Authors Note: Warning: Vague spoilers for Lucifer Season 4's finale. Oh, and some violence.

As it turned out, Maka and Soul hadn't needed to concern themselves with finding a place to stay. The department had arranged for the two of them to stay at a local inn and would be covering the cost of the room. Anything else, though, the two of them would be paying for. That was fine by her, it was more than she expected.

Sleeping Lamb was a small, cozy little inn, the innkeeper a friendly old woman who was happy to meet the two and to help them to their room.

It hadn't taken much time to get their clothes situated, leaving the bags under their beds, ready to be pulled out as needed On the table, Maka and Soul placed the boxes that they had been given by Elijah, carefully removing the lids from the boxes to look at all the files stuffed inside. It was going to be a lot to read through, going to take a lot of time, and they still needed to get up early tomorrow for plans to meet Elijah, and then Amanda Lewis' parents.

"Let's start with Amanda's case file, then work from the earliest to the most recent," Soul offered, digging through the files to find the manilla folders that held hers. "We can look for any similarities between all the cases, find where they differed. That sound like a good starting point?"

Maka gave him a smile and took one of the folders that he'd brought out, taking a seat on the edge of one of the two twin beds. "That's a good plan, Soul," she agreed, pausing only to grab some notepads and pencils, handing some pages and pencils to Soul. "So we can make notes, keep track of things."

He grunted, taking it and settled into the chair, getting to work.

Opening her folder, Maka frowned as she was once again staring at the face of Amanda Lewis. The girl, so young, was only twelve when she was stolen away. Her gaze as she stared at the camera was solemn, no smile on her lips or in her eyes.

Looking at her, Maka couldn't help but to wonder. What had she been like? Had she been the quiet girl who sat in the back? The loud, rebellious one who always caused a scene? The smart girl who did her best in class, worked hard? Had she a lot of friends? Had she only been comfortable with a small group of people? What kind of hobbies had the child had before being kidnapped? What dreams had she had for the future?

Who was she? What did she want to be?

Maka tried to imagine possible answers as she read through the file, tried to think of what kind of girl she could have been at the time. A kind girl, not too loud, not too quiet, someone who didn't like to cause problems, but the sort who'd protect her friends. Maybe she was that kind of person.

Flipping to another page, Maka read through the contents more closely as opposed to the skimming she had done at the precinct. Twelve-years-old at the time; DOB October 11th, 2006; birthplace here in Pocklington; only child; blood-type A Negative; in Year Seven at school; went missing on December 3rd. Reports in the file match what she had been told at the precinct, that she had last been seen leaving school but had never come home.

Reading the pages, Maka supposed it wasn't impossible that she ran away, but with the influx on kidnappings, it was also unlikely.

Maka frowned, glancing up at Soul who read quietly, scribbling down notes of his own on his case file and glanced back to her own. There were photos of the bedroom and house in the back of the folder. She looked at them and her frown deepened. It looked like a perfectly normal room, all things considered, she couldn't find anything in the rooms that might point to anything in particular.

Eventually, Maka finished Amanda's file and moved on to another one, and then to another, slowly climbing through the name of children who had gone missing. Alexander Griff, eight, last seen in Haxby; Cassandra Drudey, five, last seen in Rillington; Jaime Afton, ten, last seen in Howden. The list went on, kids all over the Yorkshire area, going missing within the past two years and not being found.

There weren't any threads that Maka could find that really connected the kids to one another, nothing in the files showed any similarity between them other than being close in age. They didn't have anything about their lives that really stood out, nothing about their location, not even what they were wearing stood out.

Eventually, Maka's eyes began to hurt from reading over all the files, her paper filled with so few notes that she'd feel ashamed if this had been her studying for a test.

Sighing, Maka leaned back and looked over to Soul who wasn't even reading the files anymore, just poorly pretending to do so by leaning back in his chair with a file folder over his face. She would have thought him napping if it was not for how he kept moving and shifting. "Any luck on your end, Soul?" she asked him, watching Soul stretch and move.

"Nope. They're all pretty young, most ten or under, all in the Yorkshire area, but that's it," Soul said, having reached for his notes and skimming over the meager few he had written down. "Nothing really stands out in the files, no similarities to note."

