The Beginning of the End of the Beginning of the End
The room is lit by flickering candlelight. A young woman, bound and gagged, lies on the table, struggling against her restraints. She's still wearing the clothes she wore when she was taken from the street, a short purple miniskirt, a tight shirt offering ample cleavage, and knee-high boots. Around her, men and women wearing black hooded robes chant in profane Latin. Outside the central circle, several cultists writhe and moan together, as pleasures of the flesh mingle with terror, horror, and blood: all that is life. Pleasure and pain, intermingling.

"Dark Lord Satan... hear our prayer," one hooded man declares, stepping up to the altar and looming over the bound woman. "We make this offering in service of you... and of your most powerful servant on Earth."

He raises a dagger. The girl's eyes flash in terror. "This offering will be sanctified in blood and flesh."

He plunges the dagger down towards her chest, and the woman tries to scream through her gag. But he stops, inches from her chest.

He looks at her, seeing the sweat, seeing her blood flow. Perfect. He hands the dagger to one hooded figure by his side, and another hands him a strange device -- two tubes connected to two small piercing needles. Her heightened pulse will make this work all the easier.

He stabs her in the neck with the needles, and the tubes begin to fill with blood, pumping her vital fluids elsewhere.

"May her blood sate your hunger, Lord, until you bring your servant back to us. Let our offering to you be received with glory."

It takes some time for the two needles to drain enough blood to be missed, even with a powerful pump providing a fair amount of suction. Still, after several minutes, the woman loses consciousness... and some time later, she stops breathing.

Thirty minutes after her death, a black car pulls up to an alley near the street corner where the woman once worked. Two men get out of the car, open the trunk, and drop the woman out in the alley. A homeless woman, hidden among blankets and refuse, eyes them carefully, but is certain not to reveal herself -- she doesn't want any trouble.

She will not be missed. Police never investigate dead women of her profession, not with any real effort. She's a case that is never solved, particularly with the cult's contacts on the police force.

But others will notice. Others will investigate...