Red Nightmares at Midnight

Author's note: I do not own Dante or all references to Devil May Cry. Those beling to Capcom. Nor do I own Douglass McQue, she belongs to my rather excellent partner in rp. Warnings for very dark Dante, storyline set somewhere after DMC 2. Liberities also taken with Dante's past storyline. But enjoy!



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Los Angeles. His city. The white haired devil hunter looked up and snerked. If there were any angels up there, he thought idly, they had to be flying blind. Night blanketed the stars, rendering them useless to those who prowled the dark. He didn’t mind though, he really didn’t need them. He relied on hyper senses, those far above and beyond the humans he protected, either willingly or no. His prey shared his blood, fought just as hard for life. But it wasn’t their plane, they didn’t deserve to desecrate it with their filth. Thus his profession. Crouching atop the roof of a downtown office building, Dante rested black-gloved hands idly between his knees, watching the ebb and flow of humanity. He knew they were watching, waiting to feed on an unsuspecting mortal. The huge naked blade snugly nestled down his spine idly flickered, she longed to rend and tear, to drink demon blood. “Shh, baby,” he crooned to the demoness lovingly and she quieted. They were linked, the two, she had tasted his blood and found him worthy. Alastor was her name and the demoness residing in the blade had vowed to serve the son of the mighty Sparda until time immemorial. It worked, for him. A light rustle met quick ears. Icy cerulean eyes, rivaling the very skies of day glinted in mirth, even as a hand rose to push back tousled platinum strands from his forehead, a moot endeavor for the wind tossed them right back. Lips curved into his trademarked smirk that wreaked such havoc everywhere and he rose, spying the crouching form twenty stories down, huddled in an alleyway. A sigh left his lips. Could the idiots get any more stereotypical? Fucking hells. But straightening the collar of the long leather coat, bloody crimson and sinuous, he grinned and merely leapt, free falling straight down. Flipping over, he braced for heels impacting the concrete and landed easily, another feat a mere human couldn’t manage. On the rise, both hands hauled twin pistols from their holsters on his hips, ebon and chrome plated. No time wasted in firing shots, shooting straight across the traffic. The magical bullets hit the lurking demon in the chest, making it squeal and disappear into the darkness. Dante smirked and followed, red leather flicking in the wake of his passage, moving quickly over car roofs, ignoring the shouted curses directed his way. He charged down the alley, hearing the thing scuffle and snorting, trying to get away, but there was no escape from the wrath of Sparda’s son. Amethyst light flared from the alleyway, once, briefly as the Alastor did her deadly work, sending yet another demon miscreant back to hell to lick Satan’s ass. Dante rose from his crouch over the dead thing and chuckled with a snort. Too easy, he thought, sheathing the blade. But something pricked the back of his neck, a warning. Something wasn’t right…



Douglass: The static of a radio bloomed to life inside her ear; "We've got gunfire, SS66 and 79 on rout." There was no reason to reply, they knew what they were doing; or so she hoped. "So much for the city of Sunshine," she uttered aloud, pulling the caramel colored overcoat closer around her. Covert ops; what a waste of time: the last thing on Douglass's agenda tonight was to be sulking about in the back ally's of LA looking for "the signs." I did not just spend four hours on a plane for this happy crap, Conroy better have a good reason for this. Her thoughts turned bitter as Conroy entered them, the pompous fuck, always barking never biting; that was his way. I'll have words with him later, that's for sure. Jutting her hands deep into the dark confines of her pockets she let her fingers slide around the .35 magnum buried inside as she tucked her chin and briskly crossed the vacant street. An old couple walking a few feet away nodded greetings, and with complete indifference she passed them, half rolling her eyes when they could no longer see her face. Don't you old fools know what kind of shit lurks in the dark? Teeth clenched and facial features twisted in distaste she rounded the corner, moving northward on some odd street. Across the way she noted another agent, for a brief moment eye contact was made but no other motion that they knew each other would be allowed. Hey-ya Sam. He was dressed as a bum, dirty and likely stinky to boot; herself, she was dressed as a young bustling business woman; designer suit and all. The only way they'll ever get me in one. The thought made her smirk. Again rounding a corner she glanced up, "22nd": right on time. Long strides pulled her 5'8" frame closer and closer to the set target. I have a feeling Conroy is fucking with us, there is no way anyone would keep anything in that place. She stopped outside of a run-down office building, the sign outside read "Microsoft Corp." How ironic. Just as her souring mood was beginning to take a turn for the better, the tiny piece inside her ear cackled back to life and exploded with boisterous noise. "Holy shit! We need someone over here NOW! Shots will be fired!" "What the fu…," she couldn't finish; before she even registered her legs were flying back the way she had come, rounding that corner and blowing past the elderly couple. Her gun was drawn but held low, out of sight for the most part. "JOHNSON IF SHOTS ARE FIRED SO HELP ME GOD YOU WILL NOT LIVE TO SEE TOMMORROW!" But her words never met his ears, even if he was still alive when she said them, he would have never known it.



