Adrian Bogo liked to think of himself as a mammal of honor. A very overworked mammal of honor, as both Chief of Police for Precinct One of the ZPD and Commander of the Wager Officers for the High Host. There was a reason that he was rumored to live in his office and it was entirely accurate. He seldom left the room, except for briefings. His dual responsibilities required as much.

As such, he was used to taking responsibility for his behavior. In cases where he behaved well, he made sure he received due credit for his long hours and titanic efforts. When he was remiss, well, crow was a poor dish, but he'd eat it all the same. It was a point of pride for him that even when in the wrong, he had the spine to admit his failings and seek to make recompense for them. Never before had he felt quite so blindsided, however, when it came to an unforeseeable error of judgment on his part.

He had made four trips to the coffee machine in the break room, already, and it wasn't even 0900 hours. His mug was empty, again and he was contemplating another trip when he realized it wouldn't do any good. He rubbed the throbbing mass of tension that used to be his head and took stock of his situation.

Only a few days ago that infuriating rabbit, Hopps, had come into his office and reported seeing Wraith passing by a coffee shop she'd been sitting in. He'd blown her off and then ranted to his contact in the Host bureaucracy. He hadn't even bothered to wait until she was out of earshot, hoping to discourage her from remaining under his command. If she had requested a transfer to another station, or to be sent home, he would have been only too eager to slap his approval all over it and push it through with glee. Now, he was still coming to terms with how severe a mistake that all had been.

He should have seen it. Such an inexperienced officer getting such a sudden reassignment at such a pivotal time should have set off every instinct he had, yet he'd allowed his irritation to get in the way. If he was honest, it was also his ego; a flaw of personality he thought long since addressed and set aside.

"This isn't helping," he grumbled to himself.

Sighing, he collected his coffee cup and left for another refill. He found Lieutenant Nadine Fangmeyer and Leon Rhinowitz looking down at the lobby from the mezzanine balcony just down the way from his office. They were two of his best and, like him, pulled double duty in service to both the city and the High Hosts. Leaving his mug on the railing, he approached his officers. They both looked haggard and drawn, exhaustion so intense it had a flavor hung round the pair.

Fangmeyer was the first to notice their CO approaching. "Good morning, sir."

Bogo waved off the attempt at coming to attention and saluting. "Never mind the formalities. At ease."

"Thank you, sir," Leon rumbled, before slumping back against the railing.

"Report."

The big cat wearily picked up a large cup of convenience store coffee and took a very long pull before lifting a massive sheaf of files and started flipping through. "Nothing, sir. There's no sign of Lieutenant Hopps or the demon called Wraith anywhere. The only traces we found were outside her apartment and several hours old. It's like they're being erased. I've never heard of a demon that could do that."

"Neither had I, until now," the pachyderm interjected. "It's like he's taunting us. Why would he leave a trace there and nowhere else? The scary thing is there are no signs of distress, or undercurrents of fear. We know Hopps entered her apartment alone, took a set of light bracers and a few armaments, but entered and left willingly, under no duress. There's no sign of a fight outside either, so we know she didn't take him on. I don't get it."

"You don't think she's under mind control, or something? Some demons have mesmeric abilities."

Bogo raised a hoof, cutting the speculation short. "That is not a concern." Both officers looked askance and he paused before continuing. "Lieutenant Hopps was a transfer from the First Host. She was last posted as a Cherubim Hunter under the command of the Inquisitorial Council. Her record on the Fringe is superb."

"If she's served on the Fringe, she'd be trained against mesmerism." Rhinowitz murmured mostly to himself before his head popped up. "Hang on. Why was a hotshot like her sent here, of all places?"

"Classified."

The rhino sucked in a surprised breath and the tigress whispered, "Shit…"

"Precisely. If it's bad enough not to tell…" Bogo intoned.

"…The situation's gone to Hell," Fangmeyer echoed.

Leon groused, "I never liked that saying."

"None of us like it, but we say it for a reason," Bogo commented as he took the files. "What about the other searchers?"

