Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Victor sighed, leaning over the railing of the bed from where he sat, his thumb gently stroking over the back of the seemingly frail hand he held in his own. He had never thought of her as frail or fragile, but… there she was. It put a painful lump in his throat that he had no idea how to deal with. Mal was snoring in the chair out in the hallway, and other than that - Victor was alone. Him, her, and the machines.

“I’m sorry, Muse…”

He half expected her to answer.

“You gotta come through this, I swear, or… I don’t know… I’m going to come looking for you,” he laughed quietly, looking down at the needle stuck in her arm. Tubes and wires, twisting together with her body like some strange creation of his brother’s. That reminded him, Eric hadn’t called. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. It was late, almost three in the morning. No messages, no emails, nothing. It was probably impossible at this point to feel any more worry than he already was, but it didn’t seem to stop him from trying. He had a strange sensation of abandonment that he wasn’t quite sure if he was justified in feeling.

Stay with Muse, or go hunt down Eric. There was no chance he could find his brother if he didn’t want to be found. What if Muse woke up? What if something happened to Muse? Sure, Mal was here, but - it wasn’t the same. Running his hand through his hair slowly, he shut his eyes. Damned if he stayed, damned if he went.

“Muse… you have to wake up. If you can hear me, you have to wake up,” he said. His head still down, he spoke to the tile floor. “You ’n I, I mean, we were just getting to know each other, and… hey, I beat your score at pinball, and…” -and I don’t know why my heart feels like it’s going to explode at the thought of you never waking up…

There was another problem he had. Mixed into his muddled thoughts and frantic emotions was yet another question. He didn’t know how he felt about her. He cared about her, that much was obvious. But whatever else was there, he didn’t know.

“Look, Muse, you’d better be okay because I never got a chance to really ask you out on a date, girl, and… being in a coma for our first date is just… really tacky.”

Silence.

Victor sniffed, feeling a sting in his eyes. He could hear the rumbling from the hallway that told him Mal was still asleep. Knowing he was alone, he shut his eyes and let the tears come.

The scratching of pen on the paper of his journal was a familiar sound. He had long since reached the point where he no longer heard the noise. He had little idea of how long had passed since he had sat down to write. If he was to judge by how low the wood in his fireplace had become, the answer was quite some time. Focusing only on the words he was writing, Isaac’s mind was on other places, other things - a natural state of being for his mind.

Everything around you dies, Isaac. You do nothing in this world but cause people pain. You’re a goddamn disease!

Isaac smirked to himself as he wrote. More of a bitter sneer than a smirk, perhaps. All his years and it seemed that the very same issues were bound to return and haunt him. He sat now in an empty house, only him and perhaps Ezekiel - although where that particular member of his operation was, he could not say - within its walls. He was fundamentally alone. His only company was the slightly musty collection of books, jars, and oddities around him. It was peaceful, save the scratching of his pen on the paper.

And the thoughts that came forth unbidden.

You are a curse on this family! Everything that loves you, dies! Nicklaus has been damned because of his sympathy towards you. He named his son after you, and the son will die within the year. You are spat from Hell itself! You are nothing but a plague upon us!

Isaac slammed the pen down upon the desk, leaning back into his wooden chair and pulling his glasses from his face in exasperation. If there was but one thing that he despised above all else, it was losing his focus. Dwelling on that which could not be changed was a futile expenditure, and it frustrated him.

He held up his hand in front of his eyes and turned his palm down. There, on the back of his hand - if you looked just right, you could see the copper carefully inlaid in its intricate shape underneath the skin. No one ever noticed it - but it was always there as a constant reminder of his choice. He chuckled once at his younger self - so eager and willing to suffer through pain and torment for his quest and goals - never once stopping to think about what he would do if he succeeded. And he had succeeded - he had the power after which he sought. After which he killed for. But there is no end of the book - there is no stopping. It always continues - the suffering, the struggling, the loneliness.

Lowering his hand to his desk, he sighed.

Oft he asked himself why he bothered - why spend so much trouble playing the dangerous game of chess in which he was locked - and had been locked for almost a hundred years? To save a world that begrudged him so desperately?

Pushing himself up from his desk, he turned to leave the room. His melancholy was crippling his efficiency, and there would be no use continuing his work this evening.