"Same, it's frustrating," she admitted, straightening out the files she had read, making sure that they were still in order and tidy. Best to not earn the ire of the police for messing up the case files they'd borrowed. "How about we call it a night for now? I think we've gotten as much as we can from the files for now, and we do have to get up early tomorrow."

Soul nodded, already getting up to collect the files that Maka had left on the side of the bed, straightening out the already straightened folders and putting them back into their boxes. "Want to try giving Crona a ring before we turn in?" he asked her as he closed the boxes. "I know it's pretty late over in Brazil right now, they might even be sleeping, but checking up on them wouldn't hurt."

That got a small smile from Maka as she looked for where she'd left her phone. There it was, hanging out on the pillow. "We can try. But we won't talk for long," she said. "We'll say a brief hello and make sure they're doing okay, and then we'll let them get some sleep."

"And then we can get some sleep ourselves," Soul agreed.

Maka nodded and waited until Soul took a seat beside her on the bed, the weapon sidling up close to her as Maka began dialing numbers into her phone and setting it to speaker so that both could speak and hear.

A few moments passed; they could hear the phone ring. One ring… a second…a third…

"A-ah! Hello?"

Maka perked up and beside her Soul smiled, leaning in closer to her and to the phone. "Crona, hello! We didn't wake you, did we?"

There was a nervous pause, the sound of the background, the sounds of constant movement, chatter, and music, suggested to Maka that they didn't. "Oh, no, no it's okay." Even now, after all these years, Crona still had a soft voice, still had their timid disposition. But, at the same time, there was something different to it, they sounded…. Off. "Sorry! I know it's late, I sh-should be sleeping, I really sh-should! Just—some things came up, and—ah, sorry!"

"H-h-h-heeeeeeey! Who d'ya think yer talking too!" Ragnarok loudly slurred, cutting into the conversation, his voice peppered with numerous hiccups. There was a cry of alarm and the two shared a glance as there was a minute or two of muffled arguing and banter, they could easily tell the weapon was hitting and bullying Crona as he usually did. "Fuck! You're talking to those idiots? Piiiiiigy! What do you want!?"

"Ah, Ragnarok, I almost forgot how you sounded," Maka muttered, earning a laugh from Soul. "What's up with you? You sound so weird."

Soul cocked his head to the side, brows crunched up. "You actually sound kind of drunk," Soul noted, paused to think, and added; "Both of you kind of sound like it, actually."

Crona let out a loud yelp, seemingly dropping their phone to the floor and falling after it by the sound of the clamor. Some people laughed, and even Crona let out a laugh. "Uh, we… I think w-we are? Sorry, the I, uh, stood and the room started spinning, and then my legs didn't work. Now I'm on the floor."

"You okay?" Soul asked.

"I think?"

Maka shook her head, trying to think of what was going on over there. "Okay, how did you two end up drunk? Crona, you're not really the type to drink." For as long as Maka had known Crona, she hadn't known them to drink at all.

"R-Ragnarok," Crona said.

And that would explain it. Crona may not have been a drinker, but Ragnarok had quite the fondness for it, if he was offered beer, Maka rarely saw him willingly turn it down. Which, since Ragnarok was Crona's weapon and their blood, it only made sense that Crona ended up getting drunk as a result of Ragnarok drinking.

"Detective Barrichello, we, ah, he said we ought to have fun—a break from the case, and he, um, took us to this bar," Crona hiccupped, pausing to pull themselves back to their feet, or that's what Maka assumed from the sound. "We hadn't—hadn't made any new ground or, or got any new evidence on the case, so he thought we needed it—Ragnarok's been drinking when the Detective said he'd cover the tab."

Soul laughed, resting his head on Maka's shoulder and smiling warmly at the phone. "Sheesh, tell the guy to take it easy. Don't need him being a drunk, and it certainly ain't cool, I'm sure Maka can attest to that."

An image of Spirit flashed across her mind and Maka gave a huff. "Just make sure you're drinking plenty of water! Trust me, you and Ragnarok are going to have quite the hangover if you don't," she cautioned and then added just as hastily. "And be safe! Make sure you stick close to the detective or anyone else you've made friends with out there! You're both drunk, I don't want people thinking they can take advantage of you because of this!"

"T-take advantage?" Crona yelped, letting out a soft whimper. "W-why would…?"

