Red Nightmares at Midnight

Douglass : She'd been gone for about eight hours now; not bad all things considered. It was hell tying to get anywhere, the wind stung her wounds like millions of needles digging into the skin; the sensation reminded her of when she got her tattoos done. First thing on her list was to get home, take a shower and get some clothes packed. Afterwards she stopped by the garage, dropped off her bike and headed for The Clinic on foot. It took the doc a good two hours to clean up all her small wounds, then another hour and a half to clean up the gash on her arm, son-of-a-bitch did it hurt. With her arm realigned, cleaned and bandaged, she dressed down in civilian garbs; a pair of black jeans with a gray sweatshirt; the local high schools mascot screened onto the back of it; some fundraiser the kids had been doing. Striding down the street, two duffel bags slung over her shoulder, she caught sight of a payphone across the way. For a moment she stood across the street, eyes locked on the contraption with wonder, lost in thought and memory. That number would never elude her, it would never slip from her mind; it was burned there like the scar upon her back. Finally taking the initiative to blink, she glanced quickly both ways before half jogging across the street; amazing what a blood transfusion would do. As she strode up to the payphone she dropped the bags along side, lifting the receiver from its cradle she began to punch numbers; first an access code, then the actual number. The line on the other end cracked as the receiving phone began to ring. One, two, three, and then a woman's voice answered, "Hello?" She sounded sleepy, woken from her slumber by the anonymous caller. Douglass's eyes moved all around the payphone, she couldn't think of a word to say, breathing slowly, calmly, the voice on the other end inquired again, "Hello? Is anyone there?" Finally her mind began to work, lips pulled back as she uttered quietly into the receiver, "Hi." Silence met on the other end, she sound of stirring sheets wafted over the line. "Douglass? Douglass honey is that you?" Eyes downcast, she examined the toe of her boot, "Yeah," her voice was even, wringed of any an all emotion; or so it would seem. "Oh my good God, Douglass what on Earth are you doing? Are you Ok? Are you in any kind of trouble? Douglass…" "I'm fine mom, I just needed to ask you something." Silence again, "What is it Douglass?" It was her turn to be silent for a moment, "Can you stay inside, as much as possible?" "What? Douglass why? What's going on?" she sounded confused. "I have to go…" a long pause. "I love you." "Douglass? Douglass baby don't hang up, what's going on? Are you going to be OK? Douglass?" But her questions and pleas were met only by the sound of the disconnecting phone line; tears began to stream down the woman's face, "Douglass baby, what's going on?" She sobbed, uncontrollably, cradling the receiver as though it were her infant daughter. As she set the receiver back into its cradle, she watched the phone for a long moment. The sound of her mothers voice brought a stillness to her, a deep unsettling stillness that no other being could bestow. Blinking slowly, she watched the receiver for a long moment, almost as though she expected it to start ringing again. An eternity seemed to slip by, the she gathered up her bags, and walked the rest of the three blocks to the bike shop. Paying for and picking up her bike, she slipped on her helmet, threw her duffel bags over her shoulder, and hopped on her bike. It only took one try to kick start the bike this time; the guy at the garage sure knew what he was doing, tearing off into the night, she set out towards Dante's pad, and her future.



