For some reason, New Valence’s streets were always busiest at night. The whizzing vehicles to and fro created a blurry stream of yellow and red lights, contrasting with the purples and pinks of the city’s neon-faced facades. Indiscernible from this electric fog, a nondescript van made its way through the downtown.

Its driver gripped the steering wheel tight, his eyes darting between the two lanes on either side. His coworker in the passenger seat was much more relaxed, his elbow up on the windowsill, a walkie talkie in his hand. “Will you calm down, man?” he snapped at the driver. “No one’s following us.”

The driver shook his head quickly. “They know. They have to know. We’re so screwed.”

“We don’t even know what we’re moving!” the passenger said, exasperated. “Whatever it is, I doubt anyone wants to try their luck and steal a delivery from the goddamn military.”

The van, and the dubiously valuable cargo inside, belonged to Prince Industries. Lots of things belonged to Prince actually, given its near-unrivaled status as a giant in the tech industry, with an impressive number of international offices & many billions of dollars in revenue. Founded & headquartered right here in New Valence, the corporation is an inseparable part of the city’s identity, and a frequent contractor for the armed forces.

But the military didn’t mean anything in New Valence. And below the surface, neither did Prince Industries. There’s only one man who did, and when he wanted something–from anyone–he got it.

The driver looked in his rearview mirror and took a sharp breath. A black SUV was behind the van, keeping a steady distance. Before he could say anything, his coworker beat him to it. “Something might be happening.” he announced into this walkie talkie, concern rising in his voice. “Stand by.”

He was looking forward, where another black SUV merged into their lane ahead of them. Curiously, the cars in the way quickly made space for it. The van was approaching an intersection, where the lights had just turned green. But within a second, they switched back to red. Traffic came back to a confused halt.

In tandem, two motorcycles weaved through the idle vehicles to flank the van on either side. “W-what the hell?” the driver squeaked, turning towards his coworker in fear.

The coworker gulped. “We have to turn. We have no choice.” His eyes were glued to the windshield, through which the light of the SUV’s left turn signal flashed.

Sure enough, the bikers on either side were staring straight at the van, helmets covering their faces.

“We’re being forced into a turn on Mortimer Avenue.” the coworker said desperately, clenching his walkie talkie to his face. “Requesting back up.”

The light turned green, and the involuntary convoy turned to the left. The two men in the van waited in intolerable suspense as the road got narrower & quieter as they got further & further from the lively downtown. Another turn led them into a street corner, cast into shadows by the elevated rail track above. More shady-looking cars were waiting, lights off.

“What do we do!?” the driver yelled, breaking into a panic as the SUV in front slowed to a stop.

“Damn it, we need backup, now!” the coworker shouted, leaning forward.

The two bikers quickly dismounted & walked up to both doors of the van. In efficient unison, they raised silenced pistols to either window & took aim. Red covered the windshield, & the walkie talkie fell out of the worker’s lifeless hand, still no answer to be heard.

---

Detective Graham threw a folder onto Detective Perry’s desk, loud enough to snap her out of one of her working trances. “Blood test results from the warehouse.” he said plainly. Such an early hour of the morning didn’t allow for enthusiasm.

Detective Perry wordlessly snatched the folder & thumbed through it at breakneck speed. “You’re kidding.” she grinned. “There’s four DNA profiles in here. That means–”

“The three bodies were the Buckshot Boys, high-end mercenaries wanted in a dozen countries.” Graham carefully sipped his coffee, but burned his mouth anyway, trying not to sputter. “And the fourth is our perp. Human male, and the blood looks to be from a gunshot wound; they found traces of gunpowder in it. So the guy got shot & proceeded to execute three mercenaries anyway.”

Perry’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Is that all we got?”

Graham chuckled. “It’s never that easy. The DNA was corrupted by an unknown substance. That’s what the lab guys told me anyway.”

Perry leaned back in her chair. “Sounds kinda paranormal to me.” she said smugly. Before Graham could retort, she perked back up. “Oh! That reminds me, I found something interesting online this morning.”

She pulled up an e-article on her computer, from the notorious Sentry news website. The title read, “THERE’S SOMETHING NEW LURKING ON OUR STREETS”

“Don’t tell me you read this trash.” Graham said, eyebrow raised.

“Only occasionally.” Perry retorted, with no sign of guilt. “But look, our perp’s starting to make a splash.”

The image in the article was a very blurry photo probably taken from someone’s phone. It was also taken during nighttime, so it was difficult to make anything out. But in the corner of the photo were two fuzzy red dots with black circles in their center. Their perp, without a doubt.

Graham blinked in surprise. “You didn’t tell anyone about the case, did you? The last thing we need in our way is some internet sensationalism.”

