Author – MikeX713

Beta – Dracomancer1

Disclaimer, I don't own anything except for OCs. Please don't sue me.

Author's Warning.

This is a spinoff of the Prototype/Saints Row crossover Viral Saints. I recommend reading that first before reading this. So don't expect this to be too close to a pure Dexter/Prototype crossover as it will have lore and characters to my other story. I will try to explain as many references as I can within the context of this story but I still do think it would be best to read the main story first. I hope that many can still enjoy this story. Thank you.

Second – There is a Blacklight Codex up on my profile for the new stuff I have added. If there is something about the Blacklight virus in the Viral Saints world that isn't there and you want to know about it. Review on the Codex story and tell me.

Third - I will be updating this story every week. I have the first 20k words, four chapters done. But that's it for this story. Then I will on to the next spin-off. I will post four chapters for each spin-off and then rotate between the Dexter, Sons of Anarchy, and Watch_Dogs spin-offs. Thank you for your understanding.

Tonight's the night. It had to be for Dexter. So much preparation and planning should never go unrewarded. True, in the last few years these nights of blood had become far more easy to plan now that he had help. It was a strange idea, that someone would willingly help a serial killer in his gruesome activity. But that was his life, five years ago he had found himself under the banner of one Keambiroiro, more often called the General. At the time he was a rising figure in both the public eye and the criminal underworld. Now, he was one of the largest players in the drug trade and he commanded the largest street gang in Miami, the Saints of Samedi. He also was a beloved icon of charity, publicly the face of many soup kitchens and homeless shelters. Never before had the term two faced fitted a man so perfectly.

How did Dexter fit into this man's operations? Simple, Dexter once attempted to kill one of the General's… family, a term used loosely for reasons that, even after years of knowing the truth, he still had a hard time grasping. Dexter was about to perform his normal ritual of blood when the General himself had stopped it and taken him away to one of his properties. There, he had Dexter tortured and questioned by his right hand man Abdalla, an enforcer with fanatical loyalty to his boss. The General quickly found out just what Dexter was and, unbelievably, set the serial killer free on the condition that the he be contacted before each kill. All so that Dexter can be told if his target was in fact another of Miami's largest extended family.

That had been the agreement in the beginning: Stay away from each other, and neither would interfere in the other's business. But then around a year later… Dexter started getting help from people he had never even met before. There had been one time where something had gone wrong with the tranquilizer dosage and his target had woken up before they had arrived at his kill room. The man had freed himself, tumbled out of the back of the van he was being transported in and almost escaped, only to be knocked out by a passing gardener wielding a shovel. Dexter's sociopathic heart had stopped in his chest as his life flashed before his eyes, but instead the gardener just tipped his hat and walked away. Later, the General called the serial killer to gloat and stroke his own ego for helping Dexter in his lethal trade.

Ever since that incident he had been receiving help from outside sources that he never would have thought possible. Car dealerships would leave unmarked loaner vehicles near his work and put the keys in his mailbox, "lost" inventory of garbage bags and plastic wrap would find their way into his garage, and kitchen store cashiers would ignore the cost of any knives he tried to buy. Hell, he even saw a police officer wink at him as he was driving to his boat with a fresh kill in the trunk. But Dexter was smart, he knew what these seemingly benign gifts really were. It was a tactic to make him reliant on the Saints and their commander for support. So Dexter avoided it all as best he could. He kept to his normal Code set by his adoptive father Harry Morgan. He kept to his routines and rules, he did what he did because he needed it and not on the whims of some gangster. Dexter continued the original agreement, he told the General of his kills and only two times had he been told to find another.

Tonight was no different. Tonight he was hunting down one Matthew Caldwell. Mr. Caldwell was a low level office monkey, the kind that people rarely ever gave a second thought to. Balding, hunched over, never making eye contact or initiating conversation, he was the type that would be perfect in the background, just there… never really noteworthy. This played perfectly to the man's own dark needs. Dexter found, through digging, that beneath the unassuming and rather bland surface lurked a monster nearly as vicious as himself. It started with a string of disappearances that shared the odd coincidence of each having gone to the same church, one that had been closed down by a fire about a decade ago. A little bit of after-dark snooping, and Dexter found nail-holes on an unburnt patch of wall. UV light revealed fresh blood spatter from where someone had nailed the victims to the wall before stabbing them to death in a grotesque reenactment of the crucifixion of Jesus. He found that Matthew had a list of targets, former churchgoers that for whatever reason he found to be less than worthy of God's grace. Dexter had already met the office drone as part of his ritual, posing as a new neighbor that wanted info on local churches that might be good for him and his very real and religious family. Matthew had instantly clammed up and rudely blew Dexter off, giving him the idea that maybe something had happened in the past at the church that caused him to act out in this way. It didn't matter, he fit the Code… and Dexter had never been that picky before.

