AN: Whoo, sry about the long delay on this chapter. we've had a lot of real life stuff going on lately, school, work, its been hectic. But we managed and were hear now, thank you all so much for your patience everyone! As a little challenge, can any of you figure out which one of us is in charge this chapter?

I giggled almost maniacally as I felt a strong tug on my fishing line. This was it, I could feel it deep within my bones. My first catch of the day! I had been stuck out here for hours, sitting on this rickety dock with Dad as my fishing buddy. The chilly afternoon breeze nipped at my ears and nose, my white cloak thankfully protecting the rest of me from the encroaching signs of winter. And with it, the end of the fishing season.

But I was determined to reel in at least one fish before then, damnit!

I leaned back and cranked at the reel with all my considerable Huntsmen-in-training strength would allow me, anticipating the satisfying weight of a fat catfish or bass on the other end. A victorious grin split my face as my rod nearly snapped from the resistance. Almost got it…

With a final heave, I yanked my long-awaited prize from the murky depths of the pond. Only to find… a grimy, waterlogged rag dangling from my hook. Pond scum and rotting leaves clung to the tattered fabric as it swayed in the breeze.

My smile vanished faster than Yang's temper. Behind me, Dad's booming laughter echoed across the water, making my ears burn with embarrassment and irritation. I shot a glare at him over my shoulder, but he just laughed even harder, slapping his knee as if to add insult to injury.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," I grumbled, trying to untangle the disgusting rag from my line. My fingers were growing numb from the cold. After a few frustrating attempts, I gave up and cut the line with an old camping knife that Dad brought along. The rag plopped back into the water with a sad little splash. "Not like you're doing any better, old man."

Dad just chuckled and cast his line back out into the open water. "Patience, Russet. The fish aren't always cooperative."

I huff and plop back down on the log I dragged over to serve as my makeshift seat. The awkward silence settles between us, broken only by the occasional plop of a lure hitting the water or by the lonely cry of a crow flying overhead.

It's unfortunately been like this all afternoon, stilted conversations and long stretches of quiet. I know Dad is trying, reaching out to spend more quality time with all of us after Uncle Qrow apparently chewed him out while he was laid up with a broken arm. I was the only one who agreed to go fishing with him today. Yang was still grounded for that speeding ticket, not that I actually expected her to stay inside the house the second we left. And Ruby begged off, wanting to tinker with her weapon prototype instead.

Hopefully, she gets the time and motivation to take a look at my plans while I'm out here.

Anyway, fishing was probably a bad choice for some father-son bonding, regardless. The memories I get from the other two from their lives on Earth means that I technically already know how to fish, despite never having done it myself in either life. The deja-vu is equal parts frustrating and boring. I let out an aggravated sigh and cast out my line again, idly watching my line arcing out over the water with an ease that I feel is unearned.

So much for learning how to fish…

The silence stretched between me and Dad for several minutes before I decided to break the uncomfortable silence. "Hey, Dad… what's the biggest Grimm you've ever fought?" I asked, genuinely curious.

I could see the surprise flicker across Dad's face at my sudden question, his blue eyes widening slightly behind his aviator sunglasses. But a small, genuine smile quickly replaced it as he all but jumped at the chance to actually talk.

I tried not to feel too guilty about that. It's not like I actively avoided him like Yang did sometimes… I just never knew what to say to the man.

"Well, let's see…" Dad mused, rubbing his scruffy chin in thought. "Well, there was this pretty big King Taijtu back in the Emerald Forest when I was still attending Beacon."

He looks like he's about to continue, before pausing and scratching his cheek sheepishly, "But my old Combat Instructor had to step in for that one. Your old man bit off a bit more than he could chew with that nasty snake."

"That was the last time I split off from my team, let me tell you," He finished, pointedly looking away from my disbelieving stare.

I snorted, trying to picture a younger version of Dad getting his ass kicked by an overgrown garden snake. "Really? I thought you were supposed to be some sort of hotshot Huntsman." I mocked, a small smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

Dad laughed, looking a bit more lively than I've seen him in a while, "Hey now, I never said I was perfect. Besides, that was a long time ago. I've gotten a lot better since then."

