A foul smell and the touch of some rubbery substance welcomed the Good Hunter to the Waking World. I took her just a few moments to realize that she had awoken on a pile of trash. And even a few moments less to leap of the pile of plastic bags, while checking his clothes of any nastiness.

"Ew, ew, ew! I know that severing contracts with eldritch entities is not an exact science but come on!"

Fortunately while checking herself for any trace of filth, she noticed an interesting thing. Her weapons were still on her. Her Saif at here left and here blunderbuss at her right.

"Nice. At least I can defend myself…" she thought.

She started to walk along the street. It seemed that she had returned to the waking world, right before the dawn. The color of the night sky was becoming clearer and few rays of sunlight were starting to illuminate the top of the tallest skyscrapers. When was the last time she saw the dawn?

As she strolled through the streets, Brockton Bay welcomed her prodigal daughter only like an abusive, alcoholic depressed mother can: asking the Good Hunter for money. Yep, she hadn't even walked two steps that they were already trying to rob her.

"Those clothes look, fancy bitch, give the money or I'll cut your throat" Shouted an old man, obviously homeless and probably drugged enough to be awakened at such hour and most importantly to don't notice the humongous blade at her left, nor the equally large gun at her right.

"Omigod, this guy is actually trying to interact with me!" The Good Hunter could not help but think. It was eons since the last time someone hadn't talked to her in the streets. Usually, they attacked her while screaming that she was the cause of all their misfortunes. She had to admit that she cried a lot in the Dream, during the first years for the lack of physical contact with people.

She had to contain the urge to jump at the man and hug him, despite the stench and the obvious signs of meth addiction. She just craved physical contact that much, especially with another person that wasn't completely insane (okay, the hobo was a close call, but still saner than the crazed Yharnamites… kinda?). When she'd met her daughter she had a lot of hugging to catch up.

Also a lot of hugging for Marquis too, but those hugs will be of another, funnier, kind.

Still, contain the urge wasn't that hard because even before she had realized that was being threatened, she had already, reflexively, shoot the man with her blunderbuss right into the chest.

…

She almost felt sorry for the hobo. Thankfully, he was still alive because of the quality of her blood, her bloodtinge, was abysmal. The gun was for stunning enemies so that she could rip their warm viscera with her bare hands, not for killing. Still, she guessed that hurt like hell, because the man fell down screaming in pain.

She could not waste time. She needed to find Marquis and her daughter. Fortunately, she had a fresh source of information right in front of here, just waiting for the harvesting.

With a vicious smirk, she blocked the man on the spot slamming her feet right onto the still warm and progressively redder injury. The man screamed even harder but then he suddenly stopped: fear overcame pain as his face became dangerously close with her blunderbuss.

"Answer to my questions, and maybe your brains will not be sprayed on the streets" God, even after so much time, it just felt so good to be in control. She understood now what Marquis felt when he made all those people disappear without a trace. It was just intoxicating. The blessing of the Old Blood was still flowing through her veins. Good, she wasn't the defenseless little groupie anymore.

The homeless nodded.

"Good, how do I reach Marquis' territory from here?"

To the Good Hunter surprise, the man managed to completely catch her off guard by laughing in her face

The Good Hunter also remembered how much she hated being laugh at.

"Sorry, sorry, don't shoot. It's just that… damn girl, you are really out of town, didn't ya?"

"Explain"

"Marquis got took down years ago. It's on the history books. Those fancy candy-asses of the New Wave send his ass straight to the Birdcage. His territory doesn't exist anymore" He laughed again. She couldn't believe to her own ears.

Marquis was defeated?

Marquis had been caged?!

No, no, no…This could not be real. Just… Amelia…

She snapped out of it and once again she interrogated the homeless. "When this happened?"

"I dunno? Eleven years ago?"

E-eleven years?! That's means that Amelia…

"What year is it?"

"What?"

"I SAID WHAT YEAR IS IT?! ANSWER MOTHERFUCKER!" She finally lost her cool. The man went even paler and now pure terror was the only visible thing in her eyes.

"15 April 2011, ma'am"

She finally dropped the blunderbuss, even helping the man to stand up. He repaid her kindness by doing her the favor of "running the fuck away" before he could hurt her nerves more.

"2011, 2011" She repeated at herself like a mad mantra. That meant that her daughter was now sixteen. Her little Amelia was already a teenager. What's worst her father was gone. She had no idea of what happened to her daughter… Did she follow Marquis down in the birdcage or she was sent to the social services? Was she old enough to remember her father? She doubted that even she remembered her.

