could faintly make out the orange-tinted sky that it knew meant the sun had begun to rise. So it turned towards the concrete dock behind it and was about to grab a hold of the rope it had used so it could climb, but it thought for a moment before using its gift and levitating out of the water.

The surface world was quiet, the horizon was only beginning to brighten the land and sky, and the cold bite of the air was still a comfortable one to the gifted creature. The dock it stood on was abandoned as near as it could see and sense, which was fortunate; any onlooker who saw a naked, purple-skinned, tentacle-faced humanoid levitate up from the river would have understandably sh*t their pants and run. Fortunately, nobody was around, leaving the Deep One safe to grab its clothes, which hung from a chain on a nearby, obsolete crane, lower them into the river to soak some water up, and put them on, all through the power of its mind.

It used to be a pain to climb back in and out just to soak its clothes, and it still was now what with all of the Deep One's new bruises, but now that it was experimenting with the limits of its telekinesis, the Deep One found that many tedious things could be made easy with just a bit of thinking...which was unfortunate for the denizens of Detroit, as this gifted creature did a lot of thinking. In fact, it had just reached a conclusion as the outfit's damp folds began to slide over its clammy skin; it needed to pick a side.

That poster it saw depicting the Namidian Wave and ITSDA fighting had proven that there was something going on here on the surface, and not fitting into it meant that both sides had to see the Deep One as prey...no, as an enemy...and that was reasonable. But the Deep One was tired; tired of being hunted, tired of being shunned, and tired of not knowing enough, so it had to pick one of the two sides...but which one? The ITSDA seemed to be the best option, what with its desire for global peace and order, but the pamphlet from the library had read barely explained what the Namidian Wave did. It was back to square one; it needed to learn more...and it had an idea of where.

7987 Kerchal Drive; the old ITSDA recruiting centre.

Finally nestled in the wet, cool folds of its ragged outfit, the Deep One began the long, silent trek it needed to make downtown. If it had to bury the hatchet with someone, it wanted to know who they were...and there was nothing it loved more than learning.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck."

At no point in her life did Bailey think she'd actually hate sitting still, but here she was, griping through clenched teeth as she made her way to the kitchen to get some water. Since the incident a couple of nights ago, she and her friends had managed to fall back to the Bricker's hideout in the old Butzel Family Recreation Center. From there, those who needed help managed to get bandaged up, while Bailey got her leg in a splint and a makeshift cane made for her so she could walk more easily. Her knee had been fractured or something, so she was trying to stay as immobile as possible so it could heal, but she was damned if she was going to just stop working.

As it stood, she was sitting on the balcony overlooking the south entrance of the building as the sun sank behind the horizon. She had clear sightlines across the almost bare parking-lot, and she had cover from the stone bannister and a rifle and pistol just in case somebody came up. Bailey also had a chair to sit on, a table to put her food and a direct route to a small kitchen with its own limited stock of food and drink. She could have gotten a snack, but the water was enough to tide her over for the rest of her shift; besides, she felt like a waste of good food at this point.

The other Brickers barely believed what she told them; it sounded like something out of one of those old tabletop games. Something with an octopus for a face threw pipes and trashcans at them with its mind? What sane person would believe something like that?? She even showed them the marks on her neck where the thing had choked her, but most of them didn't look convinced. Since then, Bailey had decided to drop it; it was an uphill battle to convince the other Brickers, and it happened so far from their territory that whatever it was would never come close enough to bother them. All she could do was sit in her chair and stare out over the empty parking lot, grumbling and wincing.

Bailey heard a clang from somewhere far in the distance, and she perked up. This was the first activity she had seen in almost a week, so she grabbed her binoculars and peered out across the parking lot to the opposite end of the street. It was mostly ruined suburb out there; some old buildings, empty lots, and trees further out. There wasn't really anything moving. Still, Bailey turned on her walkie-talkie and said:

"Bailey here; did you hear that, Crash?"

A young man's voice responded;

"Kind of. Someone knock a trashcan over?"

"Dunno. I'm lookin' now."

Through the ratty old binoculars, Baily saw the offender: they were making their way across the block opposite to their base, and it looked like they had knocked a lid off a trash can. Idiot.

"There's someone across the street...doesn't look armed...no gang signs...face is covered though."

"A scavenger?"

"Maybe. Or maybe it's a spy."

"The 162's and the Red Hawks have been pretty pushy lately. Should I send some of the guys out?"

Bailey paused, mulling it over and watching as the intruder carefully replaced the trashcan.

"...I'm thinking yeah. And maybe have someone load up too, just in-"

Bailey cut herself off, staring through her binoculars as horror pierced her soul.

"...Crash? Fuck whatever I just said. Nobody's going out."

"Wait, what? Bailey, what's up? Do they have a gun?"

"No, it's...it's the thing, Crash!"

"What thi-...oh, that thing?"

He sounded more disappointed than anything. Bailey wasn't having any of this.

"Crash, don't fucking start this with me. Load everyone up and lock down the south side. If this thing comes, we need to kill it."

"Oh, come on, Bailey. You're overreacting here. It's just a scavenger with a gift or something. We'll send some guys out and tell them to get off our turf."

"Don't. Fucking. Do that! Just leave it alone! We have to bunker down and shoot it only if it gets close!"

All she got as a response was static. Crash must have changed channels to cut her off.

"Goddammit, Crash!"

Bailey grabbed the rifle next to her chair and checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded. Holding it in one hand, she kept peering through her binoculars at the intruder, numb with fear as it entered the old DA recruiting station across the street. Even as she looked, even if the details weren't that clear, she somehow knew.

