Endron Laboratories

New Materials Fabrication and Testing Facility

Second Floor Hallways


Bree raced down the hallway, retracing her steps to find her way back downstairs. She turned at the sound of gunfire. Down the hall, which ended at a 'T' shaped intersection, she found the five remaining prisoners. The door to an office had been kicked in and the hostages huddled inside. They were being defended by a man with long brown hair in a dark leather jacket, faded jeans, and a old ratty t-shirt. The group had been caught by Pentex security. As Bree attempted to reach them, the long haired man fired his gun from around the corner. Seizing her chance, Bree dove into the room.

"Out the window! I'll cover you," the man ordered.

"Isn't this the second story!?" One of the more lucid victims asked.

"GO!" He ordered, rising to fire.

"I'll help you," Bree said. Spying a bright red box on the wall, she broke it open and grabbed the quilted fire hose that was inside. She raced past the stranger, braving another hail of bullets as she crossed the hall, to another office that faced the front of the building. She used the butt of her gun to shatter the window and tossed the hose out the window for the hostages to use as a makeshift rope. The fierce Canadian cold howled through the shattered glass as she cleaned away as many shards as she could. "Come on! You can climb down, just be careful!"

The shell shocked victims stumbled through the hall to the door as Bree leaned out the door carefully laying down more cover fire adding her bullets to the hail from the stranger on the other side. Soon they were all in the room and attempting to get down the hose.

The stranger's ammunition was running low. He dropped the gun and drew two hatchets. He turned to Bree. "Get them out."

Bree was about to berate the man for pulling a melee weapon during a firefight when he suddenly grew from a six foot tall man to a nine foot tall shaggy brown beast who charged down the hall. Its only vocalization was a snarling growl that didn't need interpretation.

The beast was so large it had to hunch over as it charged down the hall. As Bree carefully peaked around the corner of the door, she couldn't see around its massive form to target anyone which meant neither could the Pentex men target her or the prisoners. Bree turned to make sure they were getting down alright. Only one had not made it.

"I can't...I can't," the last one babbled, obviously distraught at the thought of the climb. Bree surprised the woman by pulling the hose over and tying it around her just under her arms. Then, with an unceremonious shove, pushed her out the window while holding the improvised rope. The frightened woman let out a blood curdling scream, but Bree ignored that and carefully lowered her down to the relative safety of outside. That task complete, Bree turned to see what had became of the werewolf.

He was returning down the hall covered in blood, his maw and hatchets dripping with gore. Before he reached the office, he collapsed. As he hit the floor he started to shrink. To Bree's surprise, he did not turn back into a man, but into a large canine; a brown and cream timber wolf. The wolf made an attempt to claw its way forward. It let out a piteous whine and sank to its belly, it's head lolling to the side unconscious.

Bree looked back the way it had come. She saw only shredded flesh and walls splattered with blood. If there were Pentex survivors, they'd fled. She started to wonder how to safely move the injured beast when the floor shuddered beneath her and the thunderous blasts of multiple explosions shook the air.

As the building lurched, Bree made the snap decision that remaining where they were was a certain death. Any harm she did the injured wolf by moving it could not be worse than leaving it to be crushed by a collapsing building. She lifted the beast into her arms and rushed for the window. She charged through it at a run, leaping through it and aiming for a large bush she had seen while helping the others down.

The landing was painful, but nothing was sprained or broken. Bree forced herself to get back up and keep going. As she got further from the building, she could see the sky was illuminated by a baleful light. The air was rippling with the heat of distant flames. A single sports car raced away from the parking lot, unchallenged by Pentex security. What little remained had been overwhelmed by the protesters who had flooded past their perimeter and were coming to give what aid they could to the hostages.

Bree saw something in the parking lot. The bronze form of the Sikh who had tried to help her against the demon. He had pulled himself behind some bushes where the advancing crowd could not see him. He was fortunate that he was no longer glowing. He would have stood out, even amid the swirling backdrop of flames. He was also lucky he wasn't dead. While his attack had been valorous, she could tell he was in no way a combatant. She made her way to him and set down the injured wolf beside him. The turbaned man flinched slightly at her abrupt entrance. "Easy there. I'm not going to hurt you. Is there any way to drop this power? To turn your skin back into flesh? If not, your secret is going to come out."

"Cry out for Beeman. He will fix this. He knows and will not betray us," he said through gritted teeth. He was obviously in pain.