She was trapped without a daughter, without a lover, a stranger in an unfamiliar city. Where she could go? Marquis was gone. Amelia was probably gone. Hell, she herself was gone. She was pretty sure that she had been listed as dead cause cancer.

"Think! Think! Back to Yharnam, what Gehrman always told me to do, when I was lost?"

…

…

Of course! To backtrack at the starting point! Almost as if backtracking could fix all her problems, she turned back and returned to the pile of trash where she "spawned".

…

…

In hindsight, it wasn't the worst idea she ever had; taking a sip of her pungent blood cocktail right in the middle of the outskirts of the Cainhurst Castle was pretty hard to beat. Still, after twenty minutes spent at looking at the trash, she pretty sure that she was wasting her time.

That was it until she noticed something.

Near the pile of thrash were she awoken, there was a ripple in the street. An unmistakable ripple. She got closer and she was welcomed with a familiar sight.

Messengers. Messengers burst from the ground as she squealed in joy. Messengers meant Dream, Dream meant a place where to stay, even if she should have it forgotten by now, were to decide the next move. Then she realized, that the Messengers were trying to tell her something.

No. They were trying to give her something.

She reached out with her hand. And pulled out something.

It was a lantern. A hand version of the typical lanterns that adorned the streets of Yharnam. There was attached to hit a little piece of paper with written:

A reward of a service well done

M.E.

…

…

Who the fuck was M.E.?

Oh, it didn't matter. She strapped the lantern at her belt like she did many times before and she lightened it.

And suddenly she disappeared in a silvery mist.

Okay, that was weird.

Turns out that the Good Hunter could use the tiny lantern to travel to the Dream, in any place, and any moment. Cool. There was only one issue.

That wasn't the Dream she was used to. It wasn't actually that much different. Same Messenger shop, same workshop, same dusty old books on "how to pick up fair maidens". But, still, the absolute lack of tombstones was disturbing. She never realized how she had to get used to that little cemetery. The only tombstones left were the ones for the Chalices Dungeons and a large Tombstone to return at Brockton Bay. That's it.

Also, the absolute lack of both the Doll and Gehrman managed to make the place somehow even more depressing.

She made a quick check, her armory was okay, and all the clothes that she gathered during her hunt were okay. A check to the Chalice's tombstones proved that for some reason she could still descent into the dungeons.

It wasn't like hugging her daughter but this new Hunter's Dream was definitely a good place to start and without anything better to do, she decided to try something new and unusual.

Breakfast.

It has been ages since the last time she had breakfast. Actually, it was eons since the last time she had eaten anything other blood. A hunter didn't actually need to eat, but she missed so much this little comforts. She still remembers the last time she had breakfast, before the hunt. Actually, she actively tried to forget that: the meals of the hospital were trash and she had lost the sense of taste thanks to her former cancer.

The Good Hunter returned into the waking world, this time dressed in a less conspicuous manner. She still remembered all those rules about secret identities and she had an old uniform of Byrgenwerth that made her look like some kind of university teacher. Once the sun was set, she went to a pawn shop to sell all those useless Golden Coins that she gathered during the hunt. The shop owner didn't recognize the origin of those coins but they were made of gold, so he didn't make any fuss, besides threatening to sue her "if she was some shaker bullshit".

Anyways, now that she had money, she went to the first cafe that she could find open and ordered a cappuccino and box of pancakes takeaway. She also bought a newspaper, before returning with her box of pancakes back to the Dream.

Here, sitting in a corner of the workshop, she consumed her breakfast alone. It was delicious. The pancakes were so good! And without blood, nor the inside nor the outside! It was her first bloodless meal in a lifetime (okay, maybe she poured just a tiny itty bit of pungent blood cocktail over them, but it's like maple syrup so it doesn't count).

Still, she had hoped to sit at Marquis' manor, eating with him and her daughter; to spend time with her; to even listen to her stories. Instead of eating in an abandoned workshop. All alone. Without anybody.

Great, now the pancake tasted like ash. Oh, and she was crying. Double Great.

No, she could not lose hope this way. She will find her daughter and Marquis too. No matter what was necessary to do. Even if it would take months, years even decades.

