MV2: First Impressions

Andy looked around as they turned off the farm road and onto a wide, cobbled driveway. They were well away from the highway now, traveling on farm roads and byways; the terrain had gone irregular and hilly, and he could see mountains in the distance. There were trees, but not many; those mostly followed the course of creeks and streams. 

The stone wall with its wrought-iron gates seemed out of place, out here in the relative middle of nowhere, but Veronica drove the van up to it and stopped. In the back, Steve stirred as she rolled down the window, then leaned out a pressed a button on some kind of speaker arrangement. After a long moment, a voice asked, "Veronica? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Got the new student for you."

The voice was male, and sounded older. "Ah. Right. We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

Veronica shrugged. "We decided to move quickly. And since ambush failed, Eleni wants to get back to the hunt." 

"Come on up. I'll meet you out front."

The gates swung open, and Veronica guided the van under the stone arch and into the school. 

The central building had the look of an old stone factory, with rough, heavy blocks forming the outer walls and narrow windows scattered around. A more modern building, two-storied but still smaller, sat off to their left, and a handful of other buildings were scattered around as well. What caught Andy's attention were the obstacle course -- what else could it be? -- and the climbing tower, both of which made his palms itch for a try at them. 

It was still an hour or two before dawn -- he'd lost track --  but his vision had adjusted almost on its own and the figure on the porch of one of the smaller buildings was clearly visible: a grey-haired man in a rumpled suit, standing at the top of the wooden steps. Despite the hour, he looked awake and alert, his posture almost military.

"Alejandro Carillo," Veronica said quietly. "Mister Carillo, to you. You can trust him. He's an old friend -- my mentor, after I turned." 

Andy nodded. "Werewolf?"

Veronica shook her head. "Ghost. He's making a special effort to be solid for you; normally he's harder to see."

Andy took a moment to think about that, but the thought that came to him first was just... It had never occurred to him that he might have woken up as a ghost instead of a wight. But given his sudden, violent death... he could easily picture himself hanging around to protect his little sister Judith. God, that would have been a mess. "Sorry," he said after a long moment. "I mean, we all know stories, but it never occurred to me that I might actually meet a ghost. Socially, I mean." 

MV2: More Travel

They drove north and west, heading out of Oklahoma and towards... Andy didn't know, and didn't care enough to ask. One of their schools, which were supposed to teach him to use and control powers once he knew enough to feed safely.. That was enough for him. As the van made its way along the highway -- moving at night, since Rodney couldn't keep up otherwise and nobody wanted to try shoving his motorcycle into the van itself -- Andy thought through the questions he did want answered. 

"Any more information on Titus?" he asked, glancing over at Steve. 

Steve shrugged. 

Andy said, "Come on, I know you get information that you aren't sharing with me."

This time Steve sniffed, looking amused. "All right. He's a revolutionary. Calls himself Titus Anthropicus. Origin uncertain, but he's been active in the U.S. for at least a century. Violently opposed to the Settlements -- Reservations, they're usually called. He refers to them as concentration camps, and that's..." Steve sighed. "Not entirely right, but not entirely wrong either. 'Reservations' is better. He's got a long history of sabotage, organizing, and at least two deliberate assassinations. The werewolf calls himself Lycan't, and he's... generally been more of a mercenary than anything else. The nightbringer's new, though -- we don't know much of anything about her."

Andy nodded as he took that in. "All right. That helps. So he was... doing his thing, wound up chased by the police, broke into my house and murdered me while his friend ate my girlfriend, and then managed to escape despite looking like a badly-reanimated corpse. And one way or another, he realized -- or expected -- that I'd wake up like this, so he came looking to... recruit me? I guess?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe. He definitely wants you for something." Which meant maybe the phoenix feather or maybe something else entirely.

Andy nodded slowly. "What about Lorraine, and... was it John?"

Steve chuckled, then fell silent. "I heard how you handled John," he said quietly. "And.. it wasn't subtle, or discreet. You weren't wrong, exactly -- that guy was going to be a problem, one way or another, any way he could find -- but you made yourself look like a threat to civilians, too."

"Sorry." Andy looked away, out the window. "He just... I don't know. Something about that guy really pissed me off." 

Steve nodded, then paused for a long moment. "Lorraine was... mauled. Not fed on, not infected -- deliberately, it seems -- but murdered with claws. John was taken, and we haven't seen any sign of him since. We assume he's traveling with Titus, and probably being trained by him -- possibly as a replacement for you. After you drained him, it would have been easy to tip him over the edge; you might even be able to sense him if he gets close to you, since you contributed to his turning."

Andy shuddered. "Dear God, I hope not." He didn't want that weight on his conscience. 

Steve shook his head. "Not your fault. He would have lived if Titus hadn't intervened. And whatever the faults in our current system, Lorraine wasn't doing anybody any harm. Titus chose to murder her anyway."

"I'm going to kill him," Andy said. "Permanently."

"You're not--"

"Quiet," Andy told the werewolf. "I'm manifesting over here." 

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "Just remember, if you're manifesting then Titus likely is too." He hesitated, again. "So manifest hard."

MV2: The Long Wait

A night passed, and then another, and then another. Andy finally found a rhythm of sorts, sleeping through most of the day and waiting for enough night to fall that he could safely move around. He'd remembered to bring the book of naval history with him, and finished it. 

When he woke again, it was still light outside. He rolled over, checked the two guns he'd been given, and then sighed. He hadn't sensed his maker Titus, and if the others had come for him surely the strike force would have notified them. Either they'd managed to slip away, or Titus had given up, or... or he's waiting for everyone to drop their guard. Which they will. 

He wouldn't, of course. But it was obvious that the plan to lure the three rogues here and destroy them wasn't working. 

So it was no surprise at all when Veronica knocked on his door and said, "We're holding another planning session."

He nodded, rose, and followed her out to the kitchen. 

Steve and Rodney were sitting there; so was Eleni. Andy took a seat and decided to make it easy for everyone. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," confirmed Eleni, watching him from behind her glasses. "Either they don't know where we are, or they know better than to try us."

Andy sighed, and met Rodney's eyes. The vampire nodded. 

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Best if we get you into a school," Eleni said softly. 

Andy considered that for a long moment. "The schools are protected?"

Steve nodded. "Very thoroughly, and for several different reasons."

"We have to get you and Rodney fed, too," Veronica added. "After what happened with Lorraine and the kid, we can't risk bringing anyone else out here."

"Hell," said Rodney, "Titus may even be trying to starve you out, push you into an uncontrolled feeding."

Steve nodded. "Veronica and I can get by on regular food, but we can only provide for you two so much. We've been holding back on that, hoping your maker would show." 

"All right, then." Andy nodded. He wasn't looking forward to making another adjustment to his life, however well-intended, but he didn't see any other path forward. Exposing himself as bait was risky -- which at this point he was prepared to accept -- but the others would never go for it, and he wasn't honestly sure he was willing to risk his life... or unlife... like that. He couldn't bring himself to care if he lived or died, but he wasn't actively suicidal either. "Let's do it."

Eleni nodded to him. "We'll be beside you the whole way," she said.  

DoT: Not Them

Verity paused on the bridge, and handed the spyglass over to Vallatha. The younger woman was coming along well, minding her control as she slowly expanded her abilities, and it was a matter of pure shitty luck that she'd fallen afoul of a charm spell. Otherwise, she might have taken the mage captive when they'd first met. 

"I can't tell," Vallatha said at last. "The group's about the right size, but none of them look like the vendor's description -- or the elf I spoke with."

Verity sighed. "We're going to have to take a closer look.  If they're using disguises, a voice might give it away. Could you manage to talk to them?"

Vallatha nodded. "I haven't put on a disguise myself in well over two years, but I can do it."

"Do it, then. You're the only one who's had contact with them; you'll be the only one who can tell. And Mad Mattie wants answers."

"I want answers," Vallatha said, suddenly fierce. "I don't want anybody messing with my mind like that. I hate the idea of losing control like that."

Verity nodded. "I understand. Learn what you can, then, and report back."

* * *

Verity looked up as Vallatha knocked, entered her sanctum, and then dumped herself into one of the chairs. "It's not them," she said. "It could almost be -- they even had a halfling there -- but the halfling was still a child, and I don't think she's throwing spells at anybody. The rest of them... They could be a crew, and possibly Mist Eyes, but they don't match any crew I've ever heard of, and apparently they spend a lot of their time helping out people on their spoke. One of the kids is apprenticed in the bakery, and the woodcarver told me how they heal his hand every morning to help with the pain." She sighed. "And the only elf there was a woman, who kept trying to flirt with me. None of their voices were familiar, either."

"None of that proves that they didn't kill Varna," Verity observed, but she sounded dubious even to herself. 

"It doesn't," Vallatha agreed, "but I would have preferred to find something that does. We could pull them in, find a way to make sure they were telling the truth, but..." she shrugged. "I think we're looking in the wrong place."

"Very well," Verity said after a long moment. "Keep looking. Hard to believe that there might be two such groups, but Mistress Taritha's description wasn't very precise."

"Sudden violence will do that to the untrained," Vallatha observed, and Verity nodded. 

"So we keep looking." She sighed. "This mage will show up, sooner or later. I'd prefer sooner, but if they have any sense they'll have gone to ground after this."

"Is there another way to look?" asked Vallatha. 

"I'll set someone to watch them," Verity said, "and see if they make contact with anyone else. If they're just an up-and-coming crew within the Mist Eyes, though.... It's still possible that's how they went to make their name, but if so only they and Cedric will know it. We can't trust to rumor for this."

Vallatha nodded. "I have a friend who might be good for this. With your permission...?"

Verity nodded. "Tap him. He doesn't have to be brilliant, just observant and unobtrusive." 

Vallatha nodded. "I trust him. You recruited us together, if you remember."

"Ah," said Verity. "Salador." She nodded. "Do it." 

MV: Lying in Wait

It took a bit of practice with bits of trash for targets, and a recitation of the basic rules of gun safety: all guns are always loaded, trigger discipline is foremost, and you only aim a gun if you intend to shoot something. Veronica nodded along, and once Steve was satisfied they handed off a pair of weapons: a .38 revolver, and a pump shotgun with an under-barrel attachment that seemed to be a diving light or something similar.  

