Young Writers Society

Demhara- hot demons, and cold Memories:

Demhara spun gun at the ready the instant she heard Jenson cry out- ready to lay in a hail of bullets, but nothing was there, at least nothing she could see. Jenson was staggering back- clinging to his arm hissing in pain.

“What happened?”

“Some kind of defense- fire, but...” Demi didn't wait to hear the rest, she went to Jensons's side and pulled the injured arm away from him, eliciting another whine of pain. His arm was a mess, the flesh lacerated in tiny pinprick cuts- like some might make with a razorblades, and his skin was burned, yet icy to the touch.

“What the hell?” Demi muttered as she fished in a pocket for her tiny kit.

“I'm fine- really” Jenson tried pulling away, but Demi held his arm firmly.

“I don't need you getting some God only knows kind of infection and dropping dead on me- I need you.” she fluttered her eyelashes at him, smiling her seductress smile, as she smeared a salve Sophie had given her.

“Fire and Brimstone!” Jenson howled pulling away and dancing around like he had a whole nest of fire ants in his pants, “what the hell is that stuff?!” Demi rolled her eyes,

“It's something Sophie gave me for my kit- it's just a antibiotic stop fussing and let me put a bandage on it.” she took out a large gauze pad and tape and in a twinkling had his arm wrapped, it was only a basic field dressing but kept his injuries protected. “What happened? When YOU touched the ice?”

“Fire, but- cold fire.” Demi smirked.

“Goodness the Demons we're dealing with today really have a vendetta against men? The first probably wanted you to help her make more demon babies- not that Kite would have minded by the way he was checking her out- really she looked like a utter tramp, her's weren't even real.”

“Demhara....”

“And this one wants to cut you boys all up like sushi..” This got her a glare, but jenson got to work looking about the small space, Demi followed his example- both searching for anything that might give them a clue to their situation.

The block of ice was thick, black and glossy- like an obsidian stone, but had a slight transparency. It rose from the floor with a sight irregularity of shape and dimensions- like an ice cube left in a glass for too long. Demi dragged her hand along it's surface as she circled the block again, it was maddening how barren this space was- not even a real smell or any-kind tickled her nose, just the cold, the smell of old timbers from the building and Jenson's sent- All together the smells reminded her of Old Spice, just like her father and grandfather used to wear. Demi stopped short and shook herself- what the hell had just happened, she withdrew her hand, staring at the block quizzically she tapped it with her manicured nails- a dull solid barely perceptible sound. Something was wrong with this ice, like it was not just a dull lump, she felt Jenson's eyes and looked back at him and raised a brow..

“...Are you staring at my ass Mr. White?”

Jenson

Jens smiled, cheekily more than anything.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no." He said heaving himself forward, wincing as his arm bent. He slightly raised the less damaged hand and pointed to a spot of the ice just lower than Demhara's hips. She lowered her eyes and crouched low, her fingers running down along the ice. Her nail hit a kink, and there she found it. She could feel a tiny chink in the surface.

“How did you...” She started to question, turning around to look at the man behind her, but he was busy dusting off his shades, his eyes firmly closed although he had gotten an irritant in them. She shook her head and focused once again on the chink, scratching it with her nail.

“So if this thing is defensive against demons then perhaps a more mundane approach woul-” Jens didn’t realise he was muttering to himself. Demhara swung around suddenly. “What? What do you mean its defensive against demons?” She accused sharply.

Jenson had to think fast. His tongue had betrayed him. His thoughts scrambled for a moment before he paused triumphantly. On his wrist, as always, he wore a watch that measured demonic power activity. He extended his arm toward Demi, showing her the reading.

“The line is not flat, which means we have great force here, but the readings are negative. All of them below the zero axis. Whatever power this is is negating demonic activity with equal strength. Or at least I can assume.”

“So it’s on our side?” Demhara turned back to the ice in awe. It was true that in all their ventures the team had never encountered something that had a negative reading on the monitors.

“I don’t particularly think its on our size.” Jens observed. “But even if it is, then whatever it is , the demon doesn’t want anything else getting inside it.” He pointed to the organic tubing that spanned from the thing across the floor and out the door. “That was connected to the worm, remember. I don’t think that it expected humans, so it had to protect its valuable from other demons.”

Demhara nodded. “So either way, it can only be to our advantage to bust through it, Better than doing nothing.”

“Who knows how long those idiots will take to be digested.” Jenson agreed.

Demi clapped her hands together. “Right. Then as you were saying before, something more mundane than our demon wrangling weapons will do the trick.”

She scoured the ground, and turned out her pockets, but came back with nothing more than a packet of sweet mints. She let out a frustrated sigh before turning to the disabled man still below her. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything would you?”

Jens thought for a moment, a smile crawling up his face.

“Try my back pocket. Careful, it’s sharp.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s sharp’?” Demi tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms and waiting.

“I can’t reach.” Jenson innocently nodded to his injury.

“Oh… you’re asking for this.” Demi grumbled as she crouched down and let her hands fumble around behind him until she found the pocket. “I never thought you were as bad as Kite.”

“I’m nothing like Kite.”

Demhara drew a thin leather satchel and from it slid a stake-like metal tool, sharpened to a deadly point at one end.

“What in hell do you carry around with you?” She shrugged, sounding almost impressed as she studied the utensil before turning back to the ice.

“Speaking of Kite, that reminds me.” She continued as she began to chisel in the dent.

“This barrier burned you, a man, but not me.”

“Well then that confirms the saying that all men really are demons.” Jens joked, and Demhara laughed.

“But in reality it was probably something simple. Traces of the defeated demon, blood, any sort of remain that could have rubbed off on me.”
Demhara nodded, continuing at the ice as Jenson continued.

“Kite will be pleased to hear that. The mention of his name reminds you of the idea of men and all things manly.”

The was a snap as Demi struck the spoke with insane strength into the ice. “He does not! Pah, him, that munchkin. It was just the comparison of you and him collectively than reminded me of ‘men’.”

Jens barely had time to grin before the ice, damaged by the sharp burst snapped, sending a crack speeding up the the top of the structure. Demhara scrambled backwards as the ice began to web, shimmering like glass as thousands of tiny cracks shapes formed across its surface. And just like that, it collapsed, every black shard raining down, dark crystals scattering across the ground and showering over Jens and Demi. Next came the force. A shock wave that sent Demhara flying into Jenson, and then in turn sending them both tumbling across the room. Decades of energy had just been released in an instant.

The two looked up, blinded by the initial boom toward the centre of where the ice had once been. A dark blue shimmer was pulsating the the centre, taking form and morphing at incredible speed. It condensed suddenly, bringing itself together into the shape of a tiny midnight black imp-demon with bright yellow eyes.

“Space!” Jenson yelled out excitedly, but covered his mouth quickly. The Imp spun quickly, shaking its tiny arms and wings.

“I’m free...” It glared toward the demon hunters. “Who and what goes there?” It exclaimed in a voice that sounded like a low 1920’s mobster.

