[b][i]Los Angeles, California 7:01PM Western Time[/i][/b] 



Club Morte had long been a popular attraction among the Gothic lifestylers and those looking for a bit of excitement by stepping outside of their comfort zone. Located just a few blocks off of Sunset Boulevard, the club had been a haven for those looking for something a little bit different. Unknown to the majority of the club’s patrons, much less the tourists who on occasion passed through the front doors, Club Morte was not just your average alternative lifestyle club. While the club itself had a cheap, right off the rack of Hot Topic type of feel to it, something much more sinister was at work within the walls of the club. 

For years, the local police department looked the other way whenever the occasional junky disappeared soon after leaving the club, or even vanish from within the club itself. Some within the department were aware of the true nature of the club, and because of that they allowed things to run their course without police intervention. The fact was, Club Morte was run by mobsters or gangs, but something much, much worse. Vampires had first moved into the area at the height of Prohibition in the 1920’s, and taking advantage of the state’s glamour seekers offered the best spirits that money could buy. And buy they did. People showed up to the original location, which was simply known as Stardust in droves. Stardust was an elegant establishment, a perfect reflection of that era’s Hollywood. Over the years, the club had evolved into whatever it needed to be in order to serve its purpose, and while entertainment was always important, the club’s main focus was to provide its owners with a steady source of food. 

On this night, the club was at capacity. The club pulsed with the electric beats that the deejay was producing from his rig. The heat level within the club was rising as bodies swayed and grinded against one another with the beats of the music; the strobe lights gave the place an entirely otherworldly feel. The vampiric element within the club surveyed the dance floor, looking prime candidates to be their next meal. Suddenly, the front doors burst open and about a half dozen men in black tactical suits rushed into the club, seemingly opening fire indiscriminately. The staff of the club, which was made up almost exclusively of vampires rushed toward the intruders, only to be met with a hail of gunfire. However, as soon as the first vampire was struck, it was clear that these intruders were not using just any ammunition, evidenced by the fact that once the bullet pierced his heart, the vampire began to writhe in pain as she began to combust from the inside. Within a matter of seconds, all that remained of the vampire was a pile of dust that marked where she had taken her last breath. The scene repeated itself over and over as the vampires within the club fell one after another in short order.

However, the slaughter did not end when the last vampire had fallen. Soon, the attackers turned their sights on the club patrons and opened fire. The majority of the victims simply fell to the ground when they were shot, though several others combusted from the inside and left nothing but a pile of ash where their bodies should have been. The attackers hit the club with a tactical precision that one would expect to see out of a military special ops unit. The assault was fast and hard, and was over almost as suddenly as it began. When the gunfire stopped, the attackers left a pile of corpses and ash strewn about the club, and the only clue left about who they were, or what they wanted were three solitary letters spray painted in black across the top of the bar. 
H-O-H


[b][i]Little Ulster, Lost Haven Maine 10:01PM Eastern Time[/i][/b]


For the woman known only as Styx, it has been a long year. After first arriving in Lost Haven and opening a portal to a demonic dimension and unleashing that realm’s inhabitants upon the city, an event that the locals have taken to calling D-Day, she has found it in her best interest to remain out of the public eye. She hadn’t thought that anyone had seen what she had done, but several months after the incident she had begun receiving threatening letters. So she had gone into hiding completely off the grid. She had been forced, quite literally underground. She had spent her days toiling in the sewers beneath the city. She had memorized every nook and cranny of the world below the city that most of the residents of Lost Haven were completely unaware even existed below their feet. It had been a miserable existence for the demon, who had survived by feeding on rats and insects, as well as the occasional scraps of rotting food that she had been able to liberate from dumpsters on the rare occasions that she had risked going above ground.

Living below the streets sucked, there was no way around that. But she was still breathing, and as unpleasant as that could be while living in the sewers, she was still alive. Or at least that’s what she told herself on a daily basis. That was her life, at least until recently when she began to get the sinking feeling that she was no longer alone in the subterranean hell that she had made for herself. It was true that from time to time she would cross paths with someone from above ground. She would see the occasional homeless person who found that the warmth that the underground provided was better than freezing to death up above. She would even see the occasional criminal who was using the tunnels beneath the city streets to move about undetected. Though it didn’t happen very often, she was accustomed to that. But this was different. She could feel that somebody was down there with her, watching her. Even though she tried to convince herself that she was being paranoid, it made her uneasy.  