Dexter had watched his target's movements closely, and right now Matthew should be leaving his office and going to a small gas station to pick up a refill on milk and energy drinks. It was perfect, low light, no cameras. And so… Dexter reeled in his target hook, line, and sinker. The next thing Matthew knew he was strapped to a table in the charred ruins of his former church, a spotlight shining down on him from above.

"Welcome back… hope you slept well." Dexter said, looking over his tools as he heard the stirring of his captive. His voice was a quiet monotone, grim and emotionless. Dexter rarely felt anything real… he knew he could, sometimes. But again… rarely. It was just a part of what made him-him. He used to think of himself as a monster, more like the horrible creatures that nearly destroyed New York years ago than real humans. But now… he knew that the monsters out there were nothing like him. He had learned that even monsters could feel, sometimes monsters could feel even more than humans.

"Where… where am I?" Matthew demanded as he tried to move. He wasn't a very fit man, though not particularly out of shape either. Still, he clearly lacked the muscle needed to get out of the plastic wrap that held him to the table. Slowly, his eyes adjusted as he looked away from the light. "This… no no NO NO! Why… why did you have to bring me here?!"

"Poetic, maybe… found this to be something important to you. Important enough to be where you felt the need to kill three people that used to go here with you all those years ago." Dexter said as he slowly drew a scalpel across Matthew's cheek. "Am I wrong… does this place not hold… any meaning to you?" Dexter continued his ritual by taking a drop of blood and placing it on a slide.

"Fuck you it has meaning… this… this is where all those fucking whores came and prayed. They all knew exactly what was going on… and they did nothing! They all knew. They had to… and yet they came every Sunday and pretended that nothing was wrong!"

"Oh so many things can be guessed from that… but let's just go with the most common assumption. Altar boy and the priest?" Dexter asked, not really that interested, but he felt like he had to. The venomous glare he got back said everything. "You don't want to say it because it becomes real… well then…. I think we're done here."

"Are you saying that the shipment will not be at the docks by next month?" The General asked his contact over the phone. He was an imposing man, his impossibly deep African-accented voice could make any normal man freeze with fear, and when you met him in person… all hope of defiance went out the window.

"Yes General… the men in Cuba are saying they want a bigger cut. They're holding our cargo ransom until we pay up." His man said over the phone. His soldiers and associates never feared him, it was to him that they all owed their lives, and they knew so long as they did their job, they would be taken care of and want for nothing.

"I see… wait for further orders and continue watching the situation." The General stated and closed the call. He leaned back in his leather seat and pondered this most recent news. He was currently riding around in his mobile headquarters, a limo that had been outfitted with all that he would need to protect his person and allow him to run his criminal empire and more legitimate ventures.

"What now General?" His right-hand man Abdalla asked the man seethed at what the Cubans had done to his boss. "This is the third time these unworthy piles of scum have insulted you. To dare to demand more from you, when all you have done is provide them with good business….."

"Calm my friend… I believe they have only insulted me twice. That first time they demanded payment up front was not a slight. We were but an unknown to them and Miami, we had yet to gain the reputation we have now." The General said before taking a drag from his cigar. "Then they took half of our shipment of cocaine, such disrespect I overlooked because I am a forgiving man."

"Yes General, you are something far greater than the masses that should serve your every whim," Abdalla said in reverence to his leader.

"But this time, I will not allow them to insult me again without punishment." The General commanded with calm fury. "These Cuban smugglers… are they in any way connected to the Cuban government?" The General asked as he resettled back into his seat.

"No General. They are very much wanted by the Castros."

"And are they connected to the CIA?"

"No… they are independent of all governments. It was one of their positive attributes which drew us to their services."

"Good, you will take a single Horror… and deploy it within their territory." The General ordered without thought of the chaos he would be causing. These men had insulted him for the last time, and they must be punished and as such were unworthy of his concern.

"I do not mean to question your orders General… but… is it wise to use the Horrors? What happened in Montreal is still felt by all." Abdalla said with a bit of uneven nervousness in his voice. The stories that came from their allies in the north did not paint a pretty picture.

