The mechanical whine of planes, in the distant darkness as they taxied about Birmingham airport, mixed with the smell of jet fuel leant an eerie and somehow metallic aspect to the skeleton of what had once been a stronghold for humanity: The ARC hangar and base of operations in the Southern United States. They did not know it, but mankind relied on this shadowy organization. Not only to protect them from his kind, but also to keep the secrets buried, the masses ignorant of what existed beneath their feet, beyond the limits of their tiny minds. If they could comprehend the horrors spawning from their mere existence, they would wish they had never been born.
Asmodeus considered this as he stewed in frustration over the events of recent months. The plan had been ambitious, and never subtle,
