[center][b]Financial District, New Arcadia[/b][/center] 
 
“He did what?!” Chester growled over the phone, his face twisted into a scowl. He stood in his office, a neatly organised room where everything was arranged and organised exactly to his tastes. The room was large and spacious, the walls taken up mostly by huge bookcases which were filled to the brim with books; most focused on the topic of law and psychology, some written by Chester himself, but a few were for more recreational reading. A simple oak desk sat in the corner of the room, paperwork piled high and almost completely covering the dark brown piece of oak furniture. Chester sat behind it in in a large leather deskchair, slowly fingering through a large black folder, and he sat in silence until eventually his furious expression changed to one of disappointment.“Okay, okay, calm down Tommy…" he said, sighing audibly. "Yes, this is some serious shite he’s potentially put us in. Just look for the Fox and send him to me, capiche? I’ll have a word with him once he gets to my office” Chester continued. 

He had recieved the call from a young naïve brat by the name of Tommy Thum a few moments ago. Despite his frustration Chester liked the kid a great deal. He showed great promise as an intellectual despite his young age and Chester wanted him to work for his firm. He looked out of the largest window in his office, seeing flames slowly die down in the distance. His office had a perfect view of Arcadia's downtown district, and fifteen minutes ago a building had burst into flames with an explosion so loud that Chester could feel the vibrations even here.

 “What the hell are you planning this time, Fox? You’re gonna get the both of us in some deep shit…” Chester said, thinking out loud, but he fell silent the moment he heard heavy boots tread into his office. He looked up from his work, peering over the mountain of paperwork before him, to see a familiar figure dressed in black stand in front of him. Tall and heavy set, Jonas Dullahan would have been an imposing man even if he did not have a heavy bag clutched in his hand, stained with still-warm scarlet red blood. Two silhouettes could be seen through the material of the bag; the decapitated heads of a young man and a young woman.

He dropped the bag onto the only clear spot on the desk in front of him. “Special delivery…” he said. Jonas’ voice was deep, with a soft southern twang that had stayed with him all these years. Chester looked at him with contempt and spoke. “Speaking of psychos walking the streets, I see you sorted out an altercation for one of my clients? Well, luckily for you, I’ve got some payment. Take it and get the hell out of here quickly!”

Chester reached down, pulled a medium sized bag from behind his desk and tossing it to the biker. Jonas pulled it open and inspecting the contents, seeing that the bag filled with green paper. His favourite colour. Jonas turned and headed back towards the door to leave the office, but Chester’s voice beckoned to him once more. “One more thing, Dullahan. Do you mind helping to clear up around the Ol'boy? The pub that your employer may have just toppled to the ground? It would be a great help if you took out any unneeded trash you happen to stumble upon, thank you”

Jonas nodded, a grin curling up across his lips, and left the room. Chester’s façade of a happy smile quickly change to an expression of disgust and contempt. “Freak….”

[center][b]Downtown District[/b][/center]

Allesandro slowly began to stir as strange sensations ran from his limbs up to his spine, eventually jolting him awake. He tried to flex his fingers first, but found that they would not move, and when he tried to kick with his legs his body felt solid. The tingling sensations became more intense, and it took Allesandro a while to recognise the feeling. Pain shot across his body as he finally registered the shards of glass that dug into his body, his bones that had been shattered, and his limbs which had been mangled. He groaned in pain and opened his eyes, but could only see a murky darkness before him.The blast had knocked him out cold, clearly, and it was a miracle that he was still alive. Al tried to pull his limbs in closer to himself, but immediately he felt the rubble dig deeper into his wounds. It was pure agony. When he opened his mouth to speak he swallowed dust, and spluttered painfully gasping for breath.

Al recognised that he was trapped, but considered it a miracle that he was still alive. He spat, trying to clear out his throat of dust as best he could, and called out to whoever might be able to help him. "Hey, I could use some help over here! Anybody?! For [b]fuck[/b] sake!" Al yelled at the top of his lungs, but he quickly swallowed another mouthful of dust and let out another sequence of harsh coughs.

