Evil's Return 1: The First Day of the Rest of Your Life...and School.
 

[18 Years Ago]

The echo of the last shot faded quickly, overcome by the crying of a 2 month old baby.

Nathaniel “Red Eye” Jackson swept the room one more time with his Garand , then lowered the rifle. Just as Farsight predicted he thought to himself, we got here too late.

Nat took a deep breath, and walked over to the crib, where the crying infant was covered in a pink blanket. Since Farsight was right about that…that means this little girl is the Chosen…

“The house is clean, Nat,” said a deep voice. “We got them all before they could escape,” Mortachi Wright said as he walked into the round, his broad frame covered in a black trenchcoat. On his heels was his young apprentice, Duncan McCragge.

The leather-clad Warden nodded to the venerable Society mage. “Yeah, I pegged these two before they could get the girl,” he said, using the M1 to point to the dead lesser demons on the floor, “but it looks like her parents were dead before we even got here.” Nat watched as the young McCragge pale as he looked at the broke bodies of the young mother and father. The father was holding a bolt-action hunting rifle in his hand. At least they went down fighting, Nat thought to himself, For all the good it did them. Out of habit, Nat walked over to the bodies, and covered them with what was at hand the best he could.

Mortachi, not even noticing the dead parents. “This would be the Mother of Hell, then.” He said, the last part practically a hiss. The mage dug into his pocket. “At least we can end it now,”

Nat stood, and drew is handgun. “Hold it, Mortachi. What do you think you’re doing.”

The older man looked at the Warden. “I’m ending the threat.”

“Stop.” Nat said. Further encouragement to comply was added by the safety on the gun being turned off. “ I won’t let you kill an innocent.”

“Innocent?” Mortachi asked, incredulous. “Innocent? You knows well as I do, Jackson, what this girl represents. If we allow her to live, we invite the Gates of Hell to open on us!”

“That’s only half of the prophesy, and you know it, Mortachi!” Jackson yelled. “There is also a chance that through her the gate will be close forever! But that’s beside the frickin’ point! She’s just a baby! She hasn’t done anything wrong, and you’re ready to kill her!”

“It’s for the species! It’s for the world!” Mortachi yelled back.
“Is it a world worth protecting that we’d kill a baby girl to save it?” Nathaniel demanded. “Blast it, Mortachi! I knew you would do this!”

“Enough. McCragge, kill the Mother of Hell while I constrain Mr. Jackson.”

The young mage’s eyes widened at suddenly being pulled into this. “M..master?”

“For the love of all that is holy, McCragge, KILL THE GIRL!”

“Don’t do it, Duncan!” Nathaniel yelled. “We can save the world without killing her. If we kill her just to save our own skins, how are we any better than the demons we just killed?!” the Warden demanded.

For long seconds, Duncan McCragge squirmed under the gaze of the two older men. Finally, he lowered his head. “Master…I believe Mr. Jackson speaks the truth…”

“So be it. May both of you be cast into Hell for this.” Mortachi snarled. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and began to chant over the sigil.

Nathaniel pulled the trigger three times.

He wasn’t just trading words when he said that he knew Mortachi was going to act the way he did. The older mage, a long member of the Society was very conservative in his views of the world…to the point that he’d rather maintain the status quo, ignoring the chance for the Gates of Hell to be sealed. As such, the first three bullets in this particular magazine for the gun were special anti-magic shells…Nathaniel’s payment for this job. The first bullet struck the defensive shield that Mortachi had put up as they stormed the demon besieged house. The bullet turned into a pulse of energy, weakening the shield. The second bullet successfully smashed the shield down, and had enough energy left to smash the fledging spell on Mortachi’s lips. The third bullet’s anti-magic spell found no magic energy to counter, so it never activated. As such, the bullet was still quite solid when it impacted Mortachi’s skull.

The baby’s cries redoubled as the gunshots echoed in the room. Nathaniel looked at the younger mage, who after a moment shook his head. “You did what you had to do,” Duncan said. “He was going to kill her or us…you had no choice.”

