[center][h3][i]C h a p t e r   O n e[/i][/h3][/center][hr]

"So that's it? You're just gonna kill me right here, in cold blood?! I [i]do[/i] recognize you, ya know! I know what you [i]are[/i]! If it's true, how... How can you justify doing something like this??!!" 

Icy pools only briefly glanced over in the direction of the frantic pleading before they returned to continue engorging themselves on the visual treat before them. The old trunk the rare prizes were hidden in was a well placed Trojan horse indeed. The trunk itself was clearly a relic of the older times, an almost distant memory of an age when things like luggage and storage containers were taken for granted and shoved under beds and in closets and in basements never to be seen or heard from again. The dark brown wood it was composed of was old, cracked, and rotting with ancient water stains and splinters sprinkled everywhere. The design seemed to be lifted from the much romanticized idea of what a pirate's treasure chest would look like complete with an overly ornate padlock and a matching, gaudy key to go with it. Some sort of metallic trim had been constructed onto the chest as well and it was rusted shut at first, but the persistent man who now squatted in front of it would not let something so trivial as rust keep him from such important contents. He squatted in place for a few moments more before finally erecting himself to his full height. 

"You know... There's a saying that fits this situation," the dark-haired man began. He produced a crushed white box from his jean pocket and pulled out one of three cigarettes within. A gold lighter appeared next and a few flicks later, the smell of smoke wafted into the air inside the log cabin. He took a long drag and exhaled a stream of puffy smoke towards the low ceiling, still facing away from the panicked homeowner who sat tied in old rope and cable on the floor in a corner where two walls met. Pocketing the lighter, the dark-haired man finally turned and simultaneously kicked the trunk to the side so as to show his bound captive the contents therein. "Don't believe everything you hear. I'm fairly certain that's the saying. Correct me if I'm wrong." 

The bound man's face turned beet red and his expression grew more fearful than it had been just one minute prior. "W-wait... I-I was just... " 

The dark-haired man raised his hand, the cigarette in between two fingers, and the stammering ceased. "See, had I believed what I'd heard from you and your friends, I would have left here empty-handed. Because of that saying though, I knew you just [i]had[/i] to be hiding something. And I suppose... " Booted steps slowly, deliberately, moved towards the bound captive until jean legs stood right in front of his face. The dark-haired man squatted again and blew a stream of smoke in his victim's face. "... If you hadn't believed what you heard, you might actually have gotten a chance to see the light of tomorrow's day." The knife broke the skin and slid into the muscle tissue and heart smoothly and easily. Icy pools once more fixated on the visual in front of them, the bound captive's face first contorting in pain and shock and then slowly losing color and vitality before finally slipping into the stillness that awaited every person. The dark-haired man stood up and gazed at the body with a look of stone-cold seriousness before turning and grabbing his backpack from floor where it leaned on a wall. 

He went to work filling it with the contents of the trunk. There were cans of food, rolls of duct tape, gloves, some old trinkets and electronics pieces and, the most important find, bottles of medicine and pills. The medicine was what the man had originally come for and he grinned in silent triumph as he filled his pack with the stuff. At the bottom of the trunk, however, was one surprise he had not seen. His eyes widened for only a fleeting moment before composure returned, the surprise item was taken, and the trunk closed. Slinging the pack around his shoulders and adjusting his brown jacket, the dark-haired man made his way quickly towards the front door and emerged into the sunlight to be met with a single obstacle; another man, taller than he was, stood in front of the opening to the gate. Fear had taken hold of his face, but desperation kept him standing in front of the dark-haired man regardless. 

"I know what you are! You killed him, didn't you!? Dale was a good man. A good father. And he was a damn good hunter for our community! The others might have run off... But I'm not gonna let you off the hook so easily! I don't give a shit if you're one of God's angels or not!" the fearful man shouted, voice crackling with nervous trembling. The dark-haired man snickered involuntarily as he reached for the surprise item he'd found in the trunk. He showed no hesitation as he pointed the barrel of the 9mm right at the obstacle that stood in his way. 

"That's something we have in common then," the dark haired man cocked the hammer and wrapped his finger around the trigger, pulling ever so softly, "I don't give a shit about being one of God's angels either." The bang erupted into the air and echoed for what seemed to be miles. A small stream of smoke ascended from the end of the barrel as the fearful man immediately crumpled into the ground and a pool of blood began to form under his upper chest area. The dark-haired man released the magazine and shook his head in disappointment. "Only one bullet... " He mumbled. He shoved the piece into his jean waistband under the small of his back and began taking long strides towards the gate. As he passed the now dead man's body, he stopped for a moment and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He dropped it onto the dead man's face. 

"My name is Gabriel, by the way," he said before continuing on across the grassy meadow towards a settlement in the distance.