"Uh-huh, sure you have." I drawled, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

Dad just shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Brat. Anyways, if you want to hear about a real monster of a Grimm, let me tell you about the Sea Feilong that attacked the boat your Uncle Qrow and I were on when we were heading over to Mistral after graduation."

I perked up before narrowing my eyes, trying to remember if I'd read about Sea Feilongs before. The name feels familiar…

Suddenly, it all came rushing back in a dizzying flood of information, as if someone had opened the floodgates in my brain. Information both intimately familiar yet distinctly foreign, all at once. Facts and tidbits about the Grimm in question sprang up unconsciously, all gleaned from the pages of a book that one of the others must have read in the past.

From what they've read, Sea Feilongs were supposed to be pretty rare, dwelling deep in the ocean and rarely ever seen. Granted, it's because they don't usually leave any survivors to recount their appearance. But they're said to be absolutely massive, dwarfing even the largest of Nevermores or Goliaths.

I leaned forward, my own curiosity piqued, "How big was it?"

Dad spread his arms out wide, nearly smacking me in the face in the process. "Bigger than our house, easy. It came bursting out of the water next to our boat, sending waves of water crashing over the deck."

"I swear to the Brother Gods, Russ, I thought the boat was going to capsize immediately," He continued, eyes unfocused, "That thing didn't give us any warning - one second, Qrow and I were enjoying the sea breeze and the next, we had this giant serpentine head rising out of the water like something straight out of a nightmare."

"What did you do to beat it?" I asked, my fishing rod long forgotten. Who knew my old man was a good storyteller?

Dad laughed, louder and more genuine than the small chuckles he was letting out before, "Beat it? Heck, we were trying to survive! Qrow and I were the only two trained Huntsmen on board, so it was up to us to protect the civilians and take that thing down."

I tried to picture it in my head, a Grimm the size of our two-story cabin rising up out of the churning sea. The mental image sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

"Well, considering I'm here to hear this story, I'm guessing you made it out alive," I quipped, trying to shake off the sense of unease that had settled over me.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, son," Dad grumbled, but I could tell that he was enjoying this. "In the end, Qrow and I got lucky. We managed to damage its wings badly enough so that it couldn't chase after the ship. The Captain had the engines going full throttle just to get us out of there in one piece."

I shook my head in amazement at Dad's story, trying to picture the sheer scale of the Sea Feilong he described. It was hard to wrap my head around the idea of a Grimm that massive, even if I logically knew that there were Grimm out there that would dwarf the Sea Feilong in comparison. The largest Grimm I had ever encountered seemed downright tiny in comparison.

"That's pretty crazy," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "I can't even imagine facing something like that."

Dad chuckled, reeling in his line and casting it out again with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Well, you're still young, Russet. Give it time and I'm sure you'll have your own crazy Grimm stories to tell.

"Speaking of which," He continued, glancing over at me with a raised eyebrow, "What's the biggest Grimm you've ever seen? I know Signal already took you and your sister out on a couple of those Grimm Studies field trips by now."

I snorted, silver eyes darkening in annoyance as I recalled the first field trip I went on. "Oh, that's easy. It was a Beowolf that chased me and a few of my classmates around last semester during our first trip."

Dad frowned, concern etching itself into the lines of his face. "A Beowolf? A pack of those things are no joke for someone your age, Russ. You and your sister could have been seriously hurt."

I waved off his concern with a dismissive hand. "Relax, Dad. It wasn't that big of a deal. Besides, it only happened because Ruby was running around with her Semblance and accidentally led it right to us."

I couldn't help but smile fondly at the memory despite the irritation I felt at the time. Ruby had been so excited to try out her newly discovered Semblance in a real combat situation that she took off like a shot, leaving nothing but rose petals in her wake. Unfortunately, she also left a very convenient trail for the Beowolf to follow, leading it right to where the rest of us were trying to set up camp.

The Grimm came bursting through the trees, snarling and snapping its jaws at anything that dared to move within its general vicinity. It had leapt at one of my classmates, trying to take out a chunk of poor Perri's arm before anyone had time to draw their weapons.

Dad chuckled, shaking his head in amusement at my story. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure on that field trip, Russ. I'm just glad you and your sister made it out okay."

"Yeah, me too," I agreed, my smile turning a bit wry as I flicked out my line with unnatural ease. "Though I have to say, Perri didn't help matters. He's one of those people that's always goofing off in Combat Class."

