Officer John Taylor was at the Holt house investigating the disappearance of Marcellus Holt. Currently, he was talking to Joanne Holt, Marcellus’ mother.

  “Mrs. Holt, when was the last time you saw your son?” inquired Officer Taylor.

 “Monday, when I dropped him off at School,” she replied between tears.

 John was confused by this, as the school had informed him that Marcellus hadn’t been to school since Friday. “You’re sure you dropped him off at school?” he asked “Because the school claims he wasn’t there.” 

 “Yes,” replied Mrs. Holt, “I watched him go in.”

 Marcellus woke up with a splitting headache, unsure of where or who exactly he was. He stood up, grimacing as he did so, and looked at his surroundings. He was on what appeared to be the roof of a store. After stumbling around for a few minutes, he found a ladder. Staring at the ladder, he contemplated whether he should climb down or not. “Who knows, maybe there’ll be someone who knows me down there,” he thought before fumbling onto the ladder.

Upon reaching the ground, he found a knife with his name carved into the handle. Picking it up, Marcellus found it fit his hand perfectly. Almost as if it were made custom for him. He attached it to his belt and pulling his jacket over it, Marcellus started walking toward the store’s entrance. As he approached the door, he felt a slight tingle in his head and arms. Marcellus began to panic when he realized he had pulled out the knife he found and was standing behind a man. He watched helplessly as his right arm plunged the knife into the man's neck, and his left wrapped around his mouth. In shock, Marcellus released the man, who fell to the ground with a handgun clattering next to him. his gaze shifted his hands. He noticed that both his arms held the image of a strange creature. His right arm had a black one, and the one on his left arm was gold. After a few seconds the drawings on his arms started to fade as well as the tingling. Marcellus returned his gaze to the dead man at his feet and realized what he had done. Fear clutched his chest as he dashed out of the store. 

  John strode through the door of the local Culinary Haven. The store manager was fidgeting to the right of the entrance. He stiffened a little when his gaze shifted to John, "Oh, good. This way, sir." John let out a quiet grunt as he turned to follow the man. They walked past shelves of various vegetables until they were just out of view of the front counter. Turning back toward John while pointing with his left hand, "There. I saw a kid run out with a scared look on his face. And when I went to see what had spooked him, I found this guy." Looking in the direction the manager was pointing. John discovered a man lying face down in a pool of blood. Resting a few inches from his right hand was a small handgun.

Walking over to the body, John deduced that the man had been shot with the gun. The attacker then ran off leaving the gun behind. He pondered why the kid would leave his weapon as he slid his hand into a glove, and knelt to pickup the firearm. Knowing it was still dangerous so long as there might be a round in it, he removed the magazine and pulled the slide as far back as it would go. He paused when a cartridge didn't come out, glancing into the chamber he was confused to find it empty. "You got a camera around here," he inquired while sliding the magazine into his chest pocket. 

"Uh, yeah. In the back come on." John noticed that the man who had been quite nervous earlier now seemed somewhat disinterested in what was happening. Probably because John was there. People usually stopped caring about things like this once someone arrives to take care of it. 

As he stood to follow the man John noticed a hole in the body's neck. The shape of which would indicate that he was stabbed. He moved the thought in the back of his mind as he turned to follow his guide through the storage room to a small office with a computer sitting on a desk against the far wall. John let out a sigh, "let's see how long this takes," he mumbled as he placed his watch against the little box off to the right side of the screen. To his surprise the computer loaded his info rather quickly," Oh, you've got a new one of these." Not waiting for a reply, John navigated to the cameras and pulled up the one which showed the spot he needed. "What you got to show me," he thought as he scrolled through the recording to find the moment of the murder. what he found shocked him, the victim had been holding the gun, and from the look of it observing the worker at the front counter. Then in the next frame he was being held from behind by a kid, a kid who John just so happened to be looking for. Marcellus Holt. 

In the next frame, a glint of gold caught John’s eye. The kid had a golden tattoo. Something the mother had neglected to mention. John felt his heart jump with excitement. He hadn't dealt with one of these in over a hundred years. The Creator must be attempting another insurrection. Needing as much information as possible, John clicked through the frames. Looking for a good look at the kid's arm. When he found one, he noted how Marcellus looked stunned. Kid was probably new, easy prey for someone like John. Now he just needed to know which one he was hunting. One glance at that golden tattoo would tell him that. His excitement grew when he saw the animal which was on the kid's left arm. A wolf. John had never seen a wolf in person. In fact, most of his fellow agents thought them to be a myth. A tale from before the Great Unification, and if the stories are to be believed, the most powerful. John allowed the video to play at its normal pace and watched as the kid ran out of frame, "easy pickin’s."

He turned the computer off and went to exit the room. "I have all I need. Someone will be by to pick up that body shortly," his voice carried an edge that caused the store’s representative to take a step back. 

Sitting on a bench in a local park, with his legs pulled up to his chest. Marcellus was haunted by what had transpired earlier that day. The image of that man's empty eyes had planted itself in his mind and wouldn't leave. It had also caused a pit to form in his stomach. He didn't like the idea that he was now a murderer, and probably being hunted as he sat there. With this in mind, Marcellus contemplated what he should do next. He couldn't go home, not that he knew where that was, nor anywhere for that matter. The only option he could think of was to leave town and hide outside the cities. Marcellus slumped even farther into the bench.

