South Falls, Oregon.

"I still don't understand how the mirror trick worked yesterday," Drakul said, as he stood leaning against the wall of the mechanic shop. "I swear, I saw you on my left, sitting on the counter. How did you magically appear on my right? How did you make your voice sound like it came from the left?"

"I told you," said Juri, as she rummaged through the piles of metal scraps, "a magician's secret. No point in telling you, man of God. You'll just accuse me of witchcraft anyway."

"One time, Juri. It was one time. The church didn't believe me either way… not the first time at least."

"I'm just saying," she smiled, "it's awfully funny seeing how you go around with your magic minigun, accusing me of sorcery of all things."

Juri gathered all the items she picked out and placed them on the front counter, where the mechanic stood with his gaze of indifference.

"That'll be 25 bucks," he said.

"By the way, do you happen to know the way to the South Station?" Juri asked as she handed the man the money. "We're new around these parts."

"Just keep heading south," he said, as he smoked his cigar. "You'll hear the train noise when you get there, can't miss it."

"Thanks."

She swept all the items into a large leather satchel she seemingly pulled out of her sleeves, then proceeded to toss it right over her shoulder.

"You got everything?" Drakul asked as they walked out.

"Yeah, this will make my horse go ten percent faster."

"I meant – did you have everything you need to test the blood?"

"Oh yeah, it's right here on my watch."

"You could've tested it the entire time?" Drakul cried.

"Hey, cut me some slack, the minute hand was crooked. Plus, I ran out of plasma cores."

"I swear to God, if you waste another minute on these exotic scavenger hunts…"

The two walked out onto the scene of the great town of South Falls, much more bustling than North Falls where they came from. Like the yin to the yang, this place was brimming with travelers and civilians going about their daily businesses. A couple of heavy horse wagons there on the outskirt of the town with some barrels of rum that just came in this morning. They were being hauled away into a new saloon under construction. Placed very peculiarly next to the sheriff's office, a building painted in an elegant coat of white. It was amusing to see the house of law placed next to the place where drunkards often fought and dueled each other over petty but sometimes criminal things. Though, Juri suspected the sheriff most likely wanted to keep an eye on the thugs. Drakul on the other hand thought the sheriff merely didn't want to walk a long road for a drink.

"Relax, Father," Juri patted him on his back as they walked over to their horses. "It's not like the church is going to send an agent to check up on us or anything."

"They might very well, you know. What with your face pasted all over those wanted posters."

"Oh yeah…" she began tapping her chin as she tossed the satchel onto her saddle. "There's no time better than the present then. Let's test it right now."

The girl pulled forth the vial of blood from her pocket, and immediately emptied it into a small hole located on the side of her wristwatch, just under the little silver knob. The watch began to vibrate for a moment, sparkling blue electricity underneath the metal surfaces. The energy produced from such a tiny device was extraordinary. An energy strong enough to force the watch's hands to rotate vigorously as if it was spinning up a vortex.

It took a good long minute before the hands firmly stopped dead in its track, with the minute hand pointing diagonally to the top left and the hour hand pointing horizontally across to the right. It read ten minutes to three.

A result the two of them clearly didn't want to see, accompanied by Drakul's long sigh of exhaustion.

"Back to the drawing board," Drakul lamented, as Juri's lips began to shake, despite her calm steely eyes.

The priest had known the girl for quite a long time, but seeing her struggling like this had always made him fluster. Making him scratch his head, fidgeting around. Unsure of what to do, what to say.

"Look," he laid his hand on her shoulder, "let's keep going, yeah? The right one will turn up eventually. We can't just give up now."

Juri sighed:

"Yeah… I know… I know… it's just… I want to go home. Mother must be worried. I wonder if she's eating enough. Sometimes I have nightmares, you know – about what happens if we fail. If we can't find the right one."

"That's not an idea I want to entertain. I really don't want to kill you. But it's my duty. So we either come back with the right vial of blood… or I come back with your head."

"Your overt optimism is noted," Juri smiled ever so slightly, putting her golden goggles back over her eyes.

"There's the Juri I know," he patted her shoulder.

Out from the corner of the priest's eyes came a stranger approaching in the distance. He wore a dark brown vest over his bare-naked torso. On the side of his thigh was a large revolver the size of his entire femur, possibly even longer. The clacking of the spurs on his boots could be heard from a mile away. This pale blond stranger with his long hair hidden underneath his leather cowboy hat, approaching the two like a stalking predator.