Wiping away the tears, she took the newspaper, the so-called Brockton Bulletin. She had to start from somewhere. The Good Hunter opened it reading the main title: MAYOR NIECE KIDNAPPED. She couldn't care less. She lazily scrolled the pages of the newspaper, until she caught up an article about the New Wave: this Glory Girl had done quite a ruckus inside a bank. There where numerous pictures of other many kids, the Wards, and then her eyes fell on another picture: the picture of a girl, a teenager… with curly brown hair… like Marquis'…and... a-and… fr-freckles… li-like...

Oh my god

Oh my god

Her daughter was here. She was one of the newspaper. She was here at Brockton Bay.

She was pretty sure that even the Messengers heard her screams of joy and they didn't have ears.

So many emotions fought inside her, with such an intensity she never felt before, especially after taking the Old Blood. At first, it was absolute happiness. She was Amelia, without any doubt. She had the same curly hair of Marquis with a slightly "touch" of hers (of course, she hooked up with Marquis because he was one of the very few that could match her into the glory of the curl), his very same eyes but the nose and the brow was hers and the freckles… oh, god the freckles...

Yes, absolute joy together with absolute D'aaaaaww. The Good Hunter didn't know if D'aaww was an emotion, but she did not care, because Amelia was that cute. She was a tiny little mousy thing wrapped into comically large white robes. She reminded her of Ludwig's White Hunters, only 1000% more adorable. Yes, her little white church hunter going around slaying beasts and purging civilians, all while waiting to be hugged from Yharnam to Cainhurst and all the way back.

Then, there was pride. Her daughter was a cape. And not just one cape like any other. She was a healer without compare. The best healer in the entire city. The miraculous healer Panacea. Okay, back when she was just a groupie, she was more into villains but still she was, oh so, proud of the heroine Amelia (her daughter!) had become. She even made extra turns at the hospital until she was sure that everybody was healed and patched up! Now, she felt conflicted about the New Wave: they had taken down Marquis, yes, but they also took Amelia as a daughter and raised her as their own. She should have made them a present as a thank-you for raising her daughter? Maybe a Coldblood? Yeah, of course. Who does like a cold thick lump of viscous blood of a slain monster? She should have some spares, somewhere…

And then finally, there was rage. Rage and pure unadulterated hatred at the sick fucks who had dared to hurt her daughter. These Undersiders, these wretched animals had taken Amelia hostage during their robbery of the bank. How they dare?! HOW?! She never felt so angry in her life before, not when Paarl killed her for fifteen consecutive times, not when the Orphan of Kos killed her thirty two consecutive times, not when that paranoid asshole told her that he would have not listened to her, "until she managed to wash every single freckle off her dirty face" (God, she was sure that few bits of flesh still hanged from the chandelier of Odeon Chapel). Especially this little scum called Skitter. She threatened Amelia with a knife on her neck! A knife!

"Every last one of them, every last Undersider" she swore, "will die a horrible death". But Skitter, oh Skitter, her mind was already working on the fitting punishment...

Part of her wanted to simply go out, right here, right now. To stalk her like a beast and killing here inside her very own house (fuck the rules, she hurt her cinnamon roll!) and then like a beast to crucifix her carcass while setting it on fire, like they used to do at Old Yharnam. Nah, not painful enough. Or there was the good old Healing Church's Research Hallway! Strapped at a chair while forced to imbibe water and to listen at the howl of the sea, until her head expanded absorbing the entirety of her body...

Nah, there was a considerable risk that Skitter would gain eldritch insight during the process, ascending to another plane of existence like Saint Adeline. She didn't want that.

"Okay, let's calm down…" She thought, barely subduing her rage. But that wasn't important now. Now all that was important was Amelia. She knew where she lived, with who she lived and she even knew in which school she went. The newspaper had a fancy little reminder about everything that was needed to know about the New Wave's favorite Glory Girl and by extension Panacea.

Yes, the Undersiders will die, violently so, especially Skitter. Besides, revenge is best when served cold and savored with the entire family. Now Amelia needed her and she needed her little white hunter. She was bitterly aware, that unfortunately, the New Wave seemed to be related to the old Brockton Bay Brigade, which if she recalled correctly hated Marquis to the bone (ah, the Good Hunter loved a good pun) and by extension her.

It didn't matter if they hated her. Amelia was hurt, she needed the comfort that only a mother could bring. But this needed a certain tact. Her daughter had been traumatized by the Undersiders (even if the newspaper treated the hostage situation as a minor thing, she had to visit this Brockton Bulletin too: that was just disrespectful). She couldn't not just waltz in her house, take her and then disappear with her. No, it was a complicated job that required finesse and subtlety.

That's why, she was going to waltz in her school, take her and then disappear.