SPI Files Case 1: The Puppets and the Hand the IC

New Orleans, a city of culture and tragedy. One that had nearly been wiped out by a hurricane a scant half decade ago. And yet, if one were to see the city now, they would notice none of the former damage to the arguable heart of Cajun culture. But every city and every populace has it's dark side, more than just one in fact. Despite the city's vibrancy, there were souls as black as the void of space, black as that which separates the great cosmic bubbles of reality. A few souls, were even darker.

In the sleepy town of Barton Hallow, a group of those dark souls had gathered. Circling around a device that they had planted in the basement of an old tavern, this jet miniature spire, seemingly formed out of black ivory, these few dark ones coalesced. Of this group, at least four were not alive in the traditional sense. Two of them were skeletal death knights, great martial champions in life, these former heroes of the sword had now become rotting horrors, still wearing the armour and carrying the weapons that they did in life, a rictus grin of yellowed teeth ever present on their lipless faces while crimson dots of light danced in their empty sockets.

The two of them flanked a whispy, black thing that seemed to be clad in a hooded death shroud, it's face as empty as the void of night itself. A wraith, a soul that had died in circumstances so horrific that it went beyond what would form a mere ghost or spectre, something that perished in conditions so abomidable that it's very humanity had been purged from it's soul, leaving only the image of death. But the three of them were overshadowed by one shape, a black robed skeletal figure clutching a staff that seemed to be made out of an ebony spine tipped with small, fire blackened skulls. A crown rested upon the thing's head, from which two curling ram's horns, black as pitch, spiraled out forth.

The living acolytes, garbed in black and red, finished their touches on the technomagic device, standing well back from it as the spire began to float upwards on a cushion of air. "My lords...it is ready..." Said one of the acolytes to the wraith before bowing in acknowledgement to the black and red hooded skeletal figure, who was flanked by four ebony plated cyborgs with red visors, their technological forms enhanced with deadly magic in a fusion of science and sorcery. "Then activate it." The wraith hoarsely whispered in a voice that carried the chill of death itself, sending shudders down the spine of the cultist, though his face was hidden by a harlequin's mask, his fear and worship of his undying masters was palpable.

The acolyte went back to the circle of mages and technicians surrounding the device, the psychic beacon, and they began the final series of encantments that caused the device's upward prongs to open up, revealing a iridescent crystal that serenely floated above the petal bloom of metal beneath it. The crystal then made three sharp pinging noises before a low, dull throb went out through the air, the sound of freedom dying. Across the small town of Barton Hallow, every citizen suddenly stopped cold, as if someone had flicked the switch to their minds. Even the wailing of infants ceased, even the chirping of the insects had halted abrubtly.

"My lords...it works..." The acolyte said to his masters, kneeling before them and bowing his head before them. "Good...Are there any loose ends?" The Wraith asked as it tilted it's head, a low uluating exhale coming out from it's nonexistent throat as it bobbed slowly up and down the air. "The mayor, a Thomas Charleston, my lords...remains unaccounted for..." The acolyte said, finally deigning to look up at his deathless lieges. "Then cut the knot." The shrouded thing hoarsely commanded, almost hissing out it's words in a manner that made the acolyte nearly flinch. "It will be done...lord Noxus." The acolyte said as he stood up out of his bow and fled the basement.

Then the wraith Noxus turned to the cyborg flanked figure. "This will be a most excellent test run...do you not agree, Lord of Lords?" Noxus whispered deferentially to the Silent King, who simply nodded as he turned around and stepped out of the room. A long, droning, ululating and bedlam howl then pierced through the throbbing silence, and if Noxus had a face, he would have smiled...the wirewolf was loose.

Later

Thomas Charleston returned to his home after a meeting in New Orleans proper, accompanied by a small security detail that flanked his car. But there was none of the typical greetings he usually got, even in a time of day as late as this. Not to mention, there was foreboding sense of dread and oppression that hung in the town. He saw some people walking past him, but when the security guards tried to tell them to step back, they simply strode on past, a dull, glassed look in their eyes. "What do you make of this Jensen?" Thomas asked to his aide who shook her head. "I don't know...something in the water maybe?" She asked before he caught the sight of what looked like a winged figure at first in the corner of his eyes.

An angel perhaps? He had heard of angelic superheroes in the papers, but never met one in person. While never a man of particularly strong faith, Thomas still considered himself to be Christian, and the thought of meeting one of the lord's protectors was exciting to him. He turned around to take a look, somewhat apprehensive of what he would see, expecting some comely, golden haired being that radiated divine goodness and a sense of calmness.

What he got was far worse. He was confronted by the sight of a ogre sized, wiry creature whose skin and muscles constantly sloughed off in enormous flakes, seemingly dessicating and rotting in fast motion while it's leathery wings flapped in defiance to all condition they should have had. A trail of rotted off flesh trailed behind it, while a lolling, cracked tongue fell out of it's mouth, only to seemingly reappear to start rotting all over again. It was an angel alright, but it was no angel of the lord, it was an Angel of Decay.

But before he could scream, a piercing, metallic and ululating howl pierced through the silence. Then a security guard disappeared as he was pulled off of his motorbike, screaming before a wet gurgling filled the air and the sound of metal going through flesh meshed with it. "GET US OUT! GET US OUT!" Charleston shrieked as the car turned around and began to drive as fast as it could as the security guards tried to provide some cover.

But whatever it was, their bullets merely bounced off of what seemed to be steel, and the thing was incredibly fast. It seemed to cartwheel, bob, weave, duck, and jump through the storm of pistol rounds being sent at it, those that did catch it bouncing off of what he could finally see resembled some form of animated, humanoid mass of metal with sickles for fingers and a series of whiplike razorwires coming out of it's back. But other than resembling plates of metal placed together to make a humanoid form, it's features did not remain constant. Spikes, curves, points, horns, and other features melted in and out of it's fluid structure, the only thing remaining constant being the blank, silvery curved mask for a faceplate.

Another guard was jumped and stabbed through the chest with a razorwire before being flung at another, whose head was stomped on while the ground seemed to partially melt in it's presence. Clearly, whatever it was, it's presence was something reality was not agreeing with, if only in a small way. One of the guards loaded incendiery rounds into his pistol, a large caliber magnum, and fired it at a leaking tank just as the gas vapour was piling up, igniting the gas contained in the motorcycle's tank in an large explosion, and a shrieking howl went through the air to be cut off by the explosion. and charleston breathed out a sigh of relief.