Dante had spent the day meandering around his place. After a delicious four hour nap on his beat-up study couch, he guzzled about three gallons of milk, a personal favorite as long as it had ice floes floating in the jug and headed downstairs for a rather invigorating workout. He didn’t bother with the obstacle course this time, just proceeded to beat the shit outta his hanging sandbags, with music provided by Lucille’s surround sound speakers. He relished Guns ‘n Roses for workouts, the hard rock music drowning out his higher neural functions, rendering him unable to think about things. A good arrangement. He remained downstairs until about dark, then headed topside to take a long look around. Exiting the compound, he inhaled the desert air a moment, then shifted forms, feeling the enormous amount of energy surging through his muscles and bones as his human self faded into the scaled monstrosity of his true form. Draconic wings tore from his back, spread wide and full. Horns pushed from his frontal lobe, breaking through the bones of his skull. Skin gave way to sharp flittering scale as he shifted, eliciting a harsh sigh from the demon hunter. But the pain passed quickly and he fought to keep in a hard roar, knowing the sound would shatter the deathly quiet. Oh what the hell, he thought with a sneered grin, red eyes blazing. Bending powerful legs, he leapt into the air, spread wings pumping with the massive muscle, propelling him skyward and he let the yell loose, the deep roar resonating off the rocks and cliffs surrounding the compound. He flew higher, reveling in the power of being free from restraint of earth, a being belonging to neither world. Coming to a low hover, he scouted the landscape in all directions, surveying his domain, as it were. The dark had approached, the sun fading quickly in the west. But sharp gleaming eyes caught sight of a lone figure speeding quickly up the road from the city. Shit and hell, he’d forgotten about his ill house guest. Chances were, she’d try to eviscerate his ass should she catch sight of him like this. A growled snort as he took wing once more. Just let her, the demon seethed. There wouldn’t be enough left to fill a Ziploc bag. Spiraling higher, he disappeared behind the cliff, determined to get his flight out. Let her wait and be damned.



Douglass : Over the continuous drone of the dirt bikes humming engine, a loud and triumphant cry rattled the very sands about her. Hazel eyes narrowed as dilated pupils scanned from one side to the next, carefully taking in the path of the dirt road. Flipping the headlight to off, her helmets built in night-vision kicked on, revealing each an every stone and lump that dotted the path before her. The roar seemed to come from all about her; from the left and right, to above and below. Glancing skywards for only a moment, a glimpse of something disappearing over the cliff tops honed her attention; humph. The dirt bike spat up a cloud of dust behind her, marking well her position; didn't matter much really, she was a living corpse now; everything that had once meant something to her was gone, only a vague and hollow future awaited her. Leaning forward, she urged her bike along faster, dodging obstacle after obstacle along the protected road. Finally reaching the blockades she wormed her way through them, sliding in and out around them with ease. Gunning the engine she headed straight towards the entrance at neck-breaking speed. Suddenly, as if she had been hit by something, she hit the brakes, the bike skidding around in a full three sixty as it swiveled to a stop just before penetrating the camouflaged entrance. An image flashed in her mind as Dante's voice poured into her thoughts, the voice commands given to permit her entrance and exit to the premises; the images of the hazy warning lights flashed around her mind. "What kind of memory do you have Lucy?" Idling her bike around, she killed the engine a good ten feet from the entrance, dismounting and dropping her duffel bags simultaneously. Treading softly she inched around the area, examining the tracks in the dirt and the area around the entrance. Seemed like the only one doing any exiting besides herself was Dante. Off in one corner there was a set of animal tracks going in, but none coming out. Skepticism about Lucy's memory crept into her mind, pushing at the frontal lobes. Stooping down she lifted a midsized rock from the dusty floor, moving it about in her hand she stepped back from the entrance, thinking for a long moment about what was going to happen. With a sideways swing of her arm, she let the rock fly, it passed through the entrance and as soon as she heard it hit the ground, the unmistakable sounds of weapon fire and warning alarms sounded; good thing she'd woken up. Striding back to her bike, she pulled open one of the bags and removed a heavier jacket. Slipping it on, she went over to one of the blockades and slid down to a seated position, pulling the helmet off as she went. Well if he didn't want her inside, then she wouldn't go in; but hell would freeze before she'd move until she caught the bastard by his balls coming out; Take your time I'm not going anywhere.


