A few weeks ago

"Why me?" I asked.

Walker didn't look up from his plate. Steak and mashed potatoes. Filling, if a bit bland and old-fashioned. I guess you are what you eat.

"Because, Mr. Wolfe, the other people powerful enough for this position lack either your discipline or your..." He smiled. "Moral compass. Or both. I think we could do worse than you, no?"

"What about Dresden?" I suggested, just to see his reaction.

Walker frowned briefly. "Do you truly have so much faith in him?"

"Dresden is a good guy. He knows his shit, and his heart is in the right place."

"But..." Walker said, waiting for me to go on.

"But, while he loves what the establishment can do for him, he hates the thought of what it can do to him." I said bluntly.

Walker raised an eyebrow. "Are you comfortable sharing this opinion of your...acquaintance, with me?"

"Why, are you going to snitch to him and burn the bridge between us? Don't bother. I've already told him."

"Is that why you meet so rarely these days?" Walker asked, sounding both amused and curious. I didn't answer.

We were in the Londinium Club. Oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside, allegedly founded when London still bore its Roman name. Walker was a long-standing member, to my utter lack of surprise, and I was only able to enter as his guest.

Just as well. The Doorman should be grateful he didn't get into my face.

"A single man can't keep order in a normal city, let alone a madhouse like the Nightside," I replied. "You may be able to call on help from outside, and you have your mercs and combat sorcerers, but the Nightside needs real law enforcement."

"I'm sure you will find eager volunteers, my friend. Especially after your recent heroic stunt."

I told him my idea, and what resources I would need for a start, and Walker nodded. "I can provide that, of course. Provided it works, it should take a load off my shoulders, let me concentrate on putting out the bigger fires... yes. Yes. Young people are so full of energy, and there are worse ways to channel it than public service. I should know. One of my sons is in the army."

Due to my wolfish nature, I do not have eyebrows. In response, my face has become more expressive. "You never talk about your family," I said carefully.

"No, I don't."

We talked some more, discussing sectors and patrol routes, protocols and uniforms. At the end, Walker, having finished his meal, nodded, sat up and put his bowler hat back on.

"I have never been a soldier, Mr. Wolfe, nor a policeman. As such, I defer to your expertise."

He extended his hand, and, God forgive me, I shook it.

Now

And that was how the Nightguard was born. The first Guards were, as Walker had predicted, volunteers, people who loved the chaos of the Nightside in general, but wanted a little structure in their lives and the lives of their loved ones. Others were fans, admirers of me or the Hexarchy, who hoped to work alongside their heroes.

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As Captain of the Nightguard, my days were spent snooping around HQ, checking if everything was ok. The rest of the time, I patrolled. Sometimes alone, sometimes with my troops.

Because you can't keep a lid on the Nightside with anything less than an army. At least I was back in an uniform now. Grey ballistic plates over a thick grey bodysuit, with a full, white moon inside a black shield on the shoulder guards. We needed a symbol, and Walker's suggestions lacked imagination.

As I walked the streets, my multigun slung over my back, most poeple reacted to me. Most just nodded, a few waved and some flipped me off. Because I was the face of the Nightguard, and people thought of me whenever we did something.

That had to change. My people couldn't keep living in my shadow, or they'd never be taken seriously.

I made my way to the Pit, a masochistic fetish club, where people can either pretend to suffer or look at those who do. Voyeurs.

The bouncers at the door were short, stunted shrimps-by my standards, at least. But I couldn't view them favorably with the kind of shitstains they protected. They nodded when they saw me, and moved aside to let me enter.

"Walker letting you off the leash?" One of them, apparently feeling brave, blurted out as I walked past them. I stopped, looking down at him.

"Yeah," I growled, barring my fangs. "Wanna go to him and keep it warm for me?"

He didn't answer. Probably had a crisis of common sense.

Allegedly, the Pit's managers were demons who had escaped from Hell because they though the Nightside would be an easier mark. I hadn't found anything about their supposed true nature, but maybe my Lieutenant had.

Chris Gordon stood in one corner of the club, a Bud's Light in his hand. He waved me over to him. Chris was in plainclothes tonight, the better to scout out this place. His skills since he had worked as a cop in New York were rusty, and he wanted to get back into shape. And, if he kicked some demon ass in the meantime, so much the better.

"Hey, boss. Done terrorizing the secretaries?" Chris asked after I walked over to him, forcing my way through the crowd with a combination of bulk and reputation.

"For tonight. You got anything?"

He nodded. "There's a pair of demonic presences above us." He gestured at the ceiling. The managers' office was on the second floor.

"I can't smell anything. You sure?" I asked.

"It's not like that, Jay. You wouldn't be able to spot them, because demons are not of this world. At least, you shouldn't be able to smell them while they're disguised..." Chris trailed off, looking at something behind me. My nose wrinkled at the smell of formaldehyde, and I sighed inwardly.

"Nicholson!" Dead Boy said cheerfully, clapping me on the shoulder. "Fancy meeting you here!"