Will I Bite The Hand?

BY : Natch
Category: Hellsing > AU - Alternate Universe
Dragon prints: 930
Disclaimer: No I do not own hellsing or any of it's characters/plots/places or names nor do I make any money/profit/souls. THIS IS FAN MADE.


WHOOO!!! LETS ALL THANK KRAKENKNIGHT FOR BEING AN AWESOME GHOSTWRITER!! HELL YEAH! *high fives*



Now this story is 20% cooler.



Nope, I don't own Hellsing. I don't make any money or profit.



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Will I Bite The Hand?

.xXx. 1 .xXx.



.xXx. Can‘t Buy A Thrill .xXx.



 



Could You Bite The Hand? @Steve Conte (Wolf's Rain)

Another gun for hire and just another day

when you are done, you just abuse it, whatever you say

if you were offered some, would you wanna bite the hand?

would you betray a friend to prove you're cold then walk away?



we were born with nothin' I don't want, but you need something

you want glory, I need none and it's coming between us



people are born with

people are born without

some people have

and others want

what some go without

some people live free

some people just want more

as for me I got all that I need



do you still think that we're not brave if we don't bleed?

we've seen so much blood and violence already, how much do you need?

you howl and fight your war and talk of being free

won't let you in, they're just usin' you so why won't you see?

some people are born so much closer to the sun

holdin' out their hands and grabbin' golden rays, they are the chosen few

but we both know of course that's not you or me

and I'd be telling the truth if I said it don't matter, so how bout you?



can you tell me really you don't need it, you don't want it

if you can, cool, if you can't, the difference between us



people are born with

people are born without

some people have

and others want

what some go without

some people live free

some people just want more

as for me I got all that I need

don't got much but I got what I need



some people are always reachin' for some things that they don't need

I'll tell you now with thoughts like that there will never be enough

some people always struggling for something that is not

I'll tell you something now that I'm really just fine lovin' what I got... ...


 



     "oh I do so love Paris!!" cried some young new wife to her hubby, she had soppy blonde curls and a twang indicating the American Midwest.



"I like it too, Sugar bear!!!” said her noticeably older husband his broad shoulders and garish I <3 Paris T-shirt obscuring his massive belly which wobbled as they kissed lightly for her camera phone.



‘Ew I‘m gonna be sick!! Stupid lovey-dovey sappy people!!! Stupid tourist!!!!’ thought Riot in disgust. Watching them would make anyone sick, so lost in their fat, grease guzzling lives! She bent down and went back to work on the stale blue BMW.



This was a lost cause it, wasn’t going to match the nut she was manhandling. Sighing at her defeat by German engineering she stood up and looked towards the only other person there.



He was a short squat man with stubby fingers the color of used coffee filters, from his bulldog brow to his mouth full of crooked yellow and golden teeth he was anything but an attractive man.



"Bruter!! This piece of shit isn’t worth it!!" she yelled out to the near-deaf man, banging the wrench against a sheet of corrugated iron.





"DAMNIT!! We're gonna lose customers at this rate!!!" he whined his high pitched voice reeding through his teeth as he banged the table he sat at with his saucepan fists.





"Well, if you'd buy some decent tools you wouldn't be in this rut," mumbled Riot as she tossed the wrench aside allowing it to clang against the concrete floor before walking away from the failed repair job.





"WHAT??!! DON'T YOU MEAN 'WE'???" yelled the older man unaware of his volume a column of heat rising from his balding scalp. It so palpable you could swear steam was blowing out his ears.



He wasn’t paying attention to Riot as he went into a dramatic fit. The only thing were his frustrations expelling from his lopsided lips.



She was young women of 20 or so with a lithe figure obscured by a loose fitted Band-T walking over to the tool boxes that lined themselves along the wall. Biting her lip to distract herself from his frustrations she began to dig about for a rag among the clutter and filth, her short brown hair hanging in front of her emerald green eyes.





"No, it's just you, I’ve got a better part-time job, remember?" there was a heavy hint of annoyance in her tone likely caused by his moronic wailing in her ear.





"Oh… yeah..." He looked downcast, a bulldog slapped with a newspaper.



Finding and snatching a rag off a shelf, Riot wiped away the grease and walked to the open garage door. The one advantage of part time work, she could decide what she did with her day.



“I could sleep? No, let’s see what’s going on in town.” She thought to herself as she strolled out the door. Perhaps she would spend it cruising the roads and alleys. She walked with an air of confidence, her heavy midnight boots crushing the weeds in the salvage yard with a pleasant crouch. Mounting her baby, a Ducati 900SS Sport Motorcycle its muted wine red chassis glinting, she kicked the stand up and revved the engine.



