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[b]Arkham, MA[/b]

The helicopter set down down on the roof of what was once the Miskatonic University building, but was now the headquarters of SHADE. The gothic flourishes that had adorned the building were preserved during its rebuilding into the most technologically advanced paranormal research facility in the world. Gargoyles guarded each floor, each more grotesque than the next, though Red wouldn’t tell the living ones that. Intricate stone work covered the outside of the building, giving it a castle-like look. But it wasn’t foreboding. No, the look just fit here. Arkham was a place where the paranormal was at home, and the SHADE building was like a beacon drawing goodnatured entities here. 

SHADE, and the BPRD before them, had designated Arkham as a safe zone for nonviolent or benevolent paranormal entities. As long as they provided a service to the town, they were welcome here. In turn, the organization protected them from sloppy independent hunters or evil spirits that may have wanted to do them harm. It worked out all around, and thanks to the treaties Arkham was the world’s hub of paranormal knowledge, but legitimate and black market.

Of course, it had been that way for quite a while. Arkham sat on a hotspot of mystical energy. Professor Broom and the BPRD founders believed it was a nexus point of dimensions that caused it to be a spring of occult activity. Dangerous and deadly experiments were the norm for the school and the surrounding areas. It led to the closure of the university, as well as the near desertion of the community. The BPRD came in and reigned things in, but there was still a sinister undercurrent that could bubble up without their constant supervision.

Hellboy stepped out of the chopper with Liz and breathed in the Northeastern air, “Home scary home, Liz.”

“Heads up,” she warned. “Manning.”

Red sighed as he saw SHADE director Tom Manning waddle towards them in a huff. Out of all the human race, Manning was probably the least notable among them. He was balding, but not bald. He was neither thing nor fat, just a sort of pudgy ball of dough that lacked either defining characteristic. He was a pencil pusher and personnel manager who just fell into the job with SHADE. SHIELD was weird. Hellboy knew this going in. They weren’t going to give command to him or one of the other gifted agents. It would have to go to a normie. He understood that. The problem with SHADE was most normies were weirded out by it. Aliens or superpowers they understood. They could see them. Interdimensional insanity gods, hellbeasts, and poltergiests were different. These reminded humans they were mortal, and that their time on this plane of existence was short. Due to that, SHADE nearly always got the short end of the stick when it came to getting a director.

“Well, well,” he smiled and patted Hellboy on the shoulder, “I hear we really busted some heads. Not too much of a problem, I hope.”

Manning was all smiles now, but Hellboy knew the man didn’t care for him at all. The ironic thing about SWORD, SHADE, and SHIELD was the generally didn’t trust the superpowered agents that worked underneath them. More often than not, the agencies kept them around to keep tabs on them rather than to consider them real teammates. Tom put on a good face, but Red knew the truth. The other agents, the ones that went out on missions, knew and respected Hellboy, and he in turn respected them. Hell, he considered some of them friends.

But management was never your friend.

“No problem,” Red shrugged. “Some creep stumbled onto some dream powers. I used one of his targets as bait, pulled him out into our world, and Liz turned him into creep soup.”

“Lit him up like the Fourth of July,” Liz shrugged.

“Great! Abe mentioned something about you thinking this could be part of something bigger?”

Hellboy muttered a curse under his breath. Abe never could keep stuff to himself. The demon had hoped to keep his suspicions from Manning as long as he possibly could. Stuff like “something bigger” or “a larger threat” always sent the higher ups into a tizzy. Red wanted to make sure his suspicions were legitimate before he brought them forward.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his massive red hand, “Yea. Just a theory right now. I’m gonna look into it and get back to you. But first, I could use a beer.”

“Right, sure, I’d say you’ve earned some R&R,” Manning smiled as Red walked away from him, not paying him any mind.

He descended into the hallways of SHADE headquarters, which was nearly always a madhouse. Three ghosts ran down the hall and right through him, chilling him to the bone. Further down the hall he could see a group of human agents attempt to control a slithering mass of tentacles. One of them was being flailed about in the air while others shocked the creature with prongs. Hellboy strolled past and threw a punch with the Right Hand of Doom, striking through to the creature’s center, causing it to go limp. He smiled at the agents and kept on his way.

“Well that was certainly helpful,” a calm, melodious voice said from beside Red. He turned to find Abe Sapien heading towards him. Abe was taller than Hellboy, but skinny as a pole. He was streamlined for travel through water, and his gills and green-blue skin shimmered in the LED lights that lined the hall. “How was your trip?”

“Good. Why’d you tell Manning about my hunch?”

“Well, he is my commanding officer,” Abe fumbled over his words. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do with information?”

“Not when he’s going to be a hawk about it now!” Red shook his head. “Come on, I need a beer.”

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[b]The Hanged Man[/b]

“Ahhhhh,” Hellboy downed the amber liquid, wiped his mouth, and put his glass down on the bar. “Hit me with another one, Igor.”

The Hanged Man was the definition of a dive bar. Uneven stools were saddled up to a bar that had seen better days. A few dark booths with melting candles lined the back wall, and a pinball machine Red insisted on bringing in was the only electric illumination in the place. Everything else was either candle lit or came from the fireplace in the back end which emitted an unnatural green glow from a purple flame. Behind the bar were rows and rows of bottles, each one dustier than the next. Where some bars would have a mirror behind their stock, Igor’s bottles seemed to reach on into infinity. It was a place where the human agents and paranormal citizens of Arkham came to congregate. 

It may have been weird, but it was Arkham.

“Sure thing,” the hunchbacked bartender hobbled over and scooped up the glass to pour another ale. Not only was he one hell of a bartender, but Igor had his ear to the ground. He always knew what was going on around town, and more often than not picked up a clue here or there. “So this Krueger guy was a real piece of work.”

“Wacko thought he could get in my head. Me!” Red laughed and took a sip of the fresh beer.

“But he was powerful?” a gruff voice to Hellboy’s left asked. There sat the half decayed visage of Frankenstein’s Monster, or Frank for short. His purplish grey skin was taught against his misshapen skull, the bolts sticking awkwardly out of his neck. Frank was like a big brother to Red, if he was being honest. He had been around for far longer, and knew more about Earth and the human’s reaction to the paranormal than anyone. Frank mentored Hellboy on how to behave in the field, and how to really fight against their enemies. He was an invaluable member of Red’s Creature Commandos. “More powerful than he should have been?”

“Way more,” the demon nodded. “Ghosts and poltergeists can be nasty, but Krueger was something else.”

“My research says only beings with incredible power can give human spirits dominion over dreams,” Abe added in. “And even then, that’s usually affixed to one person or family. To have free reign over an entire town means-”

“Means something nasty wanted to have some fun,” Red cut his friend off. “Whoever this was, they had to get something out of Springwood, but what?”

“Blood?” Frank suggested. “Could have needed a sacrifice.”

“Murder scenes don’t back that up,” Hellboy shook his head. “Nothing was taken or collected, and nothing ritualistic.”

“Maybe souls?” Igor shrugged.

“Didn’t seem like it,” Red shook his head. “He was just killing them.”

“That’s because it was fear they were collecting!” a booming voice echoed through the bar, startling the patrons and bartender alike. A golden light exploded through the bar from the back of the house, and a shining ankh appeared before them. From inside it stepped the most powerful sorcerer known to Earth.

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Doctor Fate had come to Arkham.

“Fear was their desire, as it remains,” the sorcerer warned. “We are under an attack I am only now beginning to understand, Hellboy. Gather your SHADE. We must act quickly.”