Throughout history, there have been extraordinary individuals. People who see, people who know, people who are. They have been exiled, they have lived alone; they have been good, they have been evil. Some are recognized. Few make history.

I live in shadow. I am among the ranks of obscurity.

I am the last hope. I am the Messaiah

…

Xander looked out over his assigned territory, and was mildly disappointed at how quiet it was. He shrugged then, and lay back against one of the large stone gargoyles along the wall of his post. Watching the lights below, he wondered what it was like to be living as they were. Xander had found out what he was when he was thirteen. Only four years ago, but four critical years. No chance of re-introduction to society now, he thought. Not like it mattered-he enjoyed his work.

Xander…we’ve got one on the corner of First and Third.

He answered Zephyr’s thought.

Gotcha Zepher-Honey, be there in a flash. Don’t start without me.

Xander rose into the air headed for his target.

…

Dawson looked out into the night sky. So many stars…he thought. I wonder what it’s like to be a star. He turned away from the window and back to his computer, where he was supposed to be looking for patterns that connected a chain of killings. Dawson had researched the victims for hours, and all he’d discovered was that they were all women. Not that unusual. Strangulation was a favorite with killers these days, and the victims were mostly women. The victims didn’t seem to have a pattern, but he wasn’t sure. He’d been researching them for hours now, and he was exhausted.

The first vic was blonde, twenty-eight year-old Fiona Tracey, a quiet model from a good neighborhood. She’d been killed in her home at around 4:30 a.m. with very little struggle, as she’d been asleep. She’d lived with her roommate, who wasn’t home at the time. Nothing had been stolen, or even broken.

The second vic was forty year-old Yolanda Cruz; a Columbian native who’d married an American lawyer. Her two daughters were grown and in college, and her husband had been in court during her murder. She’d been found in an alleyway near a store she’d been shopping in. She’d struggled, but a length of rope had been wound around her neck.

The list went on like this, no pattern in age, race, occupation, marital status, and none of the women had any connection. None of the six victims even lived in the same part of the city. If we were ‘normal’ I wouldn’t be doing this, and no one would even be looking for a connection. Always connections around here… What are we really looking for? Are we just staying out of the way of the public? Are we hiding?

“Dawson, man-you still working?”

Dawson looked up at his questioner; amused.

“Yes, Jerrik, I’m still working, and I will continue doing so until I find a connection.”

“In other words, forever.” He pulled up a chair and looked at the monitor, “Let me help.”

Dawson relinquished his chair, gesturing his friend to sit closer to the tableau of evidence. “Take a break, Big D. Get a soda. I’ll see what I can do.”

Dawson smiled. Leave it to Jerrik. That spelled out trouble. When he got back the computer would probably be frozen.

“Thanks. Hope you find something, ‘cause I’ve been here for fifteen hours now.”

“Yeah, and you look terrible.”

Walking down the hall to the nearest soda machine, he wondered vaguely if all the women shopped in the same places. Not likely; a model, a middle-aged mom, countless young women, even an eighty-year old former nurse. Grocery stores? So much work to check; most either lived alone, or didn’t seem too connected with the people in their lives. At this thought, a glimmer of recognition appeared in Dawson’s mind. It was like grabbing at water with your bare hands; there was never enough left in your palms to be of any real use, and you only had enough to prove to your senses that water was real. It quickly got lost as he reached the machine.

“Vices are nice, but addictions blur the thought process.” He sighed.

Dawson slid his hand distractedly over the i.d. panel of the machine; it was nice to have an endless supply of soda. No one in the organization had to pay for food or drink, or even their clothes. Everything the Shadows wanted, they got. It was a great system, but everything has a price. Rule number one was that Shadows didn’t associate with the populace. Company policy kids-no life outside of their outsized hive. This last thought rang bitterly in Dawson’s head, though he immediately regretted it. They had saved him from his future; and what a grim future it had been…

…

Xander flew over the tops of toy buildings filled with people as insignificant as ants. Zephyr had said First and Third, right? He had been so lost in thought that his brain felt fried. His large wings were already tired from the long flight over Hexia City. Got a few crooks that way, but he had gained some weight, which made flying a nuisance. But it was fast, and Zephyr’s post was a long way off. Scanning the area, he found Zephyr and the Targets easily enough.

“Two perps, dealers probably. They’ve got some poor shmuck in some deep shit in the far corner.” Zephyr muttered as Xander alighted on the rooftop.

Xander scratched his head and yawned.

“So… what you’re saying is, we should help this ‘poor shmuck’, as you so quaintly put it?” Zephyr glared and nudged him towards the edge of their roof.

“Go on now, Mr. Angel man, and save a life. He’s got an unpleasant wife and three kids. He doesn’t do or deal, just in the wrong place at a time when it’s convenient for us to save his sorry ass. You’re spoiling for action anyways, so go down there and kill some dealers.”

“Kill?” Zephyr nodded.

“They’re hardcore; it’s Jared Updike and his crony Smokey Joe.”

Xander smiled immensely and laughed a little, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. His large, black angel wings stretched out to their fullest and his fangs grew slightly longer.