At Dad's acknowledging nod, I continued, "Well, despite his generally lackluster efforts in class, the guy could seriously run when properly motivated. Like say, when a Beowolf is hot on his heels."

I shook my head, remembering the panicked look on Perri's face as he came sprinting towards the rest of the class, arms flailing and screaming at the top of his lungs. It would have been hilarious if it weren't for the fact that he was leading the Grimm right to us.

"And then, to make matters worse, Perri had the bright idea of rushing straight to everyone else, causing half the class to be chased by the singular Grimm," I recounted, my tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

Dad winced in sympathy, no doubt imagining the chaos that must have ensued. Although, this didn't stop him from reeling in yet another fish. "Yikes, that must have been a mess."

"That's putting it mildly," I snorted, recalling the thunderous expression on our Grimm Studies Instructor's face as she surveyed the chaos. I then gave my best impression of her glare at my still-empty lure as I reeled it back in. "I thought Ms. Forest was going to blow a gasket. Thankfully, she's a total badass and took down the Beowolf with a few well-placed shots from her rifle before it could actually hurt anyone."

"So what happened to Ruby during all this?" Dad asked, genuine curiosity and worry mixing into his tone as he reeled in his line once again. "I can't imagine she was too happy about accidentally leading a Beowolf to her classmates."

I snickered, remembering the absolutely miserable expression on my twin's face as Ms. Forest chewed her out for her reckless use of her Semblance. "Yeah, she definitely didn't enjoy the scolding from our Instructor. I'm pretty sure the entire forest could hear Ms. Forest laying into her, but other than that, she came out unscathed."

I paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I recalled the way Ruby had rushed over after the Beowolf had been dealt with, her silver eyes wide with worry as she checked me over for injuries. "But you know Ruby. As soon as Ms. Forest was done with her, rushed over to check on me. She was more worried about whether or not I got hurt in all the chaos. Thankfully, I didn't."

Dad chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he pulled his jacket closer as a cold breeze swept past us. "That sounds like your sister, alright. She's always been a worrier, especially when it comes to you."

I nodded, my smile growing a bit wider at the memory. "Yeah, she kept fussing over me the entire way home, no matter how many times I told her I was fine. It was actually kind of nice, knowing that she cared that much."

There was a brief lull in the conversation as we both focused on our lines, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the water against the shore and the occasional bird call from the nearby trees.

I shifted slightly on the log that had been serving as my improvised seat, as I decided to break the somewhat comfortable silence that had settled between us. A far cry from the tense awkwardness that you could cut with a knife from earlier.

I hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure if I really wanted to broach onto another topic, seeing as this was the closest I'd gotten to relaxing with my Dad in literal years. But the curiosity that had been gnawing at me since he finished his story about the Sea Feilong won out in the end. "Hey, Dad, did you and Uncle Qrow ever make it to Mistral after you escaped from the Sea Feilong?"

Dad's posture stiffened for a moment at my question, his hands pausing in their motions of reeling in his line. I watched as he seemed to deliberate with himself, a pensive expression on his stubble-lined face.

After a few beats of silence, he sighed and cast his line out again. "Yeah, we did. It took us a bit longer than expected, what with the damage to the ship and all, but we made it there in one piece."

With a raised brow, I shrugged and decided not to comment on his odd behavior. "So, what's Mistral like? I've never been outside of Vale before."

Dad hesitated for a moment, a strange expression fitting across his face before he seemed to come to a decision. "Well, Mistral is a lot different from Vale, that's for sure. The city is built into the side of a mountain, with all these winding streets and alleyways that can be a bit of a maze if you don't know where you're going."

I nodded along, trying to picture it in my head. It sounded like something straight out of one of those adventure novels that I like to read. At least before Ruby inevitably steals them to read herself. "That sounds pretty cool. What about the people? Were they any different from the people here in Vale?"

The show depicted Mistral to be mostly East Asian-inspired, but I've long since learned that not everything in this new reality of mine matched up to what Rooster Teeth put on screen. So getting a secondhand look at another Kingdom is going to be far more helpful than half-remembered memories.

Dad had a fond smile tugging at his lips as he no doubt recalled some memories from his time there. "Oh definitely. The people of Mistral are a lot more… traditional, I guess you could say. They place a lot of emphasis on honor and loyalty. Especially to one's family."

