White Guard.

White Guard:
HQ: St Petersburg, Russia.
Function: Demonic defense organization.
Founding: Michael. 663 BC, Thebes, Egypt.
Symbol: A bronze kite shield with white bird wings, emblazoned with a rising sun, and a sword crossed with a staff.

Founded long ago in Egypt by, allegedly, Archangel Michael.  He called humans and parahumans from all around the Mediterranean, among them were thieves, beggars, soldiers, bandits, and murderers.  Of all he called, only five backed down; Tamar, Ashdornepul, Kahn, Necho, and Eshur-Appenadal.  Tamar, Kahn, and Necho relented and joined sometime later, Ashdornepul left and was never heard from again, while Eshur joined the League of Bronze Knives and is the current leader.  The White Guard has been protecting the Earth and the human race since it's founding, especially from the League.  The White Guard does not have a central leader, instead all the members hold a yearly council at St. Petersburg.  After the Muslims conquered Egypt, the Guard moved to Constantinople, but after that was taken by the Ottomans, they moved to Moscow.  When St. Petersburg was founded, a problem arose in the new city, so the White Guard went and solved the problem, but the Guard decided to stay in the city, making St. Petersburg, to this day, the world headquarters of the White Guard.

DPIR.

Department of Paranormal Investigation and Research:
HQ: Perseus, NY.
Function: Paranormal investigation government department.
Founding:  Prof. Thomas Brown and Dr. Kelvin Cook, 1824, Washington DC.
Symbol: A silver eagle holding Excalibur and the Caduceus of Hermes, with Aegis on his chest.

After purchasing the Louisiana Purchase and the Montpellier Cache, the US government searched for intelligent men to study the artifacts purchased from France, including how to wake the idle Napoleon Jr.  Prof. Thomas Brown from Harvard College was selected.  He went to DC and was given a lab and government funding, Thomas, after three months of study, needed co-scientists, so the government searched for the smartest scientists.  They found Dr. Kelvin Cook of North Carolina.  During a lightning storm, Cook channeled a bolt into Napoleon; awakening the comatose automation.  Thomas opened the two-person group to the other scientists, calling it the Congregation of Paranormal Science.  Slowly, the group grew to nearly a hundred scientists.  In 1874, Lance DeMoi joined the Congregation as a protector for the scientists during expeditions.  While on a dig in Palenque on 1877, Lance stumbled upon an Aryan Crystal, after touching it, the crystal exploded pumping energy into Lance, and it exploded and shot a shard into his right eye.  Lance became the first member of the Special attributes corps, or SACorps.  The Congregation, in 1885, found Chester at the bottom of Chesapeake Bay, the Dweller was the second member.  In the same year, Alexander Sherman, a human with energy storage powers, joined, thus the first generation of the SACorps was made.  The generations passed on, though Lance and Chester remained, until 2010, the current members being: Sirius Potter as commander, Lance, Chester, Otto van Hamburg, Alison King, Sal, Richard Reynolds Jr, and the newest addition, telepath Bianca Thorne, granddaughter of the great psychic Sydney Thorne.          

Mr. Antiochus' Wondrous Magical Traveling Carnival.

Mr. Antiochus: ringmaster, 200 year-old sorcerer.
Draco: man-dragon.
Robin Cage: stage magician.
Tulip: pixie.
Kaizer: vampire.
Quimby: demi-god.
Maggie: resistance to pain.
Creature: physical animal qualities.
Rowena: short teleportation, enhanced agility, minor conjuring.
Roslyn Addams: extreme flexibility (resigned, deceased).
Rupert and James: mentally linked twins, psychotaxonomy (resigned, deceased).
King Lear: daemon (resigned).

Seleucus: demon, janitor, animal wrangler.

Founded by Mr. Antiochus in 1746, the Carnival has traveled around the world giving magical performances and picking up special attributes.  Currently, the Carnival is doing a tour  through the US.    

Edward Cooper.

