Chasing a shadow [shamus, invite]

[Mordechai]

The killer’s night started as so many had in the last three years. He woke from the day sleep, showered and went to his closet. There he had his choice of numerous black silk shirts, all the same cut and design, black leather pants, made of a heavy almost armor-like leather, and four pairs of identical New Rock **** kickers. Most would have thought the collection odd, as everything was identical, but it made it easy to ensure matching ensembles, and it was all that was needed. Dressing once more in his monochromatic style, the male accessed the local auctions with his mind and checked once more to see if any black market codes had been posted at reasonable prices. A walk through the apartment and an uninterrupted elevator ride brought him to the lobby of Veil Towers. Stepping outside he turned his face to the sky, the scent of rain rode the wind to his sensitive nostrils, he would leave the bike home tonight. A glance around showed no one watching the big man in the shadows, and with a burst of speed he was gone, in what wouldn't even have showed as a blur to the human eye. Human. Stopping in the shadows of an alley deep with in the slums of Newborough, a dark chuckle escaped him. He was no longer human, had not been for over three years now. He had evolved into an apex predator that night long ago, when a slip of a girl had slid up behind him. And sank her teeth, no, fangs, deep into his neck. She had drained him almost dry of blood, before she had bitten her own wrist, and let a few drops of her tainted black blood flow on to his lips. Most had drifted away, turning into a fog like black smoke as it fell through the air, but a few drops had held together long enough to land on his face, to wet his lips, to change him forever. The male shook his head, now was not the time to muse, now was the time to hunt, and feed. For a male of his size, he moved gracefully and quietly, like some huge prehistoric cat prowling through the alleys and shadows of the slums. Eventually he found what he was looking for, one of the dregs of society. A quick glance through the man’s memories showed someone the world would be better off without, and with the quickness of that cat, the killer struck. The mortal was no match for the strength and agility of the seven foot, three hundred pounds of well trained muscle and sinew that enveloped him from behind. The male vampire used no mind tricks, this one deserved to feel the pain, to feel death knocking at his door, to hear the hoof beats, as the fourth horseman approached. One hand, so large it covered most of his face, twisted his neck to the side and away, the pressure forcing the mortals carotid to pulse and strain in vivid relief, an easy target for the two massive fangs that buried deep, tearing him open. Slowly the inner hunger eased as the humans lifeblood was sucked in with long quenching swallows. It did not take long before the man lay at death’s door, but there would be no revitalizing drops of smoky blood for this one. Drained dry, he was lowered to the ground, as the huge killer above him drew a Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife from the massive New Rock beside the corpse head. A few flicks of his wrist and all that was left was the remains of yet another gangland killing. Enough blood had spilled from the ragged wound in his throat to add credence to the picture posed, as the killer’s final act was to bury the knife deep in the original wound, and rip it open, leaving no trace of fang marks, and the victims head almost torn off. Stepping back as he surveyed the scene with all the passion of looking at a month old roadkill, the dagger was cleaned and resheathed, before another burst of speed landed the killer deep in the market district of River Rock.

The first few drops fell from the sky as the remorseless killer opened the door to a well lit shop and entered, ducking his head and removing his leather stetson as he did so. This was his, his kingdom, his place of refuge. Slowly the male wandered the aisles till one of the clerks looked up, “ Hello Mordechai’’ the woman greeted him, a smile on her face. A low raspy voice answered as the man/mountain turned towards the door in the rear marked ‘keep out, PRIVATE’ “Hello Violet, all is well I trust?’’ Mordechai paused until the smiling woman gave a nod of assurance, then placed his massive hand on the biometric scanner and waited while the red lines of laser light criss-crossed his mighty palm. As a muted click sounded, Mordechai ducked and entered his sanctuary. Slipping into the large leather executive’s chair he rolled to his desk, and a thumb swipe activated his computers, the twin screens come to muted life in the dim light of the office. A few clicks and taps soon had the financials of midknight armaments scrolling on one screen, extreme prejudice on the other. A few hours passed as he busied himself with the minutiae of running two business, then he closed down those windows, and opened his journal. He read over his past postings before leaning back in the chair and slowly letting it spin. His mind went back to his previous thoughts, earlier in the evening. His sire. She had always been aloof. She marched to the beat of a different drummer than most did. He could understand that, he lived a very ascetic life himself. She often disappeared for awhile, but in the past she had always left word, or sent a message from wherever she was. This time though, she was just gone. Gone with no trace. There had been a few reported sighting of her, but every time, once he arrived there was no sign. With all that happened in this town, total silence was a foreboding phenomena. People tended to disappear for no reason. Usually not by their own choice either… Slowly the chair spun as he mused over the situation, round, and round. Finally he sat up straight, decision made. Reaching out with his mind he touched one that had known his sire far longer than he had. One who knew her ways far better than he did.

