[@POOHEAD189] Kelly Ashler, Winter Knight and mortal champion of the Wicked Fae, had a very pedestrian gunshot wound to the lower abdomen. Blood trickled out, slower than seemed proper and the edges of the wound were pale and chill, the power of Winter working hard to slow the blood flow. There was no exit wound, the bullet evidently still lodged inside of her. Crows began to flutter above, landing in their dozens on the lips of the buildings lining the alleyways. The birds were oddly silent, forgoing their usual incessant cawing. At about the same instant a car turned into the end of the alley, powerful headlights burning into Rupert’s eyes like the glare of some ancient demon. The poetic effect was spoiled when the pulsing blue lights of police lit up, bathing the scene in an epileptic spray of azure light. Metal dumpsters narrowed the alley and prevented the cruiser from advancing. The doors opened and two hulking men in khaki uniform of Highway Patrolmen got out, boots crunching on the loose asphalt. One had a pistol drawn, a mag light rather unnecessarily gripped beneath it, the other held a shotgun at waist height, the cavernous barrel leveled at the Knave Knight’s chest. “Better step away citizen,” the officer with the mag light cautioned in an official cop voice, dripping with sanctimonious authority. They advanced slowly, gradually occluding the light of their patrol car until they were visible as silhouettes. Both men had little enameled pins in the shape of P on their pocket flash, indicating they were members of the Precinct, a fraternity within the police who thought they knew something about the paranormal. The group didn’t have a good reputation even among the muggle cops. Rumor had it you had to have shot a man on the job to be invited, and they were none to particularly on who or why you did the shooting. Most of the members were city cops though, not highway patrol who, now that Rupert thought about it, were way off their beat to begin with. “Last chance to beat it before you are shot resisting arrest, leave the frosty bitch and go,” Mag-light said, disengaging the safety on his weapon with a very audible and very ominous click. [hider=Synopsis] Highway Patrol troopers bearing the badge of the Presinct show up for the Winter Knight [/hider] ________________ [@Fetzen] People were pouring out of the building now, the stately doors literally ripped open as screaming men and women, winded from twenty stories of stairs and damp with blood and the reeking stale water of fire suppression sprinklers. Some were wounded, though as many had probably been hurt in the mad crush in the stairwells as in the bombing itself. As the bow wave of humanity passed the seriously wounded began to stagger free, and not just humans. Balthazar could see a lord of the Summer Fae, screaming and tearing at his chest where splinters of steel, the bane of the faery, had been driven into his body by the blast. Then a pair of vampires came out of the doors. They were of the vampiric nobility, among the most powerful of their kind. But they were young, they were wounded, and there was blood everywhere. They went berserk. The nearest of them, a woman with stylish curls and a shiny black evening gown, marred by a piece or rebar through her stomach. Snatched the nearest human and ripped his throat out in a spray of arterial blood. A long dark tongue slathered and licked as she pounced onto the back of another man and started ripping at the back of his throat like a dog on a downed game animal. The male, his tuxedo half blown off by the bomb and with a section of his skull exposed by shrapnel, caught a maintenance worker by the hair and ripped into his neck. Blood sprayed up over his face as he drank the man down like a juice box then tossed him aside, the horrible damage to his face beginning to knit. The fingernails on his left hand extended into talons six inches long and razor sharp and he disemboweled another man with a blow so powerful it lifted him off his feet and tossed him halfway across the street, entrails unwinding like streamers. His eyes were huge and completely black, the predator completely in control, driven only to kill and feed and in that order. The terrible black eyes locked on Balthazar and the vamp leaped for the demon, claws extended and murder on his twisted bestial face. [hider=Synopsis] You are caught in the rampage of blood mad vampires [/hider] ____________________________________ [@Ducksworth] The TV came back on. Breaking news. Some of what you see in the footage that follows might not reflect our station’s views. Explosion at the Tem, cause unknown, casualties unknown, be afraid. Eye witnesses, some covered in dust, provided reports that boiled down to ‘there was an explosion’. Wide angled shots showed police and fire fighters screaming into the parking lot. It was a news bonanza. Almost every network had crews covering the Tem, entertainment reporters who were suddenly getting their first taste of real news. The big names had been on the top floor, but the stringers and the also-rans had been kept outside and their cameras were rolling. 9-11 via TMZ. The reports were starting to recycle themselves as police forced reporters away from the scene. Talking heads were just getting around to blaming whatever political party they didn’t like when Emyrs’ door smashed open with a cacophony of splintering wood. Burly men in biker leathers crashed into the room, filling the space with the smell of cigarettes, wet fur, and testosterone. Some of them had bats, others had chains, one of them, ominously, had a net. One of the batsmen smashed the tv from its wall mount, apparently out of sheer love of destruction. The patches they wore on their jackets, and the gratuitous tattoos proclaimed them members of ‘The Street Wolves’ a powerful if unoriginal pack of werewolves. SpongeBob Werewolf netted Quill with surprising dexterity. His hand closed around the neck of the net to seal the familiar inside before vanishing behind the wall of advancing muscle and running out into the hall. “Nothing personal Harry Potter, but you get more with a kind word and a baseball bat than just a kind word,” the leader of the pack, a massively built man with a wild beard and a truly alarming hawaiian shirt declared, slapping the baseball bat into a meaty palm as he advanced. “We need you to do us a favor….” [hider=Synopsis] Werewolves break in, kidnap your familiar, and 'ask' for your help [/hider]