The seaside estate stood high on a hill overlooking the metropolis. The moon peeked over the mountains and reflected off of the tranquil ocean water. Cast over the sandstone driveway was the orange essence of the house's lively interior, and all the stars in the sky were perfectly clear. The valet pulled the handle and out came Lauren Lockhart, wrapped in a shimmering blue ball gown she had tailored just for the occasion. Her hair was straightened and her bangs swept over one side of her mask, which was blue and silver with intricate filigree and rhinestone accents. Behind her was her date, with his hair slicked back behind his black mask lined with golden chimeras and mythical ambrosia leaves. He sported a nicely fitted slim tuxedo and a skinny black tie accentuated by his shining gold vest, appearing slightly from under his lapels. The mansion floor was awash with just about every member of the bourgeoisie aristocracy. A somber violinist added to the ambiance of the stuffy party. The guests did not dance, rather, they pivoted, in monotonous rotation like atoms, shifting about the room in subzero conditions. One struggled to get anywhere without bumping shoulders with some grinning old fart fondling the backside of some bubble-headed college girl a third of his age as he attempted to whisk her off to the pantry or a guest bathroom.

"Excuse me! Sorry!" said a clumsy waitress as she brushed past Lauren while balancing a tray of empty champagne glasses. She narrowly made it to the kitchen without dropping everything. She set the tray down and let out a heavy sigh.

"Geez oh pete, this is way harder than I thought it would be," April muttered to herself as she took a moment to fix her hair and bowtie. "I really need a vacation."

"Hey, you! Quit standing around and grab more champagne!" another waiter demanded.

"Coming!" she called back before mumbling to herself, "Seguerra, you better be right about this."

As she navigated the main floor, she took inventory of all the masked faces, searching for the one that might be Victor. Rich people are so weird, she thought. Whose idea was it anyway to have a masquerade ball? If Victor did plan to strike, this would be the perfect place to do it, and all because some stupid debutant thought it'd be cute. Underneath the pervasive essence of pheromones mixing in the ballroom, there was an ominous feeling that pressed April's heartbeat. The in and out feeling of being watched, like the flickering of a little candle, was amplified in this orangey haze of decadence in which she thought she was alone.

There was a guffaw, followed by a chorus of whispers as everyone in the room had turned their attention to the person who had just entered.

"Is that John Morris?"

"I can't believe he's here."

"The audacity to show his face in public with his criminal son on the loose as we speak."

"Has he no shame?"

"Do you think he knows where his son is hiding?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, honestly."

"Maybe he and his son were in on it together all along."

"Would not surprise me."

"You're here," Lauren greeted with a slight air of admonishment in her tone.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," answered John with a knavish smirk. His perfectly framed jawline was sharp and disarming. Her expression softened, though she averted her gaze to the floor.

"But I thought we agreed you wouldn't be out in public until this 'Caleb situation' was handled."

"I made all these people in the room rich. The least they can do is let me attend my own party."

"John."

"Come on, just enjoy the night. You look gorgeous tonight, Lauren, truly. So just relax. Nothing's gonna go wrong."

Although she tried to wave an ambivalent hand in weak protest, before she knew it, Mr. Morris had taken it into his as they navigated the floor.The band continued to play slowly, as couples rotated about. John took her other hand as he began to sway, and suddenly, Lauren's hips began to follow. There they were at the center of the ballroom floor, going with the music. Lauren could feel the light air from his nostrils as it tickled her earlobes. "John, I—"

"Listen," he said. "I know I've put a lot on you this past year. I haven't lived up to being the best man I could be."

"That's not—"

"When all this is over, Lauren, will you at least consider my offer?"

She shook her head.

"John, I can't."

His eyes were warm and stable, they beamed into hers. She followed his lead, commanded by his moving hips, and he guided her with his palms clasped firmly in hers. She settled in. Cheek to cheek, they caressed each other, and his lips brushed Lauren's ear as he breathed softly into it.

"Just consider it."