The body mildly shook, sitting upright, as its skull twitched, jaw and left eye socket blown away. Marquee's remaining eye stayed focused on Kite in an expressionless glower. Kite lowered his gun in trepidation. A shiver ran through his trigger finger, as if he could feel the weight of a huge mistake.

Marquee smoothed his jacket and tilted his head back, pouring scotch down into his open throat. The shattered bones and skin, muscle and sinew all began to move, arranging back into his perfectly-assembled face. He stretched his jaw, clicking it into place, and slowly stood. "That gunshot sounded too loud." Marquee sighed and placed his drink on the table. "I apologize, Mister Collins, but we'll have to continue this another day."

Kite pulled his gun back into focus. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you leave."

Marquee raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

Kite thought of Jenson and Demi, about them in the same state Brian was in. He nearly shot Marquee for the sheer idea. "I have no guarantee you won't pull your weird worm-fuckery on them," he spat. "I won't allow it."

The worm demon assessed his threat, but turned his back anyway. "Kite," he sighed, "I'm afraid that your friends have, as expected, failed in assessing the threat level of the demon held captive on my watch." He adjusted his glasses. "We're all in grave danger."

Kite bore his teeth and lowered his gun. "How can I trust you? Fucking--look at Brian!" Marquee turned to glance at the dazed, mercurially conscious analyst at the table. Silently, he walked to his position and took his still face in both hands, aligning their eyes, noses, and mouths. Slowly, Marquee closed the distance between them, lips parted, and slammed their foreheads together, breaking Brian from his stupor.

Brian yelped and grabbed his head with both hands. Once the initial shock subsided, he glared at Kite. "Why the hell didn't you think of that?"

Kite blinked, seeming dazed in his own right.

Explosions echoed from above. Bits of debris fell from the ceiling. Marquee adjusted his glasses and then realized half of one of the focals had been blown out in the gunshot. He murmured a silent curse at Kite and swept them from his face. They hit the ground with a light clamor. "Space is free, and within minutes he will kill your two friends." Marquee turned to look Kite squarely in the eyes. "And then he'll kill us, too."

Kite knelt and retrieved Brian's rapier from the frozen floor, scraping the frost from the hilt with the heel of his boot. Once Brian had it held preciously in his hands, Kite pulled out a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket, nodding to Marquee. "We'll deal with Space," he agreed, "but then you'll square your debt away, too."

As the noise upstairs rolled on, Marquee nodded. "Friend or enemy? I suppose you'll be the judge. You seem self-righteous enough for the job."

A click. Marquee laughed. "You said you wanted to shoot me in the face, and then you did it. Forgive me for simply analyzing your impulses." His expression quickly grew dire. "Now let's go."

Without another word, he broke off into a sprint for the stairs.

Brian | In Pursuit of the Imp

"That's one energetic motherfucker," Brian muttered.

Space was a white-blue blur zooming around the room. The demon chattered incessantly.

"I don't believe you're just people, no I don't believe it, you're all armed and in this hell-hole." Spce zoomed around Jenson's head a few times. The hunter tripped, trying to follow him. "And you boy, you smell funny, funny I say."

Jenson tried to swat Space, who avoided easily. "I'd think anyone would smell funny after having spent a few days in a truck, then waded through hellspawn," he retorted.

"That's not the kind of funny I'm talking about," the demon cackled. "Don't play coy with me, don't play."

Jenson's eyes widened. He tried to shoot Space, but the demon pirouetted to the side. "Ooh, touchy, are we?" He spun around the room a few times, Jenson still trying to shoot him.

"I'm going to be seasick," Demhara whimpered, burying her head in her hands. "On land. Seasick. I really hate Canada."

"Jenson, calm down!" said Brian. "Don't let the enemy provoke you so easily." He didn't know how powerful Space actually was, but in this situation, they couldn't do much to hit him, it seemed. They'd have to lure him, somehow, to a more crammed area. The room here led to the main floor, which had a hole in the roof… that would be no good. Maybe if they closed off the exit here, he'd have a hard time leaving. It was their best shot.

Space turned to him. "If I were him, I wouldn't be calm. I'd be shooting me with everything I have, everything I have."

Marquee coughed.

As if the demon had noticed him only now, Space's eyes widened. "So you're in the company of the accursed jailor! I see, you're here to put me back in that god-forsaken cell… liars and traitors everywhere, liars and traitors."

"Whenever did we give a different impression?" Marquee asked, smoothing his jacket cuffs. "Now, do come quietly -- my friends here are itching to pull various assorted triggers."

Space stuck his tongue out at them, and promptly turned towards the door.

"Jenson! Demhara!" Brian called out, already running. "Anti-evasion protocol."

Jenson nodded and took a carefully aimed shot. Space swerved in panic and collided with the door. Demhara caught him in an elegant diving tackle. Brian was there as soon as she stood from her roll. "Good work."

The action resolved before Kite had even a chance to blink. He moved to join them, but Marquee stopped him. "Oh dear. He doesn't like being trapped."

The struggling figure beneath Demhara was pulsing with light. It accelerated, faster and faster, until it discharged violently. The room was filled with blinding light and a chorus of profanity. Brian staggered into a wall as his vision returned to him in a series of blotchy spots.

Marquee took off after Space, wholly unfazed by the attack. Brian hadn't seen him put on sunglasses, but they were there now.

The rest took off after him. "He's going to try and go through the roof," Brian said, breathing heavily. "That's the most obvious escape route. We'll have to be quick."

They pounded up the stairs four at a time. Through the spider-spawn room again, out -- the cold wasn't any less biting this time around -- and up to the roof. They found Marquee sitting on a crate, humming a little dirge. He brushed some snow away from his hair and looked up at them.

"Oh dear."

Jenson|Nothing is going very well.

The roof was quickly flooded with the team of frantic demon hunters. Jenson collapsed to his knees, panting. The energy that had been released along with Space was evoking his own energies, so retraining them was so much more tiresome.

That Space… Jenson heaved again, taking in another breath of the cool air. Whatever it was that Space was different to when he had last encountered him. Back in 1921 Space had been all about himself, but not harming the humans, rather the had associated with the unsavory types, helping them out in their criminal activities so he could bargain for his own luxuries. But how on earth had he ended up in a demon seal in the middle of… who knows where? Jens took a glance at the blinding sky. Something didn’t seem right, something felt familiar in an unfamiliar way. Was this even earth?

He snapped his neck forward, flitting his eyes toward the stranger sitting on the roof.

“Who the hell is this guy?” He demanded at Brian, then Kite. Both of them seemed disinterested, and instead were running to the far edges of the roof, scouring the skies and the grounds, looking for the escaped Space.

Jens stepped toward the stranger, eyes narrowed. The suited man smiled in such a way that chilled Jens for the first time that day. His smile was polite but slimey. Worm-like.

“I don’t like you.” He decided out loud.

“Well aren’t you an interesting one.” Came the reply. “Now where may have you gotten that injury?”

