Canto #1: Forgive Us Our Trespasses

They are, of course, Newports. Anthony won't get that taste out of his mouth for days.

Approaching headlights betray the arrival of a new vehicle.

It turns into the parking lot, slows for a few seconds, and then alters course in your direction. The vehicle, a black and white Ford Interceptor SUV, comes to a stop about one row over from where you're all standing. Its doors are emblazoned with yellow lettering that says "SHERIFF," accompanied by the gold star emblem of the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. A blue and red light bar adorns the roof. The interceptor's windows are dark, though you can vaguely make out a featureless silhouette in the driver's seat. A minute passes and nothing happens, until the engine and headlights shut off.

Finally, the driver steps out of the vehicle. He's a man of Hispanic descent with close-cropped brown hair, medium height and build, and who looks to be in his thirties. He's clad in the standard sheriff's uniform for L.A. County: a beige collared shirt, a black tie, dark gray trousers, and a utility belt with holster. A metal six-pointed badge is pinned to his left breast, and a name tag is pinned to his right. As the man approaches, you make out additional details. The badge reads "Deputy Sheriff," and the name tag reads "Campos."

The newcomer briefly scans the surroundings to ensure no unaffiliated mortals are present. He then immediately directs his attention to Dick; it's only proper to first address the fallen with the highest station. Campos drops to one knee and lowers his head in acknowledgment of the other demon's eminence and reputation. When perceived through the filter of your hosts' modern sensibilities, the gesture may come off as bizarre and antiquated. Perhaps even silly. Yet within the hierarchy of Hell, establishing submission is a valid survival strategy among predators. In the militaristic courtly system revived from the Age of Wrath, many fallen still use such displays to show their deference and respect.

Campos awaits a response.

Dick stands for a moment, taken aback by this show of deference. For a moment a smile tugs at his cheeks, but it is quickly replaced by a scowl. He groans in annoyance, and gestures for the demon to stand. He then approaches Campos, and extends a hand to shake. When he takes it, as to refuse such a gesture would be most unorthodox, Dick pulls the man close. His hand is like a vice grip.

"Listen here, imp," Dick mutters under his breath. "It looks like you don't get how I operate, so let me help you out. You are to make no reference to my name, my rank, or any of my titles, get it? I am 'Dick' or 'Devil' to you. I don't participate in your silly little court here, so I don't want to see any of your silly little formalities."

He stands back, then, and looks Campos in the eye. "So, who sent you? You playing errand boy for the court?"

Campos rises to his feet. He acknowledges Anthony and the thralls with a brief nod, and then replies to Dick.

"Apologies for beckoning you here in this manner," says the man. "I called to as many of our brethren as were within my power, but you are the only ones to answer the call. Recent events have made it more challenging to organize our kind. So many have abandoned their duties to search for the Morningstar." He speaks with a certain gravitas that doesn't seem to quite match the body of a deputy sheriff. You know that you are being addressed by the demon within. "I am here at the behest of the Lord-General himself. The surge of infernal power that happened several hours ago. Surely, some of you must have felt it?" He looks around at those gathered.

Dick doesn’t speak, only nods.

"A surge of infernal power that potent hasn't been detected in some time. The last time we felt anything even remotely close to that kind of power... well... there was an earthquake. You know what followed. So I'm sure you can understand our concern." Campos sighs. The gesture looks out of place for a demon; probably a habit belonging to the host body. "Several Eagles and Lions detected the surge, as well. Most only sensed it broadly, but a few were able to zero in on the source of the power. In addition, a little while go I overheard a request on police channels for all available units to report to a disturbing traffic incident in the city. I would have thought nothing of it, except that the location of the incident is almost exactly the site of the power surge. I have spent the previous hour trying to rally some of our number to investigate this site. A year ago, the Tyrant and the Ministries had only to snap their fingers to see a task done. But now?" He shakes his head in disgust. "It's a struggle to find those willing to take on even simple assignments. Respect for our traditions is dissolving."

Campos removes a small metal flask from his back pocket. He opens it and takes a long swig. It seems like a sort of stress response; something the demon does unthinkingly. He follows this up by saying, "It's an old habit that I..." He pauses. "...Hector could never quite kick. Led to his undoing." He stows away the flask. "None of you are especially known for your fealty to the Court, so I'll appeal to your sense of self-preservation. Whatever caused that burst of infernal energy is unknown. Maybe the Earthbound. Maybe the Son of the Morning. Regardless, I suspect it's in our best interests to discover its purpose. I've been charged with investigating the site of the energy, but I have no idea what I'll find when I get there. I don't know what kind of situation I'll be walking into. I need 'backup,' so to speak."

Campos looks around the empty parking lot. "I would've asked to meet at a bar or restaurant, but I don't trust the local businesses in Los Angeles, especially Downtown. It's impossible to know how many are infested with the Children of the First Murderer."

"Mew." The cat meowed, as it got up and trotted towards the park, its form visible and disappearing as it walked through the illumination of the traffic lights. As it passed the last one and entered the park a figure took its place coming from the opposite side. A man in a long coat, tall and maybe a bit gaunt. He was difficult to make out in the dark but clearly was intent on the group as he approached, walking calmly with his hands in his pockets and head bowed. As he came closer the others could see he was young, maybe twenty years old, his hair shaggy and curly. A tall lad, seemingly timid. His coat looked dated and frayed. So did his shoes. Everything he wore, in fact. The lad was either a drifter or poor as fuck.

"Hello." The young man said. His pose was introverted. He clearly didn't like walking up to people to interrupt their discussion.

"I heard your call too. And umm... what you said so far."

Anthony watches the exchange between Campos and Dick with mild impatience, waving the Newport once like a tiny hello when Campos acknowledges him.

And even as the mortal loses interest within the first few sentences of the description of the event, something stirs within Gevorah's memory at the mention of the Morningstar and the various Legions and Earthbound...

Like a loose thread inside of a piece of clothing, tickling at the wearer, the words cause the demon to reach for something in his mind that he can't quite get ahold of in the moment.

There may be some answers for him here.

"Backup? Would you be going to the site with us then?

And... what's the police presence going to be like there? I... may have a bit of a reputation with some of those guys..."

Dick side-eyes Anthony and smirks, as if to say Yeah, you got a reputation.