Thread: The Urban Jungle

Shannon walked with brisk steps along South Street, on her way home after finishing the late shift in the grocery shop in Lakewood, Los Angeles. It was a rotten job she was underpaid, had gone through three hold ups in six months and her boss, mr. Ingles, could never ever be trusted to keep his god damned paws to himself. On top of it all, she thought she was coming down with a cold. Not that she'd get any time off to recuperate. How could sunny California be so cold and damp as soon as the sun set, anyway? She skipped a step when she heard a gunshot go off before falling back into pace. She wasn't so far off from Compton so... And it came again and again, close too. She noticed others on the street stop and turn their heads to a smaller street running perpendicular to South Street. She stopped and looked as lights flashed in the windows of a less cared for house in time with the shots before all suddenly went silent. She snapped out of her surprise and went for her cell phone. Marco couldn't believe how wrong this night had gone so suddenly and without warning. He crawled along the floor, breath coming fast and shallow, with one hand pressed over the parallel gashes in his chest. Oh shit that hurt! One minute he and the crew had been getting prepared for tonight's raid loading up their guns with bullets and their veins with speed, and all of a sudden the weird looking type had just been there, stepping out of the shadows. Marco could see the front door a few yards off, just beyond Pel's rent corpse. Right then the Cainite vitae was all that kept him going. He'd have to beg his owner for a fix as soon as he got home. Where the hell was that freak anyway? Marco's question was almost immediately answered as a form stepped out into the hallway, blood dripping off the half-foot long claws that had sprouted before their eyes a mere minute ago. The claws that had put and end to the party. The figure seemed in his late twenties, dusky skinned and clad in cheap, inconspicuous clothing Jeans, a tank top and a red ochre jacket. It was the folded bandana that kept his shoulder long black hair back and the round-lensed shades that set him apart. Who wears sunglasses in the middle of the night? Marco wasn't happy about this, however, and with a pained gasp tried to crawl back the way he'd come, horrifically aware that it was of no use. Leave me alone, man! he cried out as the man approached slowly, calmly. The claws slowly slipped back into the tips of his fingers, excess blood falling down to the floor. Heedless of Marco's words, he took hold of the wounded mans jacket with his reddened hands and hauled him up with surprising strength, pressing him up against the wall. Marco groaned in agony, his breathing taking on a wet, gurgling quality. Where were you headed, Ghoul? The low but insistent words came from a face bereft of any sympathy for his victim's plight. Who is your domitor? Marco could feel the eyes of stranger, concealed as they were, bore into his, but the Bond was a powerful thing and the devotion he felt for his owner prevented him from revealing anything and how he wanted to squeal right then! It was getting so hard to breathe. The man's brow furrowed and with one heave he threw Marco against the opposite wall. In the distance, the blaring of sirens could be heard. Crouching down by the prone form, the man turned Marco's head up with a hand, only to witness his last, gurgling attempts to breathe before he stilled and slowly went glaze eyed. A slight curse escaped the man's lips as he let go and stood up, the red and blue light of the police car's flooding in through the house's windows in flashes. The man turned and walked unhurriedly towards the window he'd entered through. Walking along the street, the shadows seemingly rearranging themselves to keep him covered, Julio was given to thinking as he put the flashing lights and the crowd behind him. He couldn't say he was satisfied with tonight's undertaking. The only survivor had expired from his wounds before he could talk. He'd gotten rash in the initial attack. Sloppy. Stopping by a van, he turned and looked back at the scene, resigning himself to wait. He would have to wait and see what investigators, if any, showed up to have a look at the place. With any luck, they might be used to find the associates of the men he had just dispatched. A little patience could carry you a long way. Name Julio Cenyaotl Apparent Age Late twenties Ethnicity Nahua Height 5'11'' Weight 173 lbs Click to expand...