Saga III Chapter IV - Superdupercalifragilacisticnatural

**KATHMANDU, NEPAL**

The bustling city of Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, is one of the few cities to retain its freedom and total neutrality in the face of the rampages of both Liquid Ocelot and the Patriots. The indomitable spirit of the Nepalese people and their army ensures that their freedom remains intact, even when their total neutrality is far from the case, with the Nepalese Army regularly making excursions to battle PMC forces who dare wander too close to the fertile Kathmandu Valley that hosts the city.

Deep in the heart of the city sits a house. Only a single storey high, the interior of the house is plainly decorated with a bare minimum of furniture. With only a couch opposite a flatscreen television, perched upon a carved wooden cabinet, being visible, the home appears to have very little. Within the house, at a small wooden table, sits Karab. Opposite him sits a figure who appears similar to Karab, with darker skin and his scalp covered with a blue turban. Unlike Karab, who is still growing out a beard, the figure has a bristly black beard which hangs loose and free, untrimmed but minimally groomed so that the end hangs in a point just down to the top of his chest. Wearing a tight white t-shirt and a pair of baggy grey cotton trousers, the figure appears to be in much better shape than Karab, his body and particularly his arms a lot more toned. With a large dish in front of him and a cup of milk tea beside it, the man eats as he stares at Karab.

Karab, however, doesn't appear to be in high spirits. Staring glumly at a cup of milk tea in front of him, Karab remains motionless. The man opposite of him remains eating dal bhat, steamed rice accompanied by a small steel bowl of spiced lentil soup known as dal. The man eats the soup, his head slightly raised as he stares daggers at Karab.

Karab: Patel....Just....say something.

Patel remains silent, continuing to eat.

Karab [Quietly]: Please, Patel..

Patel [Slowly setting his spoon down]: I don't know what you want me to say.

Karab: Just consider the request, please?

Patel: Brother, that is not a request that I can consider in of myself. Even if it was, you would not like the answer.

Karab: ....Why?

Patel [Calmly taking a drink of tea]: To be both Sikh and Gurkha is a blessing. Our father, Anri Gurung, a Gurkha by trade in the British Army. Our mother, Nahi Singh, a proud Sikh. The blood of warriors flows in our veins. Some may call us a contradiction, may say that we must embrace either the Gurkha way of life or the Sikh way of life and not both: I say that we are both. We are warriors.

Karab: Patel, what are you--

Patel [Slamming his cup angrily]: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO REPRESENT US WITH HOW YOU CARRIED YOURSELF!!!

A small silence fills the room. Patel lets out a deep breath, scooping up another spoon of dal and eating it before looking over at Karab.

Patel [Calmly]: Brother, you ran. At Sucre, the Shree Naya Gorakh Battalion marched forth and cut asunder the Pieuvre Armament PMC, taking their barracks. But simply because they launched a few Gekkou's, you threw your gun down and you ran. That is an unforgivable act.

Karab [Desperately]: I left the battalion myse--

Patel [Snorting]: And they shipped you to the Middle East to die. You did not uphold any honour by saying that you wanted to leave: You did nothing.

Karab [Growing more desperate]: If I get some more training, better training, rather than being forced through--

Patel [Coldly]: You received the same training as everyone else. Do not bring up the fact that father was a beloved member of the battalion several years prior: That has nothing to do with this. You received good training and you threw it away.

Karab: I didn't mean t--

Patel [Scoffing]; Oh, so now you didn't mean to. That makes it better, does it?

Karab: I wasn't--

Patel: So now you come back. You come into my house as a coward, one who betrayed his oaths and his honour. Now, what do you want of me? Oh, and you had better answer this question really fucking carefully.

Karab: .........I.....want....to be bac--

Patel [Laughing loudly]: BACK?! YOU WANT TO BE A GURKHA AGAIN?!?!

Karab [Meekly]: Well...yeah..

Patel: You? A Gurkha? Brother, you are an embarrassment. You, little boy, would be more suited to a marathon track than to a battalion. You suffered such embarrassment that you had to change your name just to escape your foul deeds.

Karab [Breathlessly]: Because it was horr--

Patel [Sternly]: Yes, it was horrible. Yet you want to come crawling back in, even with a name that is not the one we know, with a legacy tarnished beyond compare. Do you think I would even allow the Battalion to see you? They need to trust their brothers with their lives.

Karab: But this is the only life I know!!

Patel: KNEW.

Karab [Desperately]: PLEASE, PATEL! PLEASE!

Patel [Darkly]: You beg like a dog begs for a treat. You are no more a Gurkha than a dog is. Walk away.

Karab [Pleading]: PLEASE!!

Patel: I'm not even a recruitment officer. I am a soldier. You're just begging for the sake of begging. That's even worse.

Karab [Pleading]: YOU'RE MY BROTHER, JUST DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING!

Patel [Pointing at Karab]: You trimmed your hair in violation of the teachings. You changed your name. You ran away from battle. I don't know what you want me to do, but I cannot work a FUCKING MIRACLE!!

Karab [Desperately]: TO SHOW MY REPENT--

Patel: Repentance? By going against the teachings and abandoning what our parents gave you at birth? That's not repentance: You just wanted to stop feeling guilt so you took the cowards way out by trying to follow a new way of life, and you even failed at that.

Karab: But i've changed!!

Patel: At least you put down the riot shield, but as far as i'm concerned? You still have a long way to go before the Gurkha's will even look at you. Now, brother: Leave my house.

Karab: Seriously?

Patel [Pointing towards the door]: Go.

Karab sighs, getting to his feet and pushing the chair under the table. He drags his feet towards the door, his shoulders slumped and his smile and optimism completely gone. Karab drags himself towards the door, only for Patel to raise his head, taking a drink of tea.

Patel [Calmly]: If you ever...EVER want even the smallest chance of being recruited back into the battalion, you must prove yourself to be a soldier beyond compare. But short of climbing to the stars and seizing Orion, I have no idea what you could do to even make the battalion look in your general direction.

Karab [Quietly]: I will. You'll see.

Patel: Then don't waste your time. Go. And take that foul name and legacy with you.

Karab walks over to the door and leaves the house, slamming the door shut behind him. Patel slowly raises his head, shaking it slightly.

Patel [Under his breath]: I pity you, brother...I don't hate you..

