A Brief History of Noimoire, by Chris Zinn: Given the vast differences between the various gods and their goals as outlined on hundreds or thousands of cards, there isn’t really a religious voting bloc. The followers of Pan, a leading Nature Lord, are radically pro-environmentalist occasionally to the point of eco-terrorism, while the followers of Hephaestus, one of the most prevalent of the Golem Lords, regularly show up to the offices of politicians with their ubiquitous ‘Drill, baby, drill!” signs.

But there are a few issues that the religious voters, which in one form or another represents over seventy percent of everyone involved in politics, can all agree on. The most important of which is that a deckbearer keeps what he kills, which, in modern times, has been appended to include the phrase "so long as it is done lawfully."

Every card that seems to have anything to say on the matter encourages deckbearer conflict.

Nowhere is this more prevalent than in Noimoire, where the huge population of Infernal, Elder, and Undead decks, and the large anti-government sentiment, has given birth to a darkly individualistic society. It is something notably new and different for the strain of community and family oriented individualism that defined much of early America.

The thug’s eyes widened and he started to draw the gun, but Wolfe headbutted him, forehead to nose. Something crunched, and the thug reeled away with one hand over a face splattered with blood. The assassin still drew the gun out from his jacket—but it wasn’t pointing at anything, and Wolfe ripped it from the thug’s hand.

But he didn’t get a good grip on it himself, and the gun went skidding down the hall.

The assassin turned and ran—but not toward the gun. He hit the stairs at a near-full run, one hand on the railing, and half-leapt to the next level.

Son of an Infernal…

Wolfe followed, trying to move down the stairs fast. He made it two flights without issue, but when he reached the bottom set, he tripped at the end of the stairs. He grabbed the railing as he fell but still slammed down onto the floor of the lobby, wincing as he hit, then letting loose a string of curses.

“William?” someone asked, and Wolfe stared up to see Rhett glancing down at him with his ice-blue eyes open wide, his surprise evident to the world.

Of course it’s Captain Perfect. Wolfe groaned, struggling to his feet. The same nurse from before, whose name eluded Wolfe, clicked her tongue in disapproval. “No running in the hospital! You men, I swear.”

Ignoring the old nurse, Wolfe started to run from the building, but Rhett grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” the lieutenant hissed.

“Someone tried to assassinate Emmett, and I’m chasing them. He’s getting away!”

The nurse pointed out to the parking lot. “Some white kid with blood all over his face just ran out the front door. I told him to walk, but he didn’t listen, either.”

Rhett didn’t hesitate, withdrawing his police-issue Beretta 9mm and holding it in both hands. “Follow me!”

He rushed out the door. Wolfe hurried after him, favoring his right leg slightly. Upon exiting the hospital, however, Wolfe didn’t see anyone in the parking lot.

Rhett lowered his gun slightly. “He might be hiding among the cars, but most likely, he went around one side or the other. I’ll go left, you go right. What did he look like?”

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“Black hair, suit, one eye was blue, the other brown, maybe twenty-five,” Wolfe huffed out before turning right and rushing around the outside of the hospital.

It was dark outside, but the hospital was well lit, so Wolfe’s vision was barely impaired. The hospital had a small, grass lawn and hedges around nearly the whole thing, except where there were entrances for ambulances and there they kept huge medical waste bins.

Wolfe’s leg worked through whatever injury it had taken, and he was able to easily jog along the side of the hospital, keeping an eye on the hedges. As he had many times over the last day, he wished he had brought his Edge pistol, but he was still waiting for ‘the man’ to approve him to carry a gun.

His lack of a gun was starting to seriously irritate him.

Wolfe curved around the side of the hospital, coming to a break in the hedges where a couple of locked dumpsters were up against the outside of the hospital.

"Wol—William?” Shel called from somewhere behind him and around the front of the hospital, sounding slightly panicked. “Where are you, William?”

Wolfe was about to answer when he saw the assassin poke his head up from behind one of the locked dumpsters, his blood-spattered face and heterochromatic eyes instantly recognizable. Wolfe didn’t hesitate, rushing at him in a full charge.

The assassin touched his chest, his five fingers splayed open.

No way… Wolfe was wide-eyed, staring at the man.

Unknown assassin deckbearer has drawn a deck near you! Three cards, all red, appeared in front of the assassin, and he reached for one.

Wolfe wasn’t about to test fate by fighting him without a deck, and he touched his own chest. He had the satisfaction of seeing the assassin’s eyes go wide in turn, but the assassin was still half a tick ahead of Wolfe. The assassin touched the card he had reached for and a pistol appeared in his hand. Not just a normal one, either—it had a pentagram on the handle, and a faint, red glow emanated from it.

Wolfe dived to the side, a moment too late. Pain ripped through his shoulder as he hit and rolled. He still had the presence of mind to throw out one of his Angry Hellhound cards instead of Cereboo, cursing the need to keep his identity hidden.

He came to his feet in a sprint as two bullets plinked off the concrete around him. He reached the shrubs and dived headfirst into them, cussing as they ripped at him and then cussing further as he hit the ornamental rocks underneath. But it was better to be cut up from branches and bruised from the rocks than hit with another shot from the magical gun.

Wolfe glanced at his remaining two cards—his modified No Kill Pound, currently called Cerberus’s Home for Wayward Hellhounds, and his Infernal Rift card.

The man touched another card and a Tormentor Imp—the Infernal card most ubiquitous to this current season—appeared.

But his Hellhound hit it and terminated it, and Wolfe waited for the perfect moment. The man shot the hellhound, and it nearly died—but for a brief moment, the assassin had no creatures.

Wolfe touched his Infernal Rift card and banished the man to a faux Infernal realm for ninety seconds.

He didn’t hesitate, grabbing a rock from the ornamental garden and rushing toward where the assassin had disappeared, mentally directing the Angry Hellhound there as well.

Rhett came running around one side, and Shel the other.

“What happened to you?” Rhett called, staring at the blood pouring down Wolfe’s side.

At that moment, the assassin appeared again, his eyes wide with shock and his mouth still open. But even then, he started to slowly and awkwardly raise his gun, and Wolfe slammed him with the rock as hard as he could, right in the temple, grunting as the force of his blow caused his other shoulder to throb in agony.

Unknown assassin deckbearer slain. 16 experience gained.

The man hit the ground on his back, blood leaking from his skull, and ten cards appeared on his chest.

Wolfe glanced up at Rhett, wondering what would happen now.

Rhett walked over, his gun now trained on Wolfe. “What happened? Are you in immediate danger?”

“He had a second gun—an equipment card. He used it to shoot me,” Wolfe said, pointing with his right arm—which still held the bloody stone—to his left shoulder. “I had a rock. I won. I’ll be fine now that Shel’s here—this isn’t life-threatening and she’s got healing cards.”

Shel touched her chest and then pushed her hand out, and her cards appeared, a slight golden color around them.

But she frowned at them and didn’t use one.

Rhett walked up, then, after a moment, holstered his gun. He reached down and took the ten cards.

Damn. I could really have used some more Infernal cards.

Rhett briefly glanced through the cards, and when he came to the pistol equipment card—which was called Brimstone—he glanced at it.

“Try to heal him, Shel, please,” Rhett said.

Shel nodded. “Of course.”

She switched the cards out and this time touched one and tossed out her Rookie EMT cards.

Wolfe’s minor scratches healed, but his shoulder wound remained untouched.

“I wish you could have let him live,” Rhett said. “It would have been extremely helpful to question him.”

Then he held the cards out to Wolfe, frowning. “Here.”