"John," she whined, before burying herself at the corner of his neck and shoulder as they danced, she caressed his broad back with her delicate fingertips. "I don't think it's right." She pulled away.

"We can make it right," he crooned, gazing at her lips. He leaned his head forward to meet hers.

"Champagne?" April interrupted.

"Thanks," said John, accepting a glass.

"Thank you," said Lauren. As she accepted her glass, she placed her open palm over the top of it and swirled it about. With her other hand she took the champagne glass by its stem as she watched John take a sip of his.

"John," she called softly.

"Yes?"

Lauren took a deep breath and took a big sip. Then, without hesitation she placed her hand on John's face and kissed him deeply and passionately, until all the liquid had passed from her mouth to his.When she finally let go, John wiped his wet lips with the back of his hand and smiled.

"That might be my new favorite way to drink champagne. But does that mean—"

"No, John. I'm sorry." Lauren pushed away from him and headed for the exit.

As he watched her leave, John could only stand there, scratching his head.

"Better luck next time, sir?" said April with a shrug.

Mr. Morris let out a dismissive grunt before swallowing his whole glass.

"Another."

April handed him another glass. John sniffed it and looked to the bottom of the flute with a discerning grimace.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

"Yeah, it's just..." he replied as he began to sway. "Now I remember why I hate champagne."

"What?"

His glass shattered on the floor. As John looked as though he would stumble over, April nearly dropped her tray trying to stop him with her free hand.

"Oh, shiz!" All eyes were on them now. "Sir, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he grumbled. "But I'm not feeling too well all of a sudden. Get my car out of the valet and I'll have someone drive me home."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

April helped him outside and laid him in the backseat of the car. As the car pulled out of the driveway, April stood there with arms folded as she watched it leave. Inside, the band had concluded its song, and an applause had erupted.

Just on the other side of the windows, a short distance away from the festivities, they waited in the forest; their cloaks matching the color of the night and their white masks catching tiny shards of moonlight, suspended in the shadows like fireflies trapped in a spiderweb: a stag, a wolf, a boar, a rabbit, a jaguar, an owl, and a snake.

"Should we stop him?" asked the bear.

"No," said the owl.

"We stick to the plan," said the snake. "When the clock strikes midnight..."

"Hello Royce, my dear friend," came a gravelly voice underneath a mask, back at the party. It made the man it was directed towards nearly jump out of his coat.

"Do I know you?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten me. With all the money I've made you over the past few decades. I know that's what you care most about," he playfully whined.

"Victor," he gasped. "I thought... well, I didn't know what to think. What happened to you?"

"Why nothing at all. You see me here now don't you? I'm alive and well," said Victor.

"What do you want, Victor?"

"Well, I was feeling a little nostalgic and felt like catching up with old friends. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"I suppose not. The guys are all upstairs. I just came down to get more champagne."

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

Victor threw his arm around the man's stiff shoulder as the two men headed up to the second floor. Behind the commanding force of an imposing hand planted between his shoulder blades, Royce stumbled into the study, where all the other men of the board had congregated.

"Who's that guy?" one of them grumbled.

"It's good to see you all in good health, gentleman," said Mr. Kim as he slowly lifted his mask to reveal his smiling face.

"Speak of the devil! It's Victor!" one of the men exclaimed with excitement.

"Hey now, Royce!" another man exclaimed. "Where'd you find this guy!" Royce shrugged nervously; he had a crooked, sweaty-lipped smile wiggling about under his pointy nose.

"What are you doing here, Victor?" asked Mr. Lockhart, narrowing his gaze with suspicion.

Victor closed the door behind him.

"I surely did miss you, boys. I came to catch up."

"No, you didn't," said Lockhart. "You're still holding a grudge. I can tell. What? You think I was born yesterday? My partner might be totally stupid, but I'm not."

There was a brief silence that lingered before wisping away like smoke. Lockhart sat back in his leather chair and jammed his cigar back between his lips before adding, "and even if that wasn't the case, why on Earth would you think I'd ever wanna waste my time talking to a junkie like you? You had your chance and you blew it."