Jenson covered his arm, scowling. This demon- or man, was trouble. As to why he was not dead at the hands of Kite by now was a mystery. Kite was the person to kill a demon without a second thought to who they may be or what their motive was. It was both a useful and a very sad thing.

Brian came jogging back, uttering a long string of profanity.

“He escaped, dammit, he escaped.”

“I’m not letting it get away that easily!” Came a distant yell from the other side of the roof. Kite kicked a frozen line of hanging ice, sending it spraying int the air. He picked up a hunk of snow in his bare hands and tossed it angrily over the edge of the roof. Jenson snatched his flame-gun from Demhara, who was absently staring into nothing, and hoisted it up painfully, his sliced arm screaming at the effort, and aimed it directly at the suited worm.

“Go ahead and blast it.” Brian said. “I ain’t complaining.”

“I’m not threatening you, am I?” The man asked calmly as Kite jogged over.

“Where’d he go, Marquee?” He growled.

Marquee. What was this Marquee playing at?

“How ever would I know? I was trying to prevent his escape just as much as you were. Which wouldn’t have happened without the stupidity of your colleagues here.”

Jenson dropped the weapon, the injury was too painful, and this Marquee knew it all too well. Demhara hastily gathered the weapon back up and aimed it once again.

“I’ve had enough of this dreaded place.” Brian huffed. “Kill him and lets go.”

“How will we find the other demon if we reduce this once to guts?” Kite asked. Strange, that sort of reasoning was so unlike him.

Jenson clenched his teeth together. His head was swimming. Something about the Marquee demon made his arm ache even more. Was the worm behind the capture of Space.

Before his thoughts could travel any further he found himself face first in the now, his eyes flitting between brightness and blackness.

“Jens, you okay?” Kite asked, stepping over.

“Something attacked him back at the chamber.” Demhara said. “it’s gotten worse.”

“Then it’s a sure sign we should get out of here. We already killed one angry spider.” Brian said.

“What do we do with this guy then?” Demhara replied.

Kite cocked his pistol, aiming it at Marquee’s throat.. “Bring him. He’s coming with us.”

"I've always hated that smell," Kite groaned.

The fog from their one-shot teleport bottle faded from their collective eyes, and Kite realized that the smell wasn't cheap ciagrettes--but rather bombs besieging the compound.

He pulled at his hair and screamed; as did Demhara and Brian. In chorus: "Why can't we leave for one day?"

Kite, Demi, and Jenson drew their guns while Brian held his sword to Marquee's throat appropriately. Kite regarded his two teammates. "We're splitting up. Shoot anything with a demon presence...or bombs. He probably has bombs."

"This bastard stole our kill in Beaufort," noted Demhara, "and my paycheck. He's mine."

"No way!" shouted Jenson. "You shot me in the shoulder that night! The demon is mine!"

"Oh, grow up, Jenny--it was a spirit gun, and I barely scratched you."

"RAAAAAH," interrupted Kite, "stop your bitch crying and split up! Whoever gets the demon gets the bounty. Agreed?"

Demi and Jenson shot their jaws away from one another.

"Oh for God's sake," Kite mumbled. "Have it your way. Kill one another. But remember that Jens needs medical attention, so his prime objective should be to find a medic--"

"--Mama--"

"--Right. Mama, since you're obsessed." He dropped his weapon and turned to look at his partner incredulously. "You got some kinda hots for her? I'm gettin' that vibe now, and I'm usually right about lady vibes."

Behind him, another explosion went off, blowing dust up around them.

"GO!" shouted Marquee and Brian in unison. Brian narrowed his eyes at the demon( ? ) and pressed the blade against his throat all the stronger.

"You do know that a rapier is no slashing weap--"

"--yeah, but it pisses me off when people mention that. I'd much rather hold the point against your spine. Would you like that? One false move and you'd be paralyzed?"

"Because my current situation is so much more desirable. I understand. Thank you, Brian, for this fresh air of clarity. My gratitude knows no bounds."

Brian leered. "I don't like you."

seriously though, fuck that salad

Brian looked at the wine sloshing around in his glass. It was distinctly cheap. The salad he was poking at had the same texture of rubber. Strawberries and nuts had sounded great on the menu… he probably should have gone with the fish tacos. Then again, that could have played right into his plan to ultimately get rid of him. Brian couldn't think of any other logical reason to explain why he was sitting at a second-rate restaurant with the impeccably dressed demon. He glowered at Marquee, who was elegantly dissecting said tacos with a fork and knife. Tacos. With a fork and knife.

There is nothing beautiful in this, Brian's mind told him. In fact, this is about as un-beautiful as you can possibly get.

"Interesting choice of locale," Marquee said, waving in the general direction of the everything.. The diner was mostly empty. A few waitresses did their best aimless soul impression. Cars passed by steadily -- Brian found himself tapping out a rhythm to it. His frown deepened every time a car didn't pass on time.

"You seem troubled."

Brian's frown threatened to dislocate his face. He stabbed at an unfortunate salad leaf and, with apocalyptic implacability, brought it to his mouth. He opened his mouth and stared at the leaf. A few seconds passed, in which the leaf debated strongly with his stomach. Many thoughts flashed across his eyes, each more fragmented and angry. Brian put the fork down and stared at the demon.

"For some reason I am here, having dinner with you, instead of helping my comrades face a dangerous demon with a penchant for explosions. Every second I waste here one of my friends spends in trouble."

"You are genuinely concerned for the well-being of your friends?" Marquee asked, eyes glittering.

Brian snorted. "Sure. That Kite can't handle anything alone for a single second. Demhara is going to do something silly and Jenson is going to go along with whatever confusion those two sow. You are preventing me from doing my duty -- but I cannot let you out of my sight, out of the same duty."

Marquee grinned. "Quite a conundrum, isn't it? I suppose you have weighed the pros and cons of the situation, and decided it wouldn't be a good idea to have me run loose around your headquarters."

"Nah, I hadn't had a good meal in like a week. Those guys are a bunch of losers, but they can handle themselves in a pinch."

The demon tilted his head, puzzled. Brian gave him a half-grin of his own. He felt he had won some sort of small battle there.

The conversation went on like this for some time. Marquee would insinuate a topic, pose a question within a question, and Brian would brush it off with something unrelated. Some twenty minutes later, he had lost count of how many times he'd used a salad leaf to illustrate a point. He did know the salad was dwindling.

"You are a curious individual," Marquee stated, with an air of finality. His plate was empty. "You appear uncouth and brainless, but it seems you hide another, somewhat different side. I am eager to see how this will play out during the course of your troublesome line of work."

Brian put down his fork. "I paid for a shitty salad, not a Freudian session. We'd best be getting back. They've probably caught the napalm demon by now, I'd hate to miss out on the celebrations. Maybe there'll be more salad."

*

They stepped through the doors. The lobby was completely trashed. There were dents in the wall, a hole in the floor, overturned plants and a dismembered teddy bear strewn across the floor. Brian could hear shouting and explosions in the distance.

"Guess there won't be any salad."

