Disclaimer: The fact is Dante, Trish, Mundus, Sparda and whomever the hell else I use belongs to Capcom.

A/N:  Whoo!  This is gonna suck!  Just so you know this takes place right at the end of the first game, and being written just to explain what the hell happened to Trish and why she isn't in DMC2.  R&R or go to hell!

Devil May Cry 1.5:

Shadow of Shin

Mission One: Let's Rock, Baby!

            "Hello, Devil Never Cry," she said into the dull black receiver.  Trish was one hell of a chick.  In her tight black leather pants and platinum blonde hair that fanned out behind her despite the absence of wind, she managed to even make answering the phone look more like a lap dance.

            "Mm-hmm.  Fine.  Be there in ten minutes or your pizza's free."  She put the phone into a charger that lay next to a bull-like skull with a Force Edge protruding from its forehead.  A trophy from one of my many hunts, like the dozens that lined the walls of our dinghy rent-an-office.

            "Dante," she began, turning to face me.  It seemed like a good time to put down my copy of 'Jugs and Ammo' and pay attention.  "A job."

            "Yeah, so I've heard." Came my own gruff voice.

            "I don't think this is any ordinary devil hunt," she said as she strode towards a case made from a smashed motorcycle (to commemorate the first time we had ever met) her hells clicking all the way.  "This one's got the password.  Sounds heavy."

            "Meh," was my simple reply.  Along with my nonchalance I still had to show off my style before we left.  My feet left the ground and slammed against a nearby wall.  One swipe and I retrieved one of my scarlet leather overcoats that I regularly hung from the ceiling fan.  Of course, Trish failed to be impressed.

            "Oh well," she sighed.  "Hrm.  Let's try and get this done in ten minutes."  As she spoke she threw up the lid of the mangled case.

            "No problem for a couple of legendary dark nights," I said jogging over towards where I stored a friendly lightning sword by the name of Alastor while simultaneously throwing on a vest over my trench.

            "Your always making the same old stupid jokes," she retorted as she drew forth a huge single-blade sword.  Six feet long and accents of rouge, this was the sword that had belonged to my demon father.  The sword that bore his name.

            Sparda.  The one who opposed Mundus and the terrors of the underworld.

            "Yes, mother," I joked.  Well not completely joked.  Trish really was a reproduction of my mother.  That'll be our little secret.

            Alastor securely strapped to my back, it was time to wake up my two oldest friends.  I crouched near a small willow box near my desk.  From inside I brought two colt 45 long barrels, that I had made with my own hands.  Ebony, my black titanium son, and Ivory, my white platinum daughter.  "Time to go to work, guys," I whispered with a kiss to each one.

            "You ready yet?!"  She called and threw open the doors.

            "Trish," I said, holding her back.

            "Hm?"

            "Let's give it five minutes."

            "More than enough."

            "Hee, heh, heh.   He's coming.  The boy and his mother.  Hreh hehahahha!!"  A Cheshire grin of razor teeth glinted in the darkness and maniacal laughter rung the throat of the silence.

            Wind whipped past my face.  "Dammit Trish!  Can't we just drive?!"

            "Oh yeah," she called across to me, "Go ahead and walk in to the DMV and tell them that you've never driven a normal car, but you are half devil and have saved the world a couple of time but, oh yeah, you do know how to drive a motorcycle and a nineteenth century biplane like a pro!  I'm sure they'll give you a license!"

            "Yeah, and running from rooftop to rooftop is a much better form of transportation!"  I said, followed by an Air Hike across a particularly wide alleyway.

            "Don't worry.  You make it look good."  I hate to admit it, but this wasn't a lie.  I'm a damn stylish guy.  I'm only thirty, but my snow-white hair is still a nice touch, and I must say I look good in a tight vest and red leather pants.

            "There!  It should be just after that row of houses!"

            I stopped at the edge of the roof.  "That the place?"

            "Don't you know it."

            "Another huge creepy mansion, right smack in the middle of a perfectly normal city.  Sometimes I think I'm gonna walk into one of these places and find Count Dracula posing."

            "Ha, ha.  Shut up and work."

            "Braw."

            We each leaped from our perch in turn.  The tails of my coat flew upwards into my face, struggling against the wind.  I fired Ebony and Ivory towards the earth, successfully slowing my descent enough to hit the ground running.

            I flipped easily over the fence guarding the manor and reached the front door, Trish arriving directly after.

            "Open it."

            I reached behind me.  As I wrapped my fingers around Alastor's handle I could feel it's lighting energy infusing with my demonic blood.  What a rush.  I jammed the blade between the double doors and forced it upwards, shattering the lock.  The oak panels flung apart and we stepped over the threshold.

A/N:  Well, there you have it.  My first short, crappy chappie.  It didn't start off too well, but near the end there I started to get back some of my old swagger.  When you review please use the DMC mission ranking system (please S, please S, please S…) And because you where patient enough to struggle through this I'm going to reward you with a piece of poetry about Dante that I wrote for my creative writing class. ; p

Dante, Spring's Demon Son A graceful beauty,

Hides a black clouded power.

Not the sound of a storm on the

Secure boundaries of your home,

But the rhythmic vibrations of

Bullets of Black and White on flesh,

Or shining red orbs of blood on concrete

Or impossible tears on Satan's cheek.

Is that the wind whipping,

Through the tangle branches,

Or is it his crimson robes against the vacuum,

Or a namesake sword scraping on bone,

Or is it the shallow breath of a

Weeping fire pillar?

Because when Spring gives in to Autumn

And releases his father's demon legacy,

When he releases the lightning blade

Of his true nature,

Or the hellflaming fists of Summer,

Even the devil may cry.