Nodding, Nathaniel, holstered his gun, walked over to the crib, and carefully picked up the little girl, trying to comfort her.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

[3 weeks ago]

As is human nature, a crowd had gather at the police tape. As far as the average citizen knew, the people that were now going over the Ferguson household were the police...and they were right after a sense. They couldn’t know that the “police” where actually S.E.C.A. investigators looking for clues as to who or what had killed some of their own.

The crowd slowly gave way for the graying biker that walked through their midst. He paused only to duck under the police tape. “I’m sorry sir,” one of the investigators said to him as he walked towards the house, “but his is closed to-“

“Let him through, Carson,” Tessa Scott said. The woman walked up to the biker. “We’ve been expecting you, Nat. Come on.”

The two walked into the house, and Nat couldn’t help but to think about how he had walked into a similar situation 18 years before. And as he saw two sheet-draped bodies, the similarities became painfully real.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Hell cult, from the looks of it. There were a few other bodies, but we’ve already sent them back to the local HQ to see if we could ID them.” The S.E.C.A. agent looked at the bodies. “They put up a heck of fight before they died.”

For all the good they did them, Nat though.

“Laurella?” he asked.

“She was at a friend’s house, thank God.” Tessa said, “Duncan got here before you, so I sent him to pick her up. He’ll take her to McCragge Manor…chances are that the S.O.B.s that did this have some eyes and ears in the area, so there’s no good to bring her back here.”

“That makes sense,” Nat said. “We’d been trying to talk Rick and Patricia into moving into the Manor, because Laurella would be safer there than anywhere around here…” Nathaniel’s sentence ended as a series of oaths through clenched teeth. “You moved the cultist’s bodies out…why not them? Why leave them here?”

Tessa sighed, then waved Nat over to the bodies. “We’re waiting for some members of the Society to show up…we’d like them to see this.”

As Tessa lifted the sheet, Nat felt bile rise in the back of his thread. “Duncan took a look at it before he left,” Tessa said, her own face paling slightly. “He couldn’t give us any details, but he said it looks like they were used in a blood summoning. We’re waiting to see if an more experienced member of the Society can tell us the what was summoned.

Nat stood up, and shook his head. He’d known the Fergusons for a long time…ever since they adopted the baby that him and Duncan McCragge had saved.

“Tessa,” he said, “I know you’re people are tracking down the culties that did this…I want in when you take them down.”

“You got it.” She looked at her watch. “We’d better get going to the Manor. Duncan was never the best at breaking bad news.”

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[Present Day]

“So, young Miss Kalvatine will be going back to school today, correct?” the barkeep asked.

Duncan McCragge simply nodded. He was never sure where Nevar Huggins, owner of the Observatory, got his information, but the barkeep was one of the most well informed men in the world…I suppose knowing what day school starts is probably an easy one to find out. Duncan thought between sips of his drink. “Would you like another one, Mr. McCragge?”

“No, thank you, Nevar…just one to get the juices flowing. There’s an hit going down today.”

“Ah, yes,” the black haired, pale skinned barkeep said. “Ms. Scott’s team finally tracked down the cultists who killed the Fergusons. Nice people, Rick and Pattie…didn’t deserve the fate they suffered.”

Now I know I never mentioned that to him, Duncan thought to himself. For ten years, Duncan had been frequenting the Observatory Lounge, and in those ten years, Nevar hadn’t seemed to age a day. Then again, Society members have been coming here since the place opened in the 1800s, Duncan thought to himself. If Nevar was anything to be feared, he would been taken out a long time ago. Duncan stood up from his stool, placing a few dollars on the counter. “Excellent service as always, Nevar.”

“Thank you, Mr. McCragge. Best of luck in your hunt.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s her Jared Greyhall thought to himself.

He watched as Laurella Kalvatine walked across the commons at Taylorsville High, and felt a shiver run down his spine. We’ve been in the same classes before…but I never knew she was the Chosen until this year. he thought to himself, And I wasn’t suppose to guard her with my life, before.

He could fell the weight of the Shepard’s Staff against his leg. He had a brace there in case he had to get to his holy relic quick. Not even demons would be brash enough to attack someone in a public place like this…would they?

