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Multiverse/Elseworlds Stories / Elseworld Story: Vampire Apocalypse
« on: January 07, 2026, 08:59:04 pm »
Prologue
The world did not die in silence. It drowned in blood.
Born of war, the virus was meant to be a weapon—a scourge to cripple nations in the twilight of World War III. But no hand can leash a plague. It spread like shadow across the earth, reshaping flesh and spirit alike. From its womb came the vampires: pale sovereigns of hunger, eternal and merciless. And from its chaos came the shifters: men and women who shed their skins to walk as beasts beneath the moon. Wolves, ravens, bears—creatures of fang and claw. Not true werebeasts, but something new, something forged in the crucible of ruin.
Against all expectation, predator met predator and chose peace. Vampires claimed the cities, shifters the forests, yet together they carved dominion from the bones of mankind. Humanity, once master of the world, became quarry. Hunted, shackled, drained in blood-labs where veins were harvested like rivers. In the cities, shifters acquired darker hungers—flesh and organs torn from human captives, offered as tribute by their vampire hosts. In the wilds, shifters feast on animals but they have no love for the mundane. They turned their backs on humanity altogether, declaring mankind unworthy of salvation.
From the ashes rose families touched by mutation—elites whose veins carried power beyond hunger. The Darkfires and Hazeldines, once rivals, bound themselves in vengeance after betrayal and slaughter at the hands of Garton Xeno and his Ragnorok cabal. With allies—the Dovans, the Lasombra clan, the vampire ninja—they waged war, mounted Garton's head upon a pike, and extinguished the last of the hunter bloodlines. Even Alucard, once mankind’s weapon, was freed and bound himself to the last surviving member of Toshiro Darkfire's bloodline, Karasu Tepes, by marriage and progeny.
Yet victory did not cleanse the world. Hatred lingered. Grief festered. Some vampires pitied humanity’s fall; others reveled in it. The night grew heavier, and the empire of predators thrived. And in that empire, a single fugitive ran.
Rhea Silverfang, child of a hunter bloodline long extinguished, was spared as an infant by Kindron Darkfire, who defied his own kin to hide her in the arms of General Kain Silverfang. Raised in secrecy, she learned the alchemy of mana and the darker arts of shadow. For a time, she knew peace. For a time, she believed she belonged.
But peace is a fragile dream. At sixteen, betrayal found her. A raven’s whisper summoned assassins, branding her as the last ember of the Blackthorn name—a curse tied to Ragnorok’s treachery. Kain smuggled her into the night, sacrificing everything to keep her alive.
Now, two years later, Rhea wanders the ruins of a world that hunts her. Alone, mistrustful, pursued by vampires and shifters alike, she survives in silence and shadow. Her blood carries secrets that could ignite war anew. Her story begins not with triumph, but with exile. Her destiny waits in the dark, where hunger and grief reign eternal.
Story: Ashes in Detroit:
Late morning bled into the slums of Detroit, the sun a pale ghost behind smog and broken towers. Rhea crouched beside her motorcycle, hands blackened with grease, scavenged parts scattered like bones around her. The scrapyard had given her enough to breathe life back into the machine, and for weeks she had hidden in an abandoned home nearby—longer than she usually dared. Normally, five days was her limit. But Detroit was different. Detroit was already dead, and in death it offered her sanctuary. The bike sputtered, coughed, then roared awake. The sound was thunder in the hollow streets, a beast shaking off rust and ruin. Relief flickered across her face. She stowed her tools, slung her duffle bag over her shoulder, and swung onto the seat. The engine growled beneath her as she tore down the **** asphalt, burning rubber into the silence.
Supplies. That was the next task. Before the sun dipped, before the night unleashed its horrors. Shifters prowled the forests and mountains by day, but vampires owned the night. And Detroit’s nights were a nightmare carved in blood. She stopped at the husk of a supermarket, its windows shattered, its sign half hanging like a broken jaw. Parking by the back, she pried open the employee entrance with practiced ease. Inside, the air was stale, heavy with dust and rot. She moved quickly, sweeping aisles for canned goods, hygiene supplies, first aid—necessities for survival. Her duffle bag swelled with scavenged life. Then she froze. Two figures moved in the snack aisle. Humans. Their steps were cautious, their hands gathering what little remained. Two more joined them, shadows of desperation. Rhea melted into the darkness, her body instinctively folding into shadow. She watched, silent, unseen. They were here for the same reasons she was. She couldn’t blame them.
