June 6th, 2004

L.A. is a crazy town where you’d expect a lot of things; sure it can’t be compared to Vegas, but it’s still pretty crazy. A stroll down sunset blvd at night can be scarier than Bill Gates taking a walk in the slums of Brooklyn at twelve p.m. But as crazy as it is, normal people only see the surface… and Bloodhound liked to keep it that way.

          He lowered the binoculars as the man in the baseball cap swaggered into the nightclub. A wide smile plastered on his face, the smile of a man who just got an easy pickup. The woman leading him in was a waif girl with dark red hair and Gothic clothing. Bloodhound figured that somewhere between the dark makeup, the streamline figure, and the showy outfits; the man had been seduced.

          Idiot, he thought, you’ve got no idea what kind of hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

          Bloodhound tucked the binoculars into his coat and calmly strolled across the roof. Gathering his muscles, he ran forward and vaulted across the twenty-feet gap between the nightclub and his vantage point. He landed smoothly and headed for a ceiling vent without breaking a stride. Heaving the large metal cover from the vent, he dropped down into the air duct and silently made his way toward the source of the blasting music that was the nightclub. He stopped over another vent that was positioned, fortunately for him, directly over a table where the bouncers were playing cards. He could here them converse in loud voices,

          “I wish I could be inside instead of out here,” a wiry bouncer sighed, “I hate the whole ‘look but don’t touch’ thing. It’s just so damn tempting.”

          “Get a hold of yourself,” a large black bouncer replied, shuffling his cards, “the boss hears that, and you’re gonna be grabbing your ankles for some real bad boys.”

          “Hey, you smell that?” the wiry man asked.

          “Smell what?” a third bouncer returned.

          “Smells like…” Goosebumps appeared on his skin as he recognized the smell, “garlic!”

          A small smirk appeared on Bloodhound’s face as he took his cue, stamping on the vent, he dropped down from the ventilation shafts and landed right on the poker table. Flexing his wrists, he felt cold steel slide forward from under his sleeves, twin silver blades smeared with garlic concentrate. With a motion faster than the human eye could perceive, he spun himself on the table, slicing open the four bouncers’ throats.

          He felt an utmost pleasure as he looked into eyes of his prey, widening in realization of what had happened. A gagging sound barely emerged from their throats before their undead flesh began to incinerate and melt, followed by their bones as they were each rendered into dust.

          Flexing his wrists again, Bloodhound felt the blades retract into his coat again, cool metal against his forearm. Springing lightly off the table, he dusted off his coat and observed his environment. He was in a small guardroom connecting the outside entrance and the entrance into the actual club itself, its purpose was to check guests for weaponry before they entered the club. At the far end of the room hung a set of curtains, beyond which Bloodhound heard dance music blasting from large speakers. The walls of the small, whitewashed room were lined with gray lockers, no doubt containing weaponry.

          Overconfidence can kill you,

Bloodhound grimaced as he glanced at the four piles of dust sitting on the once occupied chairs. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a small, silver crucifix dangling from a white silk string. Lowering his head, he hung the religious symbol around his neck and walked calmly toward a set of curtains at the far end of the guardroom. Reaching out, he lifted the soft but heavy fabric slightly and peered in.

It was a reasonably large space with neon lights, multi-colored lasers and bright roaming spotlights. Scores of scantily clad youngsters were wriggling their bodies together to beat of the music… the true nature of this gathering disgusted Bloodhound. Glancing into the corner, he spotted the unwitting man who Bloodhound had just seen enter the club.

          Dropping the curtain, Bloodhound stepped back and reached into his coat. From his pocket, he retrieves a small, spherical devise covered by round glass plates. Placing one hand on either side of the devise, he pulled it slightly apart and twisted it slightly. The sphere blipped to life as Bloodhound quickly lifted the curtain again and tossed the sphere into the midst of the club goers.

          Spinning around, he quickly slipped on a pair of extremely dark sunglasses and stepped away from the curtain. He barely stood out of the way before he heard the terrible shrieks emit from inside the club as a powerful blast of UV radiation incinerated 80% of the club goers. As the hum of the light grenade died down, Bloodhound once again reached into his coat, this time drawing forth two black and silver pistols. Brushing aside the curtains, he rushed into the club.

          The music was now nowhere to be heard. The center of the dance-floor was covered with a perfectly circular pile of dust. Scattered around the circumference of the pile of dust were a few survivors, they’re beautiful facades marred by terrible burns. Feeling no sympathy at all, Bloodhound swiftly took aim and rendered four more of the club goers to dust.

