I never much cared for guns. Way I saw it, the easier it was to kill a man, the less a man's life would mean in the end. As mankind progressed and we discovered new and more inventive ways of fighting our battles, we perfected the art of mass destruction in a way that made it easy enough to cripple an entire nation with the push of a button. Thousands upon thousands of lives could be extinguished in an instant. From up there on that hill with the button at your fingertips, the people about to die might as well be ants.

That's my problem with guns. They were the first real weapon that made killing a man an easy task. Just aim and pull the trigger, the rest is physics. It's because of this that I never took to the weapon myself, despite all the trouble I got wrapped up in with men who employed the use of a firearm so liberally, you'd think they were delivering the words of the divine to their victims" ears. They laughed at me when I denied the offer at first, but they soon grew tired of their amusement and finally asked me why. I told them and they laughed again, sent me out on a task that damn near got me killed as though to prove the necessity of their guns to the survival of man, but I didn't die. —-

"He's only in town for two days," the man exhaled as he spoke. His brow shimmered in the light that came down from the lamp overhead, beads of sweat building up where it furrowed as he leaned across a plain wooden table. The corners of the room were cast in dark shadows, but in each stood a man in black with his hands crossed over one another in front of him. They were each tall, strong and completely silent. Like statues, they watched, unmoving as the large man in his too-little chair lit a cigarette and inhaled. He wore one of those awful Hawaiian shirts, with all the colorful flowers contrasting sharply in the gloom. A golden watch was snug about his pudgy wrist and a gold chain hung from his short, fat neck. His hair was black and swept back, he had hazel eyes and his beard was a few days old and unshaven. He flicked a few ashes into the tray nearby and blew smoke out into the air.

Elijah watched as it climbed higher and higher until he'd have to look directly into the artificial lighting to see it progress any farther. He leaned forward as well and placed his hand on a beige folder and dragged it across the table. It flicked open with a twitch of his thumb and inside were several sheets of paper with printed copies of a man's social security number, his birth certificate, driver's license and a full file about the pile of skeletons kept hidden away in his closet. It was all held together by a paperclip that also secured a photo of the man. He was in his late forties, his hair was black with gray and his eyes were brown. He was pale, thin and had a thick, graying mustache.

"His name is Sergei," the man across the table announced. "And you're to go to his hotel room, get past his guards and put him down like the dog he is. You following, Eli?"

"Yeah, I'm followin". How many guards?"

"Hard to say, they rotate shifts. We figure at least eight. It's best if you leave them alone, too. They're with the law protecting Sergei."

"He's a rat then," Eli said, pushing back. "Alright. Two days, you said?"

"Two days."

"Best get started."

Elijah took in his surroundings with a sweeping glance, his neck craning to try and look behind him. Just out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a door. He was alone in the small room, its walls decorated with peeling paper depicting various floral patterns. The floor was made up of wooden planks and a thick layer of dust coated it, along with discarded bundles of newspapers and garbage heaped into the four corners. There were stains just barely visible beneath the veil of dust that looked an awful lot like dried blood. The lamp overhead swayed when the door was thrown open and dust trickled from a crack in the ceiling when it slammed.

He heard movement behind him and decided to look forward, waiting for his keeper to walking into his field of vision. A man walked in front of him, stopping just inches away from where Elijah was tied to the chair. It was Sergei, he realized, the man he'd been sent to take out. Elijah smirked and chuckled quietly, it made his chest hurt.

"You're taller than in your picture," he said in lieu of a greeting. "Here I was thinkin" you'd just be another rat needs squshin"."

"You're brave," Sergei said with no trace of an accent. "But stupid. Walking through the front door like that' Did you think it would work?"

"I've had crazier plans."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Sergei took a few steps back and reached into his trousers" left hand pocket. "So, who sent you? Dmitri" Roma?"

"I look like the sorta man who'd be employed by your ilk, Sergei?" Elijah asked with a curious tilt of his head. He tried the bindings around his wrist with a tug. They were tight, the rope bit into his wrists. It would be a real trick, getting out of this one. "None of your friends sent me, you can be sure of that."

"I have no friends, mister...?"

"Name's Elijah Waltz."

"Elijah Waltz," Sergei repeated. "I am sorry we had to meet like this."

"Not yet you ain't."

Sergei's laughter was rich, booming and full of condescension. "Oh' And why is that, Elijah?"

?"Cause you're a rat and any man worth his salt knows what I do to rats."

"Rat' I've shared no information."

"See, now you're mistakin" my meanin". Ain't the kinda rat I'm talkin" about, Sergei."

Realization dawned on the man's face, his eyes widening in a mixture of surprise and amusement, but with a faint hint of fear thrown in as well. He leaned forward, bending down to eye level with Elijah as his hand slipped from his pocket and produced a knife that when flipped open, revealed a black blade. The edge gleamed in the dull light as he held it up to Elijah's face, prodding his cheekbone with the very tip.

"Now I see..." he began. "I must say I'm a little shocked it took you so long to find me, Elijah. Your kind is usually much faster about this sort of thing."

"Yeah, well we had a backlog. Tryin" to catch up now, see."

"Of course, busy times and all that."

"Well, now that we both know what I'm really here about, let's drop the charade."