"Heads up," Drakul whispered, "enemy approaching, six o'clock."

"A vampire?"

"Not sure," he squinted his eyes. "Either way, he's probably here for the bounty."

"You know, I'm surprise you don't have a price on your head, yet."

Juri pulled out from her leather satchel a metal wrench, all new and shiny, coated like a mirror. And proceeded to forcefully chuck it right at the direction of the stranger the moment she felt they were in range. She didn't even need to turn around to know that he had already brandished his long revolver from his holster. The crowd of people all around him instantly dispersed the moment they noticed a massive metal wrench flying in the air towards them like some sort of frisbee. Of course, the loud bang of the gun roaring in the middle of town did not help the turmoil.

Fortunately for Juri and Drakul, the bullet did not hit its mark, because the metal wrench was heavy, and it struck at dead center of the man's face. Shattering his two front teeth the moment it made contact. Blood was spewing everywhere, squirting all over his eyes, obscuring his own vision.

Without hesitation, the girl dashed forward the short distance where the stranger was still recovering from his bleeding nose and mouth, and promptly delivered a decisive elbow thrust straight onto the center of his torso, striking right onto the diaphragm. The shockwave of the hit was strong enough to push him a far distance back to lift up the vest he wore for Juri to look inside – and there flying out of his inner pocket, clear as day was the wanted poster with her face painted on the yellow parchment.

"GET ON!" Drakul shouted from behind as both his and her horses sped towards their direction. Still slow and steady enough for Juri to grab on her saddle and gracefully climb on her vehicle. She even had enough time to pick back up the new wrench she tossed just a few moments ago.

And just like that, like a snap of the fingers, they were already on the outskirt of town accelerating away into the horizon.

"You know… that man looks kind of familiar," Drakul commented. "I could've sworn I've seen him somewhere before."

"Doesn't really matter, I suppose. Because you were right, Father. He's here for my bounty, I saw the wanted poster inside his pocket. I'm relieved actually."

"Why?"

"I don't know… I thought – he was here through some other means. From the 'you know what'," She waved her right hand for Drakul to see, the hand that was clothed with a thin black leather glove.

"I see…" he looked back to the girl's hand with a concerned expression. "Make sure you keep it wrapped up at all times. If the legend is true…"

"Legend?"

The White House, Washington DC.

At the heart of America – there in the most distinguished office in the world – sat two men of high status. One a wealthy mathematician and engineer, the other a humble man who was resting from long months of counting ballot boxes. Both of them dressed very sharply for the occasion, both in a black suit, mostly for the formalities. But the humble man was exhausted with weary eyes. He had a lot of work to do for his country, but if you ask him, he would most likely say that he had not have a night to sleep since 11 long years ago.

Regardless, the man was determined to help the mathematician, for he was a citizen in need. And that was something worth laying off the booze for one afternoon; worth getting up early in the morning to comb his grey blocky hair. All to look presentable in front of the citizen – his citizen.

"Mister President," the mathematician shook his hand. "It is an honor, an absolute honor to be here meeting you, sir. I must say, I admire the exotic fashion choice of wearing a powdered wig. Very old school I must say."

"It's not a wig. That's just my hair."

"OH… oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to offend you. I beg for your forgiveness."

"Oh, no, no, think nothing of it my friend," the President laughed. "By all means, Dr. Olsen, criticize my appearance to your heart's content. Surely this blueberry bush growing on my face must be shocking to you, even just a little."

"It is a bizarre… exotic color, sir. My pedestrian black hair is nothing in comparison. My beard's certainly nowhere near as magnificent."

"Would you believe me if I say it's my natural hair color? The grey up here and the blue down here."

"That's absolutely astonishing. How is that even possible?"

"A story for another time, my friend. Come, sit. Have a seat. Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, no thank you, sir. I've quit drinking a long time ago."

"Good, because I'm trying to stay sober, too."

Dr. Olsen responded with a hearty chuckle.

But the smile from both men quickly faded as they got down to business. The situation was no laughing matter, otherwise Dr. Olsen wouldn't even be here in the first place.

"How is your wife's illness?" The President asked, locking his shimmering blue eyes with Olsen's pair of innocent brown eyes. A pair of eyes that began breaking into tears.

"I… I don't know what to do, Mister President. It's been getting worse every day. All the doctors said they knew nothing of the disease… and the church…" he hesitated.