          Recovering from the UV shockwave, one of the club goers, a slim young woman by appearance, leapt into the air with a banshee-like shriek. Bloodhound turned swiftly and calmly placed a bullet into her heart, causing the girl to incinerate in mid-air, her ashes falling like sand onto the gunslinger. Without even flinching, Bloodhound continued to shoot, his bullets slamming directly into their targets, rendering them to dust.

          Amidst the shrieks of his victims, the red-haired woman Bloodhound had seen from the roof suddenly let out a long shriek. Her companion jerked back in shock as his would-be lover sprouted long fangs and leapt impossibly high into the air at Bloodhound.  The gunslinger simply turned slightly and calmly put a hole in her forehead. The redhead shrieked in agony and tumbled to the ground, but for all her twitching and writhing, she did not die.

          Glancing around, Bloodhound found that there were none left save the redhead on the ground and sniveling mess of a man cowering in a far corner. Holstering his weapons, the gunslinger straightened his coat and dusted off his hair. Striding toward Mr. Baseball-hat, he grabbed the man’s chin and turned his head left and right. No holes.

          Satisfied, Bloodhound stood back and snapped,

          “Get up, you coward. This is what you get for indulging in your own sin.”

          Grabbing the man by his collar, Bloodhound lifted him to his feet without a lick of effort and shoved him toward the exit.

          “Get a life. Otherwise,” he gestured toward the redhead, “I protected you from them, but no one can protect you from me.”

          The man sniveled something pathetic that sounded like “okay” and scrambled out faster than a rabbit. Bloodhound sighed and wondered how mankind had managed to sink this low. 

          Turning his attention the redhead, he took a knee on the floor and wrapped a hand around the creature’s neck. Lifting her up by the neck, he brought her face close to his own and hissed,

          “Where is your master?”

          The redhead hissed something like “fuck you” through her gritted teeth and attempted to spit at Bloodhound. Sighing, the gunslinger removed his sunglasses and looked directly into the redhead’s eyes.

          “We both know perfectly well that where I shot you would have been fatal to a human. While it will not kill you, I have no doubt that it is inflicting great pain. We both know that no matter how adept your kind is at healing, that wound will heal… but the pain will never go away.”

          Reaching into his coat, he drew out a bullet. It was silver, 9mm. Bullet with a cross engraved into its side.

          “You see this? This is the thing that’s lodged in your brain cavity at the moment. That’s the thing that’s constantly searing into your gray matter, preventing healing in that portion. Despite that, I know you can understand what I’m saying. Tell me where your master is, and I promise you… I’ll make the pain go away.”

          By now the redhead was sobbing like a child lost in a marketplace. Two trails of sparkling tears streamed down her cheeks… but she was by no means about to divulge her secrets.

          “Go… to… HELL!” she gasped through sobs.

          Bloodhound sighed and glanced at her forehead. The hole had sealed, anyone who didn’t know the truth would never have guessed that a bullet had just slammed its way into her brain just minutes before.

          “You know perfectly well what a cross or a crucifix does to your kind. Tell me where your master is, and I can end your pain. It’s either that, or I leave you out on the street so you can writhe in that excruciating pain until the sun comes up. Then you’ll be put out of your misery in a far crueler way.”

          The redhead squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms into her temple. Bloodhound could hear air wheezing through her teeth… she was gasping from pain even though she no longer needed to breath. He realized that she was in too much pain to even speak now. Closing his eyes, he stood and pulled out one of his guns. Even though he had just killed scores of her kind, he was not without sympathy, and he was by no means heartless. Having mercy to his enemies was a perfectly common thing to Bloodhound. Squeezing the trigger, he placed a silver bullet into her heart and watched as she incinerated into dust. At least that spared her the long hours of excruciating pain that would’ve been inflicted upon her if he had just left her there; killing her wasn’t being inhumane, it was having mercy.

          Making his way up to the DJ stand, he found the African American cowering under his desk, an UZI held in both hands. His white eyes were two flaming balls of hatred as he aimed the weapon at Bloodhound.

          “You can’t kill me.”

          “GO TO HELL, MOTHERFUCKER!” he yelled as he pulled the trigger.

          Faster than humanly possible, Bloodhound stepped aside to avoid the bullets and closed the distance between himself and the DJ. His right hand shot out and drove the silver blade in his forearm into the DJ’s heart. The African American gasped and began to incinerate even as he looked down at the blade buried in his chest.

          Withdrawing the blade once again, Bloodhound stood and made his way down to the dance floor. Glancing around the club once again to make sure he didn’t miss any targets, he brushed aside the curtain and stepped out. As he left the building via the same ventilation shaft he entered from, he heard the blaring of sirens and the faint chatter of Police radios. He shook his head as he thought to himself,

This is one more case that no detective could ever solve.

*        *        *        *        *        *

“Love your enemies, bless those who curse you.”