Victor stood there leering at Lockhart as he sat there ridiculing him, blowing cigar smoke in his direction as if he wasn't even there.

"Anyhow, it's good to see that you're finally off the streets. Maybe now, your old lady can stop begging me for money."

The arteries were pulsing in Mr. Kim's neck.

"Eric, that's enough alright?"

"What? Don't you think he should know all that's been going on?"

He turned back to Victor.

"Your wife used to beg me— I'm talkin' on her knees begging— just to suck my dick for a couple dollars. She would've done anything. But you know what? I didn't let her. That milk was spoiled decades ago. Why waste my time?"

He sat back again and sneered, "you've got some nerve barging into my party like you're some kind of shot-caller now. Matter of fact, you got ten seconds to get the fuck out before I get out this chair and toss you out."

"No, I don't think I will."

"You what?"

Mr. Lockhart set his cigar down on the desk and met Victor in the center of the room. Mr. Lockhart was a large, imposing man. He loomed over Victor.

"What'd you say to me, you little freak?"

Mr. Lockhart grabbed him by the collar and lifted until his knuckles were digging into Victor's chin.

The clock struck midnight. Seven ivory masks floated through the door in single file. The last one in, closed the door behind them. There was no more valet person to man the entry. At first when guests began to notice them, they barely gave them a second look, as if to conclude that these seven similarly dressed characters were there as part of the entertainment, and thus, not worthy of attention. With their nostrils hunched up and the corners of their lips downturned, like sea bass, for the apathy besmeared about their stringy, level lips exuded their collective melancholy, their overall boredom, and general disdain for those lesser than them. Their jaws remained fixed, only moving in a methodical swirl after pouring some expensive cava into their mouths after wafting it about their delicate hairless nostrils. One would hardly acknowledge the existence of the very nearby yet unfamiliar other, unless the encounter had some foreseeable benefit to one's prestige or trust account.

"Excuse me," said a waiter. "I don't know who you are, but this is a private party. I'll have to ask you to leave."

The seven cloaks said nothing. The jaguar emerged from the group and approached the nervous waiter. It stood before him and dared him to gaze in his eyes, as black and infinite as the abyss and not a glint of light within it.

Suddenly, the jaguar seized the crown of the waiter's head and let loose a hidden blade, ripping it across the waiter's windpipe as he crashed to the floor in a burst of blood and a chorus of panic from the partygoers, screaming and stampeding towards the door.

"Did you all hear something down there?" said one of the men, slightly lifting himself from his seat as he fixed his gaze on the dense mahogany double doors of the study. "Eric?"

But Mr. Lockhart couldn't respond. His attention was centered squarely on his arm which was being crushed at the wrist. His face was turning red. He could barely utter a sound.

"You never appreciated the mind behind the inventions that made you so much money, Mr. Lockhart. That's a shame," Mr. Kim lamented. "You placed too much importance on the physical, tangible fruits of our experimentation. But not the other elements. For example, right now, you are undoubtedly asking yourself: is Victor actually this strong? Or am I getting weaker by the second?"

Mr. Lockhart cried out in anguish as Victor pressed harder. At this point, his wrist resembled the knot of a balloon, and his swollen hand had turned blue.

"Or— could it possibly be both?" Victor reached up and placed his open palm on Mr. Lockhart forehead. He curled his thumb and pinky finger and let them sink into the whites of his eyes. As the blood vessels began to burst and spill over his face, Mr. Lockhart sank to his knees.

As he wailed in agony, he started to plead. "Victor, please! I'm sorry!"

"That doesn't sound like begging," Victor growled. "How did my wife beg you?" His thumb and pinky had sunk past the second knuckle.

"I'M SORRY! I'll do whatever you want!"

"You would suck my dick?"

"YES! YES! I'LL SUCK YOUR DICK!"

Victor dug in even more, delighting in his screams.

"I'll do anything! Just let me go! I'll suck your dick!"