"Listen, kid-- Andy--" said Rodney, as he handed over the weapons. "Don't waste your time plotting against us. If you want us to cut you loose, we will. Of course, if you misbehave we might end up hunting you and I think we'd all regret that, but you're not a prisoner."

Andy gave him the most withering look he could manage. "I have three targets," he said quietly. "As disappointed as you might be to hear it, none of you qualify." He hesitated for a brief moment, then reached out and squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "And I keep my word."

Rodney managed a grin. "We won't have to make a hunter out of you," he predicted. "You've got the drive already."

Andy considered that. "You're just saying that because I know what I want and I have ideas about how to get there."

"Hunting can be done reluctantly, or joyously, but it should always have respect for the prey," Veronica said firmly. "Even Rodney acknowledges that."

Andy nodded. He had guns now. His maker did too, or his allies did. A wight, a werewolf, and a nightbringer. In theory, the strike team should be able to take care of them -- but they'd dodged the team once before, and rescued the werewolf from Andy and his rescuers. He didn't intend to underestimate them. He'd never expected to find himself in a gang war between monsters and monster-cops, but apparently that was where he was.   

MV: Retreating Further West

Andy wasn't sure where they ended up, only that it was still short of midnight when they arrived. "Nearest town's Lawton," was the best he'd been able to get out of any of his three guardians. Steve had taken the mattress that ran down the side of the van, and promptly passed out, leaving Veronica to do the driving; Rodney was pacing them on his motorcycle. 

Andy had never seen the appeal of motorcycles. They were too loud, too risky, too vulnerable. But sitting in the passenger seat of the converted van, he found he was starting to find the sound of Rodney moving around them reassuring. 

"Steve told me you asked for a gun," Veronica had said once they were on the highway. 

Andy had nodded. "I'd rather have it on record."

Veronica thought about that for a long moment. "The woman we report to is Margaret Hamilton. She's completely human, and very much by-the-book. The odds of her approving something like that officially are... not good."

Andy had considered that. "Is there any way I can contact her directly?"

Veronica had hesitated. "Maybe. If you want to convince her, it should be during daylight -- but you don't seem to pass out the way Rodney does, so that should be doable."

They'd fallen mostly silent after that, and when they pulled onto the small property in the brush-land just outside the Wichita Wildlife Refuge Andy had done his part to bring their things inside. He was strong, but strong wasn't enough to give him a life. Not outside of the current business of running, hiding, and hoping to ambush the monsters who'd killed him. 

This new place was a single-story farmhouse with an attached barn, mostly empty; Andy didn't get much chance to look around before Rodney bustled him inside. The interior was more of a surprise; the central section was built of thick concrete walls and ceiling, heavy doors, and carefully-isolated electronics. The outer areas -- kitchen, living room, study -- were ordinary enough. The small complex of bedrooms and bathrooms were a subtle fortress. 

"You still awake?" asked Steve, mid-morning. 

Andy nodded. "Nerves," he said simply. 

"Well, Veronica briefed me and I'm about to phone in to Margaret. You ready to make your case?"

Andy nodded. He was. 

Steve tapped his phone, and waited while it rang: once, twice... "Sign in," said a woman's voice. 

"Watch Team Barn Owl, reporting, verification Zero-One-Alpha."

There was a momentary pause. "Proceed." 

"At target's request, we've relocated to strike zone outside of Lawton. Our team is in place; Strike Team should be right behind us and digging in."

"Understood," said the woman's voice. "There have been developments. Volunteer Lorraine Duchamp is dead, and feeder John White is missing. We found their car just before noon."

Andy felt a surge of dread go through him. Titus, again. He knew next to nothing about the wight that had made him, but in that moment he was ready to kill him. 

"Understood," Steve returned. "Target has a request."

"Does he?" asked Margaret. "Put him on."

Andy leaned towards the phone, which was set on speaker. "I'd like a gun," he said simply. "I need to be able to defend myself. I know how to shoot, I will pass any readiness or safety check you want to give me, but I want to do this right. What do I need to do to make that possible?"

There was a long pause, and then the woman's voice said: "You've been cooperative, and you are in active danger. If your guardians judge that they can trust you with silver ammunition, I'll back their call."

Steve leaned forward. "Andrew, here, is the most reliable candidate I've seen in a decade. I'd trust him not to shoot me in the back."

"All right. I'll trust you on this one. Run him through basic safety. If he know it, give the kid a gun. And kid? Be responsible with it."

Andy nodded, even knowing that Margaret couldn't see him. "Only the three who destroyed my life," he said firmly. "And Steve gets the gun back as soon as they're down."

There was a momentary pause, and then Margaret said, "You have yourself a bargain, young man." 

MV: Decision Point

It was just after dark, and Steve led him over to the kitchen table. The lingering scent of food was a minor torment, a reminder that Andy couldn't -- or shouldn't -- eat regular food anymore. Veronica was there as well, and... Lorraine? Yes, that was her name. Sitting beside her was another young man, this one a sandy blond... maybe in his twenties? And sitting between Steve and Veronica was a woman in a sort of Hijab, wearing glasses so dark that Andy couldn't see her eyes. 

They looked like a council of war. 

Cautiously, Andy took a seat and looked around the table again. 

Steve nodded back to him. "You remember Lorraine, I trust," he said, and Andy nodded. 

Lorraine leaned forward. The gray in her hair and the lines in her face were both fading; he could see that clearly, and was relieved by it. "This is John," she said, tilting her head to the sandy-haired young man beside her. 

"Um," he said. "Hi. I'll be your victim tonight, I guess." He grinned, then. "Sorry, I haven't ever been drained by a wight before. Forgive me for being a bit shocked?"

Andy shrugged. "I certainly was," he offered. 

Lorraine chuckled, and Steve moved on. "Our companion in the glasses is Eleni Livingstone. She's in charge of the strike team." 

Andy nodded carefully to her. "Thank you."

She offered a brief, professional smile. "Pleasure to help. I'm here to ask you to make a decision."

Andy considered that, but only briefly. "What kind of decision?"

"What to do next," she answered him easily. "The strike team is in position here, but we can't stay here -- not without the risk of shooting up the neighborhood. I am confident--" She glanced at Steve. "--that we can get you safely to one of the schools, and also that this would be the safest choice for you." She hesitated as Andy waited. "The alternative would be to pull out, let your team take you to someplace more remote, and see if your presence lures in the three rogues so we can trap them."

Andy studied her for a long moment, but couldn't discern anything through the sunglasses. Rodney reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, then extracted a twenty-dollar bill and set it neatly on the table. Eleni turned slightly in his direction, then shook her head at him. Her expression, as much of it as Andy could make out, might have been exasperated.

"Kill them," Andy said, keeping his voice quiet but firm. Eleni turned her attention-apparent back to him. "Otherwise I'm just waiting around wondering if they're going to find me again. I'd rather take the immediate risk."

Steve nodded, and Rodney put the bill away again. "Could have been an easy twenty for me," he remarked in a tone of idle regret. "Too bad." 

"You get paid plenty," said Eleni. "All right. We're agreed. Lorraine, you and John take care of the kid while we pull things together. The moment you're clear, we're off."

Most of the table rose, monsters scattering to their duties. Andy sat there, watching as Lorraine brought John around to him. 

"You could turn me, right?" asked John.

"Into this?" asked Andy, more shocked than he cared to admit. 

Lorraine said, "John," but he shook his head. 

"I was just asking," he said. "I mean, look at him. He's ugly, but he's strong -- and if I'm dead, this bullshit sentence is up and I'm free."

"That's not how it--" Lorraine sounded as if she was doing her best to be patient. 

John scowled for just a heartbeat -- long enough for Andy to see how much he wanted the change, wanted to run loose as a monster. How much he wanted to do violence, even as a mortal man.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scooting away behind him and toppling over, and slapped his palm down over John's face. "You want to be food for us? A victim? Okay."

Lorraine started to reach for him, but Andy brushed her aside and kept his hand in place for that critical few seconds. When he loosed it, John, staggered and dropped: brittle, elderly, and weak. "Don't tempt me," he said, and turned away. "This is your sentence, not your salvation."

Lorraine dropped to her knees, checked John over, then sighed. "Andy..." 

He sighed. "Sorry," he said, with only a token attempt at sincerity. "I'm still new at this. I'll keep better control next time."

"If there is a next time," Lorraine said quietly. "At least you didn't kill him."

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," Andy said quietly, then sighed. "Sorry," he repeated. "This guy should be kept far away from anybody who actually might turn him, though."

"I know," said Lorraine. "Look, I know this is part of your new nature, but try to keep a handle on it, okay? I'll have to write it up, but I can note it as a one-time thing. Don't make it a habit." 

Andy nodded and stepped out of the room. Behind him, on the floor, John gasped out, "Fuck. You." 

Wargs Revisited

"Got the perfect one for you, Bonethorn." 

"Seriously? I mean, okay, I'll ride a warg into battle, but don't expect me to-- hey! Get off! Stopping licking my ears-- that tickles!"

"See?"

"Grimstick, did you pick out the absolute least murder-y warg in the whole pack?"

"Not sayin'. But Willrender here isn't goin' to be a good companion for just any goblin. He wants scratches -- under the chin and behind the ears are best, but he'll take what he can get. You get wounded in battle, he'll probably just cuddle up beside you." 

"Well then, who's a good boy? Is it you? Is it?" 

"He seems to like you. Goregrim had cracked him over the head with a mace by this point."

"Goregrim is a sad excuse for a goblin. Great warchief, but he's just so angry all the time. Can't be good for his blood pressure. Not like you, Willrender, you sweet, sweet puppy."

"Keep your voice down!" 

"All right, I'm sold. I'm riding a warg into battle, and it's Willrender."

"Good. Now, whatever you do, don't expect him to bite anybody. You just ride him, keep him line with the others, and do your thing."

"Which is what?"

"Eh? Shoot arrows at the elves, Bonethorn. Willrender won't mind that, he just doesn't want to bite anybody himself."