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

ONE WEEK LATER**

In stark contrast to Kathmandu, New York City is akin to a warzone, and that was before the PMC's even bothered to deploy within it. With the threat of Ocelot and the Patriots hanging over them, and with the United States fielding its own sizeable PMC's, the city of New York remains surprisingly neutral. Thanks, in part, due to the fact that no sane living being resides there. New York is, instead, filled with the most violent people from all races, religions and otherwise walks of life. The only reason as to why the city, as it currently stands, is in a state of relative peace, with businesses open, carts being tended by sellers and tourists still flocking in droves to eat in the latest overpriced gimmick restaurant is simply because every citizen is armed to the teeth, and any intrusion into personal space, any insult, any spark will light the powder keg and cause the city to descend into absolute anarchy.

The presence of hundreds of Gekkous, bipedal war machines with no meaning to existence other than to kill and subjugate, alongside several thousand FROGs, Ocelot's own elite brigade of heavily armoured and armed female soldiers, certainly helps to keep the order alongside the uneasy status quo.

Deep within the city, in an unassuming side street simply labelled "Boss Street", stands the Adamska Hotel. Early in the morning, the red neon letters stand resolute beside a glowing golden neon star. Outside, however, are three NYPD police cruisers, sirens pulsating silently. The front doors have been marked with warning tape and several police officers stand outside. The parking lot stands to the right of the casino, driving into which is a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Once parked, the driver and his passenger climb out, revealing none other than Dean and Samuel Chevrolet, the two brothers whose purpose to the mercenaries is still relatively shrouded in mystery, with the only guesses being that they are glorified cannon fodder.

Dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, the brothers walk out of the parking lot, heading up the sidewalk towards the hotel.

Dean [Looking around]: Everyone here is packing heat.

Dean looks to his left, down the sidewalk: A group of four young male children, the latest being no older than 10, walk past the police officers with M4 assault rifles strapped to their backs and extra clips strapped to their waists by means of duct tape. Dean flashes an uneasy smile, and a young child with shaggy brown hair glares at him, drawing his thumb quickly across his throat as they walk past him.

Dean [Nervously]: We gotta make this quick, Sammy, even the kids here are packing.

Samuel [Looking around]: Yeah, New York City never was a civilised place.

Samuel and Dean walk up to the front doors of the hotel. An officer steps to the left before the brothers even reach inside their suits, allowing them to lean under the tape and enter the hotel.

Dean: Well, that was easy.

Despite its namesake, the inside lobby of the hotel is almost threadbare, with a reception desk to the right, a dusty, glass chandelier above them and little more than an elevator ahead of them. A black leather couch to their left, beside a glass coffee table, are amongst the sole furnishings of the room.

Samuel [Looking around]: Looks like Ocelot is too busy buying up PMC's.

Dean: Nah, Ocelot doesn't own this hotel. If he did, there'd be probably be more females around.

Samuel: Huh. Aging ugly guy who loves to surround himself with young females.

Dean: It's like Gaddafi all over again!

Samuel and Dean walk towards the elevator where a lone officer is standing, arms folded. They approach him and reach inside of their jackets, pulling out a pair of forged 'FBI' badges and showing them to the officer who steps aside motions towards the elevator.

Officer: Go ahead, sirs.

Samuel [Quietly, aside to Dean as they walk forward]: I can't believe that worked.

Dean [Quietly, to Samuel]: Yeah, well, the NYPD isn't exactly the most well trained police force in the world. All the talented people went into the PMC's: I've heard the NYPD actively recruit Special Olympics winners.

Samuel: .....Well, I won't argue with you on that one.

Dean presses the control panel, calling the elevator. The doors open automatically and Dean and Samuel walk in. The doors shut and Samuel pushes the button for the 7th floor as the elevator ascends.

Dean: So, what have we got?

Samuel [Reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a piece of paper]: Deceased male, mid-twenties. Came into the hotel last night, never came back out. Had a suitcase and that's it.

Dean: Businessman?

Samuel: No idea, he didn't look like the type. Reports are saying he's been bled dry.

Dean [Cocking an eyebrow]: ....Vampire?

Samuel: No visible wounds reported. Then again, the police here aren't exactly thorough. It matches a second case that was reported last week: Again, deceased male, late twenties, reports saying he was bled dry. Of course, being New York, we can't access the body because they threw it into an incinerator.

Dean: Huh. Odd. Well, let's go check him out.

The elevator stops, the doors opening as Samuel and Dean step out. On the wall in front of them, slightly to the right, is a wooden door that is ajar, marked off with police tape. Samuel and Dean walk forward towards the door, looking around.

Samuel [Quietly]: There's no officers here..

Dean [Chuckling]: You don't think the NYPD actually care, do you?

Samuel: Well....you'd think that they would..

Dean: Come on: They have PMC's running rampant throughout the city. Who needs a police force when you can just shoot someone?

Dean and Samuel enter the room, dimly lit by a sole lamp on a bedside table beside the bed. The room itself is barely furnished, a lightbulb hanging by a wire above their heads, a dresser to the left and a flatscreen television on a desk at the foot of the bed, which lies to their left. Dean turns to the left, walking over to the bed where the linen has been strewn over the body. Samuel walks into the room, walking towards the window which is opposite the door and looking outside at an alleyway below them. He runs his hands across the window, lifting his hand and sniffing it, smelling nothing but a musty scent. Over by the bed, Dean throws back the linen, revealing the corpse of a relatively young man with brown hair. An odd smile crossing his face, his eyes appear clouded over and his skin appears sunken and pale, almost leathery in appearance. It appears as if the blood has been sucked straight from him, though no marks are immediately visible on the body.

Dean: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand ew.

Samuel: What is it?

Dean: Male. Sapped of energy. Looks like he's been bled dry. Look at that sunken skin, all gross and leathery.

Samuel walks over to the body, flipping the sheet off of the body and revealing the body further. Though shrunken and lifeless, there appear to be no marks on the body whatsoever.

Samuel [Wrinkling his nose]: Yeah, he's dead.

Dean: Well, what gave it away, Sammy?!

Samuel: The question is, though....what killed him?

Dean: Well, there's no marks, so he hasn't been bled out............Unless he bled out through the anus.

Dean and Samuel look at the body, then at eachother, before looking at the body again.

Samuel [Gulping]: ....No blood on the bed or anywhere I can see.

Dean sighs in relief, wiping his brow before looking down at the bar.

Dean: ......So...

Samuel [Shrugging]: I don't know, Dean. He's been sucked dry: That's all we have to go on.

Dean [Quietly]: ...Don't suppose......A succubus?

Samuel: A succubus?

Dean: Well, yeah.

Samuel [Sniggering]: Sounds like the a plot of a low-grade porno.

Dean [Mumbling, looking around]: Don't give our shitty fucking writer any ideas..

Samuel: What?