Up until this moment, she had almost been able to convince herself that she [b]had[/b] in fact been paranoid. However, that debate was quickly and undeniably settled when she saw three men in black body armor coming toward her with guns drawn. She had been in a secluded section of the sewer which was secluded and cozy, with just a small corridor that led to a ladder and a manhole cover. The three men seemed to know exactly where she would be, and when. It was that moment that she knew that she had been right all along, someone had been watching her. She darted down the back corridor and nimbly jumped to the ladder, where she raced to the top and expertly forced the manhole cover open and pushed her way through it, up and out into the brisk night air. 

“Sorry, so sorry…but no, no, no, no. You…you aren’t going to get me that eas--!” she was cut off mid sentence as a section of barbed wire was placed across her throat and yanked hard backward. The pain of the barbs piercing the soft flesh of her neck was unlike anything she had ever felt before and she almost blacked out from the shock, but somehow, she managed to stay awake. 

In her rush to escape the threat below, she failed to notice the threat that awaited her above the surface. Several more of the black clad men were laying in wait just out of view in the alley in which she had emerged. Once the first man had secured her with the barbed wire noose, the men dragged her out of the alley to their waiting trucks. However, the men did not throw her into one of the vehicles. Instead, they bound her arms and legs with more barbed wire. Once she was secured in the wire, they each tied one end of the wire to the bumper of their trucks. Once she was tightly secured, they each began to drive away in different directions, pulling her completely apart in the process. However, the men did not travel far. In fact, they only pulled forward a dozen or so feet in any direction. Once Styx had been eliminated, the removed the barbed wire tethers from their bumpers and left what remained of her in a neat pile on the sidewalk where anyone who happened by would find her remains. However, they didn’t leave until one of the men carved the letters “H-O-H” into her forehead.


[b][i]Las Vegas, Nevada 7:01PM Western Time[/i][/b]


Pixy Stix was a relatively new hot spot in Las Vegas. Located just off of the main Strip, the patrons who frequented and tourists alike were always guaranteed a good time. Unlike other establishments of its ilk, the Fae that ran Pixy Stix were neither shy nor did they conceal who, or more importantly, what they were. In fact, they included it in their marketing. Most people thought that it was nothing more than a clever gimmick to stand out in a city of clever gimmicks. But the fact remained, that within the walls of Pixy Stix, nothing was off limits, and nothing was too taboo. In fact, if you were one of the lucky VIP’s, or even if one of the girls, or guys for that matter took a fancy to you, you could end up in the back room, which had been nicknamed “Eden,” which was more or less a thinly veiled brothel where you could live out your wildest fantasies with some of the most desirable creatures from all of mythology…as long as your credit card cleared, that is. 

To the patrons who visited Pixy Stix, a night there was much akin to spending an evening with the fabled Lotus Eaters, time just seemed to pass by ever so slowly, and with each passing moment, you were less and less inclined to leave. However, unlike the Lotus Eaters, the Fae who resided at Pixy Stix did not need to keep you under a mystical thrall to keep you there; you wanted to stay all on your own accord. Once inside Pixy Stix, you were surrounded by beautiful people wearing very little, and in some cases, nothing at all and an abundance of the very best booze from all around the world, as well as several “secret brews” that unbeknownst to anyone but the Fae, were not of this world at all.

 To the Fae, as well as those in the know, Pixy Stix was more than a raucous nightclub. It was a sanctuary. It was a place that Fae, humans, meta humans, and all variety of supernatural creatures alike could go without worrying about being judged. This was a place where no body had to worry about petty rivalries and violence. Pixy Stix was a place of fun and peace. It was a place where the promise of entertainment and sex were more important than the need for conflict. From the moment you walked through the front doors, you were among friends. These were friends who didn’t care about the things that you may have done in the past, or might do in the future. Everyone was welcome at Pixy Stix, and everyone got along. 

That was until a dozen men in black body armor kicked in the door and began opening fire. The men stormed the club, not just with guns, but hunting knives and what looked like machetes. However, they were not just any blades, these were forged from wrought iron. The men went about Pixy Stix, slaughtering everyone in their path, not just Fae and other supernatural beings, but humans as well. There was no rhyme or reason to the attack, there was just unrelenting, indiscriminate killing. When they had finished, there was not a single being, human, meta human, or Fae left alive inside the walls of Pixy Stix. They had even found the secret entrance into Eden, and slaughtered anyone there as well. Once the assault was over, and the attackers were satisfied that everyone was dead, the leader of the raid pulled out a small spherical device about the size of a ping pong ball from his utility belt and pressed a button on the top of it, which caused the device to glow red. After ordering his men out of the club, he threw the device among the carnage just before he took his leave of the club himself. Moments later, Pixy Stix exploded in a torrent on flame and wind that eradicated everything inside.