"It was not the Horrors' fault that they went out of control and needed to be put down. It was Mercer's foolishness in allowing one to roam free for so long that caused the deaths of so many. That is why I am sending you along with the Horror; you will keep a tight watch over it."

"By your order, General." Abdalla said with a slight bow and moments later the limo stopped while the lieutenant stepped out, leaving the General alone. The gang leader ordered the limo to continue its ride as he still had a meeting to attend. He finished his current cigar and prepared another and as he did so the screen across from his seat turned on and displayed the logo of the organization he belonged to. It was a white ring radiating small hooks, and inside was a red biohazard symbol with red veins connecting the two. At the center of the symbol was a white fleur-de-lis. The screen then flashed over to a confident looking man with blond hair and a smirk that could win awards.

"Mr. Vogel… to what do I owe this meeting?" This was Dane Vogel, head of the corporate arm of the nameless group that the General was a part of. He himself was one of three active heads of the criminal arm of the organization.

"Keambiroiro, what's it been… three years since we've talked? Miami still sunny as ever?" The man asked with total familiarity that the General felt he even now still did not deserve. Dane was a ruthless businessman, and while the General personally respected him for his intelligence and accomplishments, he simply couldn't stand the man.

"Simply paradisal, now please get to why you have called me." The General ground out, which only caused Dane's smirk to grow.

"Damn, Generalissimo, aren't you in your normal foul mood. I guess a pleasant chat is off the table. Straight to business, first… Alex will be coming to Miami soon for a Saints Brand expo. He will want to talk to you on both the Horrors you haven't put into a deep freeze and the fact you have a Natural." Dane explained, externally the General kept his air of composed calm perfectly. Internally he was going over various means to get out of the coming fight with his leader. Alex Mercer. Zeus, Supreme Alpha of the Blacklight Hive Mind, Boss of the Saints Criminal Empire, puppet master of the clothing mega-company Ultor.

"The Horrors are under control. I have killed all but three of them, and have the pods containing those remaining three under guard at all times. As for the Natural… I was not aware that Evolved were forbidden from having Mates and thus having children. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"No, Evolved can still very much have kids and love each other. The problem is that those kids are massive risks, Naturals at best will see humans the same way a human would see a dog. At worst… well… there's a reason why our young scientist friend makes so many Nazi jokes on the subject." Dane grumbled as he looked off to the side for a second. "The reason why Alex would want to speak to you about the Natural is because Naturals as a whole are still a very little-understood development. They still number in the single digits and we know very little about what they could grow to be. As it stands, that's just barely enough to not outlaw Mating and start Consuming all the Naturals. The Boss'll want to meet the Natural and likely want her to at one point to travel to Stilwater to have Atshushi check her up."

"He can meet her when he arrives in Miami… but unless the parents are willing to come with her north then she stays." The General stated with no intention of budging on the subject.

"Not sure how that would fly with Alex… more than likely he'll shoot you in the head a few times." Dane sighed before pulling over a few pieces of paper work he was doing absentmindedly. "The last thing I wanted you to know is that we have reason to think Eden might be acting toward your Hive soon."

"What?! And you think to only inform me NOW?!" The General raged as the news that one of the few enemies that could actually hurt him and his own was moving towards him soon.

"Yes, I do, because it is unverified. You know as good as anyone, Eden plays these games. Only one out of ten of his threats and plays end up being true. Just something to keep in mind, okay?" Dane said in about the most honest tone Keambiroiro had heard from the man.

"Very well… I will keep my eyes open for attack. Now enough of this, get back to your ivory tower and leave me to my plans." He said before closing the connection. The conference call had not left the General in a good mood. He breathed a bit to try and calm himself from the news that had been shared. The news that his only superior was coming and that he was displeased with him was not good. The news that one of the few real threats to the General was circling his operations was even worse.

"General… we have arrived at the meeting place." His driver told him through the small window between cabins. "The Venegas Cartel is already here and awaiting you." The General had yet to calm himself down. He was not in a good mood to see these fools; they were often brash and rude to him. He could normally brush such things off but now… he would need to control himself.

"Very well…" The General growled as before he stepped out of the limo. He looked up and saw eight men waiting for him in the empty parking structure where this meeting was taking place. Five of them were heavily armed, likely because they had heard the rumors about Abdalla and expected him to be here with the General. The fact all the men visibly relaxed at his second's absence was confirmation of this.