He paused for a moment, his expression turning a bit more serious as he continued. "But despite its beauty, Mistral can be a dangerous place, especially for a Huntsman. There's a lot of unsavory people there, if you catch my drift."

A frown worked its way onto my mouth. That bit at least did match up to the stuff I still managed to remember. But before I could ask for some more clarification, Dad was already moving on, his tone taking on a forced cheerfulness that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"But enough about that. The real beauty of Mistral lies in its culture. The people there are some of the most passionate folks I've ever met. They've got a real appreciation for the arts, whether it's music, dance, or even just storytelling."

Dad went on to regale me with tales about street performers he saw during all his visits to Mistral, describing the way they could captivate a crowd with nothing more than their voices and a few simple instruments in the upper sections of the city. He told me about the vibrant festivals that seemed to happen every other week, each one celebrating some obscure holiday or another.

I found myself hanging onto every word, my mind conjuring up images of colorful banners strung between buildings and people dancing in the streets to the sound of lively music. It all sounded foreign and exotic compared to the relatively quiet life we had here in Patch.

But as much as I was enjoying this little bonding experience and hearing about Mistral, I could tell that there was something else on my Dad's mind. He kept fidgeting with the lining of his jacket and tugging on the line of his fishing rod, his gaze flicking over the water as if searching for something that wasn't there.

Finally, after a particularly long pause, Dad cleared his throat awkwardly, "Listen, Russ…. I-"

I tilted my head to the side, watching as Dad trailed off into awkward silence. He looked annoyed at himself, his brow furrowing as he let out a resigned sigh. I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong, but before I could get the chance to get the words out, he was already pulling out his scroll from inside his jacket.

It was an older model than my own, with a few more scratches and dings along the edges. I watched curiously as he tapped away on the screen, his fingers moving with a surprising amount of dexterity for someone who claimed to be technologically challenged.

After a few moments, he seemed to find what he was looking for and pulled up what appeared to be a schematic of some sort. I couldn't make out much from my position on the opposite side of the scroll, the image was inverted and too small for me to decipher any meaningful details.

But whatever it was, it seemed to be important, judging by the way Dad's expression turned solemn.

Finally, Dad spoke, his voice soft and tinged with an emotion that I couldn't quite place. "Russet, I… I know I haven't been the best dad in the world. Heck, I might even be one of the worst, considering all the years I spent trapped inside my own head after your mom…" He trailed off, his eyes distant and unfocused.

I shifted uncomfortably on the log, not quite sure how to respond. It wasn't like Dad to be this open about his feelings, especially when it came to the darker parts of our family history. But before I could think of something to say, he continued on.

"But despite all that, I want you to know that I do love you and your sisters. More than anything in this world. And I'm so proud of the people you're all growing into." Dad said as he shook his head, as if physically dispelling the memories that no doubt haunted him.

He paused, his gaze drifting over the still water of the pond. "I just wish your mother was here to see it all. She would have been proud of you, Russ. Of all of you."

With that, Dad handed me his scroll, the schematics now clearly visible on the screen. My eyes widened as I took in the intricate details of a weapon that I had only seen in faded photographs and in my slightly-faded memories. The image depicted a black and gold plated mechashift axe, with a long handle and a curved blade.

Sundered Rose, my mother's personal weapon.

"I know that you and your sister have been working on designing your own mechashift weapons," Dad continued, his voice a bit steadier now. "But I know you ended up picking an axe, just like your Mom's. I figured these plans might be more useful to you than just collecting dust in my old files."

I traced a finger over the lines of the schematic, marveling at the complexity of the design. The way the blade could shift and transform, turning a simple axe into a deadly shotgun with a flick of a switch. Yet, in spite of that, it managed to exemplify a sort of brutal elegance that I found very appealing, and I'm sure the other two would see it too. I even caught myself smiling a smidge before my expression turned a bit more neutral as a soft undercurrent of guilt trickled through me.

They would have appreciated it more than I did… And Ruby would want to see this too.