‘’Shamus, Mordechai. Scorp is gone again, no warning this time… we need to find her’’

[Shamus]

The fluorescent light danced over across the walls. The way it moved was a poetry in motion. Subtly stretching out to disperse the shadows elsewhere while retreating in others to let the shadows grow stronger. A low sound erupted from Shamus’ throat. The guttural sound forbade any notion of being close to anything but primal. It was soon followed up but a barking laughter as the dog the shadow had created from the light vanished. Elizabeth had told him that he worked too much and he could understand such things. But if she were to realize what all he was doing in the spare time he had now… It would be nothing short of insanity. In time when he were a little more practiced, he would show her. For now, he had no desire to look foolish.

The time flew by and he was no closer to his image, the goal he thought he should be at. With a small shake of his head he turned towards the window. The curtains flew back making their usual chorus, but Shamus paid no heed to it. The night was young and held so many things that could be, so many interesting possibilities. Down below, something managed to catch his eye. A street thug, some gang member more than likely, was holding up a woman at gun point. The shadow had seen it so many times before, too numerous to count. What made things all the more interesting was how everyone walked by as quickly as possible, some daring to run, in hopes they would not be next. And farther back, almost out of sight was another. That one must be to insure things did not go bad, he certainly looked more of a scare than the other what with his eyes being too close together and the ugly teeth.

After standing and observing, figuring this type of violence would lead to more than just a mugging, Shamus took his time moving on over towards the closet to decide what he would wear. So many things littered the closet that the shadow often had trouble deciding just what to wear. This night was a little different, though. Tonight would be a night that he would hunt so that attire had to show. A hand casually touched the blue button up shirt, touching it with love, “Soon… Not just not be tha time just yet.” The whisper was soft and soothing, so much different than the bark he had done before. With a small smile, he moved it to the side and opted to take the black undershirt. It went so well with the red leather jacket, making him feel even more at home. Grabbing some black cargo pants and a pair of steel toe hiking boots, he was quick to change.

His eyes darted out the window one last time just to confirm his assumptions. The shadow was quick to shake his head, if he could throw disgust and disdain at someone, he would certainly do so. Not to the man he would take for his art later, but to all those who walked by as if nothing was going on. To allow a man to do such things to a woman… Shamus realized he must have been in a mood of sorts, but if he could throw lightning… No man, woman, or child passing by would be safe from the carnage.

A quirk of a smile touched the shadow’s features as he closed the curtains, ready to head out. This would be fun, a just end was all that remained. So he walked out, taking his time with the stairs. The excitement was building and he had to push it back. To make it right, things would have to go slow. An idea was already forming, it would be a nice picture. Entrails would be everywhere of course, but that would be part of the statement. It was then he realized just how far he had gone in such little time. The door to the outside was already in front of him. Wouldn’t be long now…

Just before he was able to physically touch the door handle, a sensation rolled through him. His mind was being invaded and he could not quite recall just who. As he set up his own mental shields, ready to throw back a barrage of apocalyptic scenes, the voice came in. It was Mordechai. A frown touched his features as he listened. It felt like a long time had passed since he had heard from the killer, but that would not do him any favors tonight. Shamus had his own agenda, the die was already cast. He shook his head as he head out the door reaching out to the link that was establishing, “Don’t want to. It doesn't feel like the right time.” He cut the link and moved out into the night, there were better things to do, far more entertaining.

“Stop screaming,” a voice hollered in the distance. The frown that was there turned into an unexpected smile. The entertainment was a lot closer than what he realized. A nervous nausea washed over him. What if he didn’t do it right? He shook his head, determined as he moved ever closer. He would, he knew himself. Things might not go swimmingly, but he could at least do art the correct way. Shamus felt that there were only a few people in the world who understood such an abstract art, but they knew. They were the ones that understood that to create, one had to destroy.

His fingers rolled around in his pocket, idly touching a gadget Elizabeth had made him. Tonight it would come in handy, more than every. A grin stole his features as the street thug looked up at him. The visual expression of the human’s features said more than his words ever could have. It was somewhat sad to see the situation, but the shadow couldn’t stop now. This lowly insignificant worm had made the decision and now was the time to pay the piper. Shamus stole a glance out to where the other one was. It was somewhat odd to get the feeling that he was being stared directly in the eyes from such a long distance. Still, Shamus was always one to be polite and tipped his hat to the possible other street thug before dropping a smoke bomb.

