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The world of Man and Fae had been intertwined throughout the ages up until the actions of a few destroyed the delicate balance between the vastly different cultures. Greed, betrayal and the lust for power tainted ancient man and it was the once revered Faes that paid the price for it. The powers of the Elders were stripped from them and sealed away in five amulets, one given to each of the Five Kings of Men who ruled at the time.

After a short time, the Kings became ruthless; drunk with their newfound power and the fear of losing it to the scores of mythological beings they raised the status of men to the top of the food chain, stepping on all who dared to oppose them as they tried to claim the world. Seeing that they would destroy the very thing that they strove to protect, small group of Faes known as the Red Court snatched the amulets and hid them in the furthest corners of the known world.

They knew it would only be a matter of time until the Kings found them again, so the Red Court was able to come to an accord with the Five Kings. Man would have his time to reign supreme without the hindrance or fear of the beings reprisal for a time at least. All manner of mythological and magical creature were dragged into an ancient slumber by the Red Court, their names stricken from Man’s history save for the tales passed down from generation to generation. Soon they became nothing more than that. Stories. The magic of the Faes was not lost entirely to man however. Those with psychic inclinations were subtly guided by the Faes knowledge and powers from beyond the seal. True to their promise, the spell broke and the world of Man began to crumble.

Over the years, the Amulets had been lost, found and lost again in the hands of men, but none of them knew of the power the small trinkets held. It was by no means an easy feat for the return of the Red Court to track them down once more, or so Eloise Greythorn was beginning to find. A slow sigh parted her lips, bright emerald green eyes glancing down at the small crystal talisman dangling an inch or so from the tips of her fingers. The gem swung in small circles, Eloise waiting with bated breath; it was released slowly as a blue glow shone within the crystal and it came to a stop, tugging on the thin silver chain as it pointed out the next direction.

Her lips curled into a smile and the petty jewel was wrapped around her wrist and tucked in to make it appear to be nothing more than a bracelet these mortals tended to wear. Stepping into the café with high hopes, she ordered herself a coffee, now having grown accustomed to the life of modern day man and looked around the café. The Guardian stone never lied and Eloise knew that someone here would be able to lead her to one of the amulets, whether they liked it or not.

Technology. What a wonderful thing to happen to the human race. Over the years it has advanced in leaps and bounds, leaving a trail of awe in it's wake. Of course humans would never become fully dependant on it, right? We are far to smart to put all of our eggs in one basket. Or that's what we thought at least. As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end and unfortunately for organised civilisation it was a rather ungraceful fall. That technology that the entire human race had based themselves on had failed, leaving an apocalyptic mess in it's wake. Global communications was the first thing to go. Internet censorship was the first in the many line of dominoes that had set up the fall. It wasn't until an anonymous group known as Ghost had tried to get around these defences in the name of free speech that the Governments drop the. Planting a virus to tie all computers to the mainframe monitored and regulated by the government had been a great idea at the time, until one corrupted file sent it all spiralling down. For centuries they had based virtually all forms of communication on the internet and naturally they were lost with out it. Civilisation slowly crumbled; cities falling into ruins, governments losing control of their people and people themselves turning on one another. Anarchy was the one and only true law now.

It had been several years since that fateful day and things were no better. Squabbles had broken out between what remained of the political powers in the larger cities, each one thinking that they were better than the last and calling on for a communist lifestyle to ensure that man survived this plight. However, there were still communities hidden away in the rubble of ones magnificent cities that were able to work in harmony. These little outcrops were known as Ghost Cities, paying hommage to the original group and it's actions. Those that dwell within them known as Ghostlings. It was in these communities that the governments sought to bring under their wings, but each attempt was met resistance. They knew that it was the corruption and censorship of the old governments that had caused man to fall so far. It was in one of these many communities that Caitlin Stone had now called home on the outskirts of what was one known as Chicago.

The young woman stood in the middle of a rubble strewn street, emerald eyes sweeping across the desolate scenery with a sense of longing. She had remembered when trees lined the very street she stood in casting long cool shadows in the height of the summer heat and bright golden plumage in the middle of autumn. How she missed those colours and the simple sound of them crunching underfoot. Ugh. Snap out of it Caitlin. You've got work to do. Chastising herself, she eyed off a small terrace apartment that seemed to be structurally sound and made quick work of the locked door and strode in. There were at least another scavengers like herself within a few blocks, each of them searching for anything that would be of use for the community.

