Over the course of the night the one called Swerve introduced himself as the owner of the dive bar down near the shore under some snazzy place full of snobbish college kids obsessed with soft core indie music, theatre—spelled 're' not 'er'—black turtle necks, and pipe tobacco. The only reason they got the place was because the place above them was hardly ever occupied because only truly great places are those somehow unpopular and unheard of. This small man gabbed on and on until finally he'd tired himself out and curled on his side in a nap.

Rewonda had stayed awake with her glasses recording, sending live footage to the outside world. She only prayed that for once Chromedome wasn't listening to her rule about not touching her computer. Keeping her head turning to look on various things, the young woman leaned against Temperance for warmth. She was offering her friend some grief with her. By then Temperance was told what banshees do and could only hold back her tears, finally thankful that she was a little taller than the data collector, her head thrown back as she felt the burning hot tears streak down the side of her face as she stared up into a single sky light. That was a nice word for it. It was probably more of a missing roof sheet with a cloudy moonlight peering in from overhead. The rain had long stopped, but that had only made the air thicker, the stench on it heavier.

Thanks to the new hiked levels of humidity that bad blood scent was more of a miasma. It was nauseating, but the pallor girl was used to it. She simply closed her eyes and meditated on the pain that was itching at the back of her mind, medication slowly sweating out from her nerves. She did her best to calm down, forcefully breathing, but she was too scared.

To throw her mind off it she remembered how she'd reacted after her initial scream. She had completely panicked and grabbed one of the garden tools leaned up against the wall of the apartment and beaten the creature over the head with it. Turns out she'd grabbed a shovel and thrown it to the ground. Unfortunately it hadn't come alone. She was clubbed over the head by something else as hard and heavy as the shovel she'd attacked another with. Her body fell almost endlessly into the dark, combined with medication and the blunt trauma, she was easy to abduct.

Seeing just how jittery she'd become Rewonda gripped Temperance's hand and smiled, whispering up to her. "Hey. Remember movie night? The one I took you to after we got you dressed to those New York Nines? You remember how I laughed so hard I snorted my beer?" Thankfully the woman wasn't too far gone in her fear. She laughed when Rewonda retold the tale of one of the happiest memories she could recall. They talked quietly together for some time, warmth growing between them until the methodical clicking of heeled footsteps filled the air. Both the young women froze, eyes wide and sharp as a figure so tall approached them that both of them craned their necks. Who one earth could ever be so tall?

"Comfortable?" A voice asked from above, its hum low and throaty. Regal, even. A publicity figure's sort of voice. "I would hope so. They do say the lamb who sees the knife's meat spoils, thus the kill nulled."

"Tyrest," Rewonda glowered, leaning up and standing abruptly, jerked back to her knees by the shortness of her chain. "Lobbyist and cocksucker for legislature's right winged shit, all in the name of the biggest bullshit in human rights abducts people and locks them in warehouses that smell like the dead and dying. Wouldn't that just be so quaint," the woman growled, slinking back on her haunches. She wanted to be as far from this man as humanly possible.

"Rewonda 'Rewind' Jackson: theft, arson, extortion, bribery: is there no depth to which you will not dive? Sydney 'Swerve' Logan: illegal possession of banned alcohols, abetting in providing escape vehicles for various crimes, and loitering. And Temperance, the waif child, ward of the state, who fell into a protective coma after being terrorized by rogue bloodlings. You have never actually committed any legally defined crime, but you have smeared your good name by association with the filth around you," Tyrest read off their crimes sternly.

"So what, you're going to kick us into the due process of the law? Burry us in paperwork and jail time until we die?" Swerve asked, having shot up from his "nap".

Tyrest turned his deep glowing eyes on the smaller man whose white roots were defiantly consuming the rest of his hair. It was just impossible to hide it, wasn't it?

"Oh no, Sydney. There is a far darker pit of hell waiting for you."

When Cyclonus returned to Galvatron's office it was a much less graceful entrance. The pilot kicked open the door and walked on top of the wreckage with a violent look in his eyes. However, this time Galvatron was prepared. He raised his legendary armored skin up to blood the attack coming from a sheathed sword. He grunted when the concealed weapon cracked against his arm.

"Back for more, I see. Angry I got you riled up and then let you free?"

