The streets of New Orleans buzzed with a potency of life like no other, no matter the hour; however, it is during the night, that's when they always gave off the vibe of being far more... active. There was an undeniable energy that fluctuated throughout the air and the lights, food, laughter and endless music only seemed to increase it, tenfold. Of course these were not the defining sole terms that would invoke this powerful unseen force. While Bourbon Street churned with never-ending illumination till the sun rose and carried a sense of wild freedom and reckless abandon onward into eternity. There were some places where the darkness seemed to seep upward, into the lighted paths... it too brought a certain type of immortal existence. One that held a distinct supernatural quality.


Where angels fear to tread...


Spirits seemed to call out to you in the luminescence of the moon and if you didn't hold tight to your senses and keep a level head on your journey, you just might find yourself ensnared in a witches trance or captivated within a vampire's stare. Lost in the swamps or trapped by the dust of a voodoo priest's curse. The forever maze of one's destiny was designed with many twists and turns in these areas. For those that didn't keep careful watch of themselves, their fate could be fastened with quite a different wax seal of a far more lasting and permanent kind, compared to those that knew how to pay mind to their surroundings and be weary of their footfalls. Take a false step and wander aimlessly down an alleyway or foreboding looking passage and you may find yourself attracting the attention of some of the most sinister kind.


Stalked as prey, the victim in the stage play held by a depraved madman, who wore a smirk and cut with sarcastic comments as sharp as the sword that he could pull from thin air. That's right... these days in New Orleans, if one didn't heed the signs and pay attention to where they were headed, losing themselves could mean losing their life to the blade of Dillinger D'Marco. Then they too could stay as a perpetual addition to these arcane streets - trapped, a specter crying out forevermore, while their life essence fueled and powered The Heart of Darkness (his sword) with the ability to rip through reality and give Dillinger, the means to pass over to anywhere he pleased. This is the "small" price that is paid all too frequently by fools and the unknowing.


Although, this metaphorical coin, has two sides. When flipped to the opposite, you will find quite a different breed of species. The ones that walk about, looking for trouble. They seek it out actively, for reasons all their own. On this night in question, Donovan Blackwater strolled along in a similar fashion. He wanted a specific something... or rather, someone to notice his presence. Occasionally glancing at his phone for directions, he smiled when his tracker app pinged with activity and fired up a cigarette. The hairs standing up on the back of his neck, he faked a stumble as he laughed aloud at his supposed blunder and took a turn down the closest alleyway. Which also happened to be the darkest alley in the vicinity. Not long after Donovan began progressing down the alley, a sizzle of fire sharply singed the air, leaving behind a scent of sulphur and brimstone and an ominous shadow, added itself to the scene. Sensing this additional silent but deadly presence, Donovan stifled a snicker and feigned another missed step as he placed his hand against the wall, for an alleged means of balance. Then he turned to the side, pretending to take a piss. (Hah! Pretending to take a piss, while taking a piss! How many folks can say that?)


There is a certain type of intense looming dread that comes with being the intended target of Dillinger D'Marco's blade. A moment when one can feel their arriving doom. Usually this occurs the precise second before it's plunged directly into you, which doesn't leave you with very many options, other than death. It's almost a way of telling someone... hey, buddy you're fucked! Right before they die, so they know; much as their killer knows, there's no way out for them and all hope is lost. When this takes place from behind it's one thing but it's a million times worse, when you're staring Dillinger directly in the eye. The last thing you would ever see before the end.


Tonight... neither of those variations occurred. Because as soon as that strange sensation hit Donovan and surged within him like the feeling one might experience, when they take an immense drop on a roller coaster, mixed with a static sort of tingle all across his flesh. He sent out an invisible force and blasted Dillinger against the opposing wall. Laughing, Donovan turned around, his eyes fixated upon an annoyed Dillinger as he swiftly did a kip up into an immediate standing position. A look of acknowledgement crossing Dillinger's face, when his gaze met with Donovan's, he snapped his wrist to the side and The Heart of Darkness vanished.


"God dammit, Donovan Blackwater! What the fuck are you doing stumbling around these parts? Wandering down dark alleys, all lost and wasted like? Are you drunk or something? Why the fuck are you drunk in New Orleans?"


A clever smirk adorned Donovan's face as he took a pull from his cigarette.


"I'm not drunk."


"You're not?"


Dillinger's disbelieving tone and arched eyebrow of inquiry provoked a chuckle from Donovan as he shook his head and exhaled a cloud of smoke.


"Not even in the slightest. Did you like the stumbles and the wall grab for support though? I thought those added a nice touch. I figured an intoxicated man wobbling along in the dark, not knowing quite where he was going, would grasp your attention and pull you out of the shadows. And look! Here you are! I must say it's quite intense being locked in Dillinger D'Marco's radar. I still have chills. My goosebumps have goosebumps! Christ. Your victims must shit their pants every time before the kill. I know I would. Not that, that would ever happen cause well, I'm me and you're you and there's just no way you'd get the drop on me. I could smoke my weight in weed and I'd still know you were coming. God bless training sessions at the Citadel."


