Stygian had reached a new low.

There was his son, his own fur and blood, a million cuts covering his body and face down on a spinning wheels long needle, which barely reached the other end of his blood-soaked neck, poking out the back.

Stygian had been driven over to his son’s estate in quite a rush, he was still in his pajamas. His lucidity didn’t allow him to fully comprehend the sight before him. He was speechless.

There were several detectives in the room and a cop car outside, along with an ambulance. Despite this, it was nearly dead silent inside the crafts room, its curtains shut, making it rather claustrophobic. The golden glow of the light upon the blood, the quiet chatter of the rodent authorities talking amongst themselves, Stygian began to sink back into reality.

“WHO DID THIS!?” he finally shouted at the top of his lungs, getting everyone in the room’s attention.

A white mouse figure, as tall as Stygian, approached him. He wore a blue policeman’s outfit and held out his golden badge. “Stygian Thornswoggle, was it? I’m Officer Milford Mannings, and I am so sorry about your son, quite a grueso-”

“Skip the pleasantries, cop.” Stygian butted in, saying the ‘C’ word like he was hocking up mucus. “Who in the heavens did this? An assassin? Rouge soldier?”

“Well, if you’d asked me three years ago, I’d have come up blank, but with the cold war raging on… most possibilities are open to suggestion. Tell me, Mr. Thornswoggle, did you have any enemies?”

“I’m a retired general, enemies run in the business. I’ve never been into a warzone, but I have killed a couple men, though.” Stygian replied blankly, calming down a little as the pain set in.

“It could just be someone looking for vengeance, then. Do you remember the names of the men you’ve killed? I could look into it when I get back to the station’s computer. But to be honest, this is more a job for the AVC, I don’t get many homicide cases, and since you’re wealthy...”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m going back home to sleep. I’ll deal with this tomorrow. I’ll have my butler dig up the names. Tell someone to brief me when I return in the morning.” Stygian yapped orders around. His mind was still in shock, but not vigilant enough to keep himself awake.

As he reentered his car, Archibald hopping into the driver seat, his mind began to race. He remembered his child fondly. It was his only one, and while he didn’t talk with him much, his early years had so many memories. He just wanted to say goodbye.

His son was to inherit the family fortune, part of the noble family to the President of Staglia, a large nation to the north of the Equator. Now, that fortune would go to… who? He had nobody left in his lineage.

He couldn’t think of it anymore. It was for tomorrow. Maybe he’d just take some sleeping pills to drown out the madness. He saved them for special occasions, he’d been addicted to tons of different things in his life, and was wise enough to limit his own dosage by now. And of course, it wasn’t just drugs.

He had this kind of personality that would drive him to take up new addictions, but he was working on it. His selfishness, addictive personality, and senile mentality were things he hated about himself.

He was doing it for his son. So he’d want to see him again.

Nobody wanted to see him, he was a terrible person, he knew it.

As he exited the car however, he realized someone did want to see him. Someone he knew, in fact. Someone he didn’t want at his estate at 1 in the morning.

“Look who’s finally back, didn’t want to greet me?” said a female voice from the front porch. She sipped on a pina-colada with a little umbrella for extra style. Why she had energy at this hour and where the hell she even got a pina-colada from was hardly the first question, although not far down on the list of crap Stygian wanted to ask her.

“Niece.” Stygian grumbled, not bothering to address her by name.

“Out for a midnight joyride in your… what kind of car is that? I can’t recognize it.” she continued incessantly.

“Your cousin is dead, Vanis.”

Nove didn’t join the man. Nove stared at him deeply, her yellow eyes currently crimson with insomnia, but didn’t join him.

“Well well, why is a hopeless little Halicanth like you out in the rain, so far from South America?” the figure asked, ribbing her. She wasn’t happy.

“Screw you, I’m not hopeless.” she said blanky. Her eyes stayed focused on him, but she hesitated to make any movements. For a second, she thought she might actually be hopeless. But she’d not want help from whoever this was. I’m sure you may have a clue as to who it is, though.

“Yes, but you are young and stupid. And immensely unequipped to fare well before the challenges ahead. Your father is… brave, just like you, but he’s also trapped, and the people who are holding him miiiight not want some nosey little squirt like you plocketing about their reserve. But hey, you’ve got pretty ears, so I’m sure a fellow ear enthusiast would be happy to help. So if I could borrow yours, in a non-literal sense, and perhaps we’ll…”

“I hate people who talk with nothing to say, scram.” she said boldly, not noticing the firearm in his pocket.

“Nove. I always admired your fortitude against your people.” the man continued, not giving any thought to her opinion on verbal harassment. “But, I didn’t realize until hearing your voice how that gesture doesn’t extend to just them. You’re a rebel, aren’t you?” he giggled. Nove wanted him to die. She loathed the way he showed no respect. Not to her, she was used to that, even saw it as an admirable trait. No, Nove was pissed because this guy was trying to show her respect while simultaneously harassing her. His angle was unclear, his motives were concealed.

She was being beaten, and she hated to lose.

“How the fuck do you know all this shit about some dirty immigrant Halicanth?” she asked, degrading herself in the process.