As they drove back to New Orleans, Charleston drove towards a hotel and asked for another series of bookings, which the Clerk agreed to. Then he looked at her one more time and asked. "May I have some phone books please?" To which the clerk nodded and provided him with a trio of large phone books, which he took up to his room and began to flip through while simultaneously looking for any paranormal investigators who could not only study and diagnose, but fight and defeat threats that defied logic. He contacted everyone he could, going through various organizations, always giving his thanks to any who would take the job, explaining the situation to them in a sort of panic, fear evident in his voice.

But what he did not know...was that the Wirewolf was not finished. Crawling out of the crater the exploded gas tank created, the rents in the wirewolf's structure flowed back together like quicksilver. They were simply not big enough to allow the possessing energetic iconoclasm's essence to spill out before it could regenerate it's "body." Looking at the ground, the wirewolf followed the trail of it's quarry, breaking into a tireless sprint towards New Orleans, where those black hearted folk had made a great den in.

New Orleans

Nara's Request

For a few days Selma had been in the Cajun Country known as New Orleans. She was called in by an old friend, a spiritualist of sorts that attended church and practiced what some would call "Voodoo". Selma's friend Nara Dunham was a forty-five year old African-American woman. She strongly stood by her African heritage, faith in God, and belief that something was amiss in New Orleans as of late.

One evening at home she rang Selma at a rather late hour. She called and told her of how she would go and make the forty minute drive every week to visit her ailing mother. Soon she noticed that the vibrancy of the city started to diminish. Local residents started to show themselves less and less, shops closed early, and even her own mother seemed to act as if she was living in fear. Not fear of death though, Nara made clear of that. But something far more sinister, a fear of being controlled, manipulated. She said her mother begged and pleaded for Nara to take her as far away from town, anywhere but there. Nara listened to her mother but took them as just ramblings. Until a week after the city started to change, Nara's mother became a shell. A shell of the woman she once was, she wouldn't look at Nara only through her, she would be covered in dust and tired. Nara feared that she was becoming sicker, that her mother's time to pass on had come. She consulted her mother's doctors, but they were the same, only shells of people that wouldn't give Nara a straight answer. Nara only had one person to turn to, one person she knew she could trust and would figure out what was wrong with her mother and her home.

"Selma, I beg of you please! My mother...something is wrong, with her, with everything!" Selma had slowed down her friend's sobs for help long enough to get the skinny of what was going down.

"Okay Nara, I'll be down there. Just give me a few days to gather some data, and get everything I need."

Selma made an attempt to calm her friend when she arrived. Nara had rings of red around her eyes as she tightly gripped a tissue in the doorway. "Selma..." she trailed off and just tilted her head, she tried to stifle the tears. "I just don't know where to turn, there is just freaky shit going on here." She started to sob again. "My mother, she has never been this bad. Her doctors won't talk to me, and with all of this going on while trying to stay sane I just don't know. I don't know if I am strong enough!" Selma beeped her car to lock and walked up the wooden stairs to where Nara stood.

"You will be fine Nara, you are a strong woman. I know you will." Selma embraced her friend and let Nara just let go. All the pressure she had felt of having to take care of her mother had finally boiled over. "Shh, it's okay. We will get through this, have faith." Something Selma had a hard time believing in, but Nara on the other hand would take these words to heart. Selma gave Nara a comforting hug and smile that told Nara Selma wasn't lying. They would get through this and figure out what was going on. Selma tried to change the subject, "so your place...where can I leave my stuff?" Nara lead Selma inside to a guest room, Nara's house was a wooden cabin. Comprised of two bedrooms, study, kitchen, two bathrooms, and living room. Nara had a wealthy family, but preferred the small town life to a bustling city, and a cabin to a mansion. A humble person, that had ordained her cabin in decorations from war off places and cultures. Religious artifacts from around the world littered the place,but in a tasteful way that didn't make Selma feel like she was on an episode of hoarders.

After she allowed Selma a few minutes to drop her stuff of and put her clothes away Nara returned with two coffee mugs. "Earle Gray? Thought it could calm our nerves...well mine!" Nara laughed at her own expense as she cooled the mugs but gently blowing on them.

"Thanks friend," Selma took her cup and stirred it a bit. "Nara, has their been suspicious activity just in New Orleans or anywhere else?"

Nara paused for a second as she thought about it, "well none really here, I haven't been anywhere though besides here and New Orleans though so I don't really know."

Selma waited a moment as she meshed over the idea of asking Nara to drive her around to survey. Would Nara be comfortable with that? Selma could use a guided tour though to gain better perspective. "Nara do you think you could take me on a tour tonight?"

Nara's eyes widened, "Selma there are dark figures that come out at night, shady people. I think we should wait, until morning.

Nara's response threw Selma off, what did Nara mean by dark figures? Was there more that Nara had been holding back from Selma. "Okay, well I am going to finish getting situated then heading to bed. 8AM look around tomorrow?"

Nara nodded and smiled at Selma, "your gonna kill me with getting up that early! But sure 8AM bright and early!"

The Next Morning

Nara drove Selma through the once bustling city of New Orleans, now only a few tourists and dazed residents wondered the streets. "Now, Selma...what is your impression of this?"

"I definitely sense spiritual presences are at work here. But the root doesn't feel to be coming from New Orleans but somewhere on the outskirts." Nara nodded at what Selma said, it wouldn't make sense to have any type of base of operations in a public domain rich with so much activity like that. Whatever was going on here Selma was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Selma there is something I think you should see," Nara picked up speed and took a few back alley ways to far less populated part of town. There Selma could see Nara's voodoo shop at the foot of a rather large cemetery. "I noticed it a few nights ago. A sound, clanking, I thought just some kids having fun." Nara started, "I thought it was nothing. Then I went out into the graveyard with a light and saw it..." Nara trailed off as she stopped the car in front of her shop and put it in park.

"Saw what Nara?" Selma gathered herself and emerged from the vehicle with her friend. The graveyard was contained by high rising black bars of steal that had a spade shape that lined the tops at a fine point. An eerie fog made it hard to make out exactly how big the cemetery was.

