Heisenberg was on edge, but not for the usual reasons. Walking as slowly as he dared, he pulled a half-smoked cigar from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He had dug into the good stuff, today. After all, it was a celebration. Mother was getting ready for her little family reunion. Striking the lighter, he stared into the fire as he lit up, watching it flare as he puffed, considering its nature and appreciating the brightness and heat. It was always far too gloomy here. And shit, it was cold.

His mind swirled with the events of the past few days. Things were moving too quickly since Miranda returned from her little vacation with new orders for him. Frowning, he realized he had gotten too comfortable. Too complacent in his misery and bitterness while the world was moving around him, and he underestimated Miranda, he realized now, too late. While he gnashed his teeth and moved through the same mind-numbing machinations day after day, she was evolving. Scheming. Using her desperation and obsession as means to make real her ambitions. That crazy bitch actually did it. He really didn't think he would live to see the day. And now it was here, and he was very much alive, but he knew it wouldn't be for long. She was planning something. How would this new development change things for him? He knew Miranda was not so sentimental as to keep them around for the hell of it. Once she had what she wanted, it would be the end for them all. Hell, she already ravaged the entire village – what was even left to rule? The days of worshippers prostrating at their feet and the tithes and tits were long gone.

But what did he care? He only participated for show in Miranda's grand farce. He had grown bored. And angry. Did she know? Could she sense through some weird, fucked up cosmic mold magic how he would lie awake at night, fantasizing about tearing out her heart and smashing her head in with his hammer in front of his siblings, giving Moreau a front seat to his precious mothers undoing as he sniveled and whined and puked all over himself.

Or how during her monotonous, grandstanding sermons to the idiot masses how he drowned her out to think about the many ways to automize his creations so his army could crush her and his siblings and the whole fucking village and then he would sell them to the highest bidder, probably some government who wanted to get their hands on a few unstoppable killing machines…who cared that they were reanimated corpses? After a few days, you really do get used to the smell…

Undeterred with the preoccupations of all his regrets and internal chiding, he continued towards the church. That dank place where he would meet his…family. Where she had summoned them only a half hour before, and after his little late-night errands for her? Ungrateful as ever. His fingers twitched along the leather grips of his hammer.

Pulled back down to reality, Heisenberg was startled to see one of the villagers poking their heads down into the big bitches' wine cellar. This struck him, as so few things did.

So, there were a few survivors after all.

Well, good for him. He wouldn't be walking into his little meeting empty handed. He liked to think he was the favorite, after all, much to Alcina's dismay. Keeping up appearances and all that.

Instead of calling out, he watched the man duck into the cellar entryway. Following at a quicker pace now, he ducked inside and watched him explore the room, testing the doors until finally settling on the lever to gain access to the old cellar. Focusing inward, Karl concentrated on the metal lever, keeping it from being pulled down. Power surged up around him. He let it go, unchecked, as metal in the room began to swirl.

He could barely contain his genuine surprise. "Well, Well. Didn't think anyone was left! You must be pretty tough, huh?"

He chucked the cigar as he waited for the man's response. Things were about to get interesting.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Now this really took him by surprise. "Oh you're not local! Even better!"

This guy must have been a survivor of the wreck carrying that kid. One of those agents after Miranda. He knew they should have made sure everyone in that van was dead.

In an almost split decision, Heisenberg hoisted the rusted rebar sitting at the entrance to the cellar and hurtled it forward, impaling the outsider right above the gut. Constricting his chest, he cast his power on every piece of metal in the room, his excitement growing and adding to the ferocity in which the scrap flew around him. He aimed it all at Ethan.

"Ah shit." He hoped this guy was as tough as he thought he was. He needed to survive long enough to make it to the sanctuary so he could introduce him to the rest of the family. From the corner of the damp room, he heard the scuffling of an animal, probably spooked by the racket.

Finally, the outsider stopped moving. Good. He probably shouldn't struggle with the gaping chest wound he had. The metal fell to the ground with a clatter and using the rebar, he fashioned a decent pair of shackles and attached it to the chain. Stringing Ethan's hands through, he hummed to himself to break up the quiet. He should keep this one for himself. He was pretty fresh. Maybe he would be a good candidate for Sturm 2.0? No, it was getting late, and the later he was the worse it would be for him. As he finished up, a glimmering from under the unconscious man's shoulder caught his attention. A stamped set of dog tags.

Must be from this guy. Miranda might want a name for later. He snatched it up and pushed it into his pocket.

"Let's get this over with." As he drug the outsider back through the entry, he heard it again. A shuffling noise. Was it a mouse? No. Probably a rat. God he hated this village. Vermin everywhere.

xx

Arriving late to the party wasn't so bad when you were with a VIP. Hauling his prize up before the rest of them, he watched Mirana's eyes closely. Would she be pleased? Hopefully he wasn't already dead…

"How disrespectful. There's blood everywhere you nasty little ape. He's barely alive. Why would you drag his carcass here before Mother!?" Alcina spit the words at him.

Ignoring her, he turned to Miranda, whose eyes glimmered intensely behind her gold mask. She nodded to him and, glancing at his gift, spoke in a honeyed and pleasant tone, "Ah. Yes. And what should we do with you?"

Sensing she was pleased, he turned to take his seat, leaning his hammer against the bench and stretching his arms out behind him. He didn't bother to hide his smirk.

