The Fellowship Of Florence Street.



They know that they were lucky to have escaped from the threshold agents that had them across the old industrial park just to the east of the Canns Landing corridor. The two reds calling themselves Lugz and Thed, were fortunate indeed to have eluded their pursuers. But they also know that they haven’t even reached Fremont street yet, and it is almost sundown, and what waits for them in the three blocks along each side of Florence Street is far worse than anything that Threshold agents would put them through. During the daylight hours the reds are free to roam the vicinity as they wish but after dark Florence Street becomes a different animal to them. There are whispers in the reds ranks, fearful whispers, of what lives in this place just beyond the shadows. The great red general Cuji does not understand this, what on this plane could hells finest possibly have to fear? Aren’t demons supposed to be the ones who instill fear in humans? What kind of human lives in this place? Despite his confusion and frustration, General Cuji has lost a great many red soldiers in the six block radius surrounding Florence and Fremont, and has placed a curfew on all of his soldiers who hazard its paths. Stay away come sundown. “There will be no help for you there.” he tells his soldiers. “To survive, you must adapt to the ways of the humans. If this body is taken from you, if you die here, you will never return to this place, you must guard your selves from harm for the greater good of our cause here, be wary Sons of Hell. This is a land of many perils, one that will not suffer fools.”

Pride and Fear.



Lugz and Thed now stand at the edge of Fremont St, and the as the sunlight slowing travels down the sides of the decaying buildings of the once bustling commerce district of Fremont street, they know that they are too far from the reds outpost. It is at this moment that they must make a fatal decision, find a place to hide until morning, or brave the perils of Florence St and the surrounding area. they make their way slowly across Fremont and head towards Florence, it is cold here, so cold they can see the breath as it slowly escapes their lungs, the anticipation of what waits for them has quickened their pace. They round the west corner of the remnants of the half destroyed Harden Hotel. There hasn’t been any electricity here since the beginning of the reds occupation, the sign hangs unlit serving as little more than an eerie reminder of what once was. Tonight there will be no light, man made or otherwise to offer them safe haven in this place. They slowly shuffle down the sidewalk and a half block down something has caught their attention, as they move closer, they can see the image of a head from a freshly decapitated red soldier, it is stuck on the top of an old parking meter, its horns freshly ripped from its skull, its eyes have been cut out, and it has no tongue in its mouth. Below it there is a message written it its own blood: “Death Comes For All Living Things..” Each sucks in a breath of the cold night air.. As the distant sounds of running feet begin to surround them, and then they hear nothing but the sounds of their own heartbeats. In the middle of the deserted street stands a lone hooded figure, and in its hands, there is a long metal shaft, with a sweeping steel blade half of its length at the end. When they see the light of the now full moon softly reflect along its sharpened edges, they know they have come too far. There is no welcome for demons in these shadows, there will be no smoke and mirrors to scare away the poor defenseless humans this night, and there will be no escape for them here, no magical plum of smoke to carry them away to another plane of existence. Here they are trapped in these fragile bodies of flesh and bone. Here there is precious blood flowing through their veins, here they are living breathing entities, here they will soon know of fear.

Scratch ABT Copyright © 2007