"Selma, I am not crazy you know that right? I mean between both of us we have both seen some off the wall stuff." Selma nodded at her friend and followed her beyond hershop and into the graveyard. They went about fifteen feet until Nara stopped in front of several dug up graves. "Selma this isn't all, come over here."

Selma was confused, maybe they were moving bodies to make room for more, or there had been a mistake. She trusted Nara though and followed her. They made there way to a hill that looked the graveyard, where it was easier to survey it all. The graveyard was massive, one of the biggest Selma had ever seen. Besides the fog blocking most it, she saw in many areas of the graveyard, there were gaps of where bodies used to be. "Nara...what is this? Whats going on?"

Nara shrugged at Selma, "I am not sure, but these strange occurrences and these digs I know can't just be a coincidence."

They returned to the car, and inside speculated over what the cause could be. Selma listened to her friend and her spiritual accounts within the area. Some she took to heart, others she took as just hogwash. But still she listened, even though this was distressing, it was good to get Nara's mind off of things. Selma would have Nara help her with the area and spiritual history of it. Selma continued to listen to Nara as she went on and about voodoo, the dead, legends about the area. Selma just continued to listen to her friend, occasionally jotting down something that could relate to this case.

They arrived at the house and Selma gave Nara a friendly pat on the back. "All be well my friend, no worries." She smiled and Nara couldn't help but wipe a tear that trailed down her rounded face. Selma couldn't blame her for being scared, hell Selma was scared too. Scared for her friend and that whatever is going on here is far worse than what Selma had already seen. Either way she needed a drink and to comb over her notes. "Nara, I'll be back shortly, but I need to process all that has happened, look over my notes and such. Which way to town?"

"Oh, just go straight out, then make a right you will go about ten miles and you should be there!" Nara waived Selma on as she shut the screen door behind her. Selma just thought Nara must be tired from the long day they had had. Either way she would need to keep an eye on Nara, something didn't sit right with Selma and she couldn't put her finger on it yet.

Her eyes caught the name of a bar that looked popular for the little town Nara called home, "hmm Mels...sounds harmless enough." Selma parked her blue Toyota Camry to the side of the bar. Settled into a nook off to the side and scattered her notes about. The bar wasn't too crowded, but there was a live band and plenty of people that had just gotten off work. She furrowed her brow, and started to get into her notes, when her waitress waltzed over.

Las Vegas, 9:50 PM.

Mike carefully inched down the hallway, his gun in hand. Loading in clip full of silver bullets, he slowly moved further and further. He froze when he heard a loud growl. The tension in the air was palpable. After a few moments, the growling stopped. "Hell doesn't want them.. Hell doesn't need them.. Hell doesn't love them.." Rob Zombie's voice blared out of his pocket at full volume. Mike swore, and barely had time to throw himself to the side when a fully grown werewolf came slamming through the wall. "F**k!" Mike retreated back down the hall, popping off two rounds. The beast shrieked in pain as both hit it in the shoulder. "That's right ya hairy piecea s**t! You like t-" A dresser flew by, taking his arm clean off. "Alright then, guess not." Firing off another round, the dismembered arm 'stood up' on the fingers and began to crawl back at a surprising pace. "C'mon, hurry it up!" The arm, as if obeying him, sped up and jumped into the air. Mike quickly ripped his sleeve off, and the skeletal appendage re-attached itself. The werewolf was on him. Mike headbutted it, then jammed the barrel of the gun up under its snout. "Nighty night, jackass!" The remaining three rounds went up into the beast's brain, killing it.

With a grunt, he shoved it off of him. His phone started to play Rob Zombie again. Ripping it out of his pocket, he flipped it open and put it to the side of his head. "WHAT?!" His raspy voice was booming. "Damnit, kid. Yer timing is always bad, innit?" He listened for a few moments as the man on the other end explained a job. "Barton Hollow? Where in Saint Mary's name is t-" He paused again. "Oh. Just oustida New Orleans? Some kinda freaky deaky s**t goin' on over there, then?" The skeletal man stroked his bony chin. "Alright. Alright alright, I'm onnit. I should be there in a couplea minutes." He hung up, forcing it back into his pocket. "Stupid kid." Snapping his fingers, a black circle opened up in front of him. The area around it quickly began to rot, and there was a powerful vacuum. Mike stepped into it, and it disappeared behind him.

Barton Hollow, Louisiana, 9:55 PM.

The portal opened up a couple hundred yards from the town Eddie had directed him to. Given his... association with death, he could smell it. From where he stood, the entire town reeked of rot. Flipping out his phone, he dialed in Eddie’s number.

“Dad, that you? I’m guessing that you’re either calling me to yell at me for the werewolf thing again.. or you’re at Barton Hollow.” The voice on the other end was that of a sleep-deprived 23-year-old. Running intel for your monster-hunting grim reaper father cut into one’s sleep schedule a bit.

“Yea, it’s me. I’m here, gimme the lowdown on things.” Mike started to walk, slow, but he walked. It was still quite a while to town and he wanted to get this phone call done.

“Alright. Mayor of New Orleans put out a.. a.. one sec, gotta bring it up again.” There was the sound of keys being tapped on the other end. “A help wanted ad. Asking for people who deal in the supernatural. So far he’s gotten mostly hacks in response. Anyways, the situation with Barton Hollow is a strange one. All signs are pointing to possession, but no clue on who or what is doing it. I've gone through all the standard demons and spirits, but nothin' is matching. Just one day the town’s all lively..”

“’An next day it’s gone full-on ghost town on us.”

“Not exactly. From what reports-well, what qualifies for reports in our field of work-are saying, you can still see people out and about. Just that they seem to be.. almost robotic? Again, reading from internet articles here, not always reliable. Oh, and it says that there’s been two travelers that’ve disappeared when going through Barton Hollow.”

“So pretty much a buncha zombie people walkin’ around a town and two missin’ persons? Yep, sounds like a standard possession ta me. Text me any new info as you get it.” He hung up, noticing he was roughly a hundred yards away from the town. His body suddenly vanished from where it was and re-appeared in a group of trees. After a few moments he casually walked out. There was a state trooper patrolling back and forth at the entrance to the town. Mike walked up to him. “Evenin’, officer.” The man nodded dully, halting his patrol. The immediate lack of horror or disgust at Mike’s appearance was a red flag by itself.