What the living fuck! A snarl left his lips as a mag light flared down the alleyway, nearly blinding him. Recovering quickly, as the latently surprised usually don’t live too long, Dante jerked his gaze away from the blinding light as nearly a zillion goons with guns filled the alley mouth. Not about to let one get the jump, damned trigger happy cops, he hauled out his own guns and started shooting, reflexively dodging the return fire. They tried to keep the lights in his eyes, but what the ignorant fuckers didn’t realize was that their quarry didn’t really need vision when hearing would do. Shouts and crackles of radio equipment met sensitive ears, gun barrels firing off rounds with inhuman speed, never permeating flesh, save for one idiot who tried to rush him. That one died on the spot, still barking into his headset. And with good reason. Dante had heard the crackle of electricity, probably from a tazer or some shit. That didn’t sit too well with the platinum haired hunter. Advancing quickly as he could amidst all the flying bullets, he finally was able to sheath one gun and plant his clenched fist into the jaw of a soldier on the front line, sending the man sprawling backwards into his comrades. Not settling with just that, Dante whirled, spinning a boot around in a swish of red leather, heel catching the jaw of another and the sound of breaking bone echoed loud in the bullet-peppered night. Wading into them, he didn’t pull punches, the fuckers had interrupted his hunt, then started shooting at him, when the idiots didn’t bother asking questions. He’d show the amateurs how to hunt, oh yes he would. In a flurry of movement, finally only three stood conscious before him, the bullets finally ceasing fire. Dante growled, the sound pure primal fury leaving his lips. They hesitated, and that was their mistake. Faster than a striking snake, the hunter crouched and sprung, flipping over them easily, both boots catching the middle man on the trip over, sending him flying forward, landing at an odd angle, neck snapped. The other two whirled, but only met both fists, cocked back and released simultaneously. Spitting out teeth, they both crumpled on the spot. Dante took a single step back and snorted. “Children,” he snarled derisively. “Not even worth their pay. Buncha fuckers…” Turning, the leather coat swirling around his tall frame, he stepped back into the ebb and flow of humanity, melting into the eclectic crowd.



Douglass : It was too late for him, wide hazel eyes had taken it all in. God damned metropolitan police, why had they gotten into the middle of this? The damn fools had caused the lives of two of her comrades; better than that her friends; to be extinguished. If she had been a sensitive woman, now would be the time to cry. But that wasn't Douglass, no, that wasn't her at all. That wad of monkey spunk is going down tonight. "D…" the voice caught her off guard. Whirling around, gun pointed at the face behind her, finger ready to pull the trigger, "Sam? What the fuck is going on tonight?" she lowered her weapon, placing it back in her coat pocket, "Is this another one of Conroy's power trips? I swear I'll put a bullet in that fuckers head myself if I have… Sam what's wrong?" Her brow furrowed when she noticed he wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. Instead, the man dressed as a bum pointed a shaking finger down the ally, there at the end, crumpled up was the body of something that Douglass had never seen the likes of before. "Get a clean up crew down here now," she stated solemnly, "And get that thing back to Conroy, looks like we were chasing the wrong goose." Turning on her heel she began to walk slowly after the man in red. "D, where are you going?" "To find out what the fuck is going on." Without another word she pulled the miracle ear sized contraption from her head, and slipped her hand back around to the small of her back. There nestled safely was the automatic assault rifle; sawed off perfectly to fit her needs and fitted with darts filled with the most potent tranquilizer ever in existence; this stuff was so scarce that it wasn't even named. The mother fucker will be lucky to survive when I get done with him. Briskly chasing after him, she dodged a few people already filling the street to see what had happened, Puppets. Making her way up to just one block behind him, she detoured off to a side ally. Luckily the fire-escape was already pulled down, and with cat-like ease she bounded up the sleep metal contraption. More like a death trap than a life saver. When she reached the top the rifle was pulled from behind her and the scope was popped on. Standing on the corner of the building, well in full view of anyone who might chance looking up, she took careful aim, right between the shoulders of the man in red. "You're going down you SOB." She whispered as her finger gently pulled back on the trigger.



Still fuming, Dante meandered aimlessly down the streets, myriad questions and oaths laced with animal parts flitting through his mind. The passersby he avoided instinctively, wasn’t too hard to wander through the cattle. He was thoroughly and completely irritated. He had half, no, more than half, a mind to pay a little visit to the local goon squad, politely known as the local police force, and beat the shit outta some mouthy captain or lieutenant, for busting up his shit tonight. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good, probably slow down the processing of the money they already owed him, by damn. Giving an eye roll and a snarl, he turned down a side alley, thankfully this one unlettered with demonic spawn or trigger-happy children, planning to head back to his bike and get the fuck outta Dodge, head home and crash for about a week straight. Sounded like a plan. But the spiteful buzz of a sniper rifle made him swear hotly and jerk around, just in time to have the needle inject into the side of his neck. One hand jerked reflexively, yanking the silver pistol from its sheath and squeezing off two rounds in the appropriate direction, but the world quickly grew fuzzy behind blue eyes and he staggered, knocking over a trash can, stumbling over it. Rebounding off the brick as the serum took effect, slowing his reflexes and making him woozy, Dante swore another vile oath and toppled over, rolling once before finally passing out, gun still held in a death grip.