Bree turned. "Beeman! Is there a Beeman around?"

Beeman had already seen her. The older man had immediately suspected what she was concealing and was already making plans to retrieve his friend. He turned to the two students beside him. "You and you come with me. The rest of you check those survivors there do not get too close. The fire is moving into the building, we must get away soon!" The students raced to obey his authoritative decree.

He and the two students raced over to where Bree was crouched next to Agam's form. "Singh, my friend, I warned you this foe might be beyond even your powers," Beeman said in a worried tone.

"It was not the demon! A vile rouge who somehow is imbued with the Light of the Sun shot me in the legs," Agam Singh lamented.

Bree was stunned. "Wait, the loony who had the box shot you?"

"He did! Then he drove away in a stolen car," Singh explained.

"I will wrap you in a one of my simple spells that will divert attention away from us. It is nearly as good as true invisibility in chaos such as this. We have another a problem though, my friend. These men can help you stand but they can not lift you in this form. You will have to find the strength to walk," Beeman said.

Singh rolled over and prepared to lift himself up. "Bring the large truck up to that curb. It can bare my weight. I can make it that far I'm sure and we will drive out of here."

"This animal is a werewolf. He was injured protecting defenseless victims of Pentex's evil. Surely you can help him as well?" Bree pleaded.

"Werewolves? They are very dangerous. Still, we will not turn him away just for that, especially if he gave aid to those in need. Put him in the truck toward the front," Singh said. Bree began to hope they would get away from here without further incident.


Pentex: Manifested Division

Detroit, Michigan

Saturday, November 24th


There were only two Manifested on duty at the office. It was a holiday weekend and most everyone else was gone. The pair were a study in contrasts. Cheryl was American born. She was African American and her transition to Fire Aspect had darkened her skin to a hue that was very close to coal. While her body temperature was only a degree or two higher than normal, her entire form was usually wreathed in a shimmer-like distortion effect that was commonly known as heat haze. Her hair and turned blue and white. She had it buzzed short and it looked like small tongues of flame. Her eyes had turned coppery orange with irises that almost glowed red. She was among the initial wave of American Manifested and her imprisonment by the government had left her angry and distrustful of pretty much everything the world had to offer.

The other was a Middle Easterner named Talia. She had worked for Endron Oil, a subsidiary of Pentex, before her Manifestation. In her job as a clerk in their Arabian offices, she was unofficially tasked to explain customs or matters of cultural import to the western executives that filled the upper echelons of such offices. Talia found her Exaltation to be liberating. It freed her from the corporate glass ceiling as well as the local cultural disdain for women who tried to be independent and self sufficient. Like her colleague, her Exaltation had changed her appearance, however, not as dramatically as Cheryl. Exaltation had tinted her skin, eyes and hair color but left most of her other features alone. Her new Mediterranean 'blue within blue' eyes and baby blue tinge to her skin were remarkable, but what stole everyone's attention was her hair. It was a brilliant white which was illuminated every so often by small flashes of silvery blue lightning bolts. In an inverse of her colleague, her temperature was a degree or so lower than normal and she often exhaled a vapor or mist when she had to breath hard.

The quiet of the slow day was broken by the simultaneous chime of both of their phones and their office computer beeping. The sound alerted the two to a new mission that needed to be carried out. Cheryl pulled up the report, read it and then read it again. She called out to to the other Dragon-Blooded in the office. "Arm up, Talia. We have a mission."

Talia wandered in from the employee lounge. "What? What sort of mission?"

"The New Material Fabrication plant blew up. Environmentalist sabotage, maybe even werewolves. That's not our mission, however. Someone used the explosion as cover to steal a relic. We have to find the guy and get it back. Lucky for us, they have a tracer spell on the artifact," Cheryl explained.

Talia pulled out her phone and scrolled through the mission herself. "Let's try to do this with some restraint. It looks like the attack has drawn Technocratic attention. We don't need a firefight drawing attention to us as well. They'd likely put two and two together, Cheryl. Pentex doesn't need a war with the Technocracy. That would be very bad for the bottom line," Talia said.

"Spoilsport," Cheryl teased.

"Cheryl!" Talia warned, drawing her name out like an admonishing parent would to a child.

"Sure, sure, we'll do this quietly. I promise," the Fire Aspect replied.

Talia shook her head as she left to check her gear. She decided not to worry too much. Even if Cheryl decided to have some fun, how much of a disaster could a fight with one lone man be?