Engaging in conversation, he switch to necrovision. Flicking through the various planes of existence, he found nothing. “So, how’s things around here?” Mike got a minimal, monotone reply out of him. Eddie had been right. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I’m gonna head on into town. Maybe see about findin’ me a room.” Mike nodded to the officer, walking off.

As he walked, he got a bad feelin’. As if the eyes of the entire town were on him.

The scent of sausage gumbo and nicotine were a fixture in Papa Ray’s Diner. The empty booths and silence were not. Alex had heard stories all his life about New Orleans, about the city of colours, where even the funerals were a party. Well, it certainly felt like a funeral so far. The people on the streets may as well have been propped up corpses. When he and his new boss had answered that pay phone in the motel in Alabama, neither of them could have figured exactly what they were getting themselves into. All Cain had been told was that there was something sinister going on and that they needed to find the mayor. Alex didn’t like it, but he was still new to the whole detective thing. He needed to watch the professional at work if he wanted to learn. As it stood now, though, all he was learning was how to pick every chunk of shrimp out of a bowl of soup.

“So… Is it Finn? How about Robert? Miller? Cain Miller Panell has a certain ring to it.” Alex rested his chin in his hands as he stared intently across the table at his employer.

“Why do you care what my middle name is?” Cain popped another piece of shrimp into his mouth, not bothering to look up from his meal.

“A name has a lot of power.” Alex leaned back and hung his arms over the back of the booth, letting his head loll to the side. “You can learn a lot about something by knowing its name. Which is why I hate us being here.” Cain rolled his eyes and continued eating. “Seriously, I know you’re the boss but we don’t have any idea what is happening, or even who wanted us here. Sure the people are a little, um, subdued… But that doesn’t mean there’s anything supernatural going on. So what are we doing in this greasy little restaurant?”

Cain reached for a napkin and dabbed lips before replying. “I’d say there’s a reason for us being here right across the street.” He nodded out the window as he spoke. Alex turned to face the direction he had indicated and nearly jumped out of their booth at what he saw.

“The fu- What the Hell is that!?”

“It’s a wirewolf.”

“You made that up.”

“Clearly.”

“What’s it doing?”

“It looks like it’s hunting something.”

“We should stop it. How do you kill one of them?”

“I’ve read that there is some kind of magic artifact underneath their armour. Destroy that and you destroy the wirewolf.” Cain paused and took a sip from his coffee cup. “We’re lucky.”

“How are we lucky?”

“It looks like it’s just made out of steel.”

“Oh, well thank God the evil werewolf-thing is just made out of steel! That makes things so much easier.” Alex pursed his lips and rolled his eyes as he got up from their table, picking up the salt shaker as he did.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” Cain moved to follow after him, but Alex was already at the door.

“It’s on the move. I’m going to get its attention.” Alex stepped out of Papa Ray’s and hurled the shaker at the beast’s head. “Hey Sparky! I’ll do  to you what the floor does to an iPhone!” The shaker bounced off of its shiny metal snout and the wirewolf let out a snarl before bounding towards Alex in the blink of an eye. “Oh sh-.” Alex threw his arms up to defend himself, but the wirewolf’s claws cut through his flesh like it was butter. He fell back, blood pouring from the new cuts in his forearms, chest, and stomach. “S’fast.” Alex gurgled the words out. The wirewolf raised its arm to plunge its claws into Alex’s face when three bullets ricocheted off of its constantly shifting body. Cain was up, with one of his guns in one hand and his knife at the ready in his other. The wolf roared and leaped at him, attempting to cut him in half with its sickle-like fingers. With impressive speed Cain side stepped the attack and jabbed his blade at its neck before hopping backwards. He fired off three more shots at its eyes.

“Come on, kid! Up and at ‘em!” Cain was right. Gotta focus. Calm down and control the bleeding. Don’t go out like this. He breathed in once and the blood he was losing began to flowing around his body. Remember to make more to compensate. He forced his marrow to work in overdrive as the blood began to take shape around his limbs and torso. Heavy gauntlets and boots encased his arms and legs as the breastplate and helmet finished taking shape. His muscles increased in size and density. Through his new visor he caught sight of his boss spinning around the wirewolf and kicking it in the back of the legs. It stumbled. Move! Alex dove at the beast and collided with it head on, sending both of them crashing through the wall of the diner and into the alley outside.

“Not so easy now, huh Sparky!?”  He pounded away at it as its claws scraped at his armour, trying desperately to get through it. It tried to break free from his hold, but he slipped behind it and put it into a hammer lock. Alex dug his fingers into the centre of the Wirewolf and pried its body open. “Hit the God Damn magic thing already!” As he finished speaking another shot rang out and the writhing mass of steely sinew fell to pieces in his arms. Alex kicked at the scrap metal and grunted in pain as he stepped back in through the hole in the wall of the diner. Cain had holstered his weapons and was already back at their booth finishing his coffee. The cooks and other staff hadn’t even looked up from their work.

“That’s a neat trick, kid. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Me neither.” Cain raised an eyebrow and downed his drink. He took a twenty from his back pocket and left it on the table. “I think I’ll keep the armour for a while… You know, until I’m sure I can keep from bleeding out. So boss… We should probably find the mayor soon.” Cain smirked and walked towards the now gaping doorway.  

“Well let’s get to it, then.”

One week later, Louisiana-

Two hours later-

Los Angeles

Freya walked through the door in an upscale eatery in a nice neighborhood. It was trendy and chic, full of a moneyed crowd who liked to judge people. These people observed Freya out of the corner of their eyes, realizing the presence of someone who didn't belong. Of course, she did not fit into their crowd. While everyone else was dolled up for the night, Freya sauntered in soaked, wearing baggy jeans, a white tank top under the beige duster coat she had fondness for and mud all over her boots to top it all off. And the green hair...yes, Freya did not fit into this crowd at all.

She would normally be feeling aggravated by people staring, but she was here on business. And business was much more important than caring about insignificant judgments. She scanned the room. She saw table after table of couples eating and chatting. Her eyes stopped on a table in the corner. Sitting there alone was the elderly Skip. Her old friend and boss, and the closest thing she had to a father figure, that is, if she knew how a proper father was supposed to act. Skip looked up from his wine, spotting Freya. His eyes widened, taking in her disorderly appearance, as she made a bee-line for his table.

