On an uneventful night, in an unremarkable city, at an unnoteworthy alley stood a man.

If constables dared path by the edges of the slums, they wouldn't mistake the man for the odd beggar or a dust monger. He wore a long white coat that contrasted with the piss and grime of the slums.

His fine leather shoes nestled comfortably in the alley's wet, broken cobble. The only light evidencing his existence was the cigarette outlining the smile that eerily never left his face.

This man clearly didn't belong in the slums of Lethica, yet he patiently waited and before long pressed the cigarette into a nearby wall and stepped on it for good measure. His smile deepened as the echoes of a hum drew closer till they revealed a cloaked man.

The cloaked man's soot-covered face was nestled in the shadows of his cloak revealing only the unshaven stubble that outlined his chapped lips. Compared to his predecessor this man belonged in the slums.

The two men both stared at each other till the glimpses of the red moonlight graced them with its blessing marking the start of their conversation.

"Well I'll be damned...you really came. This might be the real deal after all. If it isn't Ben...no what was it again!" The cloaked man greeted loudly without any subtlety. He gave a wide yellow grin that displayed his rotten teeth. His voice was raspy and heavy with a Mercian accent.

"It's Dr. Brandt...Stephan Brandt." Stephan smiled unperturbed by the obvious jibe. His voice was even and carried a sense of pride. His eloquence didn't betray any hint of accent.

"Aahh…Stephan but of course! Forgive my tardiness…never expected to need a body in the city of freedom. I'm surprised you didn't find this vessel though. This doctor business is making you rusty." The cloaked man said these words glancing at the round glasses that reflected the red moon's light hiding Stephen's eyes from his gaze.

"Why drag this out more than it should. Just tell me what you want priest."

"There's no need to be so snappy especially when I come bearing a gift." The cloaked man kneeled, unfurled a large leather bag from his back, and placed it between the two of them.

"I brought a puppy…a pretty one too. Just how you shadows like them!" He laughed as the bag suddenly moved.

"Says the ordained priest."

Stephen's eyebrows arched implicating his change of mood contrary to the fixed smile which became a bit dimmer as he kneeled to look inside the bag. Lit by the slivers of moonlight was an unconscious child no older than thirteen. The child…He was pale and bloody, the only sign that he still lived were the whimpers he produced from whatever nightmares haunting his sleep.

"Why me and not the orphanage?" Stephen asked, closing the bag and standing up again.

"Why you indeed? Maybe your affable reputation, maybe the Triad's horrid status, or maybe for the sake of pure irony. You know us Canites…Wretched powers and dreadful humor." The cloaked priest waved his hands in dismissal.

"So, you don't know."

"Does it matter…the reward was too intriguing to pass." The priest said, emphasizing the word reward but seeing that Stephen didn't bite, he sighed and continued.

"All I know is that I received a letter detailing where I'll find the child and who to give him to. This of course came with the promise of an answer. Just imagine the possibilities." Stephen was unfazed by the declaration after all he knew that nothing was for free.

"Ughh…fine take this! What a spoilsport…I wanted to drag the suspense." The priest groaned. He threw a letter toward Stephen that held no significant markings or illustrations to clue in on the sender. Stephen didn't expect to find one, but the situation was vexing enough to warrant being thorough.

Sighing, Stephen opened the letter begrudgingly and read its content however once he was done the eerie smile turned deeper and somewhat bestial much to the priest's amusement. Mirroring Stephan's inhumane turn was a cyan flame that soon erupted from his hand and burned the letter to ash.

"I assume this means that you're going to accept the deal as well?" The priest said jovially as he dusted his body and eyed Stephen who grabbed the leather bag and threw it over his shoulder uncaring for the safety of the child inside.

"And I assume this visit is outside the jurisdiction of a priest of the unholy three?" Stephen answered with a question and watched as the priest put his fingers to his lips and dragged them across his mouth then motioned to throw the imaginary key away. The priest then turned around and hummed away only to suddenly stop in his tracks.

"Oy…shadow you better watch it with the boy…whoever sent that letter is dangerous."

"Dangerous enough to enlist a warning from the Trinity's messenger?" Stephen asked with a bemused smile. He stared at the cloaked priest in a mixture of surprise and wariness.

"Dangerous enough to kill me and make sure to deliver tens of letters to my different bodies across the cradle. I'm warning you because I want to be the one to kill you…so don't go dying before then. See you in another fifty years." The priest waved his arm and resumed his walking. The last vestiges of his presence were the rhythmic humming that echoed across the dark night.

"What did I get myself into." Stephen grumbled, his signature smile deepening at this turn of events. Sighing again, he pressed his hand towards the large shadow that covered the alley's wall. However, his hands didn't stop at the wall but instead grabbed onto the shadow and twisted it into a knob made of pure darkness.

Once he turned the knob a door leading towards an endless void revealed itself. Sighing a third time for good measure he stepped inside the door and into the darkness. The door closed behind him, and the shadow returned to normal.

