Author's Note: Well, this actually was a pretty nice response to a (relatively) short chapter, in a crossover of two fandoms I really don't see a ton of stories for. For the most part, most comments were very positive, so please know that they were what kept me working on it.

While I'm sure that you probably don't care that much, since the last update I finished writing a master's thesis, graduated, and started a new job, so life pretty much went crazy and, believe me, some sections came out of my muse kicking and screaming. Still, written is written and I'm happy that so many people have chimed in. I hope to hear a lot more! If you like what you're reading, let me know. It makes me happy. If you don't like it, let me know. It makes me better.

My name is Karrin Murphy. I used to be a cop.

People will say "Once a cop, always a cop." Sometimes they'll actually believe it as well.

It's not true. People stop being cops for a lot reasons. Sometimes it's the long hours for little pay finally becoming too much. Sometimes it's that seeing the worst humanity has to offer is part of the job description, and toll it takes on husbands and wives when they go home. Some cops look at criminals driving around in cars that they couldn't make a down payment on with a year's salary and wonder if, just this once, taking that envelope full of cash wouldn't be so bad. Some forget due process to kick down the door of a nest of Black Court vampires and their shotgun wielding mentally deranged mindslaves who set claymore mines rigged to blow up children and who abandon their case to save a kidnapped young girl from the land of the faeries.

As you might have guessed, I'm something of an unusual case.

In the end, once you hand over your badge, you truly are finished as a police officer. For the first time since I was sixteen, I don't have a job, at least not one which pays.

"Though you still have that one job offer." Harry's voice whispers in my ear, and I struggle to not look at the sword I have on my mantle. Unlike all the swords that I collected and have hanging, this one is battered from use. Unlike all the others, if tested, they would almost certainly find blood in it somewhere, both human and otherwise. But it's for a job that I don't want and besides Harry is…

Harry is…

I still can't bring myself to say the words. Harry Dresden is currently missing, presumed dead by the Chicago police. The boat he was staying on had a bullet hole straight through it, and pool of blood with signs that whatever it was from had tumbled into the cold dark depths of Lake Michigan. It couldn't have been Harry. If so, that would mean that aggravating, misogynistic, sarcastic, impossible and wonderful man would be dead. And I had worn a nice dress to meet him.

Harry is a wizard. A real, honest to god wizard, who never found a building he didn't like blowing up. He spits in the face of angels and demon alike if they give him half a mind to. Monsters from your worst nightmares will run from his name. And now, he can't be found. And the monsters are coming back.

Within days of Harry vanishing, the Fomor came to Chicago. The Fomor are, as best I can tell, fish people that make me wonder if Lovecraft wasn't onto something. To them, without the dreaded wizard here to protect Chicago, it's open season. While Harry might not be here yet, that knucklehead has left people who he's helped in the past that have gone from ordinary citizens to something else. We've been giving them something to dread.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, letting me know about an incoming call.

"Hey Karrin, it's Butters."

Waldo Butters is one of Chicago's medical examiners, who had the bad luck of being a bit too honest and good at his job when he had been presented the charred remains of something that wasn't human and paid the price by spending some time in a rubber room. The next thing you know, zombies were breaking down his door and he was riding a dinosaur into a fight.

"What did you find?" I responded, nestling into a seat.

"Nothing new on the Fomor. They've been careful not to leave any strange bodies. But Bob wanted to take a look at the Red Court bodies they brought in. From what he can tell, the effect of the spell worked the exact same a hemisphere away. He thinks Harry really got all of them."

Bob is Harry's "magical troubleshooter" as best as Butters can explain it. Harry hadn't been keen on letting people know that a lot of the knowledge he seemed to pull out of nowhere had come from a skull that had looked like a prop on the set of some theater school production of Hamlet. Butters had been one of the few people that Harry had clued into Bob's existence. When it came to counting the people who knew about him and could actually stand Bob, Butters found himself in a population of one.

"How is Bob doing by the way? Settling in?" I could hear an exasperated sigh on the other line.

"Bob's found a way to use my DSL…don't ask me how. Apparently Harry had been buying him off with romance novels and now he has the internet." Butters let out a pause. "Whenever I mention it, he talks about "never going back". I just hope he never finds 4chan."