She was about to slip away when the air **** open. Vampires—low-level enforcers—burst through the front, clad in sun-shielding suits. Predators on the hunt. The humans stiffened, terror etched into their faces. Rhea’s mind screamed at her to leave. Survival first. Never be a hero. But the tribe’s code whispered louder, her foster father’s voice echoing in her soul: help those in need. She hissed a curse and stepped from the shadows. Mana alchemy flared in her veins, her hands puncturing wrists and ankles with precise strikes. The vampires staggered, snarling.
Rhea: Run! She barked at the humans, her voice sharp as steel.
The fight was brutal. Her silver dagger found one vampire’s heart, flames consuming him in a shriek of agony. Another she disarmed, ripping away his helmet with alchemy until his head ignited in a crown of fire. But then she saw it—the suits bore trackers. Red lights blinked, then shifted into black circles wreathed in flame. Her stomach dropped. Reinforcements. She bolted for the back, helmet snapping into place as she burst through the door. Her boots hit the stairs, her body leaping down toward her bike. But a sudden kick slammed into her side, hurling her against the wall. Cracks spidered across the concrete. Pain lanced through her ribs. More vampires. Stronger. She scrambled up, mana alchemy sparking in her hands. Two fell beneath her strikes, but one drove a knife deep into her torso. The blade burned like ice. She gasped, clawing at it, but the wound refused to yield. The weapon was forged with a Hell Gate shard—nullifying her magic, stripping her of power. The vampire loomed, ready to finish her. Then—gunfire. The shot split the air, crows scattering into the sky. The vampire convulsed, eyes wide, before erupting into flames. Rhea staggered, revolver half-raised, realizing someone else had fired first. Her vision blurred. Blood soaked her clothes, pain dragging her down. She tried to stand, tried to fight, but darkness pressed in. The last thing she saw was the humans she had saved rushing toward her, their faces pale with fear and resolve. Then the world fell away.
Rhea woke sharply, breath ragged, eyes snapping open to a ceiling she did not recognize. The sheets beneath her were clean, too clean, and the faint hum of machines whispered in the silence. Her torso throbbed with pain, bandages tight against her wound. This was not her bed. Not her hideout. Not the slums. She scanned the room, instincts coiled like a blade. A desk sat against the wall, cluttered with papers and a flickering computer screen. Beside it, a silver bat gleamed under the sterile light—an odd weapon for a medical ward. The door creaked open. A woman entered, her stride calm, her presence deliberate. Japanese, early thirties, her lab coat crisp against the ruin of the world outside. She carried herself like someone who had seen too much and survived anyway.
Doctor: Morning, sunshine. She said, voice edged with dry humor.
Rhea’s hand twitched toward her boots, her jacket, her bag—all stacked neatly nearby.
Rhea: Where am I? Who the hell are you?
Doctor: raise eyebrow Wow. Bit rude toward someone who just saved your ass. And before you argue, no—you wouldn’t have regenerated in time. That Hell Gate-infused knife was laced with something else. Something that negates metahuman powers. We thought it was varanium, but… it wasn’t.
Rhea: Like what?
The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. Doctor: Not sure. And that worries me. But for now, all that matters is you’re safe. I’m Dr. Saori Sakajou. The group you saved brought you here.
Rhea: And where is here, exactly? She ask suspiciously
Dr. Sakajou: A safe haven. For humans.
The words struck Rhea harder than the knife had. She had always suspected such places might exist, whispered rumors of sanctuaries hidden from vampire eyes. But she had never seen one. Not in Detroit. Not anywhere. She sat up slowly, muscles stiff, eyes darting to her belongings. Tank top, sweatpants—thank God she wasn’t stripped bare. She reached for her jacket, but Saori’s voice cut sharp.
Dr. Sakajou: And where do you think you’re going, Spades?
Rhea: Anywhere but here. She muttered Look, I’m grateful. Really. But I need to get going.
Dr. Sakajou: folds her arms over her chestYeah, no. In case you haven’t noticed, your powers are still negated. Best case, a few hours before they reboot. Worst case, longer. And you didn’t just kill vampires—you killed members of the human-hunting task force. They won’t rest until they find you. Gruesome death, best case scenario. Besides… we need help.
Rhea: For what?
Dr. Sakajou: We’re trying to rebuild humanity. Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. We’ve been working with others—Dr. Tolodora, for one—who believe this whole harvesting and torture of humans is beyond f*cked up. We’re gathering survivors, building something new.
