[centre] [img=http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wgn5VUpne6c/UAXpFkr6J0I/AAAAAAAAE3A/lZ1qIQtVbBI/s1600/Los-Angeles-at-night.jpg] [/centre] 

The Sleepwalker was used to a fairly bustling clientele-the mixture of live performances by their very own Madeline Hollinghurst, and relaxed atmosphere, being quite attractive to those looking to get off of the streets come nightfall-on the other hand, tonight there was no more than a handful of patrons scattered about the establishment’s tables. 

Throughout the late afternoon, Zaylee remained behind the counter, occasionally serving the odd straggler. However, the evening became a great deal more interesting when a heavyset gentleman in a trench coat found his way into the bar, pulling up a stool and seating himself at the counter. 

He had a neatly cropped beard, sandy blonde hair, glassy blue eyes, and a slick smile. 

“What can I get you?” The Vampress inquired, disinterestedly running one finger through her black-red hair. 

“I’m looking for some answers.” He stated bluntly, fixing Zaylee with his glassy blue eyes. 

“This is a bar, not an encyclopaedia.” She placed one hand gently on her slightly-too-pronounced hip, looking rather unimpressed. 

“You see,” He begun, loudly cracking his knuckles as he did so, gently leaning back on his barstool “I sent a few of my guys down here, a couple nights back, fairly routine stuff; scope the place out, get a feel for the general tone of the establishment.” 

Zaylee had a feeling she knew where this was going, but let him continue nevertheless. 

“Next thing I know, two of ‘em comes back screaming about witches and monsters, lookin’ like they’ve gone ‘un pissed ‘emselves. So, I tell ‘em both to take the night off, gather their senses and whatnot, only they both turn up dead in their sleep, the next day.”
He let the moment linger, pausing for some sort of dramatic suspense. 

“I suppose I’m lookin’ for a…rational explanation to all of this.” He kept his eyes on her the entire time, as though he were searching for clues in her body language. 

“I can’t explain the ramblings of every junkie and sloshed who comes in here.” She retorted nonchalantly, her face an emotionless mask, letting nothing on. 

“I was ‘oping you’d make this easy for me…” He sighed loudly, before foraging a cigarette out from one of the many pockets of his trench coat, lighting it with an ornate-looking lighter. 

He took a long puff, a thread-like trail of smoke wafting back over his shoulder. 

“You can’t smoke in here.” 

He extinguished his cigarette on the counter, leaving a large ash stain on the smooth wood. 

“I’ve been livin’ in LA for a long time, missy…and I’ve seen some [i]weird [/i] shit-and I mean frickin’ [i] BIZARRE [/i]-, but a little girl makin’ two ‘ardened men piss ‘emselves scared , and then those two men turnin’ up dead, that’s gotta be pretty damn high up the list.” 

Zaylee gave an indifferent shrug “I can’t help you, there.” 

“Well then, you’re gunna be hearing from me again [i]real[/i] soon, sista’” And with that he upped and left, strolling out into the moonlit streets. 

Zaylee watched him leave, keeping her eye firmly fixed on his retreating figure. 

[i] This could be problematic… [/i] 

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[centre] [img=http://s.imwx.com/dru/2013/07/a6370c1c-e33f-4a44-a422-809bfa964584_650x366.jpg] [/centre] 

A lean figure stood at the end of a grimy brick road, coolly gazing up at the dilapidated storeroom that lay ahead of her. 

Madeline’s lithe body was covered in a black and grey woollen coat, adorned with golden buttons, which ran down to her ankles. A stainless steel machete was fastened to her waist, concealed by her choice of attire. 

The gloomy woman had sent her on a journey, to take care of some bothersome brutes, so Maddie had brought her favourite toy with her.

She walked at a gentle pace, boot clad feet clicking loudly against the ground, a gentle gust lifting up her raven tresses. The Vampress whistled a tune nosily, the steady melody carrying on the wind. 

She reached the entrance of the building, a grubby construction of cracked concrete and broken glass, before slowly making her way through the empty doorframe, stepping into a world of urban rot and decay. 

The celling was coming away in places, and chunks of roof were scattered across the stony floor, lying in big heaps of fallen brick. The glass panels that comprised the windows were cracked and broken, shards of glass stricken about the place, and the humongous pillars that supported what remained of the celling were wracked with fractures and indents.