“What,” the street thug began to say as he rose from atop the woman, but the shadow was faster. The smoke concealed his movements from any potential watchers as he slipped behind the man, covering his mouth. It was at that moment the sadistic grin broke out, “Aye, it be best not ta ask tha questions ya not be wantin’ ta know tha answers ta.” A very soft laughter began to come out that he pressed into the street thug’s ear. The street thug in a panic grabbed his gun, but Shamus had already expected this much. “Tha left one be of no use ta me,” he whispered before stomping down on the outside of the street thug’s left knee. The knee caved in on itself, much to his own delight and the street thug abandoned the gun to try to grab at his knee. The grin still held as he began to drag the street thug towards the manhole cover, “Hope ya don’t mind tha water treatment plant.” With a profound grace, the shadow pulled the street thug in to disappear into the sewers. As much as the street thug tried to scream, the sound was blocked off and there was no one to hear the sound.

[Mordechai]

“Don’t want to. It doesn't feel like the right time.”

Mordechai paused, considering the words of the shadow. Shamus was unique. Slowly he started to spin his chair once more. It was entirely possible that he had watched the ‘Boondock Saints’ one time too many, but conversations with the shadow always made him feel like he was in the middle of that movie. The more the killer thought on the words, an idea slowly cleared in his mind. Shamus was an artist. His primary topic was death, his primary medium humans. Slowly Mordechai nodded, ‘one will get you ten’ he thought, ‘Shamus is working on a masterpiece’. Standing, he walked from the desk to the door, pausing as his hands automatically caressed the secreted arsenal on his body. Once sure that all was in its place and ready, Mordechai opened the door and entered the show room. His gaze roved the aisle cataloging each individual, before turning to Violet, his girl Friday. “Headed out Vi. Got some things to do.''

He would start the search alone if Shamus was busy, then when the time felt right, the shadow could join him. Stepping to the Judge, he ran a hand over the gleaming chrome. He would start at the fort, come get the Judge later. Walking behind the building the killer made sure all his gear was tight, then closed his eyes. The air began to shimmer, it was as if the giant killer was caught in a heat mirage. His form faded away, and as the air cleared, a massive Harpy eagle stepped from the shadows. Its head swiveled, sharp eyes taking in every detail, until it took two more steps forward and leaped. The seven foot wingspans captured the air and with every beat the eagle was thrust higher and faster into the night sky over River Rock. The predator circled, once, twice, thrice, eyes capable of spotting a rabbit two miles away scanned each and every face it saw. No Scorpia. Turning WSW, the raptor floated across Swansdale and Newborough. Out over the hunting grounds, and on to the fort, spiraling downwards, the massive bird flared up at the last second, and where it was about to land, the seven foot killer nimbly dropped to the ground. Opening the door Mordechai stepped inside, cautiously weaving his way through his sire’s traps as he worked his way to the second floor.

There was no sign of her anywhere.

[Shamus]

It was dark, unimaginably so. His eyes searched through the black as he dragged the street thug through the sewers. Shamus knew quite a bit of the sewers like the back of his hand, having spent quite a lot of time in them. It was due to this foreknowledge that he was able to navigate without having to stop to second guess himself.

As meaningless as time was, it had seemed to stop. Shamus would listen for the tick of the pocket watch and ever so faintly it would chime for him. but not like it should. He chided himself mentally for letting his excitement get the better of him. It would be slow, but he need not drag himself down into the mess. He rolled his head around in a few circles before letting it stop with his gaze stuck upon the street thug. Soon. A quirk of a smile touched his lips before vanishing as the darkness began to lift.

Shamus found it odd that it was not as dark as it should be. The darkness often comforted him as if it were a blanket especially made. Being shed from the darkness so suddenly was like being tossed out into the world after coming from the womb. Dread began to seep in for the unknown that might lay before him. A hand, his own hand, came up and slapped himself in the face. Now was not the time to worry over such insignificant things. If anything, he could just be cautious.

The more Shamus dragged the street thug onward, the more the darkness began to fade. He was now somewhat visible to a regular pair of eyes. Voices from farther down the corridor were heard in whispered conversation. What they were going on about, he could not really tell, but he wasn't all that curious on finding out. He would simply take a longer route to the water treatment plant. That was his plan at least.

As Shamus began to turn around, people came into vision. It was then that the shadow was able to comprehend where the light was coming from. Tatoos. They littered the bodies of five paladins and in front of the paladins stood nine hunters. His eyes picked over every one as he tried to think on how to get out of this easily. His eyes caught on one paladin. Recognition dawned on him as he kept the stare. This was the one who had watched him. A soft smile touched his features as he whispered, “It be well played.”

