October 27, 1996

Jon Canmore looks out the tinted window of the black 1991 Lincoln Mark VIII town car, seeing the countryside, as Frank, a longtime associate of the family, drives the car along the back roads of the eastern seaboard of the United States of America. He could still recall the events of last night in Manhattan, New York- seeing his brother, Jason, alive again, only to shoot him- for Jason to be shot, because the Demon used him as a human shield. He can still recall the Demon flying off from St. Damien's Cathedral. He had sworn to destroy the gargoyles over his.

He does not know if Jason is still alive.

He had known that he would soon be wanted by every law enforcement agency in the country, and likely that of Canada, Mexico, Britain, and France. All he could do was call Frank.

Frank picked him up in Newark, a city just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, and they had been driving for at least six hours since then, avoiding the major cities like Philadelphia and Washington.

The Mark VIII drives down an ashphalt street. On both sides it is mostly green, with fields of grass and trees. The car makes a left turn and drives a few hundred feet up a gravel driveway,the tires crunching against the gravel, until it reaches a one-story wooden house with a porch.

"So this is our guest," says a black man in his early twenties, wearing a white shirt, black slackls, and a bowtie. "Welcome to the Farm."

Canmore heard the capital "F". "Where are we?" he asks, the Scottish accent thick.

"A farm near Centreville in Virginia," says Frank, who has a slight French accent. "Just a little under thirty miles outside Washington. It's a safehouse for special guests."

"Your boss owns this place?"

"Oh no," replies Frank, stepping out of the Lincoln. "But one of his biggest customers does."

"I thought it would only take four hours to get from New York to Washington," says Jon, stepping out of the car.

"We had to take the back roads. "By now every cop in America has an APB on you."

They step inside the farmhouse. The living room was homely, with a carpet, sofas, chairs, a twelve-inch television with an antenna. Jon doubted there is cable, unlike that seedy motel in Newark where he fled in the immediate aftermath of the incident at St. Damian's.

At least it is quiet. At the motel in Newark, he had frequently heard gunshots, most likely by gangbangers doing drive-by shootings.

He turns on the television,. Predictably, the television showed a special report about the recent events in New York, including the existence of gargoyles.

"Jon Canmore has been reported to have been sighted at this motel in Newark," says a black-haired reporter, standing in the parking lot of a motel. "It appeared he has been gone for quite some time. Newark police is searching his motel room to find any leads. Jon Canmore is wanted for complicity in the bombing of the 23rd New York Police Department precinct. Both the NYPD and FBI ask that you contact them if you have seen him."

Canmore had known the woman, having worked with her while under the cover identity of Jon Carter for a few months while trying to look for the Demon and her kind.

"Sorry for not having cable," says the host.

"I can't be too choosy," replies Jon. He looks towards Frank. "There is much you will want to know about the Demon."

"Save it for later," replies Frank. "A very important man will be visiting you."

"What will this be about?"

"Your next step into hunting the Demon and her kind. In any event, why not relax? We do not have fresh food, but we do have crackers and chips. We also have beer, although you probably do not want to be drunk when we meet our guest."

And so Jon Canmore waits. The TV is all about him and his brother and his sister and the gargoyles and the attack on the police station in New York. He watched for an hour. He did not hear about Jason dying, but would not put it past the police to cover up his death. He did hear that Robyn had been taken into custody.

Memories surface of that fateful night in Paris, France, sixteen years ago. His father, Charles, putting on the Hunter's Mask to hunt down the Demon. Finding him dead in the Catacombs. The Demon was the avatar of Evil itself, as his father had told him.

And from what she had tried to do at that cathedral, she proved his late father right.

A doorbell rings. Frank opens the wooden front door.

"Mr. Duval," he says.

"Ah, Mr. Garlon," says Duval. "I had to run a bit late. Had a longer-than-usual meeting at my day job in the Pentagon."

"Jon Canmore," says Jon, extending his hand. He looks at the man- fair-skinned, bald, with the upper left side of his head replaced with a cybernetioc module. Duval is wearing a business suit.