It was back.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Sat 03 Mar 2018.

"You useless fucking moron!"

Nitro's face took a jaw-shattering hit, and the towering man stumbled and fell with a THUD that echoed throughout the abandoned office-space around them.

"You got Parasol and Jet killed! I worked hard on those two and you let the likes of Black Magic and Vector get the best of you? You lost so many fuckin' Drones, all of them soldiers!"

Nitro didn't make a sound as he struggled back to his feet, only for a hand to grab him by the face. "You don't deserve to live, much less still be my lackey."

Nitro breathed heavily, his eyes wandering to the Drones that had encircled him and his master. "Then, *kuuuh* you will, *kuuuh* kill me?" He asked.

The man overtop of him yawned. "No. It'd be a waste of effort and resources at this point. Besides your Gift is a fuckin' hazard. I don't think I'm willing to run around the country wearing your freakass muzzle all day. I'm not the dog here, you are.

"Clearly it's a matter of being poorly equipped." Red eyes roved overtop of the Drones around them, and he raised a hand. "You still have the souls of Rocket and Parasol lying around. You'll take them, their memories, their Gifts, and you'll learn from all your fuckin' mistakes."

The younger man whirled on the onlooking Drones. "Alright circle up, you shits. I got new orders for you! You're all ghetto gangster trash, so somethin' this simple is impossible to fuck up: Terrorize Michigan. Show these fuckin' trash people that the Red Scarves are the ones to fear." He glanced back at his lieutenant, black smoke spreading across the floor as his colleagues' souls seeped into him slowly, along with everything they ever valued. "If the locals get uppity, kill 'em. Are we Swarovski-crystal fuckin' clear?"

Nitro raised his eyes, dark and fractured, to look into the baleful red of his creator's.

"Yes, Mr. Armani."

The roar of propellers tore through the streets as an ITSDA VTOL craft landed in the parking lot of the National Bank of Detroit.

The back popped open, and twenty-five armed men stepped out, wearing a hodgepodge of stolen and makeshift combat gear. Without a word, they filed into the building, led by a towering man wearing a black leather jacket and a red scarf that trailed behind it in two long tails.

"*kuuuh* Kill them all," Nitro ordered, making his way to the stairs. "And empty the safes. *kuuuh* Blow them open if you have to. *kuuuh* Contact me if any trouble shows up..."

With a wince, the Deep One carefully replaced the lid of the nearby trashcan with its telekinetic gift. It had barely been able to catch the whole thing before the contents had spilt out of the can and made a racket. So much for stealth, it supposed.

Looking up across the nearby street, it saw a broad, low-set building with a vast stretch of concrete ground before it, littered with ruins of cars. It could vaguely sense the thoughts of the gang that dwelled in that place, but nothing distinct leapt out to the creature; only that people were there. With a shrug, a gesture it had never actually learned from people, but come up with on its own, the Deep One turned back to its target, the old ITSDA recruitment building.

...well, maybe building was a poor choice of words. Recruitment shack? Recruitment shed? It was a two-story house on a corner lot, built in that archaic seeming manner of a lot of old colonial houses, with overlapping wood panels and shingles on the outside. Had it come from the other side, the Deep One would have seen the rickety old front porch covered in ivy and old newspapers. Even from the outside, though, the Deep One could tell that the inside would feel small. But it entered through the back door anyway.

From a back hallway, it entered the front office, with its desk and window looking out into a lobby, and the staircase leading up to the next floor. Filing cabinets lined the room, which the Deep One was, for once, not in the mood to ply. It loved books, but records like these were so dry and boring. Instead, its eyes turned to the device on the front desk; a computer.

The Deep One approached the device and sat in the old wooden chair, wincing at the groan of wood. With trepidation, the creature hit a single key on the keyboard. The screen stayed black. Then, as an afterthought, it tried the power button on the actual desktop. The screen lit up. Somehow, power was still getting to this part of the old city. But now a password window to deal with. The Deep One tried 'Detroit' on a lark, and that didn't work, so it began to look around the front desk. Surely, even if someone used this machine every day, they needed a hint of some kind to prompt them for the password.

There was nothing below the counter or in the drawers, but then the creature picked up an old sticky note that read 'a fishy colour' appropo of nothing. So the Deep One recalled all the different kinds of fish it had eaten in the river and their colours. Grey, silver, green, and black all failed him. Now frustration was setting it. The Deep One stood up to search around the rest of the building, grabbing a handful of still-sharp pencils from the desk just in case. It had just about cased all the adjacent rooms and was walking out of the office and into the lobby when-

"Almost heaaaa-ven-"

THU-THU-THUNK!

Three pencils shot with telekinetic force to the offending sound, all finding their mark. The Deep One stared, alert, then relaxed, then felt embarrassed; it was little more than an ornament. There was a plaque on the wall in the lobby next to the office entrance with a fish on it, a salmon from the looks of it, and when the Deep One had stepped out, the thing had started singing. And despite the attack, the little fish sang on about country roads taking it home. The Deep One couldn't help but laugh at the sight...or at least gurgle out its equivalent of a laugh. Then it stopped, struck with sudden genius.

The Deep One strode back into the office, and before it even sat down, willed the keyboard to type 'Salmon' as the password. And it worked. Jubilant, the Deep One sat back in the chair and watched as the desktop opened up, with shortcuts and icons covering a background of a rushing brook with fish leaping up a small waterfall. And so it began to pore over files and click keys as the sky outside began to turn from orange to blue, all the while feeling just a little bit hungry.