With the bargain now struck, the alley returned to its unassuming self as if nothing had ever happened.

-------

"…ugh" A groan echoed through a familiar darkness…The sweet nothing that preceded thought and awareness. However, this darkness would not last for long as slivers of unnatural blue light slowly struck through blurred vision, burdening the newly aroused eyes with the nature of their surroundings.

The light stretched from small stones glimmering across a dark ceiling, like fabled stars. Cascading from the unnatural darkness of the ceiling were long metal chains. Connected to these chains were hooks accompanied by long dark shapes…

'Bodies!' The owner of the eyes hurled to the ground once his mind finally registered the putrid smell of rot and decomposition that permeated wherever he was. With an effort to move his tired limbs, he managed to wipe away the vomit from his lips only to find that his frail figure was bound with bloodied bandages and syringes.

He gritted his teeth and snatched the syringes anticipating a flash of pain only to realize that he was too drugged to feel anything. Freed from what he figured was an operating table, he battled through the vertigo to stand upright.

His eyes darted across the room in a search for familiarity only to be greeted by strange machines, long bookshelves of medicine…and jars of organs and eyes that stared back at him.

With great effort, he stopped himself from hurling again and instead focused on taking shallow breaths in a vain attempt to rid his nostrils of the nauseating smell of rot.

It was hard to think. His body was tired. His mind flustered. And his memory drew a long blank. The last thing he recalled was the constables beating him after he stole a loaf of stale bread from a bakery's garbage no less. He focused himself on the primal urge to escape...to survive. He turned his eyes upward.

Behind the bodies that hung a few feet above the ground were two large glass vats. They were filled with a bright green viscous liquid and accompanied by long pipes that stretched from the machinery where the vats were to the walls and ceiling.

He saw black figures swimming inside the liquid and quickly lost any curiosity he held towards the two vats and instead focused on turning towards the other side of the room.

And there it was, the exit. It came in the form of a pair of iron shut doors. Finding his salvation, he forced his body on its two feet and fought against the mind-numbing nausea as he stepped forward. 

Operating his limbs felt like pushing a boulder. He barely took a few steps forward before he had to grab onto the feet of one of the hanging bodies. His fingers dug deep into the soggy cold flesh, almost causing him to hurl. He quickly gathered himself and lunged to a nearby table.

The table was littered with medical instruments and an open book filled with arcane symbols. The book drew further curiosity as it had some text in high loci that he could understand. It was a log of crude experiments. Their latest Read:

Experiment 893: Failure

Rapid decomposition was observed once again when the strings were tugged in the slightest.

Experiment 894: Failure

Host incompatibility resulted in another purge. The Fangs will deliver a new shipment soon.

Experiment 895: Success

The strings managed to attach to the new vessel but due to incompatibility, the child has turned feral.

He read through a few more pages of gut-wrenching experiments and dissections but gleamed no new information. This only reinforced his desire for escape and with a renewed vigor, he dragged his body towards the door lest he become another log on the book for he feared he was part of the so-called shipment.

Across the table he passed a pair of gold eyes that stared at him intently. On normal occasions he'd avoid those particular pair of eyes as they were his own. Today was far from a normal occasion and he indulged his reflection to check his body. 

A young boy covered with bandages from top to bottom stared back at him. White and black strands of hair made their way out of the bandages. It was the same scrawny and weak boy he knew. With a sigh the boy was ready to move on only for boyish whisper to echo.

'Faster-Faster...we need to leave before they come back.'

The boy didn't look around. He recognized this voice.

'Aaaand the drugs wore off.' The boy grumbled as he tried to ignore the voice after all it was the voice of what he dubbed as fear. It was one of many that haunted him from time to time.

They always spoke in those familiar voices which he'd rather forget. Usually, he'd ignore them but now the boyish voice of fear brought a bit of familiar comfort. The boy quickly shook his head.

'Focus'

Setting himself straight took effort. The moment he indulged in the delusions of these voices, they'd become real. And if they had their way, he'd long have starved himself and died but he had to live. With a huff, he grabbed a long bloody scalpel and stumbled towards the door.

In a hollow struggle to drown the voice of fear, he focused on the irritating sound of a nearby vent that failed miserably in airing the room. Its fan kept scratching the metal surface of the vent creating a screech vexing enough to direct his focus on.

With each step his body became more wieldy...more his own. The stiffness slowly dissipated with the distance traveled and he could almost walk normally now.

Eventually, he reached the doors and with what little strength he had opened them. Greeting him was a long barely lit hallway filled with empty coffins and a dusty spiral staircase leading up to what he dared imagine would be the exit of this nightmare.

Just as he was about to move forward a weak voice called out to him. He was confident it wasn't one of his own. He'd never mistake those voices which meant that this one was real, and it echoed again from one of the corners of this horrid lab.

"Heee…eeelp meeeee!"

'Thunders!'