Brother Moralis opened his eyes for the first time in 300 years, to be greeted with his favourite sight in the world. The devilish face of Sinistre Sangfroid. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of air, allowing a manic grin to split his face.

"Long time no see, Sinistre," he shivered in delight, still sitting on the floor. Sinistre rolled his eyes in agreement.

"Come on, get up. Off the floor, yes like that. Now head to your closet and get changed- and he's gone," Sinistre's distant chuckles sounded as Moralis browsed through his wardrobe. He frowned, parting the sea of brown suits in two, looking for something more flamboyant. Where was his usual suit? His teeth ground together in worry, ignoring the frantic screech of coat-hangers on metal. A small squeak of anticipation escaped his lips as his eyes met the orderly mess of black and white stripes, bordered with circular cufflinks. His eyes sparkled upon seeing the sign of his Faceless Gods, even if it was only cufflinks.

Sinistre waited patiently for Brother Moralis to finish picking an outfit. Cold tea oiled its way down his throat, making him grimace and set down the cup. That was awful. He sighed in amusement. Moralis would probably be a while, that man was so chaotic, who knows how long it would take him to pick an outfit. As if to contradict his very thoughts, Sinistre heard the muffled thumps of the man's footsteps. Sinistre brushed himself off and stood up. All he could smell was an obscene amount of hairspray. He grimaced at the disjointed laugh his companion gave as his nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Did you really have to use that much hairspray?" he asked, giving Moralis the most immaculate eyebrow raise he could muster. Brother snorted.

"How do I look?" he chimed, giving Sangfroid an exaggerated twirl.

"Like Beetlejuice." Brother grinned.

"Perfect!"

Prefect Misfit was poised to strike, ready to the side of Ghastly's door. He knew it wouldn't be too long now until one of his 'friends' were to enter. The question was just whom. He anxiously scratched at his knuckles, unused to the feel of leather rub against his skin, and quickly fell back into a fighting stance. Being caught unaware in your own ambush, was a humiliation he refused to suffer. He idly picked the loose threads of his muddy red vest, uncomfortable in tailored clothes, before once again snapping into position. He bit his lip, cursing his short attention span. He stood still for a few more seconds, leg bobbing up and down. He was sick of this. Misfit wandered off to find a dagger.

The Man with The Golden Eyes leaned against an uneven stone wall in a distasteful alley. He shifted his weight, feeling the cool stones dig awkwardly in his back. He glanced down upon hearing a scratching sound, which turned out to be litter rather than mice. He scowled, displeased at his friend's rendezvous point. A waft of peppermint skulked up his nostrils, and The Man with The Golden Eyes looed up, meeting pitch black eyes.

"Speak of the devil..." he muttered. The demonic creature in front of him had Satan's signature written across his face, several pointed teeth, lethal clawed hands and a more rugged face than Anton Shudder usually possessed. It was strange and disconcerting to see Gist so corporeal. Gist crossed his arms, drawing The Man with The Golden Eyes' eyes to glance judgementally at his hands. "So, how should I address you? I don't think I can just call you 'Gist?' Is that rude, or...?"

Gist grunted, bored. The other man's metallic eyes lit up with amusement, the other having obviously thought of an idea.

"I'm calling you Edward," he stated with friendly certainty. Edward's eyebrow questioningly raised. "It fits! You match the description of Edward Hyde from the original 'The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde' novella by Robert Louis Stevenson." Edward said nothing, but the golden-eyed man got the distinct impression that if Hyde's iris, pupil and sclera weren't the same sable tint, he would be rolling his eyes. "Thank god you're here. I can't stand being in this alley for one more moment!"

"Can't leave. Others not... here," Hyde snarled, his voice not dissimilar to the sound of sandpaper scraping across gravel. Seeing his companion's displeased look, he pointed up, towards the flat roofs.

The Man with The Golden Eyes raised an eyebrow. "Are you proposing we wait for the others on Ghastly's roof?" Hyde grunted in affirmation. The Man with The Golden Eyes threw his head back, chortling. "Why not?" He declared before leaping onto the moaning pipes and scampering up onto the roof. 

