Disclaimer: Dante and all other mentioned DMC characters belong to Capcom and I take no ownership of them.

Author's Note: I realize this chapter is somewhat lengthy and slow, but it was fun to write. I promise most chapters after this won't be as long as this, because it's a lot of reading. I do hope you enjoy though, and stay with me until the real plot picks up! Happy reading!

Chapter 1 – A Hell Of A Night Out

Much to Dante's dismay, the city's demon-slaying gigs and excitement had decreased to a numbing state, where Dante apathetically wasted his days away, sitting before his desk, comfortably leaned back in his chair, reading magazines and listening to music that he barely noticed was playing at all. He snacked on the commonly consumed strawberry sundae and large pizza, but never bothered to throw away the remains of it, ultimately leaving the place a chaotic haze. Patty Lowell stopped visiting after a while, which at first appealed to Dante, but he began to think about all of his times with the child and didn't realize he developed a relationship with her to the extent that he would actually miss her. He didn't admit it, though. Morrison never came in with many jobs and he didn't even want to see Trish or Lady, considering the debt he'd been in.

But hell, he couldn't pay them back if he didn't have any god forsaken jobs. How else would he get paid?

Dante had even run out of things to read, and had no business buying anything new. Not if he didn't have the money. Typically, that wasn't his attitude. Given the circumstances, and his financial debt, he was cornered. God knew how much he could add to his tab before getting the business from the people from the pizza place, and he decided a magazine or other reading material wasn't a good place to blow whatever money he had in his pocket. Fuck it, Dante thought. I don't have a goddamn dime in my pocket. I can barely get food, like hell I can buy a magazine.

So what was he going to do?

The only thing he could do was read the older things he had, not that it was any fun to him, but it was truly his only option. He shuffled through the large stack of reading material he never bothered to throw away, the same way he had stacked pizza boxes and the bowls of his sundaes. He started from the top of the stack and worked his way down, recalling the articles and pictures that lie in each magazine, Dante's memory vivid as if he was reading it just now. Toward the very bottom of the stack was a newspaper, thin and somewhat grimy looking, but when Dante examined the paper and noticed that it was dated seven years ago, he could understand its unattractive condition. Nevertheless, he was interested in what happened seven years ago, and without really reading the paper, strode over back to his desk and rested his boot clad feet on the surface of the table, leaning back in his chair and opening the newspaper. He read the paper, almost bored of it until he noticed something that made him wince a little. He stared at the sentence with disgust—"LOCAL MAN'S MURDER MOVES ENTIRE CITY". Not that Dante disapproved that the town paid respects to the dead man. There was something else behind it. Something Dante didn't want to run back to, but he couldn't stop himself from reading.

"Beloved father, husband and brother's life was taken yesterday night at approx. 3:14 AM, by the hands of an unknown man. While investigators are still working on the case, the city held a memorial in order to honor the big-hearted and strong man…" Dante couldn't read it anymore. He chucked the newspaper across the desk and onto the floor, walking toward the window.

It was easy for Dante to forget about what he read, as long as he forced himself to—which he gladly did. He looked out the window, the extensive sky's intricate shade of blue fading into a shadowy night sky, pierced with stars and embracing the moon. He sighed at the look of the crimson sunset, considering plans for the evening. He saw a car pull up to the lot of his shop, Devil May Cry,and instantly recognized the figure walking out of the car.

Shit, it's Lady. Dante didn't want to see her. He told her he'd have the money months ago. He didn't have it.

Almost panicked—although masking it very nicely, Dante grabbed his leather coat and tossed it on; his two guns attached to his side, and opened the door.

"Sorry, you can't come in," he said. "I was just about to leave."

"Where do you think you're going? You got money to pay me," Lady reminded, already acknowledging Dante's plan to flee from his economic dilemma. She didn't pay any mind to Dante's orders and stepped inside anyway.

"Can we do this another time?" Dante asked, placing his sword behind his back. "I've got stuff to do."

Lady rolled her eyes and gave Dante a hard, aggravated stare. He smirked just to piss her off and slammed the door behind him, as Lady continued to gawk at the closed door of the shop.

Like Dante had any idea where he was going. Wherever his feet took him is where he was going. Where he lay his head was his home, but where would that be? Lady knew damn well there were no jobs available and there haven't been many for a while, but she didn't care that much to go after Dante.

Like Holden Caulfield, Laine believed almost everybody was a "phony", except for kids. She admired their innocence, adored their simplicity. She spent most of her days at work, and whenever she was home, she was generally babysitting to make money on the side. She liked hanging around kids, though, in a non-pedophile sort of way. She liked talking to them because she found them so damn funny when they acted mature, using big words and the like. But tonight was different.