Dean: I said that I agree with you! It does!

Samuel [Taken aback]: Er, alright, anyway, yeah, it seems like a succubus. Don't succubi usually mate and hound their pray, though, rather than outright drain and kill them?

Dean: It's a theory, Sammy. I mean, it's the only real thing we have to go on: He's naked, in bed, he's smiling and he's been sucked dry. It's gotta be a succubus.

Samuel: Hang on.....Do you see that?

Samuel takes the head of the body and gently tilts it backwards. Somewhat hidden beneath the figures chin, just on the upper throat, is a long gash, the length of the figures chin, deep enough to slice directly through several major arteries. What is odd, though, is the very distinct lack of blood in the wound. In fact, the pale colour of the flesh and the light colour of the wound suggests that the figure has been heavily drained of blood.

Dean [Examining the wound]: Don't tell me it's fucking vampires now.

Samuel [Narrowing his eyes]: No, that's....that's a very deep cut....Just the one, too......Quite ragged.....Drained of blood...

Dean: I'm still saying it's a succubus.

Samuel: That CAN'T be a succubus. His blood has been drained, his throat cut: What kind of succubus does that?

Dean: One on its period.

Samuel shudders.

Samuel: NO!

Dean: So what do we do now, then? The guy's throat has been cut, we have no clues whatsoever aside from another case in the city where a guy was found with a similar wound. I mean...could a succubus do something like this?

Samuel: Well...we should do something.

Dean: Why?

Samuel [Sighing]: That's what we do, Dean.

Dean: Nuh-uh! We're mercenaries, not hunters!

Samuel: We have to do something, Dean. Dad was a hunter.

Dean: Well, we aren't!

Samuel [Sternly]: DEAN.

Dean: ....Alright, alright! But...how do we get rid of a succubus? Give it the d?

Samuel: Well we--.....What the fuck is 'the d'?

Dean [Smirking]: You know!

Samuel shakes his head. Dean hipthrusts and Samuel steps backwards, narrowing his eyes.

Samuel: No, Dean. No.

Dean: Then what we do?

Samuel: Well, the lore is kind of......difficult.

Dean: How difficult?

Samuel [Shrugging]: It differs. Some say that you need to dispel it using prayer, others say a full-on ritual cleansing.

Dean: ....So, we don't know?

Samuel: No.

Dean [Laughing exasperatedly before sighing]: Wow. Okay.

Samuel: C'mon, maybe we can find something that'll tell us that a succubus is definitely here.

Dean: You mean the poor asshole here isn't proof enough?

Samuel: Not definitive, Dean.

Dean: LOOK AT HIM!

Samuel: I'd rather not.

Dean and Samuel continue looking around the room. Samuel walks over to the bed, leaning down beside the body and grasping a long, black fabric. Pulling it free, Samuel glances at it, realising that it is, in fact, hair.

Samuel: Black hair, quite long. Smells like...

Samuel brings it to his nose and takes a deep sniff before looking over at Dean.

Samuel [Taken aback]: It smells like wet dog, Dean.

Dean [Confused]: What in the actual fuck?

Samuel: No lie.

Dean squats down beside Samuel, taking a strand of hair and taking in the deep, musky smell before dropping the hair to the ground.

Dean [Quietly]: Isn't this shit supposed to smell like sulphur if it's a succubus?

Samuel: Records on succubi are sketchy at best. All we've got is Dad's drawings and scribblings on his collection of napkins to guide us and, to be fair, they all smell like alcohol and shame.

Dean: So that's why he left us at such a young age...he was a drunk, not a hunter!

Samuel: Now, Dean, let's not stray from our path too much: We're here to find out what is giving these men the ride of their life.

Dean: ...Okay then. Yeah, sure, let's do that. But where do we go?

Samuel reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few napkins and flicking through them.

Samuel [Examining the various scribbles]: Well, it turns out there's an old brothel in Amityville--

Dean: Great, a haunted brothel.

Samuel [Looking up]: Was that sarcasm, Dean?

Dean [Scoffing]: Well, yeah!

Samuel [Continuing to scan the napkins]: I can never tell with you.

Dean [Angrily]: Screw you, Sammy!

Samuel slips the napkins into his pocket, walking across the hallway and into the elevator. Dean follows him, scratching his nose as he does. As soon as Dean enters the elevator, Samuel leans over and presses the button for the ground floor, watching as the doors shut and the elevator starts descending.

Samuel: It's going to be difficult fighting a succubus.

Dean: Yeah, well, we don't know what the fuck we're doing.

Samuel [Sighing]: Yeah, we don't...Incantations, talismans, breaking the contract..So many ways of battling it. We have no idea what, if anything, will work.

Dean: Great.

Samuel: I guess we'll just have to try our best.

Dean: Yep.

Samuel: I mean the worst case scenario is having a lustful demon attached to your soul, who will have sex with you to the point of death by exhaustion.

Dean: Ye--Wait, why me?!

Samuel [Smirking]: I'm pure.

Dean [Laughing]: You, pure?

Samuel: Hey, i'm more pure than you, and when a succubus is hunting for a mate, that's all I need to be!

Dean: You're a real asshole underneath that calm face, Sammy.

Samuel: Yep.

The elevator stops, the doors opening as Dean and Samuel wander out into the lobby. The police presence is still notable as they walk across the lobby, pushing the front doors open and ducking under the police tape before jogging down the stairs.

Dean: Do you think they'll ever know what it was?

Samuel: Doubtful. I mean, who is going to suspect a succubus?

Dean and Samuel turn right, heading up the sidewalk and towards the parking lot. Upon reaching the parking lot, they began to walk towards their Impala.

Samuel: Well, next stop: The old brothel.

Dean: Sweet, an old brothel! Hope we can score some ghost poon!

Samuel: Dean, that's sick and wrong. Besides which, there's probably a law that makes it illegal to sexually accost a ghost.

Dean: I'd like to see THAT law!

Samuel sighs, climbing into the passenger's seat of the Impala and slamming the door shut. Dean climbs into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut and looking at Samuel, still grinning.

Samuel [Taken aback]: What?

Dean: Seriously, show me the la--

Samuel: Shut up and drive, Dean.

Dean grins, firing up the engine and speeding up the road.

**AMITYVILLE, NY**

The Impala, and the brothers, arrive outside of a rickety old house on the edge of Amityville, NY. Set at the edge of an unassuming street, the large American Foursquare house looms over them: The white paint is peeling on the facade of the building, and the large porch appears decrepit, with four wooden steps leading up onto it, the paint having peeled completely and revealing wet, rotten wood. The windows, both the dormer windows on the second floor of the house and the single-paned windows dotted across the ground floor, are clouded over with thick layers of dust. The best days of the building are far behind it, and the two skeletal rose bushes flanking both sides of the stairs up to the porch simply add to the horrifying mystique of the property.