As hard as he was trying to remain optimistic, Al still knew he was not getting out of here without help, and wondered if anyone ever would find him. He did not know which way was up and which was was down, nor how deep he was buried underneath the rubble of the building. While he had not seen him fall, Hooke may have easily been buried in the fall with him, meaning the only man who knew he was there might be incapable of finding him. Worst of all, Al's favourite suit had been torn to shreds, both by the shards of glass that litered his body and his beastly transformation only moments earlier.

He assumed that was moments earlier. He knew not how long he had been unconscious, and he may have been trapped here for over a day without even knowing it. There was no sun overhead to judge the time and his watch was trapped with the rest of his arm.

"Shit," he groaned, realising that he might never be found.

"Al?!" called a voice from above him, as heavy boots trod across the rubble that trapped him.

Allesandro immediately recognised the strong English accent. It was Hooke, he was sure of it. "Hooke!" he called back, and immediately found the drive to push on.

He loostened his arm, pulling it close to his body and ignoring the searing pain that shot up it, and began to push and shift the debris above him. He slowly dug through the wreckage, calling out Hooke's name, and the voice responded in kind. Thin trickles of light began to seep through the gaps in Allesandro's prison, and as a large piece of metal sheeting was pushed out of the way it poured in. His eyes watered, the sheer intensity of the sunlight burning them, but his vision never left the red evening sky above.

There was a figure above Al, peering into the hole he was trapped in, his features obscured but the lights in the sky. Al heard Hooke's voice again, and the figure began to dig down towards him. The detective grinned, overjoyed that the captain was so willing to rescue him. He knew he had chosen well in working with the man. Soon enough the path between Allesandro and freedom was clear, and all he had to do was wriggle himself free from the debris that trapped his limbs.

He stretched his arm out far up into the sky, reaching for the silhouette above him, desperately trying to grab onto the one thing that could help him escape from this prison of rubble. The figure extended his own hand and Al grabbed it, and the familiar figure in black dragged him free. Al kicked and pulled his legs as best he could, no longer caring about the blades of metal and glass that cut into him, and his whole body worked towards forcing himself upwards.

Allesandro's eyes spent a moment to adjust to the light, and he was briefly dazzled as he finally tasted fresh air again. It smelt of smoke and ash, but it was still fresher than what he had been breathing down their, and it was more than worth the blind scramble back to his feet, cutting his hands and arms on the loose stone that littered the floor. The man helped him too, pulling on his arm until Al was finally standing up straight once more.

"Boo," said Dullahan, as he let go of Al's hand and wrapped both of his tightly around the Beast's neck.

[center][b]Outskirts of New Arcadia[/b][/center]

The large family ranch owned by the Frollo family was rife with activity this evening, and people in robes and other strange looking clothing entered the ranch grounds in small groups. Tiny candles lit the path that they took, acting as borders and guiding them towards the main building in the grounds, which was a rather grandiose manor house.

These individuals were members of a group known by many, both inside Arcadia and outside of it, as an extreme and highly religious cult. Believing themselves to be the only people actively trying to save Arcadia from the strong grip the crime families held on it, they were lead by one man known as Father Darrel Frollo. A tall but stocky man sporting both greasy long hair and a full beard, he was to the eyes of many an uneducated and overly zealous madman. However, Darrel Claude Frollo was a remarkably charismatic and energetic man who desperately wanted to repair Arcadia's wounds, and knew that he would need an army of loyal, eager men and women to support him.

Frollo's cult was considered by Arcadia's police force as being more of a threat than many of the crime families. The lengths that him and his followers were willing to go to to get results ranged from peaceful protests to sadistic, gruesome displays of violence in public, and while this erractic nature had poisoned the public's view of them, it gave them enough cover to claim deniability. Their greatest strength had been avoiding persecution from the law, even when the evidence was as clear as day.

The many followers pooled into the building's main room, a large foyer that looked like it could fill a few hundred people. More candles illuminated the room, flickering gently as people passed them. Even when the room was completely full, more and more people tried to force their way in, eager to hear the speech that they had been invited to witness. Many spoke among themselves, but their voices were hushed, never daring to interrupt should he arrive soon. Frollo made his presence known to his followers very swiftly. He stood on a small raised platform that added a modest extra two feet to his height, but it was enough for him to tower over most of the crowd. His close relatives stood by him and watched eagerly as the patriarch of the family started to give his speech.

