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When the first of the recovery team had landed down on the aftermath of Times Square, it was already one-fifteen in the morning, local time. The crowds still lingered, the ground littered with party favours, beer can, bottles, paper flyers, a stew of human hopes, dreams and promises.

And then there were the bodies. They had yet to find the survivors, even the one who clearly broadcasted the mission as a success. No matter how they looked at it, it seemed like death everywhere.

They had already found the half-remains of bodies in the sewers and they were still searching. Their team worked in unison, wearing the Hunter whites, hoods hiding their intentions. To the average eye in the weak florescent lighting, they simply seemed ominous, families pulling their children in as they passed by any of them.

Two hundred Hunters had been dispatched for the mission, one hundred and ninety-eight dead. There were only fifteen bodies they had recovered so far.

It was going to be a long night.

A tall, willowy blonde woman stood in the red-carpeted hallway on the fourth floor of the Hotel Casablanca, waiting in front of the closed, glimmering gold doors of the elevator. She was dressed surprisingly moderately for the occasion - a pale, simple shift of cream, a string of pearls around her slender neck, and a pair of demure pumps matching the color of her dress.

"Jeffery? Honey?"

There was no answer. The woman gave a sigh of mild exasperation.

"Trust him to go off and take your sister with him on some grand adventure," she said, with an elegant roll of her eyes - a feat only manageable by someone as collected as Joyce Gentry. "I think he said something about going down to the cafe down the street to get something to eat."

The person to whom she was speaking was the child whose small fingers were slipped into her longer, slender ones. He looked barely four, if not younger, his pale cheeks dusted with the lightest of pinks from the exertion of climbing a full set of stairs, light blonde hair curling over his ears in soft ways.

"I'm hungry, Mama."

Joyce smiled, affectionately rubbing his cheek. "We'll get you some food, okay, honey? Mama will get you some. And then it's bedtime, darling; it's way past your bedtime, mister."

He smiled, clearly pleased, just as there was a ding, the doors to the elevators opening to reveal a group of loud, raucous tourists, all of whom were laughing exuberantly, one swinging a bottle of wine in her hand. Nearly an hour and a quarter after midnight, and the partying was still going on. Wrinkling her nose, Joyce gently nudged her son past them, into the elevator, and let it close behind them, cutting off the unwanted noise. Down four stories and out the door, over to the cafe in Times Square, where Jeffery Gentry and his daughter Leslie were eating a post-celebration snack of hot cocoa and biscuits.

It was not unusual for the Gentry family to travel; Joyce and Jeffery enjoyed expanding their knowledge of culture quite a bit, but it was rather rare for them to expand outside of Europe and Asia. However, the shift into the new millennium was something iconic - and they had wanted an iconic trip to remember.

It wasn't difficult to decide, nor to travel; they already had passports, and the twin children of the Gentry family were not exactly known for being hyperactive children. Where Leslie was overly anxious and easily terrified of her own shadow, practically, Gale - older by two and a half minutes - was unusually quiet and solemn for a four year old. During the actual event - the dropping of the ball in the center of Times Square - he had simply stood there, clutching his mother's leg, with golden eyes that had stared out around him in a curious, wide-eyed gaze. And when the eruption of cheering had happened, the happy screams and joyful noises, Leslie had buried her face in her father's shoulder, terrified.

Gale, however, had not. He had not wanted to be carried, and instead had stood beside his mother, as still as a statue, as though taking in the scenery, rather than acting a part of the celebration.

And now it was nearly one thirty in the morning, and he was still not tired - the life in the city was just as loud as it had been at midnight, even as they were all making their way back to the Casablanca Hotel to finally rest for the night. But it was not the excess of excitement that Gale noticed. Instead, it was the strange men in the hoods that he had seen, one or two at a time, moving carefully through the crowds.

He did not understand. What were they doing?

Gale did not like the hoods. They reminded him of creepy movies.

Joyce's grip on his hand was an iron one - in all of the chaos and confusion of the thousands of people crowding into Times Square, she did not want to lose her children. Her husband held Leslie, but stubborn little Gale had refused to be carried in her arms, claiming he was too old for that sort of thing now.

He stumbled along behind her, his booted feet barely big enough to take steps enough to keep up with his family. Flushed and anxious, he hurried faster.

His foot caught on something and he tripped. Gale's fingers slipped from his mother's, and he landed on the ground hard, scraping his knees on the wet pavement.

"Gale? Gale!"

He could hear her voice, frantic above the throngs of laughing, shouting people, the thundering of footsteps, and Gale pushed himself up, his cheeks damp and red. His lower lip trembled, eyes stinging as he stood unsteadily.

