My name is John Taylor. Five years ago, I left the Nightside, fleeing my enemies with a bullet in my back, and swore to never return.

I should have known better than to use words like "never". I have a gift for finding things, though I cannot use it at will:it blazes like a star in the night, drawing the attention of my enemies, who send their monsters after me.

I have been hounded by them since childhood-since my father drank himself to death after learning his wife was not human. I do not remember my mother. I do not know what she was-the only thing I cannot find.

Now, I have returned to the Nightside, hired to find a mother's estranged daughter. The mother, Joanna, has insisted on coming along, despite my protests and warnings. But I couldn't argue with her money.

Before I left, I was known as a great detective-a misconception, as I wouldn't know a clue if you smacked me with it- and a ruthless bastard you didn't want to cross. In my absence, the former part of the reputation has been taken over by Harry Dresden, and the latter by James Stark, known as Sandman Slim.

A pyromaniac wizard and a kleptomaniac mercenary. See what happens when I'm away?

During my visit to Strangefellows-my old watering hole, owned by my old friend Alex Morrissey- I also met Jason Wolfe, one of the Nightside's new sensations. Allegedly not a werewolf, Wolfe had played bouncer for Alex a few times when the Coltranes had been indisposed. He was calm, disciplined and even friendly, unlike any were I knew. Maybe...

Jason was following along now, also to my protests. But it's unwise to argue with people who can rip out your spine and wear it like a belt, however friendly they seem. He was wearing a thick Kevlar bodysuit, covered in centimeters-thick ballistic plates. It looked like it could stop a tank shell. A human couldn't have stood up in it, but Jason had to slow down so he didn't outpace us.

In his right paw-er,hand-he held a monstrous, multi-barelled gun. It was heavier than me, but he swung it around like a feather. According to him, it contained all kinds of rounds: silver, wooden,incendiaries, holy water. Horses for courses, I suppose.

Slim, the aforementioned klepto merc, had also come along, followed by Suzie Shooter, also known as Shotgun Suzie. The reason for the bullet in my back, five years ago. I'd have to ask why, at some point.

Slim carried several guns, as well as enchanted objects that made my kit look like a street magicians bag of tricks. He wasn't especially forthcoming on their origin, or on how he'd gotten his grubby paws on them.

Slim was as charming as he was handsome-not at all- and seemed to dislike me, for some reason. I'd warned him that we wouldn't split the money for the case,and he'd scoffed.

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'You can shove it up your ass. I'm doing this for the kid, not her dumbass mom and her cash.'

Well, well. We all had hidden depths, it seemed. Even if Slim could barely go three words without swearing.

After we left Strangefellows, I used my gift to, once again, track Cathy Barret down. She was on Blaiston Street, and seemed to have gone there on her own accord. Was she insane?

Also, after leaving the bar, I got the feeling... sonething should have happened. My old sometimes friend, Razor Eddie, punk god of the straigh razor, had met us in the bar and warned me to watch my back. But nothing had happened, and that was not normal, in the Nightside.

Was Eddie playing a prank on me? I shuddered at the thought. He'd been scary enough without a sense of humour. No. I'd just have to trust his instincts.

As our group of misfits reached Blaiston, I laid eyes on two people. They didn't seem the hopeless, homeless sort of fellows one found on the street. So, why were they here? For the view?

One was a muscular chap, slightly shorter than me and purple-eyed. The other was nearly seven feet tall, muscular in a lean sort of way and wearing a duster.

I looked down at my white trenchcoat, then Slim's brown one. I was starting to see a pattern...

'Whoa! What's up with so many people here?' Duster asked. "You came for the view too?'

'Fuck off, Dres. Why are you here? Don't you have a building to set on fire?' Slim asked. So, this was Dresden. My...successor. Wonder how good he was.

Dresden glared. 'It was one time, and it wasn't my fault. Why are you here, Stark? Don't you have a car to hijack?'

'Not really, no. They keep trying to eat my dick, so I blow them up.'

'Never knew you had one...'

'You-'

'Gentlemen!' Joanna interjected, to my surprise. 'Please. I think we are all here for the same reason. Aren't we, Mr.Dresden?' She asked, looking up at him.

Dresden did not meet her eyes-why?- but nodded. 'Maybe. I'm tracking a runaway, and met Chris here by chance.'

'Hi,' the muscular fellow said, smiling. 'Chris Gordon. Are you, by any chance, the girl's mother?'

Joanna smiled, eyes brightening. 'Yes, I-'

And that was when it hit us. The timeslip, I mean.

The Nightside is connected to all places and times, and sometimes, they take over areas of the city. We call them timeslips.

We found ourselves in a ruined city. The buildings were cracked and toppled, and looked centuries-old. There was no moon in the sky, and only a few dim stars. What had happened? What could change the world like this?

The others spread into a circle, surrounding Joanna. Impressive, without prior training and shared experience. They looked around for threats, but I, at least, couldn't see anything.

And then, we heard the bugs.