Their journey was not easy going as what the roads of this world lacked in motor vehicles it more than made up for in horse-drawn wagons, carts and buggies. Even the trams here relied on the efforts of animals rather than the power of the motor engine or electricity, with only the presence of the occasional carriage car, vehicles belonging to the filthiest of the filthy rich of the city, breaking that delusion of primitivity, those automobiles quickly making their way in the opposite direction of where the Beast and its occupants now made haste to reach.

“Right,” Frank went on, “so we all understand what’s at stake here, right? We don’t talk about it—we don’t allude to it—we do not even think about it! So, we all on the same page here?! Good!”

Though he did not reply, the kid, rather than maintaining that same apathetic attitude that he had shown since joining up with them, seemed to take Frank’s demand seriously.

“Hey, kid?!” Donny then called out.

“Donny, it’s over; let it…” Frank began.

“NO. Kid, Goodie, you said Understanding had you? That they questioned you? Why didn’t they ask about any of this? Surely they would have wanted to know about your military and such?”

There was a certain stink to the way he said “Your”, the man’s doubts in the kid’s story still not fully assuaged, but that was not the important matter right now.

“They did; they just didn’t ask what I specifically knew, and what with the guards having plenty of guns and all, I didn’t see the point in offering something they clearly already had.”

“So, they don’t know that you know how…”

Frank growled.

“…that you know what you know?” asked Donny, slightly changing course.

“Not as far as I know. And honestly, they didn’t take anything else I told them seriously. Like you, most just thought I was some weird kid spinning tales. Even the guy in charge of bringing me here was more interested in the how of it rather than anything I had to say to ‘em.”

Frank and Donny relaxed a little, then; idiotic oversight from the Department of Higher Understanding was not only believable but practically a requirement of the job. Still, neither of the two had any delusions about just how dangerous a situation they were now in. The kid was a grenade, live and ready to blow at any moment.

But the gleam in Frank’s eyes told Donny that they were still going to make the kid a partner, if not for the money, then for Frank’s deranged obsession with not only locating every pitfall in existence but also in dragging his far more intelligent partner into diving head first into each and every one of them.

However, all of that would have to come after they dealt with whatever this new mess was.

Their truck had a hard time dealing with the traffic so far, but as they approached their destination the roads became more vacant, the plethora of horse-drawn transportation giving way to foot traffic as people without other options made to flee the area, then nothing as the trio made their way into already abandoned streets, their brief moment of unhindered speed following that then soon brought to a sudden halt as they approached the first barricade.

The police had been quick to cordon off the area, the military likewise, though they were only just arriving themselves, the target of that cordon being the museum in the distance. Again.

“Every three GODDAMNED years!” Frank swore out loud as they approached. “Hey, hey, pull up here,” he said as he pointed to his left.

As the truck turned, Frank rolled down his window and yelled out, “Hey! Donnelly!

“That you, Sullivan?” a forty-something cop called out.

“You know anyone else with a smile as pretty as mine?” Frank answered with a flash of his pearly whites.

The officer just waved a hand as he rolled his eyes, shouting out a moment later at a pair of other policemen behind the barricade.

“Yeah, let ‘em through! More freelancers!”

The makeshift wall comprised of cop cars broke as two vehicles parted, and the Beast soon rolled back into a flurry of activity as it was once again freed to speed along, to then come to another blockade, this one surrounding their destined point of interest.

The area in front of the Museum of Arcane Curiosities, an ostentatious monstrosity of marble and glass, was abuzz as people, military personnel, police, and freelancers alike scurried to and fro like headless chickens as they tried to get control over whatever was happening here.

Gunshots echoed out of the entrance to the museum then, the sound greatly muffled by the glass and steel of the truck. From where they were, Donny and Frank could just about see two people, one half-carrying the other, the latter missing their arm and bleeding profusely, leaping from the darkness beyond the large oaken doors of the entrance to that building, a shrill screech echoing out after them as they tumbled into the light, near blinded by the sudden glare of the sun. The more intact of the two screamed something as he dragged the other towards the perimeter set up by the military, several officers and soldiers training their weapons on them in response as the duo made their way forward.

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“God’s breath,” Frank exclaimed, “that’s the Kingston boys!”

“Two of them,” Donny noted, the implication of that observation unspoken.

“Yeah…” Frank said as he opened his door and got out, Donny following a moment after. Before either of the doors fully closed, Frank’s side pulled open again, the man then leaning in part way to look at the boy whom he pointed a finger at while commanding, “YOU, you stay in here and don’t talk to anyone; got it? Anyone!” To then exit again, slamming the door shut in frustration as he did.

The boy watched the two of them leave, hearing Donny’s muffled voice chewing his partner out for needlessly slamming the door, something the ginger-haired individual next to him waved off as the man focused on the two people who had exited the building, the pair now being escorted to a medical tent of some sort, his attention then moving on to a gathering of individuals dressed much like himself. A cluster of trench coats and fedoras collected just behind a cordoned-off area to the side, well within sight of the museum, but far enough that it would not be the first target to be hit if the unfortunate were to occur.

The name for the gathering was some complicated, bureaucratic thing, but it was essentially a registration centre where those participating in this mess could get it written so on the record, otherwise becoming illegible for remuneration once everything was done.

Being a hero was all well and good, but it was also a fool’s game. The deal with the freelancers was that each of them would retain their independence from the system that governed such bodies similar to theirs, like the army and police force—and that extended to both the detriments and benefits of said oversight—in exchange for their obedience to the written law and the established power structure, and the mandatory offering of their services during emergencies such as the one happening right now. It sounded like a con job, the government obviously getting more from it than they were, but the freelancers were allowed a measure of liberty not afforded to the arguably more powerful organisations, and in this world, freedom was sometimes the most precious of things one could ever attain. And the most fleeting.