There was a second pause, the silence hanging awkwardly in the air. I knew that tone. It same from witnesses and victims that were waffling about telling me something that they didn't want to say. You had to finesse it out of them: If you pushed to hard, they would clam up and become belligerent. If you were too gentle, they would remain teetering. "Butters, what is it?" I try to be gentle, lightly pleading. "You can tell me. We're all in this together."

Silence for a moment. "The FBI came by to see the bodies. They're getting involved."

I'm stunned for a moment as Butters' meaning becomes clear. "Ahh."

The first time I ran across the FBI on a case, it turned out that they were murderous werewolves. It's a mark of…something, that this was actually the best aftermath of all the other times.

"It looks like the FBI is circling the wagons right now. They pulled in the bodies faster than their remote field agents could handle it."

"They must be going crazy over there." I replied, immediately thinking back to the Tommy Tom case. It was one of the first that I had called Harry in on, and it had driven superiors up the wall. No murder weapon, no sign of entry and with no apparent motive other than the obvious connection of one of the victims to a greater conspiracy.

"Oh I bet. I pity whoever has to explain them to their superior for a change." Butters was maybe a bit more vindictive than necessary. "But you know, if they look at cases that seem anything close to what they're seeing…"

That was really it. "Thanks for the heads up Butters. Let me know if there's anything on the Fomor that pops up."

I cut the line, letting out a breath that I didn't know that I had been holding. I mentioned that the first time the FBI came to Chicago they wound up being black magic addicted werewolves. The second time I ran into my second ex-husband. Who is married to my sister. And then I found myself demoted, kicked down to Sergeant while my department was reassigned to Stallings.

The third time I helped a man commit genocide.

None of us had gone into Chichen Itza intending it. All we had planned was to go in to save a little girl, and likely die trying, fighting against an empire of Red Court vampires. They had planned a ritual that would have killed Harry, and anyone descended from his great-grandfather. No one would have ever imagined that Harry would use the ritual to do something similar for the line of the Red King himself.

All it had taken was Harry killing the woman he had once tried to marry in cold blood. I could see what it did to him. I could see it in his eyes when he walked away. He could have told himself that she was a vampire all he wanted. He could have told himself that there was no other way that we could have walked away alive. He could have told himself that he was ending the war between the Red Court and White Council with a single stroke. But nothing, and I mean nothing, would have made Harry Dresden forget that he was sliding a knife into the mother of his child. We watched as the hearts exploded out of the chest of every Red Court there, toppling over in an instant as they continued to press us. I watched their human servants suddenly age and wither, forgotten centuries suddenly remembered by time.

And when I got home, I was officially fired. What a way to start retirement.

Most of the morning I spent checking in on Paranet, an online forum where people in the know about the supernatural and magic users who don't cause electronics to spark dangerously whenever they are around technology and are death to any computer they touch. They might be able to throw cars around like Harry can, but Harry can't step into an ICU without worrying that he might kill someone on life support and is deathly afraid of frying, since he might knock out navigation systems air travel is a luxury he could never afford. Harry might be a knight in shining armor, but he's only useful one city at a time. Paranet allows people to organize defenses, swap tips and trade information about threats. It also happens to attract a few people who are clearly off the deep end, like one person trying to convince everyone that Kennedy was a real magic bullet and that climate change is a wizard plot.

It wasn't until afternoon that I got the knock on the door I had been expecting. They had been the point of Butter's warning, vague enough to not get him in trouble if they were already tapping my line. The FBI had a number of bodies they were desperate to ignore, and they had a recently fired police officer who had a history of interfering with FBI investigations and ties to a case where the bodies were found suffering the exact same cause of death.

Hell, I'd want to talk to me.

There was a pair of them when I opened the door, both looming over me (though almost everyone is tall compared to me).

"Hello, Sergeant Murphy?" The tall blonde, peered down at me. "Olivia Dunham, FBI. This is Peter Bishop. Can we have a few words with you?"

"Hmm." I replied. The phrase was Law Enforcement for "This is no surprise, yet is certainly an imposition", as well as "I understand" amongst other things. It's a very versatile phrase. "I've been expecting you. Come in."

[Earlier that day]

"Are you alright…sir?" Dunham looked over at her superior. Broyles had been pinching his brow as they stepped into the office that the Fringe division had been lent for their visit.