Marquee adjusted his suit. "It is time to work off our dinner."

Tabs - Too. Many. People.

It had been a pretty good day until the bas had started to be bombed. She haretailed out of the basement, Sophie right beside her, running through everything that could've caused it. It hadn't been from the ballistics section. It hadn't actually been from inside anywhere, so she assumed that they were under attack. Sophie had a look of dread creeping across her face, as if whatever Martin had told her had caused a realization of the true situation.

As they cleared the stairs into the lobby, and explosion sounded outside. The glass panes making up the front wall of the base shattered, showering shards of glass on the people beneath. Sophie hesitated a moment before hurrying into the fray, leaving a shouted order to find a safe place. Tabs nodded, starting to make her way towards the place she felt the safest : out of the main building and in her quaters. She edged out of the side door, feeling her way outside.

Small explosions reverberated through the air making her stumble as she made a beeline for the closest door to the next building. People swarmed everywhere, like so many ants in an anthill, shoving, and moving her out of their way. Tabitha's eyes widened, and her palms started to sweat at the sight of so many people. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, she pushed back, reciting the order and rank of known demons in her head as she went. As she reached the edge of the room, she elected to take the least crowded route and pushed out into the nearest corridor with nobody in it.

She managed a small smile as she paced down it, turning sharply around a corner and running straight into a man dressed in a suit. Sprawling to the ground, she tensed, hoping they didn't try to help her, or engage in conversation, or do anything remotely social as she reached for her books and charms. She stuffed them back in her bag, ignoring the proffered hand. She stiffened further as she sensed the demon presence in the corridor and looked up at the man with wide eyes.

Tabs suddenly noticed Brian behind the man and scrambled to her feet, grabbing at his arm.

"Brian! We're under attack, and there's a demon outside and in the basement and here and there are people everywhere and Sophie's in the main building and I'm this far away from a panic attack and we've done stuff we shouldn't've and- is that my teddy?" he blinked at her last, devastated question then grabbed her arms.

"Tabitha, breathe, and keep doing that." Tearing her gaze away from her beloved toy, she looked at him, complying until her heart was no longer racing as fast.

"Yes, that is your teddy bear." She frowned sadly as she took in the stuffing strewn everywhere. There was no saving him this time. "And this," he gestured to the man in the suit, "is Marquee. We were going to help the team."

She stared at Marquee cautiously, unsure. One the one hand, having a demon on their side seemed terribly interesting, on the other, Marquee was new, and she knew how long it took her to trust people. She waved at him vaguely, trying not to notice his stare. She shrunk slightly into her sweater, pulling her beanie further down. "Hello."

"Greeting, young lady." He held out his hand for her to shake. She stared at it until he dropped it, then returned her gaze to him. It was partway between paranoia and the miraculous astonishment seeing a unicorn brings. "I see you are not one for social conventions. No matter. Are you to assist us or not?"

She whipped her head around to look at Brian. "Sophie said to get to a safe place, but my quarters are safe, and I could cast a spell if needs be. Text me if you need me!" Without waiting for a reply, she started off towards the stairs, unsure as to whether she should grin or not.

Sophie |running headlong in the wrong direction

It struck her after a hundred metres that really she was sprinting in the wrong direction.

Her first instinct had been to get to the medicentre, and check on her patients. There was explosions going off everywhere. And explosions weren't good - especially not if you were hooked up to a six litre flow of oxygen after suffering a traumatic pneumothorax. And that was where Sophie's mind went, and her feet followed, before she reckoned this was a bad idea.

She slowed to a stop, wondering where to go, what to do, when a voice behind her shouted, "Oi! Spleen!"

Sophie swung around and groaned when she saw Kite. "Well glad to see you're safe," she said, taking in his team. "Where's Brian?"

"Indisposed. Fine. Just... distracted. He's on a date."

"He's on a what?"

But before she could get to the bottom of this, she noticed a blood soaked tourniquet that was no doubt cutting off his circulation on Jenson's arm. She grimaced. "Collins, can't you get anything right?" she said, hurrying to Jenson's side to loosen the bandage before he got ischaemia and his arm fell off. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Jenson said, jerking his arm away. "It's fine."

"We have to go," Demi remarked, looking towards the base. "Any idea where this thing is?"

"No," Sophie said. "But I have a feeling it's going to the basement. Its... lover? Partner? I don't know - it's down there."

"Damn it. They did steal half our case," said Kite.

"Yes, but we got to go to a magical holding cell outside hell," Jenson reminded him quickly.

"You what?" Sophie said, grabbing his arm in surprise. He let out a yelp of pain. "Oh don't be such a baby. It's not like I just told you I'm voting 'yes' to independence."

"No time," said Kite. "Off we go!"

He ran headlong into the post-explosion haze, Demhara following him with a sigh. Jenson tried to follow but the Irn-Bru running in Sophie's veins made her hold onto his arm.

"You can't go anywhere with that."

"It's fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Mama will deal with it-"

"Is it a demon injury, because it needs debridement asap, and another bite right now could kill you." She began fiddling with the bandage.

"It's nothing- Mama-"

"I'm a doctor too, you know," she grumbled, ripping it off and frowning. The injury was ragged around the edges, but it was red, healing. There was no black, no ichor, no festering, no necrosis. Nothing.

She stared in amazement at Jenson and let his arm go. He pulled the bandage back down. "It wasn't a demon," he said shortly. "Like I said. It's nothing."

Sophie was too stunned to say anything else as he followed his teammates.

Dazed, she wandered into the main building herself. From below, there was a succession of many small, quick "booms" like children setting off fireworks, and a long stream of cackling laughter. The main lobby was deserted. The receptionists, all the lay staff, had probably followed evac procedure. Sophie should go to the medical centre and help there.

She considered briefly running down the stairs, helping out Collins and Demhara and Jenson. Maybe Hadrian would be there. But what would she do? She'd be a liability.

No. She was better off going to where she could actually be helpful. Her hand closed over the bell of her stethoscope and she reminded herself what her weapons were.

Leaving the smoke and gunshots behind, Sophie jogged towards the medical centre. God, she needed that nap she'd sworn to Mama that she'd take. And a drink. A drink would be good right now.

As soon as the team's boots hit the basement floor, the explosions stopped.

"Shit," snapped Kite, "it's just like South Carolina again."

Demi reloaded her rifle and spat at a strand of hair falling in her face. "This hallway is a dead-end in the prison unit," she returned, "this is nothing like South Carolina." A grin. "We're gonna shell these bastards."

"God I love it when you talk militia to me."

Footsteps rang down from the staircase behind them as Jens descended, arm released from its bandages and tourniquet. "The explosions stopped," he remarked, "it's just like South Carolina."

"This hallway is a dead-end in the prison unit," Kite replied. "This is nothing like South Carolina." A wink. "We're gonna shell these bastards."

Jenson smiled. "I love it when you talk militia to me."