His foot rose suddenly and connected with Sergei's chest. The man went tumbling back under the force of the kick while Elijah fell in the opposite direction, landing on his hands and the back of the chair. The force of the blow made the wood crack under his back and he was able to tear himself free, though his hands remained bound. He rolled to the side and scrambled to stand while Sergei cursed on the other side of the room and groped around for his discarded knife. He stood, glaring down at Elijah while the other man rose.

"Ut na slavika," Sergei's voice took on a guttural growl, it rumbled and the room seemed to tremble with each syllable. The light flickered overhead and the wallpaper peeled further. The walls beneath were inky black and glistened as though they were wet. A tinge colored the world red and everything seemed hazy and stretched out.

Elijah heard noises coming from the door behind him and when he turned to look it was gone, replaced by a dark archway leading down an equally dark corridor. He could only just make out the glimpses of movement on the other side as a howling filled the room and made his ears ring. He winced and pulled at his bindings again and turned his back on the opening to see Sergei step forward and twist the knife around in his hand.

"It's time to die, hunter," the man spat as his arm rose and went down again, driving the blade through his own chest. He cut down and tore his shirt and the skin beneath split like paper. Dark blood trickled out over his pale skin and he dropped the knife, reaching with his hands to peel it all back like he was unwrapping a package. Beneath it dark fur glistened, wet with the recently spilled blood. Piece by piece bits of flesh hit the floor with wet splats until what stood was no longer a tall pale man, but a grotesque creature with an elongated snout and spindly fingers. It had a long barbed tail and prominent front teeth with whiskers around its nose to make it look like a large, bipedal rat. The creature snarled and lunged at Eli, who jumped out of the way just in time to let it slam headfirst into the wall.

He snorted and stepped back, his eyes dropping to the floor to search for the discarded knife amidst the pools of blood and torn skin and shredded clothing.

The creature that liked to call itself Sergei released a shrill shriek and turned on Elijah, diving forward again with its clawed hands flailing in the air. Again Elijah moved out of the way, this time diving back. His hands felt at the ground beneath him as he landed and they closed around the blade of the knife. He felt the cold metal cut into his fingers but ignored the sting and scrambled to his feet again. He twisted the knife around and frantically started sawing through the rope around his wrists, all while keeping his eyes on the rat.

"You ain't gonna make it out of this, Sergei," he shouted over the howling that filled his ears again from the corridor outside the room. "Came here to put you down, ain't leavin" "til the deed's done."

"I'm going to feed you to my hounds, hunter!" the rat shouted back. It turned to face Elijah again but instead of lunging forward a third time, it uttered a noise that was akin to scraping a knife along a blackboard. From down the corridor echoed a barking response, followed by a low and threatening growl.

"Hear that?" said the rat. "Here they come."

They spilled in from around him like dark water; three huge, hulking hounds with hellish red eyes and enormous sharp teeth. They were all black and in the dim light, seemed to blend with the shadows cast about the room. Saliva dripped from their gaping maws as they circled around Elijah while he backed away, still carving away at the ropes around his wrists.

"I haven't fed them in months," the rat said, sounding mournful. "I am such a terrible keeper at times, neglecting my pets so. But I'm hoping to make up to them tonight, it's been centuries since they've enjoyed the taste of human flesh."

The rat eyed Elijah for a moment, its long mouth twisting into what could have been a smirk.

"Eat."

All at once the hounds lunged at him, each coming from a different direction. Just in time his hands were cut free and the ropes fell to the floor. He twisted the knife around in his grip and jumped to the left, punching up with one hand to shove his fist into one of the hounds" throat. In the same motion he dropped to a knee under the weight of the beast and brought his other hand down on the top of the hound's head, the knife plunging deep through bone to release a torrent of dark fluids. He wrenched it free and stood, charging past the two other hounds as they slid along the ground in their attempts to stop.

He threw the knife just as the rat turned for the corridor and cut into the creature's shoulder before he was diving through the air to tackle it down. His fists came down in a furious series of blows on the back of the creature's head before he grabbed the knife again and wrenched it free. Beneath him, the rat shrieked and ordered his hounds to attack again but already the blade was cutting through the back of his neck and the distorted world around him flickered. Elijah turned and stood while the life drained from the rat's body. The hounds were growling at him, slowly advancing. One jumped and the other followed.

The air seemed cooler all of a sudden and the light stopped flickering. The fading wallpaper returned to the walls and the dead hound and his living brothers faded from view. He felt like he had been snapped back to reality and stumbled as though landing from a fall. The knife clattered to the ground and he turned to look behind him. On the floor was Sergei the man, not the rat, with blood pooling around his head.

Elijah sighed and looked around the room once more, then stepped out into the hall. He was still in the hotel and figured he was on the second floor, so he made his way down while wiping his hands on his pants. The stairs were just around the corner and they took him down into the lobby. The old man stood behind the counter and he froze when Elijah came into view, his cloudy eyes wide with fear.

"Gonna need my hat back," Elijah said as he approached the counter.

The old man reached up with a shaking hand and pulled the hat from his head, slowly offering it over. Elijah snapped it away and wiped it off, then placed it on his head and flicked the brim at the old man before turning for the door.