"Dr. Bishop was quite insistent that he be allowed access to the lab back in Boston. It took a great deal of convincing him to explain that the regional director would never allow the evidence to leave the state. It took forever to work out a compromise where we were able to secure a lab at the University of Chicago that received a grant from Massive Dynamic, so it will be stocked with the basics. And that's not even counting the ten rounds of interoffice bickering about why we should help. They have pretty strong convictions about what happened, but I managed to convince them our resources and prior experience with strange events that it is possible that whoever carried out the attacks may have contracted with ZFT."

"They have a lead then?" Peter called, leaning back in his seat. "Well, maybe they can actually work then instead of hiding the damn evidence. We've already got the name of a local resource."

"There is someone. He was announced as a Person of Interest in the case after the first bombing. They took him in for questioning, but they didn't have enough evidence to hold them. Ladies and Gentleman, may I present you Harry Dresden."

Broyles tossed a thick file down onto the table, sliding it toward Olivia. Before it could reach her, Peter reached ahead, grabbing it. "Did you say Harry Dresden?" Peter immediately began to flip through the pages of the file, looking at a number of archived photos, reports and diagrams.

"Yes." Broyles responded. "Apparently Mr. Dresden is something of a local character. It's an…interesting file to say the least."

Peter looked up briefly as he came across a rap sheet. "The man does seem to live an interesting life. He was briefly the subject of interest in a kidnapping, but that was dropped when the child returned home after running away. There's a citation for public nudity was retracted, something about an overly amorous girlfriend, multiple obstruction charges that, again, were dropped. Arson reports…" Peter flipped a page, and then another, and then another. "A lot of arson reports."

"That was the Bureau's first link to him." Broyles interjected. "He could be tied to the scene of multiple unsolved arson cases, and in the first bombing occurred at his business office, with the explosive charges hidden in the walls of his office."

"Seems like a perfect link." Peter replied, "Except for the fact that every other arson case Dresden was suspected in has a source of unknown origin. The fire department was repeatedly stumped. Suddenly, they now have clear evidence that it was a bomb."

"That doesn't make sense." Olivia chimed in. "It's a break from the pattern." Olivia reached over to grab the file, flipping through the reports. "It's not as if he was simply escalating either. The first incident they noted was a blaze at the Velvet Room, which had a number of fatalities reported, though it was hard to make an exact estimate due to an old graveyard they had built the building over. The rest are all abandoned buildings where no one was hurt that he has no connection to, and then he escalates back to taking out a few night janitors, in an office that he rents, using a method he's never used before? Nothing fits."

"Perhaps it does." Broyles continued. "Almost immediately after the bombing, Dresden's place of residence burned to the ground. This time, the fire department judged that from the ignition pattern and the melted glass that the blaze was likely set by a Molotov cocktail. Dresden supposedly made contact with two suspected South American terrorists beforehand and the locals believe that this was Dresden covering his tracks after he was released."

"One was his girlfriend." Peter chimed in, continued to skim through the heavy stack of files. He pulled out a picture. "The Bureau has a file on her too, Susan Rodriguez. Apparently she was a tabloid reporter before disappearing into South America. They had brought her in for questioning when the attack had hot. I guess they decided to put those two events together."

"Except for the fact that none of that makes sense." Olivia interrupted. "Sir, that's another change in methodology, and that still doesn't explain the creatures that they found. Why is the bureau so focused on this man?"

The room was silent for a moment as Broyles glowered. "It's because they believe that Dresden may have been responsible for the death of four of our own. Nine years ago, there was an interstate murder spree, with what appeared to be" Broyles took a deep breath and gained a weary look. "Wolf bites. Agent Phillip Harris was put in charge of a team to investigate. Agents Deborah Benn, Roger Harris and George Wilson were found torn to shreds, and Harris was shot. No one was ever prosecuted for the deaths, and there was considerable pressure on elected officials to bury the case. It was one of the cases that we first cited when looking to create Fringe Division, but it was before we had the greater authority the Bureau gained after 9/11."

"And what does this have to do with Dresden?" Peter asked, looking up from the file for a moment.

"Dresden had been arrested in connection with the murders. He was in police headquarters when…something tore through a number of innocent officers. Likely the same was responsible for the deaths of those agents. By itself, this would be enough to be suspicious, but when you look over a ten year period the man is practically a Fringe event factory: abnormal weather patterns, strange diseases, freak accidents, horror movie monsters coming to life. At the very least, there's a chance that he's involved in some way, and if he was in any way responsible for the deaths of those agents, I want him to pay for it."

