As Lex knew, there was truly nothing much to do in Reno except gamble and get married during a drug and alcohol-fueled night on the town. He’d simply stopped at the first Starbucks he’d seen while walking down the street, then continued on to a library where he read Beowulf for about the tenth time this year. Still hunting, still trying to find his purpose and place in the universe.

Deus Ex Machina / Towns - 8:00 PM

The house was maybe a little dustier than Lex had left it, with a few new spidery residents. He was too tired to truly care; just enough to brush the cobwebs off the bed, fluff the pillow, and fall into the bed, fully clothed. Lex’s slumber was deep, yet disturbed.

Lex heard a soft voice calling out to him in unintelligible language. It wasn’t exactly hostile or malevolent, yet there was something not right; Something...hungry, almost.

He found himself in a small fishing boat, the sky a bright blue and his father sitting next to him. Lex was 8, still going by Alex, and had a Power Rangers fishing pole in hand. Something tugged at the line, and Alex gave a happy little yelp, calling to his father. But his voice echoed a little too loudly, his father was now so far away. Mr. Jamil’s head turned, his face not there - just skin, blank, with muscles underneath that still moved into the facsimile of a smile. Alex fell backwards into the lake, his father’s non-face still looming in front of his eyes.

Alex was 11, and his mother had just made dinner for him. She was having dinner with another friend, and would be gone the rest of the night. Ms. Harper, she called herself now, had dinner with lots of friends now that father was gone. He could take care of himself now that he’s hit the double digits. Mother finished with her lipstick, and bent down to kiss Alex on the cheek. She took a bite instead, razor sharp fangs carving off supple skin, red blood perfectly matching her lipstick. Alex screamed, panic setting into his heart like the warmth in his legs.

Lex was 25 years old, throat lit aflame the way only cheap vodka and cigarettes could. A nasty habit Lex thought he’d given up at 17, yet here he sat stubbing a butt out in the sand. Technically not homeless, yet alone and unnoticed. The lighter’s flame winked at him as he lit up another smoke, triggering the memory of strawberry blonde hair. Blood. Anger. Incorrigible anger, bitter resentment, and overwhelming loss.

Lex could feel the nausea set over him in waves, a reflex from the memories and drinking on an empty stomach. The Hunter loosed his scarf and took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and hurriedly made his way to where the sea foam lapped the shore, falling to all fours. Where vomit would have come next, instead came a long braid. Lex choked, a half-gasp of surprised revulsion. The braid was followed by a flintlock rifle, decorated with golden wings and filigree. Then, a torrent of polaroids. Different Hunters, some in the middle of a fight, others completely still. Halloween Creatures and Horsemen, Ancients and all sorts of different, colorful Polaroids flowed out of his mouth. Strangely, Lex could not bring himself to remember anyone in those pictures, or the horrific monsters he saw. He wondered what all those people were doing in their white coats, where they got such fanciful weapons. Was this a JRPG? No, it looked too real - not even the best graphics card could handle graphics like this. Lex scooped the photographs into his arms, then his nose began to bleed black ichor.

Alexei was a tender 14 years old, running from the shadows in his mother’s two-story house. They chased up the stairs, biting at his heels. If he stopped, if he faltered, he knew they’d eat him alive. A tooth caught his pajamas, Alexei screamed, and he was awake.

3:00 AM

But the room was not his, if you could call it that. The ceiling had buckled, and was dripping rank water. Spiders and moths made a sparse wallpaper, while mildew had eaten half his blanket. It was lucky the sleeping bag...wait. This wasn’t a sleeping bag; it was one of those white coats, from his dream! And on his legs, jeans about 10 inches too wide. Had he been raptured?! Was this even how the rapture was supposed to work? Lex couldn’t quite remember. He was somewhere that wasn’t home, in clothes that weren’t his, sleeping on a disgusting bed that didn’t belong to him. Okay, this was fine - Uncle Gareth has weirder stories than this, especially when it involves some of his rougher friends. Lex took a deep breath, starting to calm-

UNHOLY JACK, WHAT IN HALLOWEEN IS- WHY AM I STUCK IN A HUMAN BODY?!?! Pain seared Lex’s skull, thunderclaps ringing in his brain.

“Who’s there?!” Lex yelped, grabbing the hard wood handle of the pistol that’d been resting on the rotting bedside table this entire time. The teenager gasped at the weapon, but also oddly felt at ease with it, almost as if he’d been trained to handle small firearms. Weird, as Lex handn’t held a gun before.

No response, but it certainly felt like someone was in the run-down house with Lex. He took an uneasy step off the bed, shaky hands clutching the hilt of the pistol and grabbing at the too-big jeans and underwear. Another uneasy step and his foot punched a hole in the floorboard, and Lex’s finger slipped on the trigger. The resounding screech of an eagle mixed with the echoing roar of a lion pierced the night sky, clearly heard by anyone in a two mile radius.