The Hunters had bathed in blood that night. It dripped down their scavenged clothing, finding its way into every crease and every fold. It would never, could never, be washed away, and its sickly, intoxicating aroma would forever follow them, forever tempt them to forget the things that keep them fighting, but they never could. They were resting. They deserved it, having just taken down a particularly troublesome Church Giant. They were low on bullets and vials, and the night had only just begun.

Christopher sat apart from the other two, as he tended to do. He rested in a corner at the end of the small alley, his back to the wall. He made it a point to keep a very close eye on his companions, always made sure to never trust anyone too much. The Blood wasn't too picky about who it consumed, so it was safest to assume that anyone could turn at any time. It was a hard lesson to learn, but a vital one when one chose to reside in the hellish pit that was Yharnam. Christopher had realized early on that it was never smart to get too close to others, and it was a test he failed more often than he cared to admit. Someone always ended up dead

Not this time.

Gideon was perched on the second step leading into the main street, his ear literally to the ground attempting to detect any beasts that may impede their already brief respite. He was a puzzling one. While hunting, he was quiet, brooding even, yet whenever given the chance to unwind, he always proved to be obnoxiously pleasant to be around. He was an intelligent man, as evidenced by the plethora of weapons and devices he claimed to have created to better fight the beastly scourge, and consistently offered to share his thoughts and insights with his two companions, even when wholly unwanted.

The big one—who, stupidly enough, insisted on being called Beast—wore his favorite ichor-stained set of Executioner's robes. They were the same ones he wore when Christopher first met him down in the Gaol. The man had seemed foolish and impulsive to Christopher then, and had proven to be doubly so in the weeks since. In the time Christopher had known him, Beast had managed to nearly lose three separate limbs to a Lycan, and had successfully slain a Cleric Beast, of all things, with a sound kick to the jaw. He put on that none of this mattered to him, that it is all simply a game, but Christopher knew the truth. He had heard the names muttered through nightmares in the darkness. Beast, for all his posturing, was just as scared as the rest of them.

A slight chuckle escaped Christopher's lips. Even muffled by the leather mask he wore to cover the putrid stench of the Hunt, in the dead silence of the moment, he may as well have been howling. The others noticed immediately.

Beast turned his gaze away from the puddle he had been intensely studying. "What's so funny?" There was that impulsiveness again.

Oh good, now he wants to fight.

Christopher slowly stood. Readying himself for the possibility of an attack.

"Did you hear me?" Beast asked, turning to face Christopher. "I asked you a question." His muscles visibly tensed.

Christopher's hand flew to the hilt of his curved dagger. He sunk into a defensive stance, ready for any move Beast might make. As Christopher stood there, eyes locked with the goliath of a man, it occurred to him that he might not actually be a match for his comrade. It was one thing to do battle with a true beast that was larger than oneself; it didn't have the mind of a man. And, though it could very well have been argued whether this Beast possessed the mind of a man, he was, at the very least, more advanced than a creature of the Hunt.

It was only then that Christopher realized how long he had been frozen in that position, waiting for the brute to make a move. It occurred to him that in the twenty or so seconds that had passed, Beast could have destroyed him twice over, yet he had not. Until then he had been looking only at Beast's hips, hoping to receive an early clue as to any move the man was going to make. Now he shifted his gaze up. As he looked into the same eyes that had appeared so angry, so ready to break the next thing that dared speak to them, Christopher saw only amusement and, suddenly realizing that he was the butt of a joke, let his body relax.

"Dammit, Beast," Christopher muttered under his breath, this time making sure no one heard it but himself.

A raucous laughter erupted from their dark alley hiding spot, echoing through the whole district. Beast never had been one for the subtleties of the Hunt.

"You should 'ave seen the look on your face!" he hollered, and once again released a booming guffaw into the night. "I swear. You really need to loosen up, mate."

Christopher scowled. He was feeling a very odd combination of rage and embarrassment—one he had come to expect when dealing with his boisterous ally—and couldn't help but wonder if his eyes had turned as red as his face had.

"Dammit, Beast," Christopher said it louder this time, glad his leather mask covered the slight smirk that he couldn't keep from spreading across his face. He didn't need Beast thinking he was funnier than he already did.

Gideon spoke for the first time since they had set out. "Would you like to shut up, or would you prefer we all get burned to a crisp by Beast-Possessed Soul?"

"We got one coming up?" Beast asked with as close to whisper one could get a voice as deep as his own.

"Seems likely, I've never smelled anything quite like burnt blood. It's either that, or a few beast patients somehow figured out how to open the gate and escaped from Old Yharnam, but I'll believe their blood-addled minds could manage that when I see it."

Beast grinned. He loved the thought of killing things, but he always seemed to enjoy it more when he was in danger of being burned alive. Christopher had to admit, he understood the rush. It was part of why it was so risky to take part in the Hunt. Not only did one have to worry about their physical wellbeing, but there was also the threat of becoming what the old man called "blood-drunk," when a Hunter became so enamored with the thought of slaughter that they did so without discrimination. If he was honest with himself, Christopher had to admit that Beast had become increasingly aggressive in the past few nights. He would have to keep a close eye on the man.

Later. For now, the Hunt calls.

Gideon rose to his feet, using his hands to demonstrate the creature's approximate location. He drew his cane and swung it through the open air, releasing the locking mechanism, and letting it unfurl into the bladed whip that it concealed. Beast, still grinning his crazy grin, reached for the grip of the massive stone hammer he carried on his back and pulled fiercely to the side. He pulled out the clean, silver sword and brandished it in front of him, the moonlight reflected off the blade and briefly blinded the others. Christopher drew his short dagger and swiftly split it in two, he would need the speed for this battle.

The three Hunters shared the briefest of looks, mentally confirming their plan of action. Gripping their weapons, they went, without another word, into the dark night.