[right][h3]Duskwick[/h3]▒▒:▒▒ apm, ₰₮€₺₻₧ ₠₱₭№⅍₼₥ ▒[/right] Jeremy and David had wandered down the crackled street, through weeds and broken raised slabs of pavement, between houses vacant and gaping like reclaimed skulls. The cars were all rusted in the driveways, the windows all shattered. A buzz of insects droned in the high grasses. Far below, at the bottom of the weaving sloping road, mist rolled like something alive across their path. There was no mistake: this place hadn't been inhabited for a very long time. Except -- Occasionally they might pass a house that had been recently broken into. A cold, charred bonfire pit in the middle of the street. Graffiti, in bright purple and red, depicting complex symbols unusual to known gangs -- like something ancient and runic. Ahead, less than a mile, the police station sat modestly along the lakeside road, its doors boarded up and plastered with graffiti and papier mache reliefs of fish and sharp-toothed monsters. [i]"... can we please not? ..."[/i] A quiet, childish whisper trembled in the weeds all around them -- an echo of Jeremy's own words. Someone, somewhere, giggled. [i]"... take their heads for our collection ..." "... take their eyes for our stew ..." "... give their bones to the lake ..."[/i] Antlers rose up over the weeds and refuse -- followed by the shine of sharp blades and cunning bright eyes, locked on Jeremy and David. [h3][i]Meanwhile...[/i][/h3] Cheri, having turned her back on the two heroes, would find herself hiking uphill, through an old weedy strip mall, abandoned and boarded, its roof caved in and rotted. In front of what used to be a sew-n-vac shop, a half-dozen tigers lounged on the broken concrete, chewing on nondescript bones with pieces of bright red flesh still attached to them. One of the tigers raised its head, its eyes shining a bright glinting yellow. One by one, each of them stopped and turned its great striped head toward Cheri. [i]...rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...[/i] The low, quiet, rumbling growl was behind her. A tiger crouched low, only a few feet away, its long teeth bared and eyes glowing bright as suns. [h3][i]Meanwhile...[/i][/h3] Zoro launched out of the phone booth like a tiger, poised for the tackle. He hit his target -- but quickly he would find he was the one being manhandled, gripped and tossed onto his back on the concrete. His attacker -- or victim, however one might define it -- lost her balance in the process and ended up stumbling backward into the weeds. [i]"Cultist!"[/i] a sharp voice squeaked, while she scrambled to her feet and brushed the stickers from her robe. "How dare you! Urchin! When I tell you to get out of my way, you get out of my way, you hornless [i]rat![/i]" In the phone booth, the call stopped and the hanging receiver blared a disconnect tone. [h3][i]Meanwhile...[/i][/h3] D pressed [i]ignore[/i] on the call, and the phone went silent -- but the tigers didn't avert their gaze. They had stopped growling, and no longer seemed to be agitated by sound. They climbed down from their perches, advanced through the weeds and refuse, surrounded D in a tight circle, a moving swarm of orange and black, thick fur close enough to touch. The biggest of the tigers stepped forward with huge silent paws, its scarred face peering up at her, eyes bright gold. D's equipment fizzled, just a little. Her auditory sensors, on one particular setting, might pick up a static of soft whispers -- though what they were saying couldn't be determined. The visual sensors showed nothing unusual on most settings -- but the night-vision would show her each tiger glowing bright ... and over each of them stood a humanlike shadow. [i][h3]Meanwhile...[/h3][/i] The police cruiser carried Gary, Jill, Akira and Eleanor down the winding residential roads, toward the lake that shimmered in the warming sun -- and the police station, small and unassuming on the lakeside street. As soon as they entered, they could hear the muffled noise of an old man raving in a back room: "The rot is coming! The tigers stare into our souls! Listen to the trees! Listen!" Sheriff Chang brought the visitors into her enclosed office -- slightly messy, an old CRT monitor heavy on the desk, next to a typewriter. She gestured for them to sit, and handed them a folder full of page-sized photographs. "Tell me if you recognize any of those." Most of them were the photos of the missing persons that had been printed on flyers throughout the town -- including Maddie, and the antlered boy, whose name apparently was Simon -- but then there were others: A dark figure in a cloak, standing on a street corner, antlers huge and ornate. The yellow-eyed face of a tiger, staring out of a closet while a baby played with blocks in the foreground. The huge, spiderlike shadow of something heinous perched upside-down on the ceiling of the local supermarket. A portrait photograph of a wild-looking boy, scruffy as a beggar, his eyes glowing, piercing yellow. "If anyone asks you," Sheriff Chang mentioned casually, dropping into her chair, "you never saw these pictures. Maybe you could talk to Roger, too -- you've got something in common, he might tell us something useful." In the hall, the old man's voice howled.