BLOODLUST by Bil Caesar

I hope no-one minds me putting it on here too but i got abit of writers block so it will keep me busy for the time being. Please do not leave comments on this bit.

Thankyou!

Bil Caesar.

London. 31st August 1888 – 1:47am

The fog had been thick for the last two nights, rolling off of the Thames like a large shapeless monster filled with the intentional desire to silently devour the East End of London. With each night that had passed the fog had continued to get more treacherous.
Tonight it was thicker than ever, it seemed like the only thing left in the world were these cobbled streets and the people that walked them. The fog also seemed to smother sound as well, making a shout, sound no louder than a whisper. It was unnerving to say the least but it worked for the criminals of London, it had made it easier for them to sneak up on their prey and rob them of what little valuables they possessed.
It was probably because of this that there are less people on the streets tonight. Most of London's respectable inhabitants had fled the streets quickly after they had finished work and were now in the warm, dry confines of their homes. They sat in their comfortable armchairs as they smoked their pipes, drank their whiskey and talked about the damnable weather. Their wives belittle the maids for not doing their jobs properly, the Nannies of the households gently tuck the rosy-cheeked children into their beds, quietly hoping that they will grow up to be kinder and more forgiving than their beastly parents.
Only the unfortunates of London were willing to brave the cold, damp, depths of the fog. Thugs, thieves, beggars and whores litter the streets hoping to meet someone in the darkness that they could make a small profit from. They all knew that the odds were not to their advantage, as long as the fog held up, their chances of making any decent money off of someone respectable was getting less likely as each night passed.
Everyone hangs around in small groups, afraid of the horrors that may be lurking in the darkness that surrounds them. People walk the streets quietly leaving the stench of sweat, Gin and cheap tobacco in their passing. They watched each others backs. It was dangerous to go anywhere alone, even without the fog. People gather in doorways in an attempt to get out of the damp, cold smog that had descended upon London these last few nights. The smallest and weakest were usually pushed out into the cold and told to go elsewhere.
No one has friends, just people they don't owe.
The clatter of a horses hooves and the dull rumble of a rickety carriage on the cobbled stones moves cautiously through the fog. The horse snorts with impatience as the driver quietly grumbles to himself about how he cant see anything in the fog and hoping against hope that he wont be late again.

A tall figure moves through the dense fog with a swift elegance, confidence and determination, knowing exactly what he is looking for and he knows where he can find it. His long, black coat trails behind him, his top-hat is tilted in a lazy attempt to cover his dark eyes. A cane taps the ground at his side as he glides down the streets, past the small crowds of nearly invisible people.
The tall man moves with complete focus, he doesn't look at the people he passes. He knows he is well-dressed and looks very influential, therefore making him a target for anyone that was desperate for money.
Everyone is desperate for money. If they weren't then they wouldn't be on the streets risking their lives for a few coins.
The tall man quickens his pace. Not through fear, as he doesn't care for the little people of London. It is because he is getting impatient. He continues toward his destination, determined, his eyes fixed straight ahead, he never glances to the sides of him. After a couple of minutes his pace slows, he lifts his cane off of the ground to stop the tapping as he notices–no, he doesn't notice, you cant notice anything in this pea-soup – he senses something hidden in the fog in front of him. The man stops walking. He stands silent and still, a ghost in a sea of ghosts. He strains his eyes to try and see through the fog. His eyes start to sting as he sees two shadows ahead of him, they're not moving, they're just standing there. He closes his eyes and focuses his mind on their voices, trying to determine who they are.
He hears them....

“..ust go 'ome?” Says one of them in a thick London accent.
“You know 'enry, you 'ave done nothin' but complain all nigh'. It'd make a nice change if you shut yer trap for once, instead o' moaning 'bout 'ow yer bloody feet 'urt?”
“O' course my feet 'urt, we ain't done nothin' but walk these god damned streets for fourteen hours a day, for the past month an' I'm sick o' it.”
“I am an' all but the Inspector wants us to make sure there isn't any trouble durin' this foggy spell.”
“We wouldn' be able to see trouble in this fog, even if it was righ' under our noses.!” Says 'enry. “The Inspector 'as been extra grouchy since tha' prostitute was murdered the other week. Wha' was 'er name again?”
They begin walking toward the tall man.
“I think she was called Martha Tabrum or somethin' like tha'.”
The tall man opens his eyes, he can see them more clearly now.
Police!
The tall man ducks into the shadows of an alley as they pass.
“That's the one.” Says 'enry as he snaps his fingers. “I still think it was jus' a jealous lover or an un'appy customer though.”
“It's more 'an likely somethin' like tha'. After all it's a dangerous job sellin' your body to jus' anyone.”
As they move away and their voices get quieter, the tall man steps from the alley and watches as the officers shadows get swallowed up by the fog. He thinks of the woman they spoke of.

Martha Tabrum...
There wasn't any fog that night. He could see her clearly, the moment he saw her, he was stunned by her, she wore a green dress that was pulled tight enough around her, that everyone could see the slim figure she had. Her dark hair was long, almost reaching to the bottom of her back, her pale skin almost glowed in the moonlight. She seemed too elegant for a casual prostitute, the tall man thought she was a noble woman until he saw the company she had kept. Her friends looked more like the usual sort that would be found on the streets after dark. Teeth missing, scratches on their faces from previous cat fights or customers that got too rough.
Not Martha though.
She didn't seem to have a mark on her. If the tall man had to guess he would have said that she looked no older than seventeen. It was obvious she was new to the streets. A lot of the older prostitutes had tried to beat her and scratch her up, afraid that she was too pretty and would take all of the decent men with money. Martha's friends had taken to looking after her – for a share of her earnings – until she knew the ropes of her new career.
He had waited in the alley for hours, hiding in the shadows.
Watching...
Waiting...
WANTING...
He watched her as she talked with another woman, the other woman was definitely a prostitute. They embraced each other and said 'bye' as they headed off in separate directions. Martha was heading straight toward for where the tall man stood waited, he hid deeper in the shadows as she passed him. When she had her back to him, he stepped out of the shadows quickly and quietly. He put his right hand over her mouth to make sure she couldn't scream, he wrapped his left arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground as he dragged her into the darkness with him. His grip tightens as she struggles to free herself, her screams muffled by his hand, her legs kicked wildly as if trying to run, even though she had been lifted nearly a foot off the ground. He threw her against the wall hard, he heard a loud crack made by her ribs as she hit the brick, air rushing from her lungs. She fell to the floor, winded, she crossed her arms over her chest trying to get her breath. The tall man lifted her to her feet and propped her against the wall, like a broken rag-doll. She raised her head trying to get her breath. Holding her by the throat with his left hand, the tall man reaches under his cloak with his right hand and grips the wooden handle of his knife.
Martha's eyes grew wide as she noticed the blade slowly being revealed from his coat. She stared at the blade, stunned by the size of it. She took a deep breath, the tall man tightens his grip on her throat, turning her scream into a quiet squeal. Her eyes begin to roll as she starts to lose consciousness, he loosens his grip and she takes a deep breath, her eyes streaming with tears. The tall man wasn't sure if they were tears of pain or fear, either way, the tears were more than welcome. She looked at him imploringly with her large brown eyes, the look in her eyes silently begging for her life. He leans close to her and tells her how beautiful she is. She took a deep breath and before she had time to scream or plead for mercy, the tall man pushed the blade into her chest.
He felt something warm and wet splash across his face, he could taste copper, it was like he had a penny in his mouth.
Blood!
It tasted rich and sweet, he felt excited, the taste made him lick his lips. He looked into Martha's eyes and saw the disbelief in them, like she couldn't believe what he had just done. She looked at him still unable to scream. Thrilled by the taste on his lips, his vision blurs, he pulled the knife out of her chest. He felt a complete loss of control, it was like he had left his body and he was watching himself.
He slides the knife back into her body again...
...And again...
...And again...
He had kept stabbing her, unable to stop himself. Eventually her body went limp and she dropped to the floor. He stood over her, watching her body as the last of her life drained from her many wounds. He didn't know how many times he had stabbed her but he was exhilarated, it was one of the best nights of his life.

The tall man snaps out of his daydream, unsure how long he had been daydreaming, he looks at his pocket watch. He still has plenty of time, he looks around quickly to make sure the police have gone and that there aren't anymore lingering in the depths of the fog.
All clear.
He turns and continues his search through the fog, still filled with determination. He walks for a few minutes, his mind on nothing, he turns right. He stops.
There you are!
The tall man stands underneath a dim street lamp, the light shining down onto the top of his hat, casting a black shadow over his face as he gazes across the street.
A silhouette with eyes as dark as the night.
His eyes sting as he looks through the smog toward his target.
It's a woman.
Mary-Ann Nichols is her name but everyone calls her Polly. In fact she always insisted on being called Polly, so much so, that most people think that Polly is her name.
She is standing alone, leaning against the wall of a grimy doss-house, with boarded up windows, she looks around as if she is expecting someone. Polly is wearing a sky-blue skirt that drapes loosely over her legs, it's slightly torn and muddied along the bottom hem, where it had got caught on pavements during her long nights walking the streets. The waist of her skirt is connected to a navy corset that is pulled so tightly around her, it makes her more than ample cleavage even more noticeable. Her bare shoulders are covered by a dark green shawl, that doesn't provide her much protection from the cold of the fog. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in some sort of complicated French-bun, it has a half a dozen clips and slides holding it in place. A few hairs are loose above her ears and loosely hang down the side of her face, gently caressing her neck as they dangle. Polly looks to be in her late twenties, she looks worn down and tired, like she has been on the streets too long and seen far too much.
She isn't as pretty as Martha was but Polly is still very beautiful.
The tall man feels a grin pull at the corners of his lips. He gives in. The grin spreads across his face, he is grinning like a mad-man. Once he has it under control, he moves across the street towards Polly. He begins to tap his cane on the floor again as he gets closer to her. He knows that she can't see him through the fog, not yet.
He thinks of Martha again, she was finished too quickly, she was his first, a sample of what it was like to take a life. She had given him a taste of murder but the it lacked the elegance that she deserved.
Even though she was a whore. She was elegant in life, so she truly deserved an elegant death.
It was just another brutal stabbing of a whore, as far as the authorities were concerned.
Martha had died within minutes. Tonight he wanted Polly to last, he wanted to savor every moment as if she were a fine wine or a perfectly cooked steak.
Tonight he wanted to turn murder into an art.
He doesn't want to attack her, he wants her final moments to last and they will last longer if she gives herself over willingly.
She looks up as she hears the tapping of his cane, she looks around trying to determine where the noise is coming from. She notices him, she runs up to the man, sliding her arm around him. She doesn't want to waste any time.
Good, neither do I! He thinks to himself.
“Fancy a suck 'andsome?” Polly asks in a thick London accent that has a slight husk to it from drinking Gin everyday from the age of twelve. She places her hand on the front of his pants and looks deeply into his eyes. “I could suck the Thames dry within minutes. I will give you a special treat, so I will.” She gives him a coy look filled with a hundred dark promises of lust and unbridled passion.
The tall man can't believe how much he wants to feel the warmth of her blood against his skin. He nods at her and hands her a fistful of coins. Polly looks at the money in her hand, her eyes grow wide with shock, she is holding nearly a months rent in her hand.
Without hesitation she grabs his arm and drags him into the nearest alley.
“Thank you kind sir, I promise to give ya the best nigh' o' your life.” She looks at him, her eyes filling with dark promises of lust.
He feels a grin pull at the corners of his lips, this time he holds it back.
Polly pushes him against a wall, he is almost winded by the force of it. He thinks of Martha again, he shakes it off. He needs to focus if he is going to do this right. She looks around the alley, making sure there is no one around – not that she could see anyone in the fog.
He looks at her, his focus is transfixed on her.
Polly, you will indeed be a worthy sacrifice.
You will be savored.
The tall man reaches under his long coat, he grips the handle of his knife.
Once she knows the alley is clear of bystanders and police, Polly turns back toward the man.