"Let us get to the point. A few of my associates and I want to start a new anti-gargoyle organization, to fight these creatures. I believe that a Hunter will be the best public face for this new organization."

"Public face?" asks Canmore. "Me? I don't have leadership experience. And for me being the public face, I am a wanted man. Can't have someone who blew up a police station be the public face of our defense against these monsters."

"It is true that the face of Jon Canmore is almost as unsuitable as the public face for our new organization than the face of Timothy McVeigh."

"I heard about that." Jon had not forgotten the Oklahoma City bombing on April 20th of last year. He is aware that McVeigh had been arrested and is standing trial for the bombing.

"Jon Canmore can not be the public face of our new organization," says Duval. "So you must change your face."

Canmore puts a hand to his face. "Change my face?" he asks. "You mean plastic surgery?"

"Oh no, Mr. Canmore," replies Duval. "the recovery period would take too long, and we do need this organization operational within two weeks. We have already acquired property and equipment."

"How will you change my face?"

"We will employ the services of Dr. Anton Sevarius, the world's best geneticist. He's worked on projects for one of the Pentagon's biggest contractors. I have provided DoD oversight on some of them, in fact. He will create a mutagenic formula to introduce new genetic material into your DNA. It will cause your face to mutate, and the police will not be able to identify you as Jon Canmore."

Jon feels a bit apprehensive about this radical new procedure. "What if I refuse?"

"Refuse?" asks Frank. "You wish to turn down an opportunity to hunt the Demon that killed your father?"

"But by being the subject of genetic experimentation?"

"Canmore, if you refuse," says Duval, "we will drop you off at FBI Headquarters. Believe me, they will recognize you."

Memories again surface. Memories of his father's death, of Jason getting shot due to a gargoyle using Jason as a human shield.

"When can we start?" he asks.

"Dr. Sevarius will be here tomorrow."

"What about you, Frank?" asks Jon.

"My boss assigned me to look after you," replies Frank. "I will stay here with you. Perhaps I can go to town to pick up supplies. Want any fresh food?"

"Maybe a pizza."

OOOOOOOOOO

October 28, 1996

Breakfast was simply Kellogg's Froot Loops, along with fresh orange juice and milk, which Frank had picked up from a Giant Food supermarket in Centreville last night. There had been this diner in Manhattan where Jon often had breakfast.

Jon had been reading some cheap, all-but-forgettable paperback novel, which had been sitting on a wooden bookcase along with dozens of other all-but-forgettable paperback novels, when he hears the distinct sound of rubber tires rolling against gravel. The youngest Canmore sibling looks out the window and sees a black 1993 Chevrolet Suburban sport utility vehicle just coming to a stop. Several men step out.

Frank opens the door. Jon immediately recognizes Duval. With Duval is a man in a blue jacket. He has brown hair on his head.

"So this is my new patient," says the man. "I have not done house calls in almost a year!"

"Jon Canmore," says Jon.

"Dr. Anton Sevarius, the world's best geneticist, at your service. I understand you want to change your wanted terrorist look. The solution is in this briefcase."

Canmore sees the geneticist holding a briefcase in his right hand. Sevarius opens the briefcase, which contains a vial and a hypodermic spray.

"This, my boy, is the mutagenic formula that will introduce new genetic material into your DNA! It only contains human DNA, the parts that affect facial structure. I have worked on other formulas that bring about more radical changes. Compared to that, what I am doing now is so plain, so boring. No flight, no super strength, no being able to light a light bulb by holding it in your mouth, just a different human face."

Jon Canmore thinks of the Demon. "Let's do it."

The geneticist inserts the vial into the hypo-spray.

He presses the end of the spraty against Canmorwe's right biceps.

And pulls the trigger.

Jon Canmore feels something punch through his arm. He rubs the injection spot, and sees a small, circular bruise.

"Enjoy your mutation, Mr. Canmore," replies Sevarius. "I look forward to further business from you."

Oooooo

October 29, 1996

Aching.