“Oh, I dunno.” he said. And then there was a pause. A quick one, around 3 seconds, where time seemed to slow. The rain being the only moving thing in view.

And then a jolt. She suddenly found herself at gunpoint. Standard pistol. “I’m not sure if you tribal savages know what a gun is, so I’ll inform you. If you make a move, I’ll-”

“Turn that thing upon yourself, pervert. I wanna see your racist blood mixed with the rainwater. Because I’m smarter than you can comprehend. I know if you wanted me dead, you would have pulled the trigger by now.”

“Hmm… gotta make sure to write down your cockiness. You sure like being a grade A dickwad, don’t you, Nove? Now, I see ‘Miss Halicanth Rights Activist’ doesn’t like being talked to, so how about I offer something? Your sister, your father, maybe your mother. I know where they are, and I can help you get them. But since you don’t like listening, I suppose things might have escalated a little, sweetheart.” he snickers under his own breath, holding the pistol with one hand, trying to be a badass. And if his costume weren’t drenched, he might look pretty cool. Instead, he looked deranged, tired, and, indeed, a little intimidating.

“What the hell do you mean, my family, my dead sister? Who are you?” Nove asked, still wet, now confused, still mad.

“Now look who’s interested. I understand loss like yours. I don’t feel it anymore, since my family met their end long ago, but I digress. Dear Nove, I am Lyman Leepsky, the best therapist in, perhaps the world! Please don’t mistake me after this day for another title without the ‘T.H.E.’. My actions are far more pure than your own, and you are in the presence of a god without his throne.”

Nove rolled her bloodshot eyes.

“You, Halicanth, are definitely worthy of my time, for you will help me cleanse this world of sinners, make them saints, and discard the jaffe. That includes your un-happy family. Don’t you want them to be together? Aren’t you tired of not being loved or understood? I can give you them, and the mental skill to fix it. All of it. Maybe even help your people, you poor thing. Can I also add, you look charming? Even without clothes. I’ll get you those too.”

Good lord, fuck this guy.

“If you accept my offer, you’ll be in exotic lavish luxury. All you have to do is take a walk with me.” Leepsky grinned, his drenched hair almost covering his glinting eyes.

Nove was smarter than her people. Actually, she was a lot of things ‘-than her people’. Paler, craftier, prettier, kinder... to name a few. But her people saw these things through tainted eyes of envy. She rarely received kindly comments from anyone other than her father. But through years of rigor and hardship, she’d lost some of those things.

The kind, open girl she once was, gone. Replaced with a bitter shell who’d seen the world for what it was now. The best she could hope for of her family was seeing her father, nevermind the rest of her family. The bridge had collapsed long ago, it just took a little time until the coyote noticed gravity would lead him to plummet to his death.

What kind of a future would she even have? Maybe some nice house with her father if she was lucky. That was the best case scenario. Of course the worst case scenario was unfathomable, anything was possible. Any amount of horror could occur on her journey to Dad.

If this loon was getting her half the crap he was offering, heck, even some clothes would be nice. She rarely wore them as her people didn’t care about nudity, but she liked having an outfit personally, and it meant warmth… She missed that quite a lot.

The rain was cold, and the sky was only going to get darker. She thought about the pittering upon her roof back at home... No, she wouldn’t call that a home any more. The rain was so soft though, now it felt as each droplet was another voice telling her to say…

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Off we go. I’m glad you-” Lyman began, but Nove shut him up.

“If you say one more fucking word, I’ll be as good as gone.” she demanded.

“Your loss.” he said, putting his gun away and extending an untaken hand before they walked off through the downpour together, each at a distance.

Drew is not one of many changelings. He is perhaps the only one he knows. He is immortal, but he obviously wouldn’t let anyone know that, since he’s a right trickster.

Humanity has had many myths of trickster gods. Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Norse, all have someone who wants to cause trouble. And the Celts were no different.

The Morrigian was a mythical goddess who had goals and motivations unknown to all but herself. The Irish believed she helped rivers and forests, but Drew was none of any of this. He was definitely male, and he didn’t help shit. And he certainly wasn’t a deity.

Drew did, however, have goals that only he knew, and even then only recently. Before that, he reveled in freedom and near psychopathic levels of trickery, deception, and plain ol’ fun.

And before that… oh… before that… Quite a time indeed.

Anyway, Drew was just a nickname he’d given himself. A singular constant through his existence. His original name was quite long, and he didn’t really like it all that much. Drew just had this zing to it that he just loved.

But, why he joined the MI6 is another question entirely. One whose answer will be revealed with a bit of time.

For now, Drew remained focused on Leepsky, as he arrived at his establishment. He parallel parked right out front, in the disabled person’s spot. Peering in, he immediately saw the man in question talking to a girl, her height caused him to think she was young, but upon closer inspection, she probably was just short.

Without hesitation, he waltzed across the pavement and through the door, the bell chiming to announce his entrance.

“Hello, scumbag! Been a while!” Drew grinned as Mr. Leepsky stopped in his tracks, his skin going pale in fear.

“He’s back, Lyman.” the therapist heard a voice say.