Night in New Terino. Sirens wail in the distance, tower blocks loom over the busy streets, their lightless windows looking on the sea of neon and exhaust fumes. The music booms out from Bardi’s, a lightshow painting the sky around it. It’s a red carpet event and the media are all lined up, cameras flashing at the celebs stepping out of their limos, all smiles and gloss. A white limo pulls up, traced with bronze patterns. An automaton steps out, its black, featureless body stiff and as it opens the door.
“And here we have Cecelia Carletti, looking gorgeous as usual in a long white dress and truly fabulous fox stole, and sporting an original headdress by Iluthia...”
She walks up, smiling at the adoring fans, and walks towards the entrance between the rows of security officers. The chief scans the crowd for anything unusual. Nothing much. No one would dare. But then again, he could be wrong. A junior officer is running towards him.
“Sir! Sir! It’s the T.E.S., sir. They’ve caught one!” He is out of breath.
“One what, kid?”
“An Uncatchable.”
“Don’t be a fool, kid. You can’t. It’s why they’re called Un-catch-ables?” Sarcasm drips from his words.
“They’ve got new tech, sir. D’Alenaas labs, is what I heard.”
“Well, well,” the chief muses. “Heh. Best of luck to ‘em. They’re gonna need it.”
					*****

A dark alleyway. The eidolon screams, forked tongues of purple lightning licking across its body. Uniformed men kneel all around the creature, each manning a small, black box that emits a crackling trail of energy, enmeshing the hapless victim.
“That’s it, you little bastard. Thought you could run on us again? Well the running’s over now.” The creature tries to reach towards him, a pleading gesture. The squad leader nods to his men, and one of them gives it a prod with a SmiteStick(tm). The Theurgic Enforcement Squad is not known for its mercy.
“Samson – report,” the squad leader barks. The science officer answers from behind a stack of equipment.
“The web is holding, sir.”
	“Bag it and tag it, boys!” The soldiers leap to work, and the door of the van rolls open. The science officer barks some orders at the technicians; the mesh tightens and the creature screams again. The squad leader grins. He leans forward.
“They’re gonna cut you open and find out how you work. And when they do, we’ll never have to worry about your sorry kind again.”
“It must politely reject your projected scenario.” The voice comes from a side alley.
“Shit! That entrance was supposed to be secured. Carlo – report!”
“It regrets to inform you that your men are currently indisposed.”
With a noise of gears and hydraulics the owner of the voice steps out of the shadows with heavy, thumping steps. Polished metal glitters. LEDs flash.
	“It apologises for any inconvenience caused,” says the same pleasant, telesales voice from inside the immobile mask that passes for a face. “It strongly advises you to run.” The rapid, high-pitched beeping of a warning indicator begins to sound from somewhere within the thing, accompanied by a faint whine that is gradually climbing in pitch.
	“Shoot the fucker!” the squad leader bawls. Some men raise their guns, ready to open fire. Others are running forward with their SmiteSticks(tm). Then the world seems to slow for a moment. With a hiss of decompression, the mask slides forward, and then moves aside.
	“Oh F– ”

Whiteness.
The alleyway returns. It is littered with bodies. Running footsteps retreat, and the metal head turns, its mask in place once more, calculating the possibilities involved in chasing him. But a soft whimper attracts its attention. The mechanoid stomps towards the prone eidolon. The prisoner shields himself with his arm as the enormous foot is raised... CRUNCH! The web vanishes, and the metal foot moves away from the smoking remains of the black box. The eidolon stands up.
	“Thanks, I – ”
	“It has a message for you.” The mechanoid holds out its hand. A holographic image rises up – a tiny bird with the head of a girl maybe four, five years old. It has a soul symbol that matches the one on the head of the mechanoid – a double four-pointed star and four radial lines. The hologram speaks in a piping, little voice.
	“Hi. Welcome to the Eidolon Rights Movement.”