"You certainly know how to make a horrible appearance," Skip said. "You look like you brought in half of the muck in the park river with you."

Freya sat down. "Well, I did just nearly drown in the park river trying to kill that darn siren you sent me after. And, I was right you know, about Fae siren's not just living in salt-water."

Skip dismissed her comments and took a sip of his wine. "I want to discuss with you an opportunity."

Freya ran a bruised hand through her knotted hair, letting out a huff. "An 'opportunity'? Your opportunities have the potential to get people killed. I know first hand. Tonight is a perfect example."

Skip glared at her. "Do you have to be a bitch about everything? I give you work, money to help you survive your self-imposed exile. A little gratefulness would be appreciated once in a while."

"Look, I apologize, but it's been a rough night."

"I appreciate your hollow apology," Skip said, "but I think this opportunity might interest you. Purely because it's not a Fae mission. Isn't that you want? No more association with your fellow Fae?"

Freya's full attention snapped towards him. "Go on..."

Skip chuckled. "I knew that would pique your interest." He pulled out a stack of papers from his messenger bag and layed it out on the table. "Now seeing as we're not an official...business and play by a whole different set of rules, you might need to handle this mission with a bit more...grace. This involves a town of humans."

"Meaning?"

"This involves investigating," Skip replied seriously. "You can't just go in there kicking and punching like you normally do. And lay off the air sorcery. And cover up that hair of yours. Learn to blend in a bit. Do the opposite of what you're doing right now."

Freya smirked as listed off his instructions. "Boss, those orders are never easy to follow."

He pushed the pile of papers across the table toward her. "Take a shower and read these tonight. They'll give you all the information you need. I expect you to be in the town of Barton Hollow by tomorrow." Skip placed his bowler hat onto his head, lifting his messenger bag over shoulder. Apparently this was his exit.

"Expect me?" Freya snapped. "I haven't even agreed to do this investigation."

Skip was already halfway across the restaurant. "I expect you to do this because I know that there is a shred of compassion in that cold heart of yours that could be used for the greater good." He gave her a meaningful look and walked out the front door.

Freya looked at papers in front of her. She suddenly felt the unwanted weight of responsibility weighing on her shoulders. She let out a snarl, picking up the papers and leaving the restaurant, realizing she was accepting the case.

Later that night

Freya's hair was wrapped in a towel, still wet from her recent shower. She casually sat on the couch in her small, dingy apartment in some clean clothes that would be her pajamas for the night. She had flipped on the lamp next to the couch, illuminating the papers that rested on her lap. The rustle of her dryer drying her clothes was a mild irritation.

As she went over the pages, she had to admit, this case was interesting. Barton Hollow. A place that somehow turned into a town of odd people, odd occurrences, odd sightings. Possession, probably? Her being intrigued was an understatement.

As she went to bed, flicking off the lights, she thought Barton Hollow would definitely prove to be a mystery.

Barton Hollow, the following night

Freya drove into the small town of Barton Hollow. The first thing Freya thought was this was definitely not the sort of place one would expect in New Orleans. She drove around a while, getting familiar with the town's general layout, before deciding to get see things up close and personal.

She ditched her car outside of what could possibly be considered a bed-and-breakfast, a place she could possibly use to stay at while in town. But first things first, figuring out what the hell was going on in this small town. She placed a hood of her beige duster over her green hair. The last thing she wanted to do was to attract attention when the whole town could be possibly under some kind of possession. Passing through the streets, the people struck her as...odd. Just the way they acted was so automatic, lacking conviction. And right now, Freya realized this place was its own world. "Gods," she said. She would find out what was happening here even if it meant doing something incredibly stupid. Freya had never failed one of her missions, and she would try like hell to solve this case.

She continued to wonder around, taking in observations, being patient, waiting for something to help her get a better understanding on what the hell was happening.

A Few Months Prior:

"I never thought you to be a man of God Bertrand."

"Not a man o' de almighty Mister No Name." Bertrand's heavy Cajun accent masked his words in the same tone of mystery as the topic they were discussing, "Just a peeshwank who learned dat he don matta in the gran scheme a tings." The two of them sat together in the poorly lit and poorly maintained apartment in the city of New Orleans that Bertrand, known in some circles of the magic community as the eccentric "The Bayou Enchanter", called his home, where the two enemies of The Flock discussed topics such as this.

"I'm just not sure I can handle the idea of there being an afterlife at all. And I definitely don't want to believe there are ghosts everywhere trying to scare the piss out of me!" The two men laughed as they drank their tea together, and once again No Name realized that Bertrand was the only person in the world he could call a friend ever since his "emergence" in the desert of Arizona a couple months ago, "You see any ghosts down by the Bayou wrestling alligators? Maybe some voodoo witches now and then?"

"You don need to believe it fuh it to cause you harm boy! I learned dis lesson well growing up." Bertrand set down his copy of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers onto the small table seperating them and the smile that he usually kept on his face slowly vanished as he began to reminisce of his days living near the Bayou river.It was no longer a joke. "De ghosts of those I've hurt follow me whereva I go, and dey will foreva haunt me. If you do eva come back here once I'm gone, maybe you'll meet some a your own ghosts like I met mine."

Once he's gone...

Present Day:

"This is your stop buddy."

"But...we're not there yet." No Name looked through the window of the taxi cab's backseat and saw only trees along the side of the road...not a single sign of civilization. Even so, the look of fearful determination on the white cab driver's old wrinkled face through the rear-view mirror made it plainfully obvious that he would indeed go no further, so he simply got out of the vehicle with a sigh of annoyance. Using his hand to cover his eyes from the sun, No Name hoped to possibly see his destination in sight, but only saw more wilderness. "How far is it a walk from here to Barton Hollow?"

The window of the passengers seat came rolling down as the old man began to speak. "About a mile, if you just keep walking straight from here." The driver hardened his grip on the steering wheel, a few beads of sweat rolling down his forhead and onto the gut extending from under the drivers dirty-white undershirt, "Just watch yourself out there boy. You're walking into some bad mojo if you go to Barton Hollow as of now."