"There's just one problem." Peter tossed aside the file. "The man has been missing, presumed dead. We're hardly the first people who have been looking for him. In fact, we were flat out asked for help looking for him by some of Chicago's finest."

"Interesting…" Broyles seemed to chew on that information. "Considering his history, it wouldn't be surprising that there would be police collusion. That would explain not being in jail, despite all those incidents."

"That's not really what I mean-"

"We'll follow the evidence sir." Olivia cut in. "And I think I know of a good place to start. Olivia pulled a photograph out of the stack. "Does this look familiar to anyone?" In the photo, a pair of nude bodies was seated on a bed, their chests torn open just like their alien bodies. "Guess who was brought in to consult on the case?"

Broyles took the photo out of her hands, staring at it for a long moment. "Who was the officer in charge of the case?"

"Karrin Murphy."

Olivia's first thought of the former Sergeant Murphy is that she didn't look like a cop, which surprised her. She certainly wasn't a stranger to having to deal with the expectations of men when she worked, and law enforcement certainly had a locker room environment most of the time, and that was something that she herself had to constantly deal with. But Murphy was…well, there was no getting around it: short, petite and blond. Olivia was tall for a woman, at around 5'8, and even then she was often at a disadvantage against some perps. Typically, against evenly trained fighters, the bigger and heavier opponent would always have an advantage in reach and have more weight to put behind their strikes. Most of the time Olivia had to rely on resourcefulness, quick thinking and technique to get the job done, yet she still had at least half a foot on the former police detective.

That notion was dispelled as Olivia went inside. The house certainly seemed to have a woman's touch, but the walls in the living room were covered in trophies and a number of swords hung on the wall. Murphy had done everything in her power to be one of the boys.

For all the good that did her. Olivia continued to look around. "You said you were expecting us?"

She could swear that Murphy almost rolled her eyes. "I still have friends in the department and they mentioned that some FBI agents were hanging around. I haven't been gone so long that my detective skills are that rusty. Go ahead and sit down, I know you have to do this." Murphy motioned to a comfortable looking couch as she settled into a chair. Olivia sat, while Peter continued to pace the room, taking stock of everything.

"Well then, I guess we can get to the point." Olivia leaned forward. "What can you tell me about Harry Dresden?"

Murphy's eyebrows rose slightly, and her eyes widened, subtle signs of surprise before she paused to compose herself. "He's a colleague…something of a friend. I would sometimes call him in as a consultant on some cases. I've known him for a long time."

"You brought him in for cases? Someone who advertised himself as a "Wizard"?

Murphy seemed to give Olivia a bemused look. "You seem surprised. You would be if you watched him at a crime scene. I'll admit it sounds like a strange choice, but the man is a fully licensed PI, and when you're leading the department that gets assigned everything too freaky for the other departments it helps to have someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of the occult who actually knows the basics of investigation. He might seem crazy, but he could be useful from time to time."

Olivia noticed Peter stiffen out of the corner of her eye. "Crazy? How so?"

Murphy eased back in her seat, apparently more comfortable now. "I doubt he's ever been to a shrink, but watching him walk through a crime scene you might think that he's an autistic savant. He makes a point of never looking people in the eye, he's disrespectful of authority figures if not downright hostile and he can be downright anti-social. He'll often look around, and then pause on something and ask a question that seems pointless, and his eyes suddenly light up and mention some piece of lore, or something that he thinks a killer might have been referencing."

"And the times you arrested him?" Olivia tried to stay neutral, trying to throw the subject off her game. Instead, the question didn't seem to faze Murphy, as the woman let out a snort.

"He had it coming. If he thinks that he's protecting someone, the idiot can leave all common sense at the door. He can be a condescending, misogynistic son of a bitch some times, but believe me, he's one of the good guys."

"Even with all of the crimes he's been implicated with?"

Murphy settled a little deeper into her seat. "Do you know how I met Harry Dresden? I was a beat cop, working an Amber alert about a kidnapped girl, with a description of the girl and her suspected kidnapper. She had some rich parents, and there was suddenly a lot of pressure coming down from on high to get it solved I catch sight of them heading toward a bridge and chase the girl down, right before the pair of them get mugged. The would be kidnapper fights the mug off, and I go for the girl. And suddenly, she gets all serious. You know how kids can get like that?"