The klaxoning of alarms back home permeated Dante’s demon ears and he swiveled in mid flight, looping around with spectacular ease, for a being still sporting two legs. The chit must be back at home, he reasoned, wondering if she’d gotten her ass zapped by Lucille’s tasers. If so, good riddance, if not, well, there was always tomorrow. The thought made him chuckle wickedly and he shook his head, massive wings pumping that much harder, propelling him back the way he’d come. A snarl rippled his lips as he topped the cliff, well out of sight, to see the huddled figure beside the bike, parked there like she was going to wait for all eternity. Lips twitched. Fucking godlings! Was he to be cursed with issue-laden females for the rest of his damned life? Well, he reasoned, he was getting hungry again and might as well duke it out with the chit before daylight. Although landing in front of her in his present state didn’t suite his palate all that well, to have go a few rounds with the human female. So he forced himself to revert back to the more ‘acceptable’ form of human in mid air, wincing as his wings folded back into his living flesh. It hurt, damnit. And so he fell, nearly two hundred feet, to land perfectly right outside the compound door. Rising from his crouch, barefoot, shirtless, only jeans with no knees decorating his long frame, he cocked a hip and jacked thumbs in his pockets. “Too good to knock?” he couldn’t resist delivering with snarky sarcasm.



Douglass : Eyes had been roaming effortlessly along the lines in the dirt, mind formulating incidents passed. Mostly easy comings and goings; the occasional lag or drag from a beaten bike, and then there was the murdered animal. Eyes flashed up to him as his voice cracked the nights silence; where the fuck did he come from? Apathetic expressions and dry voice retaliated without pause or delay; "The bell sure seemed to work." Lips pressed back together tightly, the chapstick she'd smeared on earlier providing a nice lubrication between the upper and lower; they wouldn't stick together if she tried to smile. Why smile? She thought; He's not worth it.



Dante actually laughed at her comeback. “Good one,” he said, shaking his head. Squinting out into the night, he shrugged and grudgingly offered a hand to pull her up. “Well, come on, it’s not going to get any warmer out here.” He wasn’t going to stand there forever and she damned well better appreciate the offer; it would only come once.



Douglass : Reluctantly she took his hand, and almost jumped at the sensation it wrought. Cold; cold as death. Lifting both bags in one hand, she let them ease onto her shoulder, in no way was she a weak woman; biceps were strong enough to compete with any man, any mortal man that is, and her legs were well toned with large, powerful muscles. Full lips remained pressed tightly together, and her hair was combed and pulled back into a lose ponytail; in fact it was the first time that Dante had ever seen her in a half-ass-decent phase. Any other time the two had met she was covered in sweat and/or blood. Kicking up her bikes stand she eased it along, following just behind Dante and off slightly to his left. Wind passing through her nose was the only sound she made, her eyes burning off into the distant night before her.



Dante released her as quickly as he would a cobra once she regained her feet. Heaving a resigned sigh, he stepped through the hologram, instantly saying, “Power down, Lucille.” A series of whirrs and clicks sounded as the computer registered his voice, then she intoned hollowly. “Voice print has been registered for analysis. Remain mobile for retinal scanning.” Dante did as instructed, going through the whole rigmarole, until Lucille was finally satisfied and said, “Welcome home, Dante. Level two?” Dante stepped onto the automobile lift. “Yeah, thanks, Lucille.” Gesturing to Douglass, Dante didn’t speak as she made her way over and the lift began to once more lower them into the bowels of the earth.



Douglass : Everything around her was familiar, the lift, the sensation, the passing lights. Only now it was all much clearer. Her memory was hounded by faded images, a red figure dominating the center of all of them. She never looked directly at Dante, never could bring herself to do it. The task ahead was far too difficult for her already. Her nose twitched every so often, and her upper lip would curl slightly as if to snarl, the perfect words could never be found. Finally, as the lift seemed to come to a settled stop, her voice rolled out over her lips, no longer dry; "I do owe you thanks for the other night; so thank you." Task done, and she didn't even have to look at him. Rolling her bike off the lift she set it to stand against the far wall, shifting the bags on her shoulder she went to the elevator, Dante waiting impatiently inside.



Dante merely rode the lift down, something he’d done a zillion times and then some. But he never lost sensation of her presence, seething right behind him. Damned if he couldn’t feel the blasted dagger he knew she wished she could drive between his shoulder blades. But if he scowled any harder, his face would fall off, he just knew it. So he blinked and nearly toppled off the lift from surprise as she seemingly forced words from her lungs, they sounding begrudgingly like “thank you” or something akin to just that. As the lift locked into the floor, Dante strode forward to the elevator, pondering how to answer, if he did at all. Entering the lift, his brow furrowed as he mused, finally settling on the traditional, “You’re welcome,” as Lucille took them to the next floor.



