[IC] ☾ NIGHTCALL ☾

[Dead Cruiser]

CHAPTER 1: ODD LOOK

Los Angeles is known around the world as the "City of Angels," but as far as you're concerned, the city should be better known for its devils. Like any big city, it's always had its fair share of unsightly elements, of a mundane criminal variety or otherwise. Well, alright, perhaps a bit more than its fair share. However, since the record-breaking Olympic Games the city hosted three years ago, things seem to be growing out of control. The monsters of the night that previously seemed content to stay within the confines of darkness and secrecy become bolder with every passing day, and are starting to be noticed by the day-walking population. In addition to the usual problems caused by an overpopulation of predators, these activities have been attracting undue attention from forces usually delegated to fixing said problems. This, of course, is putting unwanted pressure on those unrelated to the problem; denizens of night that stay in the shadows and keep well enough alone. The city is a boiling pot of tension, and no one is sure what would happen if it spills over. Many have taken up arms to fix the problem themselves, but not all utilize the most effective methods, and fewer yet have completely pure intentions.

---

Mount Zion Cemetery

Deep within the shadowed cemetery, lit only by the stray flashes of passing headlights, a lone figure worked. They went about their practice diligently, sowing the earth with strange and foul substances, and muttering in a language best forgotten by man. The specter of the new moon was high in the night sky, nearly at its apex. The proper time was nearly at hand. Finishing their ministrations, the unknown agent went about the final stages of their ritual. A flash of silver in the night, and a spattering of blood on the ground. A curse on their oppressors, and a wish for retribution against them. Rather than stay to witness the fruits of their labor, the dark practitioner fled the cemetery, not entirely sure themselves of what was to come.

To call what followed "good" or "bad" luck would be entirely subjective, but the ritual was enacted flawlessly, and the expected result ensued. A rumbling from beneath the surface of the ground sounded as the soil convulsed and split. Gravestones cracked and toppled as the miniature earthquake continued, before stopping as suddenly as it began. The ground burst open, and forms blackened from mud and rotted from worms crawled up onto the surface. Some two dozen of them, all in proximity of the dark sacrament, rose from their graves, eyes ablaze with unnatural green light. They shambled to their feet and milled about before they caught the scent of fresh and unspoiled flesh, and slowly stalked down their living prey.

---

Venice Beach

Even at night, there was a constant party on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Inebriated youths frolicked and reveled on the sandy beach, while others gathered around bonfires or indulged their lust by starlight. Laughing and howling, a small pack of them ventured into the waters and chased each other into the blackened waves, Though man believes that he has conquered the seas, another world rests beneath its surface. A world hostile to those that live above it. One by one, the swimmers vanished into the inky waters, dragged under without so much as a yelp. The last of them to be pulled under was the only to suspect anything, assuming that there was a shark among them. Unfortunately, the truth was nowhere near as convenient.

It rose from the sea with slow, unsteady steps. Its slick, slimy body reflected the lights of many shore homes and bonfires, as its yellow, alien eyes peered through the night at its human prey. One of the many tentacles sprouting from its thick body dragged one such prey behind him; the drowned and half-eaten corpse of what had been a swimmer a few minutes before. As it took its tentative steps onto dry land, a silent figure watched it through binoculars a fair distance away. They smiled, knowing that the effort in baiting this beast from the deep sea had been worthwhile.

[Silly Cybin]

"Now remember, Nathan" Stanley grumbled, almost chewing on a ratty looking cigarillo; "The thing about zombies is their numbers, the dumbies ain't gonna outsmart a bright boy like you any day"

Nathan nodded, flicking his Marlboro against the bark of the old Willow tree behind him. "I know grandpa; keep a distance and aim for the head" He cricked his neck as he looked at the small horde, carefully loading the pump-action hunting shotgun his father had rented him. "Sure is a lot for just a midnight snack; you think something bigger is happening here? Maybe a Class 4?"