"Right. Yes. Violence. I forgot about that part. Who's a cute giant murder puppy? Is it you?"

"Stop talking to the warg and focus. You're going to need to learn to ride him..." 

"Like this?" 

"...Like that. M'kay, I'll just leave you two to get acquainted. Remember, battle's in three days." 

MV: Elusive Sleep

By noon, Andy was about ready to climb the walls. He'd retreated to the ground-floor bedroom and made sure the blackout curtains were fully closed, but no amount of lying on the bed was enough to let him relax. He wasn't sure whether that was because he didn't feel entirely safe, or whether he'd simply had too much sleep -- or whatever passed for it -- already.

He pulled a book off the shelves almost at random, and found himself reading about naval warfare in World War I. Naval-gazing, he thought to himself, and chuckled quietly. Likely there was a whole hidden history here, spirits and monsters and sorceries all contributing to the outcome of the battles and the course of the war; he'd have to ask about that later. 

The book did its job, at least: after half an hour or so, he was settled enough to lie back and let himself drift. He didn't dream this time, and wouldn't have sworn that he slept except that when Steve came to get him it took a minute or so to wake back up. 

"Are they--?" Andy cut himself off, reaching out and realizing that his maker wasn't close enough to sense. 

Steve studied him for a moment, and Andy shook his head. "I can't feel him."

"Good," said Steve. "The strike team got here just after noon, but this is a safehouse -- not the best place to stage an ambush or even an arrest. Don't want to put the neighbors in danger, after all."

"Tulsa," said Andy, remembering. "Yeah, let's not get anybody else killed." He hesitated, then asked, "Is there any chance I could have a gun? I actually do know how to shoot."

Steve hesitated. "Let me think that over. Officially, no -- too big a risk. But this whole situation is dangerous."

Andy nodded and didn't say anything else. He was still dressed, and when Steve wandered back out of the room he slipped back into his shoes and followed.  

A Conversation 'Twixt Goblins

"Grimstick,these are wargs." 

"Yes! The traditional mounts of our people! ...Is that a problem, Bonethorn?" 

"You want me to ride into battle on the back of a warg?" 

"Keep your voice down, boy! Why is that a problem? Goblins have been riding wargs for a thousand years! It's a great honor!" 

"It just seems kind of dangerous." 

"Dangerous? 'Course they're dangerous! That's why we ride 'em! Strike fear into the hearts of humans and elves!" 

"I mean, dangerous to us." 

"Nonsense, boy! Gryphons is dangerous. 

You fall off one of those, and splat -- yer dead. Y'fall off a warg, you just get laughed at. Wargs is how goblins fight the Bigs. Well, wargs and ambushes." 

"I just feel like maybe I should be riding something that won't eat me if I get wounded in battle." 

"Like what?" 

"Like a pony, maybe?" 

"You know what happens if you show up to battle on the back of a pony when everybody else is ridin' wargs?" 

"...Wargs eat me?" 

"There you go." 

"...Okay, fair point. Put me on a warg." 

"I knew you'd come round. Too smart fer yer own good, but yer still a goblin at heart."

New Nightmares

Lot of weird dreams over recent weeks. Notable among them:

1. A thing like a deformed baby roughly the size of a squirrel, but with adult-sized hands on short wrists growing out of its sides. It was trying to pull me into a very small (like, 5") hole in the wall, and if I hadn't pulled harder it would have... absorbed and consumed me. 

2. A completely separate dream. I liked the part where I was camping with my friend. I enjoyed the part where we were LARPing with a bunch of other campers. I was less pleased with the weird rival family throwing rocks at my head. The tarot-ish reading that passed for the post-funeral reading of the will was weird. Having a random toddler get caught between the inner and outer doors of the elevator and fall down the shaft was horrible. 

There was a lot of "trying to find my sword again" in there, which I think is usually a sign of my brain trying to gear up to Get Things Done.  

Most recently, I had a -- slightly broken-up -- sort of Addams Family wedding scenario, except that the various parties involved were actually trying to kill each other. There was a river, which varied in width in various areas, where people would swim -- but there were also eels in there, carnivorous and about fourteen feet long, maybe eight inches across. The one I threw off was only eight feet long, but hit had been cut short. There was a point where I was walking on the pipes just under the water, and then back to the main areas where I needed to be; and then a lot of dastardly dealings, including the intrusion of the Shadow Tooth, which turned out to be a projection controlled by a yoga instructor whose controller I took away. 

It was all very weird, and I loved the strangeness of the settings.  

MV: Near Dawn

He'd meant to find a book, he really had. The television and its late-night movies were almost distraction enough. Watching the clock told him the time, but the knowledge didn't seem to mean anything. Andy settled back, wondering vaguely what might happen if he just stayed on the couch... or walked out into the dawn. 

"Hey there." 

Andy blinked and reluctantly looked up; a woman with curly dark hair was standing over him. "Do I know you?" he asked. 

She shook her head, a faint smile curling her lips. "Not at all," she said. "I'm Lorraine. I'll bring you a volunteer tomorrow, but for tonight, I'm standing in." She knelt down beside the couch. "Feed."

Andy kept his hands still. "It's fine. I don't want to."

Rodney came around the end of the couch and sighed. "You may not want to, but you need to. Word is you're good at doing it gently, but you have to have something. So do I."

Andy shook his head. "Let it be. It's not worth it."

Rodney drew in a sharp breath, but Lorraine held up a hand. "Would you believe me if I told you that I think it is?" She raised her head, studied him for a long moment, then reached out and lifted his chin. "Your keepers have been tasked with a lot of dumb assholes who've been turned to the dark over the years. Carol says you aren't one of them. She likes you, and Loida does too. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

Andy shook his head. "I'm just trying to frustrate the bastard who made me," he said quietly. 

"Then do it by staying alive," Lorraine told him. "Feed."

He hesitated, then reached out and laid his hand on her head. The contact was immediate, and it was all he could do to force it down to a minimum. He snatched his hand back, clutched it to his chest. Definitely a monster...

Lorraine rose, with touches of gray in her dark hair and new lines on her face, but she smiled down at him. "Well done," she said. "I'll be back, and you'll see you haven't done me any permanent harm." She glanced at Rodney. "We'll get someone for you, too."

Andy waited until she'd gone, then turned a glance towards Rodney. He was feeling a little better, and apparently his curiosity had come back. "You don't drink, like, packaged blood?"

"Not if I can help it," Rodney said quietly, taking a long look around before sitting down beside him. "It's not just that it's less helpful and the taste is off, it's that it's actually a pretty valuable resource in mundane medicine. If I drink from a human, they're maybe a little woozy but they'll be fine in a day or two. If I raid a blood bank, maybe somebody dies from a motorcycle accident when they could have been saved." He looked around again. "If Steve or Veronica says anything, though, it's because it tastes disgusting."

MV: Rest and Recuperation

He would have slept again if he could have. The feather was still warm in his hands; it was the only spot of comfort in this whole bleak existence. The movie had changed, the good guys victorious, and now Andy was watching something where a group of soldiers was being stalked by some sort of alien hunter. Not Predator, though; this looked to be some sort of late-night rip-off. 

Rodney sighed and stood up. "My shift," he explained, when Andy glanced at him. "Hopefully the wolves will wear each other out and sleep. You're in the ground-floor bedroom, so make sure you keep the curtains closed. Once the sun comes up, your maker won't be able to move around -- not easily, anyway. The shadowbringer can move around, but won't have any but the most basic powers. The wolf will be the greater danger, but since we have two wolves here..." The vampire shrugged. "You're as safe as we can make you."

Andy looked up at him, then forced himself to speak. "Thank you."

Rodney sighed. "Vampire's not a bad bit. It was a shock, and I could have done without dying -- but that's the price of recruitment, and my maker was determined to bring in younger Kin with new perspectives. The fact that I turned out to be a traditionalist has frustrated her for half a century now."

Andy nodded, though he had the feeling that he was being humored -- or that Rodney was trying to comfort him. Either way, he just wasn't up for it. "Wight's a shock," he said quietly. "How common are we?"

Rodney hesitated, then said: "Surprisingly. Wights can't pass for shit, but they -- you --  get along surprisingly well. A few work for the Authority, a lot go into the reservations, and the rest... well... I doubt the wolves mentioned it, but there's a whole-ass criminal underworld and a lot of wights decide they're happy to take jobs as enforcers or necromancers there."

Fucking hell, no, Andy decided. "I wanted a normal life," he said, calmly.

Rodney shook his head. "You're still holding a phoenix feather, so I won't swear to anything -- but I don't think you get that. It's not impossible -- remote work is absolutely a thing, and some wights legit pull it off --  but you need particular sets of skills. Accounting, or IT, or just night shift for a security company." He grinned cynically at that last.

Andy nodded and turned his attention back to the television. It was a bit after midnight, and maybe not long until dawn; he'd lost track of the time.

MV: The Mirror Is Not Kind

Andy studied his new self in the mirror and concluded that Veronica was right: he was never going to pass for human. His hair, once a full, dark brown, had turned white at the roots. How is it still growing out if I'm dead? he wondered, but then decided that he had other, weirder things to worry about. His skin was gray and thin, the play of muscles underneath clearly visible...

I'm a monster. There wasn't any way to hide it, either. Even a ski mask and goggles wouldn't disguise the pale blue of his lips or the equally pale corpse-gray of his skin. Veronica had said that his hair wouldn't hold dye, but that was almost beside the point. His skin would give him away far before his hair did. Tattoos, or a fuck-ton of makeup, and even then... He'd never much participated in theater, except for that one time the teacher had specifically asked him to do a particular stunt involving rope-work, but he'd had friends who had. He knew that doing makeup well wasn't easy.

Surface appearance aside, he didn't look bad. His musculature had always been solid; becoming a wight hadn't changed that. He'd never been much for team sports, but anything he could do alone -- track and field, gymnastics, wrestling, fencing, climbing -- he'd happily taken part in.  Even a year of karate, right before his mother had decided that he should focus on something less violent, like guitar or (the following year) piano.

