A mad, moaning wind ripped through me. I felt the ice-cold spines of a thousand frozen hailstones slam against my back. My collar was turned up and hat low. I wandered like a forgotten Russian ghost; alone in the snow and the ice and the desolation of the city. The storm had driven the mad, drunken micks inside. Good. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to think. I wanted a drink.

Aw, nuts.

I slid into the first gin mill I saw, a rundown joint called "Divide's", whatever the Hell that meant. I slid up to a stool and didn't give a damn enough to look around at the sad, anxious faces of the dames and mugs that were only here praying for the snow to stop so they could continue onto to whatever pathetic distraction they were really headed to.

The snow came fast and hard, like it always does. I ordered a shot of bourbon and a Pabst. I slammed the whiskey (no way was it bourbon. It tasted like the inside of a pepper shaker filled with rotted duck) and killed the Pabst.

I felt the scar on my stomach itch. Cold weather. It gets to you sometimes. Makes things ache. A twelve inch long gash made by a fallen angel, the same one that was lounging around inside you like the one I got, well, they just itch like crazy when it snows.

Its name was Yeziroth. It was a Fallen Angel, literally. I picked him up in the spring on the Dumas case right after he ripped my guts out. Real messy. I was dying and hadn't had a chance to plug the bitch that made the whole scheme possible, so I cut a deal. One body, two minds, and occasionally he'll put in his two cents in the fight. I can Evoke him out of me to do the real nasty work, but that leaves me vulnerable. While he is inside and has enough power, he can close my wounds as fast as they come. Came in handy on the Patterson case. Killed a dozen men on that one. Killed a handful more since.

Its not really an Angel anymore. Demon is a better term. It feeds on Sex and Death, and I'm the feeder. Sex keeps my wounds closed. Death keeps my muscles strong. Yeah, I'm going to Hell. I knew that since the War, since I jumped over Normandy and killed that Kraut with my bare hands and laughed. Its okay by me.

I'm in a bad mood tonight. No reason other than I felt like being in a bad mood. I finish my brew and kick the door open. The night is dark and cold and full of the worst this world has to offer. When I step out into it, it gets a little worse.