Perry looked at him & shook her head in disapproval. “You really think that little of me? No, this reporter just got lucky. Her name’s Samantha Ryo.”

Graham peered past Perry to scan the article, adjusting his glasses. “How lucky?”

Perry turned back around to read aloud. “Let’s face it, our city’s streets have never been safe. But for one woman, there was hope in the scariest of places– the shadows.”

Graham skimmed ahead, without paying attention to Perry’s narration. “Hey, this is the lady in that attempted assault I intercepted. The night I saw our perp.”

Perry gasped. “She must’ve told this reporter about it.” She found an interesting excerpt & read it aloud. “Moments away from becoming yet another victim of this city’s sickness, the woman, who asked to remain anonymous, was saved by an unexplained force. Whatever it was, it was completely invisible even in the light–except for its piercing red eyes. Was it human? Was it something otherworldly, like a spirit? Maybe something sinister? Only one thing was clear in that moment–”

Graham picked up from Perry’s place. “–this force had reserved an especially dark corner of Hell for the woman’s attackers, and began sending them there with vicious, bloody fury. In a matter of seconds, the two armed men were beaten to death by the red-eyed individual, who seemed totally unscathed. It made no move towards the woman, and never looked at her once, according to her.”

“To be honest, the woman, and myself for that matter, can’t offer a reasonable explanation for this occurrence. But this isn’t the only occurrence involving the killer with red eyes, as my ongoing research has shown me, although I still need to dig deeper. I can only say one thing: this force is drawn to violent crime like a bloodhound on a hunting trail. Where exactly does this bloody trail lead? Stay posted for more updates.”

“A bloodhound, huh? Like the wrinkly dog?” Graham raised an eyebrow & stood straight again, embarrassed at how invested in that article he had gotten.

“I like it. Kinda spooky.” Perry cautiously turned towards Graham. “Better than perp, anyway. But we have to be on our best behavior now; since we’re not the only ones looking for this guy.”

“The less the media knows the better.” Graham sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Mass public hysteria is the last thing I wanna deal with.”

---

Normally, being in this room would be an incredible honor. Except of course, for situations like this one, in which it was the complete opposite.

Two individuals, on their knees, held their heads low with their arms zip tied behind their backs. A tall man in a black bomber jacket stood behind them, grimacing at the sight of them.

This was the part of the Messina Rose casino the patrons never saw; the office belonging to its owner. Marble columns rose up from velvet carpet & glossy hardwood flooring. Soft & warm embedded lighting graced the edges of the ceiling. Behind a black granite-top desk was a glossy leather swivel chair. Here sat 8-Ball, back turned to the men.

The man in the bomber jacket cleared his throat. “These are the rats I’ve been chasin’. The ones sellin’ trade secrets to your rivals and all that.”

With decisive dignity, 8-Ball rose from his chair & walked out from behind his desk. His deep purple suit was immaculately clean, with jeweled rings of every color on each finger. A shiny gold watch ticked a little after midnight.

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“Thank you, Malik. Your loyalty impresses me more every day.” As he stepped into the light, 8-Ball’s face came into view. Tailored silver-back hair and mustache gave him a devilish appearance. Over his eyes, he wore an ivory-white mask with holes in it; five on the right, three on the left. In his hand he gripped a wooden cane. Instead of a gold carving that someone of his wealth would probably have on their cane, at the end was a polished black orb with a white patch on the front, bearing the number eight. An 8-Ball, the source of his namesake. In the other hand was a silver six-shot revolver.

“As for you two gentlemen, allow me to voice the situation as I have come to understand it. And please, correct me if I say anything out of turn.” His velvety voice could put anyone at ease, even when they shouldn’t be. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, please stand. Let us talk like men.”

The two zip tied men wobbled up to their feet, after which their legs kept wobbling. “P-please boss, we had no choice–”

8-Ball held up his cane. “Let me speak first.” he began slowly pacing back & forth in front of the two men, deep in thought. “I pride myself in the family I have built over all these long years, I truly do. And every day, it is my personal responsibility–my pleasure, to ensure my family eats well. Understand my frustration when I learn some of my family members forsake everything I provide & sell themselves to a competitor. In my eyes, that is greed. And in my eyes, we have no place for greed in this family; there is nothing more detestable to me. Malik, do you agree?”

“I hear ya, boss.” Malik said as he crossed his hands, resigned to the traitors’ fates. “You’ve given me the only home I’ve ever had. And I don’t wanna share it with ingrates.”

“See?” 8-Ball laughed. “I’m not the only one. Now, like I said, I provide for my family, and all of their requests.” He turned his back to the traitors and raised his revolver. “You can get back on your knees now.” He said softly, with a bitter smile.