Demhara rolled her eyes and tossed a quarter down the hall, allowing its ringing to reverberate through the steel tube of a corridor. A response in explosions came from the prison cell. The three ducked to avoid debris--and a very fast-moving quarter, embedded now on the wall behind them.

"We can assume the lovers have reunited." Kite lit a new cigarette with some residual fire on the corridor wall. Three knocks came from the air vent above. A deep breath, and smoke billowed from his nose. "On my count, Operation Storkdrop. This bitch is ours."

He counted slowly from ten.

"We haven't done Storkdrop since we were in basic training," Demhara said, nearly drooling.

Down to five.

"Brian was very good at being the Stork," Jens added.

Two.

One.

The three kicked off their boots and slid down the corridor soundlessly until they reached the prison cell where, surprise-surprise, the napalm demon(ette) was fighting against the wards keeping Star-Crossed detained.

Jenson stood forward. "We are agents of the 3-0-7-3. Surrender now and we will grant you painless entry back into Hell. Resist, and there's no telling what could be blown off first."

The male demon grinned, wriggling against his glowing chains. "You just don't understand," he said, "that the gravity of true love just can't be outweighed."

Kite raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard of a demon spewing poetry in his last minutes."

"That's my Legion," cooed the bomber, "the true Poet Demon."

Jenson made a face. "I can't believe Satan let you besmirch the name Legion."

The two demons looked at one another and then laughed, turning to the others. "Haven't any of you heard?! Hell is under new management!"

Legion kicked back in his chair and screamed in laughter. "The old man kicked it! The immortal LUCIFER kicked the bucket! AAAAAHAHAHA!"

Napalm motioned to the two of them. "We voted Democrat." She giggled and produced a bomb in her hand. Above, in the air vents, Kite saw a blinking light reflected to his eyes. Twice. He nodded.

"You won't make it out of here alive," Kite mumbled, but lowered his guns.

"I wouldn't really consider ourselves alive to start with, really. Though philosophy always bored me." Legion winked at Demi. "Who was it that talked all that time about love and friendship?" He rolled his eyes. "Oh yas," he emphasized. "Jesus told us to love one another..."

His chains broke loose, and he stood copping a feel of his partner's breasts. "You three, if you were to make it out alive, would remember this day as the day when the great agency began losing the war because of an Incubus and Cerebrus." He kissed Cerebrus' neck and licked her skin up to her ear, where he nibbled. She let out a small moan and let her grenade roll out of her palm.

Kite grabbed Jens and Demi and ducked into the hall as the bomb went off, filling the room with a fireball. He opened his eyes to see a dark green light consuming the smoke; and peeking his head around the corner, he saw Marquee drinking in the two souls of Legion and Cerebrus. Brian dropped from the ceiling to restrain Marquee just as he finished. The two turned to the huddled trio.

Marquee was amused. "Your engineer's passcode is a quote by Jesus? How very interesting."

Kite and the others stood as Cerebrus' and Legion's bodies fell to the floor, lifeless. "What the fuck did you do here, Marquee?"

"I believe, if the handcuffs are any indication, that I just freed up my prison cell."

Saturday morning. Some awful early hour; 10 am or something.

“Jeeennnssss”

What was that irritating noise? That whining nuisance in the background. It suddenly amplified into a loud exclamation.

“Wake up already would you!?”

Jenson bolted upright. Slamming his elbow into Kite’s stomach as he was woken. The shorter man doubled over and Jens took the chance to scramble for his sunglasses on the coffee table and groggily jump up even though his body begged otherwise.

“What the f-...” Kite started as he recovered.

“Sorry, but I’ve told you already. I don’t care what you do, but there are only two rules in this apartment!”

“Yeah yeah... Don’t wake Jens up.”

“And don’t ever come into my room.”

Kite glanced around. “This isn’t your room. You were sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh.” Jens shuddered. That could have been dangerous. Recently he had felt himself overly fatigues, probably due to the nasty injury on his arm, but sleep was the most vulnerable time to... slip up.

“Just don’t wake me up next time.”

“Gee, its already eleven. And man you are hard to wake up. I thought I’d have to pry your eyes open or something.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Loosen up. Hurry up and get ready. We are going to find me the perfect ride.”

“That...” Jenson grumbled. He had forgotten that Kite had recently reached his savings goal and was now determined to track down a new car from the short list he had gathered up.

Jens pulled on a new shirt and grabbed his jacket before heading out the front door to the sound of Kite, honking the horn impatiently in the junk of what he currently owned. Sharing an apartment with the man was, as one could describe it, an ‘interesting’ experience. Kite bought home with him a number of different sorts of shady figures for various sorts of business Jens dared not ask about from time to time.

“Took you long enough.” He huffed as Jens pulled himself into the passenger seat, gripping the door tightly beside him. The passenger door no longer shut properly, and had to be held closed as they were driving. The car would have failed a warranty test in a second if Kite actually took it in to get one. But with some lucky this illegal piece of trash would be disposed of by the end of the day, which in itself would be a challenge, as it wasn’t even good enough to have even been stolen yet despite the door hanging wide open wherever it was parked.

“Can we stop at the base on the way?” Jens asked as they rumbled down the sunburnt streets.

“Why. C’mon. We wasted enough time already.”

“Director Grimm has something for me to pick up.”

“Fine.” Kite swerved, and the door shuddered, almost pulling Jenson out with it. They pulled up at base and Kite kicked back, putting hsi feet on the dashboard.

“Just make it fast. Not going to waste around in that old place. ‘m staying here.”

Jenson slammed the door, only to have it wobble back open, and proceeded to trot across the car-park into the doors of base. He headed up the elevator to the office floor where hopefully Grimm would be waiting.

The floor was strangely silent, but then again it was a Saturday; everyone’s day off.

Which made it strange that one of the offices were active. It was the unused one, which made things even more curious. Jenson hit down on the handle and pushed the door open. The man at the desk was struggling at a keyboard, having great difficulty trying to simultaneously figure out how the thing worked, while at the same time having his wrists enclosed in handcuffs. Marquee.

“Oh, an unusual morning to exchange pleasantries.” The worm announced. Jenson scowled, eyeing up the enemy. Someone had given him a clean suit, slightly less formal, the bow tie exchanged for an ordinary one.

“Why are you here?” Jens spat. “Why aren’t you in the cells in the basement?”

The false worm looked taken aback. “Your anger is unexpected. As for why, I have now been made a ‘base analysis’. Seems like I was deemed more helpful than a threat.”

“This is bull!” Jenson yelled, slamming the door behind him. His own anger was unexpected for himself as well, but this was a new level of frustration. He strode forward, furiously grappling Marquee by the neck tie and pulling him up face to face.

“What sort of sick worm are you? What sort of sick-soul dissolving worm.”

“It is true can dissolve the souls of demons of a lesser tier than myself...”

Jens interrupted, continuing his rant. “Why would they accept a demon!? Why would they accept an oversized worm into their ranks!? That’s all you are under this mask. Any minute you could blow up, destroy the furniture, try and devour my friends like you did the first time we found you. We hunt demons? Why would they let you be one of us!?”