The pachyderm piped up. "Forty standard teams, every angel we could mobilize right down to the guys in tech and all the mortals on the payroll have been out looking since you sounded the alarm. The story of a missing undercover officer seems to have done the trick. We have almost seven hundred pairs of boots on the ground with more volunteers coming in from other precincts every hour." Using his digits to count off points was a bad sign to Bogo of just how tired he was. "Reports keep coming in, but it's all false alarms, or old traces. Nothing fresher than ten hours old has shown up anywhere. We know she was at a diner and her apartment, but nowhere else. No traces of the demon, except in her company. Not even for the Track and Extract specialist teams."

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, Bogo asked, "Is there any good news?"

"No." Fangmeyer seemed close to tears from exhaustion. "Nothing on Hopps and nothing new on the soul thieves. Everything else was suspended until one or the other is resolved."

"These civilians aren't helping matters," Leon grumbled darkly.

Bogo looked down in a small sea of mammals, all either reporting crimes, or looking for help. "When it rains, it pours."

"Half of them are hiding here because of some kind of crime wave. The rest are witnesses, or victims. The hospitals are flooded, too. All the officers we could spare from the search are guarding them."

"Good." The Chief looked at his officers with a rare pride. They were well past above and beyond in terms of their efforts and deserved commendations. Sadly, he couldn't even offer them a cot to catch a ten-minute nap on. "Get back to your posts and keep at it. I know I'm asking a lot of you, but this is a priority one emergency. We'll put the streets back to rights once Hopps is found."

"We understand, sir."

He wasted no more breath. Saluting his officers, he headed back towards his waiting coffee cup. Once he was back in his office, the celestial documents went into his private safe, while the ZPD files went into his IN box. The coffee was hot and he had a lot of work to do before his next meeting with the precinct Chiefs to brief the new searchers. High Host business would have to wait until the Messenger arrived.

He settled uneasily into his creaking office chair and that was when the screaming started.

Protocol states that when under attack a commander's first priority is to seal all angelic materials and activate the failsafe mechanism on the safe. The device would conceal itself and remain concealed until he recalled it, or in the case of his death teleport to the nearest living agent of the divine who was not under attack, within a limited radius. In the interest of protecting his people, Bogo unceremoniously dumped his papers into the box and slapped it shut, triggering the mechanism.

This was not his first rodeo. He fully expected to slap whatever idiot thought they could run amok in his precinct and return to work. That expectation vanished when he saw the uniform of the attackers. Red, black and gold. There was no mistaking those colors or the device on their tabards; the House Guard of Superbia and Baphomet's personal enforcers. The Templars were standing in the lobby.

The mammals nearby fled initially from the smell of brimstone and rot that permeated the air around the demons, but quickly found that the swords they carried were a better reason. The unfortunate officer who approached them first and was impaled clarified that the strange mammals in the room were not from the local renaissance faire.

All hell broke loose.

The few angels in the building responded as they'd been trained, but were hopelessly outmatched. Most of the celestials were down and the mortal officers had either fled or been slain by the time Bogo reached the floor on his great wings. The usual rules regarding concealment had gone out the window in light of just who was attacking. It helped that the room was devoid of mortals; living ones at least. The first thing he noticed when he landed was that there were very few of the Templar Guards in the room. The screams he heard from the halls answered his half-formed question. They were hunting any survivors. Those Templars that remained were openly focused on him.

A badger in civilian clothes stepped forward. He was dressed in a suit and tie, obviously a businessmammal, and also quite obviously possessed. The vacant stare and jerky movements were a dead giveaway.

"Hello, Adonis. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It's Adrian, Baphomet. Why have you done this? It's a breach of the Wager. Is Hell forfeiting?"

"This is no breach, you stupid ox, and you know it. No use of powers openly. All we've done is wear our uniforms and sharpened steel. I frankly thought your side would put up more of a fight."

"You arranged all this, I take it. Hopps disappearing. The violence in the city. Your operative is very effective. Is this ringing any bells?"

"Oh, quite a few. However, this wasn't me. Well, not all of it. My… Operative is a bit of a wild card. I am merely taking advantage of an opportune moment and quite by accident discovering what I need to know! Thank you for confirming my prey is with that miscreant fox. You're so conscientious, aren't you Bogo? You'd make a wonderful pet, if you'd only give in."

