Let me tell you about Jump City... (Hotwire and DivingDart)

"Cool." From the far end of the alley came a jangle of chains. Head down, the creature shuffled forward, dragging a heavy weight at the end of its shackles. Yet this was no iron ball, but a plastic container of some kind, sloshing full of liquid, "My father was born in slithy toves, but came to the tulgey wood after the slaying of Jabberwock. Less of a poetic epic, more of a poetic nonsense."

Vernon pulled up upon reaching the bound criminal. Raising his head to beam a pleasurable hello to the strangers. He looked every part the escaped convict; disheveled, bedraggled, and ragged. A yellowish tint made both eyes appear jaundiced. Though despite everything else, his teeth were bleached white.

"Bad joke. Ignore me. Scapegoat's the name." A foot was stuck into the captured man's side as Scapegoat turned him over. A musical note broke his next sentences, "Look down, and see, the felons at your feet. Look down, and show, some mercy if you caaan." The plastic container found its way to his hands, and its contents poured onto the reprobate. When finished, the spluttering felon was completely saturated in diesel fuel.

Strong petrol fumes began a new bout of thrashing as desperacy set in. Vernon took a big step backwards to avoid his toes getting rolled on. He addressed the others once more, "In the event of fire. The exits are here, here, or straight up." Standard airline gestures were made, "Now no peaking you two. Else it'll ruin the murderer mystery." Then he sat down with a box of matches, fiddling at the casing.

"Sure..." Hotwire said with a hint of sarcasm.

Then vernon showed up.

"Who the heck... what is your problem?"

Glacia made a frightened squeak at the mention of fire. "I must go! I cannot be near a fire, else I will surely die," she said quickly, turning to exit the alley. Fire was not friend to her.

As if the casing wasn't hard enough to get into, matches sure were fiddly. Vernon had already broken one without so much as a spark, instead raking his thumb across its coarse striking surface. That smarted! He needed to try harder if he was to outfox this matchbox.

One of the bystanders asked the obvious question. Though Vernon felt it was rhetorical in nature. Just a vocalisation brought about by the need to say something. Nevertheless, that question was going to receive an answer. Yup! Because Vernon never left anybody hanging - rhetorical or no. He would emulsify that query's ambiguous standing with a heartfelt and profound reply in acknowledgement to its existence.

"Your mum!" Nailed it, "Ah-ha!" Scapegoat's eyes sparkled as the magnificent flame flickered to life. At last! Now he could commit the weighted sins of premeditated murder, torture, and needless cruelty in suffering; burn this sucker alive! But, alas, there was a greater sin which could be achieved here - forcing another into wrongdoing. Two victims; one dead, the other subject to possible psychological torment. Yippee!

"Where you going?" The ghoul called after their fleeing comrade, "Oo! Oo! Oo! I can let you do the honours!" At last Scapegoat got a match lit. Keeping a keen eye on the receding girl, he dipped his flame into petrol. Suddenly Scapegoat had exchanged places with Glacia. He turned on his heel to watch events unfold.

Hotwire realized this guy didn't mean them well. He lunged for scapegoat, and attempted to knock the fire away... after all... it appeared to create pure fear in the girl.

"Leave you creep."

Glacia swallowed. She wondered what her father would do in such a predicament.

He would run, she thought. She took a step back and found a wall behind her. Maybe if she could freeze it enough she could throw one of the trash cans at it and let it break...

But she would be dead by then.

Okay. Situational review. Bound criminal covered in a highly flammable substance. Doubtless unimpressed, and frankly, a bit miffed about the whole ordeal - or so his screams of pure agony would seem to suggest (else maybe he was a trainee yodeler, never knew). Match to oil had ignited a blaze across the ground, simultaneously crawling up his body, and surrounding Vernon's position.

A position the ghoul was no long stood in. Using his power of joint instantaneous transmission, he had swapped places with Glacia, who at the time, was a lot further down the alley. Had he known of her weakness, this move would have been plain strategic brilliance. But seeing as Vernon was actually a few pieces short of a jigsaw puzzle, events had just sort of transpired in his favour.