Douglass : It was cold in the gym; colder than normal, but she wasn't about to go piling on more layers. She'd changed out of her street clothes, got rid of that damned suit; cut offs and a tank top were more comfortable any day of the week. Her hands and ankles were sore and red, she'd failed to tape them up before hitting the bag, was to angry and worked up to do a decent job anyway. Now she sat at one end of a bench, knees apart and leaning forward, her hands out so she could look at them; damn, I'm gonna have calluses. Her hair was tied back in a half-ass pony tail, lots of little pieces falling out all over the place. I might as well be in the fucking jungle; I bet I look like shit. Lifting her head slowly, she looked towards the door. Johnson had died before the medics had gotten there; the other guy, Luis, was in the infirmary; they still didn't know if he would make it; what they did know was that he would never operate with the ATT again. That guy, the guy in red, she'd nailed him with the tranq; though she wished it was something a little more deadly. That fucking bastard… he killed my friend! I swear by God in heaven that I'll have his balls for that. Clenching her fists tightly, feeling the pain from the pressure on the tender skin only made her squeeze tighter. It had been hours since the last time she had gotten an update; last she heard the guy was freak who came out of sedation way to fast and had to be pumped with more. I hope they O.D. him and he fucking dies. Conroy had ordered DNA tests, background checks, profile searches and a folder created for the guy; all Douglass could think was Jesus Christ, he's treating him like some kind of ally! It wasn't sitting well with Douglass, all that was happening; that's why she had gone down to the subterranean gym; that cold place. She looked up; right above her was the infirmary; that's where the Man in Red would be; laid out on a slab with Conroy's boxy face looking over him, along with six or seven nurses and a couple of doctors running about. Conroy was a big man; likely a body builder sometime in his life. Douglass had once accused him of having thighs as big as her torso; that's back when she gave a damn, back when the two of them worked side by side. Now Conroy just strutted about behind the scenes, shouting plays from the sidelines like some kind of head coach. True he was getting older, the stubble that constantly adorned his face was now salt and peppered with age, and his face seemed to stew up new lines every day. She couldn't help but wonder now… what they were doing up there. -shift- Upstairs in the infirmary Conroy stood aside as the doctors bustled about. "I want this guy up and running in twenty minutes, you got me?" Still barking orders, his voice rolling off the walls like thunder, "I don't think your even going to have to wait that long, he's slipping out of sedation again." Conroy crossed his arms, a few medical papers flopping about in his left hand. "Good I want him to explain this. Are you sure there is no way…?” The doctor looked at The Man in Red for a moment, concern brewing on his slender face. "I can't assure you of anything Conroy; we practically had to use a vice to get his gun out of his hand. On top of that he wasn't even fully out of sedation yet and he was throwing things around like he was wide awake; sent one of our nurses to the ER. Let me get my samples for the blood work you wanted, then I'll get everyone rounded up and out of here. We'll seal off the room so that way, if he does come to and manages to break out of his binds he shouldn't get much further than the door." The slender doctor's hands worked quickly, drawing blood from the man. He wasn't going to lie to anyone, he was afraid that this guy was gonna reach over and grab him, just to look at him made his team uneasy. He could be pissing in his pants and you'd never know it by looking at the guy. "I'm gonna stay, when you all leave. I want to talk to this guy one on one." The doctor whirled around, his eyes wide with disbelief. "WHAT!? Are you mad?! Did you not hear what he did in the alley way?" "Yeah I heard! Don't second guess me just do what I say! Got it!" The doctor couldn't finish, Conroy cut him off; such was his way. He was the master and controller of all things in this building, and several others actually. You didn't question him; you just didn't do it. The doctor mumbled, finished up his work and called for everyone to leave the room, but before going to put away all objects and lock them up. When they were done the room was nothing but white walls, with a few cupboards and maybe two drawers, a guy on a table and Conroy looking on. The door was closed, latched, and sealed. If anything was to go wrong the room would be pumped full of a neuro-toxin capable of killing a man in moments. Now it was just time to wait.