Technically, none of them had to be paid for ‘volunteering’, but the heads of the colonies were not stupid, despite what most would claim, and would always offer a carrot when brandishing the stick.

Make submission always be the more convenient option; A lesson for tyrants everywhere.

“Frank. Donald.”

“Germain,” Donny replied as he and Frank joined the line, to a man who was nondescript in all ways but for the fact that his skin was the darkest of browns, almost black in hue. A refugee from the dark continent, a place that served to remind everyone that no matter what horrors might assail them within the colonies, there were always worse places to be.

“Every four years, am I right?”

“Three,” Frank shot back.

Germain gave him a quizzical, “Mmmno, four.”

“Noooo, three,” the ginger detective corrected.

‘Oh, gods!’ Donny rolled his eyes and turned away, neither having the time nor patience for the stupidity that seemed to afflict everyone but himself. He tried moving forward when Germain’s hand shot out.

“Where you goin’, tall man? Back in line.”

Donny raised both of his hands in surrender as he moved back a step.

Frank and Germain returned to their argument, going back and forth about the particulars of what differences lay between three and four as the line moved along, an awkward silence then filling the air as their discourse eventually died down, the three men soon joining the others in the crowd of freelancers in eyeing the museum.

“Noticed the Kingston boys,” Frank stated.

“M’hm,” Germain answered.

“Two of three.”

“M’hm,” Germain repeated, his tone far more serious now.

“Any chance the third’s down with the flu?” Donny asked.

Germaine said nothing then.

Off in the distance, an elderly gentleman wearing a charcoal-grey suit of some branch or other of the government took a stand on top of a crate. Pointless, as both the man and the box were rather short, the fool’s effort only barely raising his head above the front row of the crowd. It did not particularly matter as he was the standard Understanding flunky, come to tell the ignorant thugs that that enlightened lot took Frank and the others for “What was what”.

And it was only the ignorant that would ever bother to listen to such idiots. Anyone who survived in the business already knew what to expect. And if they did not? Well, less competition for the rest of them, then.

Something to do with shadows.

Frank and Donny spotted it when they saw the Kingstons fall out of that doorway, the darkness within and behind those two unnatural in that it was completely black. The windows, too, if you looked at them quickly enough. A real shadow would have darkened by degrees, not turned pitch black all at once, and even in total darkness, the merest of light would have diluted the veil with ease. But here, underneath the afternoon sun? The dark should not have been that dark.

‘Yeah,’ Frank thought. “Freaky shadow stuff.”

Not that that said much. Even if they knew what type of phenomena it was, like humans, horrors each had their quirks and oddities, so identifying the type was more or less akin to learning someone’s surname. An identifier that said nothing about the individual it identified.

“Be a massacre come dark,” Germain commented nonchalantly.

Forcing the words past his newly lit cigarette as he took a lungfull, Donny replied, “Military’ll send us in long before then.”

“You’re implying we can do something to stop whatever’s in there,” Germaine questioned.

“Well, we can,” Frank said as he gave a barking laugh, ego driving him to do so.

“But in case we can’t, you wanna team up? Equal divi, o’ course?” Donny asked Germain as Frank gave a pair of hurt, puppy-dog eyes and then a frown at having his manliness ignored.

“Better alive than rich,” the dark-skinned man answered him.

“Ehhh,” Frank said as he questioned that statement.

Ignoring his partner, Donny asked the overgrown child, “You got your stuff?”

“What’ya take me for?” Frank answered while subtly feeling to check that he had indeed brought his tools.

Mostly the standard affair, their agency was a modest one, or “piss broke” as Francine would have put it, but the two of them had managed two gather a decent array of items over the years. Mostly from the bodies of fallen freelancers, so nothing that either of them should have been placing any bets on, but such was their life. Still, quantity was also a form of quality. Hopefully enough so that the number of talismans dangling from Frank’s neck would save his hide should worse come to it. He could not let himself die now that he had finally found his payday in that kid back in their truck.

The only ones that truly mattered were his St. Jude medallion and the chicken’s foot he got from a mad shaman back when he was still a cop.

“How long?”

“Hm?” Frank asked as he looked at Germain.

“How long you think they keep us?” Germain repeated, nodding his head towards the flunky.

“Well, how long does it normally take to screw things up?” Franks asked sardonically.

They would still need to register; after that would come the wait for the military to unveil their astounding plan to get everyone killed, then may…

Frank squinted.

“Hey, Donny?”

“Yeah, Frank?”

“Turn your eyes left.”

The tall, raven-haired man pretended to scratch his neck as he turned his head towards whatever his partner had indicated, his eyes landing on a number of marked crates. Ammo crates.

“Won’t do us much good in there,” Germain noted.

“Yeah,” Frank countered, “but free is free. And ammo ain’t coming easy these days.”

“Since when did ammo ever come easy?” Germain asked, his forehead frowning in feigned confusion. He then turned to Frank before the man could answer, adding, “And how old are you that you can remember it?”

Donny interrupted before they could start another argument.

“Frank? Frank?!”

“What?!”

“They’re giving out free ammo.”

“Yeah, I just…oh, godsDAMNIT!” Frank cursed as he realised what Donny was getting at.

The military preferred to bleed before they parted with anything; if they were offering free ammo, something bad must have happened. Something worse than the usual.

“GODSDAMNIT, DONNY,” Frank yelled, not having anyone else to blame.

“What’d I do?!”