Post by Strix on Nov 9, 2021 22:59:27 GMT
Gunshots rang out across Chinatown.
Then, perhaps uncomfortably so, there was silence. Manhattan was not usually a silent place. Save the distant barking of an alerted dog, there was little else that filled the night air-- only distant traffic and the occasional whisper of wind along the rooftops. The place he had chosen was isolated for that very reason, the quiet. Anyone who would think to intervene would not hear the struggle-- all except one, if he had been correct in his judgement. The one he was after would no doubt hear the muffled gunfire as loud as a howl in the ear.
Strix only hoped the man had even developed that far. There was always a chance that he would be incorrect-- this was a new place, after all, and the rules were yet to reveal themselves. Tonight would be a test; tonight would be an introduction. It would only be fair.
There would be a constant drip, drip that fell across the night, silent to others but rainfall to the one he sought. When the man would happen upon the sound, he would find only a body upon a roof as evidence of the slaughter-- a carved corpse, intricate yet simple in its message. An older Asian fellow, hands nailed to the wall of a rooftop staircase exit in mock cruficixion. The cage of a pigeon-keeper was adjacent, the birds undisturbed and unagitated. Blood fell from the cadaver's throat in a simple one-two. Drip, drip. Again, and again. Drip, drip.
On the brick, camouflaged yet glossy under the moonlight, was a simple name-- no doubt written in the blood of the man's jugular. Unknown to many, but it would bear all the significance in the world to the watcher.
GARRICK
VALERIA
Then, perhaps uncomfortably so, there was silence. Manhattan was not usually a silent place. Save the distant barking of an alerted dog, there was little else that filled the night air-- only distant traffic and the occasional whisper of wind along the rooftops. The place he had chosen was isolated for that very reason, the quiet. Anyone who would think to intervene would not hear the struggle-- all except one, if he had been correct in his judgement. The one he was after would no doubt hear the muffled gunfire as loud as a howl in the ear.
Strix only hoped the man had even developed that far. There was always a chance that he would be incorrect-- this was a new place, after all, and the rules were yet to reveal themselves. Tonight would be a test; tonight would be an introduction. It would only be fair.
There would be a constant drip, drip that fell across the night, silent to others but rainfall to the one he sought. When the man would happen upon the sound, he would find only a body upon a roof as evidence of the slaughter-- a carved corpse, intricate yet simple in its message. An older Asian fellow, hands nailed to the wall of a rooftop staircase exit in mock cruficixion. The cage of a pigeon-keeper was adjacent, the birds undisturbed and unagitated. Blood fell from the cadaver's throat in a simple one-two. Drip, drip. Again, and again. Drip, drip.
On the brick, camouflaged yet glossy under the moonlight, was a simple name-- no doubt written in the blood of the man's jugular. Unknown to many, but it would bear all the significance in the world to the watcher.
GARRICK
VALERIA