Jon Canmore's face had been aching ever since perhaps an hour after Dr. Sevarius injected him with that formula. The aches and pain are obviously the bones of his skull slowly reshaping as the new genetic material is being incorporated into his DNA. Painkillers have eased rthe pain somewhat.

Tired of the trashy novels that came with the guesthouse, he turns on the TV to one of the Washington area channels.

"The three Canmore siblings have just been indicted by a grand jury in New York," says a news anchor. "Here we have a statement from the Manhattan district attorney, Robert Morgenthau."

An image of a white-haired bespectacled elderly man in a suit appeared. He is standing in front of a courthouse. On his right is a woman with shoulder-length blond hair.

"Jason Canmore, Robyn Canmore, and Jon Canmore has just been indicted by a grand jury," says the Manhattan district attorney. "Our office will prosecute Jason and Robyn for their merciless terrorist attack against the NYPD 23rd precinct, on various charges, including conspiracy, wanton destruction of public property, and attempted murder. Jon Canmore will be brought in for an arraignment as soon as he is apprehended."

"What of the gargoyles?" asks a voice.

"The grand jury had not returned a bill of indictment against any gargoyle," says Morgenthau. "There is not enough evidence at this time to make a case."

"But what about that video of the gargoyles leaving the police station after the explosion?"

"My office was assured by the NYPD and FBI that all leads are being investigated, including these gargoyles."

The image changes to pictures of Jon, Jason, and Robyn. Canmore gets up from the recliner and walks into the nearby bathroom. He sees a blond-haired man whom he does not recognize at first.

He moves his right arm, and the man moves his left arm.

That is his reflection.

His face has changed.

He no longer has the face of Jon Canmore.

Oooooooo

October 30, 1996

Jon Canmore looks at the new face in the bathroom mirror. He still can not believe that it is his face. He touches it again.

He realizes that the aches and pains are gone now, or at least so weak he does not notice it. His face must have finished changing its shape.

Or is it? Is there a second phase? What if Sevarius had screwed up somehow, and his face would continue to mutate to a featureless, disfigured blob?

He hears a phone ring and answers it.

"Yes?" jhe asks.

"It's Duval," says the voice.

Canmore looks out the window and sees a black Lincoln Mark VIII with tinted windows. He watches Duval and a bespectacled man step out of the car. He opens the door.

"I like your new look," says Duval.

"thank you,"replies Jon. "The good doctor worked a miracle."

"I should introduce myself," says the bespectacled man. "Martin Hacker. My day job is an FBI agent."

"FBI?" asks Jon, alarmed.

"I see no one fitting the description of Jon Canmore."

"You sure have plenty of connections, Mr. Duval," says Jon.

"Then it is time I tell you about us," he replies. "we are in the Illuminati, an organization operating in the shadows. Our members have infiltrated various governments and businesses. Our goal is to shape the destiny of humanity. And we need you to assist us in eliminating the gargoyles." Duval takes something out of his coat and hands it to Canmore.

It is a square pin, and a pyramid and an eye on top.

"Welcome to the Illuminati. You are Number Thirty-Six."

"Here is some documentation for your new identity," says Hacker, handing Canmore a manila envelope clearly stuffed with papers. "We will need to take photographs to prepare a proper passport and driver's license.

And thus, John Castaway is born.

Oooooooo

"Nice place," says John Castaway as he looks at the brownstone, standing before the steps. The address number 443 appears next to the front door.

"It used to be a safehouse," says Hacker.

"I'm not surprised we're back in New York. This is where the demons are."

The man formerly known as Jon Canmore steps inside. He takes a tour. The lower level has offices, a break room, and a large room for meetings. There are more offices and support rooms upstairs.

He unlocks a door and walks up the stairs. Up there, he finds a well-furnished apartment.

"There's also a freight elevator," says Hacker.

"You must have been planning this for at least a month," says Castaway.

"Yes," replies the FBI agent. "We had to step up the timetable when you exposed the clan to the public."

"I am sorry about that."

"Don't be. The Society has had to improvise over the centuries. Anyway, we've already started recruiting some experts to work for you. They will be your nucleus and help you recruit the wider organization. Anyway, I have to go now, mr Castaway. My day job beckons."