“Man, quit your bullshit.” one of them snapped. “You never cared about us, you’re too busy coddling your favorite kiss-asses, the “legionaries” or whatever the hell you call them.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” 8-Ball whirled around, pointing the revolver squarely at the outspoken traitor’s forehead, who gritted his teeth to brace for it. He raised his cane & gave it a swirl, churning the liquid inside the 8-ball. He looked intently at the flat end and bit his lip when he saw the response.

After a second of suspense, he lifted the revolver, and the traitor breathed a sigh of relief. “Mother favors you.” 8-Ball announced. He leaned in close and added sharply, “It would be wise to leave this city tonight. If you don’t, I can offer no guarantees that you’ll see the sunrise.” 8-Ball gestured for Malik to come and undo the zip ties, which he did without question, despite his own anger towards the two defectors. The man sprinted through the office doors in terror.

8-Ball then came to the second, who was sweating and whimpering, having knelt when instructed. Again, he pointed his revolver to the man’s forehead & swirled the 8-ball on his cane. He gazed intently at the ball’s answer. Without looking, he pulled the trigger, blowing a bloody hole through the defector’s skull.

“Outlook not so good.” 8-Ball said calmly, lifting his smoking revolver. He walked back to his desk & pushed a button under it, summoning underlings to clean up the body. He looked up to see Malik still standing there, a pensive look on his face. “Something troubling you, son?”

“Uh, yeah…listen, I said I would never ask questions but…” Malik said cautiously; he wasn’t afraid of 8-Ball, but he felt like he was being invasive. “When I questioned them, they told me what they spilled to that rival of yours. Somethin’ about a “Conviction Engine”, whatever the fuck that is.”

8-Ball chuckled. “Of course, Malik. It’s time I tell you about a project very close to my heart. Understand that very few know about this, and I’d like it to stay that way.” He leaned back into his chair, clasping his hands. “The Conviction Engine was my life’s work, an historic accomplishment that Dr. Shelley, Lord rest his soul, helped me realize.” He paused for a moment, thinking of the proper way to explain it. With a wry smile, he asked, “Tell me Malik, do you believe in ghosts?”

Malik shrugged. “Never thought about it much. But sure, why the hell not.”

“They are very real, Malik. Although not in quite the way the living think. They inhabit a realm a priest would call purgatory, although they understand it as little as the rest of us. Throughout history, there have been rare cases in which they seep into our world, finding a human host to leech off of.”

Malik smirked. “Makes me wanna watch a horror movie.” he said nonchalantly. If something wasn’t affecting him right then and there, he had no opinion on it.

“Oh, but this is much better than fiction. People who find themselves…possessed, for lack of a better term, develop extraordinary capabilities, far beyond what the human race can do.” With a grin, 8-Ball leaned on his desk. “Dr. Shelley and I have reached a landmark never before seen in all history. We have industrialized paranormal possession. That is the Conviction Engine.”

Malik was genuinely interested now. “So that’s why everyone’s got so much faith in the Legionaries. You gave ‘em some Exorcist type shit.”

“That’s the best part. If you apply some art to it, humans and ghosts can lead a perfectly symbiotic relationship–full mental control, and unparalleled power.” 8-Ball looked a tad apologetic. “I’d offer you one, Malik, but there was a malfunction with the Conviction Engine two months ago; the same accident that took Dr. Shelley.”

“Nah boss, I’m chillin’ with my body all to myself. But this latest bit of trouble, the one with the red eyes–he possessed too?”

“Most likely. I haven’t seen a vendetta like his in quite some time.” Suddenly, 8-Ball swirled around in his chair to turn his back on Malik as he contemplated. “What an idea I just had. Allow me to confer.” Again, he asked the 8-ball on his cane for an answer.

With excitement, he spun back around & smiled at Malik. “It’s been decided. We’ve recently received a second-hand shipment of experimental military hardware. I believe it’s time you became a Legionary.”

Malik looked surprised, & couldn't help but smile. “For real?”

8-Ball nodded. “I have a favor to ask first, an entrance exam if you will. Take the hardware, and dispose of this red-eyed pest with it. I have no doubt in our friends at Prince, and even less in your abilities.”

“Sick.” Malik puffed his chest. “I’ll bring what’s left of ‘em here, if you wanna frame it or somethin’.”

He turned to leave just as the cleanup crew arrived. He had never been given a task that actually challenged him, and he was determined to show his boss that this one would be no different.

---

From forty floors up, the view of New Valence was to die for. Even in the daytime when the neon slept, one could spend hours taking in the sight–the urban epitome of human development. But the great minds here at Prince Tower weren’t interested in the view, or the present world it displayed; they had their eyes set on the future. Well, money mostly, but ostensibly the future.

