Prologue

The sun has fallen. The moon hangs in the night sky like the sickle of a giant reaper here to reap the city, the cut the wheat from the chaff. Night is here and the city sleeps.

Well, most of the city. There are, of course, the establishments that are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week: the gas stations and convenience stores and motels. Then there are the places that only open when the sun goes down: the adult stores, the red light districts, the places where love can be bought for an hour at a time.

And there are the people that live there. They walk and talk, but most are not alive. They are the Dead, their eyes dull and unfocused, their staggering gait due to tiredness and alcohol.

And then there are the children. The Lost Children, the ones who ran away from their homes, from their parents or relatives or even from social services. The ones who thought it was better to be out on their own, squatting in abandoned cars and condemned buildings, then back wherever they came from.

This is the City of the Dead and these are the Lost Children.

And there are the Lonely Hunters.