She doesn't see the blade as he brings it down toward her throat.

You will be remembered...

There is no time to scream.

...FOREVER!

CHAPTER 1

PART ONE

Slate City. 20th May 2038 – 23:18


2009. The world was facing an economical crisis, many business enterprises were declared bankrupt.
2011. Unemployment rates rose by 200 percent, many people turned to crime in order to make a living.
2013. The various Governments across the world started to feel the recession, finding it hard to get funds together for schools, health and other funded organizations.
2017. Unimpressed with the Governments lack of help the citizens of the UK began to riot on a daily basis, hundreds of men, women and children died.
2018. Many people fled the larger cities where riots were rife, they moved to smaller cities, wanting nothing more than to just live out their lives.
2019. The smaller towns started to expand, due to the constantly growing population.

Slate City was once a small coastal town called Penzance, it was in the South West of Cornwall, England. It was the first town to expand, once people started to leave the large cities like London, Manchester and Liverpool.

2021. Penzance grew at an alarming rate, turning the once coastal town into a large, bustling city.
2023. Penzance was renamed Slate City.
2024. Inevitably crime began to ravage the new cities and Slate City was one of the worst, its crime rate rose by 300 percent in six months.
2025. A new law enforcement initiative, the S.C.U – Severe Crimes Unit – was implemented to combat the new wave of violent crimes.
2027. Slate City had become stable, the crime rate became manageable and people started to rebuild their businesses and began to enjoy their lives.

NOW...

Slate City has nicknames that reflect its personality, like most cities, none of which are suitable to attract tourists. It was once known as 'The City with the Bright Horizon', then it changed to 'The Dark City with the Bright Horizon'. Now it is simply known as 'The City of Darkness'. No one comes here by choice, most of the people that live here can't afford to leave. The sky was usually overcast with thick grey clouds. The blue Summer skies are now a dull grey, rarely allowing the sun to shine brightly. The Winters are always filled with rain and gale-force winds that seem to last for weeks at a time.
Tonight, rain pours from the clouds like all the pipes in heaven burst at once. Gods desperate attempt to wash the blood and sin from the streets of Slate City. Lightening tears through the clouds, illuminating the city below, thunder booms as it rolls across the grey sky, briefly silencing the gunfire that frequently emanates from the dark streets. Sirens echo in the darkness, a crescendo of screams and wails, rising and falling as cop cars and ambulances race toward their various destinations.

An old Ford Escort drives cautiously through the streets, its tyres splashing through puddles. Two men sit inside, Alex Grant, sits in the passenger seat as Toby Rogers drives, both of them are considered as veteran in the Slate City SCU, with ten years of service under their belts. Very few people managed to last so long, they either retired early, switched to another department of the force that was less dangerous or died in the line of fire. Both of them had turned down countless offers of promotion. Neither of them wanted a desk job, they preferred to stay on the streets, close to the action.
Alex Grant – he preferred to be called Grant – looks out of the windshield, peering through the rain into the darkness of the derelict buildings that covered the Promenade. The sound of the rain hitting the car is deafening, it sounds like the car is being bombarded with small stones. Grant shivers slightly from a draft of cold air that hits the back of his neck, he leans forward and turns on the non-functioning heater. He knows that it doesn't work – it never has – but sometimes the rattle of it is a nice distraction. The heaters noisy rattle fills the car, slightly drowning the sound of the rain. He wriggles in his seat, trying to get rid of the cramp in his left leg.
They had both stayed in the car for most of their shift, not wanting to brave the storm that raged the city tonight. Grant hated to sit still for so long in such a small space, unable to stretch his legs. They had only left the car to arrest a mugger, after dropping him off at the station, they got back into the car and patrolled the city. That was eight hours ago and Grant was starting to go stir crazy.
He looks over at his partner, Toby's eyes are transfixed on the road in front of him, even though the windshield wipers were on full, they didn't make the visibility any better. Toby is the most careful driver that Grant has ever met in his life. Toby is like a brother to him, they have known each other since they were four and had never had a major argument. Toby used to be such a careless driver, he had crashed his car last month, trying to chase a suspect. Since then Toby had to drive his wifes car.
Maybe that's why he is driving so carefully? Grant thinks to himself, biting his bottom lip to refrain from bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He knows that Toby and Simone have always had a happy marriage but when she got angry, she terrified everyone, even Grant – and he isn't easily rattled. He could easily understand why Toby didn't want to tell her that he had crashed her car.
Toby pulls the car up to the curb just outside Danny's All Night Store, Grant checks his pockets for his wallet.
“I'll be two minutes.” He says to Toby. Toby just nods, never taking his eyes off the derelict building opposite the store. Grant opens the passenger-side door, a cold gust of wind bursts into the car, instantly freezing him to the bone. Grant begrudgingly steps out of the car and into the storm that ravaged the city. He puts the hood of his jacket over his head trying to protect his shaved head from the elements, he takes a moment to stretch to his full height of six foot three inches. He walks toward the store, limping slightly from the burning cramp in his leg.
Grant knows the store is owned by three people called Danny, he and Toby had met them all at one time or another. Grant has never been good with names, so he knows them as Old Danny – an old Asian guy, Fat Danny – a fat guy that always seemed to be eating Pizza and Sexy Dani – a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties.
Grant steps into the store, the bell above the door jingles, Fat Danny is sat behind the counter, wearing a large, white T-shirt with a BATMAN logo on the front. He looks up from his NUTS magazine, his mouth filled with pizza. Grant nods at him.
“How's things Danny-boy?” He says as he puts his hood down. Danny says something back but it is badly muffled and pizza sprays out of his mouth. Grant feels his stomach churn at the sight of Danny gorging himself. Grant pushes the thought out of his head and moves toward the refrigerated section.
Its a small store with only five aisles, Grant looks down the aisles – carefully checking his surroundings – as he makes his way across the store.
Aisles one and two are empty. In aisle three there is a woman with a pushchair browsing the different milk formulas. In aisle four there are two men looking at deodorants, smelling each one. In aisle five there is a teenager stacking shelves, an MP3 Player blasting music into his ears so loud that Grant can clearly here the music from nearly fifteen feet away. The kid is completely unaware of his surroundings.
Stupid Son-of-a-bitch! Grant thinks to himself, he knows the kid will die young, Slate City is not the right place for anyone to let their guard down, even for a moment. Grant was surprised that the kid reached puberty, given his ignorance of the dangers that seemed to constantly cover the city.
Grant shrugs off the urge to slap the kid, he moves past the young shelf stacker toward the dairy section. Grant looks up at the security mirror, he can see the entire store, he takes a pint of milk from the large fridge to his left. As he closes the fridge door, he hears the bell above the door sound, he looks again at the mirror and sees three men step into the store.
The three men wear baseball caps that are all different colors. Blue, Green and Red, otherwise they are all dressed the same. They move to the counter and talk to Danny, as Grant watches, he sees a brief flash on the counter top, for a fraction of a second, Grant thinks it is a reflection of the lightening, then Fat Danny falls backwards, his white T-shirt now has a dark red spot on the chest. Danny falls out of sight as Blue jumps over the counter and starts raiding the cash register. Green and Red turn toward the store, both of them pulling out an Assault rifle each. They both open fire.
Grant immediately dives onto the floor as bullets tear through the shelves, making foods, drinks and other items explode, spilling their contents onto the floor. He looks at the kid with the MP3 Player, the kid is curled up in a ball, Grant can't tell if he is still alive or not. He immediately wants to say 'I told you so.'
Grant reaches into the back of his jeans for his gun.
It's not there.
SHIT! His mind races, trying to think of where he had lost it. How could I be so stupid?
Suddenly a woman screams so loudly that it almost drowns the booming sound of gunfire.
The baby!! Grant realizes, he stops thinking – it has never been his strong point – he feels his adrenaline take over and before he knows it, he is in action. He moves to the back of the shop, hoping that one of the two men has a gun. He gets to the end of the aisle and sees both men laying on the floor, their backs covered in bullet holes, their blood mixing with the various items that litter the floor. Grant searches the first body.
Bingo! He pulls a pistol from the dead mans jacket, he checks the clip, pulls back the slide. It's lighter than what he is used to.
A crap gun is better than no gun! He decides to himself.
He moves to the next aisle and sees the woman, she is laying over the pushchair, trying to protect her baby from the danger that surrounds them. Grant gets low on his belly and crawls down the aisle toward her, he can see Blue behind the counter. Blue has his back to Grant as he raids the shelves of liquor, trying to find the safe. Grant reaches the woman.
“Get on the floor and crawl to the back of the store. Hide next to the fridges!” He shouts above the din of gunfire.
“My baby!” She shouts back.
“I will take care of her.” He makes the mother look into his eyes. “Trust me!” He says, in case his eyes don't say it clearly enough.
The woman begrudgingly slides off of the pushchair onto the floor, she looks at Grant. “Keep her safe!”
“I will.” He nods as he says it, hoping deep down that he will be able to keep his promise.
He grabs the pushchair and pulls it onto its side. He unclipped the baby from her seat and lays her on the ground underneath him, shielding her body from the debris that rains down around them. He moves the stroller in front of him, so that Blue won't see them clearly, should he turn around.
The baby is tiny, Grant guesses that she is two – maybe three – months old, at the most, he checks her arms, legs and body with his left hand – keeping the gun on Blue with his right – for any cuts or breaks. She is wearing a little pink dress with lace frilly bits along the bottom hem, she wears white cotton tights over her legs and tiny pink trainers. Grant has never seen shoes so small. The baby is crying, little tears rolling down her cheeks, otherwise she seems in good health. He leans over to the shelf on his left and grabs a packet of cotton-wool, he rips it open and takes out two pieces, he rolls them into balls and places them inside her ears, to protect her delicate eardrums. He grabs her blanket and pacifier from the pushchair, as soon as the pacifier is put in her mouth, she stops crying and closes her little blue eyes as she suckles away. He wraps her up in her blanket as well as he can with one hand. Grant glances around the pushchair toward the counter. Blue is still tearing through the tobacco and spirits, frantic in his search for the safe.
He ain't gonna find it there. Grant thinks to himself, allowing a grin to spread across his face. He knows the safe is in the back room.
Blue is far too busy to notice Grant behind him.
Grant doesn't take the shot, even though he really wants too, instead he decides to leave it until he can ensure the child and mother are safe.
Or at least as safe as they can be in a shoot-out.
He makes his way – with the baby tucked into his coat – toward the back of the store, where he hopes the mother has been able to find cover. He crawls backwards, never taking his eyes off of Blue. As he crawls, he wonders where his partner is.

Toby Rogers sits in the car with nothing but the noisy rattle of the non-functioning heater to keep him company. He notices three people walk into store after Grant, he can barely see them through the curtain of rain, they all wear baseball caps of different colors and keep their heads low, protecting their faces from the harsh sting of the wind and the rain.
He hears a deep boom of thunder roll across the sky, it's rumble continues for several seconds, the seconds turn into minutes. Toby realizes that there is no flash, he looks toward the store and sees two men shooting at the shelves. He can't see Grant from where he is.
He will be okay, he always is. Toby thinks to himself, he notices something on the floor, in front of the passenger seat. He leans over to look at it.
A gun?
Grant's gun! Shit! He's unarmed!
Toby looks at the store again, he can still only see two of the gang-members, stood in front of the large window that covers the front of the store, their backs to him – they more than likely hadn't seen him sitting in the car as they walked passed him – it seems like they have unlimited ammo because as far as he can tell, they haven't reloaded once.
Toby reverses the car down the street that lay parallel to the store, lining himself up with the large windows and the two people stood beyond them. After reversing about a quarter of a mile, he stops the car, turning the key to kill the engine. He grabs Grant's gun and puts it on his lap. He pauses, his hands gripping the steering wheel, he turns off the annoying heater as he tries to concentrate on the task at hand.
Toby closes his eyes, lowers his head and says a quick prayer, the same prayer he always says before engaging in a shoot-out.
“Oh heavenly father, please protect Grant and I from the scum that wish to smite us and help guide our bullets into their faces so that you may finally pass judgment upon them!”
Toby was always the first to admit that it isn't exactly Christian or poetic but it had worked for the last ten years, so he always made a point of saying it. The fact that it is neither doesn't bother him, it never has. Toby Rogers is not a Christian and there is no way in hell that he is a poet.
Although Simone does say I have the odd moment. Toby thinks to himself, he knows deep down that it's only on rare occasions. Valentines day, her Birthday and Christmas.
He takes a moment to think of his beautiful wife.
She is going to kill me for wreaking her car! He wonders how much of an argument they will have. Maybe she will just be grateful that I'm alive and well. His grin is wide. Yeah right. And flying monkeys will climb out of my ass and hand me a fistful of cash!
He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, Grant is in trouble. If he isn't dead already.
Toby turns the ignition key, the car purrs back to life. He grabs the gun from his lap with his left hand, gripping the wheel with his right.
He says another prayer.
Not for Grant.
Not for Simone.
For himself.
“Please don't let The Missus kill me for ruining her car!”
He gazes through the windshield toward the store again, he can't tell from this distance whether they're still stood in the same place or not, through the sheet of rain but he can make out the muzzle flashes of their guns.
Before he has chance to hesitate again, he floors the accelerator, the tyres screech and squeal on the wet tarmac as it hurtles down the street toward the store window.
The car is doing fifty miles per hour at the point of impact.