"Never."

The possessed badger sighed. "Of course. Your pride may be your weakness, but you're a stubborn old cow, aren't you? Well, have fun! I have a prize or two to claim. Ta-ta!" The badger flopped to his knees, shaking his head. Before he could speak one of the Templars walked up behind him and slit his throat.

As the former puppet for the Devil twitched and gurgled his last few breaths, the other Templar Guards returned from their bloody work in the halls of the water buffalo's adopted home. Now, Bogo was left alone with forty-odd Templars in the foyer. Long odds by any standard. He was at a severe disadvantage. The trouble was he was limited, as all celestials were, to twenty seconds of his full strength. Normally, if he used it well that would be enough for about half of his opponents, but the old bull had a trick up his sleeve.

In his many years in the mortal plane, he'd come to know a small detail of mortal anatomy that was seldom explored by Wager Officers, or demon infiltrators. Namely, adrenalin. Bogo had seen simple mammals perform acts of strength, speed, power and endurance long outside what their mortal coils could handle, even flying in the face of death itself, and survive. It was truly a powerful thing. What most celestials failed to comprehend was that while they were on the Mortal Plane, they had flesh and therefore the same asset. Few ever noticed it, however, relying instead on their powers.

Colonel Adrian Bogo was not one to discard a tool or weapon that could be proven useful and the advantages of adrenalin were far more than useful. Through years of training, he'd learned to trigger the fight-or-flight response in his mortal flesh and use its enhancements to aid him in his work. It helped him climb the ranks of the ZPD and retain his command of the angels in the city. However, it was during a different crisis that he'd accidentally triggered his adrenal response just before tapping his celestial powers.

In that incident, he learned that divine powers amplified mortal capabilities. As fast and strong as he was using adrenaline or divine grace, the two combined were exponentially more potent than either alone. It was his trump card on the mortal plane and his greatest secret after his Name and temptation. It was not enough to guarantee his survival against so many enemies, but it was enough to at least shorten the odds. This was no time to pull punches.

The rictus he called a smile disturbed even the Templars who surrounded him.

Forcing his prey-species anatomy into adrenal overdrive was easy. He was in conflict and feeling the instinct rise was only natural. He let it boil up and dump adrenalin into his blood. In that instant, he tapped his braided-silver bracelet and time all but stopped. He was a berserker with divine light coursing through him. A fraction of the first second was almost done when he summoned his Warhammer and went to work.

Adrian knew demons were tough as a rule, but they would die if they took enough damage. The head and heart were the vital points on any demon. Destroying either was an instant kill. His hammer and the gnarled spike on the pommel were only too familiar with both. The first swing crushed the chest of the nearest wolf-shaped demon. It was ash before it realized what had happened. Reversing the swing, the hammer was next brought up in a hammerfist pommel strike, driving the spike on the end through the head of the Templar next to him by way of its jaw. As the body disintegrated, Bogo snatched a pair of daggers from their former owner's belt and sent them end-over-end through the eyes of a pachyderm across the room.

The second-hand on the wall clock moved once.

The bull snorted in delight at the feeling of battle and wrenched his weapon through the air to smash a small ruminant with glowing eyes into a heap. A lynx who smelled of sulfur found itself ripped from the floor and used as a club. Its skull shattered as it met a coyote's and both were gone. A ferret had just enough time to realize what was happening before a huge, black hoof sent him flying through the air, only to be met by the same hammer that was destroying his fellows. Grit and dust were all that remained a fraction of a second later.

The second-hand moved, again.

The colonel moved through the foyer, reducing enemies to clouds of dust at a speed no mortal could comprehend. Sadly, it was not enough. Demonic power compensated in part once the remaining infernal beings connected the dots. It was far too quick in coming for Bogo's liking. At five seconds he had killed twelve. The last two had managed to block his first strikes, so he got more devious. Once he was sure he was being visually tracked by most of them, he funneled a blast of his strength into his halo, causing a massive flash of divine light. Seven more demons fell while blinded and four more from thrown daggers in the aftermath.

