— a back alley somewhere in portland, oregon, september 2022

'Really,' the hooded man thought as he hurriedly passed through a winding back alley, 'I should not have taken this job.'

There were a handful of clubs around that area, all of them full of drunken people, dancing and frolicking around, how was he supposed to find his contact in this mess?

He had understood why they approached him. He was supposed to be there anyway and nobody would have questioned him too much. It was safer this way, so he had said he would do it, even though he had no obligation towards the American National Hunters Association at all.

Sighing, there was nothing he could do about it now, might as well take it seriously then. As he walked past a bunch of trash bags piling up at the back door of some establishment he didn't want to think about too deeply, a lout clatter surprised him.

Alarmed, he focused his sight, scanning his surroundings, until a soft mewing broke his tension. A small white cat pushed her head through some bins a few feet away from him, as he crouched down and helped her out of her confinement. Of course, a cat would always be able to help herself out of such a struggle, but helping couldn't hurt either.

He petted the small creature, carefully pushing away some trash that had fallen down and stuck to her fur. The small animal's face contorted in the blink of an eye and an aggressive hissing sound was thrown in his direction.

No, not in his direction, but in the direction of something closely behind him. He jumped up, grabbing the cat as gently as possible, landing about five feet away. Where he was standing just a fraction of a second ago, a blade had dug deeply into the unpaved ground.

"Love what you've done with the place," he said, looking at the knife wielding maniac, standing there staring him down.

"You think you're funny?"

"I'm told I am, though I like staying humble about it."

The woman crooked and eyebrow, shaking her head and drawing a second knife out of her pocket. "What is a rat like you doing here?"

"I'm not a rat," the man said, a short black strand peeking out from under the hood of his tracksuit jacket, "I'm here to perform a little audit."

"An audit?"

"Yes, I was generously employed to do just that."

"And how does that not make you a rat?"

"Well, I never pretended to be part of your little club," he stated truthfully, "I simply went to see if everything was as you have reported annually to the Hunters Association." Not like that was a secret.

Sure, he wasn't a regular auditor by any means, but they did bring him in for that reason. They thought it was better to leave things like that to people who had the means to take care of it. And an audit had long since been overdue on these folks.

The girl with the short blond bob just stared him down. Her empty, rusty red eyes bore into him, trying to figure out if what he said was the truth.

Her kin had a lot of trouble these days. Someone uninvited coming over to sniff around didn't sit well with her.

They both remained in their positions: The woman whose age was hard to estimate, standing there with a throwing knife in her hand, ready to tear into her opponent – and the man, with a small cat in his arms, petting her surprisingly soft white fur.

Only when a loud engine revving disturbed their mutual silence, did they break eye contact and turn into the noise's direction simultaneously. At that very moment a motorcycle drifted through the narrow passage, with shocking ease at that, and on it was a person clad in a one pieced pitch black leather suit.

The suit didn't exactly leave the question open if the wearer was male or female, as one could easily make out the curves and details of a well rounded body beneath it.

On her head, she wore a helmet, reflecting barely any of scarce light thrown in by the few lanterns lighting up this otherwise dark alley.

'Cat ears,' he remarked in his head, noticing the two very distinct triangular protrusions formed at the top of her helmet, which was as pitch black as her suit.

"You must be the auditor they sent us," she said, voice muffled by her gear, sounding young, maybe in her late teens or early twenties.

"I am," the young man confirmed without hesitation, "so you must be my contact then."

"I am," she copied his reply down to his tone and then looked at the bob-lady, which was only clear because the dark toned glass of her helmet was now directed at her. "Return to your post."

As if struck by lightning, the blond woman instantly jolted and nodded her head. "Understood, my lady."

She pulled the knife out of the ground before turning around on her heels and vanishing into the darkness behind her, as fast as she had shown up. He watched her long after she was already gone, wondering what all of this was even about, until he heard someone clear their throat next to him.

"Oh," he uttered, "sorry, I got distracted. You really do command your subordinates well, young lady."

"Not me," was all she said about the topic, turning around and heading towards her bike, "follow me, auditor. Or should I call you 'Hunter'?"

"Either is fine, thank you for your consideration." He truly meant it, he liked her polite personality. Even the kitten in his arms seemed to have calmed down with her attitude.

"You are aware that this is not only about us and our conduct, right?"

"I'm somewhat in the know, yes."

"The Werewolves," the mysterious rider started, "they have been going out of bounds for a while now. They need to stop, or we will make them stop."

With a bit of an insecure expression, he considered her words while slowly following her out onto the main street. "That would be bad." And that put it very mildly.

Not that it was any of his business per se, but it might as well become his business if this "beef" was to branch out far enough. It was a dangerous game they played on the backs of innocent humans.