"Thanks for the ride, and...I will." No Name tossed some money through the open window and waved goodbye before continuing his journey down the road towards his next job. Bertrand was right to call these people a superstitious bunch. Bertrand...just thinking about his old friend made him feel lonely, but it also reminded him why he was here in the first place.The Bayou Enchanter once said that he might find his ghosts here, and even if No Name didn't fully believe in spirits he hoped that the job in Barton Hollow would at least be an interesting experience.

Along the path he saw multiple bad omens and strange occurences; animals fleeing in the opposite direction of the town, a small picket sign planted into the side of the road that told all comers to "TURN BACK", a black cat that simply watched him come and go, and even ran into a pile of unexplainably abandoned clothes in the woods when he went over to the trees to urinate in private. All of these things would freak a normal person out enough to make them quit a job, but No Name could feel the impatience building inside him. He wanted to get there as soon as possible and get it over with.

After a little bit of walking he finally reached the place of destiny, foretold by the green sign at the border that simply said WELCOME TO BARTON HOLLOW. For a couple of minutes he couldn't help but stand there looking at the sign, wondering if he was ready to face his ghosts after all as the confidence he had slowly drained away.. Part of him believed that the job would be full of b.s. and that he would see nothing real, but another part of him, this one in a deeper part of his mind, begged him to simply turn around, walk away, and never think of this place again.

No Name knew he couldn't do that. Hoping to quell the unexplainable fear that was stuck in the back of his mind, the mentally broken man took his first steps into the town while feeling the cold wind brush against his face, ignoring the immediate chill of fear that raced down his spine, and the strange old man that simply stared at him from afar with eyes empty of all human emotion. It was from that point that he unknowingly took his first steps into a whole new kind of hell.

The sky was stained black as an overcast sky combined with the night, thunder boomed in the distance and the scent of fresh grass flowed through the air. It was a pity that it could not be smelled down below, the stench of dank vomit and streets splashed with wasted booze inhabited the Barton Hallow streets. Why was he here? Why was he cast into the darkness and filth of the poor part of town? These among the question of his identity raced through his undead mind. The last thing L could remember was having a bullet put into his skull, the scenery of the town was familiar to that of the one he watched over on this night. The hell hunter stood tall on top of a disclosed building, fascinated by how grotesque anyplace is in between the cracks.

Perhaps one of the most conflicting powers he now had was to sense out sin like a radar, the screams of a rape victim and the grunts of pain from a man getting stabbed were all to familiar to L at this point. Finally though, a quick snap went off in L's mind, the sin of murder exploded a few blocks into town. He could already smell the blood stained on the street and feel the lone strands of tugged hair between his finger tips, his sense enjoyed getting all to comfy with L's physical senses when it tasted sin. Right before he was to make haste to the scene, he sensed something much closer, a crazed man with a small knife threatening a lady.

"C'mon you stupid b*tch! Just give me the purse before I carve ye'!" The crazed man barked at the frightened woman.

She could barely keep her lips from trembling let alone her eyes clear of runny makeup mixed with her tears, she would have acted to give him the money but she was petrified. The man did not take well to her noncompliance and was getting ready to end her life, the sound of metal sliding through flesh was heard but it was not the damsels. The man's eyes were as wide as could be to see the gloved hand of L stuck with a knife going through the center of his hand , green blood dripping on the floor. As soon as his scared eyes made contact with the soulless burning green ones of L he let go of the knife and made an attempt to escape.

He got about five steps away before L's hand grasped onto the top of his head and lifted him up, his screams filled the night air. The man squirmed for his life but being suspended in the air made his struggle fruitless, L finished enjoying the sight and quickly twisted his head to the left only to snap it to the right, breaking his neck entirely. L turned to the damsel with a look of sympathy.

"Mam...Are you alrig-"He couldnt even finish his presentation of affection for she started to scream at the sight of him and what he had done.

She ran passed L and tried to push him over but only stumbled while continuing to flee the backstreet. L stood in silence for a few moments, reminding himself he did the right thing. His cloak came to life and assisted L in scaling the building to go back to his search for the murder.But something was very wrong. Another sin snapped in his mind just like the other one, then another, and another and another. Quickly a small barrage of sins pertaining to the ending of someones life could be sensed coming from all over the town.

"What the hell is happening? Was this why I was sent here?"L asked himself as he was starting to be overwhelmed by the attack of sins from all over the town.

After giving his head a shake, L stood tall once again to seek out any noticeable patterns. While his soul sense was busy, his sight caught that of a woman down below, and she was indeed not from around these parts. She was dressed differently from the flavor of the town and had jade green hair, L observed her closely from above on the rooftop.

"What is it your looking for I wonder..."He pondered in his mind.

L decided to follow her for a bit, see if she was looking for something, and if she was. What could it be?

Noxus, head of Black hand operations in the South Eastern region of the united States, floated off the ground, passing through the walls of the tavern as if they weren't there. Solid matter was meaningless to the incorporeal wraith, whose death shroud clung to a body of pure darkness, one that hated and feared the sun. The evil of a wraith's spirit was so intense that they became powerless and ineffectual when exposed to the true light of the sun, and thus they hated that light giving burning orb in space and all the stars like it. But already the hand had set up a device that would blot out the sun over the new orleans area, so that their work could truly begin in it's earnest.

Hovering over to the tallest building in the hamlet, the top of a church, Noxus circled around a device implanted into the cross there and equipped his ghost touch gauntlets, allowing him to interact with corporeal beings and entities with his hands. Pressing in some commands into a black and red console that unfurled from the magitek device, the Wraith backed away as his two death knight guards leapt on top of the church steeple, keeping a perimeter search as the hooded wraith looked at the resulting dark purple beam that shot out from the top of the Church tower, striking into the air then billowing out into the night sky, creating a dark purple haze.

The hazy clouds began to spread out, blocking the night sky and ensuring that the whole of the Black Hand's undead ruling class, many of whom had some sort of vulnerability to sunlight, would be able to operate twenty four hours a day. The device now humming softly, Noxus surrounded it with a bubble of dark magic, a force field that would protect the device until dispelled or counter spelled. Now free from the worry of suddenly being interrupted by the Sun, Noxus went to phase two of his own personal plan...to create his own personal kingdom and impress vrakmul with his initiative and ambition. A series of evil sounds echoed through the night, as intelligent forms of undead began to enter the town.