Ragnarok let out an ungodly screech, "Like anyone could! Let them try! Let them try!" he yelled. "I'll beat them! I'll kill them! Kill em and eat their souls! Just like the old days!"

"Ragnarok! No! We don't do that anymore!"

"If they fuck with us, then there juuuust asking for it!"

"No they're not!"

"Yes they are!"

Soul shook his head, looking to Maka and mouthing 'dorks' to her with an amused smile. Maka covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. It took her a minute before she was able to speak again, cutting into the argument the other two had. "Alright you two, settle down," she waited a moment for them to calm back down. "You said you guys have made no headway on that Podcast Killer case Lord Death assigned you on?"

"No," Crona confirmed gloomily, and Maka felt a little bad asking since it seemed to have brought down their spirit. "We've been searching and searching through all the past incidents, yet we still don't got a lead."

"Bastard is playing with us!" Ragnarok added. "Just wait, when I get my hands on him—I'll gobble up his soul!"

"That soul you… could probably eat," Crona mumbled. "I think."

Soul chuckled, "Well, you'll probably be able to eat his soul, hard to imagine that someone like that isn't a Kishin egg. So, when you two finally catch him, make sure you give the sicko a good thrashing."

"We will!"

"Ragnarok, quiet down, the waitress is staring at us!"

Maka smiled fondly, though the smile was only for a moment. Just as her and Soul were on an important mission regarding a serial kidnapping, Crona and Ragnarok were dealing with a serial killing. Though at least those two had an idea of who they were after; a man who had been dubbed the Podcast Killer by the public, a name deriving from how he sets up a live podcast to stream him torturing and killing his victims.

It was horrifying, terrifying, the person behind it was undoubtedly a monster. But he was smart, Maka would give him that. The police weren't able to track him down by his podcasts, and the corpses of his victims showed up all over the world, making it hard to narrow him down to one place when he seemingly had the ability to travel all over. The last few bodies had been found in South America, with the most recent being in Brazil, hence why Crona and Ragnarok were there.

"Just be careful, both of you," Maka said, speaking a bit softer. Soul yawned beside her and she found herself smiling gently again. "It's late, so I think Soul and I are going to turn in for the night. You two should do the same soon, too."

"Ease up on the drinking, Ragnarok," Soul added.

She could just picture the weapon sticking his tongue out at the phone. "I don't have to do what either of you say."

"I'll try to drink plenty of water," Crona promised, "I'll, um, I'll see with Barrichello when we can head back to the hotel."

Maka kept smiling as she heard Ragnarok complain over Crona's words. "Got it. You two have a good rest of your night and make sure you get plenty of sleep," she said, feeling like a mother hen, but really she just wanted to make sure Crona was taking care of themselves while out there. "Good night, Crona, sleep tight, love you!"

And that tiny, embarrassed squeak that they gave, even when drunk thanks to Ragnarok, well it made her heart swell. "L-love you two. Both of you!"

Soul laughed, "Get some rest, and best of luck on your mission."

With a few more minutes of drawn out farewells, Maka hung the call up and abandoned her phone on the bedside table, letting out a yawn of her own as she felt sleepiness catch up to her. She blinked, licked her lips, and then turned to look to Soul.

"Think they'll get their mission done before us?" she asked.

Soul shrugged out of his shirt and undid his belt, "Who knows? They've been on their mission a lot longer than we have, and the killings been going on for about as long as the kidnapping, maybe a bit longer," he mused as he pulled back the covers on the bed. "Wouldn't be surprised if by the time we catch the kidnappers Crona's already waiting back home for us."

Maka smiled and slowly undid her pigtails, letting her hair down and leaving the hair ties by her phone. "Maybe we could make it a race, see who gets done first."

"You'll just overwhelm them if you do that," Soul laughed.

"You're right, that wouldn't be fair," Maka conceded, turning the lights to the room off and then climbing into bed beside Soul. "I do hope that they catch the guy soon. Feels like they've been gone forever, and just talking on the phone isn't the same as being beside them."

Soul nodded, pulling the blankets up over the both of them, "I know how you feel, but I think you should be focusing more on our mission at the moment instead of theirs. Crona knows what they're doing. Let's just focus on the kidnappings, and once ours is done, you can fret about Crona's all you want."