Greyhall scanned the crowd once more. He picked up the somewhat familiar faces of the other Protectors in the crowd, all keeping an eye on Laurella. At least I’m not by myself in this he thought. Most of the others are much stronger than I am.

The warning bell ringed, and Jared left his place on the upper floor of the commons. Protector or not, I’ll get in trouble if I’m late for class on the first day of school.


((OOC: So the fiasco beings.

High School protectors (ie: Students and Teachers), enjoy a little “slice-o-life” RPing to start with. Raiden, no sexual harassment on the first day of school. :p

Non-school protectors, meet up with Nat and Tessa at an “abandoned” warehouse…we’re going to play everyone’s favorite game, “Whack-a-Cultist”. Don’t worry, schoolers…you’ll get an action sequence soon enough.

Unofficial protectors...you pretty much have a free-hand at what to do. You could probably join the cultist hunt, or if you'd rather keep an eye on the Mother of Hell or take care of your own thing, it's up to you.))

Jimmy was leaning against the wall of the school when Laurella arrived, having decided he had may as well make an appearance for the first day at least. Upon seeing Laurella, however, he kicked off the wall and walked toward her, his hands resting lightly within his pockets.

He completely ignored the warning bell as he came up to her.

"And here I was thinking coming to school would be a waste of time," he said as he looked her over, "Hope we have some classes together... might motivate me to actually show up."

Laurella put a smile on her face she wasn't sure she felt. "Jimmy, you look good. I kinda get worried sometimes when I don't see you around."
Everything about Jimmy screamed "bad influence" to Laurella, but the fact that they did actually meet occasionally allowed Laurella to remember his name and make a few guesses as to what he was really like.
"Well, I'd better hurry on to class. I'm sure Stacey has some juicy information that she just has to tell me before final bell."

Stacey Parkerman, one of Laurella's close friends, already had news for her the moment she took her seat.
"Get this, Laura: Mister Silva is teaching today."
Laurella dug into her pack for the proper textbook, her notebook, and a lead pencil. "Yes, and?"
"Girl, what do you mean? I'm talking about Mister Silva! Oh, he is just so gorgeous! I think I might actually skip the rest of school today just to stay here and keep watching him."
The Mother of Hell's expression took on a little of the discomfort that she felt. "So that means I won't be seeing you at lunch?"

Stacey poked her friend. "C'mon, Laura, what's with you? Don't you like Mister Silva at all?"
Laurella stared off into space. "Truth be told, I'm actually kinda intimidated by his looks. I guess he's just not my type, for that reason."
"Not your type, huh? Then who is? Oh! Maybe Jimmy?"
Laurella took the time to think about Jimmy St Claire. "I can neither confirm nor deny..."
Stacey held her Number 2 pencil to Laurella's mouth like a microphone. "And why's that?"

"Because if I said I didn't, you'd just name off more names for guys, and then probably for girls, until you came to one that I would say I do like. And if I said I did, then you'd spread the rumor throughout the whole school and I don't think Jimmy would like that kind of thing. You might be annoying at times, but I'd prefer that you stayed alive today."
Laurella sat up in her seat. Lord knows I've caused enough people to be killed in a lifetime.

A little story, about a lonely man.
 

A loud knocking woke Caleb up from his dream. He'd been dreaming about demons again, so he didn't mind. The rising sun streamed filtered through the blinds of his office. Making him squint his bloodshot eyes. The knock came again, sounding like gunfire in his head.

"Mr. Baltazar?" The young voice of his secretary came through the door. Finally giving up she just opened the door, letting in fresh air and even more sunlight. "Mr. Baltazar you really shouldn't sleep in the office chair. You'll hurt your back." She swept through the room like a slim tornado. Pulling open blinds and windows. Putting a hot cup of coffee in front of her employer. She was wearing blue today, A blue dress with a pink bow in her pony tail.

"Thank you Susan." He managed to choke out of his dry throat. Taking a slow sip of the coffee. His eyes hurt from the sudden sunlight, but then again, his entire head hurt. So did his back. "I thought I told you to take the weekend off?" he spoke, this time more clearly.