Emerald green eyes swept the streets carefully, noting every little detail in the crowded street. Night had descended quickly upon the city, an unnatural side effect of the jungle of buildings that towered over the narrow streets. The fact that it was the middle of winter didn’t help either. Not that Isadora Bridge minded it all that much. Coming from London, she was used to winters far colder than this. Never the less, she slipped her hands into the deep pockets of her bomber jacket and began to toy with the small switchblade she kept on her at all times. Yes, she was aware of how paranoid she could be sometimes. She guessed it could be attributed to her past. Shuddering, she shied away from those memories. Get a grip on yourself Izzy. Turning into a secluded alleyway, she chastised herself for letting her thoughts unsettle her so much. This is no time to loose yourself down memory lane.

As she had been promised, she found a rusty metal door halfway down the secluded alleyway. A raven with its wings outstretched had been stencilled onto the bottom right hand corner of the door. It was the symbol for the Raven’s, the city’s largest and most influential gang. Although Isadora had only been in town for little more than a few months, they had not only heard of her, but they wanted her to do a job for them. Taking a deep breath, she forced on a neutral face she had perfected for meetings such as this. The door opened a crack. Behind it, Isadora could see a hulk of a man peering at her through the crack. He seemed to weigh her up for a long moment before opening the door wider. “Draven is expecting you.” He muttered in a gruff voice before ushering her in and shutting the door behind them with a definitive thud. Taking a deep calming breath, she moved forward into the hallway, to meet the crime lord.

The cold night air splashed against her pale skin as she exited into the back alley. The loud and incessant thumping of the music from inside was nothing more than a dull thud the instant the backdoor shut, leaving the woman seemingly alone in the dark alleyway. At some point during her time inside the club it must of rained as the asphalt was damp and swirling rainbows of oil coloured the large puddles, though this could barely be seen in the dim light. Despite the damp, the woman rested her back against the brick and bent one knee so her foot was laying flat against it.

Her slender fingers fumbled through the hidden pocket in her jeans and soon enough, a flare of fire illuminated her face with a warm glow before the flame was lowered to light a cigarette between her lips. Her tousled rust red locks obscured most of her face as she stared at the oily puddles. She was slim, her black tank top and fitted grey jeans accentuating her figure even more as she rested lazily in the decrepit alleyway. Taking a long drag, she exhaled the stream of smoke in a sigh, paying attention to the dark figure approaching her from the main street.

Isadora Bridge had always known she was different. From a young age she had been experiencing these vivid visions that normally followed powerful headaches. As a child, her parents thought it was nothing more than a sugar rush and an overactive imagination, but as time moved on they began to worry about their only daughter. One of her mothers friends had said that Isadora was special, that she was far more talented than any child ever born. She too had experienced visions such as Isadora’s as a child, but not nearly as strong or vivid. It was only a few weeks after she uttered those words that her husband died of a heart attack and she was the one who had caused it. Not a very comforting thought for Isadora.

Soon the visions had become more serious and came upon her without warning. Flashes of events yet to come, snippets of a future Isadora wished she could change, like her cousin’s miscarriage or her finding out her mother had cancer. She just kept telling herself it was all in her head, even when they did come true. Isadora was smart enough to figure out that she would be pushed to see a shrink and labeled insane if she voiced them, so she quickly hid the occurrences. Eventually she managed to ignore them entirely, though she could never quite shake the feeling that she was being followed. For a long while Isadora lead a normal teenage life, growing up with loving friends and family, even a boyfriend who cared deeply for her. Naturally, all good things must come to an end and unfortunately for Isadora, they ended all too soon for her.

She can’t quite remember what happened that night. All she remembered were those agonizing headaches dropping to her knees. Vague images of the gas in the kitchen stove leaking out into the house before flashing to her friends and family sprawled out across the room dead. They had gathered to celebrate her 21st birthday. It was meant to be a surprise for her. Boy…did she get a surprise when she got home to find them exactly the way she had seen them in her head. They had said that it had been a gas leak and for some reason the gas company had stopped putting in the chemical that made it smell. She had gotten compensation for it, but how could she really live with herself after that? She should have acted; she could have saved all of them. At least that’s what she told herself.

It had almost been a month since that day and Isadora had found that the headaches hadn’t stopped at all. In fact, she was certain they were growing stronger and the visions that flashed before her eyes far more vivid. Her job and her health had suffered from it and she soon found herself on an array of medicines prescribed by unknowing doctors. When she had explained her symptoms to them, she could practically see the dollar signs lighting up in their eyes. Needless to say, after the first couple of days she realised that the pills weren’t so magical so she ditched them. What was the point anyway? Her thoughts trailed off before she flinched as another bright flash of light clouded her vision.