Alcina's started hard into his eyes, undeterred as she let her sharp voice cut the air "Mother, he should be entrusted to House Dimitrescu! My daughters do so love entertaining foreigners, and I can promise that in short order we will have ready the finest batch of blood for you to enjoy. And just in time for the ceremony!"

Moreau grunted and snorted but said nothing discernable.

Karl rolled his eyes. Selfish bitch. "Let me have him. I can put on a show that everyone can enjoy!"

From Donna's lap, Angie gasped and clapped. "No, no! Donna! We could bring him home to play! We just love outsiders!"

He couldn't say he liked Donna, but by far she was the one he hated the least. Creepy-doll-thing non-withstanding, she stayed out of his way. Quiet and reserved, she lived alone in her family home (unless you counted the weird dolls she was always making). He figured she did that to stave the loneliness. Like Alcina and her daughters. He and his haulers and soldats and hell even Sturm – the failure that he was. Moreau…well he was just a freak. He had his video collection and unhealthy Oedipal obsession to keep him busy.

Donna brought a hand up to silence the dolls shrill voice. Angie was certainly everything Donna was not. Maybe the dolls' personality was everything she wanted to be, or really was. He couldn't know. Miranda had jammed her claws in and twisted her just as badly as all of them, maybe worse; he wasn't sure what was real and what was "mothers" creation. He almost pitied her. He almost pitied them all.

Alcina stood, desperation creeping into her voice, her words sounding uneven. "He should be given to House Dimitrescu."

Ignoring her, Miranda turned back to Heisenberg.

"You've done well, my son. I know this man. This is the father of the vessel. Ethan Winters" He could feel Alcina's glare from across the room, her resentment was palpable.

Karl nearly laughed out loud, but stifled it and instead nodded in her direction. Man he really stepped in it. Not only was this guy still alive; he was pretty special. He was already infected, and the kid's father! What a lucky find. He should have ripped his head off and jammed engine parts into him when he had the chance.

Alcina tried again, this time rising from her seat. "Wonderful, the perfect addition to-"

Miranda cut her off. "I will take him. You have already all been given your gifts. This one is mine."

A hush fell on the room. Even Angie shut the fuck up for once.

"Mother! How delightful!" Moreau broke the silence, his wet, labored breathing making Heisenberg want to rip the bones off his stupid hooded cape-thing and beat him to death with them. It wasn't his fault, really. He wasn't supposed to be that way. None of them were. For as much as he hated his siblings, he felt something akin to anger on their behalf as well as his own.

Something was coming to a head. Something that felt like reckoning. But what would he know about that? He was just Miranda's good dog. The prodigal son kneeling next to the dark Mother, in the name of the Black God, ruling over the entire flimsy house of cards of their shitty little charade. He wondered if there was a hell and if he would be welcome there. After the shit that he's done, he wondered if he would get his own level of purgatory to rule over. It made him feel sick.

"Anything else?" Miranda's voice cut the silence like a knife, deadly and dripping with a sweet tone that hid the stench of poison.

There was nothing else. So why did she call them all here again, anyway? The bitch already cut the kid up and served her. The father was just the dessert.

Miranda beamed at them, taking a moment to look at each one before continuing. "Good. Then tomorrow at dusk you will bring the flasks to the ceremony site. Each of you have a role to play. Once the Black God is awakened and ready, we can begin."

Shit, tomorrow? Already? The final sands of the hourglass had already escaped and only now did he realize he was drowning in it. Tomorrow wasn't enough time. But fuck, it had to be. He had to do something.

"I am so very proud of all of you, my children."

Pff. What a load of shit. He opened his mouth to say so. "Thank you, Mother." was all he could utter, trying his best to look grateful. He glanced toward Alcina and was almost surprised to find her fierce gaze leveled in his direction. Something in her stare made him feel uneasy. Like this was serious, and more intense than the usual picking they did at each other.

Was he laying it on too thick? It didn't matter, that bitch would be dead soon. They all would if he didn't get his shit together. He let his eyes trail to the sorry excuse for a human Miranda had bound at her side. He followed the rusted chain to her hand, wrapped so tightly around her fist that it drew blood. Curious. What was she planning on doing with him? She had what she wanted; the guy was already basically Lycan food. The bastard was lucky he was made of mold or that gut shot he gave him back there with the rebar would have probably cured all the guys ails permanently. Yeah, he could admit that was rash. He was careless. But this gave him pause. What else was up her sleeve? He would have to do a little looking into it. Not that he had the time. He knew that it was growing awfully short, and these fucking dullards were eating it up with a spoon.

"Well. That's my cue." Karl stood, grabbing his hammer and taking the opportunity to look down his nose at Alcina for once and, with a smirk, blew her a kiss.

Alcina's face twisted with disgust, anger pouring off her, but looked away without comment. She must have been pretty pissed to not insult him as he made his way out.

Huh. So much for some action. Grabbing his hammer, he strolled out of the sanctuary. At least this little turn of events didn't affect him further than the shitstorm Miranda already thew at him last night. Flipping that van had been easy enough, and had he known why, he might have flipped it right onto Miranda's fucking head.

He had shit to do anyway. One hand fell into his pocket to reach for his lighter, and his gloved fingers fell to the rounded edge of the dog tags he had shoved into his pocket instead.

"Alright, Ethan Winters. No longer a man of mystery." Boring.

Lazily, he raised them up to the light, tilting them to make out the imprint. Confusion was replaced with realization followed very quickly by excitement.

He stuffed them back into his jacket and tilted his hat as he quickened his pace before the others could see the smile ghosting his lips. "See you soon, little mouse."