"Yeah, super glad I joined up with the Elite and you all figured out my abilities and learned how to defend yourselves against them, that's fan-fucking-tastic, really. Is there a reason that you came here looking for me or was this little stunt all there's to it? Cause I gotta tell ya, it's not as humorous on this end."


"Awww.... geez Dill Pickles, I'm only having a little fun. I didn't mean to step on your toes. Personally you are... by far, my favorite murderous maniac with a blood lust. That's not just because you're the only one I know either. I've watched just about every serial killer bio-pic that's been made and none of those guys, have your charisma. Plus you've managed to stay out of prison and avoid state funded execution. Now that's saying something! Nothing good about the status of law enforcement and the ability to catch murderers but it speaks volumes in your favor. You're the killer that can't be caught! Take that FBI. Anyway, there is actually a reason behind why I came around these parts, looking for you, I need a favor."


"I'm listening."


"I need you to come to my apartment and do that thing you do."


"You want me to kill someone. Who? Your kid? Sorry, I don't kill children, unlike most with an insatiable desire to feed a blood lust, I have standards."


"Oh, I know. Do me a favor though. Turn the crazy down just a notch cause... NO! I do not want you to murder my son! What the actual fuck man! If I didn't know better, I'd ask what you were thinking but clearly the dial is always set on kill. Holy shiza! I meant the other thing, where you can see ghosts and traces of the dead and track them."


"Oh... yeah, you should have specified that. I have standards but you're right, my mind always goes to murder."


"Clearly."


"Yeah man, I can help you out. Is there a certain reason behind this?"


"I'll elaborate further on the details when we're both back at my place."


"Okay."


"There's something else..."


"What?"


"I need you to keep this between us."




"Yay!"


"Leap of Faith!"


"Woo hoo!"


"Battling on platforms, ladders and ziplines!


"Fuck. Can you all tell, I'm excited? I'm excited. I think it's cause I always wanted to use a zipline. Seriously. It's like Christmas came early for me. Thanks Vinnie Lane."


"Alright, now that I've established that, I'll get onto the actual match and its participants."


"So Brian Storm, Ned Kaye, Mastermind, Big D, Robbie Bourbon and I, get to battle it out high above the ring. The goal being to knock everyone to their doom and retrieve a 24/7 briefcase. I think this might be the best match I've ever been in. It's like American Gladiators: XWF Edition. I kind of want to let someone knock me off one of the platforms, so I can catch myself with my force powers and push myself back up onto it. Maybe make a sad face and pretend to cry. Haha! This is going to be great!"


"As for my opponents... there's so many to choose from to start with... fuck it, lets go with Robbie Bourbon. Robbie! You were a great asset on Team Blackwater and now look, we're battling it out again. I know you're a formidable foe and probably the guy I need to watch out for the most. Seriously, I remember when you kicked my fucking ass, I limped for two days afterwards and I have a regeneration factor. That's saying a lot. Still I'm going to do my best to take you down. Second times a charm, right?"


"Ned Kaye. You beat down my brother twice. Honestly, that's pretty funny, just cause he likes to throw his weight around when we spar and train together and seeing him knocked on his ass, well it made me giggle. So thanks for that. I'm looking forward to battling it out with you cause if I take you down and Raph couldn't do it, despite having two chances, that would make my year."


"Big D! I still think the majority of your draft picks for War Games sucked! Hahahaha! Oh man, I can't believe you're still crying about people ragging on your choices. That's hilarious. It's like you're a fifteen year old girl, trapped in a grown man's body. I bet you have both seasons of 13 Reasons Why on DVD and listen to Billie Eilish songs on repeat. What color is your diary? I'm gonna guess it's purple with sparkles. Dear Diary... why do they keep making fun of me?!?! I'm Big D! I'm Star of the Month! Oh crap! My period just started! Note to self, don't wear white trunks at the pay-per-view."


"Mastermind... you're on the back foot, mate. I still don't know what the fuck that means! This is our third encounter. It's a special time for us. I think I'm going to come at you first. Seeing you fall off a platform, that's comedy gold right there. Like Wile E. Coyote falling off a cliff. Ha! I guess that makes Zane Norrison the Road Runner on account of the fact that you can never beat him."


"Awww... man, Brian Storm. What can I say? You're a good guy, a close friend and an amazing former teammate but I'm going to have to beat the crap out of you. Tell you what, I'll make it up to you with a blunt and a pint of Guinness after the fight. Extra Stout, like you prefer."


"Well, that's everyone. See you all at Leap of Faith. Donovan Blackwater, signing out. Peace."