This was not received well. Galvatron was nearly beheaded when Cyclonus unsheathed the sword, its black blade swinging expertly in the air. The larger man lumbered back and grabbed a pistol that looked more like a gun stuffed with radioactive goo by its size. The barrel was big enough to hold a flip phone, and the bullets inside were sure to do some real damage. "Not so feisty when I've got a gun that could shortstop your life in your face, huh? I miss this kinda control over you."

The pilot's teeth were showing, ends of his canines furiously sharp. His eyes glowed red in the dark as he crouched against the floor his his sword raised. He was in no mood and he needed Galvatron to comply. Although his best attempt to stay calm was still not enough.

The lord of that particular paranormal faction smirked as he lowered the gun. There was no point in blowing the head off the only person Galvatron had a particular inclination to use the word 'love' when talking about. He sat the gun on his massive wooden desk and walked over to the fuming man. He squatted down to his own threatened position, tilting Cyclonus' head up to his.

"I see the rain washed away your scent," he whispered, Cyclonus resisting that dark, commanding tone in Galvatron's voice. "And so since your usual information network is tied up somewhere… you need me. And yet you come in her blazing guns and glory like you're going to intimidate me."

Cyclonus felt the nails dig into his jaw as his growl was forced to subside. His eyes dulled as he stared into the controlling, dark madness of Galvatron's sneer. He knew he was in control and knew exactly the price of his information. The pilot could feel a hollow pit in his stomach growing as he closed his eyes, furious rage fading with mediation. He couldn't rip Galvatron's throat out, no matter how much he would have liked to. Too many people would be after him, many of them less understanding.

"You're best down there," Galvatron whispered, chuckling. Pulling Cyclonus to his feet by his face, Galvatron led them over to the edge of the desk. The large lord of chaos sat on the edge and pushed Cyclonus back down the floor on his knees, all with a knowing look. "You remember before the war when you'd pull the bomb alarms on the base… they'd hide in the bunkers for an hour and we'd be up in the watch towers… Just you… and me…"

Cyclonus felt the air between them crackle with heat. So this was how he was going to get the information… how very Galvatron. The man, knowing only what he had to do, said nothing as he slid his fingers expertly over the larger man's pants. His red eyes stared straight into Galvatron's as he popped the button on his black jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly.

Closing his eyes Galvatron stared straight ahead, smirk so wide and so satisfied that it made Cyclonus want to punch him. But that would be counterproductive. Instead the pilot slowly, expertly slid his fingers beneath the waistband of Galvatron's briefs, giving a teasing bite at his hip as he slid the fabric down at a glacial pace. If Cyclonus had his way the warlord would have gotten off and he would be on his way to find Temperance. But this wasn't something he could rush. He remembered those times he had tried that. It didn't end well for him.

The larger of the two gave a hiss of satisfaction, biting his lip in a pleased chortle. He was half hard just thinking that he could finally get Cyclonus on his knees again, but he knew it wouldn't be much work to get him all the way up. The pilot knew more than a few tricks to do what was necessary.

Cyclonus took the half-hard shaft into his hands and ran his tongue from the base to the head, stopping to gently suck. He relished in the hiss of pleasure that escaped the man above him, taking his head into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it slowly. Daringly the pilot slid his other hand into Galvatron's briefs and slowly, softly played with his balls. Immediately the reaction was clear, Cyclonus feeling the length swell in his mouth as he slid it deep into his throat. He did his best to relax his mouth, but sometimes size was just impeding.

Galvatron instantly grabbed a fistful of the younger one's purple hair and pulled him down. Cyclonus did his best to keep his pace, but the sudden jab to the back of his throat caused a soft gag. Nevertheless, the man continued. He sucked and licked around the huge shaft swelling in his mouth, using one hand to pump when he pulled back. A free hand defiantly dug its nails into Galvatron's leg. The man let out a grunt and a snicker as he pushed Cyclonus' head back down again.

"You still hate it even though you're so good… Ngh! Haha… You know you've missed this."

If Cyclonus had his mouth free he would have told Galvatron that he'd rather bite it off than suck it, but once more the urges were silenced by circumstances. He simply began sucking and swallowing harder and faster to finish him off. The faster he made Galvatron cum the more time he would have to search for Temperance.