As Skulduggery Pleasant hurriedly shuffled down the filthy excuse for a street Ghastly lived on, a thick blanket of unease settled over his bones. He paused at Ghastly's door, holding the breath he didn't have, thinking he heard a crunch behind him. Spinning around, he saw nothing. Uneasily, he went to knock on the door, only to have it push forwards under his touch. Alarm bells sounded deafeningly in his skull, immediately putting him on guard. Ghastly's door should not be unlocked at this time of night, unless he was expecting someone, which he shouldn't be. Skulduggery was coming quite unannounced. He fully pushed open the door, manipulating the air to silence the sounds of his gun being loaded and his footsteps. He poked his head inside, checking for an ambush. Clear. He inched in, creeping across the room, finger lightly poised on the trigger. The first thing he noticed was the lack of the disturbance in the air which was made by Ghastly's regular tea brewing. Something was undeniably wrong. He continued sneaking forwards, when Ghastly walked out from around the corner, bearing a usually indecipherable expression. It was a farrago of confusion, panic, boredom and delight. The revolver lowered.

"Oh, Ghastly. Thank god. I thought you were someone else. On a more chipper note, I think someone has broken into your shop," Skulduggery breathed in relieved surprise. Ghastly scrunched up his face, looking for all the world like a trodden-on kitten; scandalized and confused.

"What?"

"Your door is unlocked."

"Oh," Ghastly dragged out, flapping his hand dismissively. "That. I left it like that way. I was waiting for someone."

"Oh," Skulduggery said, feeling slightly foolish at this point. "Who were you waiting for?"

"Uh-," Ghastly fumbled, clearly trying to come up with a lie on the spot or recover from instantaneous temporary amnesia. Something, perhaps common sense, told Skulduggery it was not the latter. The quandary though, was why Ghastly felt the need to lie to him. Who was he expecting, and what about them could possibly inspire Ghastly to lie to him about their identity? Was he even expecting anyone in the first place? He decided against it, more sinister thoughts unwillingly filling his head. "I- um. I was expecting you?"

"Falsehood," he interjected. "I came here unannounced." He began circling his best friend, suspiciously inspecting him like this was the first time he had ever seen him. "And you know what else is strange?" He asked.

"What?" Ghastly responded, nervously picking at the loose threads on his crimson vest with sweaty hands. Another oddity Skulduggery noted. Ghastly usually wore emerald.

Skulduggery halted his circling, having seemingly finished his inspection. "The lack of disturbance in the air from your chronic tea drinking." Skulduggery glared worriedly and suspiciously at his best friend, practically able to the see the anxious sweat beading is forehead. Skulduggery decided to test something. "Take a seat, seeing that you're up, there was something I wanted to discuss with you anyway." Ghastly did as asked and Skulduggery head into the kitchen, much to the bewilderment of his friend. "Would you like a tea? It appears you haven't had one in a while, and it seems to be putting you on edge." He knew this wasn't the case, but he needed an alibi for this experiment. A curiously observed a wave of sudden rage wash over Ghastly's features, wearing them unfamiliarly.

"I swear!" He declared, "If ONE more person offers me tea, I will scald them with it!" The rage dissipated as quickly as it arrived, leaving Ghastly's face slack and horrified. "Wait- That's not what I- That's not what I meant!" He covered his mouth, fearful of his own outburst. Or rather, Skulduggery concluded, what he would do to him because of it. Skulduggery came back from the kitchen, and took a seat next to him, watching intently.

"Fascinating."

"I-I- What are you doing?!" Ghastly near shrieked.

"Ghastly," he said, his voice taking on a strange tone of voice. "What is my favourite book?"

"A bit random, there. Isn't it something by Charles Dickens? Great Expectations? That's by Charles Dickens, isn't it? Or was it Dracula..." Skulduggery could tell he didn't know, and was taking wild jabs.

"Great Expectations was indeed written by Charles Dickens, but that isn't my favourite book. My favourite book is Treasure Island." Ghastly always knew his favourite book was 'Treasure Island'. A theory begun to Frankenstein itself together in the back of his mind. "Ghastly, I know this may sound odd, but what is your favourite colour?" Skulduggery knew full well that it was green, but he wanted to know if Ghastly also knew that.

"Red," he responded. "It's definitely red." Skulduggery looked this man up and down, a realisation clicking in his head. The stance, the nervousness, the inconsistent knowledge, the lies, the refusal of tea and the lose strands of cloth on his vest.

"You're not Ghastly, are you?"

"Wh- What are you-"

"Don't try to lie to me. I don't know who you are, but you've done something to my best friend, and you're going to tell me who you are and what you've done with him," Skulduggery stated, voice and mannerism having lost all friendless and edged into hostility. He stood up. The imposter's expression suddenly melted and twisted into one of animalistic antagonism, confirming his suspicions.

"Or what?" He spat, quite literally too. Skulduggery felt the air shift behind the fake Ghastly, feeling him grip something. A glint on the wall behind the imposter caught his attention, a glint that could only be caused by light reflecting off metal. He had a knife. The imposter lunged, knife glinting in the low lighting.