“Ah, for the love of the kill. Blood is good, and it’s all for me.”

With that he descended upon the unfortunate drug pushers.

Dawson, now calmed from his caffeinated indulgence, made his way back to his room. Upon opening the door, a ghostly countenance greeted him. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights as it grew dark, and the computer’s glare made the other boy appear blue and phantom-like. Quite a sharp contrast with Jerrik’s normally golden skin. A nice looking guy, Dawson supposed, but what interested him more was whatever he had uncovered about the case.

“Hey man, you get anything?”

Jerrik grinned wolfishly at the other young man, “Hell yeah I found something.” He gestured to the computer. “Now, I believe you’ve missed one major thing.”

Dawson cocked an eyebrow. Jerrik bowed, and divulged a single word:

“Heroine.”

Xander lay on the cold asphalt, licking the still-warm blood from his lips and shuddering with pleasure. He whispered sofly.

"Zephyr... get your shmuck out of here.... or I'll kill him." Xander wanted more blood so damn bad. He had to have more. His entire being craved more of the hot mortal nectar. He'd kill the man he'd been trying to save. He fluttered his wings cheerfully. Aahhh, blood. But what a price to glanced dully at the mangled remains of Jared Updike and Smokey Joe. They had it coming...

Zephyr walked quickly over to the man, who was cowering in the corner, praying softly. Your God won't save you. We did though. You should be thanking us.

"You're safe now. Go home." She looked deep into his blood-shot brown eyes with her red-tinged ones. "Forget."

The man's face went slack, and he began walking back to his car. She knew he wouldn't rember a thing.

"They were drug addicts?" Dawson asked, shocked.

Jerrik shook his head and laughed. "Heroine the movie, genius. All the women saw it at the theatre by the hardware store on 19th... I hacked into the cameras from the parking lot of the Exon station. I had a hunch--all independent women, detached from reality... Heroine's about a woman in the Civil war era. They all went alone..." He checked the times on each vidoe screen shot, "just before they went missing. The perp must be hiding in the theatre or parking lot."

Dawson stared at his friend, awed and speechless. He'd always condidered Jer as a sort of loveable dunce. He'd just found the only lead on Dawson's case...

"Yo-D.; you're freakin' me out man..."

Dawson shook his head and tackled Jerrick. "You jerk!"

They grapled on the floor for awhile, and when Dawson stopped pummeling him, Jerrik cocked an eyebrow.

"How am I a jerk?"

With a half-hearted punch, Dawson responded. "You could have helped sooner. I'd worked for fifteen hours straight."His friend's eyes widened.

"You need sleep. Go on, get some rest. I'll work awhile longer."He kissed Dawson on the forehead and ruffled his hair. "'Night!"

Normally Dawson would have had something to say, but he was so tired...

Zephyr walked slowly yet deliberatly over to Xander; now kneeling on the pavement. His head was bowed, and when he lifted his face to greet her, his eyes flared red momentarily. He grinned happily, almost childlike in his exuberance.

"I'm alright now, Zephyr." He stood up and stretched. "You want a ride home?" He nearly bounced with joy, "I feel like I could carry you across the whole Bay with out getting tired at all!" His large wings seemed to enlarge further. Zephyr knew the danger had passed, but his euphoric state after draining someone scared her. That original revultion had never really faded, she had just learned to deal with him better.

"Come on then. I'll let you fly me home as long as you're quiet." She knew he would hiss in her ear the whole way back.

"OK Zephyr!" He lied.

It was always the same twisted dance; a mockery of human mortality, the sound of human blood in his voice.

When Dawson woke, he realized he was warm. Much warmer than usual in fact. He opened his eyes carefully, as they strung from the sunlight streaming in through the single, small window. He looked around to find out why his normally Arctic room was so warm, and immeadiatly tensed up. There was a man in bed with him. It took a minute to realize it was Jerrik. Dawson sighed and laid back down. Careful not to wake the other man, he reached over and stroked his hair.

"Like silk..." He thought absently. Allowing his eyes to roamover Jerrik's shirtless form, he came to rest on the long jagged scars that crossed his friend's back. One night, when they'd been drunk, Jerrik explained the large, "X" shaped scar...

"How'd you get it?" Dawson asked.

"The city's a bitch; some gang members thought I was someone else. They cut me up good, and it never healed right. Honorable war wound, ya know?" Jerrik sighed, "They thought I was my brother Roberto. Stupid ass was a gang member."

"Was?"

"Yeah, was." tears shone in his eyes. "Momma killed him."

Zephyr shuddered as she made her way down the empty corridor towards her room.

"Uggh, what in Hell's name is he, really? He's no angel, despite first appearances..."

Xander had always distrubed her. Try as she might, she couldn't get used to that voice. He said all sorts of dreadful things, and behind his normally rich tenor, there was something evil using his mouth. And it liked blood.

The Instructor assured her that she would be safe when she was patnered for outside tasks. So long as she never let her guard down after he'd fed on humans. The Instrucor neglected to tell her what he was, because everyone in the Hive was on a need-to-know basis.

"Which sucks the proverbial ass."