It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth's dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be left alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests. -- H.P. Lovecraft

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Night fell across Chicago like a blanket, covering the city in cool darkness, accented by the glittering lights of a sleeping city. The sky was clear and cradled a pregnant moon surrounded by a host of stars, otherworldly watches that surveyed the city below in contempt, unmoved by the events that would change the world and pluck them asunder from their celestial resting place.
A foreboding quiet swept through the darkened marble hallways of the Field Museum of Natural History. Security Officer Harlan Morgan liked it that way. There was nothing but him, the displays and silence. It gave him the opportunity to catch up on episodes of This American Life. The portly, moustached security guard jiggled merrily down the hallways of the museum, a single earbud plugged firmly in his left ear. His black wingtips squeaked noisily as he paced. A smile spread across his face as the voice of Ira Glass filled his head. He loved this job. More than he loved food. More than he loved his mother. And more than he loved his cat Mr Bittowitz.
There was nothing like--
Harlan stopped for a moment.
What was that noise?, he thought to himself. He snatched the earbud out of his ear and listened. There it was again. A crackle, followed by a woosh and the distinct sound of sneakers against marble.
"Wh-who is that?" he stammered. Harlan shook his head. You can't be scared now, dude! This is your chance to be badass! What would Bruce Willis do?
He reached for his flashlight and snapped it on.
Crackle.Woosh.Squeak.
"Hey!" he shouted again. "Who's there!"
He flashed his light back and forth and frantically jiggled up and down the hallways as quickly as his girth would allow him. He'd never had to confront someone like his before. Sure, he's chased away kids grabbing the boobs of the Athena bust in the Greek mythology exhibit--a popular one for middle school boys for obvious reasons. But this? This was something new. Maybe he'd get a promotion from it!
Crackle.Woosh.Squeak.
The Greek mythology exhibit. That's where they were coming from. What a coincidence.
Harlan made his way towards that direction. His heart raced in his chest. Sweat dotted his forehead.
"I gotta lose some weight," he wheezed as he skidded towards the entrance of the exhibit.
Great Corinthian columns wrapped in silk guarded the entrance to the exhibit.
"All right, you son of a bitch," Harlan growled in his best Bruce Willis. Albeit a huffing, puffing and severely out of shape Bruce Willis. "You better come out with your hands up or," he thought for a moment for the most intimidating thing to say. "Or I'll make scrambled eggs with your head all over the walls."
There you go, Harlan. Put the fear of God in them. And in this museum, YOU are God.
Now, Harlan didn't have a gun. He wasn't allowed to happen after what he did in Springfield. But the intruder didn't know that. He still thought he sounded like a badass.
Darkness extended throughout the exhibit, but Harlan had patrolled these halls for so long now he knew where the displays were located. Depictions of ancient battles, artistry, pottery, weapons and Greek heroes lined the walls and dotted the exhibition room. A great stone depiction of the pantheon of gods, headed by Zeus himself loomed high and mighty over the rest of the displays in all of its splendour.
Harlan crept around the exhibit, one foot over the other as his flashlight danced across the exhibit. Someone was here. He could feel it. His Bruce Willi senses were tingling. He combed over the walls and the room and he saw nothing. Empty. Was he hearing things?
He patrolled the room one more time, keeping his flashlight moving. It landed on someone facing the Medusa display. The figure had his back to Harlan and acted and didn't acknowledge the guard's presence. Dressed in all black--black jeans, boots, a black leather jacket emblazoned with a symbol he'd never seen before, pierced by a broadsword and a hood pulled over its head. The figure was glowing. Iridescent blue light bristled around its body.
"What the--"
The figure turned it's head ever so slightly. It flickered then disappeared. Before he could speak again something slammed into Harlan and sent him flying up through the air. The guard screamed as he sailed upwards for a brief moment then landed on the ground with a sickening crunch.
Harlan groaned softly as he tried to get back up. A bolt of pain shot down his leg and he howled. Harlan looked down at his leg. He screamed again in pain and horror. Bloody white bone tore through the fabric of his slacks. Through watery eyes, he turned his gaze towards the display again. The figure was standing there again, casting an eerie sapphire light around the surrounding displays.
"I don't think rent-a-cops can take another hit like that," the figure spoke, its voice warbled.
Harlan tried to speak, but the pain in his leg was unbearable.
"Try not to--ahh, there you go. Come to papa," the figure's voice was tinged with triumph. He turned around, holding the head of the Medusa bust in its hands. The figure flickered again and popped into existence in front of Harlan. The figure kneeled and put its finger to Harlan's lips, shushing him gently. "There, there. Don't worry. It'll all be over soon enough. Long ride the Witch Knights." The figure held the Medusa bust directly in front of Harlan's face.
The hair on Harlan's arms erected. A sound like a breeze in a tunnel rushed through his ears. The air around him crackled and his body buzzed with the feeling of pinpricks--as if he'd fallen asleep on a limp, woken up and blood began circulating through that limb. His ears popped. The figure spoke one last time.
Harlan didn't know what the figure said. He didn't even recognise the language but it was a single word.
The bust...twitched. Cracks spiderwebbed across the expensive art piece as the bust twitched again. The coils of serpents that clustered the bust's cranium shuddered. They twisted and hissed in agitation. Flakes fell from the bust and dusted across the floor as the eyes snapped open--twin yellow lights that poured outpoured rage and hatred. The bust screamed. Harlan screamed. The figure began to sob.