"Hey kid. Have a bad day." Glancing up, Marcellus found a middle age man giving him a friendly smile. Marcellus backed away as far as he could without falling over. "Whoa, sorry didn't mean to scare you Marc," the man said, extending his right arm with the palm of his hand pointing toward the ground. 

Marcellus felt a surge of hope run through his body. He had found someone who knew him. "You know me, " he immediately regretted asking that, as he did not know who this man was or if he was trustworthy.

Deciding he would have to trust someone eventually, "I can't remember anything before today." 

 The strange man gave a slight nod, "I see. Well, I guess that means you need help getting home, don't it." 

"Uh, no, I don't want to burden my family with this. Could you show me somewhere I could stay for a few days." Marcellus expected the man to object to his request. He shrank into the bench when the man crossed his arms across his chest.

"You’re sure you don't want to go to your parents for help," the man glared down the bridge of his nose. "They could offer better support."

Marcellus turned his head as he tossed the idea around for a few seconds. But the idea of going home to find The Watch decided for him. He turned back to answer the man, but could only nod when their eyes met. A slight smile appeared at the edges of the man’s mouth," Well then, I guess an introduction is in order. My name is Verdin. It is a pleasure to meet you." Verdin said, while extending his hand. 

Marcellus shook Verdin's hand and noted how rough his hand was, almost like the bark on a particularly smooth tree. He paused, what was a tree. No, he knew what a tree was. Though he hadn't seen a single one since waking up. He hadn't even seen any bushes or flowers, not even grass. Even the park was devoid of plant life. Just metal and concrete. "Where are the plants," he mumbled to himself.

"There are none, at least not here," Verdin answered his question, causing Marcellus to jump a little. He was sure he hadn't said it loud enough to be heard. Verdin glanced at Marcellus, "Go to the store on Royal Street. You'll find something you need there." With that, he stood and walked away. "See ya soon Marc," he called over his shoulder.

Marcellus felt the dread he had felt earlier return. What could he possibly get from there, it's not like he had any money. Plus, he could be walking straight into a trap set by The Watch. Standing, Marcellus decided to go see if he could find this store. Maybe someone there knew Verdin. Or maybe. Just maybe. He would find something.

Marcellus sat in an alley, his back against a metal wall. Chewing on what he believed was a discarded piece of meat, he debated his next move. He had spent a whole day looking for the road Verdin had mentioned. But this city was the most confusing maze to exist. At least it felt like that. Marcellus had found a map. Unfortunately, it had been mounted on a wall, and he always forgot which way to go after a few turns. He tried writing it down. Yet, somehow, he had ended up here, in an alley, eating a chunk of who knows what. Marcellus swallowed the last of his impromptu meal and let out a soft sigh. Why did this happen to him, of all people? Why did he have to be the one to lose his memory? Marcellus slumped slightly. He wished this nightmare would end. That he would suddenly remember everything he had forgotten. But his past remained behind a wall. The question was, which wall? A yawn forced its way onto his face. Or did Marcellus just not have a past?

He paused. Could that be it. Did he actually not have a past. Was he artificial, or created by some god. That would explain why he couldn’t remember anything before the last couple of days. That idea brought even more questions. Did Verdin have a hand in all this. And what was this store he wanted Marcellus to find. If it even was a store. Marcellus shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He couldn't think like that. Of course, he had a past. He just forgot about it. Though he was even more curious about what he would find on Royal Street. He closed his eyes. That can wait till tomorrow, though. He was tired, and his head was buzzing.

  The streets always made John a slight bit uneasy at night. He didn't know why. They just did. Perhaps it was the lack of people, or maybe the way the lights reflected off the buildings. But tonight he was especially nervous. He was hunting one of them after all, and a wolf, no less. The mythical, what did they call their companions again. It started with the letter c. Custodians, curators. John rubbed his brow. It didn't matter what they were called. All that mattered was finding this kid. 

John had put everything on hold after the incident at the Culinary Haven. And yet, his only lead in the past two days was that someone had spotted the kid on the road John now walked. But he had been up and down it a few times now with no results. He had even checked all adjacent roads. John stopped in front of an alley. He had checked here before, though not thoroughly. 

John drew his pistol as he stepped toward the alley. A blur of motion flew out from a disposal unit on the left side of the alley. John fired one shot. That was all he could manage before a pair of eyes appeared a couple of inches from his own. The light emitted from them didn't bother him. He had seen glowing eyes before. But the color, normally they were white. These, however, were two different colors. One gold and one black. John shoved the body off himself. He aimed his gun at his assailant. John recognized the kid standing before him. Marcellus Holt.

"I've killed hundreds of your kind, kid. Do you really think you'll be any different," he said more to himself than the kid. It might have helped, but his threat had gone seemingly unnoticed. John took a step back. Could he really fight this and win? Of course he could. He was John Taylor, oldest of the Imperial Officers. Sure, he wasn’t the strongest, but he could handle a little kid. He squeezed the trigger of his gun. Nothing. No flash. No hum of it charging another shot. Just a soft click. John stared at it for a second before his training kicked in. He gave the battery a good smack and pressed the charge button on the side. John presented his weapon. Marcellus was gone. John looked around, but the kid had left no trace. John let out a low growl before punching a nearby wall. A move he quickly regretted. Damn that kid. John would find him, and he would kill him. It was his job, after all.