Aaron sat hunched over the bar, staring down into his drink. The clinks of glasses, laughing, and conversations attempting to be heard over the rest of the din surrounded him, but he largely ignored it. If Aaron was good at anything, it was ignoring things. Which was good, seeing as this particular bar had a funk of body odor and whisky that nearly made his eyes water.

But it was okay.

Nobody here stared at him.

It took him a few days of intermittent searching, but he finally found a bar that catered to freaks and didn’t ask questions. The Retribution had a few pleasant side effects. It put vampires, ‘shapeshifters’ and all sorts of other things that go bump in the night into the public eye - it had allowed people like him to have a place in the world and even start small businesses and societies. Albeit this particular place in the world was small, dingy and reeked. He added ‘piss’ to the list of sources of the smell with a wrinkle to his nose.

At least the drinks were strong.

Staring down into the amber liquid in his glass, his mind poured over the news he received earlier in the day. Isaac had done something, somehow, and now Muse was alive. It was impossible, but then again in a world of vampires, ghosts and his brother - very little was really truly impossible. He was still mad at Muse, yes. Part of him would not forgive her for lying to him, for hiding it from him for so long. But the other half, the half of him that had fallen for her, was worried sick about her. The current cure for this situation sat in the glass in front of him.

Running away again, Aaron?

Aaron stopped and spun around, a growl forming in the back of his throat. He knew that voice - it sounded familiar. But who was it? Glaring around the dingy bar, he saw no one. He blinked in confusion. It had sounded like his brother. No - it was too frenetic for Isaac. Turning slowly back to his drink, he downed the rest of the glass.

Tisk, tisk, always running from your troubles. Getting trashed? It really is bad for you, y’know. Especially when you can crush people so easily.

Aaron whirled around again, rage and panic tensing his muscles. But no one was there. No one had spoken.

“You okay buddy?” The bartender. Aaron looked at him and nodded his head weakly, pushing the glass away from him.

“I think I’m done for the night…” He had never had voices in his head, but it didn’t seem like a far stretch for someone who’s sanity was a very thin line.

“Prob’ly for the best.”

And really, Aaron - the voice was chiding him now - Seagram’s?

Clenching his fists at his side, he lowered his head and shut his eyes. It was a figment of his imagination. Nothing was wrong. He heard nothing. Just playing tricks on himself. He took a deep breath, and reaching into his pocket, left a small wad of cash on the bar and headed for the door, letting the cool night air hit him in the face, hoping it would drive away the voices. He needed to sleep. That’s all he needed - rest.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep. Wakeup.

Beep.

WAKEUP.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Bored now!

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“You’re kidding me!” Mal flinched as Victor snarled and paced around the foyer angrily, obviously trying not to kick any more inanimate objects. The yelling was making Mal’s headache worse than it already was. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is what was so important?!”

“I don’t know, Vic. I just got the page. I don’t know what to tell you.” Mal leaned back against the wall and sighed, staring down at a stain in the rug he didn’t remember. He wondered if it was new, or if he had just failed to see it previously. Debating the origin of the stain was a lot better than getting caught up in the vampire’s angst. He wasn’t exactly happy either, but Mal knew better than to get involved.

“He’s not kidding… He’s not kidding… Isaac never kids… The shadow is coming..” Ezekiel giggled from where he sat at the bottom of the stairs, rocking back and forth lightly. He looked up at Mal and squinted. “Have you met the shadow king? He’s funny. Plays piano. Kind of scary though…”

“What are you talkin’ bout, boy?” Mal grumbled down at Ezekiel. He had never believed the weird little man was ‘psychic.’ Whatever Isaac had done to the man had broken his gourd, and Mal seemed to be the only one in the building who had a hard time matching ‘crazy’ with ‘psychic.’

“…. Bacon,” Ezekiel snorted and abruptly cracked up laughing.

Mal sighed.

“I miss Muse…” The greasy-haired man let out a long exaggerated sigh and looked down at his pet jar. “But that’ll all be over with soon. Won’t it, Mr. Blinky? Soon she’ll be back. Ghostie doesn’t laugh at us. Although ghostie’s not a ghosty no more, is she?” Ezekiel giggled again and tilted his head to the side as if debating the subject. “I wonder if she’ll still let me call her Ghostie. I suppose so. I mean, it’s not like she’s going to be Not-Ghostie for much longer.”

