A Note from the author: As usual, before we get started, be advised this is not your usual story. This should technically be in a cross-over section, save for the fact there is no official universe to put this under. The Guard are an original collective of characters, but I do not take credit for any of the figures featured within Life is Strange; that's Dontnod's and I thank them for such a great experience. Taking place after the Sacrifice Arcadia Bay ending, I warn you that there will be a band of marauding aliens, a psychopathic cult, and a further exploration of Max's powers that may extend past the cannon, though I will try to keep the whole affair as grounded as possible. On a final note, I really appreciate constructive feedback, so if you have a moment, drop a review! So, with all that out of the way, then let us commence on the journey.


'Blunt force, blunt force, head trauma, missing three limbs, rebar through chest, and nothing in the damn pocket. Maybe his boot?'

Praesentius was talking to himself, again, though if he had anything of significant value that his commanding officer would find of interest, Emendus did not know. In fact, he greatly doubted that would be the case, as he turned back to the mayhem before him.

Claudius and Erenus were engaging in some strange tug of war with a series of painted, splintered logs, whilst Regenus had apparently taken some strange fixation with a nearby fire that seemed to border on the ambition of self immolation. Meanwhile, across the road, Maudus was digging through the mud with his hands, although how he intended to produce a grave large enough to bury all the dead was beyond Emendus, and Thax was being Thax; in other words, doing nothing. Meanwhile, the rain continued to beat down on his scarred forehead with unceasing disregard for his well being, filling his steel boots to the brim with the polluted crap of a planet he had already learned to detest with all his heart.

All in all, it would not be remembered as one of Ememdus' finest days on the Watch, as he pulled himself out of the mire he had wisely chosen to elect as his post for the past ten minutes, and trampled over to his lead Hunter, hoping beyond hope that there was a trail to be found.

'Anything new, Praesentius?'

'When I find something worth a memory, I'll let you know…'

'I was talking about a lead, Guardsman. In fact, while we're on the topic, how many blithering times have I told you to respect the damn Fallen!'

'You're not a Shadow anymore, Emendus,' the Hunter fired back in an easy tone, 'just another one of the forsaken. So lighten up; this is probably the most interesting crap we'll be thrown in the next couple of decades. You don't need to make it any more of a headache than it already is, you know what I'm saying?'

Emendus was not sure if he was going to log that down as insubordination. Praesentius, aside from having one of the most unforgivable names known to his untrained tongue, was a solid Guardsman, but Orteus' psyche evaluations of the former member of the Hell Guard had still advised a degree of caution; he commonly walked the line between a self proclaimed comedic irritant, and an intolerable nuisance all too often with intent, and Emendus was uncertain as to how much leeway he was to extend to the soldier. Considering his own admitted sin of pride, he was at a loss as to how much of the strange animosity between the two was his responsibility, and how much lay at the little shit's feet.

And then there was the fact he was toying with what appeared to be a severed finger, twirling it between his hands like the blade that would so often occupy them.

'Put it down, Praesentius.'

'Fine, fine,' he conceded, dropping the digit once more, strangely obedient as soon as the command had left his superior's mouth, 'Great Father, it is a bloody mess, isn't it?'

'You tell me,' Emendus sighed, surveying the carnage once again. He had seen battlefields, although not many, that appeared tidier than the pile of scrap that, composed the remains of Arcadia Bay.

To call it a bay anymore should have been considered an insult to any other retreat of the coastline; the storm had all but obliterated the seafront, and floodwaters still remained, caught in depressions or the ruins of the homes they had destroyed, and unable to withdraw, so they remained amid the dead; a breeding ground for the growths and organisms that would slowly devour the victims of day. Both above and beneath the ground would hold no sanctuary from the degradation offered by time, and someday, though Emendus knew that day to be far off, naught would remain of the fallen; each a victim of nature's fury.

Save for one.

'You finished back there yet, Adrentius?'

A mumble met his ears, and the Guardsman turned about, leveling his eyes upon the last member of his small warband with a vengeance, much to the great discomfort of the latter.

Adrentius was by far the youngest of his little company of misfits; fresh from the trials, with an overeagerness to impress, and with all four limbs still attached. Everything Emendus hated. Mostly because he saw himself, as the new blood recoiled at his sudden aggression.

'It was a ritualistic killing,' the Hunter spat out in a torrent, his horror at his superior's loathing evident within his every word, 'one, um, extensive wound across the entire body, all inflicted by the same bladed weapon. Burn marks, and…'

'Yes, yes, yes, I don't envy the bastard. What I want to know is where the hell he gets us!'

For the first time, the new blood's usual imagination failed to fire, and with an irritated wave of a gauntleted hand, Emendus signalled for Praesentius to take over. In all truth, Emendus thought to himself, he probably should have given the recruit a better chance: it was just one of the reasons he had in fact seen fit to drag the least experienced of his little rabble along this once, for the hard truth was that Death was a fickle master. On a good day, he'd take someone far off from one's life; undoubtedly a tragedy to countless others, but a sadistic blessing to his own company. On the average operation, he'd pluck the incompetent. But on the occasion the lord of the end thirsted for one of his finest, well, Emendus needed a replacement who would be able to get several paces without tripping up.

At this rate, at least, he found himself hoping Death could wait another day. Or an eternity.

On the other hand, he noted to himself, as he checked the chronometer plastered upon his helmet's display, they were still working on a clock, as the rescue teams closed in.

