WestEnd - near the Docks - late at night

He was just a simple security guard for his boss. He knew who he was working for, though, and while it wasn't the thing that made him happy about his job, he was okay with it"more or less. Hell, after all, a guy had to eat, right"

He'd completed his circuit of the grounds, his job two-fold: watch for escapees, and watch for intruders. For the escapees, he had a taser - after all, that was product, a trade item, and damaging or hurting them would cost money. For the intruders, he had a silenced H&K MP-5 submachine gun, because anyone sneaking in here was not here to apply for a job or trying to be captured for sale as a slave. This city was full of people who would gladly do everything they could to shut this business down, if they had the chance.

He was just one of several men assigned to make sure that didn't happen.

He was about to head back to the main building to report in when he heard it - the soft, almost imperceptible sound of a footstep, a rustling sound in the shadows near the wall.

Automatically he turned that direction, bringing the submachine gun up. No alert had been raised, and anyone escaping would be in the opposite direction, he was sure - whoever was there, they were a target.

A quick pull on the trigger sent a spray of bullets in that direction, the only sound a rapid click-click-click of the action and the muted foop-foop-foop sound as the three-round bursts were fired at the shadows where he heard the sound coming from.

Moving in that direction, he kept the gun aimed at the spot, his eyes moving, tears straining, trying to spy movement, hear a sound, anything.

He never knew what hit him until it was too late - the heavy impact to his back knocked him forward, sprawling on the ground. There was a sudden, huge flare of pain and he thought he heard the sounds of something cracking and splintering before the world went black.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The head of security was worried. It had started with one of his sentries not making it back in to make his report, and then he'd sent out a couple more of the guards to check on him. At that point, he'd just been annoyed - he was sure the man had just found himself a place to kick back out there, some cozy little corner to take himself a quick little nap, out of sight, and was just late. He'd dock the man a couple nights worth of pay for it.

But then, the pair he'd sent out hadn't come back either.

The remaining four guards, he'd told to get armed up and ready to move, and then he'd headed upstairs to talk to the boss. Whatever was going on out there, it was trouble - he'd bet some goddamned vigilante out there was about to come raining down on them, and he needed to make sure the boss got out of the place before it could happen. Stopping at the main office door, he reached up and rapped the door twice.

The voice from beyond the door was audibly upset as it responded, growling out the words. "I told you, I don't want to be disturbed right now!"

Crap. "I know, boss, but we got trouble. Three of the sentries have gone missing and failed to report in. I think we need to get you out of here."

The voice was shouting now as the boss replied, now actively pissed off. "And just what the hell do I pay you f*cks for, huh' Get out there and deal with it! I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the night, is that clear?"

He wanted to protest, but he also didn't want to incur the boss's wrath. "Yes, sir. It'll be handled." Without waiting for a response, he started back down the hall for the stairs.

He never made it to them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The boss definitely didn't want to be disturbed. In his office, he'd been taking advantage of his occupation by using one of his slaves for his own sexual gratification - a young adolescent girl whose whimpers of pain and pleas for mercy were the ultimate aphrodisiac to his hears as he committed various acts of a lewd nature upon her flesh, each more perverse and depraved than the last. He had just cuffed her to a pipe running along the ceiling, so her body dangled like a hooked fish, her pleas and whimpers now becoming louder cries of pain.

They weren't loud enough to cover up the howl of agony from just down the hall a moment after he had yelled at his head of security to take care of whatever the hell was going on out there.

Certainly not loud enough to cover up the sound of the body crashing into the wall hard enough to make the building quiver, and just like that the sound of a man being tortured cut off with a sickening gargling sound.

That had his attention - anger turned to fear in a heartbeat, and suddenly he was backing away from the dangling teen female towards his desk, fumbling for a drawer to pull open, reaching into it for the pistol he kept there as his eyes remained on the door.

The girl was suddenly screaming at the door, shouting for help, and without hesitation he stepped towards her, bringing the pistol around in a whipping motion upside the back of her head to send her into unconsciousness. Leaving her dangling there, he went to the door, pulling it open slowly and peering outside to look down the hall.