"Look, the only Class 4 I've ever laid eyes on is when we pulled you outta that cave; and that ain't ever gonna happen again" He spat on the ground; Stanley almost had a way of making his spitting into punctuation. "Now, focus, be quick, and try to not look tasty"

Nathan turned, holding his arms wide with a weary smile spreading across his young face. "Why attempt the impossible?"

"You're impossible, knuckle-head. Git!" Stanley urged, waving his hands towards the horde. He lay down on the grass of the hill, carefully lining up his battered hunting rifle.

Nathan took his grandfather's order and jumped off the hill, landing a little ways towards the undead. He felt the familiar sensation of his blood boiling and a cavernous emptiness in his chest; there was a huge heaping pile of supernatural shit in his location; he could just tell. 1, 2, 3, 4 he breathed, blending perfectly into the shadows of the dimly lit graveyard. After 4 he whistled, causing a lot of necrotic necks to suddenly turn. "Hey fellas; could you point me in the direction of the buffet?" He yelled at them. They groaned harrowingly in response and started shuffling towards him. "Ohhh, I'M the buffet. I completely misread this situation"

1, 2, 3, 4 He closed his eyes and breathed more deeply, the cold night air filling his lungs. What is life? he thought plaintively, 1, 2, 3, 4... The first zombie was within five strides of him now. BOOM. What once supported a fairly necrotic head was metamorphised into a gushing, bleeding stump. Still got it, Stanley. Nathan aimed the shotgun, his eyes still closed, 1, 2, 3.. His barrel found the right angle. ..4. BOOM.. Three zombies heads were partially destroyed, the spread of the shotgun working in Nathan's favour.

One zombie left. Easy. Nathan approached. He emptied one blast into the creatures legs, ripping them off from the knee down immediately. As the creature tumbled to the floor he held the shotgun with only his right hand extended in front of him, forcing the barrel between the thing's decrepit teeth. "..Erm. Something funny!" BOOM. I must be tired, 'cause that was pretty terrible Nathan pondered, scratching his chin with his thumb and forefinger. The sound of earth being shifted rapidly became all too obvious and a hand clutched his ankle; it was strong, far stronger than your average walker. Nathan braced his remaining leg and launched himself off the ground - dragging half of the zombie up through the dirt.

It was unlike any undead he'd seen up until that point. Its muscles were hardy and defined, its veins pulsing with a green energy like substance. Necromancy.. Nathan though, suddenly a lot more in over his head than he'd anticipated. He breathed. The zombie had dragged itself from the soft earth, its tattered rags trailing intimidatingly along the ground behind it. With a supernatural speed it lunged at Nathan, flying forwards like a wet flannel. 1, 2, 3, 4 Nathan closed his eyes and began to move at an incredible speed, his arm shot up to the creature's neck, his hand getting a firm grip around it. He then kicked at the creature's ankles, using a sweeping motion to knock it from its unbalanced feet - finally, he lifted the walker slightly, then slammed it to the ground, its head hitting a rock Nathan had noticed approximately fourty two seconds before-hand. Its skull shattered like a pane of glass and its unmentionables leaked across the wet grass.

"And where the hell were you?" Nathan shouted at his grandfather, holding up his arms in disbelief.

"Gun jammed. You okay?" A voice called in response.

"For a piece of dessert I'm fine, now let's get out of-"

Five zombies, each as powerful looking as the last sprung from the ground in a circular formation around Nathan. He took out two with his side-arm semi-automatic pistol, but at the end of the day that still left three super-strong brain junkies giving him the eye. He would need more than an old-man with a shitty rifle for this one.

[Rata Tat Tat]

Zan's grandfather didn't believe in the kiai. It was a Japanese custom, he would explain, and it went against his sensibility that a guardian should be humble. It was an ostentatious display, he said, the effects of which could be accomplished with simple mastery rather than 'karate gimmicks'.

But how are you supposed to flying kick a zombie in the face without shouting something?

He'd been watching for quite some time--it was rare for another hunter to show up at all, let alone beat him to the scene. It almost took something away from it to him, he enjoyed the 'lone hero' vibe, but when it became evident that the younger of the two could use a little help he found himself ready for the challenge. Best to wait until his pistol was empty--no need to jump into a bullet--time the motion and--

"Hi-yah!"