That was twenty-three. He counted nineteen remaining. A handful had obviously fled and he had half his time remaining. It was time to change tactics. His hammer vanished into the ether and a pair of viciously curved karambit appeared in his hooves. The demons charging him were not prepared for him to go close combat and three fell to his counterattack. The ten remaining chose to circle.

Waiting was a poor strategy, so Bogo moved to his final resource. His sidearm was sixteen rounds of blessed ammunition. His twenty seconds of power ran out to the click of an empty weapon. The remaining demons fled.

In the aftermath of the battle, Bogo was not in the best of shapes. He'd taken no wounds, but the strain on his flesh was painful. Out of desperation, he had pushed himself farther and harder than he ever had. Frankly, he could barely believe he was alive. Breathing was a challenge and he was sure he'd need to use a distressing amount of healing magic as soon as the next dawn broke. He was so winded that he barely noticed the terrified looking meerkat peeking out from around the reception desk.

It was a miracle that he'd gone unnoticed. Bogo was horrified that a civilian had witnessed his altercation with the Templars. Memory wiping witnesses were frowned upon by Command and required much paperwork to handle. It was some small consolation that the small mammals had survived. A lost hour or two from their mind would be a small price to pay for their survival, or so the weary Bogo thought as he reached out to calm his newest responsibility. He was not prepared for the jagged blade that sliced through the flesh of his arm.

Recoiling, he noticed there were other mammals in the foyer, now. Six, to be exact.

The wound on his arm throbbed and went icy cold. It felt as though the life was being drained from him. As if to punctuate the horror and drive home the situation he was in, all the mammals in the room grinned at him and raised their knives. He suddenly reconsidered what had become of the demons he thought had fled.

"Souls for the master!" They chanted, before raking their blades across their throats.

Colonel Bogo lay slumped against reception desk moments later. His injured arm was dead and black. He could feel himself dying by inches as whatever was killing him did its work. As his last act, he pulled out his phone and issued emergency protocol Alpha Black. At least Command would know what had happened and send help for Hopps. It was the last thing he could do. He hoped it was enough to salvage his honor, as the sucking oblivion claimed him.

Gazelle did not know how she found herself in this situation. Rather, she knew exactly how. She simply could not believe it. She had been on her way to a routine meeting with Colonel Bogo to address the usual inter-departmental missives when she'd been attacked. Attacked! On the street, no less! A dozen yards would have seen her safely inside the precinct, yet she'd been waylaid by four ferrets holding crude metal weapons. She'd never seen the like!

The lunatics had chased her like a prehistoric animals, shouting and hooting for almost half a mile before she found herself trapped. The mad mammals had chased her straight into the clutches of a hellspawn. Along the way, she found herself joined in fleeing for her life by a corpulent cheetah who was being pursued, himself. The bizarre camaraderie of the situation was a comfort as they ran. At least she wasn't alone. That feeling lasted all of a handful of panted breaths before the demon had materialized before them. She came to a screeching halt, desperately pawing at the feline for help, sure that she was about to be the center of a mutilation sandwich, but it never came.

Instead, the tiny demon boomed the loudest, deepest battle cry she'd ever heard and launched himself at her pursuers. The skirmish lasted a few breaths, at most. It was a demon up against a band of mortals. They never stood a chance.

Feeble red hellfire was consuming what was left of the mortals a few minutes later and the diminutive, for he was a fennec fox, turned to face her.

"You alright?"

The bass of his voice was penetrating and strident, even in a low volume. She found it somewhat calming, though it did not remove her wariness. He was a demon, after all.

"I am fine. Thank you for saving us. Mister…"

"Finnick. No mister. And you are?"

"Um, I am Gazelle."

"Your parents were big on accurate labels, huh?" Before she could retort, he continued. "Hang on a sec. Something about you is weird."

Gazelle watched the rude little demon fuss about himself for a moment. Her sense of being insulted slowly draining away as she saw him pull a pair of spectacles from a small case and plop them on his muzzle. He looked up and instantly turned the air blue.

"Oh, fuck me. An angel? I saved a damn angel?! Are you serious?"

The glasses vanished back into a pocket before he looked up at her again. She was too confused to be angry at his outburst. "Of course, I am an angel. How could you miss it, little demon?"