Douglass : Silence was golden, didn't he know that? As of the moment she was a target, from here on out she would be a target, but there was no turning around, no going back; there was nothing to go back to. The hardness of her gaze faded slowly as her thoughts turned to Conroy and the others, Sam's face danced in her minds eye, his large smile and strong arms; Conroy's good hearted belly laugh echoed in her ears, and she wished she were dead; still riding along-side her fellow ATT members. But as soft eyes lifted to the back of Dante's head, the stern coal returned to sight; this son-of-a-monkey-fucker had killed two of her comrades, both of them like brothers to her. She loathed him for that, but in the same instance he had gained her respect. At that moment the decisions was made, when the time came and she would exact her vengeance upon him, he would see it coming; she would not take him out from behind, she would face him like the fighter she had been taught to be. As Lucille sounded the arrival at their destined floor, Douglass stepped through the door behind Dante. Glancing down the hall, she noted that the door to the bedroom in which he slept sat slightly ajar; just a feeling but she doubted he entertained much. "What corner do you want me stuck in?" Her voice was a normal melody now, soft and smooth with a certain firmness to it; inherited from her father no less.



Dante opened the cage doors as the elevator halted, stepping out without turning back. He headed for the kitchen/galley, his stomach rumbling from all the usage of energy shifting forms and back. While he craved a steak, still bloody and nearly mooing, he settled for a sandwich the size of Godzilla’s foot and a pitcher of orange juice. Not bothering with a glass; his house, he’d drink from the damned carton if he wished, he just eyed the female he was more or less committed to share house space with. A bit boney, short, but not that bad, overall. A snort. Bull-fucking-shit, that. He perched on a barstool and just munched in silence. He liked it, really. Nice and quiet. Shit got loud later, when he went out to kill things.



Douglass : His silence emanated a message, he didn't care so long as she was out of his way. As she strode down to the hall, she counted doors and determined that the threshold he chose was the kitchen in which she had stitched her arm. Turning her back to him she too strode off, turning at the door to the room in which she had slept the previous night. To her surprise, the bed had been freshened and it even seemed as though the room had been cleaned. Who'd of thought it, this hard ass cared what his pad looked like. Dropping both bags onto the bed, she opened the smaller of the two. Cloths, civilian garbs, training cloths and half dozen changes of her "uniform." Glancing back and forth through the room, she dropped the bag to the floor and kicked it under the bed, pulling the larger closer to herself and opening it up quickly. Inside was an array of weapons. Knives, guns, bombs, even a chemical canister. Lifting that particular item from the bag, her fingers slid up and down it's smooth, bulletproof glass casing. Turning around, she looked past the door, wondering if he knew, if Dante actually knew what had transpired that night. Sooner or later there would be communication between the two, and her lip and nose curled at the thought of it; but it had to be done. Making sure all forms of weapons were tucked inside the bag, she zipped it back and dropped it too to the floor and kicked it beneath the four post bed. Striding from the room, she turned into the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the door jam, she crossed her arms just under her chest and heaved a sigh. "Tell me what you know about us."



