[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hhZ5lcS.png[/img][/center]
[center][color=#b18f71][u][b]Location[/b][/u][/color]
🌑 [url=https://i.imgur.com/MNNClav.jpg]Bounty Hideout, 'The Den'.[/url]
🌑 Duncaster Streets.

[color=#b18f71][u][b]Interactions[/b][/u][/color]
🌑 None.
🌑 Open for collaborations.

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"Well if it ain't our lill' Guardian Angel, eh!?" A ragged voice echoed across old, metallic walls. It had once been a bunker, designed with nuclear war in mind, but would eventually find itself turned into something far more practical than mere defense, or the pursuit of survival. Laptops were haphazardly placed on large weapon crates, screens of varying sizes rowing several different venues of the small, and compact hideout dubbed 'The Den' by those who frequented its secluded interior. "Lookin' strappin' as eva', ya' Majesty," the man continued, a gestalt most were likely to avoid on the open streets. Riddled with scars, and obvious proof of experience, 'The Handler' had once upon a time donned the mantel of vigilante, until age finally caught up to him. A worn sofa cradled his rugged shape, and with a large knife in hand, the man playfully spun a sharp tip against his finger. Little more than a grin was necessary to reveal teeth now yellowed with time, and a lack of care. 

[b][color=b18f71]"Stop calling me that,"[/color][/b] Aiden rolled his eyes, and shifted his attention towards the myriad of pictures nailed to bulletin boards hung on sterile, grey walls. 

"Ay, which part? Cause' youse' high n'mighty, aintcha'? And most certainly one of em' richest blokes in th'city," The Handler chuckled before heavy military boots slammed down on the floor. He pushed himself up with a stretch, groaning slightly from the exertion, and pointed the combat knife at a laptop resting on the surface of an ammunition crate. "Y'here fer' some fun, dunno' why, considerin' all o'daddy's money." 

[i][color=b18f71]"I have yet to ever grow used to this.., loathsome creature,"[/color][/i] Lumen pitched in, the creature's arms crossed in disapproval. However, the situation was quite simple. Without The Handler, or Steve, as was a much less intimidating alias, Aiden would have been roaming the streets of Duncaster aimlessly. They needed this man, if they were to actively make a difference. Despite being an Angel, Aiden was no hero, by any stretch of the imagination, which was something he often reminded himself of. He was simply a kid, trying to do good, but with no means of managing the feat on his own. Informants were needed, and The Handler was impressive, despite accommodations and appearance. 

[b][color=b18f71]"I'm not doing this for money,"[/color][/b] the boy raised a brow, his eyes turning to scan a myriad of guns filling the bunker. Steve could equip a small army if he wanted to, and a vast majority of these weapons came from Infinity Enterprises, as was confirmed by their logo. Ironically, Aiden could not wield a single weapon afforded by his company, nor anyone else. Such was a price of his Angelic Pact. However, dressed in a black leather jacket along with matching cargo pants and a hood to hide the teenager's face would likely turn others away from his well-known visage. Aiden's mask did help in this regard, but where it painted the boy incognito, equally so, a masked individual was very peculiar, and warranted attention. Most of the time, he disregarded the mask, and rather maintained the use of a hood. 

"Ain't tha' sweet of ye'?" The Handlar chuckled, "ah, well, better for me, ay'? Gets to keep all y'all earnins' for me lonesome," the man tapped his chest. "S'why I dare say, ya' get first pick!" Again, The Handler smirked, before he reached for a cigar, and promptly held the wrapped stick beneath an ember of his lighter. "Got ya' three Fangers, t'day," he explained, closing the lighter before Steve exhaled a cloud of smoke from between dry lips.

[b][color=b18f71]"No Werewolves?"[/color][/b] A small grin bridged itself across Aiden's pale mouth, [b][color=b18f71]"that's a first."[/color][/b]

"Wha' can I say?" Steve extended his arms and shrugged, "sometimes, em' puppies behave." Pinching the cigar between his fingers, Steve exhaled another misty breath, and continued, "drug dealer, trafficker, or serial killer, take yer' pick." 

Pausing for a spell, Aiden considered his options. A vampire drug dealer was nothing new, and it was arguably the least urgent assignment, which someone else would undoubtedly deal with. A trafficker, however, involved far more sinister dealings, and yet, a serial killer found its way to the top. It was an understandable outcome, of course, and Aiden had made his choice. He was unsure of how many other freelancing hunters were of a supernatural origin, but a clear majority maintained pure humanity. Even so, in a place such as this, The Den, it mattered little what you were. As a person, you were measured by your actions, and nothing else. Though Aiden had never seen a Demon before, it wouldn't surprise him if Steve welcomed the alleged creature into his so-called 'Family of Hunters'. Used as a joke, more often than not, if one was to delve deeper into the man's customer demographic, a professional disposition would be found. Steve never spoke of other Hunters, and the man's venue was considered Neutral Ground amongst competing warriors. [b][color=b18f71]"The killer, who are we looking at?"[/color][/b] Aiden asked, before Steve spun his computer around to show the target's extensive profile. It revealed a picture of the assignment, a beautiful, young woman, along with a respectable amount of information following. 

"Name's Carmella Von Drach," The Handler stated, tapping his cigar over an ashtray, "bitch is old, has a bit of a followin'," he explained. "Er' lill' cult is set up right 'ere, in jolly ol' Duncaster. Abandoned Brewery." Steve moved the computer back, and as his fingers danced across the keyboard, Aiden soon felt his phone vibrating.

[b][color=b18f71]"Why is she killing?"[/color][/b] The boy asked, reaching a hand into his pocket to lay eyes on the same information now sent to his handheld device. 

"Get this, right?" The Handler's smirk grew wide, "bitch is tryina' appease some Demon shite'. S'what her whole cult's about. Whoda' thunk' those fuckers actually existed, eh?" 

Scrolling down the profile on Aiden's phone, Steve's words were echoed by what was written. [b][color=b18f71]"If Angels exist,"[/color][/b] the boy raised his eyes to meet The Handler's, [b][color=b18f71]"it'd only make sense that our opposites do, as well."[/color][/b] Turning to leave, the Angelic teenager offered his friend, if one was to call him that, a soft wave. Weightless steps then brought Aiden up a set of metallic stairs, until finally, he opened the door which led into one of Duncaster's countless back alleys. A serial killing Vampire cultist.., one would have hoped to say that this was an oddity, but alas, such was not the case in Duncaster City.