Samuel climbs out of the Impala, clutching a Maglite flashlight in his right hand and shining it at a pair of wooden doors which appear chipped, the paint having completely peeled away.

Samuel: Here it is: The Purple Rose.

Dean [Climbing out of the Impala and laughing]: Hey, Amityville! How cliche...What next? Salem?!

Samuel: Could be worse: Could be in Detroit.

Dean: Detroit doesn't exist! It's a myth to scare young children!

Samuel and Dean walk forward and up the four steps towards the front door.

Dean [Taking a deep breath]: Yep, it smells like sex and death. This is our place.

Samuel: Is that a scent that you are used to, Dean?

Dean [Bluntly]: Shut the fuck up, Sammy.

Samuel [Gripping his flashlight]: Shut up, will you? Open the door.

Dean grasps the handles of both doors, wrenching backwards and pulling them open. Samuel jumps back as the dusty, rotten interior of the old brothel opens. Dean coughs slightly, waving his hand over his nose as Samuel walks into the main lobby of the brothel: A large, square room, completely plunged into the darkness, with the moonlight highlighting moth-eating red carpet and a staircase directly in front of them that leads up to a second level, where the landing covers all four sides of the room and is held up by rickety, mouldy wooden beams. Samuel walks forward between two beams holding up the landing above him, looking around.

Dean: Smells like..........................................things.

Samuel [Coughing slightly]: Sm-Sm-Smells like rot!

Dean [Taking a deep breath]: Smells like a case. So, what are we looking for? Traces of sulphur? Summoning circles? Half-naked babes with grey skin, massive tits and who are wearing nothing but thigh-high leather boots and a grin?

Samuel [Looking at Dean suspiciously]: Dean, we're here to hunt. Get whatever you're thinking of out of your mind.

Dean: But I like Metallica!

Samuel: Well, y--[Taken aback]--Wait, what?!

Dean: I was thinking of "The Thing That Should Not Be".

Samuel scowls at Dean.

Dean [Taken aback]: .....What? I like that song!

Samuel sighs bitterly, shaking his head.

Samuel: No, let's see.....I don't know....A...summoning circle or something similar. An altar maybe.

Dean: Where?

Samuel [Impatiently]: I don't fucking know!!

A cough sounds within the brothel.

Dean [Hastily]: Nope.

Dean twists around, jogging towards the door, but Samuel extends a hand and grasps the collar of his suit jacket, quickly stopping him.

Samuel [Quietly]: C'mon, Dean...Gotta find what coughed..

Dean: What if it wants to eat us?!

Samuel: Not everything wants to eat us, Dean.

Dean: You never know, Sammy..

The brothers walk forward, walking up the staircase somewhat gingerly. A loud crack is heard and both brothers stop suddenly, looking down: The staircase, at least, is intact. Samuel and Dean look up, watching as a dusty crystal chandelier, covered in thick cobwebs and placed directly in the middle of the ceiling, violently discharges one of its bolts, hitting Dean on the forehead.

Dean [Somewhat annoyed, sternly]: Ouch.

Samuel: We best get moving, I don't like the look of that chandelier hanging precariously.

Dean [Squinting]: Nah, it's got several bolts keeping it in place. We're safe.

Dean and Samuel continue climbing the stairs.

Samuel [Calmly]: At least the staircase hasn't broken beneath us.

Dean: Yeah. Lucky, eh?

Dean jogs up the stairs, but stops as he disturbs a cloud of dust. Taking a breath, he breathes it in and lets loose a barrage of four sneezes, each one causing him to edge slightly backwards. On the fourth sneeze, he stands on the edge of the step, screaming loudly as Samuel walks behind him, placing his hands on his upper back and gently nudging him forward to stand firmly on the step.

Samuel [Calmly]: Let's not do the slapstick routine here.

Dean [Sighing gratefully]: Alright, alright..

Dean and Samuel climb up the stairs, standing opposite a room where the entirety of the doorframe appears to be covered by a curtain of purple velvet. Samuel grabs it and pulls it aside, shining the Maglite's beam inside the room: Aside from a Queensize bed, the mattress and duvet almost eaten away, revealing a rotten wooden frame, there is nothing of note in the room.

Dean: Where is it?

Samuel: ....Well, not here.

A cough sounds again, in the room to their left. Samuel and Dean exchange a quick look, stepping out of the room and walking over to the room immediately to the left. Samuel grasps the curtain and Dean gives a small whimper.

Samuel [Hissing]: What?

Dean: What if it wants to ea--

Samuel [Impatiently]: Nothing's going to eat us!

Samuel grasps the curtain and shoves it aside. There's no bed in the room, but a figure sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, gazing up at the ceiling. Samuel flashes the Maglite on the figure, revealing a familiar friend: Karab is sitting in the middle of the room, gazing up at the flashlight. Dean screams, as does Karab, before stopping.

Samuel: Hey, it's Karab!

Karab [Suspiciously]: Hang on, it's midnight. Why are you guys here?

Samuel: We're..........inspecting things.

Karab: Like ghosts?

Dean: NO!

Karab: You two act as if I never helped you fight off zombie livestock, and proceeded to continue to fight off said livestock during one of the numerous virulent outbreaks of what I have come to call "undeaditis".

Dean [Muttering]: Couldn't think of a better name?

Samuel: Wait, why are you here?

Karab [Sighing bitterly]: Well......I needed somewhere quiet...just to think...

Samuel: And you chose an old brothel. In Amityville.

Karab [Sighing]: ......Look.....

Dean: At what?

Karab: Guys, I have something to say.

Dean: Can it wait? We've gotta find this succubus.

Karab: No, you know what? Shut the fuck up and let me say something for once, Dean!

The brothers fall silent, standing up and turning to Karab.

Dean [Calmly]: .....Alright.

Karab: Look, firstly, my name isn't even Karab...

Dean: Well, of course it isn't.

Karab [Taken aback]: .....You knew?

Dean [Laughing]: Yeah, Karab ain't a real name. It's stupid. It's like you took the 'S' off of Scarab and thought it'd be a cool name.

Karab falls silent.

Samuel: Oh...

Karab [Grimacing]: I did because I was ashamed....My....My name is Avanash Gurung-Singh. My real name.

Dean: ...........How the fuck did you get 'Karab-Tevany' from that?