Really, most of the meaning for me was the weapon itself and its intricacy being laid before me was a show of profound trust, and most of all, our Dad wished to give us something that money couldn't buy. A piece of the mother we'd hardly known and… will never come home again. My hands tightened their grip around the scroll, its screen still displaying the schematic. There were several little scribbled notes that annotated its surface; some of them were silly little reminders that my mother wrote to herself, and the others were more professional adjustments to the weapon she made after drafting the blueprint.

"Thanks, Dad," I finally managed to say in the silence that settled between us in this calm evening. It was embarrassing that I struggled to meet his gaze.

He smiled, and it reached his soft blue eyes. It was simultaneously both the saddest and happiest I've seen him in some time.

"You're welcome, son."

The metallic rasp of a cleaning rod emanated from the workbench as I cycled gun oil through the barrel of the rifle in my hands. I was sitting on a stool in the shed we had near the house while I got down to business to explore this gun's intricacies. I've found that weapon maintenance really had a meditative quality to it whether it was sharpening an axe or cleaning a firearm. I went through the process of field stripping the rifle down to its components and applying liberal amounts of lubricant to the surfaces that'll see the most wear other than the barrel itself: The bolt carrier needed some tender care to help prevent jams and misfeeds from the integrated magazine this weapon had.

Of course, every metal part of the weapon gets a little scrub and a treatment of oil, but really the rifle was in really good condition for its age. Carmine was kind enough to throw it into the bag of parts that Ruby got the other day, that old lady really was too kind. I asked her if she really meant to give it to us, but she brushed it off and said that everyone wanted a mechashift weapon instead of one that was nearly seventy years old; that a boring old gun like this one simply was never going to leave her shelf anyways.

Ruby and I were going to have to do something nice for her at some point, but I really think she enjoys the fact we stick around to talk to her whenever we're shopping.

Despite the fact this was a completely different world, this Mantlelite rifle very much reminded me of the Garand from the second World War on Earth. Many enthusiasts held praise for that rifle and the satisfying Ping it echoed when it ran dry, and funnily enough it was the same here for the MK II Volcanus Battle Rifle during the Great War for some. I've actually seen a few different hunters post how they've modernized the design in their mechashift adaption because they liked the weapon's aesthetic on the CCT net.

Finishing up, I reassembled the weapon back into an operational state before cycling the action a few times to confirm it was set to go and slung it over my shoulder. Stepping out into the cool night air, I secured the pouch full of enbloc clips to my side on my belt. I needed to zero the scope that was offset atop the weapon later, but I could use the iron sights just fine. Staring above at the rising, shattered moon above, I paused.

Even all this time, the surreality of seeing the moon broken in pieces never leaves me. It still boggled my mind that I was here, that we were here. Barring all of this nonsense with man-eating shadow monsters, sometimes it was easy to go with the flow and pretend that everything was alright.

Though, I suppose that's what huntsmen and huntresses do. Make it easier for mankind to cope with its place in Remnant.

Pulling the rifle off my shoulder, I pensively stared at it as I cradled it in my arms. I… didn't really want to be a huntsman. If I could, I would have been more than happy doing almost anything else in this world. Being a soul-empowered martial artist is neat and all, but all the baggage that comes with the job makes the profession a grim one to be in.

In the end, we three had an obligation to them, our family, to become a Huntsmen, especially with what we knew about the future. Besides, I don't think I could endure Ruby's pouts and sad pleadings if we tried to do anything else, anyway.

Retrieving a clip of ammunition from my side, I lock the bolt open to slide the ten dust bullets home then let the action close before engaging the safety and slinging it back. Most people who use these guns get them adapted for proper magazines for larger capacity and quicker reloads. I can see the utility in it, but that did mean modifying an antique…

That would probably be served for our soon-to-be personal mechashift weapon. I didn't need to Frankenstein this poor rifle if it wasn't necessary. If we even go that route of using a rifle, that is. There was certainly an appeal to using dust slugs from a shotgun. I'd probably need to show Ruby Sundered Rose's blueprint for that, and that was probably best done by one of the others.

My eyes narrowed at the dark windows of our cabin home to double-check the status of everyone having gone to bed. Thankfully, it appeared that the windows were still dark for now.

Picking up my training axe that I leaned against the outside of the shed near the door, I propped it on my shoulder before tightening my white cloak around my form in the brisk breeze of the coming winter. The sharp edge of the metal glinted luminously under the light of Remnant's moon.