Susan sighed and handed Caleb his hair brush."You tell me a lot of things. And I did take the weekend off, but today is Monday." She smiled at him sweetly. Then placed a letter down on the table before him. It bore a wax seal, he could imediatly tell that it was from the Wardens. It was clearly magicked to go up in flames if anyone but he opened it.

Caleb picked up the letter and then pulled open a desk drawer. The drawer had several other letters just like it. Tossing it inside he closed it back up, he didn't bother to lock it. Susan wouldn't go through his things, and there wasn't anything of real value to be had in the desk anyways. Susan tisked his dismissal of the message and then left the room. She began shuffling papers around, picking up alcohol bottles, and setting the office to rights again.

Caleb knew what the letter was about without even reading it. It had the same things they all had. Every year sense he left he had received it. It would offer condolences and invite him back. He saw no reason to even give it any thought. An image from his dream flashed in his head, making him shiver. Caleb slowly stood up, keeping himself steady with the desk. His spine popped several times, each one echoing through his skull. He made his way over to the bathroom. Washing off his face he looked at the three day growth of a beard he had. Caleb took his time shaving, blinking away the blurry vision that often came with his weekends of endless drinking. When he was finished he looked at himself in the mirror. There was no getting around it now, he was getting old.

When he got back to his desk the entire two room office had been totally cleaned up. It smelled of fresh air and citrus blossoms, the proffered air deodorant of Susan. "I'm going to go home, take a shower. Be good till I get back, I'll stop by the bank and get your salary too." He said as he donned his coat, hat and gun.

"Take your time." She called after him cheerily. "I'll take messages if anyone calls or stops by." She knew full well however that no one ever did.


Caleb sat behind the wheel of his beat up old car. Starting the engine he listened to it struggle, then start up. He let it warm up a little before driving away. He pulled up to his home ten minutes later. Getting out he walked up the short drive way and went inside. The place was a worse mess then his office. Not that it mattered much to him. Only thing he did here was shower, sleep, and store things. He showered quickly. Washing the stench of old alcohol away with the water. Putting on clean clothes he went ahead and checked his gun cabinet. The weapons inside were a thing of beauty. His sniper rifle acting as a center piece.

He quickly counted his magic bullets in their special case, the count was the same as last time. The same as every time he counted them. It was still worth checking though. Some people in the organizations knew where he lived. He wouldn't put it past some of them to break in. Taking out two he placed them into his pocket. Checking the necklace he wore he felt that his special shell was still there. "Never again." He said quietly to himself.

Walking back outside he looked out at the view from his porch. The high school was a bustle of activity. Placed as a center piece a couple blocks away and down the hill he lived atop of. He thought to himself as he watched the school intently "Why the hell did I pick this place to live. It's none of my business anymore anyways." He had moved into this home just a couple years ago. Shortly after he had found out Laurella was going to school there.

He stared at the school and thought back to the first day he had met Laurella. She was tiny, swaddled in a blanket, surrounded by people that wanted to protect her. Back then, he had been one of them. He had held her in his arms, she slept soundly through the discussions and arguments. He remembered patting Nathaniel on the back, telling him he'd done the right thing. And promising Duncan that he'd take him out for a drink. He'd been one of her main assigned protectors for almost 8 years. He'd been to every birthday party, and killed more then once for her sake.

Shaking his head he got into his car. "Thats not who I am anymore." He said to himself. Still though, he couldn't help the tear that rolled down his cheek.


Caleb got back to the office, handing Susan her money she smiled at him cheerily. Walking back into his office he sat at his chair and filled in the papers for uncle Sam. "Well?" She asked him at the door.

Caleb looked up at her, "Well what?" He couldn't fathom her question.

She sighed patiently,"You going to ask if there were any messages?"

"Were there any ca-" he didn't even finish his question before she blurted out yes. "Whats the message?" He asked now very interested. He hadn't had work in awhile. Everyone seemed to be doing there jobs too well.

"An old couple believes their cat is possessed. They heard about you from the newspaper add. I told you it was worth the money!" Susan in her usual irrepressible way, seemed to think it was the best news ever.

