This storyline is a stub - with the intro and the first scene description. If there is enough interest in the complete storyline, it will be finished, otherwise, feel free to use it as you find in the best interest of your group

3 A.M Anahiem

There are several clues around the body, which tell you it was a Sin-Eater, the clue that is keeping you in the room however, is the same one, most of you are trying not to look at.

"That can't happen." Your youngest member mumbles, staring wide-eyed at the evidence, which blatantly contradicts his plea.

Your leader turns his head, his eyes suggesting he's about to slap the kid, "You got a manual we don't know about? Obviously it can and did happen, so cut the shock-n-pale routine, and get to figuring out what did happen, because you suck at what can't happen."

You take the kid by the shoulder, and move him a way from the thing, and you get to work.

You use every forensic trick you know, and then you use a few you've only heard about. None of them give you much more than the short list you could have rattled off when you came in this broken, dark, bullshit, quasi-haunt.

First, your powers of observation -- heightened by the dark energy of death and the Underworld itself, plus all of your Geist's amazing storehouse of information -- tell you she is dead.

Second; that her body is completely depleted of plasm, blood, and food.

Third; every momento she might have had is gone, used, black dust on the walls, and in your lungs.

-- blinds on the window and a pain behind your eyes -- your Geist whispers.

There are no ghosts in this house, no spirits in this house, no openings to the Underworld, no recent signs of passage by spiritual beings, no death... Not even hers .

She is dead, the kind of death some call true-death. The kind you don't come back from. You have long since come to grips with the idea that Death is like a verb, there is energy there, energy you use on a daily basis now, and Dead, is like a noun, an object, a rock, dirt.

Her Geist is gone. You glance over at that thing the kid said isn't suppose to happen, and you are pretty sure the Geist is dead too.

After an hour, no one comes up with anything to add to your short list. There are a few things mentioned which are just as obvious. Like the fact that there are two empty Glocks laying near her broken arms, and there are two empty clips for those Glocks kicked to the walls during combat; that there are several tight patterns of holes in the walls, echoing with their eyes of emptiness, just how good she was at aiming those Glocks.

She is wearing body armor, so she was either paranoid as hell, and didn't mind her tits smelling like the inside of an athlete's shoes, or she came expecting trouble.

Body armor didn't help her though, and from the looks of things, plate armor wouldn't have helped her. There is a fist size hole in her chest, where her heart was ripped out. It's a clean hole. Her bones were hardened when it happened.

There's no blood. No blood in her body, no blood on the floor, no blood splatter on the walls, no blood spray from the tight bullet patterns of the Glocks. No blood, any where.

"I think, Franky, you better tell us everything you know, very slowly, and in careful detail, because this shit don't make sense, and it needs to." Your leader tells the guy that brought your team into this mess. "But not here," he adds, turning his attention to another part of the house, "I can hear some of the workman are already arriving."

You pick up your bag, and give the kid a shove, because he's staring at it again. You look around. Fucking haunted house. The haunted house at Disneyland. This is not the place to die. There is no death here. Besides, the place is always closed for repairs. Always closed. Your family came here one summer and the damn place was closed then too.

Wait... No it wasn't, and that's not your memory. You check with your Geist, and get the plasm equivalent of a shrug in response. You look around. Nothing, no where. A chill runs down your spine like some one has just tap-danced across your grave.

You look at the others in your Krewe, and from the plaid expressions on their faces, you glean that they too are trying to cope with memories that are not theirs.

"I never came here with my dad..." the youngest of your team says in a confused whisper, vocalizing the thoughts in your mind with  chilling accuracy.

The workman, in an area close to you, start-up one of the mechanical haunting props, you hear the crank an whirl of some gears, and then maniacal laughter breaches the silence, almost comic with its evil overtones, and then it winds down, as if loosing power, distortion dropping the voice and tempo into sluggish bass tones, then drunkenly staggering into silence again.

You look back at it, the thing that is not suppose to happen, the thing that you were sure couldn't happen, and yet there it is, lying on the floor. The dead eyes of the woman, fixated on its broken remains. The shattered Geist key of a Sin-Eater.

"Fucking Mickey Mouse bullshit." curses one of the nearby workman.

-- I'm made of hair and bone and little teeth -- your Geist sings with an edgy whisper