His mood, already dark, fell further. No, there was no coming back from this. Let his family think him dead, let him wish he could come to Amy's funeral to grieve and perhaps apologize... it was better to come to terms with it now. I have claws, he reminded himself, and I can see in the dark. Balanced against everything else, that didn't seem like much.

He came out of the bathroom, crossed to the living room, and sat down on the far end of the sofa from Rodney, who was watching some old buddy cop flick from the 1980s, with a mismatched pair of policemen forced to work together. Andy watched one of the cops throw himself off a rooftop after handcuffing himself to a would-be suicide, and thought, Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.

"That bad?" asked Rodney, quietly. Steve and Veronica were moving around in the house behind them, airing things out and setting things up.

When Andy didn't answer, Rodney settled back into the couch and turned his attention to the movie again.

MV: Lifestyle Adjustments for the Living Dead

Steve sighed, then turned to look at Andy. "Don't let Rodney fool you. He plays it off with his 'werewolf good, vampire better' bit, but he's fully devoted to the team and we're lucky to have him -- even if he can only safely come out at night. He can also turn into a wolf, which is not a skill all dracs bother to develop."

Veronica nodded. "He can be a bit of an ass at times, but he comes through when it counts."

Andy sighed. "Don't mind me. I'm probably just cranky from the whole 'having my life completely derailed' thing."

Steve huffed an almost-laugh. "Yeah, well, no reason you shouldn't be."

"Do we have books?" asked Andy. "Or an Internet connection?"

"Books yes, Internet no," Veronica told him. "It's too much of a security risk. We swap out phones every time we go out on this kind of assignment, too."

Well, that figures, Andy thought. "All right. I'm going to go find something to read."

Steve nodded. "If you're curious, find the bathroom and take a look at yourself in the mirror. I don't know what happened in your dream, but you look just about as good as wights ever get."

"Oh?" asked Andy. He tilted his head for a long moment, then went to go find out.

Rodney accosted him as soon as he got inside. "Hey, kid. Sorry I pissed you off." He actually sounded sorry, which was something of a miracle as far as Andy was concerned. Most grownups weren't very good at apologizing. "I like annoying my co-workers, but they're used to it. Didn't mean to catch you too."

Andy stopped, studied him, then nodded and offered his hand. "Fresh start?" he asked. "I don't think I'm doing my best either." 

Rodney snorted. "You've been a wight for what? Three days?"

"Maybe?" 

Rodney nodded. "Rough time. Remind me later, and I'll tell you how I was when I was first turned." He glanced back at the door to the garage. "Meanwhile, I'm going to go settle back before my co-workers realize I'm trying to be a decent person." He reached out, shook Andy's hand, and then quickly retreated to something that looked like a living room.

"Bathroom?" asked Andy. 

"First door on the left." Rodney called back. 

Andy drew a deep breath which didn't help at all -- being undead definitely had its drawbacks -- and went to go look at himself in the mirror.

MV: Fire Omens

Steve froze, staring at at the feather in his hands. "Where did you get that?" he asked, carefully. 

Andy yawned. "Not sure. I was asleep. Dreamed about a giant, burning bird, though. Is it yours?'

Steve shook his head slowly. "Nope. I think it's yours. It's... Veronica? Would you come take a look at this before I say something completely idiotic?"

She came around the van, and looked at Andy and the stray flame-colored feather. "Is that a fucking phoenix feather?" she asked. 

"I think so," said Steve. "Thank God. I was afraid it was just me."

"The fuck am I doing with a phoenix feather?" asked Andy. He figured it had probably fallen out of somewhere and his sleeping mind had turned that into the dream with the bird, but Steve was talking like it had actually fallen out of his dream. 

"...I don't know," Steve admitted, "but let's get you something to keep it in. I can't begin to imagine how you got the attention of something like that -- that shit's for shamans and witches and the like -- but it might be..." He fell silent.

Finally, Veronica filled in. "It might be very important," she said. "The kind of thing your maker might be hunting you for, if they knew you could acquire it."

"How would they know that?" asked Andy, suddenly panicked. It was one thing to have a powerful wight looking for him; it was something else again if his maker could somehow tell the future.  

"Know what?" asked a third voice, and Andy launched himself out of the van with twisting movement that landed him right between Steve and Veronica.  

"Jesus, Rodney," said Veronica. "Good way to get yourself shot." 

The new arrival was a tall man, broad-shouldered but otherwise slender, wearing black jeans, engineer boots, and a motorcycle jacket. He held a silver motorcycle helmet in his left hand, and his hair was bleached blond. At first glance, he could have passed for human.

"How'd you get up here so fast?" asked Steve, putting his pistol back in its holster. 

The vampire shrugged. "With an expensive motorcycle and a reckless disregard for speed limits. And there's nothing funnier than sneaking up on werewolves when they're not paying attention."

"You've clearly never watched British comedy." Andy spoke without thinking, then realized he was standing there with his claws out and put them away. 

"Ah," said Rodney, turning his attention to Andy. "You must be our newborn wight."

"Must I?" asked Andy. 

Rodney's eyes widened suddenly. "Is that a phoenix feather?" he asked. "Oh, my. Enterprising, defiant, and favored by the Great Spirits. I like you already."

"Yeah, well, just wait 'til you get a chance to know me," Andy told him. He didn't trust Rodney's words, and while he might eventually come to respect the vampire he was feeling a little raw about anybody messing with the people who'd been taking care of him since he'd woken up dead -- even if they were all supposed to be on the same side. 

"Do I even need to tell you how much I prefer What We Do In The Shadows?" Rodney asked. 

Andy rolled his eyes. "Of course you do." He's not a vampire, he's a fucking cliché. "I'm sure we'll get along famously."

Rodney evidently could read between the lines. He sighed, and said, "Well, then. I'll retire into the house and wait for my shift to start. I suppose it's too much to hope that my help might be properly appreciated." 

MV: Traveling Dreams

Andy hadn't meant to drift off, but the steady movement of the van along the road, the quiet thunder of the engine, and the soft murmurs between Veronica and Steve conspired to lull him back into whatever passed for sleep for a newly-reborn wight. 

Rocky ground and stormy sky, a beast half-seen at his side and the awareness of the dead all around them. The beast wasn't hunting him this time; it nudged his hand, urging him to bring the claws out and hunt alongside it. The dead had their own calls, murmuring to themselves and sometimes crying out; Andy could have answered them, but didn't. He chose the claws instead, paced the beast as best he could -- it slipped between the rocks while he bounded from top to top, tracing his way above. 

The bird that came screaming down at him, talons extended, was all reds and oranges and yellows, burning a trail of fire behind it, and might have been the sun; he dove down into the maze of rocks to avoid it. 

The beast had no such compulsions. It sprang as the raptor's massive talons missed Andy, sank fangs into the bird's neck, and sent it tumbling into the rocks, where it impaled itself on an irregular spire. The beast dropped away as the bird thrashed and finally fell still, extinguished. Then the beast sat there, looking back at Andy, deeply satisfied but still expectant. 

He'd done his job as bait, evidently, and now his beast wanted to share their kill. 

It was badly burned, particularly around the face, but as he watched the fur regrew and the clouded eye cleared. The singed ear reformed as well, and the beast yawned with fangs to shame a vampire.  

The giant bird was extinguished, wings fallen and talons relaxed. Andy approached it slowly, then sprang onto its chest. When it remained still, he took two steps forward and gripped the top of its skull as the beast began to tear chunks from its corpse. He felt the body age and fail, even as the beast assembled its pile of meat and set to devouring it. 

When Andy woke again, they were somewhere else, and Veronica had pulled them into some kind of garage. They must have switched drivers while he was asleep. Steve had opened up the side door as the garage door came down, and Andy came awake to find himself holding a single, orange-gold feather.

MV: Regrets, Aspirations, and Limitations

The mattresses in the back of the van were thin, but sufficient. Andy stretched out, and waited; he supposed he could have run, while Steve was busy and Veronica was hiding her car, but he had serious doubts about his ability to escape from a pair of werewolves, and that was before he considered the fact that his maker appeared to be hunting for him. Plus he was hungry again, and that feeling of hollow emptiness that seemed to be his current form of grief had deepened. 

Yeah. It was cool to be able to see in the dark when he wanted to, or to sprout claws when he needed them, but he still felt those things acutely as a loss. They took him further from the life the wight had stolen from him, carried him further into being a wight himself. 

I'm not a fool, Andy told himself. I know there's no way back. He couldn't help wanting one, though, even if it was hopeless. I was going to graduate next year. I'd just found Amy. I hadn't even tried alcohol yet. Or sex. They'd been fooling around, but they were both new to it, and cautious. It was one of the things he'd liked most about Amy: in addition to being pretty and smart, she wasn't in any more of a hurry than he was. 

They'd both thought they'd have a future. 

Steve slid back into the driver's seat and opened the garage door; a moment later, Veronica slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. "You all right back there?" she asked. 

Andy nodded. "Yeah, I'll... I'll have my nervous breakdown later, when nobody's chasing us."

Veronica shot him a look of concern, but Steve just said, "Good man," and started the motor.

They pulled out into the night. 

"Andy?" asked Veronica. 

He twisted around, looked up at her. 

"Listen, the original plan was to keep you tied down until you learned how to feed without hurting anybody, then introduce you to some other things, and then move you to one of the training centers. The plan..." She hesitated. "...has kind of gone to shit. You've already figured out how to do some things that you would have been trained on at the center, and you seem to have a decent handle on feeding. Plus, you're being hunted by your maker, and we don't know why. So, since we seem to be speed-running the usual process, I'm going to bring you up to speed on some stuff we'd usually introduce more slowly."

Andy nodded. "All right."

Veronica offered an encouraging smile, then said: "Your maker isn't the only danger you need to watch out for. Sunlight will burn you, but moonlight is safe. Silver and fire will hurt you more than they would an ordinary mortal."

"Silver bullets," Andy said. "I remember you saying that."

Veronica nodded. "You won't age. If you keep yourself fed and don't get killed, you could potentially live for... well, millennia is about as long as it seems to get before sheer, dumb luck catches up with you. That won't be true of us, by the way -- werewolves tend to have fairly normal human lifespans, unlike spirits and undead."