As Grant gets to the end of the aisle, he hears an engine roar and then he sees Toby's car plough through the aisle – where he had been no more than a few seconds ago – crushing the pushchair between the car and an aisle wall. Blue dives onto the floor behind the counter, one of the men that stood in front of the window flies through the air, covered in glass, his body twisting and breaking as it crashes into shelves and walls. Grant immediately stands up – still holding the baby against his chest, under his coat – and runs to the back, where he had told the mother to go.
He turns the corner and sees the mother exactly where he wants to see her. She is huddled in a corner, in between two large freezers. She is hugging her legs, her hands covering her ears as she quietly whispers something to herself.
A prayer for her baby. Grant thinks to himself, he taps her on the shoulder and she slowly opens her eyes as if she fears the worst. The second she sees her baby, the mother snatches her from Grants arms and holds her so tight that Grant thinks that child may be crushed to death. He can't tell if the mother is laughing or crying. Probably both. Other than being covered in various foods and drinks, the mother seems as healthy as the baby.
“Thank... You... So... Much.” She says between sobs.
“You're welcome.” Grant says back to her. Wait a minute. He didn't have to shout, he hadn't realized it before because of the ringing in his ears but now that the ringing has stopped, the store is deathly quiet. He can hear the rain pouring from outside the newly opened windows, he hears glass gently smashing on the floor as it falls from window panes and fridge doors. He can hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above him, he can even hear the sound of the baby suckling on her dummy, other than that the store is silent.
Grant looks at the woman and presses his index finger to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet and stay still. The mother nods in compliance and tries to control her sobs as she cradles her baby in her arms. He looks around at his surroundings, the air is full of gun smoke, it is thick and hangs low.
Like a stoner's smoking room. He thinks to himself. It makes his eyes sting.
Grant grips the pistol in his hand, even though it's lighter than his, it still has a good feel to it. He slowly gets to his feet and – keeping low – he moves down aisle five as the other four have been destroyed by Toby's car. He can feel glass and foods crunching underneath his steel toe-capped Doc Marten boots as he moves, trying to be as quiet as possible. He moves to the kid with the MP3 Player, he rolls him over and sees that it is pointless checking for a pulse. The kid had been hit in the face by more than one bullet, his blood and brain-matter mixes with the broken biscuits that cover the floor of the aisle. He reaches in the kid's pocket and switches off his MP3 Player. Grant looks further down aisle five and sees a strange looking body laying on the floor. He leaves the kid's body and advances further down the aisle. As he gets closer, he realizes why the body looks so weird. It's twisted and broken in a way that Grant can't quite describe, other than to say it looks like a man made of Silly Putty that has been severely squished.
Upon looking at the body only two thoughts enter his mind.
That must have hurt! Is his first thought.
EEWW! Icky Sticky! Is his second thought.
The sight of the body almost makes him throw up. There is a holster on what used to be the man's chest, he reaches over and pulls the pistol from it, trying desperately not to look at the mangled body. He continues toward the end of the aisle.
Grant hears something. It sounds like a scuffing noise, like someone trying to move quietly. He waits, pressing himself against the shelves gently so he doesn't knock anything off and give away his position.
He waits, listening as the footsteps get closer. The person steps around the corner, Grant swings a punch with his right arm, still holding the pistol in his hand. It connects.
SMACK!

Toby feels the impact of something hard hit his jaw and he falls backward against the counter, his vision goes white. He immediately raises his shotgun to fire at the perpetrator that hit him, he hears a familiar voice that stops him from taking the shot.
“Dammit, Toby! I am so sorry. I didn't know it was you.” Says Grant, reaching his hand out to help Toby to his feet. Toby's vision starts to clear, he takes Grant's hand.
“That's the last time I ever try to help you out.” Toby says, rubbing the raw swell on his jaw.
“I really am sorr... GET DOWN!” Grant pushes Toby to the ground, firing two shots, both hitting Blue in the forehead, his head explodes, spraying chunks of skull and brains onto the wall behind him.
Toby lifts himself off of the floor, keeping his distance from Grant not wanting to be knocked down again. Grant looks at him with a – mock – pained expression on his face.
“Whoops! Sorry again mate. Are you alright?”
“'Whoops!' Fucking 'WHOOPS?!'” Toby shouts, mocking Grant with a complete lack of humor. It takes a lot for Toby to lose his temper and Grant looks genuinely shocked – which is a funny look on someone that looks as tough and mean as Grant does. “You could have bloody killed me!” If Toby wasn't so pissed off he probably would have burst into laughter by now but he is far too angry.
“Are there any survivors?” Toby looks at Grant with his eyebrows raised. “Or did you try and kill them too?”
Grant raises his hand. “Give me a second, there is a woman and a baby at the back of the store. Other than that I think that everyone-else is dead. I'll go get them.” Grant starts walking up aisle five toward the mother and child. He stops and turns towards Toby. “A bit much driving the car into the store don't you think?”
Toby shrugs his shoulders. “You're alive ain't ya?”
“Yeah, I'm alive. You won't be though once Simone sees what you've done to her car.” Grant disappears down aisle five as he bursts into laughter.
Oh crap! Thinks Toby. Maybe the damage won't be too bad? He takes a quick look at his car – no, correction – at his wifes car.
“She is definitely not going to be pleased.” Toby says to himself, under his breath. He sees the body of a gang-member sprawled over the hood of the car, pinned between the car and the metal shelves. He checks for a pulse.
No pulse.
Grant reappears, carrying a woman in his arms. The woman cradles a baby against her chest as Grant carries them both. Toby climbs into the car and slowly reverses out of the store, the body slumps to the floor in a heap, glass crunches under the wheels and the front bumper hangs slightly as it's dragged across the floor. Once the car is on the street, Toby gets on the radio.
“Control, this is Detective Toby Rogers requesting an ambulance at Danny's All Night Store on Chapel street.” The radio crackles.
“Ten four Rogers, we already have an ambulance en-route as we have had several calls regarding a shoot-out in that area. It should be there within minutes.”
As he turns the radio off, Toby hears the distant wail of an ambulances siren. He looks toward the store and sees Grant talking to the woman.

Once the car is out of the store, Grant wipes the glass off of the counter and sits the woman down, with the baby – who is now fast asleep – in her arms. He quickly checks them both over for any injuries again, apart from a few superficial cuts – probably caused by the glass – they both seem okay.
The woman has short, dark hair and is wearing a pink blouse with white cotton trousers. Grant takes off his jacket and wraps it around them, trying to shield them from the cold, brisk wind that entered the store. The woman looks at him with her big, brown eyes that are streaming with tears. She opens her mouth, as if she is trying to say something, then she gives up and just covers the babies forehead with kisses. Grant looks outside and notices that the rain has slowed to a gentle drizzle.
Both the woman and Grant sit in silence, listening to the distant sirens as they draw closer.

Five minutes later the ambulance screeches to a halt at the curb, the paramedics jump out and immediately rush to the woman and child, inspecting their injuries, they didn't even seem to notice the chaos around them. Grant stays with the woman until she is loaded into the ambulance, still clutching her baby tightly to her chest, as if her very life depended on it. He watches as the ambulance speeds off into the night.
“Are you ready to go?” Toby asks as he leans out of his car window.
“Yeah, almost.” Grant steps back into the store, two minutes later he steps back out holding a pint of milk in his hand. He looks at Toby. “Now I'm ready to go home.” They both climb into the car and pull off down the street. Grant leans his head against the seat and lets his mind wander.

Exhaustion finally sets in.

Within minutes he is sound asleep.

CHAPTER 2

Strangers

Slate City. 20th May 2038 – 23:29

The storm that had raged in the skies earlier tonight had dissipated, the night smells fresh and clean, even though it is full of clouds, the sky seems almost clear. The streets glisten, like they're filled with tiny diamonds. The air isn't as cold as it had been earlier tonight, it has gone from being absolutely freezing to being mildly chilly.

A woman steps out of The Dirty Secrets Strip-Club, wearing a small, black dress that hugs her figure so tightly that she may as well be naked, her dark, chestnut colored hair cascades over her shoulders and down her back, her long legs covered in knee-high stiletto's. She would hate to admit it but tonight Cassandra Scott looks like a stereo-typical stripper. She stops outside the club and closes her eyes as she absorbs the stillness of the night air. She reaches into her Gucci purse and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a blue disposable lighter. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, sending a cold tingle down her spine – like someone is watching her – she looks around her and sees no one on the street. Standing there, she thinks about going back into the club, she can hear the deep booming of the music and decides against it.
That fat bastard will just try to fuck me again! She thinks to herself as she casts her mind back to the last dance she gave.
It was with one of her regulars, he always had a habit of wanting more but tonight he had taken it too far. He had asked her to a private booth – as he normally does – and asked for his usual lapdance, he had grabbed her hard, pushing her onto the floor, trying to force himself onto her. Cassandra had kicked and screamed, trying desperately to fight him off. She had kneed him in the groin and used her free hand to grab his beer, throwing it into his face, he had sat up, trying to wipe the beer from his eyes. She had managed to wriggle out from underneath him, grabbing the sterling silver service tray from the table. She raised it high above her head with both hands and brought it down hard onto the back of his head with a loud clang. He had sprawled onto the floor, Cassandra had kicked him in the stomach a couple more times for good measure until the bouncers came in a dragged the man out of the booth as he whimpered in pain, one hand clutching his groin, the other holding the back of his head.
It crosses her mind that he may be the one watching her but deep down she doubts it. He is one of the clubs highest paying clients and he is probably already getting a complimentary dance off of another girl that doesn't know him well enough to be cautious of him.
Arrogant prick.
Cassandra slightly shivers as she shrugs off the memory of him touching her. She looks down the quiet street towards The Kings Head pub on the corner and decides that she needs a drink. She puts a cigarette between her lips and cups her hand around it as she lights it and slowly makes her way to the pub. The heels of her stilettos loudly clicking on the pavement, drowning out the sound of the music from the club behind her. It suddenly dawns on her how quiet the street is.
It's never this quiet. She thinks to herself as she looks at her surroundings. There is normally always someone outside at this time of night.
But there is no one.
She quickens her pace to get out of the quiet street and into the warm, cozy bustle of the pub, knowing that it won't be as the dark street. She stops out of the pub and finishes her cigarette, she drops it to the ground, stubs it out with her boot and steps inside the pub.

The Kings Head is a brightly lit bar that always smelt of stale cigarette smoke, which Cassandra always thought was odd, given that it's a non-smoking pub. It was always pretty busy but tonight, for some reason, it isn't. A group of half a dozen women are gathered around a table in the far corner, chatting and laughing amongst themselves, they share a bottle of expensive Champagne as they celebrate the engagement of one of the women. On the stage is a young man murdering the Frank Sinatra song My way. Five people sit at the tables in front of the stage watching him and singing along. At the bar are three regulars that always seem to just sit there nursing their drinks as long as they can, staring into the bottom of their glasses as if looking for an answer to whatever problems they may have.