Karab [Sighing desperately, pulling at his beard somewhat]: I was...I was just trying to distance myself from the world....from the old world....from the old me...from my family....I felt ashamed, too ashamed to carry the Gurung name. My father's name. If it wasn't for the fact that my mother is still alive and would hunt me down and slay me, i'd have abandoned her name too.

Samuel: .......I'm amazed you're Gurung and a Sikh.

Karab: The world's a changing place, Sam. Anyway, why i'm here.....Well, you know how I came to be in the company, right?

Samuel: Yeah: You were part of a unit taking Sucre from Pieuvre Armament and you ran like a bitch.

Karab [Scowling]: You don't have to put it like that...

Samuel: But Gurkha's don't run. They fight on. Hence: You ran like a bitch.

Karab [Sighing darkly]: ....Yeah..you know what?...Yeah....you're right...I did.....Anyway....I was in Nepal last week....and.....visiting my brother.....I wanted to get back into the Gurkha's.

Dean: I bet he liked that.

Karab [Looking up]: He told me that it would be practically impossible for me to get back into the Gurkha's.

Dean: No shit.

Karab [Sighing]: Yeah...I know...

Samuel: Can you get back in?

Karab [Laughing desperately]: Not without doing something really gutsy and brave..

Samuel: So definitely not, then.

Karab [Scowling]: You could try and be fucking helpful.

The three men stop, hearing the front doors creak open. Dean whimpers, hiding behind Karab who grasps Samuel's Maglite flashlight, gripping it tightly and nodding.

Samuel [Hissing]: What are you doing?!

Karab [Determined]: I've got this.

Samuel: The Gurkha's aren't watching now!

Karab: This is for myself!

Karab lunges up to his feet, grasping the curtain and throwing it aside. Samuel follows, dragging Dean with him as Karab shines the flashlight towards the doors.

Karab [Loudly]: HALT! YOU SHALL NOT PA--

A shotgun blast explodes out. Dean screams, ducking further behind Samuel but Karab, to his credit, stands there as the shot splinters a wooden beam in the ceiling above him, spraying him with dust and wooden shards. Karab keeps the flashlight trained on the figure: A surly, aged man, with a trimmed beard around his jaw, a thick moustache on his upper lip and a truckers cap on his head stands there, aiming down a double-barrelled shotgun. Wearing a blue and white plaid shirt over a red t-shirt, a pair of ragged jeans and a pair of dusty brown hiking boots, the figure appears scruffy, hostile and dangerously American. The man calls up in a thick Southern drawl.

Figure: Who are you?!

Karab: MY NAME IS A--My...MY NAME IS KARAB TEVANY-SINGH!!!

Dean: Bullshit!

The figure, on hearing Dean's voice, slowly lowers his shotgun, taking a step forward and narrowing his eyes.

Figure: ...That voice.....That......Dean?

Dean slowly gets to his feet and steps beside Karab somewhat hesitantly, glancing down at the figure. Dean goes to step back, but stops, looking down at the figure and giving a small, surprised laugh.

Dean: Bobby? Bobby Bingham?

Karab [Bluntly]: Of course. Of course, of course, of course. OF COURSE!

Samuel [Waving]: Uh, i'm right here too, Bobby.

Bobby: Yeah, yeah, what the hell are you boys doing here?! Get your asses down here!!

Dean, Karab and Samuel walk down the stairs towards Bobby. Dean walks over to Bobby with his arms open, but Bobby simply slaps him.

Dean [Reeling backwards]: What was that for?!

Bobby: No reason.

Dean [Grinning]: Damn, I missed you, Bobby!

Bobby: Anyway, what the hell are you guys doing here?!

Dean: Hunting a succubus that killed a guy in New York. You?

Bobby: Same thing. Found in the Adamska Hotel?

Samuel: Yep.

Dean: What a pleasing coincidence!

Bobby [Narrowing his eyes]: You boys ain't hunters, though...

Samuel: We know--

Dean [Quickly] --But Dad was! You and him worked together!

Bobby [Laughing: What? John? Seriously? You're Daddy wasn't a hunter! The only thing he left to hunt was a six pack of beer and a cheap slut named Wanda!

Dean [Bluntly]: He said he was on a hunting trip..

Bobby: Well, he wasn't on that kind of hunting trip.

Dean: Bobby, can you just fucking help us?!

Bobby: HOW?! We don't know what it was that killed the poor sap! You say it's a succubus but I saw that body myself: That ain't what a succubus does!

Dean [Pointing at the body]: It's clearly a fucking succubus! There is no other explanation!

Sam [Interjecting]: Dean, what if it isn't a succubus....but a.....

Sam sighs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and looking around.

Dean: What?

Sam [Sighing]: ...Y'know...like...Tavi and Stephen?

Dean [Taken aback]: An anthropomorphic sugar glider?

Sam: ...Like......a furry--

Dean suddenly screams, running over to the window to the left of the door and wrenching it open before leaping out of it.

Bobby [Scratching his chin]: Well, ain't that a bunch of shit.

Sam: It was only a theory, he really didn't need to leap out of the window.

Karab: You're telling me that it's a furry.

Samuel: Look, we don't know about them, but that hair smelled like dog. That is not the scent that a succubus emanates. What if...I don't know....they have like a....season in heat?

Karab [Blankly]: This man was fucked to death by a dog.

Samuel: It's a theory! Y'know...maybe...maybe it isn't....

Karab: The man was clearly drained of his life force and you're thinking that he got fucked by a dog.

Samuel: Well, i'm coming up with blanks here, Avanash!

Karab [Angrily]: It's still fucking Karab.

Samuel: Look, what if.....I don't know...it fed on him--

Bobby: Then he would've been eaten!

Samuel [Squatting down]: But what if he bled out? See, the gash in his throat! What if a furry mated with him and slit his throat!

Karab: You know, these theories are just getting stupider.

The sound of pattering feet is heard before the door opens and Dean emerges, brushing away plant debris from his leather jacket.

Dean [Letting out a deep breath]: Alright...alright...let's hear your theory...

Sam: ...Right, what if it's a furry BUT......I dunno...it's in heat?

Dean screams even louder, turning to the window and simply leaping through it, smashing the glass and wood.

Bobby [Looking at Sam, somewhat disgusted]: Y'know, I actually agree with the kid. THAT'S your theory?! That.....I don't even know what a furry is...

Sam: Well, it's an anthropomorphic animal. Y'know, walks, talks, has human characteristics, plantigrade or digitigrade feet, wears clothes, has almost human genital--

Bobby: Alright, please stop, i've heard enough.