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"Now remember," Captain Wolf Montgomery said as he turned the ignition to the squad car off.
"Detective Damocles can get a little bit..." he trailed off, looking for the right words. "Weird."
Captain Wolf Montgomery was a mountain of a man. African-American. Massive arms, broad shoulders, and hands like a side of meat and potatoes. He wore a blue suit and red tie, his badge gleaming brightly against his belt. To the normal eyes, it looked like a normal, Chicago Police Department issue badge. But to special eyes, it was a LIBRA Thirteenth Precinct badge. LIBRA was a secret organisation of men and women that policed the world of magic, monsters and mayhem. Whatever went bump in the night, they bumped back, and always with a bigger gun.
The Captain looked over at his passenger, then beyond her. Several squad cars surrounded the Field Museum of Natural History, the entrance sectioned off by police tape. The press and curious bystanders alike swarmed around the tape, their voices a cacophony of questions and inquiries. Thank goodness for alchemic tape--a fancy little trick that the Thirteenth Precinct had up its sleeves. Normal people would see regular, yellow police tape. Only special people could see the spells inscribed on the tape that prevented prying eyes.
"But, I think working with him would be good for you."
The captain smiled at his passenger, "So go in there and show them how it's done. And Ellen? Play nice with the other kids, okay?"

Weird. Right.

Like this world wasn't weird, like this existence wasn't a total lie.

Detective Ellen Lockhart was not a mountain of a woman by any stretch, dwarfed by her driver. That wasn't to say she was a normal woman, either, and were anyone else driving she'd have likely towered over them. Not the captain, though, a giant couldn't hope to tower over that man. Instead, Ellen grunted up at him and opened the door, stepping out and slamming the door behind her without a word. Play nice with the other kids, right, because that's all most of these idiots were. Children, innocent to the real world and busying themselves on the playground with unimportant gossip.

Ellen shoved her hands into her pockets, wearing a black longcoat left open in the front, its black leather fluttering inches from the ground beneath her as she approached the yellow tape. Beneath that she wore a more traditional raven black dress shirt, buttoned up to the very top button and tucked into her equally black dress pants. So what if she likes black, it's thinning, and anyone who wants to comment on it can stuff it. A badge, the same as the captain's, hung from her belt, mere inches from a holstered handgun, and allowed her quick and easy entry past the small blockade that had been erected in front of the museum.

A murder, that's all that had been reported. A murder and a theft, obviously, but the murder was the important part. Ellen stepped over the tape and into the museum, looking around in disinterest as officers she didn't recognize were turned away and officers she did became more and more common. A guard was murdered attempting to apprehend a thief, and that's that. What the news was told, whether he was stabbed or beaten, doesn't really matter. The guard wasn't ever found, merely an exact replica made of stone, its leg shattered and face carved into a look of abstract horror. Given that a bust of Medusa was what ended up stolen, it's not exactly difficult to imagine what happened, when you know what she knows.