Grinding her teeth together as a sharp pain entered her skull, she focused on the new vision. It wasn’t like the others. This was different…more...well, real for lack of a better word. Gasping for breath, she watched a young man leaning over her with a concerned look on his face. There was the vague outline of someone else standing behind him. He had unusual eyes, one of which was covered up with a piece of white gauze, probably from sort of accident. She didn’t know why, but she trusted this man and felt as though he truly knew what she was going through. The gaze shifted to the rest of the room, taking in the stark white surfaces and an array of weird looking instruments on a counter next to where she was sitting. A few of the more dangerous looking ones were smeared in dark crimson blood.

There was a sharp knock on her door, quickly bringing the vision to a blurry end that left her light headed. Gasping for breath, which she must have been holding for the entire time, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her racing heart. “Just a minute!” She called out, her voice still strained from the vision as she pulled her hair back into a loose pony tail. Glancing at herself in the mirror next to the door, she frowned at the reflection. She looked like an absolute mess. Dark rings drooped beneath her eyes and her face was a sickly pale. She hadn’t managed to get much sleep since the incident, but then again who would. Glancing through the pinhole viewer, she let another frown tug at her brows as a figure stood at her door. It was dark out so she didn’t recognise who it was. Flicking the porch light on, Isadora opened the door a crack, ensuring that the chain still securely fastened the door to the frame. She reached for the baseball bat she always kept beside the door, just in case.

My name is Taylor Stevenson, though I’m better known as Tripp. I earned the nickname after an unfortunate incident in my first week of training and despite all my efforts, the name stuck. I don’t mind all that much though, probably because it was one of my best friends who had given it to me. We had joined the army together, promising to watch one another’s back. It would have worked if we were assigned to the same squad. Hell, I didn’t even know if he was alive anymore. Everyone has been given their pet names and at least I didn’t get “Kid” or “Tiger” even though I’m probably the youngest one of my troop. Then again, it just didn’t seem fitting to give a woman a name such as that. That aside, I think it’s one of the few things that is keeping us going at the moment. I have been here for 3 years, 6 months, 12 days and 18 hours, not that I’m counting mind you.


We had been flown into the depths of the Chinese jungle nearly six months after the first troop had been sent in. It was meant to be just a routine mission to clear out an abandoned barracks but they had never returned. Why it had taken six months to organise another troop to go in is beyond me but there we were, flying in low over the jungle towards our drop off point. We lined up as the back of the plane slid open, that’s when it happened. A faint whistling caught my attention and my brows knitted together as I tried to work out the sound. “Shi-“ My curse was cut off by a sudden explosion as a missile clipped the tale of our plane and shattered it into a million tiny pieces. We bailed out quickly, all 12 of us and the two pilots.


A couple hours later we managed to regroup, though there were far fewer than we had started out with. Sarge, officially known as Sergeant Williams, had told us that the others hadn’t made it. He had already canvassed a small section of our surroundings and had found evidence of the Chinese military within the area. As planned, we headed towards the base. As we moved forward, I noticed a couple of our men, no, my friends. One had become tangled up in the wires of his parachute; another hadn’t even had a chance to pull the rip of his. I had to swallow hard and look away to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. This was not the time for sentimental dribble. We hadn’t gotten far, maybe only a kilometre before we were ambushed and captured.

The first night was the worst. Apparently they hadn’t had a woman on the base for quite some time before I arrived. Well…lets just say I didn’t get much sleep that first night. I wouldn’t let them break me though and a few of them found out how short my temper really was. It had taken 3 men to finally subdue me. I still don’t know how I managed from getting myself killed that night. Maybe they didn’t want to waste their little rag doll. After all, what better way to boost their men’s moral than with a little nookie? It was both a blessing and a curse in my eyes and after a while, I didn’t even struggle when I was pulled aside.

None of that mattered now as we were waken in the middle of the night and forced into lines. I glanced around to my troop members, the initial 9 that had arrived here dwindling down to a mere 5 of us. There were others that had been captured as well and not just soldiers from out country. We weren’t the only pathetic sods that had been forgotten about at least. Maybe, just maybe their governments hadn’t given up on them and we would be rescued. Looking at their faces though, it was quite clear that what little hope they did have had faded long ago. We were marched out to the middle of the compound, an area that had been used for assemblies and other such gatherings.