Samuel: It...could be. It could be.

Bobby [Looking at Samuel, deadpan]: So I should just get some kibble and draw it out?

Samuel [Shrugging]: You can try i--

Bobby: Look, kid, this is stupid. Furries aren't real.

Samuel: Bobby, the danger is real.

Bobby [Angrily]: I AM THE DANGER!

Samuel: Alright, Walter, alright, but we may have a feral furry on our hands.

Bobby sighs, throwing his arms up and walking out of the room.

Bobby [Mumbling]: Bunch of stupid fucking shit..

Samuel: ..........What? It's true!

Samuel sighs, throwing his own arms up and following Bobby out of the room.

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

Early in the New York morning, the city is at a standstill. The hustle and bustle of the vibrant city has been replaced by an eerie stillness, and though the neon lights and advertisements still blaze in the dark, they simply highlight empty roads and sidewalks.

Very few pedestrians wander the streets of Times Square. Though mostly devoid of life, the neon lights highlighting little more than the roads and the pavement, there are still a few workers hanging around, particularly in the McDonald's on Broadway, with a gigantic projecting red and gold sign, garish even by the particularly low standards of New York. The only real signs of life are Bobby, Samuel, Dean and Karab, hanging outside of the McDonalds. Dean is the only one eating anything, chomping on a Big Mac as Karab watches, somewhat disturbed.

Bobby: So, what's our next port of call?

Samuel: We wait and see if anything comes up. That's all we can do. I've already got a contact working around the city, seeing if she can find any leads.

Bobby: Leads? Really?

Samuel [Shrugging]: It's the best we can do.

Karab [Wincing]: Dean...man..slow down..

Dean [Chewing ravenously]: NEVER!!!

Bobby: Kid has an iron stomach.

Dean stops suddenly, choking and spitting out a pickle before continuing to eat. Karab turns to the right, taking a few steps forward and sighing.

Karab: Great. This is my life now, is it?

Bobby: Get used to it. It's hell.

"Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas plays quietly. Samuel reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out and answering his phone.

Samuel [Turning away]: Yeah? Yeah? Oh, hi, Ruby..

Dean glares at Samuel who takes a few steps down the street, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. To their left, a figure approaches them, walking up the sidewalk: Karab, Dean and Bobby turn to the figure, watching as none other than Steve Llarec-Barrett approaches them, now wearing a white dress shirt, a navy blue tie, black dress pants and matching black leather shoes with a tan trenchcoat finishing off the ensemble. Over this is his trusty rucksack which appears to be weighing him down considerably as he slowly walks forward.

Karab: Oh...hey, it's Steve!

Steve [Giving a small wave]: Hi guys.

Dean [Letting out a sigh of relief]: Well, it could be worse, could be the asshole who's following everyb--

Phil's Voice [Calling out]: BREW ON THE MO'E!!! SAY 'OUI' TO TEA!!

Dean [Angrily]: FOR FUCKS SAKE, YOU ATTENTION SEEKING ASSHOLE!!

The "Brew On The Mo'e" wagon, approaching from their left, stops in front of the kerb. Phil leans out of the serving window, pointing at Dean.

Phil: Hey, fuck you, not my fault I'm touring the world and selling shitty British tea to the unsuspecting masses.

Samuel: Has anyone even bought some tea?

Phil: Some lads in Tennessee did. A few people in Texas did. I think one or two in Whitby did.....Aaaand that's about it.

Dean: It's New York. Five in the morning. Who the FUCK wants tea?

Phil: Well--

From behind the van emerges a figure. A woman with somewhat dark skin, African in appearance, she stands there, gazing up into the wagon. Long black hair almost obscures her features and her bulbous brown eyes, almost watery in appearance, gaze upwards at Phil, her lips pouting slightly. Phil wrinkles his nose, looking down at her.

Karab: Where the hell did she come from?!

Woman [Quietly]: I'd like some tea..

Samuel: You're actually going to buy that stuff?

The woman nods.

Phil: Must be insane. Funny, I used to know four women who were insane. And several men.

Samuel: And yourself.

Phil [Nodding]: And myself.

Phil sighs, boiling the kettle as the other mercenaries simply stand around.

Steve [Calmly]: So, has anybody seen anything strange?

Dean: Damn straight. We've seen men sucked of their lifeforce and we think it's furries.

Steve [Taken aback]: Wow, that is...........wow. Just wow.

Phil leans out of the serving window, handing a polystyrene cup of tea down to the woman.

Phil: Here you go, love, one cup of steaming hot British tea. It may be British, but don't cry, the shittiness of the tea will subside after a few hours of drinking it.

Woman [Quietly]: I don't cry..

Phil: We all do, love. For example, I wake up and cry. It's part of my daily routine every single I look in the mirror AND WONDER WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY LIFE!!

Phil doubles over, laying his arms on the counter and slamming his head against them, sobbing wildly. The mercenaries watch, wincing slightly as he does. The woman raises her right hand, patting Phil's head slightly.

Woman [Quietly]: ....It's...alright to cry....

Bobby: And this is one of your own?

Dean: He barely counts as one, to be honest.

Bobby sighs bitterly, shaking his head as Phil slowly raises his head, clapping his hands.

Phil: Well, time for me to move on. Catch you lot later.

Phil whistles as Winston, Born Of Winstons, appears in the front cab of the truck, placing his paws on the steering wheel and panting as he drives away north up 7th Avenue. The woman, for some reason, follows the rear of the cart, clutching the cup tightly. Phil leans out of the serving window, watching the woman.

Phil: Hey, what are you doing? Do I look like the Pied Piper of Tea? I AM THE PIED PIPER OF TEA!! ONWARDS, WINSTON, WE SHALL AMASS A CONVOY!!

Bobby [Watching]: I'm guessing he's insane.

Dean: Pretty much.

Samuel hangs up on his phone, slipping it into his jacket pocket and turning to Dean, Bobby and Karab.

Samuel: Right, guys, i've heard of a cryptohominid sighting over in Yonkers.

Bobby: Yonkers is literally full of cryptohominids, though.

Samuel: This one's six foot tall and covered in fur.

Dean [Narrowing his eyes]: Must be a furry: Let's waste it.

Samuel: Or we can just check it out rather than going in all guns blazing.

Bobby [Scoffing]: Where's your sense of adventure, kid?

Samuel: Look, let's just go, shall we?

Karab: What about Steve?

Steve [Looking over]: I'm just a tourist here, guys: Don't mind me.

Bobby: Then let's get moving!