Rhea: So humans can take back control? Become rulers again?
Rhea: So we can live without fear. So children aren’t born into cages. I know you’ve been running for years. I know you’ve lost someone.
Rhea: You don’t know me.
Dr. Sakajou: From an alchemist’s standpoint, I do.
Rhea: blinks You’re an alchemist?
Dr. Sakajou: Yes. A medical one. I use it to heal wounds too severe for ordinary medicine. I was trained by a tiger shifter named Feling—until the culling. She saved me. Later, I met Tolodora… and even Dr. Daphne Xeno.
Rhea: Her eyes flared. A Xeno?! The ones responsible for this entire mess?
Dr. Sakajou: Listen, damn it! You’re not the first to think that. I thought the same. But Daphne had nothing to do with her brother’s organization. She cut ties long before the assassinations.
Rhea: sneers Likely story. And you trust her?
Dr. Sakajou: Funny, coming from a Blackthorn.
The words silenced Rhea. Her expression betrayed everything—anger, shame, grief.
Dr. Sakajou: Your alchemy tells a story, as does mine. You were spared as an infant, but your family’s sins stain you still. Imagine Daphne—innocent, yet condemned by blood. We’re all sinners, Rhea. The only way forward is together.
Rhea: You think they’re alive? The ones who taught us to help?
Dr. Sakajou: …I hope so. I pray Feling survived. Last I knew, she was close to Kindron Darkfire and an old wolf mana user. I’m guessing that wolf was your foster father.
Rhea: …Yeah.
Dr. Sakajou: Then honor them. Use what they taught you. Help others. That’s what Feling and that old wolf would want. For now, rest. I’ll speak with Tolodora. Things will get better. One step at a time.
She left, the door closing softly behind her. Rhea sat in silence, staring at the bandages, the bat, the shadows creeping along the walls. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to run, to vanish back into the ruins. But Saori’s words lingered, heavy as chains. She didn’t trust this place. Not yet. But for now, she had no choice.
Epilogue
Dusk bled across Detroit, painting the ruins in bruised shades of violet and ash. The supermarket lot was a graveyard—scorched pavement, scattered bones, the acrid stench of burned flesh clinging to the air. A squad of vampires moved in, their boots crunching over charred remains. At their head strode a woman in the same armored suit as her brethren, though hers bore a mark on the shoulder: the jagged insignia of Sucker Punch. She paused, lifted two fingers to her helmet, and spoke into the comm.
Sweet Pea: "Baby Doll, this is Sweet Pea. Come in."
Static hissed, then a voice answered, cool and sharp.
Baby Doll: Baby Doll here. Status?
Sweet Pea’s tone was venom. Sweet Pea: “Got a metahuman problem. Played hero, took out my men. Tracker’s already on her trail, along with the humans who dragged her off.”
“Type?” Baby Doll asked.
“Mana user. Skilled. Knows how to wield the dark.”
A pause. Baby Doll: “Did you see her?”
Sweet Pea: “Image is blurry… but clear enough. It’s bad news.”
Baby Doll: “What is it?”
Sweet Pea: “…The Blackthorn kid. The one the Alchemists hid.”
Baby Doll’s voice sharpened. “What?!”
Sweet Pea: “I know. The Blackthorns ruined everything. They took my parents from me and Rocket. And now she’s out here, killing my men and God knows how many more.”
Baby Doll: “We’ll find her. But she must be brought back alive.”
Sweet Pea: “Alive?! Kara, that two faced witch killed my men! They deserve revenge.”
“They deserve closure.” Baby Doll countered. “And they’ll have it. But the girl is valuable. Once she’s delivered, you’ll have your justice.”
Sweet Pea: “…Understood. I’ll keep you updated. Maybe we’ll finally get the old wolf to come to his senses this time. He can’t hide her forever.”
Baby Doll: "One can only hope. Uncle Qrow has history with him. Better him than Raven or her sons.”
Sweet Pea: “Agreed. I'll understand the assignment. But when I find her, she bleeds one way or another before I drag her back to the scientists.”
Baby Doll: "Be careful. She’s clever. Learned that the hard way when I fought Hellsing.”
Sweet Pea smirked beneath her helmet. “Of course. Sweet Pea out.”
She lowered her hand, scanning the ruins one last time. The tracker’s signal had gone cold halfway across the state. She sent the order to keep searching, then turned toward her truck. The hunt was far from over. And when Sweet Pea found Rhea Silverfang, the Blackthorn girl would pay in blood.