“What?!” Victor walked up to Ezekiel and crouched down in front of him. “Zeek - what did you say?”

“Huh? I uh…” Zeek blinked a few times, clearly struggling with the attempt of remembering what just came out of his mouth. Letting out a long breath, he smiled his missing-toothed smile broadly in triumph. “I said it’ll all be over soon.”

“How - is she going to be okay?” Victor asked intently. “Ask the jar.”

“Depends on how you define ‘okay.’”

“Is she going to wake up?”

Ezekiel grinned broadly and let out a short laugh at a joke only he understood. “Depends on how you define ‘wake up.’”

Victor groaned loudly and pressed both palms over his eyes.

If there was one thing that pissed Mal off about anybody who claimed to be psychic, that was it. The games they played. Always with the stupid riddles - they couldn’t just come out and say anything. “Man, let it go… you know how he gets,” Mal grunted. “Look, Isaac said we had a job. That we’re going out on said job. We oughta focus on the task at hand.”

Victor grumbled. It was obvious that the little vampire was miserable. And for good reason. They were taking everyone - which now just meant Mal, Victor, and Ezekiel, which meant Muse had been left alone. Victor also didn’t like the idea of going out on a hit-for-hire with Isaac. Nobody had even seen the German since the whole incident went down.

Mal lifted his head as he heard footsteps descend the stairs, although any greeting he had thought to say to Isaac was stopped when he saw every muscle in Victor’s body tense up like a racehorse at the gate.

“You’re all here. Good,” Isaac said simply. “The job we have is simple.” He sifted through the manila folder in his hands. “Reclusive millionaire. The interesting part is that he apparently suffers a severe paranoia complex. His house is secured tighter than a military base. We will meet… resistance getting inside.”

“Gee. Too bad we don’t have someone who could… Ooh, I don’t know, just slip through walls,” Victor snapped bitterly. Mal threw up his hands. Of course, the little blond couldn’t just keep his nose out of trouble. No, that’d be too easy.

“Do we have a problem, Victor?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Victor matched Isaac’s glare and took a step towards him, issuing a silent challenge.

“Nuh-uh,” Mal grabbed Victor by both arms and yanked him back. “Don’t do it.” Mal hoped the vampire would realize he was doing him a favor.

“Get off me, Mal!” Victor snarled and shoved Mal backwards - sending the huge man slamming into the wall.

Mal straightened up from where he had hit the wall and grinned. “Heh. I ferget - tiny guy’s got some muscle on him.” Mal ran his hand across his bald head, cracked his neck and then his knuckles. Getting into another pitching match with Victor would only be another Friday night, and maybe then Isaac wouldn’t put fang-faces head through the drywall. He knew that any bruises he gave to Vic would be a pleasant day in the park compared to what an angry Isaac could do.

“Vampire.” Victor reminded Mal with a snarl in his direction and turned his attention back to Isaac - whose gaze hadn’t left the blond in front of him. Any other day and Victor would have been intimidated. But his rage was clearly getting the better of him. “And yeah, we’ve got a problem,” Victor repeated, staring at the German. “You haven’t done shit since-”

“Since what?” Isaac interrupted, his lips turning into a slight, thin smile.

Victor sputtered in rage and clenched his fists at his sides. “Since you went and messed up Muse - she’s laying there in th-”

Isaac shut his eyes and shook his head with let out a small ‘tsk’ with his tongue. “Muse learned a valuable lesson: not to challenge me. She was stubborn enough that it apparently had to be her last lesson.” He opened his eyes, turning his sharp grey gaze onto the vampire in front of him. “Do you want to make the same mistake, Victor?”

“Is that a threat?” Victor snarled.

“A reminder.”

“Are you even going to do anything?!” Victor yelled again. Mal didn’t like the fact that Isaac was willing to leave Blue laying in a hospital bed, he knew better than to try and pound sense into him.

“We have a job, does that count as anything?” Isaac smiled a little broader at the snide half-joke.

“You know what I mean!” Victor shouted.

“It is not my responsibility,” Isaac said with a mild shrug.

“Not your - your - It’s your fault!” Victor roared.

“It is no one’s fault but her own.”

Victor snarled and moved towards Isaac quickly, but stopped and grunted as Mal wrapped his arms around the vampire and pulled him backwards. Mal gave him a hard squeeze. “Settle down, kiddo,” he grumbled lowly. “Save yerself the pain.”