Darkness. Darkness engulfed him and choked. Dante flailed, trying to get away from the oppressive weight of blackness. But to no avail. Drugs once more silvered through his blood, calming, stroking, soothing. The fuckers romped blissfully through his nightmares, only in this drug-induced sleep they howled and screamed in vivid 3D color and stereo surround-sound. Claws tore into his flesh, making him shriek without sound. Damaged, in pain, he blindly fought, only to be slammed back down to a cold stone floor. Straps bound his hands and feet as the demons feasted. Ate his flesh. Worshipped his body with teeth and nails. He howled right along with them, his screams adding to the symphony of the devil chorus. But it faded. Always did. The dreamscape shifted, blurred. Only to return him to his childhood, happier days of light and love. Mother… mother…blindly he reached for her smiling face, only to have the loving visage fall to ash beneath his touch. Violated. Torn. Murder. He screamed once more, again only the tender age of five years, howling beside his dead mother’s body. Red crimson on snow. Death behind blue eyes. More drugs. Calm grey night. Mist and fog. Jayden… Tears formed behind closed lids, seeped through thick lashes onto pale cold skin. Jayden… Agony like knives at his loss. Sobbing like a child in the dark, haunted by dreams of memory past. No more pain. Wishes of a slender hand to soothe the troubled brow, as ofttimes before. But his demonic metabolism was quickly absorbing the influx of drug, bringing the devil from the hellish plane of sleep to the pain of consciousness. Voices stirred in his brains; barked orders, a trembled answer. Brow furrowed as he clawed his way upwards. Muscles twitched, wanting action. Wanting to return to the haven of home. Flee this cold sterile place. Teeth ground behind compressed lips. Close. So close to salvation, redemption. But he waited. Opportune moment. Always. A hunter’s best friend. And a hunter he was, bred and blooded. Then more terse orders…then blessed silence. Wait…his brain cautioned. Just wait. Let the enemy make the first move, the stupid move. He came from the drugged fog, yet never moved more than an idle muscle jump. Lids remained closed, breathing regular. Come on, fucker, he thought slowly, silently, taking in all nuance of sense from the other four; smell, sterile, hearing, quiet, touch, hard…table, most likely, taste, like someone poured sawdust in his mouth. But the slightly labored breathing of another being greeted his ears; male, probably, a bit overweight, forties, fifties or so. Probably the drill sergeant of the place, Dante thought sourly. But to get his attention…a few fingers twitched, as well as one booted foot.



Douglass : Conroy's aged green eyes glanced over the results of the DNA test that had been done not more than three hour prior. A fricken miracle, that's what the doctors said. "Nothing like this can exist, it's a fricken miracle!" He shook his head slowly, scanning the page. Things were off, he could see it. Not enough here, too much there, something way off the fucking map over on the next page. He'd looked those pages over seven hundred times, or so he exaggerated, always coming to the same conclusion; something was wrong with this guy. Though it would be enough to raise a few eyebrows, it wasn't anything to get too worked up over, no, what made this guy really special was the thing they brought in with him. "Found it in the alley, that guy standing over it." That was all the useful information they had gotten out of Luis, poor bastard. His brain was hemorrhaging, he would likely be dead in the next week or so; but Conroy didn't have the heart to tell Douglass, not yet anyway. She was pissed; he knew her far too well. Damn good thing she was there too, only one that could have hit the guy in such a dense conglomeration of civ's, and to do it with an open scope; no one else could. "She was the belle of the ball; but I bet you already knew that." That's what Sam had said. Sam had known Douglass only five years, but it was more than enough time for her to gain his respect. Damn girl; she'll be the death of me I just know it. Something moved; out of the corner of his eye he saw it. The boot wiggled, the fingers were twitching slowly; not this guy. Conroy leaned back against the counter, "I've been in here long enough to know that your not gonna wake up slow, just get up and be done with it." He sighed, as though it were some kind of chore to be there, "Look, I've got the patience of a three-year-old, but it's your game at the moment, you play possum as long as you want." He dropped the papers on the small counter, and leaned back putting his hands behind his head. -shift- She'd heard the noise, too many feet were moving for there to be nothing happening. Hitting the button on the elevator for the second sub-floor she waited, the hum of the elevator her only companion. The end of her nose was red, and slightly running; if you didn't know her, you might think she was crying. It wasn't the case; she'd just been down in the cold for too long. Her skin was covered in gooseflesh, and her bare legs were starting to show signs of echimosis. Should have tapped them. *Ding,* the elevator reached the floor just above her. As the stainless steel doors slid apart a wave of doctors and nurses flooded in. "Damnit, get out of my way! Let me out!" She pushed through the sea of people. "Stupid fucks," she uttered when finally the wave ended. "You know, you're not supposed to carry a gun in here." She whirled around, it was the slender doctor. "Who's going to take it from me? You?" Her tone was cold, "You know why I'm here." He smiled, a failed attempt at being friendly; failed or wasted, it didn't matter. "Yeah I do, follow me." He lead the way, around the corner and three doors on the left, she'd been there many times. "Conroy stayed with him." This surprised her, but she didn't react. "Yeah…" She stepped behind the doctor as he slid into his chair, cup of coffee close at hand. The monitor hummed, relaying the images from inside the room. Conroy dropped the papers. Her eyes remained on the screen, its images reflecting back. "How much longer?" The doctor didn't turn around, "I think he was out of sedation before we left the room."



Play possum my ass, Dante thought with a growled snarl, bright cerulean eyes flaring open right after the last word left the other’s mouth. Surging upwards, the bonds snapped with the intense pressure put on them by demonic power. Pissed demonic power. It took less than three seconds for Dante to get off the table in a flash of red, eject the small knife from his sleeve and slam the human up against the counter, the point of that razor sharp little blade quivering at the pulse point, held in a perfect backwards grip. Snapping eyes slowly began to fade from stark icy blue to deep pulsing ruby, the edges of demon aura beginning to flow and thicken the air. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On. Here?” Dante demanded, enunciating every word with sibilant macabre, to make sure everyone understood his level of upset. Flat red-line, that. His other arm, the one sporting the empty hand, eased on the big guy’s throat a fraction, allowing a bit of air to pass through the windpipe. “I better get an answer, pops, else there’ll be yards of entrails decorating this little lab you got here, savvy?” Sharp dark brows lowered dangerously. “And I really hope that door don’t open with a buncha trigger happy bitches sportin’ automatics, else you’re gonna have a repeat of the Bay of Pigs.” The red irises faded just a hair, azure peeking through the crimson. “So,” he snarled, face inches away, “let’s play nice, shall we? And just for the record, this is as nice as I get.”