End
The world did not die in silence. It drowned in blood.
Born of war, the virus was meant to be a weapon—a scourge to cripple nations in the twilight of World War III. But no hand can leash a plague. It spread like shadow across the earth, reshaping flesh and spirit alike. From its womb came the vampires: pale sovereigns of hunger, eternal and merciless. And from its chaos came the shifters: men and women who shed their skins to walk as beasts beneath the moon. Wolves, ravens, bears—creatures of fang and claw. Not true werebeasts, but something new, something forged in the crucible of ruin.
Against all expectation, predator met predator and chose peace. Vampires claimed the cities, shifters the forests, yet together they carved dominion from the bones of mankind. Humanity, once master of the world, became quarry. Hunted, shackled, drained in blood-labs where veins were harvested like rivers. In the cities, shifters acquired darker hungers—flesh and organs torn from human captives, offered as tribute by their vampire hosts. In the wilds, shifters feast on animals but they have no love for the mundane. They turned their backs on humanity altogether, declaring mankind unworthy of salvation.
From the ashes rose families touched by mutation—elites whose veins carried power beyond hunger. The Darkfires and Hazeldines, once rivals, bound themselves in vengeance after betrayal and slaughter at the hands of Garton Xeno and his Ragnorok cabal. With allies—the Dovans, the Lasombra clan, the vampire ninja—they waged war, mounted Garton's head upon a pike, and extinguished the last of the hunter bloodlines. Even Alucard, once mankind’s weapon, was freed and bound himself to the last surviving member of Toshiro Darkfire's bloodline, Karasu Tepes, by marriage and progeny.
Yet victory did not cleanse the world. Hatred lingered. Grief festered. Some vampires pitied humanity’s fall; others reveled in it. The night grew heavier, and the empire of predators thrived. And in that empire, a single fugitive ran.
Rhea Silverfang, child of a hunter bloodline long extinguished, was spared as an infant by Kindron Darkfire, who defied his own kin to hide her in the arms of General Kain Silverfang. Raised in secrecy, she learned the alchemy of mana and the darker arts of shadow. For a time, she knew peace. For a time, she believed she belonged.
But peace is a fragile dream. At sixteen, betrayal found her. A raven’s whisper summoned assassins, branding her as the last ember of the Blackthorn name—a curse tied to Ragnorok’s treachery. Kain smuggled her into the night, sacrificing everything to keep her alive.
Now, two years later, Rhea wanders the ruins of a world that hunts her. Alone, mistrustful, pursued by vampires and shifters alike, she survives in silence and shadow. Her blood carries secrets that could ignite war anew. Her story begins not with triumph, but with exile. Her destiny waits in the dark, where hunger and grief reign eternal.
Story: Ashes in Detroit:
Late morning bled into the slums of Detroit, the sun a pale ghost behind smog and broken towers. Rhea crouched beside her motorcycle, hands blackened with grease, scavenged parts scattered like bones around her. The scrapyard had given her enough to breathe life back into the machine, and for weeks she had hidden in an abandoned home nearby—longer than she usually dared. Normally, five days was her limit. But Detroit was different. Detroit was already dead, and in death it offered her sanctuary. The bike sputtered, coughed, then roared awake. The sound was thunder in the hollow streets, a beast shaking off rust and ruin. Relief flickered across her face. She stowed her tools, slung her duffle bag over her shoulder, and swung onto the seat. The engine growled beneath her as she tore down the **** asphalt, burning rubber into the silence.
Supplies. That was the next task. Before the sun dipped, before the night unleashed its horrors. Shifters prowled the forests and mountains by day, but vampires owned the night. And Detroit’s nights were a nightmare carved in blood. She stopped at the husk of a supermarket, its windows shattered, its sign half hanging like a broken jaw. Parking by the back, she pried open the employee entrance with practiced ease. Inside, the air was stale, heavy with dust and rot. She moved quickly, sweeping aisles for canned goods, hygiene supplies, first aid—necessities for survival. Her duffle bag swelled with scavenged life. Then she froze. Two figures moved in the snack aisle. Humans. Their steps were cautious, their hands gathering what little remained. Two more joined them, shadows of desperation. Rhea melted into the darkness, her body instinctively folding into shadow. She watched, silent, unseen. They were here for the same reasons she was. She couldn’t blame them.
