Remington was known, at times, for his moments of paranoia; a reflex born of having not always been an upstanding citizen in a city that had recently cracked down on any and all crime. Bancroft was to blame for that. Remi himself was not exactly a fan of authority, a fact that some probably would have found ironic considering his role in the world. He was an enforcer of the only true law that applied to his kind, not conscripted but a happy and knowing accomplice to the only long-lived police force to have risen out of the darkness since the elders had returned from the Shadow Realm. Much like his other faction-mates, he had his reasons, not the least of which was the instinct native to all living things – to survive.
But the figure that had been stalking him was not some sort of paranoid ideation. He had first noticed it just after having gotten out of hunt. Well no, it hadn’t been a hunt. Apparently the idea had been to take down someone with multiple secrecy violations against her. She had responded by committing suicide. Good for her, fixing her own **** up. Of course, she would just return a short time later, hopefully more careful than before. If not, the whole thing would just be a rinse and repeat job. That was how it felt sometimes. Like there were a select few who just never learned. Or never learned to care. Remi was thankful there hadn’t actually been any fighting when he noticed the car for the first time.
He had taken to traveling by the use of his sports car, the one with enough weapons in the trunk to have supplied a third world genocide. The benefits were obvious, but the draw back was that he could not afford to let the shadows envelop him and make him fade out of sight. He was easier to trail in that way. Upon first realizing, Remi had thought to rectify the situation by simply going back to his old habits. A man or woman could not stalk what they could not see or hear. But he wanted more details, on the off chance that what had happened down in Mexico a short time back was going to come back and bite him in the ***. Not just for him, but for Adelita and Godric as well, who had their own fallout to handle if the cartel had gotten its collective **** together after….well. It had been an eventful new year.
So he let it go on for another couple of days. It was easy enough to seamlessly blend into the human world. He just kept odd hours, but between training his replacement at the dojo, spending time at Adrenaline, and the daily grind of regular workout, and consulting, he was more than a busy boy. He had decided a short time before to begin stepping back from the influence he had on the human world, but that was easier said than done. He kept having to tie up fresh loose ends, which had been the source of some frustration. For once, it was to his benefit, because he could appear normal, even using his own apartment as opposed to resting at the Eyrie.
He made sure there was a bullet in the chamber of his handgun, inspecting for a moment before he stuffed it into his jacket and stepped outside. He crossed the street, and grabbed the handle to a car door so he could firmly wrench the thing open and then slip inside. His gun was drawn and pointed at a man’s temple a second later. The whole thing worked like one fluid sort of motion, and the sound that came from him was vaguely less than pleased. “I don’t know who the **** you’re working for, but you have five seconds to tell me…” A pause as recognition hit him.
“Sterling?”