You have a knack for getting people to do what you want. Not making friends—your temper always made that hard. But you excelled at manipulating, wheedling; the ugly underside of social interaction. And one thing about Banes is that while their forms are limitless, their mortal servants are predictable: the desperate, the vicious, and the compromised. A few visits to Section 8 housing, rehab clinics, and dive bars (actual dive bars, not "dive bar"-themed sports bars) helped you home in on your target. The guy who dealt to the rich kids back in junior high told you about a "masked rider" people saw at a truck stop, and from there…
From there, you're here. And as the ice wind dies down and the snowflakes drift to the cold ground, you see your prey clearly for the first time.
It's a man in white arctic camouflage, face hidden by goggles and a fur-lined balaclava. Despite his modern assault rifle and the ruggedized tablet computer on his hip, he's mounted on a tall black horse. He's thrust what appears to be a steel lance into the snow. It whips back and forth in the cold wind. Yet, somehow, flies swarm around him in thick black clouds, droning so loudly you can hear them.
You know you should focus on the moment, but your thoughts turn to everything you have learned since your First Change. About the enemy. About Gaia, the living earth. You were not always what you are now…