Yawning, Maka nodded and nestled in closer to him, "Fine, deal."

But, for now she had time to not worry about either missions, let her mind be free of thoughts of kidnappings and murders and instead embrace the freedom of sleep and dreams. She and Soul could sleep, rest up their bodies and rest their minds so that come morning, when they go and meet up with Elijah, they could give the mission their all.

Right now, though, they just needed to worry about sleeping and not to sleep past their alarms.

"Sea may rise, sky may fall. My love will never die~"

Singing softly, he spun around his workroom. On a counter was a laptop and attached to it were microphones and other equipment meant to get the best sound quality possible captured as this moment was recorded and streamed. He had to make sure his lovely audience heard every little sound so that they could paint a detailed gruesome image in their heads.

"Please!"

He ignored the sobbing, the crying, continuing instead to sing along to the music as he prepared his tools, "Go on, go on, go bravely on, into the blackest night."

The room was dimly lit, a few flickering and full lights hanging from the ceiling, and terribly cold, too. cold, concrete floors and walls, not a window to be seen, counters littered with bloodstained tools, more hanging from the walls, ropes, straps, gags, and numerous candles and other toys stored nice and neat. On a coat rack hung a few bloodied and long aprons, in a box were numerous long gloves. He smiled, tightening the straps of the apron he currently wore—had to make sure his clothes stayed nice and clean, and then pulled on a pair of gloves. They snapped against his forearms when he let them go, reaching almost as far as his elbows.

His smile didn't cease as he stared at himself in the stained and broken mirror, looking at his fractured reflection in satisfied delight; "Hold my breath, 'til your return. My love will never die~." He spun around mid-verse, holding a pair of pliers in his hands as he sang, facing the poor sap strapped to the old, torn, leather dental chair before him. "Lovely song, isn't it? Played during Lucifer's season four final—such a powerful scene, really, just that final "I love you"—it brought a tear to my eye. I don't know how anything inthe upcoming fifth season is going to be able to top it. Ohoho! Spoilers, I suppose, for those who may not have seen it yet."

The man he had caught was middle-aged, probably in his thirties, a head full of curly brown hair, eyes bloodshot and teary, face unshaven. His wrists were bruised as he continued to fight against the leather straps holding him down, more straps holding him by the ankles and by his bared waist. He was naked, save for the briefs, as Samael had taken the liberty to strip him down to his skivvies while the man was still fast asleep from the drugs. It made the process so much easier when his prey didn't have their pesky clothes in the way. He hated having to waste time tearing and cutting the fabrics away during his sessions just so he could get to the flesh and bones beneath, he didn't have the patience for that kind of thing, and he didn't want his audience to grow bored because he had to spend a few minutes removing clothing while they waited in tantalizing suspense to know what he would do next to his prey.

"Please," the man begged, struggling ever so pointlessly. "I've done nothing wrong, please let me go!"

Samael laughed, twirling the pliers in his hands as he smiled at the man, "Why, what makes you think you're here because you did something wrong?" he asked playfully as he began walking to his victim. "If I only picked people who did wrong deeds, well, I might as well apply for a badge and gun~!" he laughed heartily as he said that, leaning in close, careful not to bump the microphone hanging by them.

He spoke with a smile, but his voice was low, dangerous. "You don't need to do something wrong to wind up here, my friend. Otherwise, only people who did something 'wrong' would get hurt, and we both know that isn't true."

Pulling away, Samael spared a glance to the laptops he had positioned carefully on a clean table, look at the screen that was pulled up. The chat log was full, moving far quicker than most could read as hundreds listened and talked. His viewers in the hundreds, a number that steadily climbed higher.

Some commenters weren't sure if this was real or fake, others knew what was going on and were begging for him to stop, and even more, others who thought this was fake were egging him on and laughing. Even more were staying silent and listening, knowing this was wrong but unable to tear themselves away from the scene. Seeking to know what happens next, begging to be entertained. And Samael was nothing if not an entertainer.

"What shall we do first, my dear viewers?" Samael loudly asked, clapping his hands together in giddy delight. "I've him strapped down to the leather chair—not gagged this time as you can tell. I thought you'd like to hear his screams and begging more clearly. His wrists, his ankles, his neck and waist are all tied down by leather straps to keep him from going anywhere. We could tighten the straps up, too. Cut off the circulation to his hands and feet—oh they'd turn into such a lovely shade of color, don't you think?"