He'd come at a full run, pushed off from a gravestone and took the zombie full in the side of it's skull. It crushed like a melon, the green energy flaring out the other side before going out. His other foot rode the sternum down to the ground with a satisfying crack and before it hit dirt he was back in stance, a slight smirk on his face.

Zombies. Of anything he had to fight, zombies worried him the least.

They were slow. They were predictable. Strong, yes, but uncoordinated--no brain meant no discipline, which meant child's play. Forget guns, Zan had fists, and a long day of frustration meant he was ready to use them. The second of the three lurched forwards but Zan was ready, his fists already moving between the lunge of the creature's arms. His grandfather would have been disappointed, as one blow should have been more than sufficient, but instead there was a blur and the creature's chest exploded like it had been hit from Nathan's shotgun, shattered bone and pulped flesh spraying out behind it along with whatever animating energy it held. The head was dealt with, as the top of the body fell, by a simple sharp snap to the side with the back of his wrist.

Another egg-shell crack, another light went out. Goodnight.

The final zombie was closer than he'd thought, however--preoccupied as he was, it had managed to close behind him and it's putrid fingers were already swimming through his pony-tail. With a quick twist he ducked beneath the lunge, caught what was left of an exposed rib--gross, by the way, why had he thought that would be a good idea?--and sent it sailing through the air into one of the gravestones. On it before it could stand, there would be no nonsense this time. A quick heel to the forehead left whatever it was that was left in there a stain on the ground...

And on his new shoes.

"Eugh, gross..." He muttered, looking to the mess on his hands and feet before standing up straight and looking to Nathan, straining to hear for more moaning and groaning.

"Do you hear more? I didn't see any."

For someone who flew out of nowhere into a zombie gunfight and took out the remaining three with his bare hands, he didn't seem particularly out of place in the situation.

[DotCom]

As a rule, Rosie preferred to avoid water altogether.

Bathing was one thing. Glamour or no, there was no way in hell she was sitting through the entirety of second period geometry with Billy Huevas and not smelling like Strawberries and Champagne and red dye #42.

And most of the time, LA helped her out with that. The stagnant sludge sitting in the canals that criss-crossed Venice hardly counted as "running water" even in the Southern California rainy season -- or those two weeks in mid-January that amounted to it. Even down in Inglewood, where she'd moved with her mother and ten-year-old sister three years ago after Eso Lío, her mother called it, capital letters and all, things were pretty much dry as a bone. And the beaches were so pretty at night.

Besides, Rosie had at least another hour before her mother left for her nightly 7-11 extra large coffee. She swore by the stuff, even though the one down the street from the hospital almost always burned it to a thick, tasteless mud. Called it her saving grace, her oro del cielo. And if it made her happy and helped her survived the night shift down at Inglewood Mercy Clinic, then Rosie wasn't complaining. The only thing that did bother her was the idea of her mother walking six blocks by herself through what was still too close to South-Central LA for Rosie to just chill.

After all: the sixteen-year-old knew better than most the city held much darker secrets than a late-night mugging.

Which was perhaps why she started jogging, then running, when the bonfire that had been going half a mile down her quiet stretch of beach went entirely too still. The fire still roared and crackled under a none-too-comforting sliver of crescent moon. But the surrounding idiots were gone.

That, and Rosie was bored. Maybe not midnight beach party bored. But bored.

Even so, she stopped running a good fifteen yards from the thing that had emerged from the water. It was nothing she'd ever seen before, which, after thirteen years in Central LA, was saying a lot. She blinked, sighed, then slipped out of her knock-off Sketchers. They'd cost her three nights' overtime at the movie theater. She wasn't about to get them all gross with monster...ooze.

"Oye, puta!" she called, waving her hands over her head. She checked quickly for signs of any other movement and saw none. Save the half-corpse the thing dragged with it. Yeah, she was well within her ass-kicking rights.