“No. Let him go. Apparently, he could benefit from a reminder as well,” Isaac said, his tone and expression unchanged.

Mal shrugged and let go of the struggling vampire and took a step back. Victor hissed at Isaac, baring his fangs. Isaac simply chuckled and held his arms out slightly, bowing ever so slightly at the waist. “Come, Victor. Consider this a free shot. You wish for me to realize the error of my ways - come, fledgling. Beat some sense into me. Let us see what you can do.”

Victor snarled in rage and dashed at Isaac - faster than the human eye could see. All too prepared for the movement, Isaac thrust his hand forward and an invisible force crashed into Victor’s chest. It sent the vampire flying backwards, shattering the front door. His body careened across the dark lawn, finally smashing into a tree. Victor fell to the ground with a thump, groaning low in pain.

Isaac walked through the shattered remains of the front door, stepping carefully over the splintered wood, seemingly more concerned with scuffing his shoes than being involved in the fight. Victor stood up, bared his fangs, and dashed at Isaac again, leaping into the air. The sorcerer simply sighed and held out a hand towards him, an almost bored expression on his face. Victor let out a gurgle as he found himself suspended in the air, caught in what, Mal had no clue. Victor struggled, but his rage was useless against the invisible force.

“Really, Victor. You simply think your speed can win against me? Do you think I could be so easily wounded? You have no idea with whom you are dealing, dear boy.” Isaac slowly started to close his open palm, curling the fingers inward. Victor started to scream in pain, his back arching as he hovered a good five feet off of the ground. A small line of blood rolled out of the corner of his mouth.

Ezekiel started to whimper from next to Mal, hugging the jar tightly to his chest. Mal sighed. “Stupid fang-face had to go ’n do something dumber than usual…”

“You have no idea with whom you are dealing, Victor,” Isaac repeated. “Neither did Muse. She learned the lesson at a steep price. I can only pray you are less stubborn than she.” He flicked his hand, and Victor flew through the air, hitting the ground hard, and rolled to a stop a few feet from the hearse parked in the driveway. Isaac brushed off the cuffs of his coat, straightened his collar and began walking to the car.

“C’mon…” Mal grumbled at Ezekiel and stepped through the shattered door and headed after the sorcerer, stepping out into the crisp night air.

Isaac stepped over Victor’s fallen body and started to walk around to the front of the hearse. “Ah, and Victor?” He looked down at the fallen vampire and smiled. “The door is coming out of your paycheck.”

He read the words on the piece of paper.

And re-read them.

And read them again for the ninth time, as if thinking it would change what was written. Michael took in a slow and wavering breath, rage making his skin flush.

Crusader Michael,

By order of the Conclave, yourself and Crusader Uriel are to return to the Vatican at once for reassessment and reassignment. With the sudden grievous loss of life, it would be unwise to continue the pursuit of Isaac Ostheim. Travel arrangements have been made. Report to District HN-OR-23 Headquarters immediately.

A simple golden seal sat at the bottom of the page, though the note was unsigned. It didn’t matter, Michael knew the source. Pulling in another wavering breath, he folded the paper. Suddenly letting out a roar of rage, he tore the paper into tiny bits, chucking them into the grass next to him. Turning stiffly, he headed back into the small church that he and Uriel had taken up as a temporary base. The grey clouds overhead seemed to only mirror his mood.

Uriel was sitting in a pew, slowly polishing his revolvers. “What’d the missive say?”

Michael looked up at the faintly glowing images on the painted windows overhead. Figures of saints, of Mother Mary and Jesus decorated the walls, figures of the angels for which they were named. He kept his gaze on the glass, hoping that there would be some shining light within him that would show him the way. Michael wished that God would reach into his mind and give him the answers. None came.

It left a void in him. The path in front of him was empty. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. The Vatican was demanding his return, but how dare they let Ostheim escape after what he had done? Michael could not accept the fact they were to simply give up. He was the Avenging Angel, the Warrior of God. His purpose would be meaningless if he walked away. He kept staring at the windows, praying fiercely for guidance.

For forgiveness.

“We are to bring Ostheim in at all costs.”

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BAKEY!

White light.

Pain. Swirling movement. Make it stop. Make-

Beep.

Make the noise stop… Beeping. Voices. Noise - too much noise.

Darkness. Blessed sleep.