She was about to slip away when the air **** open. Vampires—low-level enforcers—burst through the front, clad in sun-shielding suits. Predators on the hunt. The humans stiffened, terror etched into their faces. Rhea’s mind screamed at her to leave. Survival first. Never be a hero. But the tribe’s code whispered louder, her foster father’s voice echoing in her soul: help those in need. She hissed a curse and stepped from the shadows. Mana alchemy flared in her veins, her hands puncturing wrists and ankles with precise strikes. The vampires staggered, snarling.
Rhea: Run! She barked at the humans, her voice sharp as steel.
The fight was brutal. Her silver dagger found one vampire’s heart, flames consuming him in a shriek of agony. Another she disarmed, ripping away his helmet with alchemy until his head ignited in a crown of fire. But then she saw it—the suits bore trackers. Red lights blinked, then shifted into black circles wreathed in flame. Her stomach dropped. Reinforcements. She bolted for the back, helmet snapping into place as she burst through the door. Her boots hit the stairs, her body leaping down toward her bike. But a sudden kick slammed into her side, hurling her against the wall. Cracks spidered across the concrete. Pain lanced through her ribs. More vampires. Stronger. She scrambled up, mana alchemy sparking in her hands. Two fell beneath her strikes, but one drove a knife deep into her torso. The blade burned like ice. She gasped, clawing at it, but the wound refused to yield. The weapon was forged with a Hell Gate shard—nullifying her magic, stripping her of power. The vampire loomed, ready to finish her. Then—gunfire. The shot split the air, crows scattering into the sky. The vampire convulsed, eyes wide, before erupting into flames. Rhea staggered, revolver half-raised, realizing someone else had fired first. Her vision blurred. Blood soaked her clothes, pain dragging her down. She tried to stand, tried to fight, but darkness pressed in. The last thing she saw was the humans she had saved rushing toward her, their faces pale with fear and resolve. Then the world fell away.
Rhea woke sharply, breath ragged, eyes snapping open to a ceiling she did not recognize. The sheets beneath her were clean, too clean, and the faint hum of machines whispered in the silence. Her torso throbbed with pain, bandages tight against her wound. This was not her bed. Not her hideout. Not the slums. She scanned the room, instincts coiled like a blade. A desk sat against the wall, cluttered with papers and a flickering computer screen. Beside it, a silver bat gleamed under the sterile light—an odd weapon for a medical ward. The door creaked open. A woman entered, her stride calm, her presence deliberate. Japanese, early thirties, her lab coat crisp against the ruin of the world outside. She carried herself like someone who had seen too much and survived anyway.
Doctor: Morning, sunshine. She said, voice edged with dry humor.
Rhea’s hand twitched toward her boots, her jacket, her bag—all stacked neatly nearby.
Rhea: Where am I? Who the hell are you?
Doctor: raise eyebrow Wow. Bit rude toward someone who just saved your ass. And before you argue, no—you wouldn’t have regenerated in time. That Hell Gate-infused knife was laced with something else. Something that negates metahuman powers. We thought it was varanium, but… it wasn’t.
Rhea: Like what?
The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. Doctor: Not sure. And that worries me. But for now, all that matters is you’re safe. I’m Dr. Saori Sakajou. The group you saved brought you here.
Rhea: And where is here, exactly? She ask suspiciously
Dr. Sakajou: A safe haven. For humans.
The words struck Rhea harder than the knife had. She had always suspected such places might exist, whispered rumors of sanctuaries hidden from vampire eyes. But she had never seen one. Not in Detroit. Not anywhere. She sat up slowly, muscles stiff, eyes darting to her belongings. Tank top, sweatpants—thank God she wasn’t stripped bare. She reached for her jacket, but Saori’s voice cut sharp.
Dr. Sakajou: And where do you think you’re going, Spades?
Rhea: Anywhere but here. She muttered Look, I’m grateful. Really. But I need to get going.
Dr. Sakajou: folds her arms over her chestYeah, no. In case you haven’t noticed, your powers are still negated. Best case, a few hours before they reboot. Worst case, longer. And you didn’t just kill vampires—you killed members of the human-hunting task force. They won’t rest until they find you. Gruesome death, best case scenario. Besides… we need help.
Rhea: For what?
Dr. Sakajou: We’re trying to rebuild humanity. Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. We’ve been working with others—Dr. Tolodora, for one—who believe this whole harvesting and torture of humans is beyond f*cked up. We’re gathering survivors, building something new.
Rhea: So humans can take back control? Become rulers again?
