Taken into consideration after shelter's comment. I have entertained the thought of Raki and Miria, but never took it seriously... This is a completely AU, so bear with me, I'm trying something new. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Claymore in any way, shape or form -sigh-

--Enter New York City--

Downtown New York City-known as the slums- was bathed in a series of red, blue, then white lights as sirens wailed, briefly illuminating dark alleyways and the forms within them. Steam rose from sewer grates and the lingering stench of garbage filled the air.

On every street corner, one could find a club, easily identified by the seizure-inducing neon lights, hookers wearing as little as possible without being naked, prostrate drug addicts, and music that made the building's very foundation tremor.

A streetlight flickered as a woman dressed in a black miniskirt that just barely covered her thighs, a red tube top and matching stilettos passed beneath it . She swerved as she walked, a plain indication that she was drunk.

She didn't seem worried as she passed countless dark openings that yawned from between battered buildings and her pace never sped up even when a crash of metal came from one.

It wasn't until the rasping sound of something being dragged on concrete was heard that the woman seemed to recover from her stupor. She looked left, right, then behind her and saw nothing. Pulse elevated, she stumbled, breaking a heel and landing in a heap.

From her vantage point, she glimpsed golden eyes peering from a nearby dumpster. Then, the metal container was flung aside to reveal a humanoid figure with pasty gray skin and spines raised along it's back like a porcupine. The creature grinned, jagged yellow teeth gleaming in the dim streetlights.

The woman screamed.

If you traveled north a few miles, you would find a completely different world: skyscrapers, busy subway stations, business men rushing home, apartments with their windows alight like many eyes and planes roaring overhead.

You could mistake the upper part of New York for a totally different city if you weren't paying attention.

A penthouse located on top of a many-storied apartment building near Time Square could be seen for miles with the amount of lights that poured from the huge bay windows.

Inside, a group of about one hundred people dressed richly in silks, mink coats, cocktail dresses and other forms of designer clothing that costed small fortunes socialized, sipping foreign drinks and subtly bragging about their money.

One woman in particular looked rather irate as she leaned against a wall and gazed out of one of the aforementioned windows, drink in hand. She was standing on a sort of balcony, overlooking the entire party. Others around her were talking in haughty tones.

She was young, about 5' 7'' with striking blue eyes and blond hair in a pixie cut. The dress she wore was white with long sleeves, a low neckline and a slit that lead up to reveal pale, long legs and a tasteful amount of thigh.

Any young man who was dumb enough to approach her was shot down with a mere glare.

"Clare, you're going to scare everyone away with that expression." Another blond came to join Clare, her dress similar although it was black. This woman was of the same complexion although she was a few inches taller, with hazel eyes and her blond tresses reached the small of her back.

"Fuck off, Miria," the shorter woman hissed, "remind me why we're here?!"

'Miria' as she was called, released a long suffered sigh and said patiently, "The Organization believes the host may be an awakened being. We're here to make sure he doesn't do anything to these humans."

"Then why couldn't we just keep in uniform and watch this place from the outside??"

"Because we need to blend in to keep our cover. They don't know we transferred to this time as well."

She was right of course, and Clare would rather die than admit it. As for the 'transferred to this time' part of her explanation, she was referring to the sudden time skip that anyone closely linked to the Organization-yoma and Awakened Beings included-had gone through. Another thing that had changed was their ages. Each warrior had gotten younger or aged by a few years so that they were each nineteen.

'New York City' was unlike anything the warriors had ever experienced and it had taken them several months to become accustom to it's customs and technology.

The year was now 2008, and the 'Claymore's as the warriors were once called had been spread across the Earth. Slowly but surely, the Organization was locating them all and reorganizing them to fight against yoma. Surprisingly, the presence of both yoma and the yoma slayers had gone unnoticed by the current day human population.

How it had happened, no one knew, but many of the warriors suspected the Organization was at the heart of it.

"I would pay anything to get out of this dress," Clare groaned quietly, careful not to let the aristocrats around them hear her. Where the Organization was getting money was yet another one of it's mysteries and it was constantly sending them to big parties to scout for potential threats.

Down the stairs, Clare could see Galatea and Flora gliding across the ballroom floor with their partners, faces lit with a smile. THEY could at least enjoy such things.

The four of them had been assigned to this party while others had been stationed all over the city.

"I'd rather be down in the slums hanging out in a sleazy club," Clare continued, "Males are males. No matter how well dressed they are, they still want to get in your pants."

Secretly, Miria agreed, but orders were orders. She merely smiled and said, "I see what this is about. You're pissed because you didn't get paired with Jean."

By Clare's reddening cheeks, Miria could tell she was right.

"We'll leave as soon as-"

"Rrriiinnggg"

Clare's expression became hopeful as Miria pulled a cellular phone from the tiny purse she had slung over her shoulder, "Miria speaking."

She flinched as loud music assaulted her ears followed by an almost equally loud voice, "Yo, Miria, You done yet? We're partying down at Screamers!"

"Helen, these phones were given to us for business use. Please hang up if you're calling to socialize."

"Fine, fine," the woman huffed. 'Click'

Clare's frown deepened, "See? She's having fun!"

Before Miria could respond, her phone went off again and she flipped it open, "Miria speaking."

Clare glared murderously at another approaching male and he quickly changed his path.

"Miria, there's been an attack down in the slums."

"Are we needed down there?"

"No, I just wanted to keep you updated. Any signs of trouble?"

"None whatsoever."

Miria watched as her partner stalked off to get another drink."Not unless Clare kills someone. Flora and Galatea are enjoying themselves."

The caller chuckled, "It sounds as though all is well. Good luck, commander."

"Bye, Jean."

Clare had returned with a goblet of rich, red wine for the both of them. "Who was that?" she asked, handing Miria hers.

"Thanks. That was Jean."

The Phantom Warrior smirked as Clare sighed, "Why don't you just tell her how you feel?"

"Like you've told Raki?"

Miria sipped her drink, head buzzing just a bit, "Touche."

The slow melody ended and Flora and Galatea came to join them, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Aren't you going to dance?" Flora asked. Social gatherings such as this one were rare back in their time period and she was taking full advantage of the ones she could experience now.

"They won't dance because Raki and Jean aren't here," Galatea informed her cooly. She took the goblet from Clare's fingers and sipped it, making a face at the taste. "We can leave soon, I just got a call from the Org."

Naturally, it was Galatea who they called. She was the highest ranking out of all of them.

"Finally!" Clare exclaimed.

This time, when a male approached her with the offer to dance, she graciously took his hand.

--End Chapter One--

Not too painful, was it? A bit short I admit... Please read and review!