When Cassandra steps into the pub, everyones head turn and the room goes quiet, she can hear the men in front of the stage daring each other to approach her, the women give her evil glares and make snide remarks. She walks across the main floor of the pub, between tables and chairs. Heading toward the bar as the sound of general chatter slowly returns, filling the air.
Cassandra didn't realize but she had been holding her breath since stepping inside. She lets it out of her lungs in a rush.
She makes her way to the bar, behind the bar is Eric, he always seems to be cleaning glasses or wiping down the bar. She sees him every night that she comes in, Cassandra has always liked him, he always wears tight t-shirts that accentuated his well toned body and is very attractive but she liked him mainly because he had never made a pass at her or treated her like a whore. She sits on a stool and nods at the bartender. He puts down the glass he is cleaning and walks straight over to her, flinging the damp dishcloth over his shoulder.
“Hiya Cass, what'll it be?” He asks in his friendly tone.
“Just the usual tonight Eric.” She replies with a smile, not wanting to let on that she'd had a bad night.
“Jack Daniels and Coke, coming right up.” He says with a wink. He turns and grabs a glass off of the shelf behind him and fills it with her drink.
He hands her the drink and she hands him the money but he waves it away – as he always does – she had paid for her drink, the first night but since then, he had never let her pay for a drink since.
“Pretty quiet in here tonight.” She says looking around at the bar.
“Yeah, I don't mind though, it gives me a chance to relax instead of having to throw someone out every ten minutes.” He leans over the bar. “It also gives me the opportunity to talk to the sexy ladies that I see.” He smiles broadly, showing his perfect white teeth.
Is he making a pass at me? Cassandra wonders, her knees go weak and she feels flustered. What's wrong with me? I never get flustered. Just as she thinks about asking if he is coming on to her. Eric interrupts her train of thought.
“Oh! Before I forget, a guy came in earlier. He was looking for you, he'd said he was a fan of your's.” He looks around at the people in the pub, he spots the man. “He's over there, in the corner.”
Cassandra looks over her shoulder in the direction that Eric is looking and sees a man sat alone in one of the few dark corners of the pub. She looks back at Eric, feeling her hopes sink as she realizes that he obviously was not making a pass at her.
If he was then he wouldn't be palming me off onto someone else.
Eric looks at Cassandra and seems to see the sadness wash over her face. He raises his eyebrows and touches her hand.
“Are you okay? I can get rid of him if you want me too?” Cassandra sees a look of concern spreads across his features, she realizes that he does care for him, even if it is just as a friend.
“Na, that's okay.” She says adopting her fake smile again. “I'd appreciate it if you could keep an eye out for me though, just in case I do need help?”
“No problem Darlin'.” He says to her.
Cassandra picks up her drink and heads toward the table in the corner, feeling eyes following her as she walks. She would normally hate the feel of eyes on her, especially after the bad night she had already had, at this moment in time though she is thankful for it. She looks at the table she is walking too.
There is a young man sitting there, he is not a large man.
Average height, average weight and average build. He is just plain average.
As she gets closer, the stranger stands up, pulling out a chair and motioning for her to sit. Cassandra is genuinely stunned by the fact that the man seems polite. Most people in Slate City had never heard of chivalry, let alone, know how to use it. She smiles at the gentleman stranger and offers her hand for him to shake.
“Hi.” She says to him, with a broad grin. “My name's Cassandra, but I guess you already know that.”
The stranger takes her hand, he bends over and gently kisses her knuckles. “I am honored that you have chosen to sit with me.” he says in an accent that Cassandra isn't familiar with. It almost sounds European. She starts to feel flustered again. The man points Cassandra to her seat, that faces the bar – which she is glad about as she knows that Eric will be able to see her clearly – she sits and he pushes her chair toward the table. The man sits opposite her, she can't help staring at him, there is something about this guy that intrigues her. Cassandra immediately feels at ease with him. She realizes that he hasn't once looked at her long legs, firm ass or even her double-D breasts – which are pretty much falling out of her tiny dress. Most men can't take their eyes off of them but he hasn't done so much as taken a sneaky glance.
He introduces himself, they sit and talk to each other. They talk about trivial things to start with, like the weather and other useless conversation ice-breakers, then they compare life stories and talk more about personal things like ambitions and other such dreams and future endeavors.

CHAPTER 2

Strangers

PART TWO

Before either of them realizes it, the bell behind the bar rings.
“Last orders!” Eric shouts, his voice vibrating through the pubs air.
Everyone stands up and rushes towards the bar, desperately scrambling for a last drink before it closed. Cassandra and the man stay sat, she looks at the clock behind the bar. It's three in the morning. She has been chatting with this young man – who has had a full life traveling the world – for almost four hours and she had barely said more than two sentences to him, there is something about this man that enthralls her and she can't understand what it is.
She leans across their table and seductively whispers in his ear. “Would you like to get out of here?”
“If that is your wish, then we shall.” He rises from his seat taking her hand in his.

Eric watches as they both move toward the exit, as he fills his customers pint glasses. He had kept an eye on Cassandra and her admirer for most of the night. Not because he promised her, mainly because he found it incredibly hard not to look at her. Cassandra asks if the guy can wait for a second, the man nods and she walks toward the bar.
“Everything okay Cass?” Eric asks, looking ready to spring into action.
“Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay and that I'm heading home now. I will see you about the same time tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Eric replies.
Cassandra leans across the bar, it takes all of Eric's effort to not look at her heaving buxom. She pecks him on the cheek, her lips feeling soft and moist. Eric almost melts, he immediately wants to throw her onto the bar and fuck her brains out.
Then why don't you do it? He mentally asks himself. The answer is obvious. I don't do it because she is my friend and I'd never want to lose our friendship. He instantly knows deep down that it's not the real reason, it is an excuse. The truth is he doesn't have the guts to tell her how he feels about her.
Cassandra looks at him with careful consideration. “Hey, are you okay?”
Eric looks at her. “Yeah, I'm fine. You be careful on your way home, alright?”
“Will do. Goodnight.” She says as she walks back toward the guy, that is waiting patiently by the main doors.
Eric watches as she leaves the pub, his heart quietly breaking inside his chest.
Only one thought goes through his head in the ten minutes that he stares at the door, completely ignoring his customers. The sounds of the pub go dull and his vision focuses only on the door.
As far as he is concerned he is the only one in the room.
I should have said something before she left. Why didn't I? The answer came before he finished his question. Because you're a pussy!!
Eric snaps out of his catatonic state and begins serving his customers.
I will tell her how I feel tomorrow, when I see her.

As Cassandra walks through the street with the stranger, she feels a chill in the wind, it runs up her spine and leaves goose-pimples all over her skin. The man offers her his coat, she wraps it tight around her, the fleecy inside it immediately warming her up. They both continue to talk for the twenty minute walk to Cassandra's home.
“This is my place.” Cassandra says as they approach big, glass double doors. “I live upstairs. Do you want to come in?” She asks her handsome escort with high hopes that he isn't a complete gentleman.
“I would love to come in, so long as I'm not imposing.”
“Of course not.” She says as she fumbles in her purse for her keys.
They enter the main doors of the Bright Horizon hotel and walk down the long hallway, they turn a corner and step in an elevator. Cassandra presses the button for the third floor, the elevator doors close and the cables groan as they ascend the shaft. A minute later the doors open, they step out and walk down the narrow corridor, they round a corner. A couple more steps and they arrive at a wooden door with chipped red paint, the numbers 214 hang on the door at eye-level.
Cassandra puts the key into the door and turns it. She opens the door and they step inside, she turns on the light as she takes off the coat that the man had given her.
It's a small room with a door on the right that leads to the shower room complete with a sink and a toilet. On the left of the room is a small fridge, it's sat next to a cooker, next to that is a sink that is filled to the brim with dirty dishes. There is a double bed against the far wall, underneath a large window, the bed is neatly made, with crisp white sheets. Next to the bed is a bedside table, on it is an alarm clock, a lamp and a copy of The Crow on Dvd, is sat next to a book that looks like it might be a Diary or notebook. At the foot of the bed is a small entertainment system, complete with an old Television, a Hi-fi stereo and a Dvd player. Cassandra looks at the handsome man, a flood of embarrassment washing over her. She feels her face warm up as her cheeks go red.
“Sorry about the mess but I wasn't exactly expecting company.” Cassandra says as she rushes over to the sink, trying to quickly clear away the dirty dishes.
“Please, no apologies are necessary.” He says, taking her arm and turning on the stereo as he pulls her close to him. He puts his arms around her, placing his hands on the small of her back. She rests her head on his chest as the music slowly fills the air. “It is I, who is imposing on you. Let us just enjoy the final hours of the night.”
Cassandra lifts her head up and looks deep into his eyes. She feels like a proper lady for the first time in her life. She had never met a man in the entire twenty two years of life that had ever treated her this way. If she didn't know any better she would probably have thought she was in love.
Deep down she knows that this man is too exotic for her. He had spent his entire life traveling the world and experiencing things that she can only dream of, she also knew that he will probably be gone tomorrow as if he had never been here. Disappearing as quickly as he had arrived, leaving Cassandra on her own, once again dreaming of what could have been.
I will make the most of tonight. She promises herself.
Without a second thought, she cranes her head up and kisses him on the lips, his lips are sweet and soft. She is pleasantly surprised when he returns her kiss. He is passionate and holds her body tightly against his as his tongue explores her mouth.
She immediately feels like Cinderella, after she finally got her Prince Charming. She is overcome with a feeling that fills her entire being with warm, tingly sensations. She lets the embrace continue for a few more minutes and then – even though she really doesn't want too – she pulls herself away from him, her hands resting on his large chest. It takes a few moments for Cassandra to get her bearings, her vision is hazy and she feels completely euphoric, as if she had fallen asleep and this as all just a dream.
She can't explain it.
Cassandra has never felt such excitement and pleasure from a kiss before.
Imagine how good the sex will be? She thinks, as her vision slowly restores itself.
Cassandra looks at him. His face is filled with confusion, shock and apologies, as if he has only just realized what he had done.
“I..... I'm.. I'm so sorry, I.. I thought.... I thought it was what you... I'm sorry..... Please forgive my blatant rudeness.” He turns a walks toward the door, Cassandra grabs his muscular arm, she tugs him so that he is facing her. They turn and she pushes him onto the bed.
He falls onto his back, she steps forward and climbs onto him. She straddles him, one leg on either side of him, hitching up her skirt as she does.
“You misunderstand me.” She says, unzipping his trousers. A wide grin spreads across her face as she reaches inside his jeans. She moves her hips slightly, positioning herself above his large, hard, throbbing member. “I'm nowhere near finished with you yet.”
She closes her eyes and gasps as she slides him deep inside her.

OMFG! That is gooood!

Cheers chicken, didnt you read it on the other site. I will put next chapter on here 2moro.

Its not like i got anyfinelse to do.

I guess! No, not on the other site... meant to...

CHAPTER 3

Another Dark Day

PART ONE

Slate City. 21st May 2038 – 7:02am

The morning light slightly penetrates the clouds, casting very little daylight onto the city below. The ground is still wet from the storm that filled the skies last night, the air smells clean. Even though it is early in the day, the air is warm and the cool breeze is refreshing as it blows through the streets. The citizens flow with the gentle gusts, some heading for work, others are heading home after their long night-shifts.