Wights, mummies, angels of decay, other wraiths, a pair of liches, the odd vampire, and most impressively, a nightwing, a huge, bat shaped creature of solid shadow matter the size of a small plane, a undead creature that fed on magic and radiated an aura of pure evil that strengthened the undead around it. The Night wing landed near the church, folding it's wings to allow it to walk on the ground on all fours like some form of pterodactyl as it gave Noxus a bow. "Welcome...Thrakazay" Noxus hissed as the Nightwing rose from it's bow and the undead began to flow into the small town, to make it into their own. "Greetings...Lord Noxus...I do bear...bad news however..." The Nightwing said, shuffling somewhat on it's black body, piercing blue orbs like twinkling stars fixed on the wraith.

"Yes?" Noxus whispered, his voice carried forth by cold winds. "I have caught the scent of magic...that is not our own..." Thrakazay deferentially responded, prompting Noxus to nod it's hooded head. "Then we shall create a distraction...New Orleans perhaps?" He responded, looking over at new orleans as lesser forms of undead and golems began to march towards new orleans, accompanied and sheparded by living servitors. Noxus never really thought much of the living members of the black hand, they never survived to move on to the next universe, as they could not withstand the power of their true master...the Icon.

As there were nowhere near enough corpses for an army of zombies or skeletons to be even remotely effective against enemy magic users, the Hand had decided to use the corpses to create more powerful undead. Six emaciated, open rib caged devourers who could call upon super human strength and spells fueled by souls they had captured in their rib cage, hulking things; huge, enormously strong and tough if mindless and slow shambling corpses made out of the bodies of dead giants, but strengthened beyond that of a mere zombie, though sadly he could only call upon two, as the last Giant to have died in the area was far too rotted to make a hulking thing, four of the horrific angels of decay whose superhuman strength was augmented by an aura of rot around them that attacked the living within five feet of them, eight incorporeal wraiths whose touches drained vitality, ten of the icy frostborn whose clawed touches drained head and ghastly fanged froglike heads could vomit out blasts of cold. and twelve flesh eating ghouls who could inflict paralysis albeit resistable paralysis with a wounding blow.

To bolster this small army of the living dead came a massive Iron Golem, an enormous magic automaton driven by a bound elemental spirit, and flanking this thirty five foot tall behemoth of thick metal came three sixteen foot tall mayan statue like stone golems, and five twelve foot tall ogre shaped clay golems. While all of these constructs were utterly mindless, they all possessed colossal strength and durability, and would be powerful assets in the distraction. The wraiths would be entrusted with keeping this small army of undead and constructs in line. Noxus fully expected this small force to return more or less destroyed, but all he needed them to do was buy time while the undead and constructs in the small town here sought out any intruders who remained.

Already flying forms of undead were patrolling the city, looking for those who did not display the signs of being under the control of the black hand. Hideous Angels of Decay and shadowy wraiths looked all over, while the horrific skin kites, sloughed off human skin that had taken the vague likeness of flying manta rays with burning red eyes, also began to fly around the area. Skirrs, predatory, animalistic forms of skeletal undead twice as tall as a man with huge, skinless bat wings that let them fly all the same, linen wrappings clinging to their bodies, coming to their thickest near their taloned feet, while vaguely bovine heads that ended in sharp beaks and were tipped with sharp horns promised a gory death to any they caught; flew over head, shrieking as they took to the skies.

Barton Hallow, had now become a fortress, a fortress manned and ruled by the dead.

No Name was literally rendered speechless by the hell that was unfolding in Barton Hollow, a single tear falling from each of his eyes serving as his body's only capable response in the face of such untold horrors and abominations. Ever since he rose up from the desert, he had refused to believe in the idea of an afterlife even when shown glimpses of it through magic, and even now his mind was trying to come up with any sort of explanation for the creatrues that he could accept, but even still he knew the truth. The feeling of his very sould being crushed told him that there were indeed realms and forces beyond this life, and the monstrosities before him were from the darkest parts of it.

Watching from the top of a tall building, he felt as if the fear had taken control of his body and was both forcing him to his knees and making him clutch his chest as he watched the undead and hellish monsters roam the streets. No matter what direction he looked in there was a creature both on the ground and in the air, but it was the sight of the giant golemns, each step of their long strides crushing any under their foot, that dropped his jaw and left him breathless. The world as he knew it was utterly shattered.

After a few minutes of mental defeat, it was an ear piercing shriek that rang throught the air and broke him out of his stupor. After shaking his head and quickly wiping the tears from his face he had gathered enough of his composure to understand an incredibly simple fact; if he didn't do what he could to stop this, everyone here including himself would die. No Name let out a sigh before standing up and walking over to the edge of the building before slowly and cautiously peering down. There were people still standing around as if the underwolrd hadn't revealed itself right in front of them, obviously under the control of the same forces that summoned the creatures.

The mostly hopeless man with no name held his head in his hands as he tried to come up with a plan, but his thoughts were interrupted by another shriek that sounded closer than the last. He pulled a pistol out from the back of his pants and held it out, preparing to shoot whatever revealed itself...and that was when the beast struck. A skeletal creature over twice his size with large skeletal wings leapt up from the ledge of the building and let out another mindblowing shriek less than ten feet away from him, pushing him backwards to the ledge of the building....and then over it just as the beast lunged at him with its claws.

No Name felt the air brush by his face as the beast's razors missed him by less than a foot, but the fall quickly became his next problem. A second later he felt himself hit something metal, realizing his luck when he saw that he had landed on a fire escape going down the building, but immediately felt that luck slip away as the beast looked down from the rooftop to see him laying there ready to be killed. It leapt down at him with another roar and the desire to tear him to shreds, but once again missed him by a second when he rolled to the side and off of the fire escape, barely grabbing onto the railing of the next story down.

The desperate would-be-hero closed his eyes and quickly muttered a spell of levitation before letting himself slowly and safely float down to the ground before running across the street and putting a plan into motion to deal with his pursuer. The beast wasn't willing to let him go so easily however, jumping from the fire escape to the ground and landing with a large thud before catching his scent and chasing after him, destroying the entrance of the gas station store and everything else in its path to find its prey. It once again caught his scent, although it was almost completely covered up by another scent, and destroyed the shelves and then the back door to get back outside and find him, which wouldn't be too difficult.