Holding his wrists high, Scapegoat watched with glee as new chain links began to appear on both manacles. He was paying his way with sin, allowed to remain on Earth as long as his bad deeds continued. And this one was a real humdinger. Scapegoat sat down to watch the growing drama, "London's burning, London's burning. Fetch the engines, fetch the engines. Fire-fire! Fire-Fire! Fetch the engines, fetch the engines. Pee on fire, pee on fire..."

Hotwire looked up and saw a quite convenient thing. A fire valve. He held his hand at a discarded rc car some kid must have left in the alley. The wheel assembly flew off and caught on the valve. The valve broke off, dousing scapegoat, and a good portion of the alley in water.

Glacia stepped back. "Oh, I wish Daddy had taught me how to transport from one place to another," she muttered. She glanced to Hotwire, silently thanking the gods for sending him.

"London's burning, London's bu- glub!" A torrent of water cascaded down, sweeping the ghoul up momentarily and transporting him a few feet closer. Completely unprepared for this divine intervention, Vernon could do nothing but flail, both arms up in the air, as his water bed ran its course. The blazing inferno was quickly stemmed. Curses; foiled again!

It didn't matter. Scapegoat wasn't required to be a 'successful' sinner. Just the attempt would do him. Anyway, who could blame his failure? When he had so clearly ANGERED POSEIDON! Maybe the girl was actually a dolphin. How gullible Vernon had been to miss that.

With this unfortunate happenstance rectified, Scapegoat was just going to take off, make an offering to the Olympian by flooding a public restroom. But something held his interest. Perhaps the water had cleaned out his nostrils, because he now smelt something. A certain irresistible aroma. The sweet stank of death.

Scapegoat stood and approached the two strangers, sniffing quite audibly.

Hotwire recoiled slightly when Vernon approached. A small radio, disposed of by whatever person thought it useless, began to float, disassemble, and coated hotwires hand. He then would attempt a hook to the jaw.

"Take a whiff of this.

Glacia suddenly became aware of herself. "Do I reek of Father?" she murmured, glancing at the ground. She looked to Hotwire, slightly puzzled.

A knucklehead serving a knuckle-sandwich. It was almost poetic. If, y'know, it wasn't going to be so painful. However, in his prior career Vernon was very apt at reversing violence. Still was. So he waited for the punch to reach its apex. Then pulled another switcheroo. Suddenly he was punching at Hotwire. Before cradling his fist, "Ow-ow-ow! Did you see that Echo?" He addressed the dolphin, "He struck my fist with his face. Ouchie!"

Yet even as he clowned, Scapegoat was becoming more certain of the smell's origin. He stopped nuzzling his hand and sniffed once more at Hotwire, "Hmm. Corpse smell. Has anyone ever told you that you reek more than a Lich's stag do at a World War two mortuary?" This was silly. How could this guy smell like a corpse? He was plainly alive. But possibly not. Moving around, completely inedible. The nose knows best. Living, breathing, walking, talking, punching; not dead.

Scapegoat's brain opened a window. Logic was thrown out and pancaked upon streets below. His subconscious desires were taking over. Overpowering his rational reasoning and trusting sense alone, "I don't- It makes me... hungry." A sort of veil lifted. Like a mirage, Vernon's appearance changed into something more primal. Because at the end of the day, he was nothing but a ghoul. A slave to his hunger.

"Corpse smell? But I'm dea-" Hotwire said before stopping himself. He had been at one point in his career. But he had been brought back. Full health, like nothing had happened. How could someone smell something that had been reversed a full three months prior?

Things then went from bad to worse. This creature... was not natural.

"Great... more demons... as if this city didn't have enough."

Glacia instinctively went into a defensive position, her hands glowing a light blue. Maybe now it was her turn to return the favour to her saviour.

The beast looked like many of the creatures she had seen in Jotunheim. It was nothing from that world, of course, she would have been able to detect its aura. She wondered if snow would, at all, weaken the creature. Perhaps it would.

She moved one hand over her arm, touching a certain point on her wrist. And suddenly, snow began to fall at a pace that was not normal. Even if it didn't help weaken the creature, it would work as something to slow it down.