A horrific sight met his gaze - his head of security, pinned to the wall opposite his doorway. His hands had been yanked out to the sides hard enough to see they were visibly dislocated, something that looked like railroad spikes shoved through his wrists, elbows, shoulders, and ankles. Blood had spilled out down along his torso from his throat, which looked as though it had been cruelly ripped out by a hand that was large enough to have removed most of it, leaving his head dangling to the side by a flap of raw meat and sinew.

He had just enough time to process the sight of that before the door was suddenly slammed back hard enough to throw him away from it and across his office to crash into his desk. The pistol flew from his grasp and into a corner as he slumped, dazed from the impact, trying to force his eyes to focus on the shape filling his office doorway.

It took a couple moments to see that it was the shape of a man. Clad from head to toe in some form of black suit with bright white striping. Brilliant, blood-red cloth and silver chains writhing around him as though they were alive. And the eyes"brilliant, emerald green glowing eyes glared at him out of that featureless mask over the figures face. As he watched, the emerald shade became ruby as the figure stepped forward, speaking in a voice that growled and rumbled, hardly seeming human.

"You, who make you living on the woe and misfortune of others"by grinding the downtrodden under your boot"by selling the lives of others"by dishonoring the flesh of the innocent."

The figure moved slowly forward with each word, not seeming to walk, but almost glide across the floor without so much as a sound as he came. He tried to back away, pushing back against the desk, terror filling his veins and soul, seeming to make his limbs move sluggishly, clumsily, as fear turned to mind-numbing panic.

He turned over to try to crawl away, scrambling towards the corner he swore his gun had flown into, and got perhaps halfway there when heard the rattle of chains. An instant later he screamed as he felt something - several somethings - bite into the flash of his ankles and calves, dragging him backwards towards the figure and hauling him into the air to be suspended, upside-down, staring at the dark figure as he was pulled up to be nearly eye level, nose to nose, staring into those blood-red eyes.

He didn't realize it was the chains holding him aloft by his legs, that they had grown long barbs that pierced his flesh to the bones. Terror, panic, shock - they filled his system until he could see nothing else but those unholy, glowing eyes.

"There is a place in the pits of Hell for those like you. When you get there, tell them the Hellspawn sends his regards. And to expect more."

He wanted to plead for mercy. He wanted to try to deal with this thing holding him.

But the pain had started, and he could do nothing but pray that the agony was over soon.

His prayers went unanswered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later

He sat, settled atop a building somewhat close to the one in which so many had died, and at least one had been freed, watching as the authorities worked the scene, trying to piece together what happened. Cloaked in shadow, he felt no fear of discovery by those investigating - he had left no trace of himself behind, save for a single witness.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel so"tormented.

It had felt good when he had snapped the neck of the first guard and severed his spinal column, the fragile feel of the sentry under his feet as he had landed on him.

It had felt right when he had sliced the throats of the pair sent out after him, feeling their life spill out over his hands in thick, pulsing profusion as their hearts pumped the vital fluid out of their bodies, unaware that the action that normally sustained life was now ending it that much more quickly.

The four in the security office, murdered, their necks broken, their skulls crushed, bones broken, savagely beaten until there was no life, no hope for life left for them"ripping the throat out of the chief security guard, pinning him to the wall like crucifixion".

"and finally, the slave master.

He had died slow, in the most pain that could be managed. By the time he had finished, the master of this "business" would not have been recognizable, had he not been careful to make sure the facial features had been untouched. He had crammed as many things as he had seen in the file the detective was perusing last night as he could, inflicted on this one depraved soul, before the man had finally expired, and along with it, every bit of torment he himself had felt in the years since he had become a Hellspawn.

Afterwards, he had lingered only long enough to release the girl hanging from the pipe by her wrists. She had regained consciousness as he was halfway through dealing with the slaver, and was horrified beyond the ability to articulate even a scream, recoiling from him the moment he let her go.

He had not minded even that. After all, she was free, even if she might need a lot of therapy to recover from what she had been through and seen that night.

It was a good night?a good start.

Batten Tower - Penthouse level

It was good to have his home back.

He loved the Haven, without a doubt - the cliffside house was a masterfully designed piece of modern architecture that was a sheer pleasure to reside in, not just for comfort but for the sheer beauty of the place. But even with that, he liked the penthouse - he felt more at home here, high over the ground, looking out on the city.

Like a sentinel of old, ever watchful and on guard, looking over the realm he had chosen to protect.