Andy considered that. "Will I be able to pass as human?" he asked. 

Veronica swallowed, which was probably all the answer he needed. He waited, though, as her jaw worked. 

"Probably not. Very few wights can, at least not without extensive tattoos or makeup -- and that tends to hit an uncanny valley effect too. Even if you're fully fed, you'll still have thin, grayish skin and white hair that won't hold a dye to save your life. You'll be strong, fast, and tough, but you'll still look like a mummified corpse."

Andy nodded absently. So much for college. And probably for ever seeing my family again. Well, he'd wanted honesty from the hunters; it was his own fault if he didn't like what they had to say.

Veronica hesitated, then said: "You can learn to ask questions of the dead, or bring them back as zombies, at least temporarily. Some wights learn to create more long-lasting zombies, but that's ritual magic and they sacrifice a lot of control in doing that."

"Nope," said Andy. "Not doing that."

Steve chuckled. "Don't write it off entirely. Once the Authority is sure you're not a public menace, you'll have some opportunities. You might be able to take an ordinary job, work from home or wear a mask... but very few wights become hunters, and if you did then being able to question the dead would be invaluable." He glanced back at Andy through the rear-view mirror. "Pretty much a guaranteed job opportunity."

"The third possibility is that you go to one of the reservations," Veronica put in, "but I don't think I'd want that for you. They can be beautiful, but they can also be brutal. I'm not saying you couldn't do it, mind you. It's just that I think you have the potential to do more than that."

Andy nodded, then rolled over onto his side. "Okay," he said. "That's enough for now. Wake me up when we get there." 

"It's going to be a couple of hours," Steve told him. "We'll see if we can't arrange for you to feed once we get there."

Andy gave him a vague thumbs-up, then rolled himself up in the light blanket and let himself go. He was, to put it mildly, overwhelmed.

MV: Unsafe House

In life, Andy had been fairly strong. In death, he was considerably stronger; picking up a batch of duffel bags in both hands turned out to be relatively easy. Between them, he and Steve got the van loaded up in a single trip. Better still, a set of Steve's spare clothes hung loose on him, so all he really had to worry about was whether all those bystanders had gotten his naked ass on camera, or whether whatever Veronica had been doing had blurred them out.

He shoved that thought aside. He was dressed now, and that would have to be good enough. 

"What's it like to be a werewolf?" Andy asked, as they loaded the last of the bags into place. The van was a customized old Ford, its blue paint faded but still intact. The side door slid back, revealing a sort of couch or bed that covered the far side of the van and then turned in an L to stretch across the back. There were drawers and cabinets under it, but Steve ignored them; the werewolf simply piled all the duffel bags in the floor space, then shut the door. 

"If you're serious about that beast in the back of your head, then you're about fifty percent of the way there," Steve said, after a moment's thought. "You came back as a wight, but if you'd come back as a were then the beast would be able to emerge physically, changing your body into whatever it thought it should be. That's almost always a wolf, but there are exceptions."

"Huh." I think I missed out. Andy would have been much happier as a werewolf than a wight. Changing shape and ripping things apart sounded awesome. Talking to the dead or raising temporary zombies sounded, well... Not so fun. "Are there stats on how many monsters are disappointed with the powers they're reborn with?"

Steve huffed a laugh. "There are remarkably few mortal sociologists who're willing to study people like us," he said. "But I like that you're not so enthused about being a wight."

Andy shook his head. "Our prisoner was right about one thing," he said, scowling. "I'd have made a much better fit as a werewolf than a fucking wight." He hesitated, then added: "I do like the really big claws, though. The rest of it can go directly to hell."

Steve laughed. "You don't have to develop the rest of it. Undead, strong and fast, big claws... you can lean in on that, and ignore the necromantic side of it. A wight would tell you that you're turning down powers that are right there for you, but the choice is still yours."

Andy shook his head. "I'll make choices later," he decided. "For now, I just want to get rid of That Fucking Guy, or at least get clear of him. Titus... the werewolf said his name was Titus. The wight's name, I mean."

Steve stopped, nodded, and then extended a hand. "Climb in," he said. "Get some rest. We're gone the moment Veronica comes back. And Kid? Andrew? You're doing good." 

MV: Aftermath

Andy stepped up next to Veronica, and handed her the pistol. She tucked it into the back of her belt, keeping it out Steve's sight. 

"I should have just killed him," Andy said quietly. He was feeling the presence of his maker, rapidly retreating. 

Steve shook his head. "Against a wight like that one? You wouldn't stand a chance."

Andy set his shoulders, feeling suddenly stubborn. "I wasn't planning on fighting fair."

"He's handled himself surprisingly well," said Veronica, and Steve nodded reluctantly at that.

"All right. This house is compromised, we can't stay here." Steve sounded frustrated, but Andy would have bet that some of that was just exhaustion; his hair was too short to really show it, but he looked like he'd been woken up shortly after falling asleep. "Go park your car somewhere else, and get back here. I'm going to call Rodney and throw some supplies in the van." He turned to look at Andy. "Come with me if you want to live."

Andy frowned. "I'm already dead, though."

Steve looked frustrated. "It's-- never mind. Just stay with me." 

"Sure," said Andy, and followed Steve into the house as Veronica went to relocate her car. Steve was already on his phone. "Rodney? Yeah, we've got contact. We're heading north to the safe house.  Ground team didn't get there fast enough." He paused, listening. "Yeah, well, we didn't get a lot of advance notice on this. Next time we'll station them on site. Right, see you soon." He closed the call and tucked the phone into his back pocket. "Fucking sucker," he growled, then turned back to Andy. "Did you escape, or did Veronica let you out?"

"...I escaped," Andy admitted. "I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't sensed my maker, but you told me that wights had claws, so... I made claws."

Steve shook his head. "It's a damned good thing you're trying to work with us, Kid. Technically, we're supposed to put a bullet in anybody who can't control themselves well enough to stay put."

"I mean, I did immediately go to the nurses' station and have one of them call you," Andy pointed out. 

"Yeah, that's what I mean." Steve had opened a closet, and was pulling out a pile of duffel bags. "Control lets us use our best judgement, because sometimes rules just aren't sufficient for a specific situation. So we get some discretion, and you don't get executed for taking perfectly sensible precautions while undead."

Andy thought that over for a long moment, and then said, "Thank you. For trusting me, even though I'm a problem."

Steve stopped pulling duffel bags out of the closet, and turned to face him. "Were you listening?" he asked. "You aren't a problem. You are doing the best you can. Those three murderous fuckers out there, though? They're a fucking problem. And I mean to keep you away from them. Right now, we need to get you some fucking clothing. After that... how many of these bags can you carry?" 

MV: Escape

The house in Frisco was just another two-story suburban dwelling in a quiet neighborhood. Andy had spent the latest portion of the journey half-turned in the seat, covering the werewolf with the pistol Veronica had unofficially given him. The porch light was on, and a stocky figure was standing silhouetted in the doorway. 

"What the Hell?" asked Steve, as Veronica shoved her way out of the car. 

"One of them followed us out of the hospital," she explained, while Andy kept his seat and kept the gun pointed at the monster's head. 

"Why did you bite me?" he asked. "Why attack us at all?"

"Titus needed to feed," the werewolf said, "and we needed to eliminate any witnesses while we escaped. The cops were too close behind us, though, and it didn't quite work out."

That's one way to put it, Andy thought. "If you had time to kill us and escape, you had time to simply escape. It's not like we could have done anything except point vaguely at the back door."

"It didn't seem that way at the time," the werewolf growled. "I couldn't believe you held me off even after I'd bitten you. A fucking lamp, when you should have been transforming?"

Andy shrugged. "Your bad luck. And then Titus stole your kill?"

The werewolf nodded. "You'd have made a fine werewolf," he said. "You have the inclinations. But even as a wight, you don't need these people. You could be working against them. We should be ruling the herd, not driven into concentration camps or subject to their rules and licensing."

Andy frowned. "I woke up dead, but everybody who visited seemed to be trying to help me," he pointed out. 

"Oh yes, they're eager to recruit you before you know better. They're counting on you to support the old order. Titus has... other ideas."

"Out," said Veronica, and pulled the werewolf out of the back seat. He still hadn't made any attempt to cut loose from his bonds. 

"You should be cheering me on, supporting me, not trying to imprison me," said the werewolf, as tires screeched and a Volkswagon sedan cut into the street, a stream of bullets firing out of its passenger window.

Veronica and Steve threw themselves to the ground, and Andy ducked down behind the seat. By the time he came back up, the back seat was empty and the wolf was sprinting away after the car. "FUCK!" he screamed, but the word was useless. 

MV: Animal Control

Andy looked at the gun in his hand. It was a revolver, probably meant as a backup, He popped the cylinder, checked that it was fully loaded, and pressed it back into place. He nodded to Veronica, swung the driver's door open, and stepped out.  

The wolf had gone to its intermediate form and was shaking its head and snarling, trying to get up off the pavement. Traffic was stopping around them, and people had their phones out -- either talking into them, or trying to film. "Oh, grand," said Veronica. "I don't suppose I can talk you into getting back in the car before we end up on the news?"

She could have, actually, but Andy shook his head. He wanted a piece of this wolf, and he didn't want to be living -- or undead either, he thought suddenly -- in a world where this thing was hunting him.

Veronica must have felt the same way, because she sighed and fished out her wallet. Moving closer to the half-transformed werewolf, she flashed the badge at the sudden traffic jam around them and said, "Animal Control. Please stay back while we deal with the situation."

Andy heard a small, bright tinkling, and looked down in time to see a deformed lump of silver hit the ground beside the werewolf. It was forcing the bullets out of its flesh. Could I do that? Or is the flesh of a wight different from that of a werewolf? He hesitated, because he hadn't counted on having an audience while he was still dressed in nothing more than a hospital gown. 

Veronica didn't, She had her pistol holstered, and strode forward while pulling a handful of zip-ties out of pocket. "Stay still," she snarled, as she bent down, "or my new friend is going to put a bullet in your brain-pan, and another in your heart since we're not sure that skull of yours has anything useful inside it."

