The West End. The dirty part of the city. The evil part of the city. Where the everyday is what in any other area would consider a bad day. And a bad day well" Just hope you don't get caught in a bad day. But tonight' There was someone new, stalking the bad guys who dwell in the darkness here.
Most people don't want to even touch the problems in the Westend. That's exactly the sort of trash Sandrine ends up picking up. You wouldn't think anyone would opt for this sort of job - that it would just be assigned to the unfortunate soul who got left with the last available task. But Sandrine actually liked her work. Guess we were all made to do something.
There was a man lurking behind some miscellaneous object in the shadows below. She could smell the blood on him from up here. This was the type of guy that chose his victims from among the weak. The elderly woman who was always giving you chocolate, the young girl who was sneaking out for a bit of excitement from the thrill of actually doing something "wrong" or so they say. Or people handicapped in other various ways. The irony in this is he was not weak by any means (except maybe in his mind), she could see his posture and the way he carried himself. He was probably quite strong and capable.
Many thoughts were drifting up to her like the fog of warm breath in the cold night. He was reveling in the precious memories of his victims. That's right, tonight rather then getting off on these cherished moments " they were condemning him. A real prince this one, he had left his last victim alive and bleeding to death somewhere she was not likely to be found. Sandrine could have gone to help her" But her job was not to treat the symptoms as some healer might. No. Her job was to cure the illness. To attack the problem at its source so there would be no more casualties.
His anticipation was high, expectations were to find another woman to brutalize before the night was done. Sandrine had seen enough, enough to make even her feel sick. It wasn't that she had a problem with murder. There were plenty of occasions it was called for. Just the way that some went about it....She specifically hated those who picked on the innocent and the weak. But unfortunately, they were quite common. Whatever world you went to you would find it was the same.
Wings extended suddenly from her and she swooped into a dive like a bird of prey. No one saw. No one heard. The only thing giving away her supernatural essence - her eyes, which were almost glowing green. They always gave away when she was about to strike " if you were looking. His senses should have been on full alert. As it was it seemed he would give her no real fight.
The black adamantium claws would extend from her hands at just the right moment. He never saw it coming, never heard a thing. Never sensed he was in danger. Next thing he knew he was impaled on her claws and found himself being lifted into the air. He gasped for breath as he looked down at the claws that went straight through him - lifting him to the air by the wounds through his shoulders. The gun (which had not concerned her in the least) that he was intending to lift useless in his hand. It just dropped to the ground as he lost consciousness.
Perfect. Now she would have time to take him to an undisclosed location for some alone time. He didn't give her a fight yet, but he would atone for his sins. Let him enjoy these last few blissful moments of unconsciousness. He would not know such peace again until the release of death came to free him, she would see to it.
Most people don't want to even touch the problems in the Westend. That's exactly the sort of trash Sandrine ends up picking up. You wouldn't think anyone would opt for this sort of job - that it would just be assigned to the unfortunate soul who got left with the last available task. But Sandrine actually liked her work. Guess we were all made to do something.
There was a man lurking behind some miscellaneous object in the shadows below. She could smell the blood on him from up here. This was the type of guy that chose his victims from among the weak. The elderly woman who was always giving you chocolate, the young girl who was sneaking out for a bit of excitement from the thrill of actually doing something "wrong" or so they say. Or people handicapped in other various ways. The irony in this is he was not weak by any means (except maybe in his mind), she could see his posture and the way he carried himself. He was probably quite strong and capable.
Many thoughts were drifting up to her like the fog of warm breath in the cold night. He was reveling in the precious memories of his victims. That's right, tonight rather then getting off on these cherished moments " they were condemning him. A real prince this one, he had left his last victim alive and bleeding to death somewhere she was not likely to be found. Sandrine could have gone to help her" But her job was not to treat the symptoms as some healer might. No. Her job was to cure the illness. To attack the problem at its source so there would be no more casualties.
His anticipation was high, expectations were to find another woman to brutalize before the night was done. Sandrine had seen enough, enough to make even her feel sick. It wasn't that she had a problem with murder. There were plenty of occasions it was called for. Just the way that some went about it....She specifically hated those who picked on the innocent and the weak. But unfortunately, they were quite common. Whatever world you went to you would find it was the same.
Wings extended suddenly from her and she swooped into a dive like a bird of prey. No one saw. No one heard. The only thing giving away her supernatural essence - her eyes, which were almost glowing green. They always gave away when she was about to strike " if you were looking. His senses should have been on full alert. As it was it seemed he would give her no real fight.
The black adamantium claws would extend from her hands at just the right moment. He never saw it coming, never heard a thing. Never sensed he was in danger. Next thing he knew he was impaled on her claws and found himself being lifted into the air. He gasped for breath as he looked down at the claws that went straight through him - lifting him to the air by the wounds through his shoulders. The gun (which had not concerned her in the least) that he was intending to lift useless in his hand. It just dropped to the ground as he lost consciousness.
Perfect. Now she would have time to take him to an undisclosed location for some alone time. He didn't give her a fight yet, but he would atone for his sins. Let him enjoy these last few blissful moments of unconsciousness. He would not know such peace again until the release of death came to free him, she would see to it.