He smiled, humming as he circled the man strapped to the chair, keeping an eye on the ever moving chat on the computer, his discerning eyes picking out a few comments here and there in the rush. Some telling him that he was a sick fuck, others laughing and asking if he was being 'for real', and even fewer actual suggestions from the brave few. Samael chuckled, coming to stand behind his prey, fixing his hair and running fingers through the dark curls.

So many ways to start this off, so many things he could do to this poor sap. The lad was beyond himself with whimpers, begging and crying, shaking like a leaf in a storm. "You're absolutely adorable like this," Samael whispered to him with a laugh, looking back up at the screen and pushing himself away from the nameless chap. "Ah! Righty! Brilliant ideas, my wonderful audience. I now know just what to do to really set the ball rolling."

He turned the chair so that the man faced him, knelt down and with the pliers he had been holding, Samael took hold of the fingernail on his index finger. He smiled up at his friend, "This is going to hurt—but that's the best part." The man squirmed, and when Samael gave the plier and nail a good yank, well, the scream was pure euphoria to his humble ears.

Samael could only let out a deep sigh as he let the bloodied nail fall to the ground, listening to the man scream and cry in pain, as the chat continued to move, even faster than before, letting out a choir of alerts singing in the air along with the music playing in the background. He didn't need to turn and look at the chat, the initial response to the first strike was always the same. Horror, confusion, doubt, laughter. Humans bearing their souls to the world under the safety of anonymity.

He smiled, his teeth fully bared, "Ah, where are my manners! My dear watchers can't see what's going on, and I completely forgot! Well, fret not everyone! As you can hear from his screams, I've begun work, though he's quite the overreactor, now isn't he? Why, all I've done is just tear out a single fingernail on his index finger and he's gone and soiled himself," Samael chuckled, and reached for the next nail. "But, we can't stop right there, now can we? Let's get the rest of these pesky little things out of the way."

There was only an hour to work, well—Samael could have spent more time, he was the one in control, but he needed to exhibit some self-control, and for him that was maintaining a strict timeframe for how long he let these sessions last. An hour to create his works of art, an hour to entertain the masses with torture and horror.

It was a messy process, and his apron and gloves were well used, coming out soaked in blood by the end of it all. He had used quite a few of his tools; his knives to cut into his skin, hammers to break bones, he'd driven rusty nails into the flesh, had burned him, poured hot oil into open wounds. Everything had been wonderful, had driven him mad with delight, and it wasn't even his best work.

Samael heaved a happy sigh; the recording done and dragged the body from the chair and onto an empty table. "You were such a wonderful partner today," Samael said, giving his mangled corpse a pat on the shoulder, finding a clean scalpel to work with. "But, we're not done, not yet." He spun the knife between his fingers, running his hand over the cold chest, smearing blood on the gloves he wore.

He was going to need to think of where to leave the body after he had all his fun with it, had to make sure it was somewhere fitting, somewhere that his little followers could find—a treat for them. It wasn't any fun if his so-called hunters couldn't find the trails he left them. He wanted them to think they were getting closer to finding him while feeling like they weren't making progress at all. But where oh where would he take them? Samael smiled as he looked to the wall of maps, to all the colorful circles he'd left over areas of interest.

Yorkshire, both East and North Riding circled in vivid red. Both an area he'd like to avoid leading his trail through while also an area of great interest to him. Nevada circled in black pen, with a fitting skull over it—he'd rather avoid Nevada, actually he'd like to keep out of America as much as possible, a filthy, corrupt, awful nation that one was. The Nagano prefecture was also circled, as was the Tokyo and Osaka prefectures. He could always leave it in some Brazilian city, just to mess with his hunters further. Oh, the possibilities were just endless, weren't they? It just added to the thrill, to the fun.

With a song on his tongue, he drove the blade into his chest with acute precision, cutting through the skin and muscle, pushing past the bones until he had torn the untouched heart out of the chest. His smile grew, his body vibrated with anticipation and excitement as he held it carefully in his hands.

Oh, now this was his favorite part.