"Thank you for the offer, Eric. But no thanks!" He ripped him from the ground and took him by the back of his head and dragged him to the desk. He smashed his face down on the edge, right between the eyes, and he did it again and again as the blood began to splatter across the wood. Over the table, the other men took a sudden interest in the many books in the study's book collection, or the tranquility of the night outside the window, anything that kept them from looking right in front of them as they casually ignored the skull-bashing, like a hammer driving a wedge through ceramic, decimating it completely until dust and fragments covered the air in a pinkish-gray haze. At last, with a final shatter he had his catharsis, relinquishing the shapeless bulb from his burning talons. He wiped his hair from his face as he exhaled. The other two men reluctantly allowed their pupils to wander back towards Victor, his chest still heaving with the inconsolable fire in his body, and a jubilant smile on his blood-smeared face.

With his arm outstretched, he pointed to Royce. "You," he panted, slowly regaining his composure.

Royce wailed in terror as he stumbled for the door. As soon as he flung the doors open, he found himself staring directly down the barrel of a rifle. In the next instant, his brain and skull were sprayed across the carpet.

All the women and patrons were rushing the door, crushing and trampling each other to escape as the masked men picked them off like vermin. April crouched by the bar, bracing herself as she reached for her weapon, trying to steady her shaking hands.

"Stupid stupid stupid. Why didn't you tell anyone you were? At least you would've had backup, idiot," she cursed herself.

"What do you want?" she heard a woman scream from behind a door down the hallway. Then she was silenced by a crackling bang, followed by more. She hugged the walls as she prepared herself. She heard another sharp thud. It shook her to act. She lunged in front of the opening, firing off wild shots as soon as she saw daylight before diving behind the next pillar, just narrowly losing a chunk of her leg in the process.

April looked up and scanned the area. Behind the railing of the staircase was a gunman with his rifle trained on the open area. There would be no getting past him without some sort of distraction.

"Please, please, help me..."

In front of her was a woman who had been shot in the leg. "Please help me..."

"Shhh," April commanded. "You have to stay where you are. There's nothing that can be done right now. You have to be quiet. Stay hidden."

"It hurts so much," she wailed.

"Lady, just— calm down— just—"

In an instant, her face burst open with another explosive bang, sending April bounding to the periphery behind a steel pillar.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed, briefly lamenting the woman's exploded head and its splattered contents painted all over the floor.

April darted into the opening, firing wildly as she bolted to the other side. The rifleman on the staircase shot a couple rounds back.

Suddenly, April's arm felt heavy, and it throbbed with waves of stinging and numbness. She looked down and realized she was bleeding. She felt her grip on her gun loosening. She closed her eyes and braced herself on the pillar as she raised her gun one last time.

"Bastard!" she cried as she ran out into the open again.

The Boar lurched forward, as a spray of red spouted from the left side of his neck.

"I got him!" she exclaimed. A swift crash sent her spiraling back to the ground. As she lay on her stomach, she struggled to push herself up from the ground with her one arm.

A pair of heavy boots stopped in front of her. "But I got you," said the Jaguar.

April looked up, with a defiant glare in her eyes and her vision fading, she tried to lift her gun. She squeezed the trigger, but nothing came out.

"Empty, I see. Well that's just too bad." He aimed his gun at her forehead, though he hesitated to deliver the coup de grace. There was a wild look in her eyes, her cheeks were burning hot, as they tensed and struggled to hold back the surging tears. The veins in her temples began to radiate blue as her nostrils flared. Her shaking hand raised the gun again, desperately squeezing at the trigger in the hopes that by some miracle a bullet would emerge from it until finally the Jaguar grew tired of the display and kicked the pistol out of her grasp.

"You are an interesting one, for sure," crooned the Jaguar. "Such a shame I have to kill you now."

"Wait," said the Snake just before he pulled the trigger.

"What?"

"Look at that gun. She's a cop. I say we take her with us. We may need that leverage down the road."

"You know, Snake, I like the way you think."

April let her head fall against the marble floor, as she drifted off to the chorus of screams punctuated by gunshots. And then all went silent.