"Why the devil are you on the roof?" Moralis aggressively whispered at his golden-eyed friend. Nowhere near as amused as Sangfroid, who had already eagerly scaled the wall to greet Gist and Goldie.

"I was not going to keep waiting in that grimy alley!" He whisper-shouted back.

"My posh of you, your highness!" He responded. "Are you going to come back down? We do need to infiltrate Ghastly's shop to wake up Misfit! And Skulduggery's there to now, double the trouble!" Brother Moralis heard Goldie curse.

"Be right down!" He turned to face Sangfroid and Gist. "Hyde, Sangfroid, we're going to infiltrate the shop now."

"Nice," Sangfroid whispered, Edward grunting in agreement. "What did you just call Gist?'"

"I named him Edward Hyde, after that one murderous bloke."

"Neat."

"Skulduggery's arrived."

"Intent on foiling evil, whether he does it consciously or not." The Man with The Golden Eyes nodded, monitoring Hyde's descent. He reached the bottom and he reached a leg over the sign, feet finding purchase on the piping.

"Anyway, you named him Hyde, what should we call you?" Sangfroid asked.

"What?" The Man with The Golden Eyes, yelped, nearly slipping in surprise. "Dexter! Now is not the time!"

"First of all: Ouch. I'm Sangfroid," he corrected, beginning to clamber down after The Man with The Golden Eyes.

"Yes. Sorry Sinistre, I'm just frustrated." The man in question nodded in understanding.

"I'm going to call you Remus."

"Is that an insult?!"

"No, after Remus from 'Romulus and Remus', not Remus Crux. You know what, maybe that's not the best name."

"You think?" They reached the ground and Sinistre once more faced The Man with Golden Eyes.

"I will find out what to call you."

"Oh god." Sangfroid's blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Come on!" Moralis hissed, already slipping in the door.

The imposter and Skulduggery wrestled on the floor, throwing punches and dodging stabs. He snarled, slowly losing the fight, pinned under the skeleton. Skulduggery pushed himself harder, knowing he was gaining the upper hand. He just needed a few more seconds... The door slammed open with a deafening bang, that didn't register over his concentration. Footsteps, shouting, a sharp pain in the back of his skull and then darkness.

Pleasant crumpled, and Prefect Misfit took this as his opportunity to slide out from under the man. He grinned up at the intruders. Gist was holding a frying pan to where his opponents head used to be.

"You knocked him out," he exclaimed, delighted. Gist tilted his head. The Man with The Golden Eyes approached him.

"Looks like you got out on your own," he observed. Misfit grasped his outstretched hand getting up.

"May I ask what you're all doing here?"

"No, you may bow and exalt!" Moralis sung, dancing around madly, his funk seemingly lifted.

Sangfroid amusedly shook his head. "We're going to take over the world, and decided we wanted the whole alter-ego Dead Men group," he coolly announced. Then added, "I don't think all of us have ever been together in one place before."

"When can we begin? There isn't much to do around here."

"As soon as Lord Vile has joined the party."

Misfit blinked. "Not that I care, but he has some serious explaining to do once he wakes up."

The Skeleton Detective woke up tied to a chair. Which was quite humiliating in all honesty. He would have escaped using his magic too, but whoever knocked him out must have had magic-binding handcuffs. He struggled uselessly against his bonds. The clack of boots reached him and his head shot up, meeting golden eyes.

"Erskine," he muttered, "You traitor."

"Hmm. Quite," Ravel hummed back. The rest of the Dead Men stepping in behind him. His gaze fixated on the Ghastly imposter. "But not quite."

"He's not Ghastly-"

"We are well aware of that, Pleasant. You see, we're all not quite The Dead Men."

"Who are you then? Is this a joke?"

"I don't have a name, he's Sangfroid, Hyde, Misfit," Misfit gave a little wave. "And Moralis. And you, you're Lord Vile." The Man with The Golden Eyes flippantly stated, still somehow seeming intimidating. Skulduggery stiffed, looking down in shame.

"So, what are you going to do to me? I've imagined this moment for so long that I just..." he trailed off, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. The metallic-eyed man bent down, grabbing Skulduggery's jaw firmly with his hand, forcing him to meet his scorching, golden, gaze.

"We want Lord Vile." With nothing left to lose, shadows consumed him, and the ropes fell to the ground.

Me, holding the leash of 3 drafts: *lets go of unedited quickly written story*

Me: BE FREE