High humidity hung thick in the hazy air of the rising sun out in the bayou. The overpowering song of the insects clashed with crowing of roosters to welcome the rising sun. Harold Stevens awoke, hungover from the previous night. Drank too much cheap bourbon while losing money hand over fist at the local saloon. He couldn't remember how he got home. His routine didn't change just because of a hangover, fishing at dawn is how he made a living.

Harold trudged down to the dock that stretched out over muddy swamp water, his fat calico cat, Cash, hot on his heels. Nothing in the traps from overnight. Harold took a swig from the bottle of bourbon he kept on the dock, he'd have to do it the old fashioned way. He baited up some poles and cast the lines out. Fish didn't seem too interested this morning, Harold only caught two, gave one to Cash for breakfast.

As the sun rose higher into the summer sky Harold spied something shiny in the mud a hundred yards downstream. Harold and Cash did what they always did when something caught their eye, they indulged their curiosity. The shiny spot was only a tiny piece of something much bigger. Harold struggled to get the heavy thing unstuck from the muddy bank of the swamp. Cash was no help.

Harold managed to wrench his catch out of the mud and onto solid ground, he'd never seen anything like it. A shiny metal man, well, one without a face. "The fuck is this?" Harold wondered aloud. Cash meowed back. "Let's get it on the dock, don't want any nosy gators checking it out too."

Harold carried the metal man like a soldier helping his wounded comrade escape enemy fire, making it to the dock slowly but surely. He laid it on its back and wiped some more mud and other accumulated flotsam and jetsam from it. It was cold to the touch, didn't have any give when Harold poked it with a stick. Cash jumped up to get a good look.

"Get off there! You don't know where this thing's been.....or what it is." Harold barked. Whatever it was, it looked real fancy, and expensive. No rivet holes, no welding, one solid piece. As Harold thought about how to make a profit on this find, it sat up at the waist. A series of bleeps and bloops emanated from hidden speakers. Lines of green text scrolled quickly over its "face".

Harold drew his six shooter, aiming it directly at the thing's head. Didn't pull the trigger, bullets were expensive. A cold, monotone voice spoke out.

"Diagnostics complete. Memory banks: critical damage sustained. Power supply: critical damage sustained. Exoskeleton protective coating: Nominal damage. Searching for network.......no network found. Starting in power saving mode, estimated remaining time til shutdown........seventeen hours."

Cash bashed his head against the metal man's side, looking for attention. Harold kept his gun trained on the thing. "You can talk?"

"Yes. I am fluent in over one hundred languages."

"You got a name?"

"This unit is designated Intergalactic Voyage Admiral of Navigation. They called me Ivan for short."

"You're a space man?"

"I am an older model of a virtual intelligence housed inside this spacesuit, I was built on terra firma."

Harold scratched his head with the barrel of his six shooter. "Where's that?"

"Earth."

"That's a fancy name for it. How'd you get here?"

"Accessing memory banks.......it appears my journey here is unrecorded in my memory. May I ask the date so that I may attempt to narrow my search, maybe the file is mislabeled."

"It's uh Thursday, I know that. Um.....shit what is the date today? I think it's the twenty third of March." Harold replied, he honestly didn't know, time on the bayou can be tricky.

"Year?"

"I know that, it's eighteen thirty-two."

"Searching.......it appears my memory stops right after the big flash of light."

"Walk the wrong way down a train tunnel?" Harold joked.

"There was an electro-plasmatic anomaly located near a binary star in quadrant forty-two, I was sent to investigate, I was expendable."

"Sounds like you got some nice friends." Harold chuckled, taking a big swig of bourbon.

"I was built to serve a purpose, nothing more." A series of beeps echoed in the air. "Power calculations updated, time until shutdown: eight minutes."

An awkward silence hung in the air. Ivan broke it, a panel slid open from its chest. It handed Harold a stack of papers filled with blueprints, diagrams, and walls of text.

"What's this?" Harold asked.