The werewolf hesitated, and Andy could feel his own beast looking out through his eyes, gauging positions, movements, intentions. The werewolf eyed him, and he smiled -- probably an unsettling expression, but he still hadn't gotten a chance to see how he really looked. Certainly no few of the people stopped around him were remarking on it. 

The wolf went limp, surrendering with only a token snarl. Veronica made quick work of tying it down then threw it over her shoulder and carried it to the car. "I know you can cut those restraints," she said, looking into the back seat. "I wouldn't advise it." She shut the door. "Change of plans: I'm driving, you're in the passenger seat. If he moves, shoot him. You've got six bullets, so go head, heart, shoulders, then knees."

"Got it," said Andy, and went around to arrange himself in the passenger seat.

MV: Whisker-Thin Escapes

Andy's biggest fear was that going through the glass would throw his balance off, but it shattered into a webwork of safety-glass cracks the moment his claws pierced it, and he passed through without any significant impact. The ground was far below -- Too far! -- but it was too late to do anything about that. He landed barefoot on the concrete, tucked, and rolled until he fetched up against a wood-and-metal bench. 

Andy pulled himself to his feet, and found himself staring down the barrel of a military-looking rifle, held by a figure in black combat gear. 

Veronica landed behind him, already shifting back to her human form. "Wait! Don't shoot him -- that's the kid. Targets are inside -- werewolf on level three, and a wight and a nightbringer coming down the fire stairs."

The armored figure swung around to look at her. "ID, please."

Veronica fished out her wallet and showed a badge. The armored man nodded, then touched the radio on his chest and spoke into it. Andy sagged with relief, and Veronica came forward to grab his elbow. "Can you drive?"

"Sure." Andy hadn't been driving long, but he could drive. "Stick or automatic, either one."

"Good. I've got a car around the side, and we need to get out of here. The team will get the building locked down, and hopefully eliminate the threat -- whoever they are, these guys are dangerous even for rogues. If you can drive, I can reload -- and make some calls."

Andy shrugged, and followed her as she started walking towards her car. She wasn't slow, and she wasn't worried about whether or not he would follow her; that much was obvious. "I can shoot, too," Andy told her. 

Veronica didn't even break her stride. "You," she reminded him, "are a teenager who's absolutely fed up with all this. I am not giving you a gun."

Okay, fair, Andy thought, and shrugged. "Then I'll drive."

The car was a sort of mini-SUV, a Honda, and Andy reached for the driver's door as Veronica unlocked it. He was pulling his seat belt on as she slid into the passenger seat, and took a brief moment to look over the console. Okay, automatic transmission, button instead of key to start it, nothing unusual. He stepped on the brake and started the car, checked to make sure that the emergency brake was off, and then slipped it into Reverse. He kept the movement casual, getting a feel for how sensitive the pedals were, how much turn it took to adjust the steering, where exactly turn signals and lights were located.  

It was dark out, so he flicked the headlights on, then got the car aligned and put it in Drive. The parking lot was full, so he made his way to the exit and turned onto the street. 

Veronica was shaking the bullets from her revolver into her hand. She took a moment to put the two remaining bullets back into the cylinder, then dumped the empty shells onto the floor of the passenger seat. "Turn right on Coit," she said absently. "We're heading up into Frisco."

"All right," he said, and started looking for street signs. 

He found Coit road, turned onto it, and headed north. He checked the mirrors, then slammed his foot down on the pedal. The car lurched forward, speeding up, and Veronica yelled, "Slow down! The last thing we need is attention from the police!"

Andy pressed down harder, swerved around a Dodge sedan, and kept going. 

"You're going to--" Veronica glanced back. "Oh, shit."

A massive black wolf was chasing them down the road, moving at impossible speeds.

"You motherfucker, I haven't even had a chance to reload!" she said, but she was already rolling down the window and leaning out. She aimed carefully, fired off one shot. Andy watched as the beast behind them lurched, barely managing to keep its footing. She took aim again, then fired a second shot, and watched as it stumbled, tumbled, and slid along the pavement. 

Andy hit the breaks, slowing them gently. 

"What are you doing?" asked Veronica. 

"Can a wight follow at that speed?" He asked. "Or a nightbringer?"

"...No," Veronica admitted. 

"So do you want to keep running, or do we finish it here?" asked Andy, feeling justifiably smug. 

Veronica stared at him for the space of a breath. "You scare me, kid."

Andy shrugged. "They killed me, murdered my girlfriend, and endangered my little sister. When I said I was fed up, that might have been an understatement."

Veronica snorted something that might have been a laugh. "All right. I'll reload and go deal with him. You stay here in the car."

"Not a fucking chance," Andy said. 

She looked at him for another long moment, then reached forward and opened the glove box. "I could get fired for this, so don't ever say anything about it -- but I changed my mind, you're getting a gun." 

Let Freedom (Ear)Ring

We went and got Secondborn's ears pierced at a lovely little local place. It took us three tries; state law has come a long way from when I was sixteen and got my ear pierced at a kiosk in the mall. We needed picture IDs for at least one parent and Secondborn, a birth certificate for her, and a bit of paperwork attesting that yeah, I was okay with this. 

The style of the initial studs is completely different, too. Forget the  rough, spike studs with their stupidly-large backs; today's versions are sleek, a tube inserted from the back, and a selection of fronts that slide into it. The tubes are a bit overlong, in case of swelling, but apparently we can come back in and get them shortened/replaced with something that fits better once they've finished healing. 

Since we were there, and since my own piercings haven't had earrings for decades, I signed up to have my old piercings re-pierced... except they didn't need it. Apparently the holes were still open, so they just stretched them back out to receive the new studs. Which was shockingly easy, and also much cheaper. I'm still not going to grow my hair back out, but I am going to cultivate my pirate earrings again. 

Secondborn was thrilled with this, I think; not only did she get what she'd been wanting, but her father jumped in to restore his version of it too.  Yeah, I'm old, but also I kind of feel like it's time to get back to reclaiming my identity as a freak. 

...Which reminds me, I need to do more sewing on the Patch Jacket MK II.

MV: Change of Plans

Half-transformed, Veronica was about six and half feet tall, covered in thick fur of gray and silver and black, and well equipped with teeth and claws while still retaining hands to hold her gun. Her claws weren't as long as Andy's, and he doubted she could talk with her head in this lupine configuration, but if there was a shape built for fighting this was it. 

She shoved him along, and he didn't try to fight it. Her gun was out, held in one clawed hand, and she alternated between moving away from the stairwell and looking back to see what might come out of it.  If the sign in the stairwell was correct, this was the third floor. 

A massive wolf slammed through the door of the stairwell. It was darker than Veronica, its fur nearly black, and it snarled in a way that echoed out for blood through every vein in Andy's body. Right, time to go, he thought, and raced ahead. Behind him, Veronica stood firm and raised her pistol. She fired off three shots, and then the other wolf was half-transformed as well, and they were half-grappling and half-clawing at each other. 

The silver bullets must have done their work, because the werewolf staggered and half-collapsed, giving Veronica a brief moment to snatch her gun back up and chase after Andy, gesturing for him to precede her. He took the hint and ran, pounding along the laminate floor tiles. There was a window up ahead, and with the stairwell blocked...

He had no idea if this was Veronica's plan, but it was definitely his. 

He leapt at the last moment, put his long-clawed fingers and toes in front of him, and exploded through the glass and out into empty air.  

MV: Hopping Stairs

The stairs were slow; Andy experimented with leaping the last few steps to the landing, then again from slightly higher up. Veronica didn't say anything; she just matched him, gun out but hammer down at his back. Above them, the movements of the wight had grown frantic, then calm as it moved to a spot directly above them. 

It had found the stairs. 

"Shit," said Andy. "It's still up on whatever the hell floor that was, but it's in the stairwell now." 

"We're almost to the ground," said Veronica. "I have a car in the parking lot. If we can get clear before it catches up, we'll be--" 

The stairwell went dark. 

Andy adjusted immediately, and Veronica didn't break her stride either, though she did curse as they made the next jump. "What is it with you and Steve?" he asked, finding that being dead meant that he was never out of breath. 

Veronica didn't have quite the same advantage, but she had enough endurance to answer anyway: "Werewolves," she said. "Late shift is Rodney, a vampire. A lot of the licensed hunters are monsters."

"Ah," said Andy. He'd never considered that some of the monster-hunters might be monsters themselves,  but it made a weird sort of sense. He'd never heard it discussed, but then that made sense, too. They rounded another landing, leapt again, this time taking the entire flight. Both of them landed easily, kicked off the concrete wall, and continued down. 

"Fuck me," said Veronica, catching at Andy's arm and pulling him to a sudden stop. "Goddamn werewolf below us." 

"Wolf?" asked Andy, remembering how the beast had looked as it came at him. 

"Wolf is the default, these days," Veronica said. "With time and practice, we can be other things as well." She hesitated, then said, "Stay behind me, but if you can get past us safely, do it. How close is the wight?"

He paused, looking up, and said, "Three-four landings down from where we started, and coming fast."

"Fuck." Veronica. "I do not want to be caught between them. This way--" She threw open a door labeled 3rd Floor and dragged Andy through after her, half-shifting as she did. 

Okay, that's pretty impressive, he thought.

Valthor: Battles, then Cuddles

"I saw you fighting down there," said Kiela. "It was... well, it really impressive. All those orcs..."

Valthor shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "I mean, I wasn't the only one fighting them."

"No, but... I mean, you and your friends fight well together, but you all have different styles. Tizrin seemed to be having a bad day -- I'm sure he fights better than that normally, and Rrhorask is deadly with those knives when he has room to throw them, but as long you have have someone to fight beside you're... I'm not sure how to describe it. I could see you positioning yourself, lining up your shot."

Valthor chuckled. "Well, I was raised to believe that precision counts for more than strength -- most of the time, anyway. That one time my cousin Lothos lifted me off the floor by neck, it sure didn't feel that way."

"Your cousin picked you up by your neck?" Kiela asked, sounding slightly aghast. "How old were you?"

"...Seventeen, I think," Valthor told her. "He wasn't trying to strangle me or anything, he just wanted to make sure we understood each other. Pretty typical cousin stuff."