Douglass : "What the…?" was all that escaped the doctor before Douglass had clamped a hand down on his shoulder; her eyes never left the screen. -shift- He'd known it, that was the sign of a good poker player, you could recognize that others were on to your game; on your same page and playing you just as you thought you were playing them. He hadn't expected less from the man, if he did he'd be the old fool the Man In Red referred to. Scoffing the best he could through the fingers around his throat, Conroy half smiled. "Nice trick," the words were labored and without wind, choked more like; "the eye thing, real impressive." He stuck his hands in his pockets, pulled them out a bit of lint falling to the floor. Black slacks and a grey top; it was his daily attire. "But you can save the party tricks for someone that cares, if we wanted you dead, maimed or in anyway injured do you think you'd still be intact right now? It's eight thirty in the morning; they picked you up around two. In that time we've found out your just a little, 'special.' That's all that's going on here, I just want to ask you some questions; no guns, no one else, just you and me and then your out the door." Conroy smiled the best to his current ability. "And nice is better left to the young, wouldn't you agree?" -shift- "He's got balls, I've got to admit it he has balls." The doctor was mesmerized, incapable of tearing his eyes away. "Yeah well don't forget your duty," she gave his shoulder a sharp squeeze, "if he doesn't comply, well you know." Her tongue lapped at her swollen lips, she could feel the end of her nose coming back to life, the cold being driven away by her body's metabolism. The ends of her toes were tingling, as were her fingers. Pain pulsed up her arms, and down her legs. She stared into the monitor, fingers digging into the doctors shoulder; however she wasn't watching the events inside, she was watching herself. There, just behind the representations of the men inside was her reflection, eyes separated by the Man in Red's back. You know I'm watching you, don't you.



He almost did it. Just let that blade slip right over the carotid artery. It took damnable effort not to, matter of fact. “Wave to the screen,” Dante snarled in response. “It’s not really on my good side. The profile’s better from the left, fucker. Doesn’t show off the broken nose as bad.” Fingers flexed on the handle. “You ain’t even begun to see my so called ‘party-tricks’, pal.” Icy eyes narrowed. “I don’t care what sorta information you think you got, you don’t know shit.” But inside he snarled, the demon within growling and lashing, chaos inherent. However, Dante was far from stupid, those who bash their way through life usually get the shit beat outta their asses three halls down. So it was with great personal reluctance he eased off, lowering his arms and stepping back, although keeping the blade naked in his hand. “First things first, asswipe. Where’re my weapons?” T’was the guns he specifically referred to; the blade he could feel resonating across the room. Without even looking, he sensed her leaning against the wall behind him, completely agitated and upset. But he soothed her automatically, calming the demoness that raged in the steel. Not yet…calm…danger here…wait, Alastor… But he fixed hard eyes on the other man, cocking a hip, seeming nonchalant. “Well, ask the damned questions, give me my stuff and show me the door. I got chores to get done.”



Douglass : That's right, I'm watching you; and I prefer this side. Hazel eyes danced with the flames of rage, her long fingers digging deep into the doctor's collar bone. "Hey, I don't want a broken shoulder!" Mindlessly her fingers eased, Come on dick face, just give me a reason… -shift- Conroy straightened the front of his shirt, pulled at the ends and tilted his neck, a loud pop sounding off the release of pressure. "Your guns are locked up in another part of the building, you'll get those back when you’re outside. Your sword is over there, impressive piece." He took three strides over to his left, stopping just along side the file he had dropped earlier, thick stubby fingers sliding over the top page. "I'm sure you don't know how right you are, we don't know shit." He looked over at the Man in Red, his green eyes turned to stone, "What we have been able to gather is that your name is Dante, you have an arrangement with an officer in the police station of third and Cedar; I'll not mention his name. All the more he'd tell us, is that he keeps the officers off your back, and you take care of a little 'problem' here in the city. What I want to know is what exactly that problem is." Conroy's wrist flicked, sending the papers of the file strewing out upon the counter, "I have here the results of your DNA test as well as the test from that thing they brought in with you." He pointed to a picture of the demon, pre-autopsy, "That thing, whatever it is; is what my boys were after, unbeknownst to them. It was our understanding that the whole thing was some kind of biological experimentation; however finding you has given us reason to second guess ourselves." Conroy looked up at the light, behind which the camera was hidden, he almost seemed to sigh. "A week before this two other of my boys were sent in on a primary sweep, something like the thing you killed was responsible for their deaths. When I first saw the tapes I thought it was some kind of hoax, but this, all of this, proves otherwise." He motioned towards the papers. "I don't like games, I don't like politics and I don't like innocent lives taken; I want to know everything about these things." Stern eyes were fixated on Dante standing in the center of the room. "We are willing to negotiate if your willing to cooperate, as -shift- Fuck you Conroy- FUCK YOU! She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Inside she was shaking, trembling with anger and astonishment. He'd lied to her, to all of them. Jackobe and Dan were supposed to be on a trip overseas, now they were in the morgue? It was almost too much to handle; three, and possible soon four, of her friends were lying on slabs. You’re next, both of you.