Endron Laboratories

New Materials Fabrication and Testing Facility


The outside perimeter was swarming with police and military. They were busy containing the crime scene and keeping order. The inside had been given over to experts. Most of these experts were accomplished in their field ready to find out what disaster or assault had wrought such havoc. Individuals who knew each other either from working together in former cases or by reputation. There were quite a few that no one really recognised however. Several times someone would think to go ask these men who they were along the way there they would remember some other important matter that took precedence or be interrupted by a colleague who had made a discovery.

These men blocked off the path to the tunnels under the hill the facility was built on. If anyone had made it past them they would likely wonder why these professionals were taking notes from the verbal report of an aged street punk in an old hoodie.

"You're sure it was three of them?"

Mike had grown tired of the repeated questions. "You know, I might be just an outside contractor, but I know how to fucking count," he snapped at the flunky.

"There's no reason to be belligerent, this is just routine questioning."

"I think that's enough," Claus said, jauntily making his way toward the group.

"Yes sir, Senior Director, sir," the flunky said, melting back into the throng that were working on the site.

"Senior Director, huh? I guess that would make you Augustin Claus-Werner Von Rayner. If I'd known I was talking to the earthly leader of the Technocracy, I might have asked for more money," Mike said.

"You wouldn't have gotten it. I did credit and extra half million to your card and here is some contact information. I'm serious about changing sides. You might be a snide, cocky, aggravating son of a bitch, but you get things done and I can respect that," Claus said with a smile.

"You guys didn't find Axe, did you?" Mikes eyes narrowed as he wondered if they had done something to his friend.

Claus shook his head. "Found, no, but from your report we are pretty sure he left with the caucasian female and Professor Agam Singh. He was injured, but I doubt fatally given how resilient shapeshifters are. I have no plan to pursue him or them. It's really not worth the effort right now. I have to put together a unified plan for how to deal with these new Manifested. Tricky stuff, really. Like the original ones they have the potential to be either our greatest allies or most bitter enemies."

"No middle of the road. How German," Mike quipped.

"With power such as theirs, there never can be a neutral path. Power of such scope as they posses has a gravity; you either get crushed by it, orbit it, or join with it. I haven't championed the cause of reason and order for nearly two hundred years to see us crushed or become the third wheel to another power," Claus said sharply.

"Right, well, that's not my business. I gotta find Axe and repay that bitch who shot the cube out of my hands. I could see it in the demon's eyes. I had her. She feared me and was going to go back into that cube to avoid the pyre flames." Mike shook his head. He was definitely going to see that soulless ginger abomination pay.

"As I understand it, that's some pretty impressive magic, in particular for someone who hasn't sold out to the malefic powers of the underworld," Claus said with one raised eyebrow.

Mike gave the old man a withering look. He was pretty sure what he was getting at. "Want to be sure I'm not a Nephandus?"

"It would make my mind rest easier, yes," Claus admitted.

Mike took a deep breath and began to explain. The sooner this was over, the sooner he got paid. "Alright, sure, well you know…." He stopped and looked at Claus. 'Alright, well, maybe you don't know. Let's start over again. The Euthanatos used to use their Sphere of Entropy to muck around with the underworld. That stopped after the rules started changing a bit in 2005, you know when time travel shutdown and death became something magic couldn't overcome even with extreme effort. Their magic always focused more on when people should die than what to do once they were dead, but it expanded to cover a lot more. The emo fucks started calling it Fate now rather than Entropy. Most are rather pleased with the changes; well as pleased as the dark mascara and and black trenchcoat set can be. They were worried their old powerset was leading them into dark nearly Nephandi paths. A few had reported dark whispers coming to them from the heart of the underworld. They listened to the Projector's tales of the Grand Maw with concern and generally pussied out about the whole thing."

"Most but not all?" Claus asked. He suspected he knew where this was going.

"Yeah. A few didn't like having their old toys taken away. So, they started experimenting. They knew there were still many powerful lieutenants of the Grand Maw running around, so they started hunting them. They were no strangers to soul forging and most ectoplasmic beings, even those who were never human, can be turned into soulsteel. You'll forgive me if I don't explain the exact details of the artifact I use," Mike said.

"Armlet on your upper left arm. Under your hoodie and shirt," Claus said.

"Fuck," Mike replied, stunned. This old man was better than he thought.

"Well, no matter. The details of who you bribed or stole from to obtain it aren't my concern. I won't hold you any longer now that I know for sure you're not a thrall to inhuman powers."