The man looked upon the faces of his many followers, a welcoming but oddly troubled grin etched upon his face. He walked closer to the front of the stage, raising his arms slightly from his sides and greeting his followers. "Welcome! brothers and sisters!" he said, and the crowd immediately fell silent.

"I, Father Darrel Claude Frollo appreciate y'all for taking the time to come to this rather unexpected meeting. My loving wife and daughter have some nice treats all prepared for you all, so feel free to help yourselves," Frollo exclaimed, his voice carrying easily across the foyer. He paced slowly from the left of the stage to right, clearly pondering his every word but his stride was full of confidence. "Today I visited the sinking hole of sin and debauchery that is New Arcadia, and as I walked I wondered to myself how this city, so grand and beautiful from a distance, could be the hive of scum and evil that we know it to be. I wondered if, maybe, the people of Arcadia had seen the error of their ways, abandonned their sins, and decided to work towards a better and brighter future for us all. I smiled at the thought, and carried on into the big city with great optimism."

"And to my surprise the city was still festering with sinful filth and diseased debauchary as it has always been. How could I have expected anything less? It disgusted me, but as I walked down the desolate streets a thought occured me, then and there. I had hoped, on that day, that New Arcadia possessed the capability to change on its own. That it's people were, by their nature, good, and trying to rebuild something from the ruins they had created. We have tried to save the people of Arcadia, but perhaps it is not enough."

Frollo looked down to his feet and his expression changed. He no longer looked happy or optimistic, but instead determined and saddened. "The time has come where saving the people is not an option. We must cleanse them."

The crowd muttered amongst themselves, wondering what exactly the Father meant. Some gasped, others looked worried, but some showed the same determination and conviction that Frollo did.

"If these people are beyond saving then they are a poison, weakening those that truly care about their fellow man. That is why I have decided to take action. This is the theme of today's meeting, my brothers and sisters! Taking action in your own hands. If we plan to really cleanse Arcadia, then we must act now!"

Motioning to Frollo's two eldest sons, they turned and headed through the doorway and into another room, and then brought out a young man with them. No older than twenty-five, seemingly normal compared to many of the more hard hitting drug addicts that littered the city. He was well dressed, but his clothes were torn and frayed, his hands were tied behind his back, and a rag had been stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet. The two sons pushed the man down to the ground onto his knees, at the very front of the stage where all could see him.

"I have managed to lure one of the lost to my home. He is one of the sinners, the scum of Arcadia, and he will be an example to the entire city. This man will be the first to be cleansed, and the rest of the city will follow." Frollo's voice was cold and monotonal, like metal, and he motioned to his sons again.

Once again they vanished, but came back carrying large metal pots and wearing thick protective clothing, inccluding. Filled with a thick liquid, cooking oil, steam rose from top of the pots and the liquid bubbled violently, boiling to the brim. Another man came up onto the stage with a chair, and after pulling the "sinner" up to his feet, forced him onto the chair and tied him in place with metal chains. He struggled to move but was unable to, rooted in his spot.

Frollo cleared his throat and spoke again. "This man has been found guilty of all seven of the deadliest sins; lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. For his crimes he will be cleansed by fire and boiling oil until he is dead. He will be the first of many to face this grim fate, because today we commit to cleansing all of the evil that plagues New Arcadia. Join me, brothers and sisters, in taking back this once-great city!"

With his last words finished, Frollo took a step backwards from the man. His sons lifted the large pots of oil as high as they could, the man beneath them whimpering and squirming in a desperate attempt to get out, and eventually poured the boiling hot oil over the man.

Even though the rag forced into his mouth muffled his voice, it was clear to everyone that he was screaming. The oil seared through his flesh and clothes, his skin slowly turning black as the boiling oil soaked his entire body. The man writhed and screamed and panicked, his mind overwhelmed with pain, until eventually the chair he sat on tipped over to the side. The crowd gasped in shock and fear, and everybody in the room backed away from the gruesome sight before them.

Everyone but Frollo, who stared down the dying man and seemed unphased by his screaming. The Father fumbled through his pocket, eventually pulling out a small silver lighter from it. He flicked it open and a tiny flame appeared from the top, illuminating his face.

"May God have mercy on your soul," he said as he threw the lighter onto the burning man. The oil covering him burst into flames a second later, and his screams grew even louder.