Dante nearly throttled the oaf once more at hearing when he’d ‘receive’ his own damned guns, but he ground teeth and squealched it. His headache, once a minor buzz, had escalated to an incessant pounding, nearly making his ears ring. Fucking godlings, he thought sourly, brows lowering dangerously. “You’re human, you can’t handle it,” he said shortly. Blunt, but truth hurt. Dug like a sonofabitch. “And Harris, my dear Captain’ll damn sure be eating the end of my fist for sporking to the fucking feds.” His gaze grew calculating behind half-mast lids. “By the way, just who in fuck’s name are you people? You ain’t even bothered to show me the first cunt hair of ID, pal.” He snorted. “The problem is humans like you meddling sonsabitches keep sticking your noses where they don’t belong, that’s the damned problem.” Rolling blue eyes, Dante crossed ankles and arms casually, leaning a hip on the observation table. The blade ticked against a metal buckle on his jacket, a steady rhythm. A dangerous predator personified, like a lion lounging in the sun. “That… ‘thing’…as you so eloquently put it, wasn’t a product of biological experimentation or made by any device known to man. At least, not on this plane of existence.” Hard eyes speared the other man. “And like I already said, you couldn’t even begin to fathom…everything…” But he blinked then arched a brow. “Negotiate. The fuck why? What charges you got against me? You don’t even know who I am for piss’s sake!” He snarled, lips curling, fingers following suit. “As for those children you sent after me, good riddance. You don’t send a princess to slay a dragon, buttcake. And I’ll cooperate by not pulling this building down around your ears, so just give me my guns, show me the door and forget you ever saw me, savvy?” His voice fell at the latter statements, pulling just a hint of dark growl in the timbre, his blood pressure was rising, this was getting annoying. And when Dante became annoyed, things bled.



Douglass : Conroy smirked; good poker face. "You can leave Harris alone; he reported nothing to the feds. As far as ID goes, can't show you none if I don't exist." His shadow of a smile faded, "Negotiations are your call; as much as I hate to say it, it's your picnic. You have something we want; we'll do whatever necessary to get it. When we're taking care of our business, we want our boys to know how to kill one of those damned things if they ever run across one again. That's all we want; what it really is, as far as I'm concerned, can go with you to the fucking grave; I really don't give two shits. You tell us what we want to know, and I'll make sure that you're never bothered again, by the police or other; savvy?" The last word was thrown, a mimic of Dante's own statement. Conroy's large frame leaned back against the counter, arms crossed in front of him. "When my first two boys went down I watched them pump more than thirty rounds into one of those damned things, didn't phase it in the least. Fucking thing came back and killed the two, and I had to sit back and watch. Damndest feeling in the world, to watch a man die. But I've done it before and I'll do it again; time and time again. Funny thing is; when they brought that damned thing in, I was happy to see it dead; really dead." -shift- Sweat rolled of the doctor's forehead; his shoulder throbbed. He could feel the bruises forming under where Douglass had latched onto him. Nonetheless, he couldn't abandon his post, he had a duty to do. Glancing over his shoulder her looked at Douglass, a long, intense moment. Her features were set in stone, hard and unmoving; she had the face of daddy's little girl; how far from the truth it was. The intricate tattoos flowing all over her body had a slightly greenish tint to their normal orangish-gold hue, most likely from the monitor. Her arms were crossed under her chest, but he could still see the swelling starting to form in her hands, especially around the knuckles. "I'm not sure if you should be here…" But she cut him off, "I'll not hear another word out of you, got it?" He nodded, and to think at one time he actually had taken her as a "nice girl." "You know what will happen, if that Dante guy tries to get away." For the first time she looked away from the screen, stone-like eyes turning to the doctor, a look of awakening drawing upon her face. "He won't, he's smarter than that." "How do you know?" "The way he moves." She turned back to the monitor.



“Don’t exist, my ass,” Dante growled with an eye-roll. Fixating cold cerulean eyes on the other man, Dante’s lips thinned and teeth gnashed quietly as the spiteful buzz of the camera, unheard by human ears, ground on his auditory nerves with the precision of a knife blade. “Pack lotsa ammo, John Wayne,” he snapped, grimacing at the roaring between his ears. “They’re demons and they’re always hungry. Blood is a way of life.” Three things happened in less than a minute. The hand holding the knife flashed upwards, the blade lodging in the damned light fixture, effectively killing the hidden camera. The buzzing stopped, praise Christ. Dante extended his hand, a whoosh echoed around the lab as the Alastor rose on its own power and flew to his hand, eager to have the comforting familiar touch of her master. Lightening flickered along the huge blade, the demoness craving blood to sate her thirst. Reacting to Dante’s upset and irritation, the sword gave off lovely amethyst light as the third thing happened; the red-clad hunter whirled in a flash of leather and the blade found itself pointed straight at the other’s throat, nearly quivering with the eagerness to shed blood. Human, demon, didn’t matter. It all ran red. Bright blue orbs faded to dark hellish crimson as the half-demon snarled, the final warning, his voice dropping a full octave and vibrating through the blade held rock-steady at the other’s larynx. “Open the damned door…now…else you’ll witness another death…that being your own…” The hunter’s skin began to ripple, dark flashes writhing along his visible flesh as the red aura of demonic blood wafted around his shifting form, the outline of huge dragonic wings becoming visible behind his shoulders. Canines lengthened and bared in a vulpine snarl.