"Um..."

Claus pulled his space fold out of his pocket. "Oh, yes, that. No, I haven't forgotten. I know the value of family relics. I allowed my descendants to keep many of my old things, you know. I had their wills arranged to return them to me should their lineage ever end. Too bad I hadn't heard of you some years back. I had to hire some talented mundane thieves to steal some of my old keepsakes back from this haughty Spanish twat with delusions of royal grandeur. It was quite aggravating."

Claus pulled the Staff of the DeAngelo's out of the fold and handed it to Mike; who stroked the artifact with an uncharacteristic reverence. "My old man got killed trying to be a hero. They all did, really. Now I'm the last of the DeAngelo's," he said, lost in the moment.

"Don't you have a brother?" Claus asked. He had skimmed some parts of Mike's dossier but he was pretty sure he had seen that.

"Yeah...well, he's an idiot," Mike said, lower the staff and looking back at the director. "I guess they all were in their own way or they'd be alive," he finished with a shrug, his customary irreverence returning. The moment had past.

"Don't be so hard on them. Their mistakes taught you the lessons you needed to avoid their fate. In more ways than one they made you what you are. True greatness will always shine through in the blood. You can be great yet not follow their path. Contact me if you wish to forge your own," Claus said rising and walking away.

Mike put the staff into an inner pocket of the hoodie that had similar magic to the Old Man's space fold. He wanted to disregard the Old Man's words but for some reason he kept thinking back on them even as he started working some spells to start tracing Axe.


In a Motorhome

Traveling South on YT-2S


Bree was surprised that the professors had been prepared to flee on such short notice. They had explained that there were powerful groups that tended to descend on and cover up any noticeable supernatural events. Escaping before getting swept up in the cover up was something of an art form among smaller organizations like theirs.

They had quickly abandoned the disaster sight and stopped a few miles east to allowed a colleague who had followed them in another vehicle to look over the injured werewolf. Beeman had mentioned with a dry humor that while those in need of minor medical care at the protest camp had been nervous about the camp's best trained medic being only licensed to work on animals, this patient might consider himself lucky.

The vet had dug out shrapnel, a few bullets, and then cleaned and stitched the wounds. It was obvious the young man was talented and he informed Bree that despite the mysterious canine's look, a few markers made it obvious he was not one hundred percent wolf. By the time they had finished, Professor Singh had returned to normal.

The trio quickly realized there was no way to move the larger artifact in the tunnels. That and, even if they had the means to do so, there was no time before the vultures descended. Instead Bree and the professors had quickly agreed that they should follow the box. Singh thought he could track the feel of the artifact if he grew closer to it, but at this distance he could only provide a direction.

They had set out immediately after the surgery, but found themselves playing catch up. While the mad man with the box had stolen a more fuel efficient and faster vehicle, it was unlikely that he would invite unwanted attention from law enforcement by speeding and they had three people to swap out driving. Bree remained in the back, violating a personal rule to always wear her seatbelt. Instead, she stroked the injured canine in a soothing manner, attempting to calm the creature.

They stopped for gas a few hours later and Singh took the second shift driving. Bree. meanwhile, ran into a store and bought some basic necessities while the RV was fueling. She hoped it would cut down on further stops.

Once she was back in the RV, she felt around the werewolf's wounds. There was no sign of seepage so the stitches were holding. "I know you're not a dog, but you sure are soft. You need to eat something. Come on eat a bite. Human food is not balanced for a canine so this is the best option," she said, holding out a can of dog food.

The beast moved his head into her lap and pushed her hand with its nose. Bree resumed her petting, making sure to be careful of his wounds. He had been quite stubborn in his refusal to try the canned dog food. This had been her third try.

Beeman shook his head. "He's an intelligent creature, but I've never spoken to a werewolf. I've only caught glimpses over my shoulder while running for my life."

Bree thought about what she had read both from the Tremere and from the Glass Walkers. "I hear they are deadly warriors. I've also heard that most of them don't hold human lives in very high regard. However, it's hard to be leery of something that wants me to pet it."

"This man, the one you said stowed away on Pentex's plane. I wonder if he's from a rival branch of the company? Their infighting has become legendary in recent years," Beeman said, changing the subject.

"The power we hold is aligned with truth and enlightenment. I feel it in my very soul. I must wonder how a man who shoots another of his own kind could have acquired such power?" Singh said, obviously worried by what this might mean.