Marquee smiled. “You tell me.”

Jenson’s lips twitched. “You don’t know how hard it is. You don’t know how cautious I have to be not to let them know.” He threw off his jacket, rolling up his sleeve. “And you’ve made it worse. Tell me what you and your ice has done to me? What is this?”

The wound on Jens arm had manifested itself into a large ragged scar. He brushed his arm, demonstrating.

“It’s gone all powdery and cold. What is this?”
Marquee raised his eyebrows. “A white-blooded. Interesting. What exactly are you?”

“Would you shut up and tell me how to fix this?”

“The affected area will no longer be able to sustain human form, thus we are seeing the wound directly in this area, which explains why the blood is white and not red.” Marquee continued to play his little game. Jenson had had enough.

“I swear I am going to kill you-” The door clicked behind them and Grimm stepped into the room.

“No time for you brats to be love-making on the job.” He barked. “Jenson hurry up and get your ass over here and stop making me wait.”

Jens shoved Marquee back, sending his chair wheeling into the desk and spun around to Grimm who was holding a small box package.

“Sorry Grimm.” He said, snatching the package and keeping his head low. “Kite is waiting for me.”



“Maaaann, took you long enough.” Kite moaned as Jenson grumpily shoved himself back into the passenger seat. “What did you get?”

“Technology. New sort of contact lens.”

“Night vision? Or do you have trouble reading.”

“They can probably do night vision.” Jens replied as he opened the box hungrily, peering inside. Blue. Beautiful.

“Well, are we going or what?” He grinned, his mood suddenly lifted. Kite nodded and started up the engine as Jenson hooked his arm around the door.

“Does this junk at least have a passenger mirror?” He asked.

“Just wait till the car-dealers.” Kite beamed. “The new one will.”

"What do you mean 'It's Too Late For Waffles'?! D:" Kite melted into a puddle of gloom and steam. All he wanted were waffles.

"Sir, what I said was--" the waitress turned to Jenson in concern--"will he be okay?"

Jenson blinked his very large, very open eyes as if tripping on some serious shit. He blinked to Kite, then to the waitress. Then squinted. "Wendy. Your nametag says Wendy."

Wendy nodded to this.

Jenson beamed. "It's great to meet you, Wendy. My buddy here just wanted waffles. Dunno why he didn't come earlier while you were serving breakfast." Jenson shrugged. "Baffles me."

Kite puckered his face sourly and pointed a finger across the table at Jenson. "YOU KNOW GODDAMN WELL WHY I CAN'T HAVE WAFFLES." He returned to his sulking. "Stupid wake-up rules. His life'd suck too if I made him follow Kite Rules."

The waitress looked on with apprehension, mouth parted ever-so, and said nothing, biting down on her lip. Finally: "You know what?! I bet we have some waffle batter leftover from breakfast hours! I'm sure we could make an exception!"

Kite's ears literally twitched. He raised a teary-eyed head and smiled a kitten face at Wendy the Waitress. "D'you mean it?! D'ya really mean it?!"

Wendy threw up her hands and nodded. "Sure! Of course! It'll just be a little while, okay?!"

Kite was already ready to throw money at her, but regained his composure as Jens coughed politely. "Oh. Right, yeah." Kite slid his shades on and sunk into the booth coolly. "Whatever puts wind in your sails, lady." With a large sip of his drink.

Wendy turned back to Jenson and looked on expectantly. "Sssssteak burger. Rare. No condiments."

Wendy tapped her pen against her mouth. "And you're consenting that your steak burger will be mostly red with a cool center. Is that okay?"

"Blood it up, Wendy." Jens smiled, a weird sort of slippery, snake-like way.

Wendy nodded and drug off their menus under her arm as she scribbled on her order pad. Kite looked from one side of the diner to the other, then back to Jens...and his shades, sitting on the table. Slowly, as if expecting a booby trap to go off, he approached them with wavering fingers. Once he touched them, he retracted his arm as a grappling hook, holding them dearly. "All these years, I've never seen you put these bad boys down in public." He unfolded them and blinked, even slid them on over his own shades. There was nothing special going on. "So this whole time you were just hiding your cute-ass blue eyes? Kinda weird. I mean, I get the whole I don't want people to flirt with me deal, but to take it this far?" Kite shrugged. "I don't understand you most of the time."

Jenson smiled, shrugging. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Kite blinked beneath his supershades. "That's just it, though. It didn't die hard. It kinda choked on a peanut in the car on the way here. Iunno, maybe I just feel like I should know you better." He huffed. "Best friends. Who knew?" He pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and began fiddling with it, turning it into a bowtie while Jenson watched outside.

"There are some kids laughing at your car."

"Maybe we should go join 'em."

"They're writing profanities on your windshield dust."

"Won't be my windshield dust for long."

"Okay, now that's just indecent exposure."

Kite turned to see one of the boys teabagging the driver's line of sight. Kite shrugged and returned to his bowtie, placing it neatly on the collar of his shirt.

Jenson blinked. "When did you learn to tie a bowtie?"

"Marquee taught me during our first interrogation session."

Jenson's expression melted. He cast his eyes away towards Wendy on the other side of the diner. "I hate that guy."

"Yeah, I know pal, but here's the thing..." He paused. "You're like the only one who does. Even Grae likes the guy, and you know it takes, like, twenty shots of tequila to crack a smile on that chick."

Jenson shook his head. "He's a demon and should not be roaming around our base."

Kite smirked. "Then you're lucky I shot down Grimm's proposal of him living with us."

Jens shot to attention. "Grimm wanted what?!"

"Yeah, he offered me like an extra five big ones in our salaries if we'd take him in. I told him that Marquee doesn't paddle your canoe and that was the end of it."

Jenson deflated, anger disarmed. "You haven't used that analogy before."

"Did you like it? I'm trying to branch out."

"I loved it. You're a good southern boy."

Brian | C Major


Standing outside his apartment, Brian lit a cigarette. The sun was bright, not a cloud in the sky. Birds were singing, too. Was that a string quartet in the background? At any rate, this seemed as good a day as any to try his luck.

He went back inside, and once he was fresh and pretty, stood at the bus stop, humming a tune. The only other person there was an old lady. She turned to glare at him, and Brian smiled widely back at her. She looked away, puzzled.

The bus arrived, and twenty minutes later, he was at headquarters and strolling through the now repaired lobby.

"Looking good, Brian," the clerk called as he went past. Brian nodded back, completely glancing over the fact it was Bob, and Bob hated him. Not much could bring him down.

Except Marquee.

The demon stood, as if waiting, in the hallway. He nodded at Brian when he saw him, and strode forward.

"Marquee."

"Brian. Isn't it your off day?"

"I'm here to do something."

Marquee smiled slyly. "Well, the Director had a hunch you'd be here today. He told me to tell you to keep your phone on. There's trouble brewing."

Brian forced a smile. "No trouble here, none at all. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"...have fun."