Finally, Galvatron grunting and panting with each suck, Cyclonus felt the man come right to the edge. The pilot took Galvatron in right to the hilt as he felt his hips buck into the sensation, a tremor of pleasure washing over the man as Cyclonus' throat was filled. Still riding off the orgasm, Galvatron looked down to the man pleasing posed on his knees and hissed, "Swallow."

Against better judgment the pilot did just that. He shuddered as the bitter fluids ran down his throat. He slowly slid his mouth away, licking his lips, sharp teeth gleaming in the lowlight as he fell back on his haunches. He wiped his mouth, noting that he would throw back a shot of something—mouthwash, scotch, hell, even watered down toothpaste—the minute he left.

After a moment of mental recovery the pilot stood while Galvatron pulled himself back into his pants and zipped them up. They both stared at each other, one with satisfaction and the other with contempt. However, a deal was a deal, even if Cyclonus had owed the larger one that blow job for a couple of decades.

"The bloodlings are being led by the corrupt politician Tyrest. You know, the one whose age rivals ours? Well, the underground was supposed to take him out before he got too dangerous, but then again when does the underground get anything done with human figureheads?" Galvatron sighed, lighting a cigar and crossing his legs at the ankles as he leaned back against his desk. "The thing is… he's been hunting down people like your pet project for a while now. They keep them on the edge and close to the underground so that when they're of age they'll be too weak to fight back."

"What about Rewonda?" Cyclonus asked, sucking his teeth clean.

"She was taken during one of the cab driver's PTSD episodes. You know how fucking with people's heads fucks up your own. Well while he was seizing on the bed they beat the girl over the back of her head and dragged her out. Tough luck for the bartender: he's just a bad shot and his partner was working with the underground that night. Temperance, however… they knew she was a diamond in the rough. She was kept weak in fear until one of the rogues got impatient. She would have been killed much earlier had she not been admitted to the hospital where the shrink works. He's wrapped that building in mistletoe, silver accents, and various other wards. She's made it this far thanks to a handful of accidents, really."

"And you know all of this because?"

"Who do you think Rewonda got the files from?" Galvatron sneered, tapping some ash into a crystal bowl on his desk. "If you'd like your Palestinian partner to get his ear off the door, I'd be more than happy to give you a general vicinity in which to look."

In the background the sound of someone's shoulder being slapped and a glass dropping and breaking followed by a swear and an apology was heard. Galvatron, satisfied that the two waiting outside had left, he pulled a hand-scrawled map on a bar napkin from the nightclub throbbing through the floor below them.

"I don't have an address but it's somewhere on the docks out by the marine shipping containers. I've been told it's a blue one… then again, over half of them are blue. Another source said it's a warehouse that fishermen use… but I can't be sure."

Cyclonus, fury flowing throw him, grabbed Galvatron by the collar and snarled. "Look, I really don't know! But if you want to waste your damn time taking it out on me rather than looking for her, fine!"

A moment of rage buzzed between them when Cyclonus finally conceded, throwing Galvatron back against the desk. On the way out the pilot picked up his sword, slid it back into the sheath, and pocketed the map. There was so much space they all needed to search and there was no real telling the number of bloodlings that were guarding wherever they were. The only thing he knew was that they had to work fast.

Outside Whirl and a now equipped First Aid stood, the medic pressing his back flat against the wall. He knew to get out of Cyclonus' way when he was on a war path. They quickly turned around and followed him out the back door and down onto the sticky, damp alley way. Before they went back to the van where the underground's eyes were waiting Cyclonus turned and grabbed Whirl.

"Aw man, what now?" He groaned, face bandaged like a mummy.

"Give it."

"Give what? I don't know what you're talking about," he threw his hands up, eyes not telling the whole truth.

Not breaking that eye contact Cyclonus reached in Whirl's inside pocket and pulled out a flask. First Aid shoved Whirl angrily, but the more interesting sight was watching Cyclonus guzzle the cheap alcohol. He shoved the now empty metal flask.

"Tell Skids and the others that they're close to the water in a shipping container or large abandoned warehouse that would be owned or connected to Tyrest. And then tell him that if I find him first that they're only going to find pieces."