Bree thought for a moment about what Agam Singh said. She too felt the pull toward righteousness and truth, but she could not say the same for Kashi. He was a good kid, but that's what he was. A kid. She also most definitely could not say the same for the other Solar Exalt she knew of. She had only learned of his ascension recently, in a private meeting with Terra shortly before she'd left. The shyster lawyer, Edmond Campeggio. Terra had tipped her off to his status before she left in case she needed legal help.

Terra had no way of knowing that Bree, for the most part, never trusted defense attorneys. Most of them were too slick and used legal loopholes to get the guilty off the hook. They were also usually in love with themselves and while the Dragon Blooded were indebted to Campeggio, she felt the lawyer had done the right thing for the wrong reason; mostly self aggrandizement. As such, she framed her response carefully.

"I don't know professor. I only know of two others of our kind and of those, I only know one personally, and he's well...he's a child. His youth and eagerness govern almost everything he does. The other I know only by reputation; a high priced, preening defense attorney. Their kind is almost universally shady. So, there's something to the selection process we don't understand," Bree said darkly.

"I know I am committed to educating and preparing those souls who are ready and mature enough to make use of the powers my lessons unlock. The powers that I used in combat are of this nature; Sorcery of the Emerald Circle," Singh explained.

Bree had never heard of this style of Sorcery, but something felt familiar about it. "What of your own native powers?"

"Unsuitable for combat. The skills given to me by the light of truth are that of teaching, debating, judging the character of others and truthfulness of their statements," Singh explained

Bree nodded. "Like I said, I have only met one other of our kind in person. Those were most definitely not his powers. However, I know we can teach each other powers, so long as we have the mundane skills to channel them properly."

Singh's face was not visible but it was obvious from his body language Bree's statement had set his keen mind into motion. "I feel there is a necessary spiritual component to our powers that we do not fully comprehend. However, if what you say is so, then power to teach others quickly is a power of great impact. The teaching of others will become a task of primary importance."

"As will be judging their character," Bree added.


Spectre Books

New Orleans


Remington Spectre was a busy man. He was, in addition to being the representative for the Hunters on the New Orleans Council, also the head of internal affairs and internal security. Mira Giovanni, the contact he had made long ago within that house of necromancers, had scheduled a conference in December and there were still plenty of preparations to be made. He was thankful Heather was handling the scheduling nightmare of juggling time off requests alongside a VIP visit so close the the Holidays.

He was not in the best mood when his secretary passed him an urgent call on his encrypted line.

"Speak," he gruffly.

"Doc! Jesus Christ, it's good to hear you," said the voice on the other line.

Spectre thought a moment trying to place the voice. "Marshall?"

"Yeah, it's me, Doc. Look, I need help getting back into the States. It's a touchy situation," the archaeologist pleaded.

Spectre's friendship with Marshall Thompson went back more than a decade. He had helped train the man in the hunt. Normally, it was something Spectre was reluctant to do for the unimbued. Such powers were often necessary to even the odds against the supernatural. He expected the archeologist to be dead in a year. His protege had, however, beaten the odds and not died. Earlier this year he'd called with some very interesting news.

"The last time we talked you told me about your Exaltation. When I asked you to come back in so we could hook you up with some others that were like yourself, you said that it wouldn't be possible. Protecting the antiquities of the Middle East from fundamentalists and terrorists was too important."

Marshall sighed. "Well, it lead me to where I am, Doc. Terrorists aren't the only ones smashing and destroying history. You've also got the kind who are trying to erase the past and cover over anything that doesn't match their world view. Or those that are in deep need of money for whatever reason and see a relic as a quick way to make some cash."

Doc opened up his laptop and put the phone on speaker. He rolled his eyes. He'd heard this lecture before. "So you told me. Are you driving? It sounds like you have me on speaker."

"Yeah I am. I came here because of my efforts to stop the artifact trade. There's been a definite spike in interest in in relics of mystical power or spiritual significance and just like the archeological black market, I aim to make damn sure those more interested in looting instead of preservation and study are not to be rewarded for bad behavior. The prime buyer out here is Pentex."

Doc sighed. "Those bastards, huh? They're maybe the only organization I've come to loathe more than the Sabbat."