The men did not leave until they had left a message scorched into the street in front of what had until tonight, been Pixy Stix. They had poured gasoline into the street, and when they lit a match and tossed it into the gas, the letters H-O-H could be seen from the heavens.

[b][i]STRIKE Headquarters, Washington DC, 10:01PM Eastern Time[/i][/b]


Alexander Anderson stood around the vast computer arrays that were housed in the Situation Room of STRIKE Headquarters. He and his top advisors were focused on one screen in particular. Neither Anderson nor his advisors knew what to make of the anomaly that had been tracking, and neither did the few within the scientific community that they had brought in to analyze it. They only thing they knew was that they knew absolutely nothing. 

“Director, it seems that the anomaly is-” the man was interrupted by one of the men monitoring one of the other many computer screens.

“Sir! We have multiple att-” the technician never finished his sentence as the console in front of him, as well as the rest of arrays exploded at once, sending glass, bodies and other debris flying in every direction.
The explosion had been so big, that it punched a hole in the titanium reinforced outer wall of the complex, killing untold dozens of men and women within the headquarters of STRIKE. The only fortunate thing about the explosion was that it occurred late at night when the vast majority of agents and general employees were at home with their families. However, as the rescue crews made their way down to the epicenter of the blast, it was clear that nobody could have possibly survived such an explosion. Agent Marcus Ryder, had been outside when the explosion rocked the nation’s capital, the blast’s concussion had been so powerful that it threw him a dozen or so yards from where he had been standing. 

“My God…” was all that he could muster when he looked up and saw the utter devastation that had befallen STRIKE Headquarters. Agent Ryder, who had served in the same military unit with Director Anderson in their younger years, and who had maintained a close relationship with him, rushed toward the inferno that had been his base of operations.

He ran into the building and made his way down to the Situation Room, where he knew Anderson had been holding a briefing with some of his advisors. As he raced through the halls, he was amazed by how quickly the response teams had sprung into action. As he got closer to the Situation Room, he was nearly overcome by the noxious fumes of the black smoke that billowed through the halls. As he reached the room, visibility was very limited, but from what he could see, he knew that the situation was bad. The heavy steel doors that led into the Situation Room had been blown clean off of the hinges. Ryder rushed blindly into the room, hoping against hope for a miracle.

“Alex! Alex!” he cried out to his friend. However, he was greeted with silence. It was in this moment, that he knew nothing would ever be the same again.


[center]***[/center]


All across the country people settled in for the night. Some chose to watch the evening news, or old Friends reruns. Some people chose to spend the night binge watching their favorite shows on Netflix or Hulu. However, none were expecting what they were about to view. Instead of their program of choice, they found themselves gazing at a figure surrounded in shadow, much like what you might expect to see when a show like 60 Minutes is interviewing a mob witness. As the man spoke, it was through a voice modulator that made the message all the more sinister.

“People of America, we find ourselves at the precipice. For far too long, our elected leaders and those who have been put into place to protect us from the threats that we face have failed to act. Instead, they have sat idly by and watched as freaks in capes, mages and monsters have taken the security of this world into their own hands. For the most part, the people have accepted the rule of gods amongst us, at the detriment of humankind.” The man in shadows said before pausing to allow his words to find their mark.

“But let me ask you, how long? How long before these so call saviors decide that playing hero is not enough? How long before they turn their powers against us?” The man asked, again pausing for effect.

“We cannot sit by and wait for these beings to decide that it is time that rushing to our aid and solving our problems is no longer prudent. We cannot wait for them to decide that it is us, the human race, that is the problem. And we can no longer wait for institutions that have been put into place to protect us from such a cataclysm to follow their charter and do what must be done. So we have taken it upon ourselves to take the necessary steps to protect all of humanity from the threat of the meta humans and all of their ilk. Tonight, we have completed multiple, simultaneous operations against known threats. We have also eliminated the organization known as STRIKE, for their failure to act against hostile forces. We will no longer tolerate the meta human threat to our world, nor those who support them. We will continue to act, until all meta humans, as well as those who provide material aid or support for their kind, are wiped from the face of the Earth.” The man paused as he leaned toward the camera, however, even as he moved closer to the camera, his face remained obscured in shadow.

“Inaction is no longer acceptable. We are the last line of defense against these monsters, and we will not rest until every last one of them is eradicated. We are here, we are everywhere. We are the…”
[center] [img]http://i.imgur.com/TjK9IKd.png[/img][/center]