					*****
Cardinal Benedetto leaves the gibbering man to the suits and looks into the distance.
	“Fabian?”
“Yes, your grace?”
“This could be...problematic.”
“I think so, your grace. But we still don’t know what their agenda is. I mean, they aren’t technically Fallen.”
“The Heirophant has declared them heretical. That is all that is needed.”
“Yes your grace. But I wonder...” the man’s voice trails off as he remembers who he is talking to. There is fear in his eyes. The Cardinal smiles.
“You wonder about the rumours that the Heirophant does not speak for the gods, and has not received any backing from them either way in seven years.”
“It...had crossed my mind very briefly sir.”
“But we have our faith, Fabian. And we have order. And these...things, whatever they are, upset that order. We cannot allow them to run amok. Not in New Terino. I won’t have it, Fabian.”
“No, your grace.”
The roar of a motorcycle. The rider has no helmet, and his blonde hair streams out behind him. The Cardinal smiles. Only one person rides a motorbike while wearing a gothic breastplate. The bike and its rider skid to a halt.
	“Greetings, Mardocai. I was not expecting you to be answering my prayers.”
	“Needs must, your grace. I am concerned about this matter. A powerful artefact has been stolen, and I believe this incident may be connected.”
	“Indeed. That is grave news. Have you any inklings of what their purpose is? What they are planning?”
	“No, your grace. But the item must be returned to its rightful owner, and I intend to make sure that happens.”
“Of course.”
A car pulls up. It is plain and nondescript. The door opens.
	“Oh. It’s you.” The Cardinal barely disguises his distaste.
	“And a very pleasant evening to you too, your grace,” says Cecelia Carletti, with a radiant smile.
	“Sister,” Mardocai nods. The greeting is returned.
	“I hear your underlings had a run in with one of the Uncatchables,” Cecelia trills sweetly. “Hard luck.” The Cardinal seethes.
	“And I suppose you know nothing about it.”
	“Not yet, no,” she replies, her tone more serious. “But I intend to find out.” She looks around. “Strange. Cardinal, you seem to have a distinct lack of Teacher eidolons here. I would have expected to find Lord Auriel on this one.”
	“Lord Auriel has not been seen in...some time.”
	“Oh dear. That is not a good sign.” Miss Carletti frowns, deep in thought.
	“I’ve heard tell that he’s gone deep,” says Mardocai.
	“Perhaps. If that is the case, let us hope he returns soon. By the look of things, his faithful are in need of him.”
	“We are dealing quite capably with the situation, seraph,” says the Cardinal smoothly, his eyes betraying the hidden fury.
	“I can see that,” she smiles.
	“I’m going to check the murder scene,” Mardocai declares.
	“Take this,” says Fabian, handing him a mobile phone. The angel thanks him, pocketing it, and the motorcycle roars away.
	“I’ll be off too, then,” says Miss Carletti.  “I have some contacts I can talk to.” She leaves the Cardinal spitting bile behind her back and begins to walk away. She stops, stooping briefly to look into the face of the madman pinned on the floor by the Cardinal’s aides.
	“Oh gods. Oh gods. It’s face!” Miss Carletti frowns slightly, and moves to lean on a wall. Five minutes later, she is gone, and the bug that the clerics planted drops to the floor.
					*****

Rats skitter under the industrial rubbish bins, fleeing before a mangy cat. The cat washes itself, and then bolts, spooked, its fur on end. There is a faint, electronic whirring from the shadows. From the other direction, footsteps approach, in designer high-heels.
	“I believe it is safe, sister,” says Cecelia. An electronic female voice answers.
	“It must express strong doubt as to the accuracy of your statement.”
	“Ah, yes. All too true. But this is as safe a place as any.”
	“Agreed. Please continue.”
	“They’re on your tail. Mardocai is after you. He’s chasing some artefact. Your work, I presume?”
	“It is not at liberty to discuss that.”
	“Very well.” Cecelia sighs and cocks her head on one side. “Ah, my love. I really wonder at the path you’ve chosen. I doubt it is a wise one.” The mechanoid does not answer.
	“I don’t suppose you have heard from Lord Auriel, have you sister?” Cecelia asks.
	“It is not at liberty to discuss that.” Cecelia’s eyes narrow, and she smiles.
	“Ah. I see. Thank you, sister. Tell him ‘hi’ from me when you see him.”
	“It cannot agree to your request, as it cannot vouch for the whereabouts of the message’s intended recipient.”
	“Of course you can’t,” Cecelia smiles. “But if you should happen to see him, I’m sure you’ll tell him.”
	“It will comply with your request.”
	“I really should stop helping you, you know. But you are so very...interesting.”
	“It is grateful for your assistance.”
	“I know.”
	“It must take Its leave of you now. It thanks you for your kind co-operation and wishes you a pleasant journey.”
	“You too, sister. You too. Oh – before I go, there’s a rumour going around that you might be interested in.”
	“Please elaborate.”
	“Apparently, Aziraphel has returned.”

A high pitched beeping sounds. There is a soft, electronic whine, building in pitch.
	“Warning: form stability has been compromised.”
					*****