In response to him, guns started firing a barrage of bullets. He could see the bullets coming. Once more Shamus felt that time had started to stop. But time did not matter at the moment, what mattered was getting out of this situation alive. His muscles tensed as he prepared to take some of the shots, readying to get away from most of them when his reflexes kicked in. It was only later that he would shout in horror at what he was about to do. Curling the street thug in his arms he hefted the soon to be departed into the barrage of bullets.

His mind racing, he was quick to seek an exit. For whatever reason his mind decided to reach out to Mordechai and he began to go on in a quick rant, “Oi. Now would be a good time to search. Pincer. The water treatment plant would be nice. Sewers. Nice night for a run. Paladins. Shadows feel safe in the darkness. Hunters. Oh look at the time. Help!”

[Mordechai]

The killer wandered the fortress, remembering when it was first built, how so many of the Sangue had gathered there. Shaking his head he roamed the now empty halls looking for sign of his sire, the ever elusive Scorpia. Dust layered the furniture. Dust covered the traps, a grey film covered all in the giant fort. Sharp eyes scanned everywhere, but nothing had disturbed the layer, natures tracking device. The heavy clomp of his New Rocks echoed down empty halls, as he made his way floor to floor. All the rooms had been checked. Nothing. He had even rode all the portals, none showed any sign of recent use, nor any trace of the shadow in question. Flipping up the collar of his oilskin duster and seating his stetson a tad more firmly, Mordechai headed back down though the fortress the long way, once more scanning all the rooms and halls before making it to the front entrance. The never used ‘public’ entrance.

The door squealed on unused hinges as the seven foot killer shouldered it open and stepped outside. reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small vial of oil he had found while rummaging through a factory in Bullwood, and expertly let a few drops slip on to each hinge. Hinges had none of the complexity of a firearm, but there was still no need to just deluge the mechanism with lubricant. Standing he worked the door open and closed a few times, working the oil down the pin. Each repetition was easier to move, and quieter, till at long last silence meant his ear as the door made a complete cycle. Turning to scan the wilderness around him Mordechai prepared to shift, taking on the shape of a giant harpy eagle to scan the woods and waters surrounding the fort. Eyes that could spot a rabbit two miles off, would make up for the lack of auditory and olfactory input in that form. Stepping forward he braced to leap, as a voice popped into his head.

“Oi. Now would be a good time to search. Pincer.’’

Shamus. The ’Brooklyn brogue’ as Mordie thought of it, impossible to misidentify. It seemed as though the Irish shadow had decided to help search after all. Words were formed ready to reply, when Shamus continued.

The water treatment plant would be nice. Sewers. Nice night for a run. Paladins. Shadows feel safe in the darkness. Hunters. Oh look at the time. Help!”

Water treatment plant that would be a good place to look, the killer hadn't been there in ages. Maybe Scorp was hanging out there. As he considered this, the rest of the message came through. The quick translation, ‘’paladins and hunters have me pinned in the darkness of the sewers near the water treatment plant, I feel safe for the moment, but get your *** over here’’ Massive hands ran over his hidden battle harness making sure all was tight and fastened as all thought of avian flight fled his mind. Satisfied all was secure, the killer lowered his head and poured on the speed, heading almost straight north from the Fort. Unerringly dodging trees and leaping windfalls, the killer was a blur of black, in the dark forest, ‘Twas but a moment before Mordechai blasted past the Water Treatment plant and reached the massive grate covering the outflow in the sewers behind it. Ripping it open he dropped in, his preternatural senses all tapped to full alert.

Shamus on the run. Shamus on the run with a body. Shamus on the run with a body, and empty brass falling to the ground, the roar of gunfire and tinkle of brass combine to match the sound effects of an Boeing AH-6 unloading two M-134-D’s down a dusty Somalian alleyway. Mordechai knew that his acquaintance preferred up close and personal knife work to make his ‘artwork’ but there was a time and place for everything. This was neither the time nor place for a knife. Dressed in monochromatic black from stetson to New Rocks the killer was almost invisible in the dark sewers as he drew his trusted MZ and his custom Equalizer. Both rifles fired the medium velocity 7.62x39 round, and with the size and strength of his massive build, the killer could easily fire both one handed, with barely perceptible muzzle climb. Mordechai’s stealth was shattered by the roar of twin assault rifles. The muzzle flash turning the night time sewers into a strobe lit dance floor. The stars of the show were five berzerkers showing off moves that would have made Elvis proud, as the high frangible one hundred and ten grain sierra varminter hollow points tore fist size chunks of flesh from their bodies. The twin streams of bullets stitched them from navel to neck till they fell like marionettes with laser cut strings, before the killer switched targets to the remaining hunters.