This isn’t right. She swallowed hard as she noticed another line of white soldiers being lined up beside them. Her stomach sank a couple of notches as the two men at the front of the queue were shoved forward into the spotlight. Swallowing hard, she caught eyes with Sarge as he glanced back at her. He too had realised what was about to happen to them. Glancing around, he reached a hand back to gently pat her hand as it rested at her side. “It’ll be alright Tripp.” He muttered, trying to comfort himself as much as her. The first shots rang out, threatening to send a wave of uncontrollable panic through her. She was tempted to make a mad dash to freedom, but a few men already tried that and the outcome was less than desirable. Swallowing hard, I waited for my turn; each time flinching as the shots rang out and another pair of bodies hit the dirt.

Closing my eyes, I took a moment to compose myself before I was roughly shoved forward into the light. Squinting against it, I resisted the urge to block it from my eyes. I felt the person beside me rush up against my arm and turned my attention to him the moment he uttered my name. My mouth went dry as I recognised my old friend standing there. “Oh…god…” I muttered, a large lump rising in my throat and threatening to bring tears to my eyes. How long had he been here? Was he part of the first squad that had been sent in before us? There was no time to find out the answers as I heard the man in charge of the firing squad take a deep breath, ready to call out our death sentence.

BANG! I swear to god I came so close to shitting myself in that moment. I probably would have if I hadn’t realised that it wasn’t the sound of a gun being fired but an explosion that rocked the ground beneath my feet. My eyes snapped to the our side of the compound, finding a large pillar of fire stretching up from the mess hall attached to the main barracks. It was bedlam as soldiers, both Chinese and not darted this way and that, shouting orders this way and that. Like the rest of them, I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me. Griping onto his wrist, I hastily pulled him towards the back of the compound where the security wasn’t as tight. There were only half a dozen white soldiers left, all of them following my lead somehow. Maybe it was because it looked like I knew where I was going. Jokes on them I guess.

Ebony sighed softly as she perched herself high on the shadowed rooftops. The city was split in two by a majestic river Danbree, only one bridge linking the two halves of the city together. On one side lay the Alesana, the rich half of the city. It's tall stone buildings reach for the moon as twilight fell upon the city. On the other side was the Shanty, filled with slavers, orphanages known as Guilds where so tightly packed together that each street, no matter how wide was shadowed. The inhabitants of the guilds were known as Rats simply because they stole and fought for their right to have a roof to sleep under and were beaten mercilessly for little to no reason at all. Not many Rats saw puberty. The Shanty was a breeding ground for crime and few from the heart of Alesana even knew what went on across the bridge. A shudder ran down her spine as she glanced over the familiar maze of streets. Focus Ebony. She chastised herself as her keen eyes spotted the guards on the west side of the bridge change over. Slipping from the shadows and down to the ground, she slipped to the underside of the bridge. Her clothing, well fitted mottled grey clothes hid her well within the shadows of the under bridge as she climbed across the lower rungs like monkey bars. Ebony was an assassin, well, a Wetboy to be technical. Her master had always told her one thing. Assassins have targets because the sometimes miss. Wetboys have Deaders for obvious reasons. Tonight was her first mission by herself, and she had no plans of failing. She had adopted her masters motto. Kill or be killed.

Isadora Bridge sighed heavily as her alarm screamed at her to get up. Groaning softly, she rolled over and thumped the alarm off with her fist. It was a fair thing to say that Isadora was far from a morning person. Grumbling to herself as she rose from between the sheets, she headed for the shower. Today was her first day as an Under Cover agent. For her, it was a breath of fresh air, a little taste of freedom in the strict regime of being an F.B.I agent who had stepped on the toes of her superiors. Isadora's ways in the force had been quite controversial as much of the time she didn' t really care about the reputation of the agency when it came to bringing down a suspect. Perhaps her it was her heavy-handed attitude that had scored her this gig. Perhaps that was what made her their best agent.

Either way, Isadora was about to enter the criminal underworld as a Russian mobster from the motherland. 5:50 am. Dammit. She thought to herself as she hastily pulled on a pair of fitted grey jeans and a black tank top. I'm already late for my first day. That shipment should be arriving soon. Hastily pulling on a leather jacket, she shoved her phone, keys and wallet into her pants pockets and grabbed her helmet. Just as she exited her apartment, she grabbed her belt from a hook next to the door and wrapped it around her hips. A Desert Eagle perched upon her hip, the weight of it calming the butterflies that rose in her stomach. "At least it's a good day to go for a ride."She muttered to herself as she jogged down to the garage.

A wicked little smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she kicked her slick black motorcycle into life. The engine roared beneath her and she pulled her helmet on. Screeching out of the garage, she tore down the street towards the docks. Isadora was quite proud of the time it took her to get down there. She had even made it there just as the ship was pulling in