Dante chased the last of his sandwich with a long swig from the OJ carton, quirking a brow as the chit reappeared in the doorway. Standing from his stool, he deposited his dishes in the sink, the empty container in the garbage can. Crossing muscled arms, he leaned against the counter and tapped a foot slowly, shaking tousled hair from his eyes. “I really don’t know rat-shit about the former organization.” Just the barest hint of emphasis on ‘former’. “The stupid trigger-happy morons just ran up on me in that alley and started shooting for no discernable reason, so I shot back.” He figured that’d strike a nerve and beat her to the scowl. “Don’t even get self-righteous with me either, sweets. Your damnable people would have done the same thing to me, had I pulled such a stupid stunt. I’d’ve had my ass eviscerated six ways from Sunday, so save the indignant act for someone who gives a goat-fuck.” His top lip rippled in a snarl. “But your ‘glorious leader’ got his fat ass too far inside and it got bit off, didn’t it? Wouldn’t listen to someone who knows the enemy. Just like a fucking human,” he seethed, more annoyed at the wasteful loss of life than anything else. “They just don’t listen. And here you are, wanting to go hoaring off after ‘em, like some sacrificial Joan of Arc. Pathetic waste, if you ask me.” Pausing, he reflected just a bit. He hadn’t really meant to vent so, but why in hell not? No one’d asked his opinion about all this shit, and he was damned if he be the jackass any longer. “And on another note,” he said, blue eyes hard and frigid, “whatever little ‘evidence’ you still have at that damned lab, be it from me or another specimen, better find its way into the fire, savvy?” Those agate hard eyes flickered crimson. “God help whatever poor sod if I find out otherwise.”



Douglass : As he spoke her upper lip curled back in a snarl, any of the "facts" he thought he had were distorted and spread over a cracker, all except one. It took a good moment or two for Douglass to control her anger and compose herself, strike a nerve; he did just that and then some. Through clenched teeth and dagger eyes she spat her response, "True about Conroy; he got us too far involved, too far off the course of our expertise; but he was a good man and if you ever say other about him again, I will cut off what makes you a man and force feed down your throat." Fists clenched at her sides, muscles tense and ready to be released she took another moment to regain control; "That night in the alley way, try the local authorities not us. By circumstances out of our control two of my comrades were there; they fired out of necessity nothing more." She shook her head slowly, swallowing down another fit of rage. "As for myself, what life is offered to a chemical specialist trained only in the arts of war and destruction? I'd make a great house-wife." The sarcasm oozed from every pore of her body, and her nostrils flared as she looked on, watching his cocky gait and indifferent stance. Uncrossing her arms she rubbed the back of her neck with both hands, rolling her head back and laughing dryly. "You know, let's start this off right; I hate your fucking guts, I want to see you lying in a pool of your own blood. I want to watch your body rot and decompose out in the desert sand, but as of right now that's not going to happen. I'll do my fucking damndest to keep you and myself alive, and if you try to feed me that crap about how you don't need me well then I'll just tell you that you're right but to fuck off because as of right now you're stuck with me. I gave you your options the other night, either teach me to hunt them or kill me; and those are still your options." It felt as though a weight had been lifted, and she breathed easier now. "I may hate you, but I still respect you; you've earned that much."



Dante just let her bombard his hide with her angry retorts. His skin was thick enough; let her throw her damned daggers. He waited till she’d finished spewing then pushed off from the counter and advanced on the short little chit, his very stride radiating menace and danger. He didn’t walk; he prowled. Natural selection, baby. But he stopped just in front of her, glaring down at her fuming little self with that damnable smirk on his lips. Leaning down just a bit, he got right in her face, although not close enough for her to bite his nose off. “You hate me?” he purred with a sibilant chuckle. “Take a number and get in line, babe. You got your work cut out for you.” Straightening, he took one single step back and retorted, “You wanna play with the big boys, you better learn to keep that temper under control, bitch, cause otherwise you’re gonna be demon-jerky even before you get your gun out, got it?” Brows lowered. “There is only one rule: Stay alive. You damned sure better remember it, else you’re in for a short trip.” A hip cocked. “And I don’t give a pig’s ass if you loathe the very breath I take. You wanna take a shot at me, have at. I promise to even stand still and let you hit me. Once.” He glowered. “Then you better run, you hear me? Cause you don’t want me catching up with that tender little ass, baby.” He reached around and slapped it, hard. “This is one man you won’t dazzle with breasts, hair and legs, sweets.” He snorted. “I’m not your big brother, your father, or your best friend. So get used to it.”