Red fire sparked in his eyes as he turned to her, "You call me little again and I'll turn you into a chew toy."

"I am sorry!" She mentally kicked herself. Apologizing to a demon was not something she ever expected to do. However, she couldn't stop herself. "I do not understand. How could you not see the divine light in me?"

"That's one thing, toots. Not. Your. Business." Turning to leave, he muttered, "Ciao." Over his shoulder.

This was unprecedented. A demon who was blind to celestial power? She had to know more. "Wait!" That earned her a pause in his footsteps and a glance over his shoulder. She had to push; just a little bit. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"You want me to?"

"No! I… I do not understand. Why would a demon not want to kill an angel who is already vulnerable?"

"That's a good question." He scratched his chin and blew her question off. "So, what's a Cursori doing being chased by a band of thugs? Don't you angels have that whole divine might thing going for you?"

"Cursori are messengers. Not fighters."

"And I'm the queen of Shebah."

"Your royal robes need laundering, your majesty."

The fox burst into laughter. "Alright. I'll give you credit for spirit, but I don't answer questions for free. You want answers, you pay your debt."

"My debt? What debt?"

"To me, pigeon. I saved your life. You owe me."

"Oh… And if I pay it, you'll answer my questions?"

"No, toots. That makes us square. You want answers, you square us up and then pay for them."

"Wha-what do you want?"

Gazelle could feel his eyes boring into her. She did not like the grin he gave her any more than his answer. "So many things."

At that moment, an aria from Madame Butterfly belted from her pocket. A moment later, what appeared to be foreign rap thrash music came from his. Both the angelic ruminant and the demonic vulpine looked at their phones in mild forms of shock at the text messages they received. The fox recovered first.

"You aren't getting your answers today. I got places to be."

Taking a chance, Gazelle spouted, "A bar in Tundratown?"

"Maybe."

She held up her phone. "Emergency transponder reading and orders. That was the missing Lieutenant. She wants me to meet her ASAP. I'm pretty sure your boss is there, too."

"It looks that way," the fox grumbled.

Gazelle couldn't tell which part of that perturbed her dubious savior, but she had to keep him around. There was too much that was unknown and at the very least she needed more information for her report on her attack. "I propose a deal. You protect me to the meeting and I'll compensate you. Money only. After that we'll discuss my debt."

"Shoot… That's cool by me. You pay my tab at my bar and we're square."

"Deal! How much is it?" The giggle she got in response to her question didn't comfort her.

"You should have asked that before you agreed! Too late now!" His raised paw indicating the feline she had forgotten forestalled any response. "Now, what about him?"

Gazelle looked over at the corpulent cheetah and was immediately flattered and concerned. She knew the behavior. Rapid breathing, dilated pupils, dancing in place, poorly suppressed maniacal grin; she knew the signs. He was in the middle of a fan-gasm.

"Oh, gods… you're her!" was all he managed before his glee overwhelmed him and he fell over in a dead faint.

Once they arrived in Tundratown, Finnick wriggled his way out of the female's grip as quickly as he could. Yes, another mob had tracked them down and it was only the angel's twenty seconds of power that had gotten them out of there, but he still didn't like it. The mob had been too big even for him to get away unscathed, let alone with a pair of liabilities like a prissy angel and the fattest cop in the city, but the indignity of being picked up like a kit was beyond his tolerance. He was small and he knew it. Trouble was, so did every demon he'd had to endure the company of. One of them many reasons he had a bad attitude was exactly that. His particular condition only added to it.

He vented his frustration on anything that menaced them during their flight to where his boss was holed up. The lucky bastard was one of the few demons who didn't treat him hideously poorly, but he was still a prick and had no idea how lucky he was.

Finnick shoved the shell-shocked cop and the prissy pigeon through the barroom door and into the care of the rabbit who was trotting their way. He was done dealing with them until it was time to get paid and he still had to talk to Wilde. He put off finding his boss and headed to the bar to set up a supply of liquid compensation for his trouble. Beer was starting to fill pitchers on the bar rack when he heard the poisonous velvet tones of Nick's voice.

"Hey there, big guy. Glad you could make it!"

"Do not get smart with me right now, Wilde. It looks like Pandemonium out there."