Greek history was never her strong suit, frankly, and when Ellen entered the busiest exhibit, little yellow signs marking every few feet of the marble flooring, all she could do was give a blank stare towards the grand sculptures and artworks. Battles, gods, weapons, none of it really mattered, because all of it was real. There was no metaphor, no grandeur, no awe of the unknown. Gods existed, many still do, and she's sure every single one of them is a shitty person. What was she supposed to feel, then, knowing this? A man had been murdered, a life extinguished, and by something fantastical.

Frankly, it was annoying to know what she knew, to do what she did, but this was her first real case since she got to this forsaken city. Her first time in years where she could spend time out in the field, discovering these things instead of transcribing the reports of idiots for a living. Why did it all feel so... false?

Her emerald eyes finally landed on the main event, the frozen guard, but she paused before she approached. Where was her 'partner' in this room? She hadn't actually been given a description, but she'd assume he'd be investigating the body. Apparently... not. She sighed to herself, a hot breath escaping her as heavy black boots carried her to the scene. Doesn't really matter, she would just do this herself.

Like always.

That's the thing, right? Your own death, that is not bad enough on its own. There's the whole question of the forensics afterwards, what people will make of it. It's weird to think that they'll stare at the scene of your death, look at the objects scattered around you, and get it all wrong, and get you wrong.

"Damocles?"
This is what Detective James Damocles loved about This American Life! It seemed like every episode he listened to was pulled directly from his own life! Damocles leaned back in the theatre seat in the darkness as a documentary on Jupiter played on the giant screen.
"Damocles."
But he wasn't paying attention to that. He as listening to Ths American Life on the iPod he'd pulled from the dead body.
Goofing around with evidence was the fun part of being a sparkly, flashy detective solving ookie spooky mysteries. No one told you what to do.
"Damocles, goddamit!"
James fun was ruined by the abrupt snatching of the earbuds out of his ears.
Molly Turner was standing over him. A woman of small frame and hair as fiery as her personality. Molly was a firecracker. Caramel eyes. Small nose and pale skin. She kinda reminded Damocles of a glass of milk. A really small glass of milk. Like a swallow of milk. But still just enough to dole out revenge if you were lactose intolerant. That just adds a whole new meaning to the word "mustard gas". Damocles would never drink milk again.
"Hey!" Damocles crossed his arms in feigned defeat but remained seated. "I was--"
"I don't care what you were doing!" she said. With blue gloved hands, she stuffed the iPod and earbuds into a plastic bag marked "Evidence". "Stop playing with evidence, you asshat!"
James smiled. He'd always had a bright smile even as a child. James didn't exactly look like a detective. He sported a frohawk, had hazel eyes and wore a "Thundercats" hoodie underneath a grey peacoat, and red Chuck Taylors. He stood up from his seat and placed his hands on Molly's shoulders.
"Are you okay, Molly?" he asked. "Do you need a hug?"
"No" was her curt reply.
"Are you sure?" he tilted his head to the side.
"Damocles, I swear to God--"
"I think you need a hug!" He pulled her in close and wrapped his arms tightly around her. For a few painstakingly awkward moments, Damocles held Molly's head to his chest.
"See? Doesn't that make everything better?" he asked.
"Damocles?" she replied. Her voice was slightly muffled by his hoodie.
"Yeah?"
"You know I hate you, right?"
Damocles broke the hug off an smiled. "I know you mean love!"
Molly rolled her eyes. In spite of herself, there was a small part of her that found Damocles to be...amusing to say the least. He was like a kid in the candy store for the most part, but he was a damn good detective. "Do you have like any spatial awareness? Any at all?"
Without even looking around Damocles grinned, "It's the planetarium! Duh!"
"Yeah! And you're three damn exhibits away from the crime scene!"
Damocles nodded his head. He failed to see what her point was. Walking around helped him focus. It helped him think clearly.
Harlan Morgan was his name, poor bastard. Built like a doughnut hole and probably should have stopped eating them a long time ago. If turning to stone hadn't got him, the diabetes would have. Anyways. Harlan Morgan. Mid-thirties. Probably perpetually single. Still lives at home with his mom or has a cat or something. The security guard at the Field Museum of Natural History. Nothing too special about him. So why was he killed? Collateral damage. A simple psychometry spell showed Damocles that. The man in black glowing blue was the weird part. If you adjust the pitch and treble in a psychometry spell, you can hear any and everything. Even people's true voices masked by magic. But this blue glowing guy? Who the hell was he? Easy. Motorcycle gang. "Long ride the Witch Knights." Weird thing was the Witch Knights were a biker gang of spellcasters. They didn't get involved in the wizard gang war and usually kept to themselves. So why here? Why now? And what did this Medusa's head--

