Chaos had always been the name of the game.
When most think of chaos, they so rarely consider the subtle machinations and manipulations which cause a chip to fall just where it does. The tiny imbalances, the path of the wind, the bumps in the table, all add up in the end to a single, undeniable result. In a way, that chaos was what led him to join the Dragon in the first place; certainly, the highest had made an offer difficult to refuse, to either accept training or fall between the cracks with which the world was riddled... but that feeling of the challenge, that knowledge that he would be more readily able to manipulate that chaos, that was what truly drew him. The dream hadn't even been a consideration: that team which found themselves lost in the subways of Tokyo never weighed heavily on his mind, fore or back.
Chaos, the kind of chaos a person controls, had been his watchword from the very beginning, the scion of a technology magnate specializing in media affairs. A finger here, a whisper there, and people wouldn't merely follow along, they'd have it in their heads that it was entirely their own idea. Those were the days, before the Dragon had taken much of his attention; he had been following the path of his father, amassing a fortune on his own terms, and playing for yet higher stakes every day.
As he basked momentarily in recollection, a smirk drew its way across the side of Alexander Schmidt's face. With what he knew now, the mere thought of money felt comparatively penny-ante.
Oh, it wasn't that money didn't matter, the forty-year-old thought to himself, lounging in a resplendent office chair as he pondered the next series of moves. Millions upon millions of dollars could readily open virtually any door he wanted... at least, in the 'real' world, such as it were, and smooth the paths he was taking in what many others called the 'secret' one. But in comparison, the economy of favors, balances and promises which underlined the darker aspects of the hidden society took precedence, even beyond the wildest imagination of the governments and corporations outside. A complex web drew everything together, and if you tug on just one string... the ball falls into a different slot entirely.
Reminiscing on the events of the past month, Schmidt chuckled darkly. Oh, that was quite fun, he had to admit. While the Tokyo incidents had precipitated a near collapse of the web he depended on, it brought so many possibilities... especially the most recent situations. He'd seen Bong Cha's fall coming a mile away, and while he never really distanced himself from her, he knew that she wasn't long for the position of the Voice of the Dragon. She was so wrapped up in those aspects she could control that she completely ignored the ones outside her grasp, and that left her open to the subtle games played by Daimon Kiyota.
Ah, Kiyota... now there was a grand voice for the Dragon. Alexander had quite an appreciation for the gambling mogul and his seemingly circuitous behavior: the two had gone for drinks here and there, engaging each other in conversations filled with half-riddles and allusions. In another life, in another world, the two would likely have played off one another in the wiles of corporate finance, that elegant dance of thrust and counterthrust - or trust and countertrust, considering - which had so often been compared to a fencing match. For now, he was content to play the willing subordinate to the Voice, applying his own style in various ways.
In a way, he might have been just as content playing along with Kirsten Geary's group. The Illuminati, now they were fun to watch, even if their methods were somewhat less subtle. Oh, they played at being subtle, but in the same way that a kitten plays at being a hunter. Even then, they were much more amusing than the stolid, sledgehammer-swinging Templar, who wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped them across the face. Ah, good times.
And speaking of the death of subtlety, Alexander raised an eyebrow as a crackle of static from his cell phone filled the air. How very, very familiar, this. An old, tiresome refrain...
"Hiya, Chuck. Avon calling..."
The Yamaha purred its way into silence as Alexander stilled its engine. It'd been quite the trek from the nearest link to Agartha, but it certainly sounded worthwhile, if John could be trusted. Of course, John could never be trusted, but every now and again, the entity which cheekily referred to himself - itself? - as the Black Signal would come up with a rather spectacular piece of bait, worth obtaining even despite the certainty that the trap would soon be sprung. If the bait were the trap, that always made things even more enticing for someone like Schmidt: he had to admit, had he a weakness, it would be the need to disassemble and repurpose whatever tricks might be lying in wait.
This, however, was the absolute opposite of interesting. The coordinates which John had given him, promising something well worth his time, led straight to the middle of the Bonneville Salt Flats. Nobody came here, not really: while the flats were used for all manner of racing, testing and the like, that was the full extent of their use. The same went for the creatures on the other side. Salt was a purifier, a well known reagent in numerous spells, but it had the effect of nullifying or redirecting certain energies. A mostly natural salt plain like this was perhaps the least mystical place in the world, from everything he'd researched.
"You there, John?" he asked of his phone, receiving no response whatsoever. In fact, there was hardly even a signal, a rarity in today's world where the ubiquity of electronic communications meant that everyone could be watched, all the time. The evening air was growing chill, as well, and he frowned as he sparked a small spell to keep himself protected from the elements. It wasn't draining even at the worst of times, but here, the very air seemed to interfere with the most basic of spells.
'What a useless place,' he considered, turning to take in a full 360 degree diorama with his phone. No wildlife, no human life within any range, nothing whatsoever. If anyone were lost out here, they'd likely only be found if a satellite were pointed in exactly the right direction at the right time... though their body would be well-preserved. "John," he called out, "if you led me here just to get me out of the way for a few days, I'm going to cram a black hole through your star-eating gullet." Still no response.