"Crema… so nice to see you." The lead man mocked with the bastardization of his name. Normally they would not dare do such a thing with Abdalla around, but now that he was absent they showed their true colors. "Where's your little doggy, you leave him chained up back at home for being a bad boy?" The General had no time for this, his temper was already at a boiling point, and these fools were not helping.

"You know… I've weighed the costs of this meeting." The General said as he finished off his cigar. "And… I have found that it will be worth it."

"Alright, now we are talking." The man said clearly thinking that the General had come to agree to the terms they had sent him and his gang.

"Yes… I have found it worth the trouble it will cause if I kill you to help with my foul mood." The General with his glare turning hard on them. The men with guns pulled up their weapons and pointed them straight at the former warlord.

"Careful creamy… we've got you outnumbered here. Plus… we have these nice big guns pointed right at you. Doubt that whatever armor you've got under that fancy suit can take all this lead."

"Why don't you test your theory?" The General taunted before taking a step toward the men.

"Oh well… and here I heard you were smart Crema." The man said before snapping his fingers as the five thugs opened fire on the General, and for a full minute the parking structure was filled with the sound of automatic gunfire. The only reason why the men even stopped their shooting was because the General had not fallen over dead from all the bullets cutting through him. The shooters stopped and gawked at the sight before them. First off, the General was wearing a full white suit with the only color being a purple undershirt. Even after taking who knows how many bullets to his body… not a drop of blood stained the spotless jacket. All they could stare at, though, was his head, the bullets that had hit his face had either ripped and torn pieces off or remained stuck in his forehead. The cartel representatives and their guards all watched in horror as those same bullets were pushed out of his head and the wounded parts of his face healed back to normal within seconds.

"If that is all you have to offer… I afraid that you pose little in the way of threat to me." The General said before cracking his neck. He was no normal human, he was an Evolved, a Viral Being of Blacklight, a virus that had destroyed New York City years ago and had since been changed and evolved by the Supreme Alpha and master of Blacklight, Alex Mercer. Keambiroiro was no average Evolved, if such a thing could be said about any of them. He was an Alpha of his own Hive, the ruler of said Hive with unrivaled power in combat and authority.

"W-what… what the fuck are you?" The cartel thug asked in terror as he watched the General's right arm shift in a mass of dark green and black tendrils forming a blade that extended from his wrist and another from his elbow.

"Does it really matter if I explain it to you." The General said before rushing over with inhuman speed and bisecting the man clean down from head to groin. The others' faces contorted in horror at the sight of gore and unnatural means of death of their leader. But the General didn't waste any more time and quickly decapitated the two men that had been standing next to the loudmouth. Two of the guards quickly panicked and began spraying down Keambiroiro with bullets that did nothing to the Alpha. The three others obeyed the flight side of their instincts and didn't even see their fellow criminals get killed in some of the most gruesome manner possible. The General lunged and sliced the next thug into pieces and then threw a tendril out from his other hand, piercing the second to last man's brain before retracting it back. He then sent it toward the last and caught the man around his legs and pulled him back to the General.

"No! No no no… ¡Esto no puede estar sucediendo!" The man screamed out as he tried to claw his way away from the approaching Evolved. He soon was pulled up off the ground and then felt the General punch his fist through his gut. The last thing the man saw was a mass of tendrils extending over his body and then blackness. The man was killed as Keambiroiro Consumed his flesh and memories.

"Ah… so that's where you've been hiding your drug labs… very good." The General sighed as he went over the collected knowledge of the consumed thug. Tendrils extended out from his feet and spread across the floor of the parking structure, aiming for the still warm piles of bloody meat. The Blacklight tendrils swiftly did their job and ate up the freshly-slaughtered biomass.

Completely ignorant of the goings-on in Miami's underbelly, Dexter had just arrived onto a crime scene that his sister was caught up in. Debra Morgan, dutiful cop and good sibling with a foul mouth was, as always, totally unaware of both the lurking monsters in Miami and Dexter's midnight hobby. This particular crime scene wasn't hers, though. No, It just happened to take place at the motel that she had set up for her Vice string operation. Not that she liked that fact very much, it was her dream to get out of Vice and into Homicide.

"You better be a cop." The question had slightly snapped Dexter out of his own thoughts but not much, just enough to flash the muscleheaded beat cop his forensics badge. Blood spatter analyst, that was his job in the Miami police department. It fit so well with his passions.

