The Masquerade: East Haven October 30th, 2026 8:45 AM

Not everyone in New Haven gets to wake up in the morning. The students of America's Finest shuffle out of their beds from bacchanal to bacchanal, with lectures in between. The Financiers emerged from their $600K high-rise caverns, prowling for marks. All the while, the predators that roamed the nights rested, preparing to hunt them both. When two predators chase after the same prey, they fight each other instead. The prey call this a lucky evening, and the Police call this a long day.

"Right this way, sir— Hey, what'd I tell ya! No press past the line!"

"Care to comment on suspicions of cult activity?"
"How many Ivy League kids, are you going to throw to the wolves before New Haven PD does something?"
"Why does 'Don' Salvatore have a right in?"

An aged Italian-American officer held the tape up as a man in the pea coat grunted while attempting to duck under the line.

"Mr. Salvatore is a respected Community Leader and an impartial adviser for this case. If you want a statement, talk to the chief."
"What does the mafia know about cults?"

The plaster walls of the empty strip mall bore silhouettes of respected brands like a defaced church. The bars were off the windows, but the hinges were still there should they feel the need to put them on again. A large red banner was tied to the center of what was once a department store. It bore the store’s name like the flag of an occupying force.

Masquerade: Costumes, Makeup, & Halloween decorations

Behind the Don was a short, muscular man with black and grey striped hair. Leonardo, the Don's 'chief security advisor.' In silhouette, the man looked a vigorous 35, but up close, he couldn’t hide the crow’s feet and widow’s peak.

"Hey Boss, just spoke with a couple of the witnesses here. They heard gunshots about 7:30 am, and a woman screamed shortly after. Cops think it's a cult."

The Don nodded, while carefully avoiding the chalk outlines surrounding clothing and weapons. All covered in ash. Knives and store nametags scattered along the dusty pavement.

"Anything else?" Salvatore spoke with a voice weathered by decades of cigarettes and talking over gunfire.

"Well, there's this one wino, swears he saw four men leave in a black SUV. Of course, when I pressed him on it, he said he doesn't remember all that well." The Don nodded while kicking the ash from a pile off his polished shoes.

The glass door slid open, letting the sharp New England cold into the warm swamp of the store’s interior. The Don groaned as he suppressed a revolt from inside. “Joey” Salvatore's body was beaten by an early life of vices and war. Assaulted again in the decades after, through stress and experimental health fads. After spending his elder years fighting kidney stones, ulcers, and heart murmurs, all his body could muster against him was malicious compliance.

The Detective gently pointed the Don to a pile of leather-clad corpses cluttering a collapsed costume rack. He couldn’t speak for the blood, but all the bodies were from one faction. It was a clean, professional massacre.

“Can you at least throw the PD a bone here? I've got a lot of concerned parents calling about missing students."

"And what would make you so certain I would know anything about this, Detective?"

"Hey, I'm not accusing nobody of nothing. I just figured you'd wanna know the goings-on in your home turf. Especially since your donations to the policeman's ball weren't as warm as last year's, so maybe we could be a bit more friendly, you know."

"Times have been tough, Detective." Don took a sip of his coffee while Leonardo gathered the spent 9mm silver caps.

"Damn, the economy must be in the shitter if the paisanos’re countin’ caps. Are you recycling those or somethin'?"

Don's man ignored the slight. All turned to the cry of a female voice, hoarse from screaming.

"Dark Master, awaken!" Her mannerisms were young, but her body was showing signs of aging — or perhaps withering. “Please! I need you. Feed, so I may feed.”

The detective smirked at the two men's apprehension. The woman walked on all fours to an inflatable archway filled and covered by chibi vampires and cartoon bats. "2 Days to Halloween," the arch read.

"Meet Wendy Chu, PhD Candidate. That's how I know we got a cult here. The morgue looks like a faculty lounge, but witnesses ain't talkin'. So, care to question 'er, or can we do our jobs?" the detective asked with some hesitation.

The woman clad in black fishnets, bitemarks, and self-inflicted lacerations knelt under the arch. She picked up a lifeless man wearing vintage clothes and placed a cut of herself over his mouth, as though trying to feed him.

The Don shook his head, so the detective pulled out a walkie-talkie to send her away. The woman began to sniff her dead master’s hand before sniffing the room. The detective didn't notice. The Don dropped his coffee; Leo moved into position.

"I've got your scent!" She smiled, staring at The Don.

Leo instinctively stepped forward and reached into his coat as the woman twisted and growled. The detective noticed and moved towards the snarling and whispering figure.

"We’ve got a hostile witness. I'm with VIP, backup requested."

"Blood for blood!" She charged. The detective pulled his sidearm and placed a few well-fired body shots at the withering woman. She absorbed the blasts and tackled him with a manic laugh. The heavyset detective fell over, while still emptying his clip into the woman. She made a high-pitched sound somewhere between a laugh and a wail. Without hesitation, Leo reached for a different pocket, unholstering a silver revolver with his off hand. The gun boomed, and in a single shot to the head, the feral creature was down with a whimper and whine. It lay face-down, wound up. Prostrate before The Don.

"The hell was that bitch on? Hit me like a linebacker. " The officer muttered while on the ground.

Leo holstered the silver weapon while several officers piled into the doorway. Don walked around the dead ghoul and past the officer trying to pick himself up.

"Detective, I'd advise your men to cancel any Halloween festivals."

"So it is a cult? I bet it's The Yellow Kings." The detective asked.

The Don ignored him and walked over to the corpse in vintage clothes. His left hand held scraps of cloth and a silver crucifix. Don grabbed the crucifix. It was still imprinted on the man's hand like a brand. The Don turned to his enforcer.

"Leo, pay the department. We've got work to do." Leo nodded; the detective gave a mocking salute. The Don kicked the cup aside.

“Well, thanks, Mr. Salvatore, we’ll inspect the two bodies and forward you a courtesy coroner’s report.”

“No need, officer. It won’t show you anything.” The Don was dismissive, thumbing the familiar marks on the silver crucifix.

“Whadaya mean by that?” The officer asked with suspicion.

“He means,” Leo explained while scratching on a checkbook. “You ain’t gettin' it out in the sunlight.”