England, 1963.
Charlie leaned against the hummer, breathing hard, a fresh cut on his arm sent gushes of hot, sticky blood rolling down  to the ground.  He threw an empty bullet cartridge aside and slapped in a new one.  Charlie peeked around the hummer; scanning the graveyard for any more zombies, he could hear them not far off.  Suddenly, Edward came bursting out of some bushes, gun blazing, whooping in excitement.
"Zombies don't like when you shoot at them!"  Cooper called to Charlie, who groaned.
Charlie tied his wound with some gauze from the hummer as Edward ecstaticly mowed down the horde of zombies.  Probably waking up all of Ipswich.  Edward finally came behind the hummer, reloading his gun.
"Aw, they scratch you?"  He said to Charlie.
"Only a little."
Edward gulped down some water from his canteen and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
"Ipswich shouldn't be bothered anymore by by night-time bogeymen anymore."  He said, surveying the dismembered corpses strewn about the graveyard.
"Now, let's find the witch or sorcerer who's responsible for this."  Charlie said, straightening and cocking his gun.
"No witch was responsible for this."  Said a chill, cruel voice.
Edward and Charlie whipped around guns ready to the sound of the voice.  A vampire stood atop a mausoleum, black robe flowing in the wind, sword in hand.  Edward inspected the vampire's face, he recognized the network of scars and the short, stocky build.
"Klaus, right?"  Edward said shakily, he had heard the stories about Klaus.
"I am he, and you must be Night Shift goons by the look of your uniforms."  Klaus leaped off the mausoleum and strode across the corpse-covered grass to stand only a few feet away from Charlie and Edward.  Klaus stared at both of them, licking his pale lips making his white fangs visible.  A cloud moved away from the full moon, casting eerie shadows with it's silvery light.   A wolf howled not far of.  Klaus listened carefully then whistled a sharp high whistle; the howling ceased and Edward could here something coming through the wood.  What that something was was a werewolf; huge and grey, with red eyes and two rows of fangs.  Then shaggy wolf turned into shaggy man who loped over to Klaus.
"Yes, master?"
"Them."  Klaus pointed with his sword.
The werewolf turned and growled at Edward and Charlie, his gnarled hands ready to crush the life out of either of them.
"Now, Edmund, I'm hungry, how about you?"  Klaus strode over to Edward, who had slipped a stake off his belt, a starved expression on his chalk-white face.
"Now..."
And Klaus lunged at Edward, mouth agape, fangs gleaming.
Edward thrust with his stake, but Klaus was ready for that and parried the blow.  Charlie unslung a cross bow aiming for Klaus's back; but Edmund leaped in front of the Night Shift agent, taking the crossbow in his massive hands and broke it like a child's toy.  Charlie gulped.
Klaus grabbed Edward's fighting arm in a death grip attempting to break it.  Edward tried to resist the steel grip, yelling in the effort, and slowly was able to shake the vampire off.
"Your strong,"  Klaus glanced at Edward's name tag, "Cooper.  But not that strong."  Klaus pulled back his fist.  Edward threw himself to the ground not a second to soon; a crater was left in the side of the hummer where, moments before, his chest had been.  Charlie went flying over the hummer, hit by Edmund like a volleyball, crash landing on top of the mausoleum, Edward and Klaus both stared for a moment then resumed their fight.  Edmund came lumbering over, hands ready to strangle the prone agent, he picked up Charlie as easily if he were a child and wrapped a grizzled hand around his comparably smaller throat.  Charlie limply raised his arm, a loaded revolver in his hand.  He fired thrice.  Edmund stood on wobbling legs, then keeled backwards crashing down on a grave stone, reducing it to rubble.
The sound of tires on gravel reached Klaus's and Edward's ears, two hummers spotlights on, came around the corner, Night Shift agents jumping out rushing over to Edward.
"Edmund!"  Klaus was already at the edge of the trees.
The werewolf stumbled to his feet and limped after his fleeing master, off into the night.
Edward hurried over, kneeling next to Charlie.
"You alright?"
Charlie smiled propping himself up on his elbows, "It's only a scratch."
Edward looked back at the forest; there was no sign of Klaus and his grunt.
A cloud drifted in front of the waxed moon, blocking it's baleful rays.                  

Child of Tomorrow.

Tiberius Hill weaved his way among the twisting pipes, wriggling his nine-year-old body through the tight spaces.  It was pitch black, but he could see as well as if it were day, in fact he could see a lot.  He could see the tiny particles of rust on the metal pipes, he could see the individual drops of moisture on the metal ground, and such miniscule detail.  He froze, then slipped like a shadow behind a pipe as a Sweeper's spotlight swept the area, a momentary ray of white light in the smoggy night.  The beam scanned the pipes, then the Sweeper moved on, down the alleyway.  Tiberius continued his way through the pipes, the looming walls of the steel foundry on either side.  He came to the tracks for the supply train for the factory.  On the other side of the rails was clear of pipes; just clear metaled alley, away from the foundry.  Tiberius scurried across the tracks, wary of watchmen on the compound wall.  On the other side of the railway, away from the steel foundry compound, Tiberius straitened and wiped the grease from his oversized, ratty leather jacket.  He continued away, deep into the twisting alleys of the Bronx, where most wouldn't wander.  But Tiberius went where he pleased and none payed any attention to him.  Except the Sector; they'll chase him anywhere.  He went past dark, towering glass and steel towers, to his home; a derelict, abandoned, storage building.  Not far from an old apartment duplex.  Tiberius settled down in the trash-filled nook that was his bed and slept.    

