Episode Seven (2/9/01)

Lily Sloan stealthily managed to slip past the well-meaning "guard" at Father Mario Garibaldi's church, Saint Michael's. A postman, still in uniform (albeit torn by the claws of beasts the night before) almost caught her leaving after the sun had gone down on the second night of the full moon. Lily waited until the "escape" from the church's protective holy ground was complete before willing her whole body to become silver. Like a living manikin, Silverbullet proceeded to jog toward the Sin City Arena since it was bigger, closer and more likely to be converted by the paramilitary-minded into a clearinghouse of sorts.

And then she stopped to notice how the streets around St. Michael's were surrealistically barren. Since Y2K had been most everything it was supposed to have been, a nearby ATM repeatedly spat out $20 bills. However, because of the invasion force, everyone was too afraid to step outside long enough to take advantage of the situation. Suddenly, a small jeep pulled up, and choosing flight over fight, her instinct to hide literally flattened a once-voluptuous figure into a liquid puddle of pewter on the street. While shock over the new discovery of ability kept her silent (and thereby unnoticed), she was still able to take in sensory input (though now from a worm's-eye point of view). And that's how Silverbullet took in a memory she'll not soon forget: her first vampire and werewolf.

Neither noticed the small, glistening pool by the left rear tire of the jeep; they were too fixated and simultaneously repulsed by St. Michael's itself. For a moment, both stood stock still in mesmerized revulsion and it was at this point Silverbullet was able to get over their bizarre appearances. The body of the "young" (when bitten), slender vampire was built up normally enough, even if it bore what looked to be a jet black Gestapo-esque uniform with blood-red trim. But the face, while youthful, looked dead before its time. Pale, varicose veined, and then of course the fangs... And the beast--a brown furred, upright yet slightly humpbacked creature with the head of a perpetually snarling canine and the frame of a man on hind legs who's more than seven feet tall and at least 500 pounds. It had no tail and wore nothing save a military-style backpack slung across its massive chest with various white supremacist decals embroidered along the strap.

Similar symbols were on the vampire officer, and as evident by the way they carried themselves, the vampire was clearly the werewolf's superior officer. "Oh, bother. We already have enough food and drink at the camps. Why rout every nest this soon? Ah, well. Let's get this over with." With a callous snap of his fingers, the vampire officer directed a grumbling werewolf subordinate (who also can't stand holy ground) to retrieve a small bazooka from the back of their jeep. "Be ready to catch them as they run out," the officer muttered, unconcerned.

They're gonna nuke the church! Silverbullet thought to herself, and then the werewolf abruptly stopped loading the bazooka to snort at the air. "I smell silver, sir!" the beast reported in a low, guttural rumble.

"Nonsense, get back to work!" the vampire barked, and as the werewolf began to take aim at St. Michael's, Silverbullet slowly (and silently as she could) rose from her puddle while solidifying into bipedal form. By the time she was herself again, both creatures of the night spun about to face the unexpected: a woman made of or coated in metal. In the moment they were scanning their training for any mention of this sort of development, Silverbullet stabbed at the vampire officer's torso in much the same way she tried to stab Father Garibaldi earlier -- only this time penetration was made, and the vampire bloodily slid off the impaling javelin that had just been her hand and forearm. The next moment consisted of the trigger-happy werewolf firing the bazooka, not at St, Michael's, but at Silverbullet.

TO BE CONTINUED