"Mama?" he said, in a very small voice. "Mama?"

He could still hear her voice, but it sounded strained, far away. He tried to make his way through the crowds, desperate to find her again, and bumped into the leg of someone.

One of the hooded men.

Gale could not see his face, and he could not understand why there was a sudden sense of fear that thrilled up his spine, except for the fact that this was a stranger.

Strangers were bad. His face screwed up, a small, hiccuping sob escaping his throat. Terrified, Gale backed away quickly, tripping over his own feet and landing flat on his back, the cold dampness seeping into his jacket. The hooded figure gave him a glance - one that Gale could not see any part of, the hood concealing everything, shadows covering his face - and began to move. Whether or not it was towards him or away from him, he could not begin to say, since at that very moment two hands gripped under his arms and pulled him up into the air.

"Gale!"

His father's voice. Joyce was right behind him, what little color there had been in her face slowly beginning to return. She held Leslie in her arms, his twin sister sucking on her thumb and looking as though she had been crying.

"Daddy?" said Gale, small and wavering. He bit his lip, eyes watering in embarrassment and allowed his father to pull him up into his arms, burying his face into his shoulder. He tucked himself into the familiar scent and feel, surrounding himself in Jefferey's embrace, and sniffled, smearing tears and snot across his shirt in the process.

"Next time just stay close, okay, big guy?" said Jeffery, but his tone was gentle, and Gale nodded mutely, refusing to lift his head. He simply clutched his dad tightly, holding on as if for dear life, and let himself be taken back to the hotel, where he fell asleep fast and slept hard.

When he awoke the next morning, later than usual from his exhaustion, he did not remember the men in the hoods.

"Do you think we'll be able to hear them?"

Robert's ear was pressed up against the glass of the window on the fourth floor of FAO Schwarz, trying desperately to hear the noise outside. Times Square was several blocks away, but that didn't make the view from the window any less beautiful. Both families had agreed that bringing children to that loud, crowded, scene filled with drunks, violence, and standing in the cold for hours was a bad idea. They had compromised, by bringing them to the toy store that boasted of a great view safe for kids. Only kids were allowed to sit on the windowsill, but Robert's parents couldn't care less. They had left Robert and Petra on the windowsill, with explicit instructions to stay put, as they left in search of Poe and Roberta; who'd taken off and running from the moment they'd entered the store.

So he sat, his ear pressed up against the glass, and his hand in Petra's to keep her from wandering off or getting lost. He was in charge, they'd told him. Protect Petra at all costs, they'd told him. New York was very naughty, they'd told him. Someone would steal a pretty little thing like Petra away. They were sure of it.

They had lived sheltered lives, but they weren't too far off. Still, they'd managed to instill the fear of God into the boy, and his hand clutched the little girl's beside him, going so far as to pulling her close every time she tried to wander away.

"Whatcha think, Pet? Will we?" He whispered in that faintly southern accent, and then turned his face to the glass and opened his mouth, pressing his lips against it. He blew until it fogged up, and he drew little arrows in the fog.

Little black arrows. They were easy to draw, he kept seeing them in the sky.

"No." The quiet voice finally managed, and he turned his head to look at her. She was staring at their hands, intertwined so tightly, and there was a red flush on her cheeks. Robert straightened up sharp as a tack and pulled her closer, eyeing her with a wild, worried expression.

"Oh no, are you sick? You ain't gonna hurl, is ya?" He reached up and felt her head; too hot. Her face turned darker red. She was totally gonna hurl. Gross.

He picked her up with surprising ease, and dropped her off right in front of him on the windowsill. She let out a tiny noise when he'd lifted her, but he ignored it and snuggled her into the crook of his dirty overall covered legs. "Now siddown, and look outside. Putcher face on the window if y'gotta. It'll cool you down." His hand rubbed her back the way his momma always did when he was feeling sick, and she pressed her face against the glass, sighing softly.

His eyes weren't on the window anymore. They were turned away, looking out into the store. He wanted his parents back now. He wanted Roberta to come see the New Years Ball. He wanted them to find her and Poe and get back here before Petra hurled all over him, and-

"Hey, Robert?"

"You feelin' better, Pet?"

She turned around, and he pouted inasmuch as an 8 year old boy in a 12 year old's body could. The boy was large, and built; years of working the farm and drinking milk had seen to it. This was why, despite his youth, he was in charge of Petra right now. He took that charge very seriously - if anyone tried to bug them, they'd get a black eye from an eight year old.

"You don't look no better."

"The ball's dropping, Robert."