'Ritualized killing,' Praesentius repeated to himself, gently guiding the youth aside, 'ritualized killing, but with the same blade...lone instigator, perhaps? And in that bloody housing estate too; place wasn't open for hire, so I'm guessing I could point a finger at the owner.'

'Just tell me if it's what I think it is,' Emendus broke in, 'we're on a clock.'

'Circular wounds, all of them unbroken in nature; from the look of things, those widened serrations look like they left the knife in the fella when they got tired. Talk about continuity, eh? Ah, and the burn marks; did it not surprise you that they were where his eyeballs are meant to be, you idiot?'

'Why the blinding?'

'Meant to be some pathway to the soul, or some shit,' Praesentius muttered, hardly listening, 'and the palms as well. Fate, fate, and Great Father be praised, fate!'

'I don't mean to intrude,' an irritated voice crackled over Emendus' earpiece, 'but first responders are less than five minutes out. I'd recommend double timing it unless you want Taurus to jam a boot through your arse for blowing this operation.'

'Copy that, Regus. You hear that, Praesentius? You got five minutes.'

'Then we're five minutes early; it's them.'

'No doubt?'

'Obsession with time, continuity, and fate. Plus the ritualised massacre sitting before you, and yes, I'd be pretty certain it was them.'

'Which leaves us with what?'

Though Emendus could not see it, he could certainly tell Praesentius was chewing his lip, again. The helmet they each wore restricted such a sight of each warrior's face, but there were habbits each held; the little nuances that could betray the steel statues to the careful eye. Praesentius', it seemed, was the destruction of the upper portion of his excessively sized mouth.

'Finally allowed to die around minutes before the storm hit, yet I don't see the weapon. Our cultist must have taken it with him, which puts his departure time from this hell hole exactly half an hour ahead of us. And considering he'd be hightailing it with a monster on his tail, he'd take the fastest route out.'

'The east road?'

'Yep, headed towards the I-5. But,' he held out a hand, admonishing Emendus in a manner of condescension he detested, 'but, but, but, but; if it was them, why here?'

'Great Father,' Emendus finally snapped, 'I don't know, Praesentius; I'm not a blasted Hunter, am I? You want to tell me what I'm missing?'

'A little, let us say, touch dramatic, isn't it? Summoning a storm all the way out here, of such a magnitude? There has to be a reason, and the only one I can think of is that there's another out here.'

'Timekeeper?'

'Definately something of the sort. Otherwise, it seems a bit of a wasted endeavor, for a bunch of pragmatic psychopaths, at least, doesn't it? Find the motive, find the motive, and all shall be revealed.'

Emendus bit back on another barbed comment coiling itself upon the tip of his tongue. Arrogant or not, he was willing to trust the vast majority of Praesentius' judgements; although perhaps too many relied a tad too much on speculation, sometimes, one had to make do with horrible hand, and still walk away with something in their pocket, and Praesentius seemed to have a knack for such. So, while it was entirely tempting to throw him back into his place, he also could not risk turning the predator into an indignant ass who would refuse to aid his work until he extracted an apology. It was all quite a dissatisfactory position Emendus found himself in, and any living soul that knew him would have known he was counting the days until he could be rotated back away from the forsaken little outpost known as Earth.

'So,' Emendus muttered, barely at a whisper's volume, 'for the last time, where would that take us?'

'He'd have survived the storm; no question, provided he knew about his capabilities. The cult doesn't pick these behemoths for their destructive power, 'cause if they wanted to kill the twit, they'd have just planted a bomb on his doorstep. No, they wanted something big; that their prey would have seen, and known how to survive. To separate 'em from the rest of the herd, and leave him broken and defenseless.'

'Why a 'he'?' Claudius put in, much to Praesentius' chagrin. 'could be a 'she'.'

'As it might be a 'he'.'

'And I'll wager it's an old wrinkly with a shotgun in his basement,' the Hunter returned with even vehemence, until Emendus cut him off; a decision few of them regretted, if one ignored the fact he might have simply instigated it a few moments earlier, and saved their ears.

'Praesentius,' he snapped, 'I know you don't like the opposite gender. In fact, you've iterated that so much we're all very well informed about your little incident with Arcadia, so save it! Unless I have any of it wrong; we have one murderous son of a bitch on the loose, a possible Timekeeper,' he paused, seeing Praesentius draw breath to argue once again, and sped up the pace, 'who's gender will not remain the subject of debate for another bleating second! And with a nearly thirty minute head start on us.'

Praesentius seemed satisfied; at least, as satisfied as he could have been after a reminder of that one time he had pushed his luck too far with a female who did not reciprocate his rather forthright advances, and who had been armed with a rather sharp blade. So did every other present, and for once, Emendus found himself able to appreciate the assembly of renegades he had before him. Certainly, they talked far more than he was comfortable with, and by the Great Father, sometimes he was tempted to bury a few of them just to save his hearing, but at the very heart of each soul lay a unfeeling murderer he was glad to have at his side. Sometimes, he could not help but wonder if the disturbingly joyous outlooks some of them adopted simply served as acclimatization to the constant hunt, but it did not matter.

They had a task, they had the massacred population of a small coastal town for a reason, and they had enough weapons to take on a small army.

Perhaps, he allowed himself to ponder; perhaps it would be a good day.