He could practically hear the wink. Lost in thought, Brian walked in the direction of the medical wards. It took only ten steps for the string quartet to return. Marquee could wait. Brian hoped --

"Oh, hey Sophie." he stopped just in time to avoid a collision with the worried-looking doctor. "Uh, what's up?"

Going good. Smooth start.

Sophie twirled the earpiece of her stethoscope. "I'm looking for Collins and White. You seen them? Surprise surprise, they never turned up for their physical."

"Don't worry, they'll come around for one soon enough, I'm sure," Brian said, smirking. "They went to buy a car. Lunchdate apparently."

"Lunchdate." Sophie seemed nonplussed at the concept.

Brian scratched his head. "Yeah, about that..."

Such a perfect cue. Aw yeah.

Sophie raised her eyebrows.

"I thought maybe for once those two had a good idea. I mean, er, we should imitate them. Not that we should actually imitate Kite! Um, but the lunch date. The lunch date. We're both stressed as hell, it might be a well-needed break."

"You're - hang on. Wait - I - you're... you're asking me... on a lunchdate?"

Brian nodded in what he hoped was the most suave way heads could move. "Sure, why not?"

Sophie let out a high-pitched, slightly manic giggle. "Sure, why not!" she repeated, then cleared her throat. "I mean, I have to be back at the centre in ninety minutes."

"Some say time passes more quickly when you're with someone who makes you feel good," Brian said, staring into nothingness. "Others instead say it moves very slowly. Funny thing, time. Very relative, if you think about it that way." He snapped back to reality and smiled at her. "Let's make good use of those ninety minutes, then."

--

"I didn't know this place opened for lunch," Sophie said, happily looking at the surroundings of the Indian restaurant as if the plastic Ganesh statue wasn't the tackiest thing she'd ever seen.

"They say it's actually pretty good," Brian replied, looking at the menu as if it wasn't the tackiest thing he'd ever seen. He found the lack of strawberry salads reassuring, though.

"So how's work?" he asked, looking up at her.

Sophie closed her menu and chewed her lip for a second. "Good. Last night this girl came in with a massive laceration to her femoral artery, there was blood everywhere and Mama had her hands in somebody's brain so I got to use the cautery myself but then I put it down and didn't realise I'd left my foot on the pedal until I could smell burning flesh and-" she caught Brian's expression "-I mean she was fine-" he put down the down the menu. "Um. Yeah. Work's good."

Brian smiled as best he could. "That's good to hear. It's been crazy around base recently, huh?"

Sophie's mouth hung open. She nodded wordlessly.

"All this stuff with Marquee gets me worried," he went on. "He might be skilled, but so are we. He might be likable, sure, but really, I'm a bit nervous. Jenson acts incredibly off around him, and I'm worried if Grimm decides to actually send him on missions with us, something really bad will happen. The team hasn't been operating at its peak for a while..." he rubbed his forehead. "And here I said we'd be getting away from work. Sorry about this."

Thankfully the waiter came to take their order. "Vindaloo, please," Sophie blurted. "And, uh, just water."

"Same, but I'll take a beer." Did indian places even have beers? The waiter took their order, and they were back at square one.

"Brave move with the curry," Sophie said.

"I've gone on a date with a high-class demon, and braved a strawberry salad," Brian replied. "The curry won't be what does me in." Not right at that moment, at least.

"So..." Sophie made a series of strange movements with her mouth as she tried to think of something to say.

"Ah... did you manage to read Dr. Gabriel's paper on the duality of souls and their manifestation in the afterlife?"

Sophie nearly spat out the mouthful of water she had taken. "Yes, but I didn't realize you had! I'm pretty sure that I am the only person with an individual subscription to the Journal of Parascience. It was... pretty interesting. Although I don't agree with him at all."

Brian nodded. "His theory on extraplanar projection was pretty far-fetched, I have to agree with you on that... but," he leaned forward, eyes darting around conspiratorially, "what if he was correct?"

"I'm not sure I follow," Sophie said.

"When we were in Canada, it was really strange. I felt like my mind wasn't in the same place as my body. Then Marquee said we were actually in hell, for a while. That would resonate with the Doctor's paper. Which makes me wonder how he knows... he's not exactly part of the 3-0-7."

"Dr Gabriel... maybe he's an angel."

Brian laughed. "That would explain a lot of things, yes."

Sophie attempted to be serious. "I mean, I didn't believe in demons or hell or... well, in anything, before I got recruited to the 3-0-7-3. But that doesn't mean there aren't people who didn't. I mean, Glasgow was full of weirdos shouting about the apocalypse like it was as imminent as Scottish independence. And the demons that we - or you - hunt - I mean surely they must run into normal people all the time. It's not that crazy that some academic had an... encounter, and started writing science about it."

"Funny thing though, it's not entirely imporbable... I mean, Plato himself wrote something similar. To be honest I feel most of it is just a rehash of his discourses. Still, this is certainly the newest work on the topic that seems somewhat credible. We'll have to follow it carefully. Maybe even pay him a visit."

The waiter arrived with the curry. Sophie licked her lips. "I've never seen an American handle a Vindaloo without tears," she warned Brian, picking up her fork.

"I've not seen doctors handle lover demons so well, regardless of nationality," he countered, taking a bite. The ensuing tears were probably because of the mental image that invoked. Definitely not the curry.

"I will consider this a test of endurance," Brian said, weakly. He continued eating resolutely.

Sophie couldn't help but giggle. "You're all the same, you agents. Thinking you can handle anything just because you've got a gun."

"Please. Guns lack class. There is something about them that is so unartistic."

This went on for a while, between bites of curry. The conversation went as smoothly as it could. The dietary habits of penguins were just being discussed when Brian's phone rang.

"It's the Director." He picked it up. He frowned. "What? Huh. Damn." he barked a laugh. "This is gonna be fun."

He put down the phone and looked at Sophie. "Hey Sophie, do you mind if we continued our date in Vegas? Something's come up. Most pressingly, a flight in forty minutes."

Tabs - Hello, Stranger.

By the time Tabs had navigated from her bungalow to the headquarters, detouring around every major transport route and narrowly escaping the oncoming lunch rush, it was well past any normal time for a midday meal, so she opted out in favour of working on her newest toys. The path to the workshop was thankfully one of few frequent encounters, save maybe the janitor and the other technician, who, though infrequently present, was more often than not either snogging his partner or out on fieldwork.

Though she had only met the two of them on several occasions, she was certain she knew them enough to say that they would never leave the workshop door even slightly open with the light on at this time of day. She was the only one who considered lunch worth skipping for work. She pushed the door fully open, peering inside with trepidation, hoping it wasn't who she was anticipating.

Her heart sank and rose in a bizarre way that was slightly akin to her way of falling as she observed Marquee sitting at one of the worktables, surrounded by parts and humming to himself as he tinkered with one of her projects. The fact that he was humming just seemed to make him more daunting. He had been appearing in places with things like a double expresso, or a book she'd never read about demons, and though she took the most obscure trajectories she could find (even once braving the main cafeteria) he seemed to find her anyway. It didn't take someone socially adept to realise that he was trying to win her over.