Douglass : The doctor turned around, eyes widened as he turned to Douglass. Even though the screen had changed to a snowy pillow, she remained steadfast. What do I do? He pleaded with his eyes, begging, searching for direction. She offered none. The swivel chair turned, rolled down the counter a small ways, and reluctantly he reached forward. "Duty calls…" his voice was shaking, he'd never had to use it before; he didn't want to use it now. Conroy was in there, but he knew the dangers, he knew what he was doing; didn't he? Swallowing a lump the size of a golf ball down, he shut his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what he must do. "Don't." She moved. "Just don't." Striding towards the other end of the room, she removed her gun, dropping it into the doctor's lap. "Where are you going? Douglass?" But it was too late, she was already gone. -shift- If he'd have drank or eaten anything in the last twelve hours, it was likely Conroy would have soiled himself. For only the briefest of moments fear flashed in his eyes, quickly driven away by his stubbornness and dedication to the job. "So you're not full of shit…" but he couldn't say more. The seal to the door broke free, air moving in both directions at once creating a hissing noise. A flash of steel, a glint off metal, that's what was first observed. The orange-gold colored tattoos gave away immediately who it was, even if he could only see her legs. FUCKING GIRL! "If you wanted out, all you had to do was ask nicely." It was a woman's voice, a tinkling sound with a rough edge. "Drop your sword, take your guns, and follow me." She stood there, just inside the doorway, guns held out in one hand, the other trailing down her side. She was a mess, eyes slightly red from watching the screen, hair still in the loosened ponytail, cut offs, black tank-top, and no shoes. She didn't flinch at the sight of him, nor did she make a move to suggest she gave a damn about Conroy, truth is she didn't care.



Dante only smirked a slight smile at the great man’s fear. God it was delicious. Emanating off the man in thunderous waves, it sated the beast that raged within the hunter, enabling him to rein in the chaotic desperation that sought freedom from his body. Executing his will on himself, he forced his body to return to the more acceptable form of human, gradually. He blinked now-normal azure eyes as he felt the pressure change in the room and the door hiss open, nearly throwing something by reflex to the unfortunate miscreant that dared interrupt. But the Alastor didn’t move, she thirsted still. Feeling confident he’d cowed the big man enough to get his point across, Dante turned his honed attention to the newcomer, a slow arched brow rising as he realized it was a woman who’d come to save her compatriot. What a mess, he thought snarkily, devoutly hoping she’d been one of the ones watching across the screen. Probably, if she was here now. Wasn’t really his affair, that. But she had his guns. “Oh, good girl,” he drawled, arm lowering a reluctantly flashing Alastor from the other’s throat. The blade flickered dully, almost sulkily, but her master ignored her petulance. Striding over to her, almost towering over her at six foot three, he placed the blade in her harness on his back and took both ebon and silver plated pistols, nearly sighing in insane delight to have their familiar weight in his hands. Favoring her with a look, a corner of his mouth turned up once more. Pure reflex, that. “So, which one are you? Gonna pull out my fingernails now?” He snorted softly and snarled, “I’d think twice, were it me. But where we going, peaches?” Not bothering to wait for an answer, he turned and snatched his gun belt from a nearby chair and turned to the still-cowering male. “Like you, I don’t ‘exist’ either, savvy?” Turning back to the woman, he glowered and gestured at the door with the black pistol. “Door. Now. Go.” His black-gloved thumb clicked suggestively on the hammer. “And no smart mouth, else I’ll really lose my temper.”



Douglass : "Lose it all you want." Her gaze was vacant, devoid of emotion. Conroy had openly betrayed her trust, he didn't even try to tell them the truth; she wasn't sure what pained her most, the idea of letting this guy go, or the mess that Conroy had just created. "Some hero." She looked deeply at Conroy, that familiar face with the creased brow and dimpled chin, all she wanted was to slap him. Later. He must have thought them idiots, Dante; true Conroy had insisted on leaving the large blade in the room, and even went so far as to instruct them to leave the man armed. Douglass on the other hand, had no trust left in her, not even for herself. The guns were unloaded, directions given to have the unique bullets stowed away in a lock box at the post office, she'd give him the key once he was outside. "You're going to burn in hell you know, just like the rest of us." Despite Dante's looming presence she'd almost but all ignored him. Standing at just five foot eight, he dwarfed her; still despite her wounds, physical and emotional, she was proud. She shook her head, no longer able to look at Conroy; he was glaring at her, his eyes demanding explanation; an explanation she wouldn't give. "Come on," she turned her back to them, both of them, sliding right out the door. If he hadn't noticed before, Dante sure would notice now. There on her shoulder, closest to her neck was a graze from a bullet, a bullet fired by his own hand. She'd been lucky, another inch or so and it would have been lights out permanently; as of the moment it didn't sound so bad.



