"Something like this can turn killers into lovers, sinners into saints, mobsters into cops." At the peak of the 1950's, Fermet has returned to his old stomping grounds and stirs up trouble. Working with Nebula and the Runoratas, they create an artificial Szilard who is determined to wreak havoc. Meanwhile, the many factions of immortals, new and old, form The Immortal Treaty of 1955, in order to efficiently take on their enemies. Despite telling himself that he won't create new allies, after Luck is saved from being devoured by an enemy by none other than Dallas, Luck finds himself torn out of his emotionless shell and thrust into a world where secrets get you killed and treaties are worth more than blood.
Freezing asphalt under his feet, and uncomfortably hot night air around him, Luck Gandor paused at the corner of two streets. An alley cat skittered in front of him, twitching pricked ears, before disappearing behind a pair of trashcans. Body just as low and lean as the fleeing creature, Luck carefully pricked his way down a shady-looking street. Most of the buildings were in various state of ruin, and the rest of the street wasn't in any better of a condition. Curling his lip, the mobster continued walking until he came to the building he was looking for, squeezing through the cracked and crumbling walls.
Pale silver moonlight illuminated the other immortals who had already gathered here: Claire Stanfield, bright red hair shimmering in the light; Firo Prochainezo and Ennis, pressed close together as they always were; Huey Laforet, thin and wiry as a fox; Ladd Russo, eyes blue as ice narrowed in Claire's direction with the dim light reflecting off of his prosthetic arm; Graham Spector, body trembling with nervous spasms of excitement at Ladd's side; Dallas Genoard, shoulders slumped and head low like a juvenile cougar; and Maiza Avaro, managing to look calm despite the tense atmosphere.
Slinking over to take his place between Claire and Firo, Luck positioned himself on a piece of broken cement as Maiza leapt onto a pile of bricks and debris. He cleared his throat, and the eight immortals, including Luck, turned their heads up to look at him. Although there were unresolved tensions between some of the people sitting there, all of them held a certain amount of respect for Maiza, and this was important. Maiza wouldn't have called for them all to gather if whatever he was going to tell them wasn't serious.
"As you all know, this is an extremely important matter," Maiza began to explain, his tall, intimidating form swathed in ribbons of silver pooling in from the broken roof. "An extremely dangerous immortal has returned to New York, and I believe that he's been involved in the resurrection of another extremely dangerous immortal." He paused, scanning the others' faces for any signs of emotion. "Lebreau Fermet Viralesque is in this city." Huey tensed visibly, and Luck could almost see his hair standing on edge. "And Szilard Quates has returned with him."
" What? " Hissed Firo, quick to jump to his feet. "But—the memories, I remember—I killed 'im! We all saw it, well, some of us," he added quickly. Ennis began to shiver, terror crossing her countenance, the full moon reflecting in her wide eyes. "How the hell is he back?"
"Fermet must have something to do with it," Maiza answered. "He's supposedly been devoured three times, once by Szilard himself. However he's back, Fermet must be responsible."
"Why don't we just get rid a' the guy for real then?" Ladd huffed like his time was being wasted, cracking the knuckles on his right hand with his left. Claire brushed his bangs out from his gleaming brown-hazel eyes, rolling them as he did.
"It ain't gonna be that easy," he retorted. "Obviously, if this guy was smart enough to somehow come back to life three times and bring the old man back, we ain't dealin' with an amateur."
Nodding in response, Maiza's expression grew grim. Luck was listening with piqued interest, his entire being focused on what the eldest immortal had to say. "Claire's right, I'm afraid. Not to mention, I have evidence from Sylvie which suggests he and Szilard are working with Nebula and the Runoratas."
"Nebula, as in, the Mist Wall Nebula?" Huey finally spoke, voice as quiet as ever, but rising above the murmurs of the others. "Led by Manifred Barium?"
Again, Maiza nodded. "Yes. Bartolo Runorata, although he is assuredly very ill, is definitely a key player in this game. If he were to get his hands on any of us, there'd be hell to pay." Looking in Dallas's direction, Maiza addressed him, "You should know this fairly well." Bristling, then relaxing, Dallas shifted uncomfortably in response. "Which is why I propose that we create a treaty."
"A treaty?" Graham cocked his head. "But what will a treaty really do for us? We can agree to a little paper all we want, but unless the words are actually enforced, they're just wasted words. And there's nothing more I hate than wasted words." He began to fidget, looking like he wanted to jump about and pace, but Ladd kept him pinned down to his spot with his prosthetic. Despite his inability to move, he continued to speak. "Why would we all want to work together anyway? In case you haven't noticed, we're not all best buddies ." Graham curled his lip, spitting the words out laced with poison as his Siamese blue eyes glared at Claire, who paid him no heed.
"Which one would you rather have to do; work with someone you dislike, or be the guinea pig of at least three people for the rest of your life, locked up like a rat in a testing facility?" Maiza retorted. His words were harsh, but true, and Graham gave a few frustrated wiggles. "That's what I thought." Straightening, Maiza jumped from his perch, landing heavily and stumbling forward a bit on his feet, before he steadied himself. "Huey, I assume you can agree for your daughters and homunculi in this case?" The Frenchman nodded, his eyes clouded with an emotion Luck couldn't read. "Jacuzzi relinquished decision-making to you, Dallas, I already know that. And Ladd, you can speak for the rest of Graham's gang, Ricardo, and his associates, yes?"
The blonde shrugged muscular shoulders in response. "I guess. The kid didn't say no, but he's weird. Probably won't wanna get involved, anyway."
"I doubt that," Huey murmured. "Liza fancies him. She follows my orders to the letter, but I don't doubt she'll want to get him involved in some way." At the sound of Liza fancying his nephew, Ladd gave a sour look, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Dismissing their sidebar, Maiza continued. "I know Firo and I speak for the Martillos, and Czeslaw has agreed to help. Luck, the Gandors will follow your command, correct?" Luck nodded soundlessly. His brothers knew of this meeting, knew of its intentions. Berga was eager for bloodshed, but Keith had looked worried when Luck had explained it to him. Honestly, he couldn't blame him for being weary; they could very well lose their lives for good this time. "Alright. Are we all in agreement?"
"Speak now or forever hold your peace," Firo sniggered, and though Maiza shot him a glare, no comments were made.
Thus, under the full moon in summer, 1955, The Immortal Treaty of 1955 became the red string of fate that would bind all of the factions of immortals together in a dangerous dance of death.