She hovered in the doorway, undecided as to whether she should enter or turn tail back to her house.

He called from inside, not looking up from his tinkering. "Did you know that it's approximated that ladies spend more than a week of their lives standing unsure of themselves in doorways?" A spark blew a puff of smoke into the man's face, fogging his glasses. He looked up. "It's an awful shame, being unsure of yourself." A smile. "Wouldn't you agree, Tabitha?"

"I'm pretty sure you just invented that statistic," she replied as she entered the room. "I'm unsure of myself as a rule around people I don't yet trust. It saves complications." As another spark leapt off of the contraption, she frowned. "Once they've let off more than three unintentional sparks, it's normally a sign to stop before it sets on fire - or blows up."

That caught his attention full-flag. "Oh, now, Tabitha. That's when things get fun!" Marquee nevertheless put down the taser-razor and wiped his glasses with the tails of his coat. "Now, I'm hoping you'll be able to tell me something that no one else has." A pause. "If a man is in chains, how then does he continue to disarm those around him?" He blinked several times, pondering. "Because, to be quite honest with you, Tabitha, you're the first person to speak to me today without threatening me." He shrugged. "One girl even mentioned jumper cables! Imagine! Me hooked up to a motor vehicle, probably clamped by the, er--" He motioned at his general chest area. "You get the idea." He relaxed. "Why not you?"

She blinked, slightly bewildered. "Why should I? You don't seem to be threatened by my plethora of demon countering spells pinned to the wall, so what do I have to threaten you with?" She gestured to the cuffs on his wrists. "The fact that I know exactly how much force it would take to break the spells on those and that I trust the few people who have the key to them has something to do with it as well, I'm sure." She inched around the edge of the room to a stool and perched lightly on the edge of it. "Though what I want to ask is why are you here, Marquee?"

There was silence for a moment as he pondered. Finally, he returned, solemn. "Not many humans make it in and out of hell alive." A pause. "In one piece." A beat. "In a sound mind, body, and soul." With both of his cuffed hands he returned his glasses to his nose. "You have four friends who accomplished all of this because they took with them a bit of leverage." Light cleaved across his glasses, veiling his eyes. "I am here because I suppose you could say I no longer have a home." He returned to his taser razor, where another spark greeted him. "And if I don't fear your spells made for demons, what, Tabitha, does that say about my very being?"

Tabs picked up something that looked like a tube covered in wires solder and proceeded to inspect it. "My friends were very lucky, and I'm grateful for that. I haven't come across any records of anyone leaving hell, not in my research at least." She replaced her glasses on her nose and loosely rolled up her sleeves. Retrieving a soldering iron, she plugged it in and waited for it to heat up. "I could, of course, hypothesise that you are not wholly a demon, though you must be to some extent, as I assume you lived in hell without any harm to your being." She bent over her project to hide the gleam of fascination in her eyes. As she soldered the ends of wires to the pipe, she continued. "Though you could just be a demon who is very good at acting and who wants me to believe he is something he is not.
Her head buzzed with the possibility. If it was indeed true, then maybe she could coax him into letting her analyse him. And allowing Sophie too. Tabs was sure she'd want a hand in the pot.

Marquee put away his gadgets and stood, taking his taser razor with him. On the other side of the room, he cleared his throat. "Your doctors have taken thirty-nine vials of blood in the past two weeks." He raised the razor to eye level and narrowed his gaze towards the wall housing the anti-demon spells. "As far as your own safety in your no-doubt interest in experimenting on me..." He threw the razor into the wall, a burst of electricity shattering the spell bottles and obliterating the reagents inside. Tabs ducked beneath the table as a noxious purple gas cloud enveloped the room. The sound of chains hit the floor, followed by footsteps.

A hand touched Tabs on the shoulder. "I'm certain your director's eye is on the sparrow."

She made an unseemly squawking noise at him, as she tried not to gulp in any of the gas cloud. It wasn't helped by the apparent constriction her rib cage had decided to exerce on her lungs. She blinked, her eyes watering slightly. "It took me almost a decade to collect all of that."

Marquee

"Long story short," Marquee emphasized, hands splayed, "forty-two gallons of liquefied horse meat."

Tabs screwed up her face, lips puckered in sour disgust. "I asked you if you'd been to the cafeteria," she deadpanned, "but I didn't mean in hell."

Marquee slowly nodded on the uptake. "Fair enough. Though I hardly see the difference between your cafeteria's chef and The Demonic Mess Matron Beelzegrub."

Tabs shuffled alongside him nervously. "I'm...I'm certain there are plenty. For starters," she poked at her glasses to straighten them, "we don't eat horse meat. Much less liquefy it."

Marquee hummed in agreement--or appreciation--at the revelation and fiddled with one of Tabs' unbroken spell bottles. "That's almost a shame. See, what if a horse demon stampeded through the area? How would you ward against him?"

Tabs stopped and shoved a finger to her lips in deep thought. "Well," she mused, "I think I'd equip our agents with a Slow Ward to lower his speed. Then, the head agents would engage him in combat." She thought a bit more on it. "With bullets."

Marquee huffed. "That's positively the worst approach imaginable." Marquee turned to Tabs and shook his head. "If you want to trap a hunter, you think like a hunter. You're on the right track with lowering his speed, but that's not quite enough to debilitate a horse demon."

Tabs almost hesitated in asking: "What would you do, Grand Demon Jailer?"

The demon grinned wickedly. "You snare him with a horseman's ward." There was almost a glower about his eye, something shifting in the color--but it was faint and distant like the sound of rain in the mountains. "Demons are defenseless against spells of their same nature. It's the counterintuitive status of this weakness that keeps demons so well-preserved against humans." He showed his teeth for visual aid. "Your friends captured me because one of them had been fishing around in your storehouse. You know him: Kite. He'd had a good look around your workshop and found a demon tooth that he thought was cool. And he wore it as a necklace, Tabitha. And that demon tooth," he motioned to his mouth, to the back where a single tooth had been removed, "was the thing I sacrificed to the 3-0-7-3 to enter Hell."

Tabitha took a step back, subconsciously. The weight in the air had suddenly tripled, and something made her feel nauseous. "Maruqee."

He cocked his head to the side. "Tabitha."

"You became a demon."

"Yes," he affirmed, "I did exactly that."

"To keep the stronger demon imprisoned."

"Yes."

She balled her left hand into a fist. Marquee eased his head to the side to analyze the motion, but stopped suddenly as her hand met his face in a full-throttle slap. "That's senseless! You spent more than half of your life in a cage, but for what?! You couldn't even keep our agents out of your cell!"

Marquee rubbed his jaw where the handprint lingered. He waited for a moment, but then watched in the courtyard as several agents or analysts filed into the cafeteria. Suddenly, his stomach was empty. "Tabitha, I hate to ask a favor so soon after meeting you." His gut growled. "But would you blow any whistles if I asked for a vial of Jenson White's blood?"