Toby Rogers wakes up to a glimmer of light that shines through his bedroom window, bathing his face in the warm, rays of the sun. He curses the damn day and pulls the duvet over his head as he rolls over, facing his beautiful wife.
She was asleep, when he came home last night, so he didn't have the chance to tell her about wreaking her car.
She is definitely going to kill me.
He stares at her as she sleeps, her bright red hair, seeming even brighter in the dim light of the overcast morning. He looks beyond her, at the alarm clock, it is just after seven. He doesn't have to get up for at least an hour yet. He moves closer to her, puts his hand underneath her Sweet-dreams t-shirt and gently strokes her flat stomach.
Simone stirs in her sleep, she rolls over to face her husband.
“Good morning Babe.” She yawns, stretching her arms high above her head.
“Morning Sweetheart.” He leans over and kisses her. “You know, I have some time before I have to go to work.” He smiles coyly.
“Ooh! Are you trying to seduce me Mr. Rogers?” Simone asks.
“No.” Her Husband says seriously. He leans forward putting his lips close to her ear and whispers. “I'm trying to get laid.”
They laugh together as they kiss and stroke each other, disappearing under the sheets.
I will tell her about the car later. Toby decides, not wanting to ruin the good start to the day.

Across town.
Alex Grant dreams.
He is running, he can't think of where he is running to, but he has to get away from it. He takes a quick glance behind him.
It's closer now and its gaining on him at an incredible speed.
All around him is gray, there is no road or light,the world seems to be smothered in the thick, choking fog.
It's getting closer.
Grant pushes his legs, willing them to move faster but it seems like he is being held back by the gray matter that surrounds him, it's like running through water, rather than fog.
He hears the rapid pounding of its feet behind him,he can hear it's breathing right behind him, smell the warm, fetid breath on the back of his neck.
The pounding is getting louder and more frantic.
Something scratches his back.
He hears a scream.

Grant wakes up with a jolt, he tries to catch his breath, beads of sweat running down his muscular chest, the dream quickly disappearing from his memory. As his eyes adjust to the harsh light reflecting off of the mirror across his bedroom onto his face, he realizes the pounding of the footsteps that he had heard in his dream was coming from his front door.
Grant crawls out of bed grabbing a pair of jeans that are still damp from last night's torrential downpour, he walks out of his bedroom and across his cluttered living room, he accidentally kicks a corner of the coffee table and curses aloud as he continues toward the door, limping as he goes.
This had better be worth it! He thinks as he reaches for the deadbolt.
He opens the door to reveal a frustrated Toby on the other side of the heavy door, his face is red and he looks out of breath. He is wearing a blue plaid shirt over a navy-blue T-shirt, his jeans have patches on the knees.
Grant steps aside as Toby bursts into his apartment.
“Christ Grant, do you sleep through everything? I have been banging the door, shouting and I even tried ringing you. I was moments away from breaking the door in as I thought that something might have been wrong with you.” Toby turns to face Grant, a sudden calm washing over him. “Get your stuff sorted out, we've got a murder case.”
Grant scratches his head and looks at his partner questioningly. “We don't get cases. Our job is to react to volatile situations, that's it.”
“Hey don't ask me. I got a call off of Karen an hour ago, she just told me where we have to go and that we have to take the case. She wouldn't say why though.” Toby sits down and starts to read a magazine as Grant heads into the shower.

Half an hour later Grant gets out of the shower and moves into the front room with a towel around his waist, he dries his bald head with a smaller towel as he heads into his bedroom. He fumbles in his wardrobe for some clean clothes, he pulls out a pair of stone-washed jeans and a light-blue shirt. He puts his jeans on, the material slightly sticking to his damp legs. He puts his Doc Martin boots on. Grant moves into the living room as he buttons up his shirt, reaching for his keys and moves toward the main door.
Grant and Toby leave the apartment, they move down the staircase and head outside to Toby's wifes car.

An hour later they slow down as they approach the Bright Horizon hotel, the street is full of bystanders and news crews. Toby slowly edges the car through the thick crowd of people, after a few minutes they reach the cordoned off point. A uniformed officer opens it up, Grant nods to the officer as they drive past him. The car pulls up to the curb and the detectives climb out. Three uniformed officers are stood outside the main doors of the hotel, upon seeing both Grant and Toby, the youngest of them approaches.
“Hiya detectives.” He says. “The forensic teams are already at the scene.”
“Where is the body?” Says Toby as he looks at the growing crowd of onlookers.
“The third floor, room 214. I'll take you there.”
Grant and Toby follow the young rookie through the main doors and into the lobby of the hotel. Two more officers are in the lobby questioning the other residents of the hotel, hoping that they can find a potential witness.

CHAPTER 3

Another Dark Day

PART TWO

The Bright Horizon hotel was once one of the most influential hotels in Slate city. It used to attract all of the upper-class people – until the crime element scared them off. Now the hotel is only a couple of years away from becoming a squat-house. The wall paper is faded and hanging off the damp filled walls, the once white ceilings are now a dull gray and filled with cracks. The sconces on the walls buzz and flicker as they strain to light the dark corridors.

Toby follows the rookie down the corridor and they step into the elevator, they're followed by Grant. The officer presses a button and the elevator rumbles up the shaft.
The doors open with a quiet ping and the three of them step into the dimly lit corridor. The rookie turns and points down the passageway.
“The body is down that way.”
“Thank you.” Says Toby, watching Grant head straight down the corridor in the direction they were pointed. Toby notices an officer taking a statement from one of the neighbors, he moves over to them and reads the statement.

Grant moves past the rookie and down the corridor without saying a word, he looks at the numbers on the doors.
202.
Grant can hear the rattle of the air-conditioning, clogged full of years worth of dust, dirt and neglect.
206.
The flicker of the sconces make his eyes sting slightly, the hallway is dark as it has no light other than the dull sconces.
210.
He moves past a few officers that are taking statements, Toby steps up to one of them and reads one of the statements.
214. Bingo!
Grant looks into the room and sees a group of people inside, dusting the furniture for prints and taking photographs. Grant steps inside the small room. The lead forensic scientist that he only knew as Frank stands up. Grant had been told his surname countless times in the past but for the life of him he could never recall what it was.
Frank takes off his latex gloves and extends his hand toward Grant. He takes it.
“We have got a weird one here Grant.” He says, handing Grant a report and turning toward the body.
“How do you mean?” Grant asks as he looks past Frank toward the bed and sees the body.
Grant steps closer to the bed with Frank.
On the bed is a beautiful, young woman in her mid-twenties, laying naked, sprawled on her back. Her flat stomach and – Grant guesses double-D – breasts are partially covered in dried blood. The white sheets are also saturated in blood, her body is covered from the waist down, hiding what little dignity she has left, her right leg hangs out. If she was alive, it'd almost look provocative. Grant looks at the body for a moment, as far as he can tell there isn't a mark on her. He looks at the report in his hand.
“Cause of death 'undetermined pending further examination?' She obviously bled to death, right?” Grant looks at Frank with his eyebrows raised.
“Well. It's obvious that she did bleed to death but she only has two small puncture wounds on the back of her neck.”
“So she was stabbed twice?”
“No, the punctures are more like syringes or something. The really confusing thing is that they're nowhere near a major artery, so she wouldn't have bled out that much. Also not all of her blood is accounted for.”
“Wasn't it soaked up into the mattress?”
“Yes, some of it was. I need to do some further tests but I'd say that eighty percent of her blood is missing and only ten percent of that is on the bed.”
Grant looks at the body and then back at Frank. “So where's the other seventy percent then?”
Frank takes off his glasses and scratches his head, looking completely dumbfounded. “The only thing I can think of is the killer used a syringe and took it with him somehow.”
“If he did that though, wouldn't he need one hell of a huge container?” Grant says.
Frank shrugs his shoulders. “It's the only idea I have at the moment, until I can do further tests at least.”
Grant looks at the bedside table and sees a Dvd of The Crow. “The girl had a decent taste in movies.”
Frank looks at the Dvd. “I haven't seen it.”
“It's the only story that depicts love transcending death. It's Brandon Lee's greatest movie! Although Rapid Fire was pretty good too.”
Toby steps into the room, he looks flustered and out of breath, his face is covered with a hint of panic. “Grant, we've gotta go.”
“What is it?”
“I will tell you on the way.”
“Okay,” Grant hands the report back to Frank. “Keep me updated.” He says, as he walks toward the corridor.
Toby looks at Frank. “The body is to be named as a Jane Doe until Captain Edge says otherwise, understand?”
“Of course.” Frank adjusts something on his report – probably the name.

Toby and Grant move quickly into the lift and rush out of the hotel and onto the street. They climb into the car, Toby turns the ignition and the car comes to life. They slowly make their way through the crowd of people which seems to have at least tripled in number in the short time they were inside.
“So. Are you going to tell me whats up? Or do I have to guess?” Grant asks his partner, once they are clear of the crowded street.
Toby takes his asthma pump out of his pocket, he takes a lungful of the medicine, never taking his eyes off of the road. “Don't you have any idea of who the victim is?” He says, as he holds his breath for the ten prescribed seconds. He looks at Grant expectantly, waiting for a reply.
Grant thinks.
He shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. “Nope, I haven't got a clue who she is.”
Toby lets out his breath in a rush. “Her name is Cassandra Scott. Does that ring a bell?” Toby looks at Grant waiting for the penny to drop.
Grant looks at Toby with his eyebrows raised. “No, it doesn't ring a bell. Who is she?”
Toby immediately gives up dropping hints. “Cassandra Scott is Mayor Derek Scott's daughter! He had disowned her just before he was elected! She was a stripper at the Dirty Secrets strip-club and he pretty much saw her as a disgrace to the family. She has been arrested for being drunk and disorderly. She was also arrested two other times but the charges were dropped. Once for prostitution and the other time she was at the scene of a drugs-raid in September, she is currently out on bail and awaiting trial.”
“How the hell do you know all of that?”
“I recognized the name but I couldn't place it. I called Karen and asked her to run the name for me. She said for us to name her as a Jane Doe until we have spoken to her father and found out how he wishes to proceed, he may want to do a press conference or something. You know, so it looks like he cares.”
Grant pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the glove box and puts one in his mouth, he lights it and takes a long drag on it. He looks at Toby.
“Lets go and see Daddy dearest then.”
Grant opens the passenger side window and releases the lungful of smoke, it lingers for a moment before it is sucked out of the window.
“The mayor is expecting us, Karen said that she'd call ahead and notify him that we are on our way.”

God! It gets better!

The Butcher

London. 30th September 1888 – 2:52am

The fog isn't as thick tonight as it had been for the last month, the moon is almost visible. It is no more than a silvery haze through the gathering clouds in the night sky, making the fog seem thicker than it actually is. The ground is covered in large puddles, left over from the rain earlier in the evening. The sound of rapid footsteps and splashes echoes through the silent street, almost every other step landing in a puddle.

The tall man is running from his most recent crime. His entire being filling with fury.
How could I have been so careless! He thinks, he darts down a back alley, then around a corner and then another, hoping to lose anyone that may be following him.
His pace slows to a casual jog as he attempts to catch his breath, he looks at his surroundings. He listens for a moment trying to determine if he can hear anyone chasing him.
The street is completely silent, a very rare thing in this part of London at this time of night. It is normally crawling with drunks stumbling out of pubs, reeking of ale and scotch. Thieves robbing any unsuspecting victim that they may come across. Whores that reek of Gin sell their bodies to anyone that hasn't been mugged – a few of the women would more than likely be mugged too.
Tonight though, there doesn't seem to be a single living soul.
Other than my last victim, less than twenty minutes ago. My hobby had almost been ended tonight and all because I had lost my patience.