Dungeon Gates were already troublesome enough, but they managed to find a way in which they could live a more or less secure life in this world again. If Werewolves and Vampires started to duke it out in the middle of humanity's cities, it would be outright biblical in how much destruction awaited them. Especially since humans, under regular circumstances, were not made aware of the fact that they even existed.

Only humans could enter through the protective membrane that was spread over a Dungeon's Gate, and not just any human either, but only a human with an active connection to Solomon's System. Any Awakened could pass through, but only a trained Hunter would actually stand a chance.

A lot of them died prematurely, which was also a reason why he had to hold a speech one of these days. Part of his payment was the contractual agreement of the ANHA to back up his political stance.

In short, their current political climate was already catching heat on all instances, so even if there weren't Vampires and Werewolves threatening them with a war, there already was enough to worry about.

'Especially those Watchtower guys,' he thought, 'there's not a single quite minute with those around.'

No, breaking the news of two races that weren't very important in the fight against the Gates unless there was a Break, would tilt the public order beyond repair, he was sure of it. And he wasn't the only one who thought this way.

About a ten minute walk later, they had arrived in front of another run down looking night club, with his contact handing her bike to a dark-haired man standing by the door. As she inched closer to the entrance, her helmet turned around once more.

There was no further movement, so it was him who slowly looked around first, being stared down without ever seeing the other's eyes. Only after another minute had passed, did he realize what she was so intently concentrating on.

"Do you want to pet it?" he asked, pointing at the cat still wary in his arms. "She has calmed down a lot."

The helmet suddenly moved in a slow but jerky motion, as he realized she was shaking her head. "You have to put it down before we go in," she said monotonously, "and it wouldn't like me touching it anyway."

Her last words had been quiet, but he caught them. "It's the nightwalkers they don't like, so it will surely allow you," he said only half joking, as he was obviously in the presence of an upper ranked Vampire, "I'm sure you will regret it later."

Despite his words, he could tell by the looks of the dark-haired man, who had returned from parking the motorcycle someplace else, and a taller man with light brown hair in front of him, that he should likely stop fooling around. He put down the kitten and held up his hands.

"I come in peace," he said, letting them pat down his jacket and pants, "I am unarmed."

"Is that so?" the dark-haired man said and his breath and three-piece-suit carried the smell of cigarettes, "What is that?"

The man pulled something out of the long pocket at the side of his left thigh. "For emergencies," he said, pointing at a travel toothbrush and a tiny tube of paste, "don't we all want such shiny teeth as you do so effortlessly?"

The man, Kristoff, put the toothbrush back into the pocket, deciding there was nothing there to worry about.

"Let him in," Kristoff said to his colleague, with the young lady already long gone, "the sooner he is in, the sooner he will be out."

"It won't take me longer than a week." In the first place, he wasn't planning on staying in the country for longer than a week, so people would start asking questions if it took him any longer. "I will leave myself in your capable hands for as long as I stay."

"Name?" the man with the light brown hair said, not even showing a polite smile.

"In-Sung", he said then thought about it, "Choi In-Sung."

The bouncer nodded, opening the heavy looking door behind him to let the world class Hunter enter, with Kristoff following closely behind.

"Louis," the black haired man looked back over his shoulder to give one last command, "check the surroundings. It's a busy night."

With that, the both of them headed toward the innermost room of the club that is also known as Euphoria. On the inside, it didn't look rundown anymore, but elegant instead. That was only true for the interior though, not for its clientele.

Embarrassed, Choi In-Sung turned his highly red face away from the crowd of people in several if not all stages of compromising positions – all compromising positions that he could think of. The irony smell of blood permeated the establishment, the deeper they went into it.

This was also part of his job to look into, so he couldn't ignore it entirely, but there didn't seem anything out of the ordinary as he had papers regarding the things he was supposed to verify.

"Those humans," he spoke softly, "they seem to be here voluntarily."

"They are here voluntarily." Kristoff Peridot was no man of many words, yet he had to sigh and answer this simpleton anyway. "They are paid and mostly in it for the thrill."

"Will they remember any of it later?"

"They will remember some of it," he said, "but most of it will be blurry due to the Vampire's unique saliva. The rest can be done by Duress. It's not that hard to manipulate a weak human's mind."

"Sounds trustworthy." The gravity of where he was and what he was about to do had only now started to sink in. 'I really should not have taken this job.'

They eventually arrived at a room in the basement, where a young girl with long, wavy, blossom pink hair was standing and waiting for them, black leather suit still in place. He had already gone through all the possible excuses in his head, yet came to no logically working end, as he officially shook her hand.