After Hacker leaves, Castaway lies on his bed.

There would be so much busywork the next few days.

Ooooooooooo

A Dodge van pulls up to a warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York. John Castaway and his the nucleus of his newq organization step out. Frank had called him, notifying him of a new anti-gargoyle weapon. Castaway looks around. He is in an industrial area; the Brooklyn Bridge towers to the left. He glances at the first recruits forming the core of his new organization- Banquo and Fleance, who have had experience fighting these demons, and George, a young man who had recently worked as an intelligence officer in the United States Air Force.

"John!" yells Frank, dressed in a simple plaid collared shirt and blue jeans. "Welcome to our humble abode. I like your new look."

"Thank you. You have been a great help to us."

"And we can help you again."

Castaway introduces Frank to his new employees.

"Francis Garlon," says Frank. "I am a longtime associate of Mr. Castaway."

"Do you have these anti-gargoyle weapons?" asks George.

"Right in here," They all go inside the dimly-lit warehouse. There are wooden boxes, as well as blocks of stone. Frank walks to an open box and takes out a huge sledgehammer, giving it to Castaway.

"Intriguing," says Castaway, holding the hammer with its box head.

"if this becomes our main weapon, sir," says George, "we will need to train our new recruits. It is not as simple as a pistol or a rifle."

Frank takes out a pistol and fires it at one of the stone blocks. The humans in the warehouse all hear a ricochet. He then looks at John.

"There's a cylinder on the handle," he says. "Pump it."

Castaway looks closely and sees some sort of cylinder shape surrounding the handle near the hammerhead. He pumps it and the hammer because charged with electricity.

"Smash some stone."

Castaway swings at the stone block. It shatters into hundreds of pieces.

"Wow," says Banquo. "How does this work?"

"A trade secret," says Frank.

"I bet these things could be realy useful to dig rocks in a quarry."

"Quarry," says Castaway, "With these hammers, the gargoyles would be our quarry. Ah, yes. That is what we will be. The Quarrymen!"

"Sounds like the name of a band," says Fleance. "Hope no one sues us."

John meets with Frank at the corner of the warehouse to discuss further details.

Ooooooooo

November 6, 1996

It is time.

After working sixteen plus hours a day, being on top of everything, acquiring supplies and vehicles equipment in addition to the hammers, even sending out a few personal invitations, it is about to happen.

Banquo and Fleance are by his side, dressed in full armor. On the stage with the three is something covered in red tarp. Gathered in a room is a crowd of humans in various types of clothing. George stands in the back, standing next to a cameraman holding a JVC VHS video camera.

Castaway looks at the crowd. He can see anxiety and fear in their faces.

"I know you are all reasonable people," he begins. "But we do not live in a reasonable world.

"Violence, racism, injustice. You struggle with the world's problems and wind up feeling so alone. Now something alien and horrible has entered your world."

Castaway rips off the tarp, revealing a stone statue of a frightening demonic form, with spikes coming out of its demonic face.

"Gargoyles!" yells the leader of the Quarrymen. He looks at the crowd, their fears riled up. "Are you afraid of this monster? Well, for once, you are not alone. Are you afraidf these cvreatures will attack you while you sleep?"

Many yeses are said by the crowd.

"You are not alone in that fear. Are you afraid they will steal your children away?"

More yeses. Castaway's heart beats faster, as he approaches a climax.

"You are not alone! Do you believe these monsters must be stopped?"

The crowd yells yes and goes wild.

"You are not alone!" yells Castaway. "Join us. Join the Quarrymen! When you wear our hoods, believe me.." Castaway wears a hood over his blond-haired head….. "you are no longer alone!"

Beneath his hood, he smiles as he watches the crowd gather hoods and hammers. He never knew he was even capable of this. He had to thank George for this; his new aide once told him he wrote speeches for Air Force colonels addressing staff meetings.

"Take a hood. Take a hammer. You are all Quarrymen now!"

The Quarrymen have been in gestation for eleven days.

And today is the day that the Quarrymen are born!

There is no way the Demon and her kind can stand against them.