The tall man casts his mind back to his previous works of art. The first was Martha Tabrum but it lacked finesse and elegance, it was no more than a brutal stabbing. Mary-Ann Nichols on the other hand, the tall man considered her as his finest hour. The moment he realized that he had a truly magnificent and gruesome talent.
Nine days later, he had met a woman named Annie Chapman. She was in her early thirties but looked at least forty. She wore a dark brown dress that wasn't flattering in the slightest but he was desperate for a kill that night so he had to make do. The tall man wondered how she managed to make any money.
He had made her the same offer that he had made with Mary Nichols. She lead him down a dark alley toward the back of Hanbury street. They entered a backyard and the tall man had pushed her up against a wooden fence, she kissed him passionately and hard.
She digs her nails into his left cheek, the man seethes in pain and playfully nibbles her neck and collarbone.
He had pulled the wood-handled knife out of the pouch from inside his large coat as she lifted her head toward the sky.
He had pushed the blade into her throat. He felt the blade hit something hard and then heard the wet crunch as it dug into her spine. He hadn't realized that he had pushed it so far into her soft flesh. Her warm blood spilled over his hands.
He had almost decapitated her.
Her body had slumped to the floor, parallel to the wooden fence. A wet gurgle came from her throat as the last of the air in her lungs rushed out of the messy wound. He crouched down next to her and opened up her dress, exposing her stomach. The tall man slipped the knife into her pelvis and pushed the blade upward, toward her breasts until the blade was stopped by the familiar crunching sound of metal meeting bone.
The tall man pulled his blade out of the dead woman, he had wiped the blade clean and placed it back into his coat. He reached down and put both of his hands into her abdomen. With a sudden rush of pleasure he had torn her stomach open.
He had paused for a moment completely fascinated with what he had seen. Even though he felt exactly the same as when he did this to Mary-Ann Nichols.
He was still amazed with how much insides the human body could contain, it hadn't seemed as much in the medical lectures he had started no more that six months ago.
He put both of his hands deep inside her stomach and pulled out as much of her viscera as he could with a hard tug. Her insides had come loose with a tearing squelch.
Once he had hold of her insides in his hands, he didn't know what to do with them, he threw them gently and they landed above her right shoulder, splashing crimson claret in all directions as it hit the stone floor.
He had taken his blade out of his coat once again and with a single slash, he had managed to cut her bladder apart. He had put the piece of bladder, vagina and womb into a bucket that lay in the corner of the yard. He washed the blood off of his hands, using the dirty puddles. The tall man stepped toward the mutilated corpse of Annie Chapman, he rummaged in the pockets of her garments and took out the few possessions that she had on her, he placed them at her feet and raised her hands, high above her head.
He had stood watching her for a few moments.
It almost looked like a ritual sacrifice, like the savages in the new world were apparently known for. He then picked up the bucket of organs and stepped out of the backyard. He turned and headed home.
Ten minutes later he had heard a scream and police whistles began to fill the night air.
The tall man allowed himself a quick laugh before restoring his calm demeanor, he had climbed into a horse-drawn cab and called out the window to the driver, telling him where to go.

The tall man stands still in the street, lost in the fond memory of his most luxurious kill so far. His smile immediately disappears as he remembers the kill he had planned for tonight and the complete mess it has turned into.

He had watched Elizabeth Stride for over a week, learning her habits and planning his attack. He had finally decided to strike tonight as the street seemed to be completely desolate. He had managed to charm her – as he had with the previous women before tonight – and they had taken a walk for nearly an hour until they had gotten to Berner street. He had been in too much of a rush. The waiting and planning had made him impatient. He had pulled the knife out of his coat too soon and when she saw the blade she had screamed.
The tall man didn't expect anyone to be out in this part of town tonight, but he had decided to cut Elizabeth's throat to silence her, just in case someone happened-by. Her body fell to the floor and as the man crouched over her to finish his art, he had heard the sound of a horses shoes on the stone streets and the quiet rumble of a small cart approaching him, he looked in the direction of the approaching interloper and could make out the faint haze of a lamp. The tall man decided to cut his losses and flee into the depths off the fog.

Which brings me back to the present! The tall man thinks to himself as he continues to concentrate on his surroundings, still listening for any sign that someone may have chased him.
Even though he had killed Elizabeth no more than twenty minutes ago, he still isn't satisfied.
He still craves a decent kill.
All silent.
At that moment, he notices a woman – in her late twenties – further down the street. His dark, cruel smile returns.
A second chance? He wonders, watching the beautiful woman shiver in the cold dampness of the fog.
He approaches the woman casually, he doesn't want to be impatient again. Her pale yellow gown, is sodden along the bottom hem, from the puddles that she has walked through. She must have had a scuffle sometime today as her left support strap is torn, making her frock hang seductively.
She will have to be the one that will satisfy me!
When he gets close to her, she introduces herself as Catherine Eddowes.
He gently grabs her arm and drags her to the southern corner of Mitre Square and throws her hard against a wall, her head hits the brick and she falls in a heap on the floor. He is determined to make her suffer more than the other women he had murdered. He wants to enjoy this one as much as he can. His methods of mutilation had become almost like a second nature. As of now however, he wanted to keep his victims alive until the last moment now, to try and make it more of a challenge for himself.
The man pins her hands down with his left hand and makes large incisions on both of her cheeks with the knife he holds in his right hand. He cuts her slowly from the temple to her jaw. She tries to scream and he hits her in the face fracturing her jaw. Tears fill her eyes, her attempt at screaming has now become nothing more than a mumbling groan. He places the tip of his knife on the bridge of her nose and makes another cut from there to her right cheek.
She tries to cry but she is too scared.
The tall man can see in her eyes that she knows who he is.
No one knows who he really is, but his methods have earned him many new names. The people of London have been telling stories about him for the last few weeks.
The murder of Annie Chapman had made him infamous. In the last month he has become more known and feared than the Boogeyman.
I am the Boogeyman!
People whisper warnings about him in the dark.
'Be good or else The Butcher will carve you up.' The residents of Whitechapel warn each other, trying to discourage each other from selling theirs bodies and doing other bad deeds on the dark streets.
The tall man liked being called a Butcher, but not as much as his other names.
He talks quietly to Catherine as she lays on the floor, her beautiful green eyes are wide open and her entire body shakes as it fills with fear of what's to come.
“Keep your mind open and your senses on. Unlimited possibilities that the future can bring are only frozen in time by the thought of disaster and death that lurks in the darkness on every corner.”
The Butcher leans close to her, his lips almost touching her ear.
He whispers to her.
“I suggest you beg God for mercy before the Devil takes your soul because...”
He looks deep into her eyes.
“...I am disaster and death!”
Catherine dies of fear before she can die of her wounds. He slips his blade into Catherine's stomach and cuts out her uterus and left kidney.
Even the Butcher doesn't know why he has chosen to take trophies of his victims and he certainly doesn't know why he has chosen to take organs.
He stands up as he cleans the slick gore off of his knife, he looks down at her.
A true masterpiece.

The Butcher turns around and makes his way home, leaving the body on the street, he is already making plans on how to make the next victim even more spectacular.

The Butcher feels exhilarated, he has killed two women tonight and he is not willing to stop..

...NOT YET!

CHAPTER 5

Slate City. 21st May 2038 – 11:57am

The day had become quite dark, black clouds have gradually filled the sky throughout the morning and covered up the warm, comforting glow of the sun, turning the day into its usual dull gray. Toby's wifes blue Ford Escort cruises through the streets, the front bumper is tied onto grill of the car with blue rope. People mill around on the pavements going about their days, they go in and out of stores, carrying large bags full of the purchases that they've made during the bright light of the morning.

Grant sits in the passenger seat of the car, he looks at the citizens that zip by as he gazes out of the window, knowing deep down that he envies them.
After he and Karen had gotten divorced, he had become more and more isolated. Even so, Grant has a big grin across his face, dying to ask Toby the question he 'd had in his head since he had seen the state of Simone's car outside his apartment.
“So!” Grant says turning toward Toby, the smile on his face growing with each second. “What did Simone say about the car?”
Toby, clears his throat and acts like he hadn't heard Grant.
“Well?”
Toby mumbles something under his breath, that Grant can't quite hear.
“Sorry, but I didn't quite hear that.” Grant knows what's coming.
“I didn't tell her.”
Grant bursts into hysterics, slapping the dashboard with his hand. Toby begins to smile. Grant always had a serious demeanor but his laughter was always infectious.
Within moments they are both in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
“I knew you wouldn't tell her what happened. How did she not see it?”
“She was asleep when I got in last night and this morning I wore her out.”
“You banged her blind?”
“Pretty much.” Toby says, looking pleased with himself.
Grant goes back to looking out of the window as Toby turns the car into the car park across the road from City Hall.
The two detectives climb out of the car and look toward the large gray building opposite the street, the building looks dark and empty. As they close the doors of the car they see several flashes from the window of the mayor's office, the sound of the gunshots echo through the air. Grant and Toby immediately reach into the car grabbing their guns. Toby gets on the radio and calls for backup as they both load their guns and race across the road.
Grant and Toby burst through the large main doors of City Hall, they stop and stare for a moment at the scene in front of them.
The lobby of the building is large with four large pillars on either side, the entire room is coated in white. To the left is a stainless steel counter where a security guard usually sat during the night-shifts, staring at the countless screens before them as they eat donuts and read their magazines.
Today however, the lobby looks completely different compared to it's usual decor, the pristine, white walls are covered in dark red smears. Spread across the lobby floor are pieces of the five – maybe six – guards that were on duty today. It's hard to tell how many exactly amongst the mess.
Grant moves cautiously toward the stairs, stepping over the scattered remains of the rent-a-cops, his boots slipping slightly in the crimson gore that covers the hardwood floors. Toby puts his hand to his mouth to avoid throwing up as they both move through the bodies.
As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Toby cocks his shotgun.
Grant looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “Why do you always bring that thing?” He asks Toby in a whisper.
Toby grins at Grant. “I'm not a good shot but I rarely miss with this beauty.” Toby pats his gun like it's a loved pet.
Grant shakes his head and they both move up the stairs toward the Mayors office, each step giving out a quiet creak under their weight. They reach the top of the stairs and look down the corridor toward the large oak, double doors of the office at the far end.
On the floor in front of the office, lay two guards. Their bodies look impossibly twisted and broken, Grant and Toby look at each, both of their faces are filled with shock at the horrific sight of the corpses before them.
They both decide it's pointless checking for a pulse, they step over the guards and stand either side of the double doors. Grant grips his Glock 17 with his right hand, feeling the weight of it. He holds up his left hand with three fingers raised.
Toby nods to Grant as he wraps his hand around the door handle.
3.
Grant lowers one finger.
2.
Grant lowers a second finger.
1.
Grant makes a fist.
Grant and Toby burst through the doors of the mayors office, raising their guns ready to fire. They stop immediately at the sight that lays before them.

The mayors off ice is large and relatively dark in the midday hours, the slated blinds are closed. In the center of the room is a large, varnished mahogany desk with a large metal bowl in the center of it. The mayor's body is hanging upside down with leather straps wrapped around his ankles, his shirt is torn open exposing two large lacerations in his abdomen. His torso is covered in the wet, warm fluid that was once within his veins as it flows down his body and into the large bowl below his fingertips.
It reminds Grant of an old movie called Predator that he once saw with his father when he was a child.
Beyond the desk and covered in shadow is a lean man sat in the mayor's leather chair. The man is wearing a large cloak and a top hat, he is nothing more than a silhouette. The only visible feature are two scarlet eyes, peering out of the darkness. The red-eyed man is casually finishing a drink from a pint glass. Once his drink is finished, he dips the glass into the bowl, fills it with the mayors blood and drinks, letting the blood flow down the back of his throat.

