[center][h2][color=cyan]Sander Lorraine[/color][/h2]
[img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][/center]

The kick landed with a resounding crunch, signalling shattered bones and broken resolve. Sander couldn’t help but shivered at the familiar sound. He twisted midair with a feline grace and landed effortlessly on his feet, heart still hammering from the rush of blood. 

[i]Hands closed around his throat but he peeled them away like walking on dead leaves, with a satisfying crunch. Warmth wrapped around his shoulders in a wet embrace, and he was shaking from its feather-light weight.

Something dropped to the floor next to his feet. He looked, only to find lifeless eyes staring back, waiting. A question on dead lips. The promise of fire. He leaned down. 

Then guns went off. Loud. He crouched, curling onto himself, but he looked. The bullets were so slow, and they hit him like rain drops. There was no pain. His gaze turned toward the masked faces, their eyes wild and they reeked of sweat and piss and fear. No longer the apex predators, them. All rabbits beneath their donned hide. His lips curled, revealing teeth that stained wine-red. 
[/i]  

Thin wires twined around his arm and leg just as the heady aroma of coffee hit him. He grimaced, but it wasn’t because of pain. There was none; the sharp wires just tore at the fabric of his clothes, leaving an odd pressure on his skin. His eyes found a flash of red as Christmas was dragged through the dirt, the blond boy’s scream cut through the ding of battle. He moved first, a few quick steps took him closer to the doll’s sprawling left arm, toward that intoxicating scent. Then his mind caught up, struggling to put a name to his course of action. He was saving their healer. The blond boy was in danger. He was going to break the doll’s arm off, freeing Christmas. Nothing more. 

And he attempted to do just that. The doll struggled and pulled on its wires, but he held fast. With a final leap, he was standing right before the creature’s left arm. Immediately, he grabbed the offending limb, fingers of his right hand digging into the crevice of its joint. The doll didn’t cease its squirming, but it was for naught. The pull of the wires could only serve as a mild annoyance to Sander as he lifted his left arm and started to pound his fist against the smooth porcelain surface of the doll’s arm.

[i]Blue eyes, bloodshot and glittered with tears. Like marbles.[/i]

He brought his fist down again. 

[i]His lips against soft flesh. Heaven, compared to dull plastic and cold metal.[/i]

Again.

[i]The irregular rise and fall of frenzied breaths beneath him. Whimpers of a cornered prey. [/i]

And again.

Blood splattered on his face and body, but it was lukewarm and off-color. It was not what he wanted. Not at all. These things didn’t even have the decency to carry proper blood within them.