Season's Greetings Ch.1
By Vega

Maine. A quiet boring peacefull state. A place where snow falls gently and and little children play. Within the quiet state is the quiet town of White Falls, a place where the only monsters that exist are Frankenstein and the wolfman. A cold wind blows through the town as a black Limo pulls up to the residencce of the mayor. The driver exits and moves to the door, with a humble bow, he opens it. Out steps a tall blond man with red and blue skin.

"He's here ... I can feel it ... has Twelve arrived?"

The driver lowers his eyes slightly.

"No Sir, he shall arrive by nightfall, after his briefing, he shall begin his mission ..."

The man known as Gill turns his head, cold piercing eyes seem to look through the driver.

"See that this mission is successful ... I would trust that this lose end is dealt with by the end of the week ... now, if you'll excuse me."

The driver turns as Gill moves to the door, he produced a cellphone and hits redail.

"Is Twelve here yet? I swear to god the boss gives the the creeps ..."

Change of scene. Deep within the small town's excuse for a buisness section resides the Oriental Express. A small chinese resteraunt, but the interior isn't whats important. More important than the resteraunt, its criminal connections and its various clientelle, is a man huddled in rags hiding behind the resteraunt, a foriegn man with pale white skin, he hides shivering in the mass. His eyes close as he tries to warm himself ... keeping alive, was it always so difficult? Dreams of Russia, his motherland, dreams of trains and fighting and chemicals slowly run in his mind. A train wreck, egress. Escape. Science ... or was it magic? When he was a child he had a home, a mother, a father and sisters, now ... nothing. Nothing but running and hiding. Freedom was something this man had desperately craved, now that he found it, he would never give it up, but now, now all he wanted was to rest. The strange man pulled the rags about him and thought back. Russia ... how he longed to be normal once more.

As the stranger drifts to sleep a truck quickly makes its way through Maine. Located within the plain unmarked carrage are devices of science and corruption. A man with a clipboard stands infront of a tank holding an odd yellow mass of plastic.

"So this is Gill's little terminator, eh?"

A man sitting back from the equipment holding a submachine gun looks up slightly.

"Yup, thats number twelve ..."

"Feh, hate to have this thing after me ... you gotta feel sorry for ... um, whats his name again?"

"Necro ..."