"Dex!" Debra called out to him as he entered the crime scene, she was still in her hooker suit. Dexter didn't have the best grasp of human emotion, and one of the biggest gaps in that was the need for sex, so the idea of paying for it he could never understand. After all, the money could be spent on so much more worthwhile things… like plastic wrap and new saw blades.

"Hey, what's up?" Dexter replied, normal human interaction was always so much easier with his adoptive sister, another piece of his mind he had no innate understanding of. He had often told himself that if he could feel love, any kind of love, it would most likely be for Deb. Dexter quickly entered the room with a single question was on his mind. "Geez Deb, where do you hide your gun?" He asked as she closed the door behind him. With an eye-roll, the joke was completely ignored.

"They found another hooker… in the pool." She said as she changed out her cigarette for a fresh one, her tone showing her worry over the situation. Dexter knew it was for the dead rather than the threat of her being the next victim. He knew her well enough to know that.

"Another?"

"Chopped up in bits and pieces. That's the third one in five months. First, they said it was just gang stuff since all the girls were part of the SoS, but now… they think it might be a serial killer." That caught Dexter's attention. Both since the SoS, or the Saints of Samedi, was the gang ruled by the General and because this meant there was another person like him out in the wilds of Miami.

"Why do they think that?" Dexter asked faking his surprise and just a tiny bit of fear.

"The other two were in Broward, that's heavy SoS turf. But this far south… then there's the freakiness of it. Chopping the body up and displaying it like that in the pool. That's not gang shit, only fucking psychos do shit like that." Dexter had to disagree, only sloppy psychos did shit like this. He was a very neat and tidy psycho that made sure to clean up after himself. Originally he had dumped his leftovers into the ocean, but now took them to the General where the leftover Biomass of his victims was processed for resources. Personally, he still couldn't care less what happened to those he killed after he got what he needed, but the Code was clear: Don't get caught, and at least this way the corpses he left behind served some utility as well.

"Any suspects?" Dexter asked as he looked out the window. If this guy was careless enough to leave behind his victims then maybe he was stupid enough to do that old criminal stereotype: return to the scene of the crime.

"Wish I knew, I'm on Vice, so LaGuerta sent me to my room and told me to stay out of sight," Deb said clearly upset at this.

"God forbid she listens to what you have to say."

"Tell me about it. How does someone so dumb have so much power?" Dexter knew the answer, because people with real power let the dumb ones have power. LaGuerta was only promoted to be used as a tool by the General who had his fingers deep in the police department. Not that she knew this. It was also as a means to get under the skin of James Doakes, the Sergeant in Homicide and LaGuerta's former partner. The General and Doakes had a history, one that took place years ago before the General had moved his operations to America and before Blacklight had destroyed New York, back when the then-ordinary man was just another African Warlord hunted by James' ranger unit. To this day the exact details of the Black Operations were known only to the two of them, but the General obviously came out the victor seeing as he survived.

"She knows how to play the game… knows which friends to have. You can never have too many friends… only the wrong ones sometimes." Deb looked at Dexter for a moment like he had given away something. Those thoughts were swiftly blown off as she could never see her dorky little brother getting involved in the "wrong" type of friends.

"Not really interested in playing games or making friends right now. Just want to find the bastard that's doing this to my girls." Deb said before taking a drag.

"You can't get so emotionally invested." Because then that's just something for people to use. Thankfully he was incapable of exhibiting that particular weakness.

"You always say that." Dexter knew that it was unlikely for Deb to listen to cold logic, she simply wasn't a person to think that way.

"So did dad." So Dexter needed to use the best weapon against Deb that was certainly not based in logic.

"Yeah but he also said go after what you want…." The thing about trying to use their father as a means to control Deb, it rarely worked out the way Dexter wanted. "... and I want out of Vice and into Homicide."

"What can I do to help?" Dexter didn't really want to help, but family was sacred. That was one of the rules his Viral acquaintances lived by, and it tended to apply to real human life too.

"You get these hunches, you know? These types of murders."

"Only sometimes." He deflected, Dexter the serial killer whisperer… letting that talent raise people's eyebrows was a bad idea.

"Well, see if you get one this time. And can I bounce some ideas off you later? I always get smarter when I'm talking to you."

"You just need a little more confidence." It didn't look like Deb was taking that route of advice. So with a sigh, big brother Dexter won out against careful killer Dexter. "All right, I'll take a look. In the meantime, see if you can avoid LaGuerta and talk to Captain Matthews. He and dad were tight, maybe he'll put you on the case."