Laine took her job seriously, although she didn't take her co-workers seriously, and in all honesty, found little to no entertainment in them. She bonded with mostly her patients—being a nurse and working so closely with people in need, but she had no respect for 97% of the people she worked with, especially not the doctors. The doctors were cocky, impatient, arrogant and somewhat condescending to her. She had little respect for the nurses, although she was a nurse herself. She didn't like to admit it too much but she was fully aware—she did have a holier-than-thou attitude, especially toward other nurses. She didn't like how they were all married to doctors, how they weren't as passionate for the job as she was, how they treated some patients—really, the list could go on when it came to Laine. Nurses were very iffy for Laine. Sometimes she liked the lot of them, other times they were rotten, but for the most part, she was indifferent toward them. Laine did, however, like the pharmacists. She liked their down-to-earth personalities, how most of them were just content with what they were doing and didn't complain—of course there were exceptions with everyone; she loathed some pharmacists, loved some doctors and respected certain nurses more than herself. Those exceptions didn't surface too often though.

The reason why tonight was so different, though, is because her friend Jane invited her out. She was asked out numerous times, but generally rejected most of them, if not all of them. Today had been different because Laine had literally nothing to do, and gave up on declining Jane's offers. She knew that she would be thoroughly bored just like she had been the past week and she didn't quite understand herself when she declined Jane (and her boyfriend Michael's) invitation to their apartment on both Tuesday and Thursday of the same week. She knew real good that she didn't have a damn thing to do, with a broken TV and no good books to read. On top of all that, her nephew and cousin-in-law were out of town, as she spent most of her time babysitting the son of her deceased brother, Castor. She grew attached to her sister-in-law Katherine after the death of John, but she found herself mostly fond of Castor, the young man who resembled her brother more than she'd ever seen in her life. He was like a little piece of John, still with her. But that wasn't the reason why she was so emotionally involved with her nephew. She was so close with Castor not because of his role in her life as her nephew, but because she knew that inside, she was still a kid, just like Castor.

Either way, Laine found herself studying her appearance in the mirror. She knew damn well that Jane was a cheap ass and wouldn't take her anywhere nice, so she wondered why she changed out of her general scrub attire; sweatpants, t-shirt, hair in a sloppy bun. But instead, there she stood wearing dark wash skinny jeans that had been cuffed at her ankles, an olive green button up shirt with a loose fit, and a black leather jacket to go over it. God knows why she even tried. Laine saw no reason to put on much makeup, due to the lack of blemishes, and she knew her eyelashes called for no mascara; neither did she need eyeliner because the rims of her eyelids were already naturally dark. She was ready to go, and once she got in the car with Jane, she instantly received compliments, though she was never too fond of compliments, not at all.

She believed anyone that said anything to her "just to be nice", wanted something out of her.

"No Name…?" Laine scanned the neon words above the entrance and shook her head. "You took me to a strip joint?"

"It's not a strip joint," Jane said. "Otherwise, I wouldn't go. It's just a bar."

"I don't drink," Laine argued.

"You don't have to; they have all sorts of things. Come on, you'll love it," Jane said, tugging at Laine's golden and perfectly tanned wrist. "They have live music and the people here are the nicest in the city." Jane continued. Laine shook her head and sighed, entering the bar.

Laine scanned the people with her oceanic, royal blue eyes. Just by the looks of them she could tell they were rotten people. The way they all sat around and let out illegitimate laughs, the way they would dance with each other pretending they meant it, how some of them acted flirtatious with someone else even though they probably were already in a relationship. She didn't like it whatsoever. The "live music" was easily the best thing to come out of this experience, although the music completely and utterly sucked. But she sat at a table with Jane anyway, just because she didn't want to come off as a boring bitch—not that Jane didn't know her well enough.

Laine was instantly bored when she entered the bar and gave audience to Jane's hospital spiels, her relationship issues and commentary of the music that was playing. Laine wasn't all that of a talker, but was one hell of a listener. She should've been a therapist, she knew. But you'd also have to have been a talker, an advice giver. To what all Jane said, Laine had no rebuttal. Just the casual "oh I see" and "Right, you're right. That's very interesting". But Jane didn't like having Laine around for talk; she knew Laine was a pessimist; she was negative, constantly miserable and always apathetic. Far from wild, although extreme, Laine still gave Jane that vibe; that genuine, air-cleaning ecstasy. Nevertheless, Jane did enjoy Laine's company. Laine was compassionate, childish and original; gentle, humane and different. Somewhat hopeless, bleak and conceited, Laine always knew what to say.

Laine was pessimistic.

Nope, she was realistic.

Laine was arrogant.

Well, at least she had a reason to be.