Grant and Toby stand in the doorway awestruck.
“Freeze!” They both shout in unison.
The silhouette rises from the chair and puts his glass of blood on the table, he slowly moves around the desk with his arms out at his sides.
“Stay still!” Shouts Toby as he raises his shotgun, taking a bead on the killers chest.
The man stops moving. He grins at the detectives, his bloodstained teeth almost as bright as his eyes. The red eyed man twitches his right hand and a serrated twin-blade appears from his wrist.
Another thing from the Predator movie. Thinks Grant.
Without any warning the lean man charges toward them with lightening fast speed.
Grant and Toby open fire, their bullets tearing into the mans chest, his body flies backwards over the large desk, knocking the large bowl of blood, papers and telephone onto the floor as he lands in a heap on the floor.
Toby moves around the desk, his boots squelching on the blood soaked carpet. He crouches next to the lean mans body, keeping his shotgun aimed at the killer as he checks for a pulse.
“Proper Predator fan boy ain't he?” Grant says, looking at the mayors corpse as it sways slightly, he knows it's pointless checking for a pulse.
Toby looks at his partner and shakes his head. “It's just as well we killed the sick Son-of-a-bi...”
The killer grabs Toby by the collar of his sweater with his right hand and the back of his head with his left. He pulls Toby's head back, exposing his throat and bites deeply into his soft flesh, his teeth ripping into the jugular. Toby tries to scream as his blood sprays across the room, he can barely manage a wet gurgle as his blood fills his throat.
Grant raises his gun, unable to get a clear shot because the killer is holding Toby close to him and they are both cast in shadow, making it impossible to determine which one he should aim for.
The killer drops Toby's body to the sodden floor.
Grant fires his gun at the killer, each shot again hitting him in the chest.
He must have a bulletproof vest on. Grant thinks.
Grant takes a deep breath and aims for the killers face.
The killer moves quickly so that Grant cant target him, he pulls the mayors body down. The chandelier also drops down and crashes on the desk, sending glass and sparks flying off in all directions. The killers picks up the mayors body and throws him effortlessly at Grant as he fires a shot.
The mayors corpse takes the bullet as it slams into Grant, knocking him backward into the wall behind him, he cracks his head hard. Grants vision goes white and he fights off the dizziness as he pushes the mayors mutilated corpse off of him and pulls himself to his feet. He regains his focus just in time to see the killer swan dive through the large window.
Grant rushes to the window and looks down.
No one.
He hears a quiet shuffling sound above him, he looks up and sees the killer scaling a flat wall with great speed.
Grant raises his gun, knowing he only has one round left, his vision blurs as his eyes fill with tears.
He blinks them away.
By the time he looks at the wall opposite him the killer is gone.
Grant puts his hand on the bump on the back of his head and looks at his hand.
I'm bleeding.
I must be concussed, that's the only explanation.
There is noway anybody could scale that wall unaided.
It's impossible.
Grant looks down at himself. He is caked in the mayors blood. His shirt is sticking to his body as the blood slowly dries.
He drops to his knees as the dizziness takes over. He grabs Toby's radio.
“Toby Rogers is down, I need medical assistance at City Hall!” Grant starts to feel faint.
“Ambulance is en-route, ETA four minutes.” The radio crackles as the metallic voice breaks the silence of the room.
Grant falls onto his back, knowing that there is noway that he could have seen what he saw.
It's impossible.
His eyelids start to feel heavy and his vision blurs.

Grant hears the distant sirens.

He blacks out.

IMPOSSIBLE!!

CHAPTER 6

Slate City. 23rd May 2038 – 14:27

In the waiting room of Slate City General Hospital, the white walls are covered in paintings that are supposed to have a calming influence on the patients and the anxious relatives. Beautiful views of lakes, snow-capped mountains and fields filled with endless rows of sunflowers and poppies.
On the south wall, hanging from the ceiling is a twenty four inch television showing an old repeat of Diagnosis Murder where Dick Van Dyke is again solving yet another unsolvable murder with the help of his medical side-kicks. On the north wall is another television showing clips of polar bears and penguins in the arctic. There is a large tank on the cabinet against the west wall, filled with tropical fish covered in beautiful colors.
No one seems to have any idea what type of fish they are, but some of the patients and relatives cant help but look at them. They seem to have a calming effect as they swim and glide effortlessly around the tank, the dull hum of the bubble machine and fluorescent lights are slightly hypnotic.
The patients sit on the soft chairs and couches that a scattered throughout the room, they groan and moan almost in harmony as they cradle their aches and pains. The ones that aren't groaning, cough and sneeze as they wait for their antibiotics.
Children of all ages sit and cry, babies screech for food or a nappy change, older children cry as they cradle their cuts and breaks from falling out of trees and play fights that got too rough. Each of the various noises fill the room, silencing the sound of the televisions or the fish tank.

Captain Karen Edge paces the room as she awaits news from the nurse that went to check on Grants recovery. She feels her impatience growing with each second that ticks by on the unbelievably loud grandfather clock in the corner of the room.
She is tempted to walk over to it and smash it to bits with the heel of her boot and the anger in her heart. Her frustration gets the better of her and she starts walking toward the large clock, her eyes locked on the gold face. They move down and she glares at the gold pendulum swinging back and forth.
The clocks heart.
All she has to do is put her hand inside its wooden chest and rip it out.
Karen is five paces from it when the nurse enters the room, she is a little woman in her fifties. Her pink tunic almost hangs of her skinny body, her black trousers look far too large. Even though she is less than five feet tall she carries herself well, her body filled with a hidden strength, making her seem a lot tougher than her frail body implies.
“Captain Edge?” Her voice is soft and soothing, like a woman telling a bedtime story. “The doctor says that you can see him now.”
The nurse makes a gesture for Karen to follow as she turns and heads back down the hallway to the nurses station.
Karen stands at the counter and the nurse hands her a folder, asking if she can take it to the doctor. She tells Karen the number of the room that Grant is in and points her in the direction.
Karen thanks the nurse and the little woman smiles at her.
“Thats alright, my love. You go on now, I'm sure the young man will be glad to see you.” She smiles again and gives Karen a wink. In a 'know what I mean?' kind of way.
She again thanks the nurse and proceeds down the hospital corridor toward the designated room, the smell of ammonia and antiseptic swabs assault her nostrils with each breath.
Karen Edge considers herself sexy for a career woman, most women would wear a suit and tie their hair back, making themselves look more sophisticated but a lot older in the process.
Not Karen though.
She enjoys feeling like a woman and like most women, she is not afraid to use it to her advantage.
Karen has never and will never sleep with anyone to get her way but she is more than willing to be flirtatious and throw a coy wink here or there.
As she walks down the hall, her hips sway seductively, the way a stick-thin-supermodel would strut down a catwalk as she models the latest in over-expensive fashion.
Her heels make a clacking noise with each step she takes, her stonewashed-jeans are skin tight and accentuate the perfect muscle structure in her calves and thighs. The waist of her jeans barely hiding the white, lace thong she wears underneath them. She is wearing a tank top that hangs loose at her ribcage but tight around her firm but supple breasts, one of the shoulder straps hangs loose revealing a white bra strap that seems to match her thong.
She tucks her shoulder length, blonde hair behind her ear as she approaches the door. She puts her palm on the handle, she takes a deep breath before she turns it, opens the door and steps into the room.
Alex Grant is sat on the edge of the bed, a doctor sits opposite him checking his eyes for any sign of concussion. The doctor stops examining Grant and turns to face Karen.
“Can I help you?” He asks, sounding slightly aggravated at the interruption.
Karen feels unwittingly apologetic, although she can't discern why. “Yes, I'm here to take Alex home. The nurse asked me to pass this folder on to you.”
She hands the doctor the folder and he snatches it off of her. He huffs and puffs as he flips through the pages, he adjusts his glasses and looks at Karen. He seems to lose his train of thought for a moment, until he shakes his head and snaps back to his senses.
“Of course.” He says suddenly. “I have a few forms for you to sign and then he can leave.”
Karen follows the doctor out of the room.

She has known Grant for most of her life. They first met when they were ten and were instant friends. From studying to riding on their bikes, her, Grant and Toby used to do everything together. At fifteen, Karen and Grant had started dating. The three of them joined the Academy when they turned eighteen. When they graduated from the academy at twenty one, Karen and Grant had gotten married. They had been married for eight years until she divorced him last year.
Karen had gone back to using her maiden name almost immediately, she always loved Grant and still did. They just wanted different things out of life, Grant wanted kids and Karen wanted a career. It broke her heart to divorce him but she wanted him to be happy and have a family.
They had still remained close, but it was difficult.
Not only is she his ex, she is his boss too.

Karen signs the discharge forms and heads back to Grants recovery room.
She enters the room as Grant puts his jeans on, he reaches into the cabinet and pulls his shirt out of it.
She had forgotten how perfect his body is, it still takes her breath away. For a second her mind goes back to the days that they were together and for a moment she longs to feel his body against her again.
To feel him inside her.
Feel his breath on her as their warm bodies rub and writhe against each other.
Karen looks away as Grant notices her staring at him, she feels her face warm up as her cheeks turn red. Grant puts his shirt on and fastens the buttons.
“What happened to Toby?” He asks as he ties his Doc Marten boots. “Everyone keeps changing the subject when I bring it up.”
Karen looks away from him, trying to hide her sadness.
“Tell me.” Grant demands as he stands up from the bed and grabs his coat.
“He died before the paramedics arrived.” She moves towards him and wraps her arms around him. She embraces him for a moment. “I'm so sorry Alex. If there's anythi...”
“I want the case. I want to find the guy that killed him.” Grant says as he pulls away from her and looks her in the eyes. He then leaves the room, thanking the doctor as he passes him on the corridor.
“The case is your's but you're going to need a new partner.” She says as she follows him down the corridor.
Grant stops walking and turns to glare at Karen.
“I don't need a new partner! I can kill this Son-of-a-bitch myself.” He starts toward the exit again, thanking the frail nurse as he passes the nurses station.
“If you don't take a new partner then you will be off the case Alex!”
“I don't care!” Grant shouts at her, the patients and nurses in the hallway stop to look at them, someone quietly tells them to shush. Grant lowers his voice. “I will hunt the bastard with or without your permission.” Grant tries to stop the quaking in his voice.
“I know you will but you have to promise me that you will give it a chance.” She grabs Grants arm gently. “Toby was my friend too.” She looks into his eyes. “I know how you feel.”
“You don't know me anymore. I changed the day you divorced me. Toby was the only friend I had left.” Grant tugs his arm from her grip and walks away.
“Your new partner may be the only one that can stop this guy!” Karen calls down the corridor.
Grant stops and looks back at Karen, his eyebrows raised questioningly as Karen approaches him.
“You make it sound like the killer is some kinda monster.”
“I read the statement you gave yesterday.” Karen pulls a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans and unfolds it as she hands it to him.

Grant looks over the statement he had given. It was very accurate as far as he can remember. He hands the statement back to Karen.
“I was obviously delirious from the concussion.” Grant turns to walk away again.
“I can prove that you weren't. Give me one hour to prove it.”
Grant almost laughed, if it weren't for the serious look on Karen's face he probably would have.
“Okay, you have one hour to convince me that I need a new partner.”
They leave the hospital together and get into Karen's car, the car pulls out of the hospital car park and heads to the station.

There was a time when Grant used to hang on Karen's every word. He used to be unable to take his eyes off of her sexy, lithe body. Her green eyes are still as hypnotic as they used to be. Since the divorce though, his heart broke every time he saw her. He still loved her a lot more than he cared to admit to himself. He longed for the old days. He wanted her back more than he wanted anything else. Making it extremely hard for him to listen to her these days, he used to get the highlights off of Toby.
During the drive to the station Karen said something about a conspiracy that made Grant laugh so much that the wound on the back of his head started to ache. Other than that he had no clue as to what she had babbled on about.
It all seemed like nonsense.