"Damocles!"
James snapped out of his thoughts.
"Were you even listening to me?" Molly was turning a little bit red.
"Wait, what?"
Molly threw her hands in the air, "Why do I even bother!" she stormed off and made her way toward the exit.
Molly was cool. Damocles liked Molly.
"And by the way?" Molly looked over her shoulder back at the detective. "Your new partner is here."
James' face lit up. "She is!" Ellen Lockhart. Damocles had heard some good things about her from his boss Captain Wolf Montgomery. She started out behind the desk and now she's out in the field. Didn't even become a beat cop. Straight from desk to detective. If Montgomery trusted her, then so did Damocles.
James Damocles followed Molly out of the planetarium, excited to meet his new partner.

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James jogged into the Greek mythology exhibit. He loved Greek mythology! Not because of the myths behind the gods, but because the Greek Pantheon was a group of travelling comic musicians! He'd been following them since they performed in rinky-dink performance halls back in New York. They going to be performing at the Voodoo Comedy House on Saturday. Maybe he'd invite Ellen!
Ellen was examining the petrified security guard. The other officers and analysts kept their distance. The all seemed...afraid of her. Stone-faced. Dressed in all black. Service arm visible. And HUGE!
James decided that he like her already. He grinned
"Ellen!" he shouted halfway across the exhibit. Without hesitation he ran over to Ellen and threw his arms around her in a big hug. As soon as he did he was washed over in an almost overwhelming feeling. Magic. The magic inside of her was powerful. Was this why Montgomery paired the two together?
"Damn skippy!" James let go of Ellen and smiled. "Where are my manners! Introductions! Call me Damocles. It rhymes with "3-Ds", "bee's knees", bleu cheese" and," he placed his fists on either side of his head, fingers pointing upwards. "I am the night. I am BATMAN-ese!"
He placed an arm on Ellen's shoulder and pointed at the petrified body. The face twisted in perpetual horror. "What do you think about that?"

Captain Wolf Montgomery hadn't told her much about her partner.

For some reason it seemed he was almost hesitant for them to be introduced. He was hesitant about a lot of things, the old man, but Damocles was something else. Maybe he knew she'd hate him, regardless of what he did. She hated most people the Captain forced her to be with. Actually... no, she hated every single one. She also hated anyone the Captain DIDN'T force on her. The little woman that organized the evidence locker that tried to make friends, or that new cop, Molly something, who tried to act tough and finally make a scene about how she needed to stop being so rude.

Ellen spat in her face and walked away, if she can remember correctly.

The blonde smirked at the memory, the only time she might actually look happy. Anyone who knew her - anyone who has been in LIBRA's 13th precinct for more than a month - knew it was anything but a happy expression. More like a momentary chink in her armor, a predatory smile for when she is recalling causing pain, or about to cause more.

Captain Wolf Montgomery hadn't told her much about her partner. Not what he looked like, or even his first name. She'd overheard talk, of course, about how he had recently arrived. A detective from California, from some other big city, who moved here for some unknown reason. Apparently he's already well established, and Ellen could respect that, if she could feel respect for anyone.

Which she can't.

Still, what worried Ellen more was that some people felt the same way about him as they felt about her. He was disliked, or at least avoided, by some of the officers after he arrived. She hadn't met him yet, given she'd spent the morning in her apartment, studying the case's details rather than heading to the precinct like normal. She'd been intent on learning everything she could before she got there, just so she wouldn't have to research anything later. As such, she'd be meeting her partner in the field.