"You're making me smarter already, see?" It really wasn't her that was being smart here but hey, as long as she felt like she was.

"And keep the sex suit on when you talk to the captain. It'll help your cause." He said with a smile as he retreated out of the room, Deb playfully slamming the door behind him. Dexter put the interaction with his sister behind him and went to the empty pool, his fellow forensic scientist Vince Masuka and sorta friend Angel Batista were waiting by the covered body. At seeing Dexter approach Vince came over to him with a friendly if little perverted smile on his face. "That's a nice haircut Masuka." Dexter said in an attempt at avoiding what was to come.

"I saw your sister, damn, looking hot." There it was, the thing he hoped to avoid. Masuka did his work, and he was pretty good at it. But, he acted like the perverted court fool of Miami Metro.

"Yeah, she should. It's hot as hell out here." Dexter said trying to turn what Vince said into something acceptable. Masuka just skimmed over the whole thing with only a slight grimace before his face went back to a blank grin, confused as to why Dexter was even here.

"So… why are you here?"

"It's a crime scene…?"

"Yeah… you do blood spatter."

"So?"

"So… there's no blood here." At that, everything around Dexter had stopped.

"What was that?"

"Yeah… there's no blood in or on or near the body at all. It's the weirdest thing you ever saw." Well… that wasn't entirely true. The weirdest thing Dexter had ever seen was when he went down the rabbit hole on the General's spores. It was when they first met and the man turned into some kind of swamp monster. The fungal spores he released from his body made magic mushrooms look like tic tacs. "Hey Angel, show Dexter the body." Vince said as he turned around. The tarp covering the pieces was drawn upward, like a stage curtain revealing a perfectly choreographed cast of players. All Dexter could really think about was complete absence of blood.

"No blood… no blood…" The words continued to repeat themselves over and over again as Dexter walked closer to to the body… "Why hadn't I thought of that?" He looked down at the pieces of meat, some of them were wrapped up on shipping paper, others uncovered. "How does he do it? How does he get rid of the blood?" Dexter asked Angel, the man looked down at Dexter for a moment before answering.

"It's hard to say." He knew, he just didn't want to reach that conclusion so quickly in front of people. "Body is in good shape." He finished before walking to the other side of the body.

"This is…. unique," Dexter said trying to respond in some way, his mind still floating with the lack of blood.

"No shit, no prints either so… that's out." Masuka said as Dexter stood up, mistaking the blood spatter analyst's wonderment for nervousness.

"I've never seen such clean, dry, neat-looking dead flesh. Wonderful." Dexter thought as he tried to pace himself through this. "Very... clean." That was the only thing he could say about this that was safe. "No blood… I can't think… I have to leave right now." Dexter thought as he began his way out of the pool only to be followed by Angel.

"Listen…" The man said as he grabbed Dexter arm for a moment. "… we caught a break here. If there had been a single drop of blood in that girl… people'd start asking questions on its color." Angel warned carefully as he eyed the people around the pool.

"So she was… one of yours?" Dexter asked just as carefully as Angel let him go.

"Yes… well… no… I didn't Claim her. I got my own woman back home. But yeah… she was familia. And we take care of our own. So we need to find this bastard quickly. That means you gotta get to work on sniffing him out." Angel finished with a pat on the back before returning to the body.

Angel Batista, Gamma of the General's Hive. Dexter never understood why they ranked themselves like a wolf pack, The General was the Alpha, his right hand man Abdalla his Beta, and Batista and his wife were both Gammas along with a few others whose identity Dexter didn't know. But Batista was the General's primary mole in the police, there were others but they weren't Evolved but lowly Infected. Like the girl that had been killed, people that just had a stable strain of Blacklight within their bodies rather than being Evolved where every single cell was Blacklight. Dexter often thought that Batista also acted as his handler for the General, Angel always acted so buddy buddy with Dexter, whether this was genuine or fake was a coin flip.

But the idea that this victim was Infected meant that the Hive would be getting involved quickly. It was Dexter almost killing one of their own that got him kidnapped and brought an inch from certain death, and he didn't even finish the deed. That was what likely saved his life, but this guy… he did do it, and he stole the black blood of the Infected, adding insult upon the act. This meant war for the General and his Saints, and Dexter was likely to be caught up in it. The life of a serial killer was never easy.