Once they got to the station they move through the crowds of uniformed officers and their perpetrators and head to the back, towards Karen's office. As they enter the office, Grant notices a guy sat at the desk, the man stands as they enter. Karen shakes the mans hand, Grant looks at him.
The man is around six foot two inches, slim to medium build, short, dark hair, with a pale complexion.
He is dressed all in black.
Black jeans, a black silk shirt and a full length, leather trench coat.
Grant doesn't like him. He reluctantly shakes the pale mans hand.
The guys hand is cold, which Grant finds odd as it's always roasting hot in Karen's office. Grant feels an odd feeling rise from the pit of his stomach. There is something off about this guy, something in his eyes that quietly terrifies Grant but he isn't sure why.
The pale man has the cold, soulless eyes of a shark.
They all sit.
Karen's secretary brings in two mugs of coffee, the pale man already has one. Karen waits for her to leave before she starts.
“Detective Alex Grant, this is Alchemy Agent Connor.” Karen says as she sips at her steaming hot coffee.
Grant eyes Connor with suspicion.
What is it about this bloke?
“This is my new partner?” He looks questioningly at Karen.
She nods.
“Okay, I have some questions. Firstly, what the hell is an Alchemy Agent? Is that some kinda secret service?” He looks at Karen. “Secondly, how the hell is this guy going to help me catch the killer? He looks like he can barely take care of himself and he's supposed to help me?”
Grant looks at Connor. “Listen Connor, no offense intended. I'm sure you're good at whatever it is that you do but I think that you would just get in my way. You look like you can barely take care of yourself. I will get this guy on my own.” Grant stands up from his seat, to leave the office.
“Alex, just hear him out okay?” Karen has a genuine look of concern on her face. She pours more milk into her coffee in a desperate effort to look occupied. “Connor, please tell him why he needs you as his partner.”
Connor puts his coffee down on the desk.
“Thank you Captain Edge.” Connor has a slight Irish twang to his voice. “You have no idea what you are up against.” Connor smiles at Grant.
Grant looks at Connor, he notices his teeth, they look wrong. Then it hits him.
He's one of them!
“You killed Toby!” Grant launches himself at Connor. “You mother f–”
Connor moves unbelievably fast, grabbing Grants arm and twisting it up behind his back. He slams Grant against the office wall and pins him there.
Everyone in the station stops what they are doing and peer through the office window, trying to see what is going on.
“I'm not the killer.” Connor says as he releases Grant from the hold. “However, I am a similar race. Well. More or less.”
Grant rubs his aching shoulder and looks at Karen.
Karen gets out of her chair and walks to her office door.
“The shows over. Now get back to work!” She shouts at the onlookers. She closes the door, then closes the blinds and sits back down behind her desk.
“Sit down Alex.” Karen says. “Connor, please tell him what he is up against.”
“Yes Ma'am.” Connor nods to Karen, he looks at Grant carefully. “Everything I'm about to tell you is the truth.”

Grant sits.

He waits for Connor to begin his tale.

CHAPTER 7

Eternity

Slate City. 23rd May 2038 – 18:02

The evening brings a cooling breeze that feels refreshing compared to the hot, humid day that had smothered Slate City. Even though there is still another three hours of daylight, the sky seemed to have darkened suddenly, as if a dark cloak had been dragged along with the clouds.
Inside the Slate City Police station however, the temperature continued to rise. Thugs wrestled against the handcuffs that restrained them, while officers booked them at the main desk before dragging them off to the cell, where they'd spend the night. Witnesses cry into their tissues as they report a missing loved one or a crime that they had seen committed, officers take their statements as they try to calm them down and reassure them.
Captain Karen Edges office – like the rest of the station – is still roasting hot. Two large fans set on high, attempt to blow cooling air into the small room, but they make very little difference against the stifling heat, there is a faint smell of apricots in the air from the air freshener on the wall above the door.
In the center of the room is Karen's desk. On it, is a computer screen and keyboard, the tower is on the floor and out of sight as it sits underneath the desk, on the opposite side of the desk is a telephone, the rest of it, is filled with files that seem to be chaotically strewn here and there.
Against the wall to the left of the desk are two file cabinets that stand five feet high with five drawers each. Most of the drawers are open, bursting to the brim with files of unsolved cases.
Behind the desk is just enough room for Karen's chair to move back a foot or two, the large window behind her is open, still the breeze makes no difference. Two standard chairs that look uncomfortable but feel worse are sat in front of the desk with their backs to the door.
To the right is a small waste bin and a small water dispenser, complete with Styrofoam cups, on the wall is a bulletin board filled with on-going investigations, mugshots and in the top left corner of the board is an old postcard from Paris beautifully showing the Eiffel Tower at night.

Connor stands, leaning against the wall next to the bulletin board with his arms folded as he allows Grant to collect himself. Grant is still sat in the uncomfortable chair, rubbing his aching shoulder.
And nursing his wounded pride. Connor thinks to himself, trying desperately to hide the grin that he can feel pull at his features.
Karen sits behind her desk, she opens a file and starts to type on the small keyboard in front of her. Her face becoming awash with a look of determination as she gets to work.
Connor knows there are a lot of unsolved cases in the city due to the tiny police force, that refused to grow with the population over the passing years. The city officials had created a new division called the Severe Crimes Unit (SCU) in an attempt to boost the civilian confidence but the crime rate has continued to grow.
Eighty four percent of all crimes usually go unsolved, the reason is mainly due to the fact that the law enforcers have little time to do thorough investigations. In one week each detective can be given two cases, then the following week there will be two more and so on, the end result being that the cops simply don't have time to do anymore than a preliminary investigation.
The hard truth is, that unless the criminal is caught in the act of committing the crime, they are more than likely to get away with it. The government officials know that if a crime isn't solved within a week, then it will be filed away and forgotten.
What makes it even worse, is that the criminals know it too. Thinks Connor.
Connor notices Grant sit straighter in his chair, he stretches the last of the ache out of his shoulder. He then looks at Connor with a look on his face, that Connor can't quite read.
“So,” Grant says. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on? Or am I supposed to guess?” Grant's eyes tick between Connor and Karen, as he awaits an answer.
Connor steps forward from the wall, he unfolds his arms and grabs his coffee from the table. He looks at Karen, she lifts her head from the computer screen and meets his gaze.
Karen shrugs her shoulders. “He needs to know.” She says.
Connor nods his head, he drinks his coffee and turns toward Grant.
“Firstly, I need you to keep an open mind and just trust that, everything I tell you is true and that you leave any questions, you may have until the end. Can you do that?” Connor says in a hushed but serious tone as he puts his mug back on the desk.
Connor notices Grant look over at Karen, she nods at him and he looks back at Connor with an expression that resembles defeat.
“Go ahead then Connor, enlighten me on something that I don't know.” Grant says, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He sits back, already starting to look bored.
Karen continues with her paperwork, she has already been told the story at least once that Connor knows of.
Connor sits back down, on the chair he had sat on earlier. Karen's secretary brings in another load of coffee, He waits for her to leave before he starts. He can see the impatience inside Grant building every second.
The secretary closes the door.
Connor clears his throat – if it wasn't for the loud whooshing noises of the large fans – the room would be eerily quiet.
“I want to tell you about myself to start with. I was born in Galway, Ireland, I was the youngest of nine kids, I had eight sisters. My family were simple merchants and farmers, they did pretty well for themselves.
“When I was sixteen I left home, I had no desire to follow in my families footsteps and be a farmer, so I went to Dublin hoping to find a more prosperous career. I started working in the taverns and managed to get my own place, I even had money left over that I sent home to my family. When I was twenty-one, I was turned.”
Grant raises his hand like a child in a classroom. “I'm sorry for interrupting, but what do you mean turned?”
“I am a Vampyr. I was born in 1727 and I was turned in 1748.” Connor sits back, allowing Grant to absorb the knowledge for a moment.
Grant has a look on his face, like he isn't sure whether to take him seriously or not. He keeps switching his gaze from Connor, to Karen and then back again.
“You're joking right? My partner gets his throat torn out and your telling me that a fucking monster did it. And that I'm supposed to work with a monster in order to catch him?” Connor and Karen just look at Grant silently, they don't nod or make any sort of gesture. They both have a look of complete seriousness covering their faces.
“I know this is hard to believe Grant, but it's true.” Karen says quietly as she shrugs her shoulders. “Connor has a lot more to tell you yet, so, please just listen. I promise you that it's all true.”
Connor notices something between Grant and Karen in that moment. It's nothing tangible, it's more like an aura of past regrets and lost chances.
Grant sits back and motions for Connor to continue.
“You're right Grant I was a monster, I embraced the evilness of my new lineage. I terrorized and tortured my family for several months, almost driving them insane before I killed them. I continued to roam Ireland and terrorized dozens of innocents before draining them of their blood. I did this for forty years, feeling nothing but guilt at what I had done, my victims blood drying in the back of my throat tasted like ashes. After that, I started feeding on livestock.
“I lived like this for a hundred and twenty four years, then the Alchemy Law was passed in 1872 – the law is more like a truce or a declaration – between humans and Vampyr's. It states that the Vampyr community would no longer feed on humans and in return the humans would therefore stop hunting us. We built our own cities in areas that humans rarely travel too, trying to hide in plain sight.” Connor has a drink of his coffee before continuing.
“There are two breeds of Vampyr's. The Immortalis breed and the Rax breed. We, the Immortalis, are more human than monster, we feel guilt, remorse and we care about our world. Put simply, we are no more than immortal humans that need to drink blood.
“The Rax however, are not. They are the reason that Vampyr's are unable to show the world, that we can be good, and that we aren't all blood thirsty beasts. The Rax are inbred Vampyr savages, they thrive on death and carnage. They kill without remorse, obviously they kill to feed but they mostly do it for the fun of it.
“My job as an Alchemy Agent, is to hunt the Rax breed and other Vampyr outlaws in an attempt to uphold the peace and ensure that the truce remains intact, Rax's are hard to track as they tend to hunt in times of war where the body counts are high. Which is why I think that Slate City is a viable target for them. Also their bite turns humans into Rax's but with us, we have to transfer our blood into the victims blood to turn them. That makes it hard to know how many there are exactly. We Immortalis, hope that once the Rax are gone, that we can step out of the shadows and live amongst the humans.
“In 1897 Bram stoker unknowingly aided us in our disappearance, when he wrote Dracula. Over the years people began to believe that Vampyr's were mythical creatures, no more real than the tooth fairy. Then you started to make movies, it's worked better than we could have ever hoped, to the point where, even the thought of Vampyr's is considered to be absurd to humans.”
“What is the truce then? I mean, if you don't hunt, then what do you feed on?” Grant asks, deep in thought.
“We have found ways of synthesizing blood platelets, through an advanced cloning process. It's similar to what you do with GM foods. What we drink, isn't blood. It looks like blood and has all the nutrients, we have even managed to do different flavors and textures.
“In order to show our sincerity, we gave your most respected scientists some of our DNA, with which they have made certain advances in medicine, due to the regenerative properties that our blood has. Haven't you ever wondered why the human life span has gradually increased over the decades?”
Grant looks at him puzzled.
“Eighty years ago, people were lucky if they reached seventy years old, before they succumbed to old age. Forty years ago, people were struggling to reach a hundred. Nowadays, people can live until a hundred and ten easily. Granted, it's not a major increase, but it's still an improvement.”
“Okay,” Says Grant as he sits forward, clapping his hands together as he does. “So, who is the guy that killed my partner then? Is he a Rax or an Immortalis breed?”
Connor rubs his head.
“Honestly? We don't know. His savagery suggests that he is a Rax but saying that, the way he killed the mayor denotes that he is intelligent, which the Rax aren't known for. I've been hunting this guy since 1888 and he has always been several steps ahead of me. He resurfaces every twenty or thirty years, goes on a killing spree for a few months and then disappears without a trace. As for who he is?” Connor shrugs his shoulders.
Connor can see that Grant is almost bursting with anticipation. “Just tell me who he is!”
“We don't know his real name – his human name – but his trade name is known throughout the world by both humans and Vampyr's.” Connor seems to hesitate for a moment, he looks at Karen.
She nods at him. “He has a right to know.” She says.
“Very well.”
Connor takes a deep breath, looking like he is bracing himself for a death defying stunt.

“His name is...”

You are now upto date Pippy, I currently gotta writing block so pleez have patience, i hope you enjoy these last couple chapters.

I crashing out now as my meds are kicking in.

Nite.

I WANA GET RIDDA MY WRITERS BLOCK!!!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bil, you're in the same place as me, dude.

I jus gettin over it now, jus gotta flesh some bits out and get it to my liking then next chapter will b out soon. (hopefully within a fortnight.)

Good luck wit ur writers block Jade. They arent nice are they?

hello bill


you alive

Yea started my physio last week, apparently i doin ok. Fings goin pretty good at mo. Howz u?

im ok

havnt spoken to you in ages.. you still living with your sis?

Hi Bil

Bil wrote:Good luck wit ur writers block Jade. They arent nice are they?

Nope, not really.