"It's that bad?"

Finn pointed at the screens on every wall. Most of them had the news running. "They aren't making it up for once."

"Damn… Are we talking business as usual in Hell's capitol, or is it festival night?"

"A little of both?"

"Unsettling, but not completely unexpected."

"Not unexp…." Finnick processed what Nick said in a similar manner that he processed when a bartender told him they were out of beer. "What did you say?"

"Don't worry about it. So-"

Nick's statement, whatever it was, remained unfinished as Finnick turned to him and grabbed his shirtfront. "What the fuck do you mean this wasn't unexpected? Was this your doing, you crazy bastard?"

Nick met the minor imp's anger with a cool nonchalance. "This was not me. However, after what happened to me an hour or two ago, this doesn't surprise me in the least."

"What ha- No. I don't want to know." Finn released Nick's shirt and turned back to the bar, watching the third pitcher fill.

"Very wise of you, Finn," Nick commented as he straightened his shirt. "Now, what are you doing with a Cursori, of all things?"

"Standing orders got out of paw," he groused in reply.

"You mean the ones where we monitor any angels we find?"

"Yes."

"You got kicked out of the bar, didn't you."

"Shut it, Wilde."

"Let me guess. You had nothing else to do, so you started doing the usual time waster activities and followed the closest angel you could sense that wouldn't make you actually work. Then, when the manure hit the fan, she ran straight into you."

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"So, yes." Nick paused in his verbal assault to consider the extra helping of taciturn his underling seemed to have with his unhappy meal. "What happened?"

"What?"

"You're grumpier than usual. What happened?" Silence met his query, so he started thinking out loud. "So, you were bored and found an angel… But you being you, that's a little too much of a challenge, isn't it?"

"Shut it."

"I mean, you have your little "issue" when it comes to your powers, so sensing an angel would be too much to expect. Yet, you found her. Could be by chance, or…" The idea crept into Nick's mind and was too delicious not to tease the pint-sized terror with. Even if it was a total lie, it would be delightful. "Or, you were stalking her."

"You're a sick fuck," he snarled as he grabbed a pitcher and started chugging.

Nick's quiet laughter grated across his nerves as the cold liquid drained. "So, you were. How did you realize? Her voice, or were you wearing your glasses when you saw her somewhere? I mean, how else would you know? And then, because she's the only angel you actually know is one, you follow her today and the whole opposites attract thing kicks in… My friend, you have utterly horrible luck."

The pitcher slammed down, empty, and Finn turned to his boss. "My luck has been the same for millennia. And you know damn well why I was stalking her. If I could land an angel it'd do worlds for me back home."

"Yes, yes. Rank and power. The desire of every demon."

"Except you."

"Excuse me?"

"Wilde, I know you don't give a damn about your rank, or getting it back. You went too easily to your imprisonment after your latest piss-off-the-Devil campaign, you've been playing the waiting game since your release and it's been obvious. Then, there's the fact that your most powerful artifacts were never found by the Templars, Torch Bearers or Praetorians. I know. I was there. I don't know what your game is, but I know you're playing one."

"And you want in on it, I suppose."

"Fuck no. I want to avoid getting caught up in the aftermath. I barely survived my first round through Hell's initiations and I'm messed up enough as it is."

Silence stretched and Finnick became aware of the cold seeping from the fox next to him. He realized he may have made a very fatal mistake.

"Finn," Nick's voice was soft, but the thread of power in it made Finnick's grip on the bar tighten until the wood groaned. Glancing over, he saw Nick's eyes were fully black and his collar was glowing with a steady yellow light. "That may not be possible."

"Oh, misery and ash, what have you gotten me into?"

"I'll tell you this much. I am playing a game. A very long game and It's coming to an end, soon. If we survive, we'll all be sitting pretty."

"All… What "all" are you talking about? You and me? Because I know you don't give a damn about any other demon."

"…Not a demon."

"The angel…? Are you fucking serious?" Nick's silence answered one question and sparked a million more. The first of which was, "Are you insane?"

"I'm getting there." Finnick watched as his commander forced his power back under the veil. Green and white eyes slowly appeared and the collar dulled to quiescence. "I'm getting hungry, too."