"Later Bruter!” she called back to her somewhat unstable employer “I’ll be back when I feel like it!" she continued, lips curling to a smile as she revved again.





"NOOOOOOO WAAAAIT!!!” cried out Bruter in pain and anger as his (only) employee of the month revved once more before sauntering towards the open road.



‘too slow old man’ she called behind her as the bike roared and sped off into the fading light of day, leaving a crimson after shadow in its wake



It wasn’t even 30 minutes before she was wandering downtown, the old buildings leaning in to greet her as their little flower boxes shouted from their windows in brilliant dashes of red and yellow. Dogs barked, cars zipped by and the Seine carried all manner of folk up and down the old quarter towards the majesty of Sacre Cur.



Paris the greatest city in the world, home of art, culture and the massive spires of the Holy mother herself, Notre Dame.



Passing one of the old churches, She’d never learnt the names of all of them, Riot couldn’t help glanced at the colorful posters lining the wall, ‘Missing, child, Blond, Missing, Missing, Mother of two, Please, Brown eyes, Missing, Call, Lost, Runaway, Missing….’ The words ran together, the wall lined with hundreds of posters of different people. Their faces stared out from the paper, young, old, some with lovers some with children, whole families ….gone?



‘I never heard anything about any of these people on the news…’ The thought floated by with a nagging suspicion. So many, and so recent too, the oldest date she spotted so far was 3 years old, the newest, today; flowers and candles, toys and pleas for their souls to be at peace lined the bottom of the wall.



The wall of the lost souls was massive and carried a feeling of despair and fear. Looking down the street Riot watched as an older woman of 70 or so, her back stooped in the weight of years and blind despair, slowly walked to the wall holding a poster of a smiling girl. The woman slowly started to cry, The quiet weeping of one bereft of hope as she smoothed the poster on the wall. Stepping back she lost her will to hold it in and began to wail. Long drawn out wails that cut into the souls of any who heard her



‘Something’s not right. ’ thought Riot introspectively as she turned around and walked as fast as she could to escape the crushing feeling of dread. If you stayed in a place like this too long it would rip a hole in your soul.



She wondered if the police were on a case with so many victims but no, Volt would have said something to... no, the old cop would want to join them and help them look.



The cobblestone path was quite uneven here and pigeons flew about with the chaotic order of any flocking bird. The old neighborhood was quiet for the most part; the old houses leaned and twisted with age forever shambling but never moving an inch. Flowers and trees swayed in peace, only Riot’s mind was not at peace.... As she walked her eyes lost focus, her mind drifting into some of her first memories.



There's a feeling of heat, burning.



Blood, fire and screams. But nothing beyond that, as if the person she was before really did die with the other people that day. Absentmindedly her hand went to rub the scar on the back of her head.



That was years ago. They told her there was a bomb, that she was the only one who lived, that she'd never walk or talk again... fuck that. She spent the next few months giving them hell, screaming and kicking. She worked hard to stand up and soon was running about the hospital trying to escape it. She had completely recovered from the 'permanent' brain damage.



Of course they weren't going to let her go so easy, they charged her millions for the treatment. 'what treatment? She had relearned how to walk on her own.' She stomped the ground as if agreeing with herself finding its sturdy stone reassuring.



It was the officer who found her that day, who had come back every day since then that helped her speak again. Once she learned French it was easy for her to learn a few more languages as they came naturally. He had been impressed; he had said she must have already known these languages and just remembered them. Once free from the Bleached-white prison she moved in with Volt who quickly became her legal Guardian.



Of course, the bills never stopped coming...



When Volt couldn't pay, he quit his job, leaving the path of a cop behind him he had become a chef, it only brought in a few more bucks but it was the best he could do. Riot sighed, it was hard for him and she was cold and mean to him. When they came to take their home she finally stepped up and started to get money.



She started to steal. And she was damn good at it.



She reached her bike and got on, looking over her shoulder towards the wall of faces. 'I'll find out later.' She whispered confidently.





>>1:36AM<<

The Harlequin’s eye Night club.




‘Score!!’



A childish smile was smeared across Riot’s face as she opened the door and waltzed in like some demonic aristocrat, the fools at the club left the back door open! She did a quick check of her guns and ammo, making sure that the safety was off and the barrels were loaded.



‘M'kay, two fully loaded both Shot and Pistol, four loaded ammo clips, smoke bombs and we’re all set! Now lets rock!!’



She raced across the entryway and darted behind a corner wall. Carefully and quietly she glanced around the corner, the edge of her brown hair dangling into one eye.