"Yeah, well, some contacts of Alex's sort sent me. The shapechangers might not work well with humans, but they'll take all the information I care to pass them. So, any shady bullshit I uncover while working to preserve history goes up the garou chain. And Doc, I'm on to some big ones. With the increase in the artifact trade, I've had a major chance to follow leads and cross reference the information. I've found some of Pentex's main storehouses for mystical objects."

"Now that is useful. What country are you in? I'll work on getting you a flight."

"Canada."

"Marshall, I know you're an archaeologist, not a geographer, but Canada is not in the Middle East," Spectre chided.

"Yeah, I was getting to that, so while watching one of these storehouse, I noticed they were preparing for a major high security move. They were taking a relic out of it rather than putting it in for storage. It was happening right then, no time to tip off some shapechangers and hope they took an interest so, I stowed away on their plane to find out where it was going."

"That is the absolute dumbest thing I have ever heard and I've heard Alex's plans! What were you thinking? You went in with no back up and no plan to an enemy camp. And not just any enemy camp, but an unscouted Pentex camp. That's about as bone headed a move as you get," Spectre noted dryly.

"Yeah, I knew you'd say that, but I'm not about to apologize. This relic they were moving was impressive. It's a metallic cube made of an unknown metal. The inscriptions on its faces are simple instructions limiting its use to the Chosen. It says only the Exalted have the authority to deal with the creature within: a Demon of the Second Circle. One of the languages on the cube is the same writing on some of the most ancient scrolls known; the ones about the times before and the origin of the Hunters. The other is the Elder Tongue, the original language that only the oldest of spirits know. It's called Old Realm, Doc. I just know. It's memories from the Exaltation. It's the concept of language first formed into the written word by the fabricators of the universe itself."

"Well, I'll be damned, that is impressive," Spectre admitted.

"Yeah, well, I found out it also calls up a spirit who measures a seven on the ten point entity scale the Mages use. It is bound to come at the call of the Chosen who hold the box and perform whatever services they wish. She's primarily a crafter. Her specialities are metals, but more that that she's a teacher. She teaches ancient and magical metallurgy. This thing was locked up to serve as a teaching tool to train new Chosen how to produce armaments. Pentex found how to beckon her without having the right powers and bribed her into service, but the prices she demands always limited her use. I needed to know what was going on. What was so all fired important they needed her help and were willing to pay?"

"I can see why you followed them," Spectre admitted.

"They brought it to Canada. There is some huge relic up here at a Pentex research site but it's out of reach now some sort of attack happened most likely it will get scooped up by someone else. I have the cube however and need to get it to where it can be safely studied. You know mages who have some impressive lab space so I was thinking..."

"Yeah, it's likely best to bring it here. Here's the thing, though. You're going to need to cross the Canadian border on your own. You don't even need a passport, just your driver's license."

"Well, there's also the problem of I'm in a stolen car. Used to belong to the director of the Pentex facility I got the cube from," Marshall said.

"Hold on, I'm checking the police records." The Doc swiveled in his chair to another nearby computer. Nothing had shown up yet. "You're clear so far. Get across the border, ditch the car and I'll wire you some money and a plane ticket. Looks like the nearest place with a suitable airport is going to be Minot, North Dakota. Catch that flight. It'll bring you here."

"Oh, Spectre, one other thing. This box has drawn some attention. There was some pyre flame wielding madman after it. He lost it when a complete idiot shot it out of his hands."

"Wait, someone shot the only source of control for a tier seven spiritual entity?" Spectre asked, dumbfounded.

Blew it right across the room. She was glowing, so she's likely like me. Some Miskatonic jerks were there too. One of them was also like me. This box wants to be in Exalted hands. I think it's calling someone to take control of this demon. The Miskatonic guy was insisting I give it to him. You know how they are; everything has to be locked away in a cave or destroyed. He used some impressive magic to turn himself into metal and grow foot long claws. He was waving them threateningly at me, so I shot him in the legs and ran."

"Was he bleeding?" Spectre asked, trying to picture the damage. Leg shots were normally pretty safe. Marshall also normally used safety rounds made to deform rather than penetrate. He told the Doc one time that if he was around valuable objects, he didn't want blow throughs and ricochets to damage anything.

"Nah, I didn't shoot anywhere near his arteries and it didn't even break the skin. From the way he girly screamed, I'm pretty sure he's just badly bruised. I think I lost them all, but if not, it could draw some heat," Marshall admitted.

