[color=gray] [img]https://i.imgur.com/RUeksDd.jpeg[/img] [Center][h2][color=goldenrod]Dominic Blackmoor[/color][/h2][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=goldenrod][b]Location:[/b][/color] Abandoned Warehouse • [color=goldenrod][b]Time:[/b][/color] Dusk[/center] [center][color=goldenrod][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] N/A • [color=goldenrod][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] [@Infinite Cosmos] Lucian, [@deegee] Kessler[/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] The rain had eased to a low whisper, barely more than a breath against the rusted metal of the warehouse walls. Somewhere behind the clouds, the moon hid its face, and the world felt quieter for it. Not peaceful… just quiet like how storms get when the eye rolls overhead and the wind forgets to howl. Dominic was already standing outside. Backlit by the dull glow of a security lamp, he was all silhouette and silent rage, the edges of his kutte damp with rain, one hand loose by his side, the other curling slow and steady into a fist. He didn’t pace, he didn’t smoke even though god damn he wanted to. He just waited. It wasn’t time to ease his pain, to soothe. He needed to feel it. Every last ounce of it. The first sound was the low rumble of Lucian’s bike… followed closely by the heavier grind of Kessler’s boots on gravel. They came into the light one after the other, but Dominic didn’t move to greet them. He just looked at them, storm-gold eyes steady, as if measuring the moment, as if deciding whether or not it was even fair to ask them to see what he was about to lead them to. Lucian held out the bottle. Dominic took it without a word, unscrewed the cap, and brought it to his lips. He didn’t toast, didn’t tip his head. Just drank. A slow, heavy pull that caught in the throat and burned like it should. When he lowered the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then nodded once. [color=goldenrod]“Come inside,”[/color] he said quietly. [color=goldenrod]“There’s something you need to see.”[/color] The door creaked as he opened it, the warehouse swallowing them all in dim light and the stench of old rain, metal, and blood. Their boots echoed faintly on the concrete, but nothing could drown the silence waiting just ahead. Dominic said nothing as he led them in. No words could ready them for what they’d find beneath that swaying bulb… where Logan Delaney, Red Right Hand of the Iron Fangs, sat butchered and broken, bound and left like some grotesque message from something that didn’t know the meaning of mercy. Dominic didn’t look at them as they entered the room. He didn’t turn to watch the shock hit, didn’t try to soften the blow. He just walked to the chair again, slow, as if pulled by a gravity no one else could feel, and stopped just to the side. He took another long drink from the bottle. And then, after letting that moment sink in. [b]Really fucking sink in[/b]…finally, he spoke. [color=goldenrod]“They didn’t just kill him.”[/color] His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was calm, the kind of calm that made the room feel colder. [color=goldenrod]“They made an example of him.”[/color] He looked at Logan’s body, at what was left of the man who once laughed the loudest in every room and bled beside them in every fight worth a damn. [color=goldenrod]“Someone wanted us to feel this. Wanted it to haunt us. To make us hesitate. To wonder which one of us is going to be next.”[/color] He turned slightly now, facing his brothers, the bottle still in his hand. Dom stepped forward, crouched slightly, and poured a slow stream of liquor onto the concrete beside Logan’s boots. It splashed across the blood already staining the floor, soaking into it as if the dead still drank. [color=goldenrod]“For the last drink,”[/color] he said softly. Then he stood, holding the bottle out in his palm, his eyes lifting to Lucian… then Kessler. No command, no words…Just an offering. It was a rite, a moment to honor what mattered most. [b]Brotherhood.[/b] And the promise that no wolf would ever die forgotten. [color=goldenrod]“The three of us share one last drink with our brother…then we bury him. We lay him to rest and we get to work. I want you to find who did this and I want you to bring them to me so I can show this entire fucking city what happens to anyone who takes my brothers and sisters away from me.”[/color][/color]