Douglass : His breath smelt of meat and orange juice, but she'd never back down; not from him or from anything. Anger again rose through her body at his looming presence, even as he spoke of her anger. Anger was a funny thing; she didn't get angry often, only when a cord was struck; and by God himself this stupid crack laced wallaby struck every fucking cord on her keyboard. As his hand came down, the palm of it biting into her ass, she stuck a leg out towards him and whirled around with her torso and other leg, catching him on the chest with her arm, and behind his knees with her one leg, the big man dropped and she stepped back, ready for him to retaliate once more, "I'm not your sweets, babe, doll, honey, bitch, or anything of the sort, I have a fucking name and you will address me as such do you understand you steaming pile of camel dung?" Every fast twitch muscle fiber in her body was ready to explode.



Dante took the hit, he figured he owed her that one, but by damn he wasn’t about to stay down! This was his damned house, by God! Rolling back to his feet, he nearly took her head off right then, eyes blazing fiery crimson in effort to stay his hand from removing her face from her head. “Until you give me a name, you seething hellbitch,” he snarled back at her, annoyance and irritation leaking from his very skin pores, “I’ll address you as I see fit. You got that?” Even so, his fist clenched, wanting to knock some teeth down her throat, but by God, he wasn’t about to start beating on women. Even if this one deserved to have her ass whipped until the sun came up. She sassed him again, no promises on his temper. Teeth ground behind compressed lips. A sore trial? You bet.



Douglass : "Aww, sweetheart, I thought you'd never ask." Her eyes locked onto his, she noticed the subtle changes in his eye color but paid it all no attention, by now not much surprised her. Sarcasm dripped from her falsely sweet words, as her nostrils continued to flare open, and shut, open and shut; with the rhythm of her breathing. "My name is Douglass." Flat and sour the name passed through her lips as she turned her back to him; every last remaining hair upon her body was standing on end, and her scalp prickled with the anticipation of a backside attack. Striding effortlessly down the hall away from him, she intentionally made sure that her hips swung just so, daring him to try that little ass slap again. The words of Conroy lingered in the back of her mind, "You know Dee, you have an advantage; in a woman lays all things that men desire. They desire your mind, your body, your touch; all of you. Use that to your advantage; be a woman; a powerful woman." The words faded softly back into her memory.



“Douglassssssss,” he echoed, drawing it out on a snarky hiss. “Snaky, just like all damnable females,” he muttered, snorting to her subtle invitation. “She’d squawk and rail if I even tried,” he snarled, rolling now-blue eyes in consternation. “And stay in there, hellbitch!” he hollered after her. Rage knew no outlet, he had to hit something. It took more restraint then he even knew he possessed to make it downstairs before spontaneously combusting. But he yelled, more of a roar, actually, as he sent his fist into the sandbag, veritably ripping the chain from the ceiling and bursting the seams with the force of his rage. It flew across the training arena and smacked the far wall, expunging a cloud of sand and dust as it slithered to the floor. “Fucking female whores, every one of ‘em,” he seethed, shoulders knotting with the burning effort to destroy. His skin rippled; the demon pacing just beneath the skin. However, he knew if he succumbed to the temptation, that woman would die. Messily. Horribly. And he was above murder; he’d told her so. He fell to his knees, raging against the monster under his skin, fighting to keep the demon leashed. It was a rough struggle, but he managed. Panting, he finally got to his feet, damned exhausted. But still snarling; the demon still burned within his brain. “What a monkey fuck,” he seethed, assessing the damage he’d caused.



Douglass : Turning into her bedroom, she growled towards the doorway, leaving it standing open. What audacity he had, daring to lay a hand on her in such a way. If he didn't expect her to fight back he had to be living in a fucking dream world. She'd been poked, prodded, groped, and nearly raped dozens of times; but none of those incidents even seemed to compare to what he just did. Douglass had always had a temper, another wonderful trait she'd inherited from her father; and as hard as she tried to fight it, half the time she'd lose it. Forcing herself to take deep, even breaths; she worked on calming herself down. Her heart-rate slowed slightly, and she could feel herself easing down; then the words of her mother came to her mind; suddenly she was struck with a sensation of guilt, a sensation she loathed more than anything in the world. Only with her mother did she ever feel guilty; lives could be ended by her hand and she felt nothing for it; but just hearing her mother state her name sent waves of guilt pouring down her body. Sighing heavily she walked back down the hall and stopped again in the doorway to the kitchen, standing there hands down at her sides, fingers curling in slightly, she looked at Dante as he rose from the floor. "I apologize… we do need to talk."