Laine was immature.

She preferred youthful.

To a point, however, Jane's talking just became too much, even for Laine. She was grateful to Jane's boyfriend Michael to have dropped by, with three or four other doctors. Although she didn't like doctors, they saved her at that moment, from Jane's endless rambling. All of the doctors—Brittany, Noah, Justine and Michael—had been thrilled to have actually seen Laine some place other than the hospital. It was weird, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. They never expected to see Laine, of all people, at a bar.

Despite her shallow distaste toward the eventless doctors, she didn't want to leave too early and come off rude in any sort of way—as arrogant and condescending as she could be, she still had common manners. To her dismay, however, a little unfortunately, the chord that was struck on the live musician's guitar also struck with her a little bit. That progression. G, D, E Minor. F, C, D. That was the progression, the way it was strummed, the way the cymbals of the drum would slowly shake their way into the song…it was painfully familiar. Laine recalled her latest memories with her father and her earliest memories with John, she remembered driving to school with the two, and this song would constantly come on. She used to completely adore the song, but after the loss of both John and her father, the song had become bittersweet to her—more bitter than sweet. Nostalgia had penetrated through her mind and accessed her heart, spreading like a disease all around her. She began to lose senses and her head began to spin, all of this because of the song. It even affected her physically and she absently released the lonesome and regretful tears that slowly constructed in her perplexingly beautiful sapphire eyes, that color deeper than the floor of the ocean, richer than gold. She couldn't let anyone see, she couldn't even admit it to herself, struggling to be the strong woman she strived to be. She instantly excused herself from the table, silently praying that no one had seen the drops of bittersweet reaction that drenched her eyes.

She stepped out of the bar, unnoticing of those around her. Laine never considered herself all that of a smoker, although she never missed a chance to smoke in her most extreme states of feeling. She, for some reason, always had a pack of Marlboro cigarettes on her, and occasionally a lighter. To her contentment, she did have a lighter on her today. Smoking was her very private and guilty act, which she wanted none of whatever friends she had to see, that included the doctors and pretty much everyone that was invited to tonight's get together. She reached for her pocket, and pulled out a cigarette, putting it to her mouth and lighting it carefully. She recalled the one situation in which she burnt her thumb on the lighter and had no desire of any such event reoccurring. To her chagrin, her lighter was out. Great, that's exactly what I need right now. In frustration, she groaned, probably the most annoyed and enraged groan to have ever been let out, and dropped the cigarette, crushing it with her shoe.

"Damn it, fuck it all!" she grunted, furrowing her rich, chocolate brown hair by her flawlessly tawny tinted hands. She was upset, not only because she couldn't have her cigarette, but because she was upset about not having the cigarette. She wished that there was some more effective and less harmful way of relieving her stress, and in frustration, she began to pace in circles.

"Whoa, there. Settle down princess; don't dig a hole in the ground."

Laine, surprised at the unexpected comment, looked to her side and saw a shadowy figure standing before her. She couldn't see all too well due to the lack of sun, because she was blind as a fucking bat, but that didn't cease her interest. The voice was new to her, strange. Obviously it belonged to somewhat she hasn't met before. She stood still, as the figure approached her. Getting closer, she still couldn't see too well. Other than, he was probably a whole damn foot taller than she was.

"Need a lighter, babe?" There the voice was again. She could tell just by the way the man spoke, he was lazy, but his voice, it sounded so husky, so confident. Somewhat cranky, even.

"No, I'm all right." She replied, not sure where to look. She couldn't see the man.

"If you say so," the man sighed. "Sure as hell didn't sound like you were all right." He added.

"What do you mean?"

The man smirked in the darkness, and studied the girl. Unlike her, his vision was superb in the pitch darkness and he noticed right off the bat that the young lady was squinting. It amused him a little, the way she cocked her eyes and squeezed them together, as if they would improve her vision at all. The second thing he noticed was her breathtakingly luscious brown hair, dark and intense in color, it did look almost back in the dark, but he could still notice a minor brown flavor applied to it. He was somewhat interested in the way she parted her hair, a weird subject of interest, he knew, but he didn't see many girls like it. There was no line in her hair, just a point. Hard to explain, but from that point, her hair went outward from that point. Like the rays of the sun moving out from the core. Her bangs were parted to the far side and fell over her right eye almost covering it completely. Her skin, the man noticed, was very rich and golden. Too nice of a color to live in this city. But he also noticed, he had seen this girl some place before. Though, he couldn't put his finger on where.

In spite of his fascination with the girl's physical appearance, the man got around to answering the question. A smirk grew upon his lips again, and he flared his arms in the air, mimicking her frustrated groan. Her interested facial expression dropped almost instantly as he did that, and her face became evident with mortification and embarrassment, as the man spotted her tanned cheeks turn almost reddish in color.