He was standing at the window wall, musing over that thought, when DIANA's voice sounded, cutting his ponderings short. "Sir, you have an incoming call from Detective Remington."

He frowned slightly, turning away from the view of the city - which was mostly points of light, laid out below him like a warm blanket of stars - towards her voice. This was an unusual time for her to be calling him. Granted, he didn't need or typically get a lot of sleep, but this was still an odd hour. "Go "head an' put "er t"rough, Di."

There was a brief pause before DIANA spoke again. "Ready, sir."

He spoke up as the call was connected and piped through to hidden speakers in the penthouse of Batten Tower. "D"tective Remin'ton, as Ah live an' breat"e. What's got yer sexy derrier callin" me at dis ungodly hour?"

Her voice came back right away through the speakers. "Hey, I've got something you need to see. Right now."

That got his attention. Her tone - all business, no lighter tone to it at all. Not that it was anything unusual, but she sounded different - more clipped, more abrupt than usual.

"Alright. Be dere in "bout twenty minutes or so." His own tone matched hers as he answered, then raised a hand to make a cut-throat gesture, indicating to DIANA to terminate the call as he moved towards a bedroom to get changed. "Di, trace "er signal for me an' get one o"my cars ready."

About eighteen minutes later, the Playboy pulled up at the crime scene, the smooth purring sound of the Lamborghini Murci"lago's engine announcing his presence before it was shut off and he climbed out, dressed in boots, blue jeans, and a Batten Industries t-shirt with the ankle-length black trenchcoat he wore everywhere wrapped over it all.

As he approached the yellow CRIME SCENE tape border, one of the Match officers - a sergeant, by the look of him stepped into his path, holding up a hand to stop him from entering. "Sorry, sir. No civilians past this point."

With a smirk he reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out his Avengers ID and showed it to the officer before he reached to the crime scene tape to lift it up so he could duck under it. "Avengers business, hoss."

The sergeant stepped back, his eyes widening as he stammered. "I-I'm sorry, sir, I didn't kn-know?"

He chuckled at the officer, shaking his head as he continued on past. "Don' worry "bout it, Sergeant. Yer good."

The blue-grey eyes scanned over the area, noting the covered bodies near the wall to his right, the blood staining the white sheets in profusion, more spread out over the ground, weapons nearby of a less-than-legal nature with crime scene evidence markers near them. Whatever had happened here, it was a mess.

Stopping one of the crime scene techs, he asked for Chase, and was directed towards the building, taking care where he stepped. He knew Watch protocol well enough not to sully any potential evidence as he made his way towards the building, spying Chase near the door leading into it, unable to resist the smile that cracked his features as he smoke.

"Ya know, d"tective, when ya called me at damn near four in de mornin", Ah was hopin" it'd be because ya were drunk an' wanted me to come take advantage of ya."

He smirked and gestured for her to lead the way inside. "Well, dat's me all over. Ya aim fer de moon, even if ya miss, yer still landin" "mong de stars, right?"

Leaving her with that rather cryptic comment, he stepped inside after her, looking around. He'd seen his share of death before, without a doubt. Even with the sights he'd seen both along the way to this building and elsewhere, he was unprepared for the scene of violence that met his eyes beyond that threshold.

The first room was an abattoir. Blood and gore soaked the floor, the walls, even the ceiling, the whole ghastly scene starkly illuminated by brilliant, harsh white forensic lighting that threw everything into surrealistically sharp relief.

"Christ. Looks like Jackson Pollock slaughtered a family o"pigs in "ere."

There was no avoiding stepping in the mess - the best he could do was to try to avoid stepping on any entrails and other human kibble as he made his way through it.

His senses, enhanced by the Guardian Project over a year ago, picked out details in the room as he looked around. Human bodies, smashed beyond recognition, bodies crushed, bones snapped so he could see them protruding against, and in a couple cases through, the skin.

Bullet holes in the walls, floors, and ceiling, empty casings in equal profusion.

The coppery, cloying stench of blood mixed with the sulfurous reek of spent gunpowder, almost overpowering other smells - adrenaline, fear, and sweat. The usual scents of a death fraught with violence.

His eyes roamed over the scene as he walked through the room, playing out in his imagination as his blue-grey eyes surveyed the destruction in the room.