Finally feeling a semblance of calm return to his seething blood, Dante forewent the lift and sprinted up the stairs, located on the back of the compound. Emerging next to his bedroom, he didn’t even glance to either side of the hall as he strode back to the kitchen, determined to drink about six gallons of cold water. He knew it’d hit him like a kick in the gut from a goat-demon, but he didn’t give a good bat-shit. Upending one of the jugs from the fridge, he drained it easily, relishing the bite of the icy water streaming down his esophagus. Licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he merely tossed the empty plastic into the sink, sinking to a knee to drag out a new six-bottle pack of beer. He almost had his hand around two when he heard her light step and voice actually apologizing, telling him they needed to “talk”. That fact alone made him rise back to his feet and close the fridge, a bit harder than he’d intended, all his former animosity heading straight for his brain. But he was also human, not merely demon. And demons couldn’t really control their emotions; they were primitive creatures for the most part. So it was with a slight degree of difficulty Dante turned and looked at Douglass, crossing arms over his chest. Leaning back against counter, ankles crossed as he pushed rebellious locks from his eyes and managed to grate out, “Okay. Do, let’s.”



Douglass : Nodding at him lightly, her skin crawled at the sound of his voice. She wanted nothing more than to snarl and spit fire at him, but it wasn't the time, it never really would be the time. Sighing heavily once more eyes met the floor just before his stance as her lips repeated the words she thought she would never hear, "My name is Douglass Jean McQue, I am currently the soul member of the ATT, an anti-terrorist group set to protect the world against its own devices. I specialize in chemical weapons and demolition. Formerly, I was second in command to Conroy Devoix; an adopted father to me. I've been a member of ATT since I was thirteen." Eyes moved up as she spoke, finally meeting his by the time she reached the part of being a chemical weapons specialist. "As a member of ATT, I've worked in every country in this world, I've held residency in Europe, Africa, Indonesia, the United States, Brazil, Mexico, and Canada. I'm a citizen of no country and if you run my name you'll find nothing. I'm a ghost, I don't exist." She watched his expression, it never changed much. "That's it, you know all about me now. If there's anything else you want, or need to know just ask."



Dante’s left eyebrow slowly climbed at the pouring out of all this history. What’d brought this on? Some outrageous human display of…what was that, gratitude… for saving her all-too-human-ass? He held in a snort. Don’t even fool yourself, boy, he thought to himself. Thinking before he spoke, a rarity, if one knew him, Dante waited until she finished, having quite a bit to digest after that little mini-biography. His lips twitched involuntarily. What he really wanted to do was kick her butt to the curb, but teeth gnashed as his human soul gave him shit. Again. She better be thanking her lucky stars, he thought sourly. But he opened his mouth, thought better of the acid behind his tongue, closed it again, and tried it once more. “Well, that’s interesting, I have to say. Question was, why in fuck’s name did I get tranqued and hauled off like a piece of meat? Then, given a hella run around afterwards? Answer me that, Miss McQue, if you will.”



Douglass : She nodded, "Fair enough." Taking a deep breath she looked up into nothing, "By the time I got there you were the only survivor in the alleyway, I had no other option than to take you in. Since you fled, deductive reasoning suggested that you wouldn't come quietly for questioning, so I did what I was trained to do." Eyes made their way down to lock on his once more, "At the time I didn't know that Conroy had a clue about the demons, or whatever the fuck they are. As far as any of the team knew, we were on another chemical hunt, scoping out the Microsoft building for suspicious activity. Not until after your departure did I find out that Conroy had run into those fuckers before. He was keeping secrets from us." She sighed, feeling her blood heat as she spoke of the dead man. "He was a proud man, too proud most times. The treatment you got had nothing to do with me, I just knocked you out; 'eliminating a dangerous circumstance'." She quoted. "After I let you out, I washed my hands of the whole ordeal, that was until I showed up the next morning to an empty building and a feeling in the pit of my gut that something very stupid was about to happen; apparently I was right. I'd hoped to show up in time to get them to turn around, forget about the whole thing. Instead I showed up just in time to see them all die, and there you were." She looked away from him, out over the sink where normally a window would be; instead staring off into darkness.