"You heard that?"

"I think the whole town heard that," the man laughed. Laine only smiled briefly, a humiliated and uneasy smile, and then looked away. Now she was unsure of what to say.

Then the man said, "Are you coming in?" as he opened the door of the bar. Laine listened carefully for a moment, and still heard the song—"Freebird"—was playing. She shook her head that time.

"No," she answered, her voice small and feminine; completely opposite of the man's. "In a few minutes. Not now though." She explained.

The man merely shrugged and said, "Suit yourself," before walking into the adult hangout.

In between Dante and Laine were there two seats—one empty seat, closer to Laine, and one seat occupied by a man beside Dante. Neither did Dante or Laine notice they were sitting so close together, but they were both so bored to have spiraled into oblivion to their surroundings. Laine sat with her colleagues for a while, and then excused herself after about twenty minutes about their mindlessly stupid complaints about working in the office and having a malfunctioning relationship and not making enough money and having no time for themselves and all of that bullshit. She got so fed up of them, pretty much everyone at that point, and sat by herself at the bar, although she did politely excuse herself, her body language was far from polite. Laine took a few opportunities smoking but hardly ever drank alcohol, and now was no time to start for her. It was hard for Laine to get addicted to hardly anything, so that wasn't the reason why she didn't ever drink, but knew herself pretty well, and she knew that her extremities were always masked. If she was to get high or drunk, whatever she felt would probably come forth stronger than ever before. That being said, she feared bombing her coworkers with her bitterness and hatred toward them, potentially causing her lifelong humiliation and regret, or even losing her job.

What freaked her out a little more though, was the man that shifted a seat over, and began to strike a conversation with her. It wasn't that he wanted to talk to her, just that he made her uncomfortable. He didn't even come off too strong and props to him for being subtle, but still, there was a different atmosphere about him, something that made her instantly uneasy, maybe it be the way he spoke, she didn't know. She didn't want to, however, and tried her very hardest to remain uptight.

"What are you doing alone here?" the man asked, leaning on his arms that were set on the counter ahead. Laine tried her best to not make too much eye contact, although she did glance at him and smile very slightly, just barely. He had black hair, pushed back and sort of long, looking like one of those rich, Ivy League bastards. His skin was rather pale, but what really threw her off were his eyes. They were abnormally hazel, an ominous shade of yellow, somewhat pale, at the same time, rather dark.

"I'm not alone, actually." She answered.

"Not with a guy?"

Laine shook her head, not really looking at the man. The man smirked, his tongue dancing in his mouth. Laine could feel the man's eyes, violently stabbing at her as she tried her best to divert her gaze away from him.

"So then can I buy you a drink?" the man continued.

"No, I don't drink." said Laine.

"Come on baby, have some fun." This guy wouldn't give up, would he? Kept on pressing until she'd lose it. She was already starting to, and it was evident when she pierced the mysterious guy with her narrowed, irritated eyes. The flirtatious figure, however, wasn't in the least bit intimidated, and was as a matter of fact, somewhat, if not completely, pleased by Laine's annoyance. He was almost thirsty for the sort of reaction he'd received, and she was a great source. This guy sure is an ass, Laine couldn't help but think, and she had no knowledge of what he was capable of doing.

Meanwhile, Dante was listening in on the conversation, instantly sure of the man and his capabilities, and remained calm, almost absent until it began to reach its climax.

"How bout I get you something non-alcoholic?" the man suggested. Laine laughed, condescendingly, almost. That arrogant, holier-than-thou attitude beginning to expose itself.

"How about I leave? Good day, sir. Have a wonderful life." She answered, leaving a few bucks at the counter and leaving for the door. She was somewhat grateful that none of her colleagues had seen her leave the bar or she'd have been bombarded with their questions and would find herself humiliated by the man that followed her. She noticed that the obnoxious man had been following her. She wasn't completely aware of a third person, however.

"You answered me wrong," the man said from behind her. She froze, suddenly hearing the difference. It was guttural, low, and threatening. She gulped, slowly turned around, surprised—although she didn't show it—to see a gun pointed at her. The man was no longer a man, and became something very familiar to her childhood. It explained the eerie intentions of the man, the menacing eyes. He wasn't a man at all. He was a demon.

Laine chuckled lightly, a little nervously, but they went unheard when the sound of two gunshots pierced the night. The first one threw her back onto the ground; the second one went straight through the demon. That wasn't the end of the gunshots, however. She kept looking at the hellish creature as it fell to ground, impaled with numerous bullets. Once the demon fell, Laine did too, right after she looked at her shoulder. She'd been shot.