Starbuck McLaw was running (jumping?) through the treetops of the forests on the east side of East Hollystock, New Jersey. Leaves in warm shades of red, orange and yellow shook loose every time he moved, further carpeting the ground with layers of crunch. A small army of rodents had gathered behind him--squirrels, he’d been told. The squirrels often followed him around the forest; whether they were guarding him or themselves was unclear. They always stopped short when he reached the edge of the wooded area, and then, he assumed, returned to whatever it was they were doing before he trespassed on their land.

Starbuck tried his best to move through the treetops quickly, quietly, as though he were a part of the natural order of things. Stealthy. Undetectable. A silent ninja on the hunt for justice. That last one wasn’t pretending so much as identifying one’s true purpose without being too cocky about it. It was the only reason he disliked his rodentry compatriots--they tended to draw attention when they traveled in groups, if anyone was around to pay any attention. And while they stayed within the confines of the forest, the city wasn’t far off from the trees and undergrowth, and the squirrels could easily be seen from almost anywhere in town.

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Before Starbuck’s newest life began, he was very much dead in the basement of the Private College. He stayed this way until a shrouded figure (Steve) pestered the librarians (underpaid) to get all the proper paperwork to remove him. Steve was so dedicated to this cause, in fact, that he was completely unaware of the sloppy kissing going on in the corner when he burst through the basement doors, threw the lights on, and stared in awe at the...well he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Starbuck’s sarcophagus, at the time, was wedged between one leaning bookcase and the dull peach concrete of the basement wall. The kissing undergrads, for what it’s worth, held their breath and hoped the intruder was not the underpaid librarian, like it had been the week before.

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Starbuck continued with his flagpole attack, but noticed a girl standing at rapt attention, holding up a camera and documenting the entire event. She seemed to know this was no publicity stunt, no festive holiday show, and instead looked as though she were hot on the trail of something she’d been trying to solve for a while. He must have stared too long--she caught him watching her, tucked her camera away, and turned to leave the square. Starbuck started to follow her when a cadaver fell over, startling him back to the immediate threat on his hands.