Whoa! That guy was HUGE!! This was going to be fun!!



Quietly, she pointed her blade-topped pistol, Rath, at him, lined him up and...



BANG!!



‘Well, maybe that wasn't fun…’ The remark hung in the air as she watched the gorilla man writhe as he sobbed grasping his bleeding shoulder. There clawing for the wall the shocked at the round that had shredded through his body and had embedded itself in the wall behind him leaving cracks in the old plaster.



Heaving a sigh Riot stepped over him, not giving a second glance as he reached out at her legs in desperation. His gorilla like fingers grasping at Riot’s yellow overcoat, as he sobbing his misery palpable as blood loss made him close his thick lidded eyes.



Making it out onto the dance floor unaccosted she stopped and began giving the place a once over. The scene before her was tinted orange and yellow by her goggles sun colored glasses, hardly necessary since the flashing lights left spots in everyone eye sight but they probably didn’t hurt in this place. The strange goggles obscured part of her face and hid her green eyes. She reached up to her left shoulder with her right hand and jerked the body armor hidden under her coat, adjusting it a little.



Flashing lights, loud thumping music that assaulted ones eardrums with a cudgel and a bunch of people who thought the dougie was the height of dance. Yippee.



It was filled to the brim with people dancing, the stale smell of sweat and the thud of pulsing blood, drinking, shooting up and passing out. Everyone back to back, the lights flashing wildly and glow sticks flailing in time to the bouncing music. Dancing above her neon colors shuffled like beasts hunting the shadows, the flickering black lights making jeans, sneakers and white tees glow like deep mountain fungi.



She was indistinguishable in this crowd, the night children in their element, dressed in a yellow trench coat with a black bird in flight gracing her back with wings outstretched. Under that was a nondescript black shirt and urban chamo pants the parts she couldn’t ditch were the easiest parts to miss. Hanging from her back like a slumbering python was a large mostly empty duffel bag. Pulling her stunning red scarf over her face like an old time Mexican bandit she scanned the area for any threat.



The bar was busy with people drinking and making out, the stench of hormonal rebellion thick in the air.



She needed to get to the backdoor, the one past the bar. Gulping a breath of smoky air she stepped down into the seething mass of flesh and fluids.





‘Damn, what rock did all these people crawl out from!?’ she muttered under her breath as the tension clawed at her like a rabid dog. She was tactile defensive and her hatred of crowds and people in general was growing with each step. She didn't need to be here long, just 30 minutes. In and out. 30 minutes...



The music was so loud and grating; Riot couldn’t help but wince in pain and force herself to walk faster, mixing with the crowd she worked her way to the furthest wall. Passing the bar at a marching speed, she scooped up someone else’s drink and downed it quickly, then passed the empty glass to a thin women in a light blue skin tight dress who began grinding against her. She was quite angry.



Walking by the tables and chairs in waltz-like canter she slid over to the basement door with superb confidence and flair. Smoothly walking past the guard she flashed a stolen keycard as I.D.





Once in, she started her 'other' job.



___________________________



Domino Jones downed his drink and left a ten euro note on the counter before turning to his date.



He hadn’t been happy when that weirdo in the overcoat had nicked his drink but he wasn’t here to cause a scene, he had a more pressing reason.



He was a skinny man all buzz cut hair and leather jacket but he leaned onto the table and batted eyes at the attractive ebon haired lass he was courting.



“Well then luv,” he said in his thick northern British accent “What’s a sweet gel like you doin in a doomp like this,”



The woman who appeared of Pakistani origin fluttered her eyes at him, she’d told him her name but he’d already forgotten it, it wasn’t like she was that important in the greater scheme of things.



“Its just a trip with London the way it is these days we needed to get away for a bit,” she giggled sipping her third Toxxel of the evening, Domino had educated the barman on that and was proud to see them already spreading in the crowd.



“College girl eh?” he said placing his hand on her unused hand, “Will anyone miss yeh if I take yoo away fer the night?”



His brown amour made no effort to resist his hand, he still had the touch score night.



Tug tug



‘Not now’ thought Domino his smile freezing into a grimace.



Tug tug



If he ignored it maybe he would still score tonight



Tug tug tug



That last one was emphatic whatever it was it was serious.



He swiveled his chair to face the short solemn man in a neatly cut dress shirt which displayed a small silver cross was standing behind him. Kurtz, the boy had been following him quite a while now.



Kurtz was a painfully thin young man with cropped and well maintained cinnamon hair his formerly pale skin now tanned in the pattern of his robes. He still had a build you could blow away with a stiff breeze, but he was resilient, a travelling priest in the style of the old monks, he normally left him alone when he was busy but right now he looked nervous.