Caleb on the other hand wanted to die. Another pet possession, Demons were aiming low these days. He sighed and held out his hand. "Give me the address." He said calmly. Susan did so in a cheery fashion. "Maybe I can get us dinner from this one." Caleb stood back up and walked for the door. No sense in waiting. It wasn't like anything else of importance was happening.

The door to the classroom closed, a few of the students turning to look to see who had just walked in. As the eyes of several girls widened, you could almost hear the sound of a thousand love notes being composed.

The man that had closed the door behind him was tall and lean, with quite a hint of lean muscle beneath his skin. His long blonde hair went down to around his neck, currently tied back in a ponytail of sorts. His piercing blue eyes were framed by a pair of thin-wire spectacles, somehow only accentuating the icy depths of his eyes. He wore khaki pants, a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbow, and a long necklace that dangled against his open collared chest. When he smiled, almost every tooth in his mouth was exposed.

"Good morning, class. I suppose some of you were expecting Ms. DuCharme. Sadly, she has come down with an illness, and will be out for an indefinite amount of time. Until she returns, I'll be taking up her normal duties as your teacher."

He placed his bookbag down on the desk, turning to the chalkboard to write his name up with a piece of chalk. As his back was turned, several hands went up in question.

"My name is Thomas Silva, and before anyone asks, there is no Ms. Silva. You'd be amazed how often that question comes up..."

The hands went back down.

Enter the Grounds Keeper...
 

"Blech, how can high school kids make so much of a mess in an hour?" Harm asked a nearby tree as he picked up yet another soda can and tossed it into the bin on the back of his gator (utility ATV).

Another year had just started, demons had already began to move on the Mother and Harm was ready for some action, mostly. As much as he wanted to be part of sealing the Gates and screwing over the demons once and for all, he didn't want to risk the death of another child.

"Bah, best not to dwell on that, not now", taking a deep breath and centering himself with a small prayer for his own family Harm climbed back on the gator.

A warm breeze pushed some leaves into the air and inconspicuisly settled the garbage Harm had just picked up in some bushes behind him. Harm's lips twitched in a small smile as he continued on his circuit of the school grounds, picking up the same garbage he had picked up only an hour before.

An "abandoned" warehouse. Did these people have no style? Such a cliche. But no matter, it would make for a good battleground, plus it was out of the way so no innocents could be caught in the crossfire.

On a rooftop seven hundred metres away from the building, the sniper waited patiently, as all good snipers do. The morning sun was to his back, visability was good, the wind was low, and the enemy had no idea they were being watched through the sights of one of the worlds most deadly weapons.

From this vantage point Smith could see easily into the lower floor of the building through its large, high windows. He spoke into the coms device he wore, "Scott, this is Longshot, over". The reply was immediate, "Go ahead Longshot".

"I'm in position and the place is packed to the rafters, multiple hostiles". "Weapons?" "Unable to ascertain, expect anything".

A slight pause, it seemed she was contemplating what to do next. "Suggestions?" Tessa Scott asked. "Personally ma'am, gunship support is preferable". "Negative Longshot, gunship support unavailable". Isn't it always? Thought Smith grudgingly. Ask for suggestions, then promtly deny them. Welcome to SECA.

"Then I strongly recomend the classic pincer attack, a frontal assualt alone is suicide, but we know from the blueprints there is a back entrance, we should use it".

Simon waited for the response. And the order to attack. It had been a long time since he had used his sniper skills, but today he would have some fun doing so.

Michael lazily flipped a page of his book as he listened to the teacher's posing. His desk was set before him; a pen and pencil rested in the furrow on the top of the desk, his laptop covered the space of the right side of the desk perched over the class textbook and the left side of his desk held a notebook and the opened novel. Michael had come to class earlier then most to allow himself ample time to set up, thought not for the studious reasons some might have suspected.

Michael had arrived a full two hours early to school in order to assauge his anxiety and perform a standard duty. For a hour and a half after he arrived at the school Michael could have been seen wandering from class to class seemingly lost in thought and with no purpose in mind. Such observations would have been only two thirds correct; he was lost in thought and he was wandering from class to class. However he did have a purpose in mind.