Maddie eventually found her targets on the third floor, happening upon a large group of diverse looking folk, scattered about the room in various states of preoccupation. 

Obscured from the vision of others, via the use of Obfuscate, She stalked silently through the broken building, strolling up to a group of four, who were playing blackjack with a set of old playing cards. Maddie stood over the shoulder of a man who was wearing a stained wife beater and a baseball cap, peering down at his hand. 

She leaned in so close that he could feel her cold breath against the flesh of his neck-whilst still being but a spectating spectre, to the eyes of the Kine-and whispered quietly in his ear, her voice no more than a soothing ripple in the back of his mind. 

[i] “The motley pack lives a life teeming with trouble and desolation,” she cooed “it would be an act of kindness to free them from their bondage.” [/i] 

The moment she begun to speak, the man sat up straight, gooseprickles running across his skin. Her words seeped into his mind, sliding in through his ear, easing their way through his hollow skull, and planting their wicked talons in his brain. They swarmed over him, consuming everything, until there was nothing left but that single solitary suggestion. 

The man in the baseball cap turned to the nearest card player, a stocky brute about twice his height and girth, fixing him with unblinking eyes, before slamming his fist into the bloke’s face, shattering his nose in a flurry of bursting blood and broken bone. 

The big fella crashed to the floor, his grubby playing cards falling from his hands and spilling out across the floor, an unhealthy amount of gore trickling down his face. 

“Yo! The Fuck?!” He roared, once he’d managed to register what was going on, wiping a fat smattering of blood up with the back of his beefy hand. 

The big one knocked his assailant to the floor, gripping both hands tightly around the man’s windpipe. 

Within seconds the two were upon each other, punching and biting and hissing and spitting and kicking, whilst others swarmed in to try and pull the pair apart. Blood and saliva soon covered both men, and a huge crowd of confused onlookers had gathered around them. 

Maddie fell in beside a wiry looking figure with a gaunt face and eyes like a vulture, still very much invisible. 

She had to stand up on her tip toes to reach his ear.

[i] “The hounds have hearts of black ice. They will all turn on you.” [/i] 

Her voice wove itself into the intricacies of his mind; twisting and consuming it, as it had done to the last man. 

The gaunt man became rigid and bug-eyed, his previous fascination with the fight on the floor forgotten. 

He pulled a lock knife from his pocket, falling upon a nearby figure-who was consumed with trying to pull the two fighters apart from each other-. His blade bit into the other man with eager glut, a thick spray of blood spurting out of the shocked thug. 

The one who had been cut coughed and gaped, fighting for air, as he fell to the floor, the knife’s blade still stuck in his exposed trachea. 

Blood pooled out across the floor, and suddenly all eyes were upon the stabber. 

For a long moment there was simply an everlasting silence, as the room gawked at the gaunt faced man with bug-eyes. 

Maddie spoke again, but this time she did not whisper, and her voice carried out to the entire group. 

[i] “The little lamp is lost in the wild woods, hunted by the dogs of war. It clings to life as though it matters, but there is no clear line between real and unreal.” [/i] 

What ensued was sheer anarchy. 

Chaos erupted, as brother fell upon brother, comrade upon comrade. The men fought each other with everything they had; clawing and biting, kicking and punching, stabbing one another with pieces of broken glass, and caving in each other’s heads with bricks. 

Bones shattered, and blood spilled out across the floor. Clothes were torn, and skin was ripped. 

One man’s rib tore through his flesh, and he simply pulled it forth through the red tear, using it to blind a man whose jaw had come unhinged. 

Another had his eye knocked out, but persisted to fight on all the same, biting out the throat of a man who had burst the head of another, by smashing his skull against a pillar again and again and again and again and again. 

A man opened up the throat of another with his razor, before pulling apart the wound with his hands. 

After what seemed like an eternity of haphazard brutality, the floor was coated in red ooze, and chunks of body were strewn about the place. Bodies were piled on top of bodies, and twitching limbs clawed at nothingness. 

Maddie saw a man’s neck bent at a funny angle, and giggled to herself. 

Pale moonlight flooded in through the broken windows, casting a web of shadows against the concrete walls. 

They were all dead now, but Maddie could still hear their voices; new friends come to join her in the sleek strands of the sprawling cobweb. 

In the end, she hadn't even needed to use her machete.

As she left, Maddie stepped over the bloodied body of a heavyset gentleman in a trench coated, his glassy blue eyes staring into oblivion