"Sweet dreams." The words left my lips under my breath as I ventured forward into the deepening night, leaving our property behind to enter the forest proper.

My boots beat the frost-bitten leaves on the ground while I carried the Volcanus rifle in one hand, maneuvering around and over fallen debris and dead trees. Eyes darting around my surroundings, it wouldn't do to be surprised. After all, I was the one doing the hunting.

When it came to hunting Grimm, one had multiple options depending on what exactly you were looking for and where you were. On the continents, it was all too easy to trip and stumble into random Grimm who were very eager to part to tear you limb from limb once they got a whiff of you. If there was anything you could count on, it was the aggression of your average murder-machine designed to hunt down humanity. That did not exactly apply to every creature of the Grimm, and I knew better, but you weren't very likely to find old Grimm hidden on Patch. Unless you got profoundly unlucky, the worst had been cleared out by the very prominent Hunter community composed of old grizzled men and ladies who preferred that the monster population be kept to the minimum in the area they retired and raised their families in.

A great deal of how Grimm chooses locales to dwell in has a good deal to do with their proximity to civilization. They're drawn to negative emotions like moths to a flame in the dark, and the more profound that negativity the greater the amount of Grimm will be attracted to the location. Many liked to lay the blame of the Great War in part on the demands of the Mantelites' severe overreaction to having Grimm appear in Solitas who appeared to have adapted to the chill that typically haunted the region by attempting to curb the negativity of their population and that of the other kingdoms.

Putting that aside, this was one way of drawing Grimm to you. Miring yourself in the worst of your problems, effectively becoming, ahem, Grimmbait. This worked especially well if your aura was unlocked. The only problem with this is that genuine emotions worked the best, and forcing it wasn't all that easy if you weren't naturally disposed to keeping hold of your negative feelings like that.

I wasn't looking for anything special or attempting to go on a mass killing spree, so stepping out of the official perimeter maintained by Signal Academy instructors and other Huntsmen on a volunteer basis was going to be more than enough for me to get a couple of targets. A person with an aura unlocked was already a bright enough light for our resident monster moths for my purpose.

At the first hint of red eyes I saw in the darkness standing at a height taller than that of a human, I disappeared from where I was standing and appeared fifteen feet to the left with crimson rose petals fading around me. The world came alive in a crash as dirt was sent into the air and wood was shattered into splinters. The log I was standing on exploded from the dark shape that nearly rammed into me. I breathed deeply, and the world slowed down to that growingly familiar sharp focus: dirt slowed as it returned to the forest floor below and I could see the wood chips that peppered the air. It took no more than a second to bring the rifle to my shoulder to take aim and squeeze the trigger, the crisp and sharp break in the sear in the trigger mechanism was clear enough to my ears that it sounded like someone snapping their fingers next to my ear before the rifle barked its fury.

The muzzle flash illuminated the forest with a flash after the bullet exited the rifle and I saw the Beowolf's head jerk sharply into the air. I stood there for a hair's breadth of a second, irons trained on its form. Its inky black fur made it exceptionally hard to see in the dark. Thankfully, the plain white of the bone mask helped with that.

Instead of dropping from the headshot, it turned its eerily wisping eye socket and lone red eye back down to me with a guttural snarl that sent a shiver down my spine that had me grit my teeth; I didn't waste a moment pulling the trigger again. The shot echoed into the quietude of the forest around me before falling silent once more.

It dropped like a rock with that last round, almost crumpling onto itself as it crashed into the leaves below. I dropped to a crouch for a moment, eying its form shedding darkness as if it was liquid before it inexplicably started to waft into the air. Its body would probably remain for a couple of minutes from my prior experiences with these, but it was always strange to watch a Grimm's body fade away like this.

Narrowing my eyes, I stood up. The thing about Beowolves was that where there was one… there was sure to be more.

A howl cried into the air akin to a challenge and I shouldered the old Mantelite rifle again; its weight and the axe strapped to my back were reassuring. The plan was to be home before midnight this time, but at least this old rifle seemed to be good enough to blow whatever passed for brains out of a Beowolf. I had a dozen and one ideas I wanted to try out tonight and I was sure I wasn't going to get to half of them. That was fine though, just killing these bastards was a kind of catharsis on its own, really.