Every seat in this conference room was taken by big wigs in suits, a glass wall & New Valence behind them. Going through a presentation on the widescreen was Dr. Wellesley, one of Prince Industries’ top scientists. Despite this position, he had–rather embarrassingly– been denied the last five promotion opportunities. He had never lost his competitive spirit, hence why he was tackling this pitch with as much confidence as he had on his first day.

But he was just…so boring. At the head of the directors’ table was Elijah Prince, founder and CEO, his white hair & beard serving as proof of his years of experience. He sat with his hand supporting his head, trying to keep his eyelids from falling. If Dr. Wellesley was any less persistent, he would be just a part of the flow of faceless employees; instead, he’s someone Mr. Prince has come to dread seeing on his calendar.

Something about hand-held turbines? He lost interest ten slides ago. Suddenly, he felt a vibration in his pocket–the salvation he needed. Mr. Prince snapped back to life & cleared his throat. “I’m taking this.” he announced awkwardly to the room. Dr. Wellesley stopped in his tracks, hiding the annoyance he felt.

“Oliver, how kind of you to finally call me back. It’s only been all day.” Mr. Prince said sarcastically as he stepped out of the conference room.

“Sorry Dad, I’ve had a rough night.” came a young voice from the phone. “Hey, can I call you back later, I–”

“Where the hell have you been?” Mr. Prince whispered harshly as he paced across the hallway. “I gave you clear instructions.”

“Oooh…yeah, my friend’s friend was having a going-away party, & I had to show my support. Trust me, I didn’t wanna go, I would’ve much rather…what did you want me to do again?” Oliver sounded tired, like he had just woken up (well into the afternoon) & was battling a monster of a hangover. Bassy hip-hop trickled through the phone.

Mr. Prince sighed in frustration. “Honestly, I give you one job–can you turn that damn music down?”

“It’s my wake-up music.” Oliver retorted as he turned his speakers down ever so slightly.

“You were supposed to oversee our outgoing shipments. Learn yourself something about responsibility. But since you wasted the night partying, I have a major problem on my hands.”

“Uh, okay. I did oversee for almost an entire hour. The whole thing kinda runs itself, to be honest. Why are you so pressed?”

“One of our shipments was intercepted. I shouldn’t have to explain why a military contract is so crucial, or what losing what they ordered means to the company.” Mr. Prince wiped his palm down his face. “You really had no idea?”

“No, who’s stupid enough to steal from us? We run this town.”

“If you’re really my only heir I hope I live forever.” Mr. Prince muttered. “Now I have to grovel to our ‘benefactor’ and arrange for the replacement of the stolen hardware. That’s what I get for trying to give you free life experience.”

Oliver took a bite of the sandwich he had been making the whole time. “Dad, remember what I said about catastrophizing? Things will work out, they always do.” he turned away from the phone to spit out the bite. “This is not real Black Forest ham, fuck that butcher.”

“I swear to God, Oliver, you’re going to be the death of me.” Mr. Prince took a deep breath to regain his composure. “I’ve got a meeting to go back to.” Before Oliver could say anything, he hung up & returned to the conference room.

“Alright, Dr. Wellesley, we’ll fund your—eh, wind project.” he announced, deciding he was in too foul a mood to stay there any longer.

“Really!?” Dr. Wellesley said, immediately snapping out of his boredom from waiting on Mr. Prince’s return. “Thank you, sir, I swear you won’t regret it.”

The seated council members all turned to Mr. Prince in surprise, & he shot them a look which said ‘we’ll smooth this out later.’ He sank into his chair, trying to think of a best-case scenario for the future of the company he had painstakingly built. How much higher could he take it, he wondered, if he wasn’t shackled by monthly tribute payments.

---

In the wee hours of that night, the dorm room was dead silent. Theo was fast asleep, as he had been since 8:30, while Nathan stared up at the wall in bed, not the least bit tired.

His phone vibrated next to him, & he shot it a glance. He knew he shouldn’t check it; the brightness would ruin any chance he had of falling asleep in the next hour. After a moment, he checked it anyway.

A fist of disgust clenched his stomach. It was an automated alert. A child had just gone missing in the Graffiti Quarter.

Nathan turned off his phone & clenched it tightly. Quietly as he could, he descended his loft bed & dove into his closet.

It only took him half a minute to go from pajama pants to his full outfit. As he swept his long burgundy coat over his shoulders, he steeled himself for what he was about to do. “Time to go to work.” he whispered.

Turning to the mirror on the wall, all he could see in the reflection were his eyes. Flickering to life as if they were neon, their red glow pierced the darkness, sharp enough to draw blood.