"My design documentation. Everything one needs to repair or rebuild models such as myself. Maybe one day I can be useful again." Ivan laid back down on the dock, powering down.

Harold looked through the papers, he wished he could read.

Everybody knows about Santa's toy workshop in the North Pole. Less talked about are the lower-class elves who slave away in the South Pole's coal mines, gathering the rocks to fill the stockings of naughty children.

The working conditions in the mines were barely tolerable. It was hot, filthy and generally unpleasant. There was no sun, nor birdsong, nor feeling of comfort.

"Every year its the same thing," Gluggagaegir grumbled. He was a grizzled old elf with a long scraggly grey beard and a miserable droop to his large pointed ears. The blue overalls he wore were covered in coal dust, and his ruddy face was also blackened with the stuff. "We spend the week leading up to Christmas stuck down here while Santa's elves get to hang out in their nice clean toyshop. At least they have air conditioning."

"Quit yer complainin' will ya?" Ruprecht griped from his position down the line. "Its Christmas Eve. The sooner we get this done the sooner we can stop."

"Heads up, guys!" Belsnickel yelled from the mouth of the mine. Belsnickel was the supervisor and Head Elf, despite being the youngest. The others resented him for this, and he was often the butt of their jokes, but the words 'heads up' always got their undivided attention as they knew what was to come next. "The boss is coming!"

The other elves froze, standing at attention. The very air itself filled with tension as they heard the boss's footfalls approaching, the heavy clip-clop of his cloven hooves echoing around them. Moments later, his towering form came into view. His yellow eyes glinted in the light of the flaming torches that lined the walls. The tips of his sharp horns scratched the rocky ceiling as the mine barely accomodated his seven-foot-tall frame.

He eyed the sacks of coal critically, not speaking a word for what felt like an eternity.

"Nice job, boys," Krampus finally spoke. His tone was soft and almost deadpan, but edged with approval. "Let's go visit some naughty children, shall we?"

So this is actually the idea for a potential tabletop campaign. It's probably never going to happen so I might as well spew it here.

We enter the Bright Lady's meeting room. The private one; no more are we rank-and-file, to be addressed from the Radiant Throne. After the bestowing of Her Gifts, we are shining with Her grace; we are her Immortals. She beams at us.

"Brilliant. I hope you are all enjoying your newfound power. You will need it in the trials ahead."

"We are ready, my Lady," says Owain, dutifully, "what would you ask of us?"

Her benevolent smile brightens for a moment, before suddenly fading as She speaks, "It is my children. You may or may not be aware of them already. They have... they are... their time is up. I have failed, as matriarch, and it is time to clean up my mistakes. For this duty, you have been selected, my most devoted, most dedicated, and most skilled disciples."

One or two of us shift uneasily. It isn't pleasant hearing your god admit to failure, no matter how devoted you are to them. I risk a question, "My Lady... How could we possibly compare to ones borne from Your power?"

She comes over to me and rests reassuring hands on my shoulders. They seem impossibly warm, as if even Her fingertips are capable of a loving embrace, "Your doubt is understandable, but I ask you trust in the Gifts I have provided. I know my children, and I know that you are capable of this task."

She turns away, collecting herself for a moment before once again addressing us all, "My children... For those of you who may not be aware, there are five of them. Each was supposed to be an extension of my will, an expression of my grace... Alas, it is never so easy. Your task is to find and kill each of them. Yes, I know... Believe me, this is not an easy order for me to give. I also ask you to bring me a piece of each, partly as proof that the deed is done, but also because I believe I can use their residual power to enhance my Gifts to you.

"My Firstborn thinks Himself a god of war. He knows nothing of it; never has He seen a baggage train, managed the logistics of a frontline, orchestrated a battle plan... no, He is merely a god of violence. I am told He spends His days in His own fighting pits, looking for worthy challengers. With my Gifts, you may turn out to be just that. Bring me His heart. It surely beats with the strength of a warrior. I will grant that strength to you.