Bobby, Samuel, Dean and Karab jog up the street, towards their Impala as Steve looks around Times Square, jaw hanging slightly open. He quickly closes his mouth.

Steve [Calmly]: Come to think of it, this place is actually quite crap.

**YONKERS, NEW YORK**

Yonkers, New York: One of the largest cities in New York, the city has the dubious distinction of essentially being the backyard of the Bronx. Despite being quite large, the city remains relatively unsung in New York, potentially due to the fact that the Bronx nearby has the notiority whilst the city of New York close by completely overshadows it.

The brothers, Bobby and Karab find themselves tracking the lead to Northeast Yonkers where Irish and Italian-Americans are prominent. A fairly wealthy area, there are certainly worse places to live. The brothers, Karab and Bobby find themselves walking down Salisbury Road, towards Tuckahoe Road.

Samuel: Here we are: Yonkers. Ruby said she saw a strange figure last night, leaving the Grassy Sprain Pharmacy on Tuckahoe. We need to search the area, maybe knock on a few doors, see what's happening.

Dean: ....Well, at least that twat and his stupid tea van won't be here. Loads of Irish Americans here and, being a bunch of IRA supporters, he'd probably find a bomb strapped beneath the van.

Samuel: Not all Irish-Americans are IRA supporters, Dean.

Dean: Fuck 'em anyway. Italian-Americans all the way, baby!

Bobby [Narrowing his eyes]: You don't have any Italian blood in your veins.

Karab: He's American. He has so much European blood in his veins that he bleeds genocide. There's probably a little Italian in there somewhere.

Bobby: Yeah, that's true.

Samuel and Dean are quickly pushed aside by a figure walking quickly. Clad in a thick grey woolen overcoat, with a tipped black fedora with a white band obscuring their face and their hands shoved into their pockets, the figure is definitely suspicious to say the least, mostly because nobody wearing a fedora would ever be seen in public. Dean and Samuel swiftly turn around.

Samuel [Quickly reaching into his jacket and pulling out his fake badge]: Hey, FBI!

Dean: M'lady.

Karab: Wow, easy joke for you there.

The figure suddenly sprints down the street, moving extraordinarily fast.

Bobby [Eyes widening]: Fuck.

Karab suddenly sprints forward, chasing after the figure as Dean, Samuel and Bobby just stand there.

Samuel: Well, he really is trying to be useful.

Dean: He ain't going to catch that thing.

Bobby: He's certainly trying. Let's go.

Samuel: Wait, what?

Bobby [Angrily, jogging forward]: COME ON, DIPSHITS!!!

Dean and Samuel exchange exasperated looks before sprinting forward, chasing after the figure who is now far down the road. The figure swiftly reaches Tuckahoe Road, bustling with traffic in the early morning, and tries to cross it. Stepping onto the road, the figure is quickly forced back as a speeding car almost makes contact with its left leg. Not far behind, Karab is desperate in the pursuit.

Karab [Angrily]: HALT, DAMN YOU!!

Looking left and right, the figure makes a decision to beginning sprinting left. Karab is gaining ground pretty quickly, twisting around the corner and quickly following the figure as it begins to sprint up the street. Samuel, Dean and Bobby are still some length behind, still running down Salisbury Road. Samuel quickly reaches the end of the road, but looks over his shoulder at Dean and Bobby who are both struggling to catch their pace.

Dean [Breathing heavily]: FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!

Bobby [Jogging forward at a steady pace]: Shut up and keep running!

Samuel [Calling out and clapping his hands]: COME ON! COME ON! COME ON!

Samuel runs around the corner, shortly followed by Dean and Bobby. Karab, without thinking, pulls off his white t-shirt, scrunching it into a ball and throwing it towards the back of the figures feet. It hits the figures feet and somewhat tangles around their right foot, causing them to trip forward on all fours. The people of Yonkers have now come to a standstill, watching in amazement as a half-naked Indian-Nepalese man gives chase to a shrouded figure desperately holding onto his fedora.

Karab [Pointing forward]: YOU BETTER STAY! YOU BETTER STAY!

The figure stumbles up to their feet, limping slightly before twisting left and running into an alleyway. Karab quickly gives chase, followed shortly by Samuel who stops near the alleyway, looking over his shoulder as Bobby and Dean continue to jog forward. Despite Bobby being middle-aged, he is easily outpacing Dean whose limbs are flailing in agony as he continues to run.

Dean [Panting]: Nobody said anything about running!

Bobby [Angrily]: Maybe you ought to stop eating and start training more!

Samuel [Pointing into the alleyway]: HURRY UP! IT'S IN THERE!!

Dean [Panting]: What....do we...do?

Samuel: ........Well, it ran into the alleyway: Let's chase it.

Dean [Panting]: What if....it...wants to....eat--

Samuel [Angrily]: FOR THE LAST TIME, DEAN, NOTHING WANTS TO EAT YOU!!

Samuel, Bobby and Dean quickly round the corner into the alleyway, conveniently blocked off by a chainlink fence. Karab is standing in the middle of the alleyway in a three-point stance, seemingly ready to tackle the figure should it try running at them. The figure leaps onto the fence but Bobby reaches into the side of his waistband, pulling out a sawn-off shotgun and aiming it at the figure.

Karab [Taken aback]: Do you have a howitzer in there too?!

Bobby [Angrily]: ALRIGHT, SON, STOP RUNNING!!! WE NEED TO TALK WITH YOU!!!!!

The figure looks over their shoulder before twisting around and hopping off of the fence. The figure swiftly takes off their fedora, revealing an animalistic face resembling a Saluki dog. Completely white with a somewhat stubby muzzle tipped with a black nose, with the long, whispy white ears tied behind the back of its skull to resemble a ponytail, the somewhat skinny figure gazes ahead with bulbous brown eyes, its hands clutching the fedora tightly.

Dean: I don't like it. It's got fur and it smells like wet dog and it doesn't look like a dog and i'm scared.

Anthro: Don't you think i'm scared?

Dean: NOT AS SCARED AS I AM!

Bobby: I.............don't know what to say right now.

Karab: Who ARE you?

Bobby: Hell, WHAT ARE YOU?!

Anthro: And why should I tell any of you?

Samuel: ...Because maybe we have answers to your questions.

Dean: That's highly unlikely.

Anthro [Scoffing]: So YOU can tell me where to find other anthros?

Dean [Smirking]: Hey, look, it suddenly became likely!

The anthro looks shiftily at the men before sighing and rubbing his eyes.