"Yeah." Olivia responds, smiling as a very clear image of Ella pops into her head. "I know. What does she say?

Murphy almost smiled. "She explains that she's a runaway and that she ought to arrest her. Tells me that I'm stupid for thinking that such a man could ever take her by force. In the end, it turns out the man had been working for Ragged Angel Investigations as an apprentice, and the parents had hired them to find the girl before deciding that it would be cheaper to cut out the middle man. He had been told that it would be safer to just leave the girl than to get caught with her, and yet he had stayed, risking arrest because he wouldn't leave a little girl in the wrong side of town. And that…that was the day that I met Harry Dresden. But I can hardly imagine that you're here because of a missing person's case that has gone cold. So why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

Olivia and Peter exchanged looks. "Alright then." Olivia pulls out a folder and sets a picture of the mutilated alien bodies on the table. "What do you make of this?"

The diminutive police officer picks up the photo. "I think that you can do a lot of things with Photoshop."

"But you don't think its Photoshop." Olivia counters, never breaking her gaze. "Because you were never even fazed when you looked at this photograph. And because it looks-" There was a soft 'thwack' as another photo hit the table, this time of a familiar crime scene photo. "Exactly like this. Jennifer Stanton. Tommy Tomm. Two unsolved murders that were your case and have almost the exact same MO. Are you really going to pretend that this was coincidence?"

Murphy remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed to the photographs. She seemed to teeter on the edge of her seat, crossing her fingers in front of her. "Remember what I said about trying to protect someone? I think the idiot rubbed off on me."

"Don't give me that!" Olivia snapped. "I am looking at dozens of dead agents. Over a hundred injured. I have seen things that would make your head spin, so don't you dare tell me that you're protecting me by keeping you in the dark."

Murphy let out a sigh. "I used to feel the exact same way. I thought I could fit things into boxes. I have seen things, have had things in my head…you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I think I would." Olivia snapped. "You better damned believe that I do. So forget the act before I haul you in for obstruction of justice."

Murphy seemed to pause for a moment before failing to repress a snigger. "I'm sorry, it's not funny. It's just odd to be on the other side of that line for once. Alright then." Murphy settled back into her seat. "You have to understand, this is completely off the record. The last thing I need is for someone to drag me away to a loony bin like Butters."

"Waldo Butters?" Peter called. "The ME?"

"Yeah. He mentioned that you stopped by earlier. The man had the bad luck to be both good at his job, and honest enough to report what he found. There was an incident at the Velvet Room, you can probably look up the records on that. Of course, there's no such thing as bat people. And they certainly didn't assault FBI Headquarters while I was there."

"You were in the building?"Olivia studied the woman across from her again, her surprise evident.

"They didn't mention that, did they?" Murphy looked slightly smug. "Of course not. The FBI wouldn't like to admit that I helped Agent Tilly blast his way out of the building. Ask around where your friends got their intel on the bombing arrest from. You might want to check in on him, and what he thinks. But I guess it's inconvenient for them to acknowledge that fact." There was bitterness in those final words, and her tone grew serious. "Those creatures are real. If you want to find the truth, follow them."

"You have to give me a little more-"

"No." Murphy cut Olivia off definitively. "I believe that you've seen things. But you haven't seen Chicago. And what I tell you, you have to believe me without question. I wouldn't have believed either, in your place. Look at the mouths of the bodies you brought in. You should find venom sacks there. You're going to find ID that says they're normal people."

"Sergeant Murphy, I trust you." Olivia began gently. "Come in with us, and you can explain everything."

Murphy sat silently for a moment. "It's not Sergeant anymore. And Agent Dunham, I don't know if I trust you. But whatever you see…believe. And if you want to know what happened, what really happened…find Harry Dresden. That's all I have for you now."

"Are you sure that was a smart idea Karrie? Blowing them off like that is going to have consequences."

"They've called off the search Henry. To CPD Harry Dresden is as good as dead. In fact, it's better off if he's dead."

"You know…he might be."

"And then I'll know. God help us if he is. God help us if he isn't."