Whirl and First Aid watched as the man scaled wall easily and disappeared over the top. Both of them looked down at the napkin the pilot had shoved into Whirl's hand. It wasn't even in English. The characters were strange and looked like all the buttons you didn't use on a calculator.

"Skids, you're smart, right?" First Aid asked the super-learned. The charismatic smile that pulled over his angular jaw and handsome face was almost mocking.

"Smart, sure," he chuckled, taking the map. "Oh, that's easy. Russian. Says it's the pier that's…" Skids trailed off, eyes narrowing at a scribbled phrase. "Oh shit."

"Oh shit? Don't mean to sound like 'that token brown guy' but doesn't oh shit usually mean something bad?" Whirl asked, cocking a sharp brow.

Skids handed the napkin to a man sitting in the front seat with a golden metal face mask over his own, eyeing over the napkin. He nudged his budding sitting in the passenger side who read it aloud in Russian and then turned back to Skids with a nod. The young theoretician rubbed the bridge of his nose as he typed in a text that would spread to every underground phone in a hundred mile radius.

"What's the deal? Why is this so bad?" First Aid asked, Whirl haven given up on asking and focused on loading the guns strapped to his hips, ankles, and inside pockets. So what, he liked to be prepared?

Skids, after confirming with someone who went by the name Getaway, turned to the medic with a grave expression, his own hands loading a pistol.

"They're near a pier set to be sunk. It's holding several boats that are being retired and created into man-made reefs. The way things are being set up is that you can hook the boats to a much larger vessel and ship them out to a location with a depleted oceanic ecosystem where they can sink the ships that have been prepped to grow reefs and invite ecological restructure."

"And… that means what?" Whirl asked, snapping the clip of bullets into the gun.

"They can be rigged to be dropped in a body of water. If Tyrest knows we're coming he could drown us out at any time. Hell, they could already be dead," Skids explained, foot tapping against the floor of the van.

"Don't sweat it, mate," Getaway smirked, Kiwi accent sharp through his metal mask. "Looks like your smart little banshee knows her way around a broadcasting network."

Sure enough on the screen Rewonda's feed was playing live to every underground screen she could reach. The radius was set to fifty miles and she was constantly feeding information and life talking, letting them know it wasn't a loop from Tyrest. Skids and First Aid were squeezed together, sharing a pair of earbuds as they both frantically listened in.

"If anyone can hear this the name's Rewonda, code name Rewind. We're being held in what smells like fish rot hell. We being Temperance, designation suspected empath keeping the company of the absent Cyclonus, associate of mine. Swerve, designation Harpy and owner of Nuts and Bolts dive bar keeping the company of underground analyst and theoretician named Skids. If anyone out there can hear us we're still alive and kicking although I can't guarantee that much longer… Domey if you hear this… stop fucking with people's heads. It'll kill you. I know it sounds morbid but there's a slug in my office with your name burned in the side. I've kept it just in case. Skids, if we are still alive by the time you sluggish search dogs find us I cannot guarantee Swerve's safety. He hasn't shut up since we got here unless he's tired himself out. Cyclonus, I know… She's fine for now, but when they find out she won't get to wait until the full moon. And lastly, my dear listeners, hurry the fuck up. It smells awful in here, it's cold as hell with westward winds and the smell of salt, fish production, and lots and lots of blood. Code Black, I repeat, Code black."

Once Getaway had gotten his earful the van rumbled to a start. First Aid leaned out of the door only to see a motorcycle rumbling to life. It roared in the street, Whirl smirking as he revved the monstrous sounding engine. The bike flew down the street ahead as First Aid was given a seat in the van near the back. There was too much time to just idle. There were three lives at stake and for once they knew exactly where they were.

Temperance had passed out after coughing up a handful of blood onto the floor. Rewonda stroked the young woman's hair as she laid down on her lap, soothing her with a gentle song. There wasn't much time left. A day, maybe two max. That chilling cold of a reaper's presence hung in the air just as heavily as the stench. It stood just out of the corner of her eye, checking its watch and sighing, but never there when you looked right where it clearly should have been. It frustrated the archivist. She frowned hard as she held Temperance's hand tightly.

"If you're so damn impatient then why not spare her suffering?" Rewonda hissed, the burning cold against her skin itching just out of her reach.

