The city that never sleeps. Well, it does sleep. It's actually a sleeply little town. But it has a heck of a nightlife for such a sleeply little town. Injun's Crypt, is the name of this little town. Somehow, for such a little pathetic town, it supports the highest human to demon ratio in the world. The Vampires import blood, their's so many of them. My name is Daimao. I run a Bar, one of several hundred in this small town. In any case, two guys with a British Accent and wearing black left with a cute blonde girl. It is said that a hero who will redeem this world, will save this world. I wonder who it will be?

A stranger in a long black coat saunters into Daimao's bar. The scars on his bleak face and the long bulge under the side of his trenchcoat probably persuade many would-be attackers to pass him up in search of easier prey. The stranger has to shove his way up to the bar, finally sandwiching between a surly, spined demon and a belching, furry Kartk. The stranger motions to Daimao and speaks in a voice grittier than the Sahara.

Pine Island, on the rocks.

Comin' right up, mister.

Daimao eyes the new stranger. As he walked in the bar he saw the two Brits in a bloody pile in front of the door. He sizes up the bulge on the side of his coat. He now knows he isn't an immortal, for they hide their swords better. He isn't a Demon, as their wounds heal. He isn't a Vampire, as they never ask for Pine on the Rocks. Perhaps a human? One without fear, if that is the case. Daimao speaks "Welecome to my humble establishment. Make yourself at home. Claudia, where's his drink." Claudia places a drink on the counter before them.

Thanks.

The stranger glances at Daimao

You own this place, neighbor?

"Yeah, I bought it back in '92. Seen a lot of weird stuff. Werewolf migrations, Hobgoblin Civil wars, Troll collective bargining, Pixies with disputed elections, Faerie gay rights activists, and two or three events that count as near end of the world events. How about yourself?"

I've seen a lot of weird stuff too, but I thought when I get back to Earth everything would be fine. Geez Louise, a guy leaves the planet for 45 years and everything goes straight to h*ll, LITERALLY. When did this demon cr*p all start, anyway?

Suddenly, another stranger enters the place. He is wearing a BLACK slouch hat, a buttoned-up long BLACK duster coat, BLACK gloves, and BLACK boots. His face cannot be seen. He walks up to the bar.

Old Mule Hide. Neat. And leave the bottle.

He looks at Daimao and the stranger.

Blasted monsters everywhere out there. I had to kill a vampire, five Ogres and two Hobgoblins just to get in here!

Suddenly, the door creaks and an Ogre appears. Before it can enter, the man draws two strange-looking semiautomatic pistols from under his coat and fires. The bullets smash into the monster's skull and send it flying back out of the place. He twirls the guns then holsters them.

Make that SIX Ogres!

He turns toward Daimo and the other stranger again, and raises his hat so his face can be seen. He has a BLACK eyepatch where his right eye would be, a blue left eye, and pale white skin that is almost albino-like but not quite. And BLACK hair and a goatee.

My name's Whitey, by the way. Whitey Slade.

He grabs the glass of booze that Claudia brought over while he was shooting the Ogre, downs it in one gulp, and pours another from the bottle.

I'm looking for a man named Nicodemus Kane. Either of you seen him?

Probably not, neighbor. I just got into town.

Well, you'll recognize Nicodemus if you see him; he kind of stands out in a crowd. He's seven and a half feet tall, thin, with slicked-back black hair and always wears pinstriped suits, usually navy or black. And he never, never smiles.

Whitey takes a sip from his drink.

Kane suffered a facial injury in the last war. His facial muscles were messed up something fierce; he can frown or smirk, but he can't smile.

Whitey finishes his drink.

If anyone runs into him, tell him I'm lookin' for him. Got a package to deliver from an old friend of his'n.

He turns toward Claudia and smiles.

Thank you, man. After a long ride, that hit the spot.

He produces some money and pays for the drink. He then pulls out a shiny gold coin and flips in into the air. It lands on the bar standing sideways. Without even looking back, Whitey leaves. A few seconds later, two gunshots ring out, and Whitey can be heard yelling from outside...

BLASTED OGRES! GO PICK ON SOMEONE ELSE!

Another gunshot, followed by the sound of a motorcycle engine revving up and driving off.

"You know, I've seen at least 16 men who matched that description. Loner troubled by their past. It's sad, really. I remember the days when vilians wore black hats and handlebar mustaches. Demon paraded with horns, pitchforks and tails. And Vampires? Always cloaks. They had a dress code. No cloaks, no capes, no service. Now it's everyone dressing like a biker. It's like Mark Calloway controls this crowd. No offense Mark." The Undertaker looked up and said "No problem". Daimao then said "Claudia, stop standing in front of that mirror talking to the man in the top hat and get me a drink."
Claudia is named after Manet.

A heavily muscled guy sitting at a table nearby looks up at Daimao with a confused look on his face.

That was Whitey Slade?! He's the guy who took out that nest of Ghouls over at the old Miller place last month. They say he ain't quite human. And from the other stories I've heard, I believe it!

A biker?! Hah! Picture the old radio program character The Shadow, switch the trenchcoat for a duster and ditch the red scarf, and that's what Whitey is dressed like. NOT a biker. (And he wears his guns on his belt, not in shoulder holsters.)

(The first stranger downs his drink and sighs.)

They couldn't put me right back where they found me, I have to deal with demons too.

(The stranger glances at the sign behind the bartender, grimacingly tosses a couple silver dollars on the bar (which the demon at the bar recoils from) and heads toward the door, almost bumping into a laughing vampire.)

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if 1957 still exists anywhere. Pleasure meeting you all.

A bouncy, blond minor shouts "Wait!" The Stranger turns his head. "Did you say you were looking for the 1950's? I've been fighting Vampires since I was 15. While it's fun to kill stuff, I'm really getting tried of having to save the world and court. I mean, I can't help I'm only 17 but look 22. Can I join you?"

(The stranger opens his mouth, and works his jaw up and down a bit. Everything about his expression shows as clear as crystal that he wants to refuse, to walk away, to leave. But instead, in a coarse, gritty croak, a word escapes his throat.)

Sure.