"WHAT!?" He hadn't realized people were counting down in the store, but when he looked down the window, several blocks away, he saw the little white ball go down, down, down..

Petra shuddered in his arms, and he didn't know why, but he wrapped his little, dirt covered arms around her and shuddered right back. He felt sick to his stomach, and his eyes kept catching movement where there was none. He knew this feeling. She knew this feeling. And just like he had been left in charge of Petra, he knew he was protecting her from more than just scary New Yorkers, that night.

But he couldn't protect Roberta, and that thought alone scared him most of all.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Everybody screamed, and an employee handed them little noisemakers. The world celebrated around them, but Petra and Robert just cuddled in the corner of the window of FAO Schwarz, and wished away the darkness they could see out of the corner of their eyes.

He finally caught sight of something that didn't disappear once he looked at it - the top of a big hotel, the Marriott. Mounds of something being moved away, lots of them. He couldn't quite see; or maybe his mind refused to let him understand what he was seeing. He turned Petra, just slightly, to keep her from ever looking in that direction.

Just in case.

Petra was ripped away from his arms, and he bolted up to kick the a** of whoever tried to take her - but it was just his own father, leading her off to meet up with her sister. He slumped down, watching her walk away. Her eyes never left his; both were wide, and filled with that same, knowing dread.

"C'mon now boy, we're leavin'."

"But mommmmmmmmm.." Robert whined, hopping back to flatten himself against the window once more. His eyes now narrowed to try, real hard, to see exactly what was going on on top of that Marriott. He heard her trying to wrangle Poe, and keep her from running off again, but all he cared about was understanding what they were doing up there. What were they cleaning up. What was that thing he'd just picked up-

"Momma, LOOK!" He screamed, his finger pointing up against the window. His eyes were still wide, but this time they were filled with wonder.

"Dangit Robert, why dont'cha go play on that there piana some more."

The idea pleased him so he lurched away, but not before his finger followed the trail of the butterfly that fluttered across the windowpane, hovering gently where his finger had left a mark, before flying away into the night sky.

"NEEEEEEEEEEER POOOOOOK!! PEW PEW PEW PEW! You won't get away from me Megatron!"

As cold as it was compared to home, it didn't stop Deryk from running around with some Beast Wars and Beast Machine toys, having them 'fight' one another. His parents weren't too far off, bickering as they normally did as of late. He had learned to tune that out.

Also, he didn't care what his friends said. Transformers were still cool. And so were his toys. He wasn't about to stop playing with them just because they thought they were stupid now. Besides, he had to do something. Mom and Dad didn't let him bring his game boy color in case he end up loosing it. Oh well, he'd just have to train his pokemon more when he got home.

But for now, Cheetor was beating up Megatron.

"Bwahahahaha. Do you really think you can defeat me?" he said, 'voicing' Megatron.

While he was running around, he ended up tripping over himself. Dusting himself off as he recovered from the fall, he noticed something red and liquidy upon the ground. Curiosity overcame him, as his eyes trailed towards the source. Was... was that a leg? Where was the rest of the body!? It had to be some sort of prank. Yeah. That had to be it.

After seeing a hooded figure move towards the single leg, he just backed away and decided to go back to where his parents were, feeling a little freaked out.

He liked New York City. Compared to his small hometown in Wisconsin, it was sprawling with excitement and lights and entertainment that held Wilson’s imagination. The ten-year-old wasn’t obsessed with the Big Apple, but whenever he flipped through books in class or the city’s name came up in a conversation his eyes seemed to light up. New York had a lot of things his suburban didn’t. It had vendors and busy streets and endless sights. New York City was teeming with places waiting to be explored. It was unsurprising when his mother announced to him over the dinner table, red lips stretched into a pleasant smile, “We’re going to New York for New Year’s.”

Wilson had never been on an airplane until then, but it was thrilling to buckle himself into the seat and press his face against the plastic window as the contraption glided through the clouds. Once the wheels touched the runway and he was officially in New York? He went ballistic. Tiny legs swung back and forth; clumsy fingers reached down to unbuckle the seatbelts. “Mommy!” He grabbed his mother’s hand with one of his own, his other hand slipping into his father’s. “Daddy! We’re here!” Wilson rocked back and forth, his sneakers squeaking softly. This kid didn’t need sugar. He could coax himself into a high whenever he wanted. A couple onlookers threw the boy amused looks before they all shuffled off. His hands gripped his parents’ hands even tighter. “Mommy! Daddy! Mommy Daddy Mommy Daddy look look over there—“

Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins’ smiles appeared just a smidge strained as they escorted their boy toward their luggage as quickly as possible.