It started at the window, the shattered one to the left of the door. He could see a few, small glass fragments on the floor, covered by blood and other detritus from the fight that took place here. Whatever had come through it had grabbed one of the victims and dragged him out through the window - most of that broken glass was on the outside, and pieces of the man's uniform clung to the shards of glass in the windowpane.

Whoever it was had used the body to smash through the door like a battering ram, judging by the damage to the frame as well as the door itself, which held one very mangled-looking body lying atop it. The other bodies were partially driven through the walls or smashed into the concrete floor, their weapons near their hands as they lay in death. The holes in the walls from the bullets seemed random at first, but he could follow the path the gunmen's aim took. Fire had been concentrated on the door at first, then fanned out in three directions from there - one high, one low, one sweeping at the middle. These men had been well-trained, but something had obscured their vision so they couldn't see. A smoke bomb, perhaps" No, that didn't make sense. There was no residue from a chemical or smoke bomb in here, and no casing for the weapon if there had been anyway. Something else, something different, some other sort of decoying system.

The first to fall had been the furthest from the door, interestingly enough. No evidence of weapons used on him, he had simply been hauled into the air, then flung face-down into the cement floor with crushing force. The second gunman had gone flying from a heavy impact to the chest that had crushed the ribs and flung him into the wall hard enough to break his neck. The third and final gunman had gotten it the worst, though. His eyes could follow the path the unknown person had taken in thrashing the man through the room, something that had seized the gunman and sliced him open in multiple places even as it had flung him about the room.

And under that, something else, some dark, deadly scent that he couldn't identify. Surely not human, not like any he'd ever come across.

This unknown party, this violent force, stood in the middle of the room for a moment. Not long, maybe a second or three, but he paused long enough to look over the result of his attack upon these men. Reveling in it, perhaps"

As Chase continued on, he followed, picking his way through the slaughter and climbing the stairs, making note of everything he saw, both with his eyes and in his mind.

He paused outside the room to examine the man stuck to the wall, looking over the body.

They met probably down the hall, judging by the drag marks and blood that started as soon as you came up the stairs. The man had been taken by surprise, clearly - his sidearm was still in its holster - and whoever had ambushed him had started by dislocating the shoulders. Whoever it was must have had claws - the forearms were shredded, mostly defensive wounds, but the attacker had pinned him to the wall with what appeared to be railroad spikes before ripping his throat out.

This was wanton violence. The posture of the body was an obvious message in itself, a religious reference of punishment by crucifixion. This man was tortured, ableit briefly, before being put out of his misery - the message could have been delivered more efficiently by killing the man first, then nailing him up. The killer, whoever or whatever it was, wanted this man to suffer.

Turning, he followed Chase into the room containing the last victim, looking the space over, his blue-grey eyes finally settling on the body Chase was showing him.

An evidence marker showed where a pistol lay in the corner, loaded and ready to fire, but without a single bullet being discharged. The body itself was so mangled it was impossible to determine exactly what had been done to the man in which order. A thought impulse had DIANA using the sensors built into his trenchcoat to perform a full scan of the remains for further analysis.

The skin had been removed, starting at the feet and stripped up to the torso. The genitals had been removed in the process, and there was no trace of them that the Playboy could see anywhere. He guessed they had been shredded, possibly before the victim's eyes. Bones had been snapped, in various places along the body, the spinal column kept intact, the head unharmed, probably so the victim could be identified.

Her point-blank question about tailing her he waved away, scoffing softly at her. "C"mon, Chase. Tails are fer amat"urs." That was followed by a closer, more thoughtful look, as something occurred to him. Chase was a detective, after all, and a good one at that. She'd know if someone was following her, even if she couldn't see the following party.

Her second question got a shake of his head as he turned back to the wreckage that was the remains of the leader of this slaver operation. "Dis is Rhy'din, detective. Dere's lots o"folks in dis town dat could do dis kinda damage - s"a matter o"why some"ne would do it dis way."

He left unsaid that he could very well be counted among the suspects, with his recently publicized stance on slaver operations, his identity as the Ranger, and Chase's forwarding of the files on this operation to him. In fact, he had intended to raid this operation himself tomorrow night - the difference was, he would have left everyone alive.