"Right. Seventh century Japanese style, possibly reforged. It would have to be an antique at the very least. There has to be a record of it entering or exiting the country, legitimate or otherwise. Thanks." Peter cut the line on his phone, while a fuming Olivia sat in the driver's seat next to him. "That piece in her living room was really something special, something you couldn't afford on a cop's salary. Maybe it will turn us up something else about her contacts."

"Why would she hold out on us? Why there?" Olivia squeezed her fingers into the steering wheel. "I thought that I was almost there."

"Yeah, you were. She definitely knows something that she isn't telling us. But she's scared, Liv. You saw her file. After the incident at the convention, she got knocked out of division head for even showing up at the crime scene. There wasn't any clear sign of wrongdoing leading up to the attack, and her partner clearly thinks that she got screwed because it was convenient. You know what we put up with when we were first starting Fringe Division. How would you feel, seeing the things we see, if we had to constantly pretend that we weren't seeing it. We've seen it happen in town after town when we've investigated. People think something strange has happened, but there's no way for cops to report it without people thinking that they're crazy."

"But why Chicago?"Olivia chanced a quick glance back over at Peter as she weaved through traffic. "Almost all of our Fringe events were based in the Northeast, based around Boston. If there had been that many issues in Chicago, wouldn't we have been called in by now?"

"And if there was a division based specifically for covering things like that up?" Peter leaned over to face his partner. "This isn't Boston, it's Chicago. There's a history of corruption which goes almost to the entire history of the city. There's big money here, and you better believe that there are people here who don't want the Feds swarming around."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you telling me that you haven't heard of Gentleman Johnny?" Peter asked, exasperation obvious in his voice. "John Marcone?"

"The name rings a bell." Olivia replied, changing lanes. "Are you sure this is the way to the lab your father is being set up at?"

"Yeah, I think so. And evidently, you've never been a part of the organized crime task force. Marcone is a living legend. Anyone who's had a shady deal has heard of the guy. They say that Chicago hasn't had a boss like this since the days of Capone. No one does anything black market, grey market or even relatively shady without getting approval."

"And you know this…how?" Olivia managed to give Peter a withering glance before pulling into a long pathway onto the campus and maneuvering into a parking lot.

"Well, I've known a guy…who's known a guy…who tried something and was found floating in Lake Michigan." Peter answered with complete seriousness as the car came to a stop and he opened the door, swinging his legs out the passenger's side. "In pieces."

"And you think that's the reason why people don't care when things that defy explanation happen?" Olivia shook her head as she began to walk up the pathway to the lab Broyles had designated their unofficial headquarters while in Chicago.

"No, they do a pretty good job on their own. Come on Liv, how many things have we seen that defy explanation? There's no way that we could have contained everyone. People don't want to know…except Walter. Walter is a special case. He wants to know everything that no reasonable person would want to, am I right? Except that strawberry milkshake. I think he's gotten me, oof-"

The figure emerged from the bushes with the speed of a charging bull, and all the grace, bowling into Peter and knocking the wind out of him. Olivia barely had the chance to pull her pistol before the man was on her. The man was a solid mass of muscle, towering over her my at least a head. His hands were pushing away her arms, fouling his fire lane as she pulled the trigger, causing the bullet to whiz harmlessly by, the gunshot echoing into the night. The blow to her head came impossibly fast, knocking her off guard before she left thick fingers tighten around her neck, suddenly feeling pressure as she was lifted off the ground.

"So, this is the one the master spoke of." A basso voice rumbled. "The one with the Sight…and yet something more. You attracted quite a bit of attention when you arrived in the city."

Olivia clawed at the outstretched arm, unable to gain any leverage.

"Your efforts are futile. Come. Soon, you fill join something far greater."

Olivia could feel her limbs begin to lose control, her vision darkening as the loss of oxygen began to shut her system down. She could smell the stench of rotting seafood in her nostrils as the grip stayed tight around her throat and she began to slide into oblivion.

Author's Note 2: Some people may note that a lot of stuff here is not referenced in the Dresden Files novels, most notably how Murphy met Harry and how things have gone for Murphy post-Changes. There is actually canon for this, in some of the short stories that are collected in Side Jobs, most notably "Resurrection of Faith" and "Aftermath" which, apart from being entertaining, give great fodder for storytelling.