“So it’s just naturally the last one left standing who actually did the slaughtering, hm?” he drawled caustically. A dry snort. “Figures. And it’s damned easy to blame the dead, sweets, this I know well.” But he shrugged and pushed off the counter, retrieving the gallon pitcher from the sink and moving to the water bottle dispenser in the corner, filling the container with purified liquid once more. “And you shot me.” He chuckled dryly. “Should I be flattered? You ‘brought down the demon’. Amazing. ‘Dangerous circumstance’, my ass.” Capping the bottle, he shoved it a bit harshly in the fridge. “You ain’t seen the half of it, Miss Douglass. Your boss was stupid, simple as that, and he paid with his life.” A shake of the white head. “What I don’t get is why you’re so eager to run into the drooling teeth and sharp-assed claws. You yourself just said you don’t exist. Wouldn’t this be a good time to do so? You’ve got a chance for another life; I’d be damned sure I take it, were it me. You don’t have the first clue what you’re wanting to get your little ass into. Only the strong survive, those basic enough to scavenge, raid and kill without hesitation. Most humans can’t descend that far into primal mode. I’ve seen it too often. Trust me,” he said, resuming his lean against the counter, “it ain’t pretty.”



Douglass : "I died a long time ago," she said dryly to the darkness. "I couldn't live another life if I tried." Shrugging slightly she diverted her eyes away, "as long as I know how to kill my opponent, I'll be fine." She turned to him once more, eyes fixating sternly on his features, "Back in that warehouse I was emotionally distraught, but there isn't anything left for me to be emotional about. I was careless then, it won't happen again." Emphasis was placed on the word "won't" and she meant just what she said.



“How do you know, if you haven’t tried?” he countered, tilting his head a bit. But a bit of a resigned sigh to her emphatic statements. Another one blazing full of hate. It led to nowhere, that he could attest to. But some folks just couldn’t be reasoned with and most human females topped that list. “Fine,” he said shortly. “All demons are different. Just like people. But to kill ‘em…it’s relatively simple. Take out the heart and/or brain, you drop the beast. Trick is, getting close enough to do that.”



Douglass : She snorted, "That's it?" Rolling her eyes she shook her head, a wave of loss passing by her. So many had died, and the answer was so simple. "Go figure," she uttered under her breath. Shaking her head she rubbed one shoulder with the opposite hand, standing still for so long seemed distasteful, she needed to get moving. "Do you have a gym?" The question seemed out of the blue; left field even.



The left brow lifted again. “Yeah, that’s it. Feel free to run out and slaughter till your little heart’s content, Douglass; I’ll be sure to sing at your funeral. Don’t mistake for one second that the demonic are merely animals with large teeth and claws. Some of ‘em are dangerously intelligent, some akin to pack animals. They can think and reason, to a dangerous level. Plus, a few are equipped with dark powers they won’t hesitate to use. Trust me,” he told her again, “I have scars aplenty from my own ‘close encounters’.” Lifting one arm, he revealed his right side, where a long slash began in the middle of his back and curved around his ribs to disappear into the waist of his jeans. “And I have superb healing skills,” he added, turning slightly so she could see more of his bare back. Small scars littered the corded flesh, years of hunts and claws marked his body. As well as two thick ridged scars on either shoulder blade, curling slightly around his back. “I didn’t get ‘em playing slap ‘n tickle, doll,” he informed her, turning back around. “Training area, gym, whatever, third and final level. Stairs or elevator. Pick one. Complete with pool, obstacle course, target range and gym mats.”



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