"My Secondborn... My only daughter... She showed such promise. She styled Herself after me, aspiring to become Her own kind of matriarch. She soon realised She was far more interested in the prelude to motherhood. It didn't take long for Her to grow bored of that, and begin seeking further pleasures. Her city now stands as a fortress of hedonism, a pit of debauchery. The delights within are fit to enrapture a mortal mind. Thankfully, you are no longer mortal, at least in body. Perhaps that is enough. Her liver must be either incredibly strong or incredibly damaged. Either way, I am sure I could put it to good use.

"Ah, the Thirdborn. Was it middle-child syndrome, perhaps? Or was He always this way? There were worrying signs early in His life, but of course they only appear as such in retrospect. His work should be familiar to any of you who have had the misfortune to be assigned to the northern patrols; His monstrous abominations continue to spread across the taiga. Quite where He gets enough bodies to create such beings - and, for that matter, to build and maintain His flesh-castle - is a mystery to me. If you could uncover the explanation for this on your way to Him, I would most appreciate it. And from Him, take His brain, twisted though it may be.

"My Fourthborn... the stillborn... it still hurts to think about Him. Had I known that he could recover... Alas, what is done is done. Now His hatred fuels Him, and I fear that will make Him the most dangerous of my children. Thankfully, it also means He stands alone; no city, no castle, no kingdom, no people. This, of course, also mean I have little-to-no intelligence on Him. You shall have to find Him yourself. I trust in your ability to do so. When you do, boil away his flesh, and bring me his bones. Bleached, ideally, though I appreciate you may not be able to do that in the field.

"My Fifthborn, finally coming of age. The only one of my children to not openly oppose me. He thinks that, by keeping His sinister treachery secret, He is safer for it. He is wrong. Seek Him to the south-east, in the city of Cerulea. Beware: he is a guest in that city, and under their protection. I would rather you did not cause a diplomatic incident. He has put His lungs to such excellent use... I must have them."

Note that the above introduction of each child isn't how it was supposed to be - they're meant to be introduced one by one, linearly, as the players defeat each prior child. Oh well, it still kinda works.

The thing about humans is that they know how to break all of the codes. There is nothing unnatural to them, and only the fabric of society creates a precarious relationship between what can and can't be. Fortunately, all other creatures in the world had unwritten codes they couldn't help but to follow. These were codes not written in some capricious global sandstone, but chiseled in diamond holds. The monsters, the undead, the mystic, and the supernatural were forever fettered.

Had.

Were.

Supposedly forever fettered.

The thing about humans is that they know how to break all of the codes. While scientists, whether sane or mad, were always a danger to the status quo, there were enough eyes watching to keep them at bay, and the dangers of the other-sentients were kept safely in lock and key.

But there were no eyes on the undead creatures who were human once. No one ever thought that a supernatural created from a human could possibly bring with them the unpredictable habit of change. But the undead are long lived, and the supernatural world was to learn that human tendencies had a way of resurfacing. Unpredictable daisies, the humans were. It wasn't even the eldest of the vampires that figured it out.

It was how the vampire trio broke from convention - miniscule step at a time - and began to behave in ways vampires should never be able to manage. Their rise was the fall of many hunters, and the beginning of raging, covetous war among the undead to get beyond their own supposedly unchangeable natures.

....

// Criticism/Questio s welcome, followed the prompt to go back and edit just once, but I know how word salady I get without editing several times over.

“Hey, you’re Cade Lear, right?”, Natalie happily asked, “The new guy? Oh, is it alright if I call you that? Or you prefer another…?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I usually go with ‘they / them’, but you can also use ‘he’ or ’she’, I wouldn’t mind”, Cade casually explains, “Same with ‘mister’ or ‘miss’, either of them is fine.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And yes. That’s me, Cade Lear”, Cade lends out a hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you… um…”

“Natalie Carol, Nata for short”, Natalie took her hand, giving a small but welcoming shake, “Welcome to the PCID, Cade. We’re glad to have you here.”