"Um," said Kiela, still studying his face. "Valthor, that's not typical. It's actually kind of insane."

"Is it?" asked Valthor. "I don't know, it seemed pretty normal at the time."

"Trust me," Kiela told him. "It wasn't." She swallowed. "Anyway, you want to come down to the cargo hold with me and have a drink? We set up a nice, discreet spot behind some of the boxes."

"Sure," said Valthor, and followed her down the stairs. 

He was restless after the fight, and horny, but it wasn't until they reached the corner hideaway that he realized what she had in mind. "No chairs," Kiela told him, looking innocent. "We'll have to sit on the bedroll."

Valthor swallowed. "I can manage that," he said.  

MV: Claws Out

Andy called the claws back out. Unlike his first effort, he could pause to really look at them now: seven inches long, razor-sharp, anchored firmly to his fingers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the beast stirred; it was looking forward to this. He continued down the concrete steps, Veronica right behind him. She had her pistol out, and he was well aware she could shoot him in the back, but he didn't think she would. 

The zombies weren't as intimidating as he'd expected. There were maybe half a dozen of them, and... fuck. They wore nursing scrubs or lab coats, or in one case both. The fucking wight had killed them here in the hospital, brought them back, and turned them to its service. 

It was above them now, moving back and forth -- probably trying to figure out exactly where they'd gone and how to follow. He hoped the nurses at the desk had taken shelter.

Andy launched himself down at the first of the zombies, bowled it over, disemboweled a second one, then rolled back to his feet and tore into the rest, severing tendons and cutting through bones, smashing joints when he could manage it. He'd done some wrestling in PE, and knew how to push a hold into a break; slicing with his new claws was more a matter of instinct and opportunity.

It was still more than the zombies could take. They beat at him, but all they could do was bludgeon him as he tore them apart. 

As the last of them fell, he heard a firm metallic click behind him. "You still okay?" Veronica asked. 

Andy put his claws away and turned slowly to face her. "Yeah," he said, realizing as he said it that he was staring down the barrel of her pistol. "Do wights do berserker shit?" 

"...Not so far as I know," Veronica admitted. "But that was a lot of violence."

"Lady," said Andy, "I am a teenager who is absolutely fucking fed up with all of this, and if I can take it out on a bunch of zombies, that's what I'm doing. So either shoot me now, or come on." 

She eased the hammer back, offered a grim smile. "All right. Let's get the hell out of here. Let the cleanup team handle it." 

MV: Under Siege

"Yeah," Andy agreed. "Are you my current Steve?"

"Yeah," she said. "We take shifts so we can sleep. I'm Veronica."

"Right, pleased to meet you -- and I'll be happy to get back in bed just as soon as I'm not being hunted."

"Miss?" asked the male nurse. "He wants to talk to you."

She nodded and accepted the phone. "Uh huh. Yeah. That's what he says. No... No I don't. All right." She handed the phone back and said, "Fuck," again, this time with a little more force. 

Andy waited, and she turned back to him. "All right. He's calling it in, but he wants me to get you out of here."

Andy nodded, knowing he was in well over his head. "Please."

"Emergency stairs are over here," she said. "Should be fine unless they're coming up that way."

Andy stopped to focus for a moment. "No, I don't think so."

"All right. Follow me." She strode off down the hall, and Andy fell into place a step behind her. "We've got a team on station," she said. "We were kind of hoping this group would come looking for you."

"Is that common?" 

Veronica shrugged. "Not really, but common enough to be worth preparing for -- especially with a group like this, who've managed to cover their trail so well that any regular pursuit has proven useless." She hesitated. "If I could be sure of the timing, I'd say you could do more good as bait in your room, but I don't know how far out the team is and Steve doesn't want you running up against the wight who turned you."

Andy didn't want that either. Not until he was better prepared, anyway. He followed her through the door to the emergency stairs and started down. "Thank you for helping me."

"I'd tell you it was a pleasure, but--" 

They both huffed a laugh. 

There were footsteps on the stairs below them, coming up. Veronica slowed, then stopped and looked over the rail. She frowned, then said: "Zombies. This wight must have raised some help."

"We can do that?" asked Andy, appalled. "Like, wights can animate corpses?"

Veronica nodded. "Yeah, at least temporarily. Wights are pretty decent necromancers: speak to the dead, raise zombies to help them, stuff like that."

Do Not Want, Andy thought. Rather than saying that out loud, he asked: "How tough are zombies?"

"Tough is about all they have going for them, honestly," Veronica said. "They aren't especially strong or smart, and most of them weren't created from herd who knew how to fight."

"So you can kill them with bullets?"

Veronica hesitated. "I'd rather not. These are silver rounds, good for wights as well as werewolves -- two-thirds of the trifecta that attacked you."

Andy nodded. "Do you trust me?"

Veronica tilted her head to regard him. "What did you have in mind?"

"I've figured out one basic trick," he said softly. "Save your ammo, and let's see how well it works."

Veronica was easily old enough to be his mother, but she regarded him evenly and then said. "All right. Stay where I can haul you back if it goes badly." 

MV: Monster on the Loose

He slipped out into the hall after a quick look around the curtain. Clothing would be nice, but right now it didn't matter. No alarms were blaring, nobody was screaming, but he could still feel that presence approaching and the closer it got, the more he was certain that this was the same undead thing that had made him into what he was now. 

Finding the nurses' station was a relief, right up until the black girl in her early twenties caught sight of him and shrieked. Andy slowed his pace and held his hands up as he approached her, watching as she sat frozen. "It's okay," he said. "I mean, it's not, but I'm not going to hurt you."

The man behind her turned, caught sight of him, and reached out to slap a large red button. Now there were alarms blaring, lights blinking, and all the alarums and excursions he'd been expecting. He bypassed the woman, and handed the card to the man. "Call this number," Andy said tightly. "Tell him I said my maker was here."

The man nodded, then reached for the phone as Andy stepped away. 

"Hey!" said a woman's voice down the hall. "You there!" 

Andy turned, and found himself regarding a woman with hand on the pistol at her belt. She was taller than he was, stocky with muscle, and dressed in loose-fitting clothing. He raised his hands, waited. 

"How the hell did you get out of your room?" she asked, stopping three steps away. She hadn't actually drawn the pistol, but from there she had a good chance of drawing it if he came at her. Maybe better than I think, Andy admitted to himself.  

"Necessity," he told her. "Steve said to contact him if I could sense my master's location. Well... I can, and he's here. Or she. Or whatever."

The woman regarded him for a long moment. The nurse was speaking quietly into the phone. The other nurse was still frozen in her chair. 

Finally the woman said, "Fuck."  

MV: Premonitions

He'd been drifting again, not quite in that dismal almost-sleep that he'd found earlier, but... maybe dozing at the edges of it. The TV was still on, and someone in a helicopter was chasing a train, and also displaying a reckless disregard for basic physics. Andy would have changed the channel if he could, but the remote was out of reach and he was still strapped down. He'd lost track of the plot some while back, regardless...

Something nudged at the edges of his awareness. There was someone nearby, unknown but strangely familiar, coming closer. A wave of dread swept over him, and he thought, Oh, shit. 

He forced his eyes all the way open, looked around, and then thought, Oh, shit, again. He hadn't been dreaming it. There was definitely something nearby, outside the hospital but working its way towards him. "Nurse?" he called. 

Nobody answered. Of course they didn't. He tugged at his bonds. "Steve?"

Still nothing. He sighed. Could he trigger the alarm for his mental activity somehow? No, that must have been a one-time thing, or it would already have picked up on his distress. There was a call button for the nurse, but his restraints kept it out of reach as well.

Okay. Steve said wights had claws, so in theory I have claws. Or I can have claws. 

He considered his fingers, then flexed his hands. I hope so, anyway. If it was his murderer that he was sensing, he wanted nothing to do with it. He needed to be able to escape.  Come on... The shift was sudden, the transformation unfamiliar but unmistakable. Long, slightly-curved claws slid out from his fingertips, firmly anchoring themselves in a way that fingernails weren't, and he curled his fingers in and began working at the heavy leather bands around his wrists. 

They parted with surprising ease, and he moved to the strap that held his hips down; it parted easily as well. The collar around his neck was chained to the bed on either side, but he worked a claw under it and sawed at it until it parted. The restraints around his ankles were last to go. 

He was already sitting up; it was a minor effort to slip over the bed rails and put his feet on the floor. The hospital gown gaped open in the back, reinforcing the absurdity of his entire situation, but he forced his new-found claws back and scooped Steve's card up from the metal table. He needed to find help, or he needed a way out, and whichever he could find, he needed it now.  

MV: Reflections

Andy let his thoughts drift, but this time he didn't sink down into unconsciousness. He was dead, returned as a wight, maybe barely able to disguise himself as a living person if he took in enough of other people's... how had Steve put it? Youth. Vitality. Life force. Something like that. His family thought him dead -- rightly -- and his only allies were monster hunters and government caretakers. His first and only girlfriend was dead, and -- if they were to be believed -- not reborn as a monster. From what he remembered of the werewolves, he could believe that. They were supposed to be at their most infectious when they delivered a bite but failed to make the kill. 

Like that one did to me, he thought, remembering the pulsing wound in his shoulder, the shivering and loss of control even as he struggled to fend it off, the waves of heat and cold sweeping through his bone. 

But then the hand had come down over his face, and he'd woken back up as a wight instead.

He held himself still, let himself relax into the movie. Some guy with a Gatling gun in his passenger seat was trying to kill two girls and a guy in an armored car, while they tried to figure out how to shoot back without getting cut in half. One of the girls was returning fire, while the other cowered, obviously out of her depth...

Action movies. Action movies are normal. He kept watching, waiting to see what happened next. At this point, he needed as much normal as he could get.

MV: More Questions, More Answers

Carol was back fifteen minutes or so later. "Sorry," she said. "Usually they're better prepared for this."

"So this was... some kind of court-ordered thing for him?" asked Andy. 

The older woman nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes it's a way to work off a prison sentence, but people can also volunteer to do it meet community service requirements. We also have some people like Loida, who volunteer. But usually, by the time they get to us they've done this a few times before. I'm not sure how Gautam slipped through net on that, but... you handled it pretty well. Thank you."