As she'd established, though, he wasn't here, and that was fine. Her emerald eyes skirted the frozen body once more. Petrified may have been a better word, and the victim's clothing had survived, as well as his belongings. Had he been searched yet? Likely so, but-

Emerald eyes darted upwards as a voice called her name, but there was no time for her to react before arms were thrown around her. Time seemed to stop, for just the slightest moment, as she caught her footing and held her arms rigidly to her sides. Her eyes were wide, and a few nearby officers went completely silent at the sight. You could hear a pin drop from three exhibits away.

Captain Wolf Montgomery hadn't told her much about this man. Was that because he knew Ellen would strangle him, and didn't want to get too attached?

Ellen watched the slightly taller man as he pulled away, completely silent and unblinking. Her fists weren't clenched, her jaw was loose, one could almost mistake her for calm. Batman-ese. This was to be her partner? She looked down at the body when it was pointed to, then looked right back up at her partner. Her... partner. Slowly, she took Damocles's hand and removed it from her shoulder, her knuckles turning white as she gripped his hand with the kind of strength one gives when they are currently dangling from a cliff.

"Don't ever touch me again," she stated simply, her voice quiet and eerily calm. Those would be her only words to the man as she released him, her eyes returning to the body at her feet. She crouched down, reaching into her coat and taking some gloves out, slipping them on without the satisfying snap. She'd search the body herself.

Captain Wolf Montgomery hadn't told her much about her partner, because she did not have one.

Damocles wasn't in the least bit taken aback by the response--in fact, he expected it. It would have to take a lot of mental fortitude to keep all of that magic energy in check. He wondered what Ellen was. A wizard, like him? It would be fun to have another spellcaster on the team. He'd only worked with one before--that didn't go over too well. Maybe this time things would be a bit better. Without skipping a beat, he said "Did we just have 'a moment'? I think we just had a moment, for realsies! We're BFFs now, okay?"
"Oh, don't mind him Ellen," a new, Welsh accented voice said. Damocles turned to face the empty Medusa display. A tall man with a wide build and a camera around his neck smiled tightly. He was an older gentleman and his taste in black clothes suit him well. He wore a black turtleneck, black sport coat but he was balding. Circling around his neck was a series of perfectly aligned stitches. "We have yet to tell his doctor to increase his medication dosage.
For the first time today, Damocles frowned. Damocles loved everyone. But if there was one person that he loved just a little bit less it was Anderson Stoney-Bowes--the forensic photographer.
"Ah, Professor Snape," Damocles replied sourly. "Did your mommy let you out your basement to come and play with the big kids?"
Anderson narrowed his eyes and walked towards Damocles and Ellen. Molly looked up from her phone, but said nothing. Just another day in LIBRA.
Anderson stopped directly in front of Damocles and narrowed his eyes. "Oh? The crypt?"
The one place where Damocles knew he could sting Anderson it was his dullahan heritage.
Anderson poked Damocles in the chest, his voice wet with sarcasm,"How lovely of you to say. You know I've long since been insecure about my dullahan heritage. and it's nice to have it ratified by you. A human."
"Careful there, grandpa," Damocles narrowed his eyes. "There's still enough spots at the Sunny Hills senior home for one more."
"Okay!" Molly had had enough. "We get it ladies, you're both pretty! Anderson, get back to work. Damocles, stop being weird."
The two of them huffed and Anderson pushed passed Damocles and got down on one knee to begin snapping photos of the stone body.
"Bloody hell, I haven't seen petrification in years," he muttered.
Petrification was a painful process. Upon looking into the gaze of a Medusa, the human body would turn to stone starting with the internal organs first. The victim would die from inside out.
"The Stone Killer of Illinos," Damocles said. "The big issue right now is getting that Medusa head back. And I know exactly where to start.
"Oh, do you now?" Anderson looked up from his work.
"Yup!". Damocles gave Anderson a thumbs up. "Ready for a ride in my hometown, Ellen?