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Traci groaned a little bit, but woke up quickly when she felt the cold pressing all around her. She launched herself up and her arms flew into a hug.

"When did it get so cold?" she breathed, and sat there huddled up for a minute before forcing herself to get up and get her things.

Traci finally took in the reference to the Cat. That's right...he wasn't here anymore, was he?

Well, she didn't care all that much...he kind of weirded her out.

But still, it didn't sound very good that they'd lost the only one who knew exactly what he was doing.

Fiasco nodded his head. "Indeed." He turned to the north that the Cat so urgently desired their appearance. "We follow the Cat's intsructions then. At least until he he turns back up again." And with that, Fasco started walking North. It wasn't until he and his friends had walked eight miles when they heard a gunshot from just beyond the next hill.

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A young man in a destroyed city stood atop what was left of a massive building. He was able to ignore the cold courtesy of the boiler keeping his steam hare active. He was running low on fuel, and blood for that matter. He was bleeding from a gash in his forehead. He had struck the center console in a fight for his life against a serpent like monster. The fight was still going on for that matter. He surveyed his surroundings carefully, trying to oust the creature with nothing but his eyes. It was tough seeing as blood kept obscuring his vision. He was frightened. His first forray into this war had met in disaster. His squad decimated two miles from here. He was alone and trying to get back to the warren. His flight was cut short due to this creature. It had come for him. He didn't know why, but he knew deep down that it had been sent with the sole purpose of killing him.

He dipped the gun arm of his steam hare down and pivoted to his right. Perhaps it was his imagination, perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was the will to live. It certainly wasn't because he had heard it slither up the side of the building, and he certainly hadn't seen it, but he turned on it all the same. He pulled the trigger before he was even certain that it was there. The bullet tore through a shoulder he wasn't even aware the monster had. It's arm fell to it's side as it roared in anger and plowed into the steam hare knocking it from it's precarious perch 30 feet from the ground. The fall seemed to happen so slow. The young man struck out with the open fist arm landing a blow across the monsters jaw. He heard teeth shatter. He then hit the ground. Metal and flesh plowed together abrubtly. He felt pain as a suddenly loose part peirced his side. He hoped the monster fared worse, but it hissed and leaped into the shadows. It was disheartining knowing that the monster was still capable of moving. It was even more disheartining knowing that the game of cat and mouse had started again. He tried to get the steam hare to stand, it instead made a series of grinding noises as limbs seemed to move in ramdom directions. He listened as steam escaped from some ruptured pipe. But the machine slowly rose to it's feet. It was limping, but at least it was working. He took a few steps back to see if any parts remained on the ground. His heart fell when he saw that his gun arm lay on the ground in a puddle of oil. Breathing heavily, he started tampering with the controls until a blade popped out of the forearm of his remaing appendage. "All right then." He whispered through blood covered lips. "One last dance."

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The gunshot echoed across the frozen landscape. It was then followed by a sound that could only be described as bonecrunching. "He was right. We are low on time." He had barely finished speaking the even words when he broke out in a dead run. He crested the hill that lay before him to see a town that desperately needed to be condemned. He ran through the hardly inviteing torn down gate to the city.

Fiasco covered the distance to the struggle abnormally quickly, aware that Traci was on his heels. He stopped at the sight of the monster fighting what was left of the steam hare. The monster was a covered in black scales and vaugely resembled an oriental dragon. It's serpent like body had for legs (or was it two legs and two arms?), one hanging limply, and a head that had enough teeth to make a shark jealous. It was easily 25 feet long.

The hare, however, looked substantially less impressive. It was missing an arm and steam was hissing out of various cracks in its structure. He was clearly loosing. Fiasco needed to do something. Anything.

Fiasco drew his sword and charged into the melee.

Anything but that, he thought to late to matter.

He scored a deep gash along the monsters side at which blood began to imediately pour out. Fiasco was rewarded by a tail plowing into his chest and sending him through the wall of a nearby building. He was surprised the building didn't come down on top of him. He laid there for a moment, trying to convince himself that the pain he felt was not cracked ribs, and that he was instead collecting his thoughts. It was then that he saw him.

He was a skeleton wearing a civil war confederate uniform. Besides a dark stain on the uniforms stomach, it was surprisingly clean. He was holding a silver revolver. The uniform changed to that of an american world war 2 soldier. The stain remained on the stomach. He was then wearing an 1812 double breasted green British sharpshooter jacket. The revolver never left his hand.

Fiasco knew what this meant. Not the randomly changing clothes, screw that. The revolver. It was in his dreams. Picking it up would lead him one step closer to having him choose the fate of his friends. He hesitated. Was he ready for that burden?

(Filler)

Fiasco reached for the silver revolver and wrapped his fingers around it. "I'm, uh, I'm just going to borrow this if you don't mind." He told the corpse. It sounded lame coming out of his mouth. He then realized that all that convincing was worthless. He wagered about four of his ribs were cracked if not broken. He hesitated right before standing. The gun he now held felt comfortable in his hand, but something was missing. He put the gun down and started to remove the green jacket from the corpse.

Name: Vincent "Sev"
age: 17
Height: 6'1"

A light skinned, beefy looking guy, with a hint of a beer belly! His hair a dark brown color, long from the top of his head down to the end of his neck, shaved wings! A very sarcastic looking face, the kind of face you dont want to say hi to just because he mite be an a$$hole! sharp looking sideburns ( think Kevin Costner in "3000 miles to graceland") Biker boots, faded jeans, and a rolling stones t-shirt, simple!!! He was riding around with a few of his accomplices when this ordeal happened, then he woke up in this strange world thinking he was having a bad drug trip!! he heard loud noises coming from the south of and headed to them!!!

Background:he had a loving mom and dad that are still together, 2 younger brothers that were always in their own world, and an overall good household.........boring!!! at around the age of 15 he decide to stir things up and have fun! he got involved with the "wrong crowd" and has been in trouble with the law here and there! Doing juvenile things like vandalism and starting fights in school!!

Personal beliefs and morals:
true to people that he beliefs are his friends, if he is ever betrayed in any way shape or form, then he knows you are not a friend! has a fascination with the number 7!!! Hates to lose and never gives up!!!