Then, scampering from the corner like a starved dog, the familiar dragging of limbs and sniffing was heard. Rewonda's eyes were sharp against the dark as she watched the blackest shadow lurch back and forth like it knew not to approach but couldn't help the need. Finally it sprinted forward a few feet, stopping, pacing back and forth, and repeating this until the bloodling could be seen from the edge of the moonlight illuminating the three.

The creature looked human only in appearance, the rest of its body language and noises primal. The archivist watched as it snapped its jaws angrily, all teeth sharpened to needle points. She recalled what happened to vampires when their hunts became a chance to feel life leaving a body rather than feeding the hunger. When it became a drug rather than a need part of their brain had shrunk. Without that life it induced hallucinations, radical behavior, animal like actions, and loss of conscience. Rewonda smirked when she saw it circling the light, nails sharpened points and eyes deep into its skull.

"You sold your humanity for a taste of life," she snickered, her own sharpened fangs revealing. Sometimes when banshees sensed death near it was not planned but that they would die by her own hand. Thus the defensive details that mimicked a shark's mouth. "And now you're praying to suck the life out of one last being before your god permits your soul's entrance into a fantasy."

Not understanding the creature only snarled and roared a bark. Rewonda could see how it had been rotting from the inside out for a long time. Blood and pus dripped from its mouth as it hung slack. She could never imagine the taste of life on her tongue, but whatever its flavor it clearly was something beyond comprehension to drive someone to madness.

"It's not a fantasy even in the slightest. But what would a sinner know of faith?" Tyrest's voice sighed in a bored tone. He approached from the thick darkness and kicked the bloodling aside.

"So when do you break the news that you don't have enough 'angels' blood to go around for the rogues?" She snickered, retracting those dangerous teeth.

"They know there is not enough."

"Oh do they?" She asked, tilting her head curiously. "Cause," she stuck her lips out in mocking observation. "They don't seem to hear very well. Some point past when they hear a reaper's scythe dragging on the ground behind them they panic. That's what really drives them to the animosity: fear. The only reason they haven't exsanguinated us yet is because you have a power hold on them. They fear you more than damnation. A sizeable feat, I must admit."

Tyrest brushed aside some bangs revealing a gold fissure in his skin. It ran in streaks up his scalp and around his head like a sick, burned in crown. He smiled to himself almost as if everything was crystal to his eyes. There was no muddy explanation needed, it was all very, very clear.

"An underground rogue did this to me when I refused to do an under the table favor for him. Took melted gold and poured it over my head. A crown for a king, he said. I was lucky to survive, but after I lived I met a priest in the hospital. He told me four words before he left. God saves the worthy. And ever since I knew that my sins, my creations and wrongdoings would be absolved if I could just find the key. Then I heard some lore about angels' blood… and it all… just fell together…" He smirked, a mad twinkle in his eyes.

"You're not a rogue… so what good is it to you?" Rewonda narrowed her eyes, actually uninformed for the first time in her life.

The man simply smiled and said, "Angels' blood absolves all sins in any heart. If I have lost my mind to blood yet has no importance."

The young woman said nothing as she sat there, squeezing Temperance and Swerve's hand tighter. She meditated and kept the reaper's watch off of them, fixing her senses on Tyrest. Mark the fool, she hoped. Maybe the innocent will finally be spared.

Cyclonus was standing on top of a radio tower and looking down over the pier. There must have been over a thousand shipping crates stated against each other and none of them showed signs of life or movement. Bloodling rogues weren't smart enough to navigate that maze, he thought to himself as he looked over the warehouse block. Now that was simpler. There were six warehouses and one next to several prepped vessels. Something about them caught his eye, the vampire leaping down from the tower to a small leveled base. He cursed as his hands stung from bracing himself, but he could still use them. Down below was a rumbling motorcycle and a nodding Whirl who'd confirmed his suspicions.

The vampire got onto the ground and begrudgingly got onto the back of Whirl's motorcycle after some coercion. "Come on, grumpy," Whirl smirked, jabbing a thumb to the back of his bike. "We've got a damsel to de-distress."

"That's not a word," Cyclonus growled as he got on the back of the bike.

"No, but it's catchy."

"No it's not."

"You know what, shut the fuck up."