That purpose was to perform a perfunctory examination of the school grounds for signs of demonic activity, or even simplly irregular changes for a school. To his satisfaction and relief, Michael had found nothing to cause alarm; though he well knew that might only be because he was inexperienced enough not to see something important. In either case he had made his way over to his first period class and used he leftover half hour to settle into his desk.

Michael had placed himself near the core of the room with the thoughts. The front is not for me; it is a place for those that actively participate and seek nothing but to learn and please the teacher. The back is neither for me, it is a place for those who do not pay attention at all and wouldst ignore all lessons and distract all whom are near them. I belong near the center, not on the focal point of the class but close. I can react to any measure here and I can choose to walk either path. Options are open to me, and that is the most important value of all. From this came a singular thought that was one of his realizations of late I think too much, and I might even talk too little.

His eyes skimming the page of his book Michael entered into a new line of thouht. Silva... that means part of his line derives from one of the romance civilizations. He doesn't have a Spanish or Italian appearance, but looks can be deceiving. This man carries himself gracefully and with an air of confidence. I do not expect those that would usually make trouble would do so in this classroom. No, this man commands too much of a presence for others to warrent wanting to do such as teenager's are wont to do upon him. It is not so much an issue of liking him, so much as the feeling that such attempted torments would be but momentary distractions and leave one without any satisfaction of the deed.

Michael's eyes flitted back and forth slowly between the person of Thomas Silva and through the gaggle of preening girls towards Laurella. Upon further inspection, I wonder how real Ms. DuCharme's illness really is. On this side of knowledge it is no secret that there is a gathering of powers around Laurella. Her nature is akin that of a immense magnetic force, one that attracts both positive and negative with its singular properties. Her very presence reperesents a convalescence of individuals and nature's as varied as the chaos of a firestorm. I would not be surprised is every individual in this classrom represented a force of this world. I would not be surprised if each individual contained here will play a part in the ensuing epic of humanities struggle.

Michael's eyes finally rested back onto the pages of his book and he left himself with a final thought before being immersed in its pages. I said before that I think too much and talk too little; might this not even be a falsification itself. Maybe I just do not think on the right subjects, or imbue my words with the power and depth that they need.

Jacob checked his helmet, making the straps extra tight. He checked his rifle, Looking up and down the design, then he 'clicked' the ammo clip into place. Resting that on his legs, he did the same for his pistol, checking and reloading. He checked the grenades on his belt for the third time before finally relaxing a bit. '...I think I'm ready.'

Jacob was in a S.E.C.A. van that was transporting him to "the warehouse", to deal with yet another cult problem. The lights were dim, and the moment quiet except for the humming and gentle bumping of the van. Jacob had done this a few times before, but he was always very cautious about not having his gear up. He thought about the 'Mother of hell', but discarded the thought. 'It's best to just take things as they come.'

"Hey!" A standing passenger of the van was yelling at him. Probably one of the co-ordinaters.
"You ready for this?"
Jacob thought a little, and said "No, but let's do this anyhow."
"Well, you better get ready, 'cuz we're nearly at the target."
Then the Co-ordinater went to look at different things. Jacob sighed and closed his eyes, 'Here's hoping that none of us die.'

Zack was wearing his customary black corduroy jacket over a white American Eagle shirt and dark blue jeans. His right hand was conspicuously placed in his jacket pocket, resting neatly on his sigil deck. It was one of the more basic decks, with the simplest sigils that could be mixed and matched to create any number of subtle spell effects. He couldn't be throwing Triad Lightning cards around during school.

All the while keeping his eyes on Mr. Silva, Zack slipped a Transport card from his deck and placed it on top of a small note sitting on his desk. "Transport. Laurella," he whispered. The sigil on the card flashed briefly, and people would have noticed if Zack's hand hadn't had it completely covered. The card and note vanished, the note reappearing on Laurella's desk, across the room.

The note read: "Laurella, my grandfather pulled some strings so that we're in all the same classes. The You-Know-What felt you should have a... friend... at all times, even at school. But let's not worry about that right now. I missed you so much! A bright smiley face beamed up at her from the paper.