Rhea: So we can live without fear. So children aren’t born into cages. I know you’ve been running for years. I know you’ve lost someone.
Rhea: You don’t know me.
Dr. Sakajou: From an alchemist’s standpoint, I do.
Rhea: blinks You’re an alchemist?
Dr. Sakajou: Yes. A medical one. I use it to heal wounds too severe for ordinary medicine. I was trained by a tiger shifter named Feling—until the culling. She saved me. Later, I met Tolodora… and even Dr. Daphne Xeno.
Rhea: Her eyes flared. A Xeno?! The ones responsible for this entire mess?
Dr. Sakajou: Listen, damn it! You’re not the first to think that. I thought the same. But Daphne had nothing to do with her brother’s organization. She cut ties long before the assassinations.
Rhea: sneers Likely story. And you trust her?
Dr. Sakajou: Funny, coming from a Blackthorn.
The words silenced Rhea. Her expression betrayed everything—anger, shame, grief.
Dr. Sakajou: Your alchemy tells a story, as does mine. You were spared as an infant, but your family’s sins stain you still. Imagine Daphne—innocent, yet condemned by blood. We’re all sinners, Rhea. The only way forward is together.
Rhea: You think they’re alive? The ones who taught us to help?
Dr. Sakajou: …I hope so. I pray Feling survived. Last I knew, she was close to Kindron Darkfire and an old wolf mana user. I’m guessing that wolf was your foster father.
Rhea: …Yeah.
Dr. Sakajou: Then honor them. Use what they taught you. Help others. That’s what Feling and that old wolf would want. For now, rest. I’ll speak with Tolodora. Things will get better. One step at a time.
She left, the door closing softly behind her. Rhea sat in silence, staring at the bandages, the bat, the shadows creeping along the walls. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to run, to vanish back into the ruins. But Saori’s words lingered, heavy as chains. She didn’t trust this place. Not yet. But for now, she had no choice.
Epilogue
Dusk bled across Detroit, painting the ruins in bruised shades of violet and ash. The supermarket lot was a graveyard—scorched pavement, scattered bones, the acrid stench of burned flesh clinging to the air. A squad of vampires moved in, their boots crunching over charred remains. At their head strode a woman in the same armored suit as her brethren, though hers bore a mark on the shoulder: the jagged insignia of Sucker Punch. She paused, lifted two fingers to her helmet, and spoke into the comm.
Sweet Pea: "Baby Doll, this is Sweet Pea. Come in."
Static hissed, then a voice answered, cool and sharp.
Baby Doll: Baby Doll here. Status?
Sweet Pea’s tone was venom. Sweet Pea: “Got a metahuman problem. Played hero, took out my men. Tracker’s already on her trail, along with the humans who dragged her off.”
“Type?” Baby Doll asked.
“Mana user. Skilled. Knows how to wield the dark.”
A pause. Baby Doll: “Did you see her?”
Sweet Pea: “Image is blurry… but clear enough. It’s bad news.”
Baby Doll: “What is it?”
Sweet Pea: “…The Blackthorn kid. The one the Alchemists hid.”
Baby Doll’s voice sharpened. “What?!”
Sweet Pea: “I know. The Blackthorns ruined everything. They took my parents from me and Rocket. And now she’s out here, killing my men and God knows how many more.”
Baby Doll: “We’ll find her. But she must be brought back alive.”
Sweet Pea: “Alive?! Kara, that two faced witch killed my men! They deserve revenge.”
“They deserve closure.” Baby Doll countered. “And they’ll have it. But the girl is valuable. Once she’s delivered, you’ll have your justice.”
Sweet Pea: “…Understood. I’ll keep you updated. Maybe we’ll finally get the old wolf to come to his senses this time. He can’t hide her forever.”
Baby Doll: "One can only hope. Uncle Qrow has history with him. Better him than Raven or her sons.”
Sweet Pea: “Agreed. I'll understand the assignment. But when I find her, she bleeds one way or another before I drag her back to the scientists.”
Baby Doll: "Be careful. She’s clever. Learned that the hard way when I fought Hellsing.”
Sweet Pea smirked beneath her helmet. “Of course. Sweet Pea out.”
She lowered her hand, scanning the ruins one last time. The tracker’s signal had gone cold halfway across the state. She sent the order to keep searching, then turned toward her truck. The hunt was far from over. And when Sweet Pea found Rhea Silverfang, the Blackthorn girl would pay in blood.
End