Anthro: ....Alright, whatever, since you idiots are so desperate....My name is Andrew Kane. That's what I was named after I was picked up outside of Bielefeld by a group of men calling themselves....Fuck....uhh....Oh, right, the Special Air Service.

Karab [In disbelief]: THE Special Air Service?

Dean: Hang on, didn't Stephen come with IRA guys? Are you telling me that the IRA and SAS raided a single compound?

Samuel: Remember: The IRA said that the compound had been abandoned and it looked ransacked. The SAS could have raided it first and took more than Stephen.

Kane [Scoffing]: Do you think only two groups were interested in the Perfect Soldier Project?

Dean: Oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Kane: There were several of us in that compound. All created after the Project had been officially abandoned. It carried on in secret, and I really don't think we were the only ones created.

Karab: Why?

Kane: When I got picked up...there were.....damn....uhh..........a few maps. I remember the Special Air Service picked them up. They tore one from the wall and I do remember a few red pins on it......Only one place......Goddammit.....I can almost see it........uhh.....hmmm........Oh, yeah.....The other place I remember wassssss...

Dean: Spit it out!

Kane: Hey, this was two decades ago, gimme a break........Pretty sure it was....Ah! Finland! North Karelia in Finland!

Bobby: Well, you can forget about dragging me along to that cold wasteland.

Samuel [Aside to Bobby]: Actually, North Karelia is supposed to be quite beautiful.

Bobby [Scathingly]: Well, I don't give a shit.

Karab [Interjecting]: Hang on, something I want to know: Why anthropomorphic creatures? Like, I can understand making human super soldiers that, y'know, looked like humans and you couldn't tell who was a super soldier on the battlefield. I mean, look at Solid Snake, but last I checked, the Project churned out some guy called Null and nothing more.

Kane: Well....you know how the Academies and the Perfect Soldier Project were officially scrapped in Nineteen Seventy-Five because it was deemed a failure?

Samuel: Yeah.

Dean: I didn't.

Bobby: What a shock..

Kane: Well, unofficially, the Project continued, just without the Academy being used to train soldiers and, from what I know, across the globe....Basically, they wanted to create soldiers with the traits of animals. Stupid, eh? Well.....we were the ones created.....It was.....Well, you may be surprised to hear this, but our appearance? This animalistic appearance? It's all we have....I mean, some can fly, glide...Some can climb well....but really, the Project was a disaster. The Special Air Service were disappointed because...what did they say?.....uhh.....well, that I was just like a human. Skills-wise, that is. That's why the project failed. That's why it never continued. That's why it was abandoned. That's why, when the Middle East Academy was seized and secured in Nineteen Eighty-Nine, they never continued the project: It was a failure on all fronts. A waste of money. Plus, with the war economy these days, they don't need to go back to the Project. Who needs a perfect soldier? You earn money by sending out cannon fodder to die. That's it. I was secured in.....Ninety-Five. After they found out my skills were lacking, they just kept me around and trained me up in combat as best they could.

Dean [In disbelief]: Fucking hell.

Kane: Yeah, we're not special. I mean, yeah, we look like THIS, but combat wise? We're nothing, really. Just the same as you guys.

Samuel [Gravely, aside to Dean]: We need to contact Mother about this, quickly.

Dean: Why?

Samuel: Well, there was a continuation of the project in Karelia? I mean, we know Bielefeld was abandoned but....what if.....the Project is still ongoing?

Sudden ominous music is heard. Dean looks up at the sky.

Dean: What the fuck was that?

Karab: Look, if the SAS seized the maps, maybe they seized the other soldiers. Maybe they even killed them.

Kane [Quietly]: I hope not...I'm trying to find others like me....

Samuel: Maybe we should take him home, Dean.

Dean: JEEEEESUS!!! Is Beale Street going to be renamed to Furfag Avenue? No! Fuck that! Fuck that straight to hell! We can't just keep befriending fucking weirdos--We already have that stupid, hyperactive rich English guy, a furfag who is apparently in with the IRA and a female furfag who is INSANE. Why do we need more shit?

Samuel [Bluntly]: Well, Dean, we're not exactly normal. Not even you.

Dean: I'm more normal than his thing!

Kane: Excuse me, but I told you the information I know, now tell me what you know: Where are the others like me?

Dean: That's classified--

Samuel: We have one working for us, currently in the Sinai Desert as part of our company from the Academy. Sugar glider, female. A second sugar glider, male, was recently made known to us, working for the Irish Republican Army PMC.

Dean [Scathingly]: It WAS classified information?

Kane [Stepping forward]: If you don't mind, i'd like to leave now. As enlightening as this conversation was, I need to go about finding others.

As Kane walks forward, Dean holds his arm out, forcing Kane to stop.

Dean: Hang on, son, we have another question..............Do you know anything about the men dying around here?

Kane: There are people dying here?....Huh.....No: I'm just trying to find my own kind.

Dean: Then who is fucking all these men and subsequently killing them?

Kane [Bluntly]: It's not me. If I stuck my knot into them they'd--

Karab [Disgusted]: WE DON'T WANT TO KNOW, DAMN YOU!!!

Samuel: It's gotta be female. The original theory was right: It's gotta be a succubus.

Dean: Why the fuck were we even chasing anthros anyway? An anthro couldn't drain a man of their life!........Could you?

Kane: Nope.

Dean: So, there we go. We were busy chasing a stupid lead and now we're back to square fucking one. Gee, what a fucking episode this turned out to be. Not a single fucking thing changed.

Samuel: Karab told us his real name. And we found another anthro. Plus we learned about the Perfect Soldier Project. And things.

Bobby: So are you telling me that this entire episode doesn't have a conclusion?

Dean: Oh, i'm sure there'll be a second part that will bring everything to a nice, neat finish.

Dean grins brightly. Samuel just stands there before looking at Kane.

Samuel: But now we've found a furry.

Kane [Speaking up]: I prefer the term 'anthro'.

Dean: So?

Karab: We need to uncover the mystery behind where he came from--

Kane: Bielefeld. I told you.

Dean: WE ARE NOT GOING TO BIELEFELD!

Kane: Just let me continue on with my mission.

Karab: No, it's a mystery that we have to solve, for we are.....................................

Samuel [Calmly]: We don't have a name.

Dean [Grinning]: Dean and the Scoobs!

Bobby [Bluntly]: Fuck. Off.

The scene begins to fade to black.

Samuel [Quickly]: No, we need a resolution! We need a resolution!

Dean: We need to find out if there are more furries out there!

The scene fades to black.

Dean's Voice [Angrily]: GODDAMMIT, WE WILL HAVE OUR RESOLUTION!!!