"Go on."

"The church sent someone after my daughter, sir. She is accused of sorcery, of being a vessel for… for… the DEVIL! My sweet baby daughter. They think she… she… they think she poisoned my wife."

"And where is your daughter right now?"

"She's somewhere out west. Out there looking for a cure. I still receive letters from her on a biweekly basis. But I don't know how much more of this I can take. I'm afraid… that when I go to sleep – I would wake up burying my family."

The President folded his arms as he leaned forward on the wooden table.

"I don't know what else to do," Dr. Olsen cried. "And I have no one else to turn to. No one… but you – General Graham."

"Are you a student of history, Dr. Olsen?"

"I… may have read a few books or two."

"When Moses took the Israelites out of Egypt, out of bondage, he parted the Red Sea as he invoked the name of God. I'm sure you know of the story."

"Yes, sir."

"But… are you aware of how exactly the Red Sea was parted?"

Olsen looked on with his blank expression. The President explained:

"The Lord works in mysterious ways. But that doesn't mean the truth isn't out there. When Moses came before Pharaoh to present him the miracles of God, Pharaoh is shown the power to turn a wooden staff into a snake. It is a power that the Pharaoh's witchdoctors worshipping their false gods managed to replicate for a short while, before they were swallowed by the snake of God – the snake conquered by God. The first snake to appear in these ancient scriptures, in the book of Genesis, was the tempter who was cursed to crawl on its belly, wallowing in the mud. This is the power of God, the power to dominate over snakes."

"What does any of this have to do…"

"Years ago," the President cut him off, "long before the War. Somewhere out in the American Southwest, the Americans were negotiating with some members of the Apache tribe over a piece of land, when they spotted a peculiar hissing snake in the distance. Accounts varied widely on what the snake looked like, and how big it was. Some even claimed it wasn't a snake at all, wondering if they all just collectively hallucinated. But all unanimously agreed that the sound of the hissing sounded suspiciously mechanical. Centuries ago, when Leif Erikson first set foot on the New World, there he purported and reported in various Icelandic Sagas the existence of a new species of snake, one he had never seen before. One so strange, so bizarre, he wasn't even sure it was even real. Legend goes that the snake was so massive, its body could stretch beyond far into the horizon."

"That's… how is that possible?" Dr. Olsen asked.

"Erikson thought he witnessed the World Serpent Jörmungandr itself, the Snake of the gods. In all of these accounts, one thing remained consistent. The encounter was brief, VERY brief. Lasting no longer than a few seconds before the creature vanished into thin air. The New World certainly is no stranger to tales of mythical beasts and strange monsters. But the thing I want you to understand here, Dr. Olsen, is that the truth is out there – and I alone know the truth."

The mathematician sat there bewildered, with his tears frozen in place. Now replacing his expression with one of confused admiration.

"What I'm about to tell you must not leave this office after you leave today. I doubt anyone will believe you anyway, but it is in your best interest to keep this to yourself. Both for national security, and for the security of your family."

"Tulip…"

"Yes… your daughter, and your wife. Here is the truth – it was no snake. At least… not literally speaking. Do you want to know what the hissing sounded like?"

Dr. Olsen nodded. The President's eyes remained firm, unblinking.

"It sounded… like the roaring of a train engine."

Dr. Olsen did not know how to respond to this information. He sat there frozen in his seat, but his hands remained shaking like they were out somewhere in the snow. Anderson Olsen knew more about train technology more than anybody in this entire country. He knew very well that it was simply impossible for technology of this magnitude to exist all those centuries ago.

"Believe me, or don't," said the President as he began unbuttoning his shirt's collar, "but this device, this… contraption is a thing of legend. A machine that hails from a higher plane. It is not as big as it was described in the Icelandic sagas. No… it is even bigger."

"Wha… what?"

"Our mortal brains just cannot process it. But it is big, bigger than you can imagine or even dare dream. There is enough evidence to suggest that this thing may be as big as this entire world, or perhaps many worlds, or even beyond that. This… thing – whatever it is – holds a secret power that can change everything. A power that draws from an infinite source of higher energy – capable of miracles. For the sake of both your family, and our country."

There where he pulled his shirt open to reveal his naked chest, glowing with a blinding green light on the top right side of the President's pectoral muscle, just beneath his collar bone – the number 40 being printed on the surface of his skin.