"Amazing opportunities, yeah," he muttered, looking up to catch the last rays of the setting sun. It was going to be a long drive back; at least the cycle had plenty of fuel, as befitted such an expedition. "Treasures for the grasping. Last time I ever listen to that Filthy little tulpa." Alexander sighed, then blinked as he took a look back down.
Rather than the desolate and trackless sands he'd expected, the moonlight was starting to reveal... lines drawn within the sand, if that were the right word. They glimmered in the light, the sort of patterns which could only be seen by an eye accustomed to witnessing magic. Sigils of the zodiac were scattered around, twelve of them in total, forming a ring around... around him and his motorcycle...
Before he was quite able to parse what was going on, let alone escape the snare, the spell activated, dragging the businessman and his trusty steed beneath the sands.
As the sigils faded away, their task accomplished, a nascent Dreamer chuckled to himself from afar. Perhaps it had been a bit much for what promised to be a most entertaining obstacle, thought John, but there were plenty of other, less... troublesome friends to play with. Ones who would actually chase down and obliterate that bitch, Lilith, once and for all. Chances kept springing up for him, and he knew that with Sarah unwittingly implanting knowledge of the 'Filth' into so many, they'd just keep increasing.
'Knock, knock.'
Alexander hit the turf hard enough to drive the wind from anyone who hadn't specifically been augmented by the Anima. His head swam for a few moments as he let out a heaving breath, followed by a mouthful of the contents of his stomach; that bacon sandwich didn't taste nearly as delicious the second time around, he thought muzzily. Still, he'd had worse teleports. That wasn't a comforting thought, but it did the trick of centering his mind around the essentials.
'Location,' he thought to himself, jerking to his feet and looking around. The ground was no longer the salt of the wasteland from which he'd been forcibly relocated, but instead a soft loam with grass scattered throughout. Bushes and trees rustled as the wind swept through them, and for a few seconds he took in the sweet air of a much more hospitable environs than that accursed salt flat. Well, that was all well and good, but he still needed to know where he was, and there were no indications of any civilization about. Not even the sound of air traffic could be distinguished, meaning that if nothing else he was well outside city limits.
'Phone.' The GPS would still function here, he was absolutely certain of it: in fact, it would function even quite a ways underwater, although there were obstacles there, of course. However, when he grabbed for it, the sight of his hand stopped him cold. He was absolutely certain that he hadn't had fur before, and that was to say nothing of the wickedly sharp claws at the end of each of his five digits. The grey and black fur wove its way, as far as he could tell, up the arm, around his whole body, and up to... well, what seemed very much like a longer nose than one he was accustomed to.
Heart racing, Alexander switched immediately to the camera app on the phone, barely noticing the impossible 'no signal' and 'charging' icons on the top. The sight that greeted him was decidedly unwelcome: staring back at him from the 'nerd's mirror' was a lupine face, with thick eyebrows, a shaggy head of chocolate hair, two oversized green eyes, a black nose... in other words, a wolf. Nearly dropping the phone, he fumbled with the slightly smaller-seeming device, quickly shoving it into sleep mode so as to block out the unwelcome visage.
"Well. I'll be a son of a bitch," he laughed, slightly giddily, before shouting, "JOHN! When I get my hands on you, I'll make Lilith look like a newborn kitten, do you hear me?! I will get you, and I will stomp you and your little FILTH buddies into a nanoscopic PASTE!" The rant went on like this for a few minutes, his voice rising and falling like a tidal wave until, with a low growl, he leaned against the still-preserved bicycle, out of breath.
"Amazing opportunities. Sure," he panted, not caring that his tongue was hanging slightly from the side of his jaw. With a shake of his head, he snapped his fingers, earning a spark of electricity. That, at least, still seemed to work: elementalism, chaos, probably blood magic were still at his beck and call. Regeneration... he wasn't willing to test that yet. A papercut or two would be easy, but to really test it, he'd need the time and opportunity to cut himself deeply, and now was not the time.
A quick check over his body confirmed the various effects: ears, tail, nose. His physique wasn't noticeably different from where he stood before; a somewhat muscular build was easy to maintain with just sufficient effort, and he'd certainly done enough running through Cairo, Transylvania, Tokyo, and other locales to keep in shape. Fine. He would hold himself together. He wouldn't panic. And he most assuredly would not act like those other werewolves, who took to slaughtering indiscriminately.
After a few moments' more of reflection, he glared at the sky, the sun hanging high above. Without a look at the stars, he'd not be able to determine the full extent of what was going on, but he knew he'd need to get to some type of civilization. From there, even if he had to start over, he knew that he'd be able to establish himself. He was a survivor, and no matter what, once he sunk his fingers into the web, he would make it dance to his tune. A bracelet around his left wrist, ignored beneath his leather jacket, glimmered with three gems: a large hematite stone, an opal, and a topaz each sparkled in turn, as he made his resolution.
Chaos was always the name of the game, and it'd certainly thrown Alexander Schmidt for a loop this time. But Order was always the end goal, and he was ever so good at bringing Order.