Andy managed to shrug; his restraints didn't prevent that. "If I look anything like the thing that killed me, I can see why he'd be scared."

"How'd it go this time?" 

"Control was a lot easier this time. The hunger didn't try to run riot, and the beast just watched." He felt like an absolute lunatic saying that out loud, but Carol just nodded. "I think," he added cautiously, "that the hunger doesn't see touch as an invitation to feed unless I grab something, and the beast realized what I was doing and didn't feel the need to push it further."

"Huh," Carol said thoughtfully. "Do you think it would let me look inside your head now?"

Andy raised his eyebrows. "I'm not a psychic, but I wouldn't risk it."

"All right." She studied him for a long moment. "Listen, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry this happened to you."

Andy nodded uncomfortably at that, because, well... he didn't care how she felt about it. She wasn't the one who'd woken up dead, learned that his girlfriend was dead, and been told that his family thought he was dead. Her sympathy might be well-meant, but it was useless. "Would you do me a favor?" he asked. 

"What kind of favor?"

"Turn on the TV. Find a channel with, I don't know, action movies. Mindless explosions."

"Oh." Carol's face went still. "Sure." She rose, found the remote, and turned on the television. It took a few tries to find a channel where a car chase was going on, but she managed. "Anything else?"

Andy shook his head, and she left his hospital room again. 

MV: Second Feeding

"Andy?" 

He came back out of the emptiness slowly, and found that he was still in the hospital bed, still on his back. It should have been miserably uncomfortable -- he must have gone hours without rolling over -- but apparently now that he was dead, his body didn't care. His restraints were still in place, of course. 

When he blinked and opened his eyes, Carol had returned. With her was a dark-skinned young man with black hair buzzed close to his head, and features that -- upon reflection -- were probably middle-eastern. "Oh," he said. "You're back. Hi."

"Andy, this is Gautam."

Gautam looked nervous, his shock just starting to shade over into terror. 

"Hi," Andy said again, looking at Gautam. "It's okay. I'm tied down; I can't hurt you."

"You... you can talk?" Gautam swallowed. He was young, probably close to Andy's age. "I mean, of course you... What...?"

Carol said, "Andy is what we call a wight. He looks the way he does right now because he hasn't fed enough to change it. Your job here is to give him just enough energy to help him along."

"...And that's going to knock ten hours off of my community service." Gautam swallowed. "Not lying, I was kind of hoping for a vampire girl, maybe even a succubus."

Carol shook her head and sighed. "Look, I won't force you to do this if you don't want to. But if you want to get your hours out of the way, this is a quick way to get it done."

Gautam hesitated, then turned to look at Carol. "And he won't kill me, or turn me into... that?" 

"Scout's honor," said Andy, though he'd quit the Boy Scouts in eighth grade.

"Well... okay. What do I have to do?" 

"Put your hand in his," Carol said matter-of-factly, "let him drain you for a minute, and then you get to walk out with ten hours off your sentence."

"Wait," said Andy. "He's nervous, and if we're being honest I am too. It seems like it's easiest for me to feed through the palms of my hands, but is that the only way? If I'm supposed to be working on control, maybe he could put his hand on my forehead or something. I could try feeding that way, and I wouldn't be able to grab his hand -- he could pull back any time."

Carol considered that. "All right. That's not... I mean, that's not usual, and it might not work, but we can try it."

Gautam looked relieved, but still approached the bed with slow, cautious footsteps. Andy stayed very, very still as the other boy stopped beside him. "Thanks, man. How long've you been like this?"

"Not sure," Andy told him. "A couple of days, I think."

"Sucks for you," Gautam said, but there was genuine sympathy in his voice. "All right. No more stalling. I'm doing this."

Andy took hold of his hunger, but this time it didn't surge at the touch of a living hand. Come to think of it, it hadn't when Carol had put a hand on his shoulder earlier, either. Interesting. He reached out with it, found the connection to Gautam's hand, and let it pull in a little of... he wasn't sure. Heat? Glow? Life? He kept it slow, controlled. 

"Ah. Cold," said Gautam, but he kept his hand in place. 

The beast stirred in the back of Andy's mind, but this time it was content to sit and watch. This wasn't the kind of feeding it knew, but it still recognized it as feeding. Better... It was easier this time, or maybe it was just easier this way. 

"That's enough," Carol said gently.  

"Okay, I'm going to try to stop now," Andy said. "Pull your hand away if I can't."

He pulled the hunger back, and Gautam removed his hand. "Huh," he said. "All right, that wasn't too bad. Not like I was expecting."

"Right, well, good luck," Andy told him. "And thanks."

Gautam hesitated. "Yeah, you too." 

MV: The Dreams of a Newborn Monster

With the grownups gone, Andy let himself sink back into a sort of dismal darkness which wasn't sleep as he'd known it, but wasn't wakefulness either. Peaceful numbness enfolded him, and he rested there for a timeless time...

Something was hunting him, stalking him through a barren, stony landscape beneath a dark and starless sky. It was the beast, restless and hungry, barely glimpsed as he twisted and turned, trying to elude it. Too late for that, he knew with dreaming certainty: it had his scent, and no matter how he crossed and re-crossed his own trail through the twisted stone shapes it still drew closer. Finally he turned, hearing a soft step behind him, and saw a pair of gleaming eyes and the curve of one long fang just emerging from the shadow of  rock. 

No. He shoved the dream away, and fell back into gray nothingness. 

This time he was standing on a hilltop with the beast at his side, overlooking the blasted, cracked landscape. In the distance there were two small structures of dark stone, rising above twisted stone and winding trails. One, he knew, was a mausoleum -- a resting place with only a single occupant. The other was a cenotaph. 

No. He pushed that dream away, too, swam free of it, and sank back into formlessness. 

He was home again, back in his own house, logy with fear as he tried to drag Amy away before it could happen. They were out of the living room, down the short hall to the kitchen... Behind them, he heard the front door give way with a massive CRACK! and shatter inwards. If they could make it outside... 

He threw open the back door, and Amy screamed.

The back yard was gone, replaced by that barren wasteland of twisted stone shapes. Behind them, the noises in the living room suddenly fell silent, then began again as an avalanche of varied steps racing their way. The kitchen went dark, lights flickering and giving way, and Andy tried to fling Amy outside and slam the door shut behind her. 

He was a heartbeat too late. No. Something caught her, hauled her back. No. He spun around and a pale, withered hand was reaching for his face. No! 

Darkness, again.

EPIC Dreams!

I fear I've lost some of the details, but I had this completely awesome dream last night... In retrospect, it's a bit less coherent than it was at the time, but with a bit of spackle and some duct tape it fits together just fine. 

Stage One was venturing out in the wake of some sort of disaster to get people to safety. A bridge had collapsed, or maybe exploded, so being unharmed and on a bicycle let me get people out of immediate danger to where emergency services -- or what was left of them -- could triage them, or just move the relatively intact ones back to the safe area. 

Stage Two was trying to move around in this kind of post-disaster setting, which meant switching over to gathering batteries -- very sci-fi looking batteries -- moving quietly to avoid threats. Somewhere in there I stumbled across a big alien spider-monster just as some bad guys -- raiders? enemy soldiers? alien invaders? -- caught up with me from behind, with the result that I decided that getting out from between them was the priority, and ran away. 

Which promptly turned into a hoverbike chase scene, and somewhere in the middle switched over to Stage Three.

Stage Three was full-on video-game mechanics, where I had to remember how to swap weapons, reload, return fire, etc... all while racing back to the safe area from Stage One. Definite learning curve even in the dream, but it was very cool. I even remember halfway-waking up long enough to think that I'd have play more of this later on, and then being kind of pissed that the game doesn't actually exist in real life. 

All of which was a vast improvement over the dream from a week or so earlier, where "my family" -- not actually my family, just a bunch of random people who were my family in the dream -- had gone to a sort of waterpark/nature preserve... where they (we) murdered somebody for some inheritance. And of course one of the cousins screwed something up, and had to hide a body on the fly instead of disposing of it as planned. 

This led to the nightmare sequence when I'd realized that the body had been found, there were investigators on the scene, and I was trying to grab my stuff and get off the property. Meanwhile my "parents" were insisting that everybody needed to stay calm and act normal and the cops definitely wouldn't figure out what had happened. And then getting out was incredibly difficult, since the park perimeter was blocked off, as were the areas around the rides, and... yeah. All for a murder that I hadn't wanted to be involved with in the first place. 

MV Secondary: Evaluation and Consensus

"Okay," said Steve, when the three of them were safely down in a small meeting room two floors away from the patient. "What do we think so far?"

"Any word on the rogues?" asked Carol. "I'd love to know more about where he came from."

Steve shook his head. "Not yet. We have two field teams after them, but we think between what they did to those two kids they had enough oomph to disguise themselves as regular humans and throw off our pursuit. It didn't help that the local cops tried to move in without our support."

"I think he's sweet," Loida said. "Did you see how concerned he was about hurting me? And when he got scared about his control, he called it."

Carol nodded slowly. "That thing in his head worries me, but if he was modulating his hunger and holding it back, he must have a will like iron. It might balance out."

"Yeah," said Steve after a moment. "That was kind of how he struck me when I was questioning him. Self-possessed, controlled, cautious." He shook his head. "I fucking hate wights, but he might actually be able to keep it under control."

"I have two younger brothers," Loida said thoughtfully. "Vas was eager to learn to drive. He wanted to go places, visit people, see what he could do. Anton was terrified of the idea of being in charge of a multi-ton vehicle, and only learned to drive because our father forced him to. You want to guess which one totaled a car in the first nine months, and which one went three full years before he even got into a fender-bender, which wasn't his fault? ...This kid reminds me of Anton." She yawned. 

"I'd still like it better if I could get a feel for his mind," Carol said, then sighed. "But if I had to evaluate him right now, I'd mark him down as 'take precautions, but go ahead and integrate him'." 

Steve nodded. "Thank you both. It's too early to make recommendations, but I'm grateful for the feedback."