He could tell the guns were unloaded easily, their weight suggested the chambers were empty. Idly wondering just whose ass he was gonna have to beat for that, Dante shrugged nonchalantly and sauntered after the pissed-looking chick. He paused at the door and glanced over a shoulder, throwing the other man a snarky grin. “Thanks for the entertainment, Pops. The Surital did wonders for my sinuses.” Brows lowered in dangerous amusement. “I’ll repay ya when I get my hands on some.” Planning to inject several needles of the shit into the bastard if he ever laid eyes on him again, Dante growled and exited the lab, long red coat sliding against the back of his legs with every measured step. Professional habit had him taking note of the place, although the halls were more or less naked, to his speculative eye. Those sharp hues then turned to the female leading him like a damned cow on a leash and he wondered just how a broad like this one ended up in this hellhole. Noting the orange tint to her skin, he idly figured she had a tattoo fetish. A shrug. Wasn’t any of his business. But a brow quirked, as did one corner of his mouth at seeing the mark on her neck, bared by her swinging ponytail. Closer inspection, so nice, demonic senses, they sharpened everything, revealed small grooves in the grazed flesh, ones he recognized. Nearly stopping dead in his tracks, he opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned again. But the words ripped from his teeth, glazed with frosty spikes. “You fucking shot me with that tranq gun.” No question. Dead certainty. Given the bullet angle, the mark on her skin. Entertaining thoughts of returning the favor sliced through his mind before being slammed closed behind his brain. But a large hand clamped on her shoulder and spun her around, hard digits leaving red marks as they released. “In fuck’s name, why!?”



Douglass : She'd been leading the way, anger pulsing through her with each and every heartbeat. How she wouldn't love to wipe that arrogant smile right off the fuckers face; he was good, she knew that; anyone who could manage to get a shot off after being hit with one of those tranquilizer darts was sure to be one hell of an opponent. She could feel his words running up her spine as he stated what she already knew, "You fucking shot me with that tranq gun!" The corner of her upper lip began to quiver, how she wanted to whirl around snarling and land a real bullet right in the middle of this arrogant ass; but her pride wouldn't let her. As his hand came down heavily, she permitted herself to be turned around, all expression; or hint of, falling right off her face. Hazel eyes locked onto his as he demanded why; the hand on her shoulder felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Casually, as if it didn't matter, she reached up and pushed his hand away, "Do you really need an answer? *scoff* Of course you do, two of those men you killed, were my comrades, if I'd of had my way, you'd be dead by now." She blinked once as she turned back around, continuing down the hallway. After a few steps she hesitated, for only a split moment, turning her head half way back; "We will meet again, but for now just get out of here." Now fixating her gaze back to hallway, the rest of the trip was easy. All the way down the hall, hang a left and the third door on the right would take them to the main entrance of the building. A couple of random people were sitting there, sipping on morning coffee and dribbling on about last nights football game. As Douglass entered, they looked to her, smiles suddenly fading and all conversation going quite as they observed the man behind her. "That's him," they whispered, "the guy they brought in last night." Douglass pushed the comments off, ignoring them for the most part. A sharp glance was all it took for them to get out of there, and they didn't hesitate. Three feet before the door she stepped aside, tossing a pair of keys at him. "In the post office on twenty-seventh and Manchester you'll find a box number 0130, inside are your ammunition and anything else that might have gone missing." Turning on her heel, she took one step in the direction to leave.



Why was he putting up with this bullshit again? That question kept jangling through his mind over and over as he listened to the hellbitch’s tirade. Oh, that’s right, to save their sorry asses from the teeth and claws that prowled the night. Waiting till she turned back and continued, he snarled, advancing as well, “Take your best shot, baby, I’ll even stand still for ya.” Teeth ground as eyes rolled, his head jerking to clear tousled platinum strands from his face. But he followed her, determined to get his ass outta here. Refraining from scowling and sticking out his tongue at the gawkers they passed, he kept a straight face, wouldn’t do to scare the kiddies, now would it? A dry snort. Fuckers all. Catching the keys by reflex, he stared at them for a moment, then turned sharp cerulean eyes to his guide. Shaking his head, he said, “You…people…” Clenching his fists over the set, he scowled again, pushing past her into the misting rain, the yardlights sliding off the crimson leather. “Sometimes I wonder why I don’t let ‘em eat you all…” Growling under his breath, he turned abruptly, so wanting to deliver a parting shot, but couldn’t find one scathing enough, finally settling on, “Well, gotta hand it to you, if I owned this place and Hell, I’d rent this out and live in Hell.” Giving a snarky chuckle, he finished, “And trust me on it, cause I been to Hell. Literally.” A wicked growled laugh and a surge of energy, and he vanished, akin to a shadowed predator in the night.



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