Pre-Story-Author's-Note: This an 'alternate universe' story. That means things aren't exactly as they are in the game. For instance, the Mary/Lady we know is not met the same way as she is in the game. Vergil's still hanging about. Dante's still cool.

This story is rated 'M' for future risqué scenes. If you don't approve, then please don't read. :) I warned you. If you do approve, then please read and enjoy. Thanks for visiting!

Chapter One

"Yeah, you know what? That's no fuckin' surprise."

Dante was getting a headache already. It was too early in the morning to have to listen to the same shit over and over again, and he wished he'd heard it on the phone instead. That, at least, he could hang up on. It was a little hard to do the same when the man was standing in front of him and not showing even the slightest tinge of fear or intimidation.

That's what bothered him the most. He was used to people being afraid of him. This guy, though about the same height as he was, was built like a beanpole with a head so bald that the morning sun reflected off it. Never mind the huge and glaring scar that was only accentuated by the shadows cast, but still pretty damn bald. And dressed a little bit too much like a priest, which unnerved him just the slightest.

He and the Church didn't have that fond of a relationship.

The morning, at least, had started off decently. There was food in the fridge – a surprise. Bacon, even. And bacon was a little hard to come by these days, though he thought he'd reward himself for a recent and rather painful job. His coat needed to be mended – again. And a few of his weapons were a little banged up, but no worse for the wear.

He'd woken up that morning with a good sense of what the day would hold. That was, in his book, the start of a good day. Never mind that the start of a good day usually was a beer (which he was sorely in need of) but the bacon had done a decent job of replacing it. And, the start of a good day (and the start of what he thought this day would be) was getting money that was owed to him.

Wrong.

As soon as the tentative knock came on his door he knew he was not going to get paid. Again. And there was little he hated more than liars. After he told the man so, just the slightest tinge of ill feeling entered the guy's strange, mismatched eyes. One of them even looked a little glazed, on the side of the scars, as if he were blind. Well, there went his depth perception. That still didn't give him an excuse to 'perceive' him as a nice guy. People thought he was, but he wasn't. He didn't do charity. He'd done it enough in his life to realize that if he wanted to eat, he needed to do jobs that paid. Saving humanity for the good of it was going to do him little good in the long run.

And the guy in front of him had been a case of mistaken charity work. The case had been dire, sure, and he'd been a 'nice guy' and stepped in to help. He'd stepped in, though, at the promise of getting paid. The guy couldn't possibly have scrounged up the money then and the time was pressing…people were dying. So Dante had taken it on trust, killed the demons, and gave his price, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And now he was sitting at his office desk, glancing with tired eyes at the man in front of him who was calmly explaining exactly why he couldn't pay him. Again.

To be fair, Dante wasn't going to pass up a situation where innocent people were dying and no one was around to help. But those sorts of things were simple – a shot here, a sword slice there – stick a fork in him, he's done. What the man in front of him – Arkham - had asked of him was a little more than a run-of-the-mill job and it had taken a lot out of him. He'd lived too many years to be a forgive-and-forget sort of guy and he was also running disastrously low on money. At the point where it was a hit-or-miss as to whether he'd have food in the fridge, he had a problem.

Besides, if he were called out for more jobs, he'd need more ammo. More ammo meant more money. And money was not what he had.

What he did have was an empty hand where he would have liked a beer to be and an ever-growing headache.

"So, as you can see, my trip to India will be inevitable-"

"Wait, what?" Dante shook his head, silver strands moving this way and that as he tried to clear his mind. He'd been too busy paying attention to himself to listen to a word that Arkham was saying. It was all going to be the same drabble, anyway. 'I can't pay you' and the like. Maybe he'd even been saying it in different languages. Who gave a fuck?

"I have a…means by which I can attain the sum there."

The man's way of speaking also annoyed Dante. He was used to simple English, simple phrases, and to-the-point words. Arkham seemed to speak with a flourish and Dante couldn't quite tell if the accent was real or faked.

"…In India." Dante's tone was flat, and no-nonsense.

"Yes," Arkham said – without explaining any further.

"Alright, hold on. You come in here at eight in the fucking morning and instead of my payment you talk my ear off about how you don't have the money and now you expect me to believe that going to India is going to solve all your problems?"

"Yes."

Dante paused, a little off-put by the short answer. "No go. You're planning to skip town on me, and I can tell you buddy…" at this point, he was leaning back in his chair, putting his arms behind his head in an inherently-male and insolent fashion, "that I'm really not happy to hear it."

"I assumed that you would say something of the sort. I suppose it does seem like I am trying to 'skirt' my way out of paying your debt, and-"

"You're damn right it seems that way," Dante interrupted.

"…And I do agree that the payment was owed to you in a more timely fashion. However, seeing as that is not the case, should you want your payment at all my trip to India must be allowed."

Dante gave a low groan, and closed his eyes. Headache. Headache. Fuckin' fuck fuck fuck…

"…And since it also seems that you do not believe I will return, I've decided to present you with collateral."

"Collateral?" Dante didn't even bother opening his eyes. "What the fuck is that?"

He heard Arkham's footsteps go to the door, and the creak of the old wood on its failing hinges. Soon enough, he heard Arkham's footsteps, followed by much lighter ones.

"My daughter."

Had the Hunter's eyes been open, they would have been blinking. In order to start that chain of events, he had to open them first. The man was standing, stark-still as ever, and next to him stood a short, curvy girl with chopped-off hair that looked like a lawnmower had been taken to it and the same, mismatched eyes as her father. The fact that she was staring forward was reason enough to look – she had apprehension in her eyes, but not necessarily fear. That was new.

She looked like she was on her way to school. Her uniform skirt reached about mid-thigh and her white shirt was buttoned primly, with a deep green tie lacing underneath the folded collar. Some pin on it glinted in the sunlight, but he didn't bother to make out what it was. Honors, by the looks of it (he inferred this only because of its torch-like shape). How old was she?

"Uh….huh." Dante's tone with his words gave away his frustration, and his eyes did not immediately cut back to Arkham as he spoke. "…Yeah, that isn't gonna make payment."

"I did not expect it to," Arkham replied calmly, without looking down to his daughter. "I decided that, if it suits you, I could leave her here. As insurance for my return."

"I don't babysit."

"None necessary. I assure you she is in full health and in full use of her faculties." Only then did the girl seem to cringe, though it was not in her face so much as the tightening of her body. "Do with her as you like, if you choose to keep her."

"Seems like you don't really give a fuck." Dante's eyes were fixated on her, studying her movements. She seemed unfazed by the fact that she was being bartered as property.

"I assure you that my daughter is the most important thing in the world to me," yet another calm reply. "In order to care for her, I do need to get my debts settled. And seeing as you need assurance that I will, in fact, pay you – I thought that you would accept insurance."

"Once again, I don't babysit."

"Not necessary, again," he replied. "She can cook, clean," as this was said, he cast a wary eye around the office, "and she is pure."

It was obvious what the last word implied. So, the man was knowingly offering his daughter up to a demon as insurance?

"I don't have much of a choice, do I." Same, flat tone.

"Not if you do not want to get paid, no." Same, calm tone.

There were a few moments of pregnant silence, where the Hunter's ice-blue eyes studied the father first, and then the daughter. After what seemed like ages, his eyes remained fixated on her.

"What's your name?"

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Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please please please read and review! I love reviews. Even if it's a short 'I liked it!' I'll be happy. No flame, please. Those make me sad.