He was standing out in the open, facing down the skeletal Skirr with a grin and what seemed to be a magazine. Not being a beast of thought, it mindlessly charged at the seemingly defenseless man just as he had hoped it would. Muttering a spell of telekinesis, No Name used it to lift and throw various containers filled with gasoline and lighter fluid at the beast to slow it down, even if it was only for a moment, before pulling out a match and lighting the lighter fluid doused "Playboy" magazine on fire...then threw it at his enemy.

The creature's linen wrappings immediately caught flame, engulfing it in a raging inferno as it continued forward and No Name leapt to the side, watching it barrel forward and fall as the fires began to finally consume it. Shrieks of anger erupted from the beasts as its legs soon became cinders, and with some help from more of No Name's spells the rest of it soon followed. It was finally over. No Name watched it finally turn into an ash pile before laughing and taking a seat on the ground. His nose was bleeding from the spell usage, and he had to catch his breath from the struggle, but at least he know knew the enemy wasn't unbeatable.

Even with that small victory, the fight was far from over. The fire he had caused sent black smoke billowing up into the air, creating a signal for any to come and find him...whether they be friend or foe.

15-20 Minutes Ago(ish)

Selma could sense the shadow over the Cajun Country growing more immense by the second. The evil forces were growing in numbers but so were the number of outsiders investigating. She had Nara keep tabs on any outsiders that had come into town, mark their habits and any helpful description. So far Nara had noted only two working in conjunction with with each other. The rest separate entities all together, and of rather description, except they each a huge factor that set them apart. A green haired woman, a man that carried a bag around with him, and a few other characters, the most distinctive was a man that was a living skeleton, or perhaps a cursed skeleton? She wasn't sure if Nara's accounts were accurate or if she had seen something else. Her gut told her Nara was right, especially since the guy that was described as always having a bag with him was sitting at the bar. Midway through her thought of connecting the notes and the man, the waitress sat a drink down. Selma looked up at her, as the Waitress gestured toward the man Selma had been eyeing. She downed the Jack and the coke, grabbed her notes and grabbed the man at the bar. "No time to explain! I am agent Sherman of the FBI and we've got trouble!"

She pulled the man outside, her notes flew everywhere. She saw a plume of smoke and ash rise towards the sky. It wasn't in New Orleans but somewhere closer, maybe a smaller town? Or perhaps a house had caught on fire. Selma looked on as she could see dark specters patrolling the sky near the smoke and ash. "We gotta there!" she pointed on to the town. "I can get us there fast! You just hold on!" She let her eyes flash an azure blue and she lifted into the air. Her blue flames emerged from the palms of her hands, instead of the typical heat that would be felt, the took were caught up the aura of blue fire's bitter coldness. She smiled at the man and noticed he had started to shiver a bit. "Bundle up! It gets chilly when you fly with me." The two started off toward the dreary town, that was once known for it's small town charm and rustic beauty. Now, Barton Hollow was a haven for darkness and demonic beings.

"Oh.. that ain't good. That ain't good at all." Flipping his phone out, he got an idea. He dialed a number. "Kid, I need ya to phone Emmanuel. Yes, creepy hoodoo Emmanuel. No, I don't giva s**t if his voice makes 'yer skin crawl, CALL HIM! Tell 'im he's got a small army marching right onna his doorstep! I don't care, just tell the freaky bastard 'ta work his hoodoo if he wants to keep that shop a his runnin'." Hanging up the phone, the ghoul immediately got to work. First his jacket flew off, then his shirt. The pants had to stay. He might not have anythin' down there, but he still had decency.

Setting his hands on his neck, he pried his skull off of the neck that held it up. "Awright.. 'ere goes nothin!" He held his head in one hand, outstretching the arm behind him. Flinging it upwards, he set the skull rocketing up into the sky. It hung there for several moments, floating. The eye-sockets lit up bright green, and the skull turned in a circle. Eerily enough, the jaw could still talk. "Okay.. we.. holy s*************tttttt. We gots alotta stiffs. Walkin' stiffs. Oh, c'mon! Zombies? Really?!" The skull looked down, only to see its body fending off said undead. "Oops. Gotta head back! Geronimo!" Turning around, the head seemed to fly downwards, eager to reunite with its body.

Meanwhile, the body was holding its own. Turns out that whatever was holding these guys up didn't stop them from rotting further. Zombie after zombie shambled at the headless ghoul, only to have their bodies decayed to dust. One managed to land a blow, staggering the skeleton backwards, but he recovered. Swinging his bony fist out, he cracked it against the face of his attacker. Rot quickly spread across the undead flesh, rapidly forcing it to decay into nothingness. Cracking the knuckles on both hands, Mike's body flung back into motion. His foot slammed into the next one's torso, his hand striking out and touching two more on the sides of their heads. His undead attackers quickly vanished into dust one by one.

When there were none left, the body snapped its legs together, holding his hand up as if holding a serving platter. The skull landed in its grasp. Lifting it up, he re-attache it to his spine. "Ah, much better.."

Salem, Masachusetts. Eddie's apartment.

"Goddamnit, dad. You know I hate calling that guy-" His father cut him off, then hung up. "Grumpy old man.." He muttered. Dialing another number, the nervous young adult put the phone to his ear.

"Hello. This is Emmanuel W-"

"Yeah, I.. I know who you are. It's Eddie Thorne. Mike's kid."

"Ah. I knew you'd be calling. He wants me to do something to protect New Orleans, correct?"

"How did you.." Eddie stopped his sentence. Emmanuel was a seer. Of course he freaking knew. "Yeah. Can you do anything?"

"Nothing on such a grand scale, I am afraid. Your father, while a friend.. still thinks of magic in grand scales. Hoodoo is not some all-powerful miracle worker. It would take time for me to muster enough strength to displace even two of those monsters, let alone several. I can provide your father extra luck, and likewise curse that of his foes.. but my reach is indeed limited, my boy."

Eddie's heart sunk a little. He pinched his temples. "Fine, fine. Whatever. Just do what you can. Last thing we need is a bunch of.. things tearing New Orleans a new asshole."

There was a chuckling on the other end of the line. A deep, eerie laugh. "You have my word, Edward. I'll do that which is in my power." He hung up.

Edward. He just had to call him Edward. Eddie cringed. The use of his full first name drove him up a wall. He sat down at the computer and brought back up the research he'd been doing. Something had to be causing all this, and he wanted to know.