After they let go, Natalie picks up the glass kettle, pouring out some hot coffee, “Would you like some coffee? I guarantee you the drinks here are nothing like those crappy, cheap ones you saw at other offices.”

“I’d love to. Thank you.”

Cade takes a warm cup Natalie handed to her, filled with black coffee, fresh and steaming. They blew on the hot drink, took a quick sip. Wow, they are absolutely astonished by the incredible taste of bitter mixed with sweet. Natalie was right, this stuff is ambrosia.

“Hm, this is good. Did you made this?”

“No, it was Kallen, our boss man”, Natalie puts back the kettle, “He rocks this stuff.”

Cade’s eyes landed on the small logo sticker on the object, the logo of their department, “Um, mind I ask?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why is ‘PCID’ named… like that?”, Cade points at the logo, “It’s called ‘Paranormal Counsel and Investigation Department’, right?”

Natalie leans back at the counter, hands resting on both sides, “Yes. And Kallen is the one coming up with the name.”

“Huh…”

“And yeah, it actually sounds better if we use ‘Supernatural’ instead of ‘Paranormal’, seeing what our department expertise in. But when you write out the acronym, it will spell ‘SCID’. We don’t want our department to share its name with a disease now, do we?”

Cade laughs, “No, I guess. The name was not very cash money.”

“See, you get it now.”

(CRITICISM WELCOMED! :)

Avika glanced at the clock. 12:30. There was 5 minutes until lunch, the time she dreaded the most, but also anticipated the most. Lunch was a nightmare, but it was better than sitting through a boring lecture of things she already knew. She glanced at the clock again. Still 12:30. “Jesus, why can’t time pass faster?!” she thought. But that’s the weird thing about time. 5 minutes can either be an instant or an eternity. In this case, it was an eternity. As if the universe was finally listening to her, the big minute hand shifted to the left. 12:31. Time crawled by, but it crawled. Another minute. And another. And another. Until finally, it was 12:35. But the teacher said nothing. Avika gave her a look that was practically demanding her to let the class leave. But she waited. 12:36. Finally, the dreaded and anticipated words were spoken. “Alright everyone, it is time for lunch. Leave your stuff and we’ll pick up where we left off later.” Everyone left, buzzing with excitement and chatter. Mindless chatter. Behind her, Avika’s classmate and childhood friend, Isaac Lambert, addressed her. “Hey.” Avika jumped, not expecting Isaac to be there. “What the h3ll is wrong with you?! Who goes up to someone without warning and-“ She was cut off by Isaac before she could finish her scolding. “Sorry, sorry. Anyway, you sitting with me and the rest?” She stared at him. She has a way of communicating her message without even lifting a finger. “Does it look like I have anywhere else to go? Tell your idiot friends I’ll be joining them.” Isaac smiled at her, which triggered an emotion she couldn’t explain. As she walked down the familiar hallways, she noticed all the groups, people that belonged with each other, and she couldn’t help but feel lonely, but she brushed it off. As she entered the cafeteria, she looked for any familiar faces. She found three. Rowan Hartley, Varush Kumar, and Matheo Alburez. They were friends with Isaac, and social outcasts. Varush greeted her, and patted the seat next to him. She sat on the opposite side. Soon, the rest of the group arrived. Wolfe Zielski, Clayton Howard, and Isaac, who are also outcasts. The entire group consisted of outcasts who no one cares about. They all knew each other and were close. All except Avika. She was an outcast in a group of outcasts. The whole conversation was a blur for Avika, except for one thing. “Hey, do you guys want to come over tonight?” Isaac gestured to Avika, inviting her as well. “We can play games, and summon demons!” Avika facepalmed, before replying “Do you even know how to summon a demon?” He bit his lip, and looked to the side. “Seriously?! Anyone?!” The whole group stared in silence. Not only because they had no clue, but also because Avika actually talked to them. She sighed, and then replied “Lucky for you, I know how to. I’ll come. Give me the date and address.” There are some moments that feel irrelevant, but end up being either an amazing or terrible decision. For Avika, this was one of those life changing moments.

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