The creature turned yellow eyes to her, dropped the body, and began a slow, squelching shuffle in her direction. Rosie cringed.

"Eugh," she grunted to herself. "If that thing touches me, I'm going to shower for the rest of my life."

She moved up from the beach, putting herself further from the water, closer to the tentacle-thing, and between it and the main road in a few short strides. The slimy path left behind it told her it came from the sea. She smiled.

"At least you're making it easy for me," she called, as the thing rolled more quickly in her direction. She waited until its back was to the fire...or at least until its eyes were on the opposite side of its body from the flame, before calling a gout of red-orange heat to her outstretched hand with an easy flick of the wrist.

She scorched the ground in front of her with the super-heated flames, turning the first inch of sand to molten glass, carving an unwalkable path for the creature, forcing it backwards until the fire hit it full in the face.

Rosie canted her head to one side, calling the fire back to her as the creature roared in pain and anger.

"That is your face, right? Hello? Hola, earth to la puta del mar. ¿Puedes oírme? Or...do you just only speak stupid?"

[ScreechingWizard]

Flint looked over the wanted poster again, and let out a deep sigh of mild concern. "Gillman, why the hell did it have to be a Gillman? And they have tentacles now? Great." Flint looked up from the slightly torn and beer stained paper. He hated going to Billy's Tavern, but that was where all the "meaty" hits came in. Well, this should be the place. He's supposed to breach around 2am to feed. How do I make sure he breaches for me? Flints train of thought was stopped there, as he began hearing screams off in the distant. He started running towards them, he had to engage the monster before it slunk back into the sea. The people making the screams were priority number two.

He started to get close enough to see orange flickering light through the dark. The closer he got the more he could make out. The Beast was there, but so was someone else. He watched for a few seconds to see what he was about to get himself into. He saw the shadowy figure sling fire into the creature. Was it an elemental? No more time to think, he had to act. He would throw himself on a bed of nails before he gave up his bounty.

The clouds broke, and in the warm bathe of the moon light he could have sworn he saw the smile of fate itself...or a flock of birds. One or the other. He drank it in and felt the air leave his lungs. He gripped Beth as tight as he could, before starting to sprint. Moving as fast as his legs could propel him through the shifting sand, he came upon the beast and threw his wait into him, body checking him to the ground. He looked away from the behemoth for a second to gaze through the wall of fire at the figure. It was a girl, a few inches shorter than even him. He remembers thinking to himself, "huh, she's pretty" just before getting thrown 10 feet by a tentacle that lashed out angrily in all directions.

[Silly Cybin]

Nathan blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time for good measure. The feeling in his chest was still there, but in all fairness he didn't know much about his enigmatic rescuer. He listened closely; he wasn't blessed with supernatural senses, but they had been trained to spot any obvious warning signs. He was still slightly shocked at the display the newcomer had just enacted, but the overwhelming gratitude killed the surprise. "Not really, just general graveyard sounds, crickets, crying widows, the wind" He smirked, happyto be still able to make shitty jokes in inappropriate situations. "Thanks man, I was feeling kinda like a buffet for a second there. Name's Nathan"

"Holly hellfire, son, that was incredible!" Stanley shouted, walking up to the pair with his hunting rifle lazily rested on his shoulder. "Appreciate you rescuing the damsel in distress here" He guffawed, slapping Nathan between the shoulder blades.

"Go have a 'Nam flashback, grandpa, I had the situation in the palm of my hand" He stopped, turned and pumped five rounds from his handgun at a silhouette in the distance. The body slumped and fell into the moonlight, revealing the classic rotted mug of a re-deadified zombie. "Thanks, fortunately timed zombie guy!" Nathan shouted at the unmoving corpse. He turned to Zan, "These zombies are a lot stronger than regular; I think they've had a little help" He lit a cigarette, pointing next to one of the recently disturbed graves.

"We saw a bright flash coming from this grave, before the un-corpses emerged. Grandpa thought he spotted someone fleeing the scene, but I just chalked it up to his eyes being old and weary"