"You know, this is really bad timing, Marshall. Kai Silbern's group still owes us some favors, but his wife is about due; ready to pop from the way I hear. She's fine, but he's a nervous wreck. Must be a Silbern trait. Alex is the same way. Every time Heather goes into labor, she's fine and he goes to pieces. I'll try to find some back up, but my main advice is keep running. Get your feet on the ground here in New Orleans and you'll be fine. Our defenses are pretty good, I doubt even Pentex would try to break through them."

"Alright, I'm going to end this call and focus on getting there," and with that Marshall hung up.

Spectre picked up his phone again and after a moment's debate decided he'd best make a call.

"Campeggio, Schmidt and Lewiston. Edmond Campeggio's office," a crisp female voice said.

"This is Dr. Remington Spectre. Tell Ed I need to talk to him ASAP."

The kid was in the center of most of this Exalted business. He might know what to do with two new rouge Exalts. He might be able to swing that crazy Russian hitman into Marshall's path as backup as well.


Minot, North Dakota


"Look there is the car," Said Professor Beeman as he steered the RV into a parking lot. "I'm pulling over. We will have to find where he is from here."

Agam nodded. It was indeed the stolen car. He unbuckled his safety restraint and moved into the back to awaken Bree. She was laying in the floor with the still canine form of the werewolf sleeping next to her. She had finally persuaded the stubborn being to eat the dog food she purchased.

Agam reached to touch Bree's shoulder. A canine growl stopped him short. Despite appearing to be asleep, the creature's icy blue eyes were not closed. They trained on him and its lips were slowly raising as the volume of its growl rose.

Bree's eyes opened. "Are we there... hey, no, hush," she told the canine.

"We are in the city of Minot. The car is here on the outskirts of town. It's been abandoned. From here we will have to use magic to try to find the culprit," Singh explained.

"Or detective work. Let's look at the car. Hell, this guy's got a nose on him. Maybe he can sniff him out," Bree suggested. She had more faith in detective work than she had magic.

Bree examined the car but found nothing obvious. The wolf, however, started leading them away. "We are headed back to the north, toward the airport," Agam said.

"Why would he pass the airport only to double back on foot?" Beeman asked.

"Because he needed to pick up something. There is a Wal-Mart up ahead. It is a good place to get a quick, cheap change of clothes as well as supplies for a trip. He could even pick up money if he has had an accomplice wire it to him," Bree explained.

The store was not busy, but it seemed the mixture of smells in the parking lot had the canine somewhat confused. It made several circles while sniffing about in a determined fashion.

"Singh, my friend, can you sense the evil of the box?" Beeman asked.

"This close the direction is not obvious. We're inside its miasmic aura of wickedness," Singh said with a frown.

"Relax. Police dogs are good at finding people and they don't have an intelligent mind behind them. He'll find our man," Bree assured them, looking at the wolf.

"I hope so. I fear if not we may lose him we have little else to indicate his location." Beeman lamented.

Suddenly, a large fireball erupted from the parking lot of a nearby pizza place further north. The stunned trackers looked at each other in shock and then took off running for the conflagration.


Gunshots echoed across the lot as Marshall dove from car to car for cover. The unaimed shots he fired were not meant to hit, only to discourage his adversary from continuing to launch fireballs at him. He didn't waste any time on wondering why he was being attacked. The Pentex jumpsuit his attacker wore made it plainly obvious.

It looked like he had a clear path back toward the Wal-Mart he'd just left. He broke into a dead run for the outdoor living entrance hoping to get inside. Marshall thought the Manifested would set off the fire alarms if she attacked him in there. Then, he could vanish into the resulting chaos. He saw something that made him skid to a halt. Coming across the parking lot in a run was the Sikh, the crazy gun woman, and an old man. They were headed right for him. He turned, perpendicular to their location and made his way toward a bank to his right. Maybe he could set off the bank alarm. That might give them pause. Then again, it might get him caught as well.

Bree's band poured on the speed. The Fire Aspect from the pizza place parking lot also rushed forward. Whoever these people were, they were ruining the plan!

Marshall turned, firing a shot at the Sikh's feet. Bree stopped to line up a shot into the gunman's arm. Before she could fire a lithe female dove over a car and touched Bree's neck. Electrical current coursed into her, stronger than any taser

"You idiots are messing up our capture operation. He was headed right toward my ambush! Back off or Talia will give you the same," the Fire Aspect shouted at Singh and Beeman.

There was no warning or preamble. Fangs sank into Talia's arm. Axe had gone unnoticed, but he had never left Bree's side. With a snarl, the wolf ripped deep into the meat of her arm shredding flesh till it hit bone.

