[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220223/f89a8c2ae5e0583bf0b6332ef1aafd28.png[/img][/center] The only sound that permeated the dark alleyway was the sound of police sirens bouncing off the closely distanced walls of the dingy apartment buildings and the patter of rain against the cracked and faded pavement, the footfall of Sanguis' boots muted in the din of noise around him. The glow of his blood red eyes pierced the inky darkness of the alley, adjusting their optical filters for the lack of light. Briefly they flashed as both red pinpoints darted here and there, ensuring he was alone Sanguis shoved a hand into the pocket of his overcoat pulling out an old burner phone that he flipped open and dialed. It rang once, twice then a click followed the third dial tone [color=F8214A]"The songbird no longer sings,"[/color] beneath the mask his voice was a low rasp, hints of an accent in it's lilt too faint to discern in the torrent rain filling the alley with it's near monotonous beat against the metal rooftops of the slums [color=F8214A]"You know how to find me, this time no tricks."[/color] with a snap the old phone clasped shut, then like dropping a piece of trash on the ground Sanguis let it fall to the ground before him. It was easily replaceable, even better it made finding his location impossible to pinpoint exactly thus as he walked forward Sanguis drove the heel of his boot into the phone destroying it with a twist of his leg. Sanguis wasn't sloppy, he wasn't an amateur murderer but a trained killer an artist of his craft. In a matter of seconds the assassin found the handle of his motor vehicle, a red Nazaré motorbike that hummed to life as it's rider hopped onto the slick leather seat and with a twist of the bikes handles he disappeared into the night.