His parents did not seem to understand. Wilson wanted to go everywhere. Mrs. Hopkins kept an iron grip on her son to prevent the child from escaping her parental vision, yet he constantly tugged at her arm. He frowned, cheeks puffed out while vainly attempting to drag his mother over to a man standing behind a display of paintings. “Mommy!” Wilson whined. A mildly-entertained grin tugged at the corner of Mr. Hopkins’ lips as he observed his exasperated wife. The man sighed, his breath coming out in billowing puffs while he slid his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I told you we should have gotten a leash,” he stated matter-of-factly. Mrs. Hopkins made a noise that sounded like an indignant squawk.

Wilson giggled like the easily distracted child he was. “Mommy made a funny sound.”

“Yes, she did.” His father chuckled and bent down to ruffle his child’s hair.

“Daddy! Let’s go over there!” This time, the boy wildly waved his arms at a nearby toy store. The parents shared a knowing look, relief shining in their eyes. A toy store would gladly occupy the child’s attention for a significant amount of time. Finally, they could take a small break to recover their rapidly depleting energy.

How in God’s name did the couple manage to accompany their son through New York City for the next few hours? Either way, it was a glorious moment when Wilson uttered the words they had been hoping for, “I’m tired.”

Mr. Hopkins’ bellowing laughter rang in Wilson’s ears as the man scooped up the boy and somehow propped him up on his broad shoulders. “How’s the view up there, kiddo?”

He yawned and pushed his black-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Goooood,” drawled Wilson. A chill wind picked up and he shuddered. Wilson groped around for the hood of his jacket and pulled it over his head. His dad laughed quietly.

“Just a few more minutes, kiddo. Then the ball will be dropping. Do you see it?” The man’s large hand grasped his son’s leg while the other lifted to point toward the glowing ball hanging over Times Square.

Wilson nodded his head obediently before burying his face in his father’s hair. “Yes, Daddy.” His eyes peeked beneath his hood, dark irises glued to the peculiar sphere, which glowed softly against the darkness of the sky. He looked past the ball, wondering where the stars were. His father had told him stars were afraid of lots of light. New York City was pretty bright, so perhaps that was why—

Buzzing filled his ears, but only for a moment. His drowsy expression quickly morphed into one of panic as he searched through the crowds for the source. What was that? What was it? In the corners of his eyes he spotted flashes of shadows that crept through the streets. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut and drew the hood over his head even more and clung to his father. Everyone else in the square, his parents included, was chanting down the countdown now, and he meekly followed along, but no matter what he still occasionally heard the buzzing.

The shouting and cheers were deafening. It was midnight.

Wilson whispered, “Daddy. Take me back. Daddy…” He didn’t bother to explain. They never believed him—never.

"Ryan, stop squirming, or you'll be going back to your aunties house for a time out." It was a bluff, of course. She had already warned the five year old three times already and had yet to follow through on her threat. Much to his disappointment. He, unlike the rest of his family who were in high spirits for the new years, did not want to be here. He didn't like how cold it was, nor how pushy the crowd was being. Not to mention there was that never ending noise. Each time someone cheered or yelled near by, Ryan gave up on the idea of fighting against his mothers grip, only to cling to her for protection instead.

He did not like new years.

Unfortunately for him, he and his family had come down from Canada to spend the Christmas with his aunt and her family. Now that they had a new house of their own, they felt like sharing. Needless to say, this somehow ended up including the new year as well.

"I wanna' go home." He pleaded, tugging at his mother's coat. His efforts were rewarded with a stern look.

"Ryan, behave yourself. We'll go back to your auntie's house in a minute." That reply had the five year old puffing his cheek and scowling.

Grownups always got their way.

Still, the promise of going back had him obeying her order. For perhaps two minutes.

Absorbed in her conversation, she loosened her grip on him and though the moment was brief, it gave Ryan more than enough to slip free and 'escape.' By the time they would realize he was gone, he would have already made it half way through the crowd, making his way back 'home.'

That was the plan anyway.

He made it a few steps further. Pushing through the crowd and using his size to advantage, when something white caught his eye; curiosity causing him to stop. It wasn't just something white. There was a long smear of red trailing behind it, staining the one end of the cloth and pooling into a puddle beneath it.

Of course, given how young he was and not knowing any better, Ryan let his curiosity get the better of him and moved closer; ignoring the frantic calls from his parents. When he finally managed to tug the cloth back, what he expected to find and what he found turned out to be the complete opposite.

There was face under it. A human face that and it was staring right back at him.