Cheryl panicked. Talia was worth more than any capture mission. She turned from the chase to rush to aid her fellow Manifested. Talia was not fireproof, so she leapt into action with a dynamic kick into the canine's throat. The beast let go with a whimper. Ignoring the creature, Cheryl made it to Talia's side and held her arm. It looked as if the bone might have snapped.

An out of place sensation enveloped Cheryl's ankle. It felt like an oversized hand. She turned to see what had wrapped around her leg when her world flipped upside down as nine feet of towering muscle and fur shot up from the form of the fallen canine. The now massive, slavering muzzle snarled at her. She was held upside down by the ankle. "DIE," the monster bellowed in an almost unintelligible growl.

Bree slowly regained consciousness. Her attacker, the Air Aspect, was lying next to her, bleeding from a savage wound to the arm. Above her, the wolf had resumed his hybrid state. He had the Fire Aspect by the ankle and, with a snarl, started to use her like a club. He swung her down into nearby cars several times then into the pavement, into her friend, into the cars again and then the pavement one last time. He let out a howl of pure rage.

Close by Beeman and Singh had caught their original quarry and were literally wrestling with each other. The fugitive's pack fell out onto the asphalt. Among the possessions that spilled out was the box. Without a second thought, Bree rolled into a crouch and grabbed the object along with a nearby slip of paper.

The sound of sirens filled the air. The wolfman's arms wrapped around Bree and lifted her up before she could protest. With a lurch the werewolf rushed away, dashing through alleys and vaulting over fences. His steam gave out in a secluded alley. He slid to the ground, resuming his human form. Fortunately, his clothes returned.

"Hey,- hey you ok? What happened?" Bree asked, checking him.

"Cheap shotting little bitch got you in the back," he said

"Right, but you flipped out on me. We need to go back for Beeman and Singh," Bree argued.

"No. Police. They hadn't done anything. They'll go free. The Manifested would turn this on us. We'd all end up in jail. Werewolves don't do well in captivity. Too wild," he said in a staccato explanation.

"When you transformed you ripped the stitches up. They didn't have much time to heal are you bleeding?" Bree asked as she started to check.

"No. Hurts like a bitch," the wolf admitted.

"Then we have to get out of here. Since your human again, maybe you can tell me your name. I'm getting sort of tired of calling you wolfy," Bree said with a grin.

"Axe," the werewolf replied

"Well, nice to meet you, Axe. I'm Bree. Now we have to find some way of getting out of here before everyone figures out what happened to this box and more trouble shows up," Bree said as she examined the slip of paper she'd picked up with the box. As she read it, it downed on her what it was. A smile crossed her lips. "Lucky day. I think I know just the way. You can turn back into a wolf if you need to right?" She asked, a spark of inspiration in her eye.


Blocks away, Singh and Beeman had dashed off on foot. They had tried to follow the wolfman, but he was too fast. Neither of them were in great shape. Winded, both men had stopped. After catching their breath, they returned to their RV.

"Where will she go? She has the box. We were allies of the moment, but she has no true attachment to us," Beeman said.

"She desired to bring the cube to Manifested Services. She often spoke of them, attempting to sway us to her views. That is where we will find her," Singh reasoned.

"Then let us start now. As before, if we take turns driving, we can hope to stay ahead or even beat her there," Beeman proposed.

Singh nodded "Even if we are late we can speak to the Manifested and caution them to responsibility if they mean to hold of this artifact."

They quickly loaded into the RV and took off into the night.

A block away, a back a rental car eased into the street and started following behind the RV in a loose fashion. Marshall drove into the night determined to tail the pair.

Luckily there had been a rental place only a block away. Once the rubbernecking had died down, he was able to get a ride with the money Spectre had wired. He had lost his plane ticket, but without the box, he didn't have a reason to hurry to New Orleans.

These two had found him after he lost the box, so it stood to reason they had been tracking it, not him. He would follow these morons and make sure the two didn't make the box disappear down some rabbit hole. He also had to get it out of that insane gun wielding woman's hands.


Thank you all for reading and a double thanks to those providing feedback. The last chapter of this is finished and in editing and I'm hard at work on Christmas Calibration which wraps up the beginning setup. Pretty much everyone should be in that story if If you have a personal idea something you'd like to see feel free to PM me or include it in a reply. Can't' promise it will all in up used but if I can I will.