Lance DeMoi and the Call from the Deep.

Lance was startled to awareness by the ringing of his telephone.  He blindly fumbled about in the dark for his phone, he finally found it and put the phone to his ear..

"You better have a good reason for calling at three in the morning."  He mumbled into the phone.

"I do.  Come to Massachusetts, Essex Bay."

Lance recognized the husky voice as Spark Roberts, a freelance paranormal investigator.
"Now?"  Lance grumbled.
"Yes.  Now."
Lance stumbled out of bed over to his dresser.  He dressed and put on his black leather jacket, brushed his teeth, contemplated his life for a few minutes, and fed Wallace.  His turtle sleepily poked his head out from under his shell as Lance went out the door.  Lance locked his house, though the locals know better than to break in, got on his motorcycle and drove to Little A'Le'Inn.  He parked his motorcycle and walked in, out of the freezing night.  Sid, tall a collage-aged boy, was asleep behind the bar, Lance walked over and rang the attendance bell.  Sid jumped a foot in the air, drool flying off his chin. He blinked, wiping the saliva of his chin with the back of his hand.
"Oh, Mr. DeMoi, it's you.  Would you…uh…like something?"
"Coffee and an Alien Burger.  Make it fast."  Lance slapped some money on the table then leaned back in the stool.  Sid shuffled back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.  Lance looked up the glowering werewolf head mounted on the wall above the bar, it's glass eyes staring down at the inhabitants of the bar.  Lance heard snoring; he looked and saw Ernie and Bernie passed out on a table in one corner of the restaurant.  Sid came out of the kitchen, a steaming styraphome cup of coffee in one hand, and a plate with the burger on it in the other.  Lance wolfed down the burger, sipping his coffee while he ate.
"So, where off to now, Mr. DeMoi?"  Sid asked, taking the empty plate, his sleeves were rolled up so, his dragon tattoo was visible on his left arm.
"Massachusetts, of all places."  Lance grumbled, "not even sure why.  Well, I'll be seein ya."
Sid waved goodbye as Lance left the little bar.  He mounted his motorcycle and drove through the chill morning to Alamo.  He rode to the Landing Field and got off his bike and looked around for Quincy.  Quincy was a friend of Lance's and a pilot.  Lance found his friend dozing in a storage room, he roused his friend.  Quincy snorted and opened his eyes.
"Well, Mr. DeMoi, what kin I do ya fer?"
"I need you to fire up your plane.  I have a quick trip to make to Boston."
Soon Lance was in Quincy's custom-made jet, going faster than a commercial airline.  In seven hours, Lance was standing on the sunlit hill, overlooking the Atlantic.  Spark Roberts, suddenly and soundlessly, was standing next to Lance.  He still wasn't quite used to that.
"Roberts,"  Lance said.
"DeMoi," said the other.
"Why'd you want me to come here, Spark,"
"Where we stand is the site of Innsmouth, a town not fully in this reality, it looks into the ocean, where, an ancient, lost, civilization rests.  Stare into the Bay's waters, Lance."
Lance grumbled about wasted time and sleep, but he peered deep into the blue-green water of the Bay.  He saw something move, then; blackness.
Lance awoke in his little house back in Rachel, he gasped, cold sweat running down his face; vague images of madness and tentacles slithering to the back of his mind.                     

It has been seven days since everything stopped.  The people vanished.  All of them, everyone in the world.  I haven't met another soul in all this time.  I collected as much food as I could in towns, along with ammunition, but I had to know what the world was like outside of my city sanctuary, so I left.  I was originally from Manchester, New Hampshire, I was an accountant for Cyberus Co., a computer company.  One day I woke up, and looked out the window; no one was outside.  No paper boy; just a bike and sack on the curb.  No Mr. Johnson sipping his coffee and watering the yard; a cracked coffee mug and running water hose sat idly on his front step.  Cars sat idle in the street, dog houses were vacant, trees were empty of bird-song.  The city proper was pretty bad; the streets were packed with cars, still running, so I walked to the Cyberus building.  It was empty to.  All the computers were still on.  I soon gathered up as many belongings I needed in my big back pack, took a gun from Brockman's Firearms and went off into the unknown.  In the seven days since I left, I've traveled to the northern border of Massachusetts.  Though I haven't seen any form of life, I think I see smoke in the distance, it could be a wild fire, though it's rather small.  Oh well.  And though I'm alone, sometimes at night when I'm huddled around my campfire, I think I hear things off in the woods.  Good thing I at least now how to shoot a gun.  Well that's all for now, I guess.

Recording of Jeffery Westroad, seven days after the Blackout.