With a startled squeak he let go, tripping over his feet and landing on his rear. Just in time for something to grab hold of him and hoist him up into the air.

"Ryan!"

His cousin, Kyle.

"Geez kid! You almost gave your mom a heart attack with that stunt." He scolded, tucking the five year old under one arm and making his way back. Leaving the decapitated head far behind them.

The Hargrave family had gone to Time Square thanks to a 'forced' vacation that Lawrence's boss had sent him on since the man had been pretty much working non-stop on various cases in court. Anastasia carried her son lovingly in her arms gently rubbing his back and murmuring quiet songs to him as she stood near her husband.

Jude rested his arms against his mother's shoulder as he listened as a small hand idly played with one of the curls in her hair watching as he straightened it a bit and then it bounced back to it's natural shape - it was hours of amusement for a very tired little boy as he just waited for things to happen so he could then be put to bed. For the most part he ignored the tension between his parents as he always did.

"The boy is almost seven years old, he can stand on his own damn feet," Lawrence said coldly as he peered over at Anastasia.

Anastasia stopped her singing and looked over at her husband it was almost as if he'd slapped her, "Lawrence, it is past his bedtime, he's tired. I will carry him all I want. Besides I want to enjoy this while I can...Soon he'll be much, much too big." She gently brushed her son's hair from his face smiling down at him, "By your tone, Mister Hargrave I think it is past your bedtime as well." Anastasia said primly.

Lawrence let out a small grunt and stared up at the night sky. They had all bundled up just so they could be out in Time Square and be in the action, "He was just fine an hour ago."

Anastasia ignored her husband in favor of kissing her son on the forehead singing to him once more. If Lawrence was going to be an a** then she wasn't going to give him the pleasure of paying attention to him anymore.

Jude let out a small sigh as his head drearily lifted to stare over toward the other figures at the Square. Some of them wore odd hoods obscuring a lot of their faces - it looked neat. Mysterious. He put a hand over his mother's mouth so she'd stop singing as he made his very important request, "Mama, can I have a hooded jacket like those people," he moved the hand from her mouth and pointed at one of the figures but by the time Anastasia looked she'd missed them.

She blinked a bit and humored her son, "Of course, Baby. You can have whatever jacket you want."

He smiled sleepily at his mother and then nestled his face against his mother's neck feeling the secure warmth of being in her arms. Normally he wasn't this cuddly but he was tired and cold, plus Mommy was smiling and she rarely did that when Father was around. Slowly but surely Jude's eyes drooped closed as his mother resumed quietly singing to him.

Lawrence just let out another snort and looked away muttering under his breath, "A big waste of time bringing him here if he's just going to fall asleep."

Anastasia just continued to ignore her husband and continued to croon to her precious son.

Aleister was six years old, and his family was there in times square, his mother had been unable to find a babysitter. The blonde haired child was now leaning on her looking almost ready to pass out. All the excitement and the music, everything seemed to slowly quite down after everyone had yelled Happy New Year. There had been his parents friends with them as well, and their little girl.

She was currently poking Aleister, "Wake up Ali." She prodded looking at him, "You can't sleep yet."

Aleister's eyes opened tiredly as he looked around. People were leaving, his parents had seemed slightly relieved that Aleister had managed to go so long without freaking out. "Come on, it's time to go." His father said as he looked down at Aleister who only nodded following behind his parents.

However, half asleep Aleister wasn't watching where he was going. He suddenly ran into someone. They were weirdly dressed in white and the fact this person had a hood on left Aleister's vibrant purple eyes growing wide. The person he'd ran into looked at him, in that split second Aleister looked around and squeaked, "MOOMMMYY" he'd lost his parents. OH CRAP.

He scrambled away from the stranger and hopefully towards where his parents were. Already worried that he might've gotten left behind and, not to mention he was still afraid of the shadows at this age. Suddenly he ran into someone his own size. "AAAAA--- oh..." He stopped abruptly blinking at his parent's friend's little girl, before wrapping his arms around her.

"I thought I was lost!" His parents were staring at him as he said this.

"Aleister stop being so dramatic." His mother sighed as she picked him up, "Sorry about that, he's just tired." She apologized to their friends looking slightly embarrassed.

Aleister frowned as his mother scolded him, "But... I ran into a man with a strange hood on."

"Will you please stop with all that nonsense. There's no strange people with hoods out here. Honestly, I don't know what to do with you. When we get back home you're going back to the doctors."

Aleister looked back to where he'd ran from. Frowning, he knew better than to protest, even when there was something weird going on. No one ever did believe him. Well here was to a new year, and another trip to that weird doctor.