“Ve need to go,” he said to Domino eyebrow raised like a scolding teacher at Domino’s flirting partner.



“Loosen up Kurtz, I’m not doin’ anything out of the ordin’ry” said Domino freeing his jacket from the now unresisting priest.



“He iss coming,” said the young man with a nod.



Domino blinked his beady little eyes and squinted to see the priest’s expression, he was uncomfortable.



Nodding once, he retrieved his final Toxxel and finished it in one swallow.



“Word of advice luv,” he said jovially dusting his leather pants with his hands, the detritus of peanut shells dislodging like an avalanche. “Run for your life,”



And with that, he was gone gliding through the dance floor like a fish in a coral reef.



The night had only just begun for him.



_______________________________





"Left or right?" said Riot in a sugary sing-song voice. She had a wide grin like the Cheshire cat as she looked down the forked hallways.



"Weeeeelllllll, I have time, I can go left first!" And Riot strolled down the dimly lit hallway. She had already fixed the cameras with a pre-recorded tape of the night before, unless there had been a riot back here, she had no worries of being seen by electric eyes.



The concrete hall was cool and slightly drafty, cables and strange pipes hung from the unusually high ceiling. There was an awful smell but she couldn’t quite place where it came from, she also didn’t pay much heed to the reddish brown stains spattered the walls. Riot checked every room and cupboard she came across and all but a few doors that she investigated led to scant pickings save for crates and boxes, too heavy to make off with. After a good deal of searching Riot finally found what it was she sought. Reaching out to touch the vault door she started to crack a wicked grin; the vault was open.



"The hell...?"



She pushed open the door and found nothing…



Nothing at all….



Empty.



The vault was empty.



The word echoed dully bouncing around her head like a ping pong ball in a tumble drier; closing her eyes she gritted her teeth and snarled.



"…God Damn It All To Hell!” she cursed, a roar rising from her throat as she pounded the wall the scream growing ever louder.



Weeks of planning, a whole week spent watching every movement this club made, even that creepy guy who seemed to hit on everything, names of the important players and the times when guards changed. She had even studied the blueprints to the point of madness.



Empty! The big score, the ultimate pay out…. Empty? Once more the word echoed, coming out of her emotional haze she realized something. She had said that out loud! She had let her mouth get the better of her. Turning on her heels Riot began a stormy march out of the restricted area. Just when freedom was opening before her, she heard the music had stopped. People were running, screaming, crying, the sounds of panic.





Riot had a second of startled confusion before a certainty set in, a Raid! She had to hide, get out of sight, gotta hide, gotta hide!



Climbing up above the door she braced herself, hands outstretched to hold onto the dull blue and pewter pipes that ran along the ceiling. There hanging acrobatically praying her overcoat wasn’t going to flutter dramatically at the wrong time the thief waited.



With a sickening crunch of metal fatigue the door flew open, the sharp echo of its broken lock slamming the wall heavy boots now stomped the bare stone floor. The hollow clatter sending shivers down her spine.



A pause… a scrape then a heavy sigh and a shuffle as one foot was placed before the other. From what Riot could glimpse from her hiding place a man in priest vestments had just walked in.



Wait… a priest?





"Noow where be teh blood suckin' scum? hmmm? I hear ya lil' laddie, get doown froo ther‘." Called the priest he spoke with a strange heavy accent in his voice, a bit sexy really, or annoying as hell depending on the person. He looked up, his sharp eyes catching the now cornered thief in a suspicious glare.





"M'kay, ya got me, fair enough," she said unhooking her feet from the gas main and vaulting down neatly, she raised her hands and did her best to appear as harmless as possible.



’Maybe this guys a creeper who digs the Father and naughty school-girl thing…’ she casually thought scanning around for a potential ambush. She examined him quickly, he was sure a weird looking guy. Her mind, still buzzing with adrenaline, took to memorizing the father’s features and ran with it.



‘This was most unexpected, of all things a Priest? He was definitely taller than her, maybe 6'4 with an unusually heavy build for a man of God like he worked out a good deal. He short graying hair but traces of blonde were still prevalent throughout, it had been neglected a while and had a slight greasy sheen. He also sported a pair of rounded spectacles that glinted with odd menace in the flashing colored light. His heavy-set jaw was square and covered in fine stubble like freshly sanded granite. Most of all Riot noticed the large, wedge-shaped scar on his left cheek; This was not a man to mess with.



It was best to play things cute and confused.



A nice smile, relaxed poster, don’t forget to look a little confused and,



"Can I go now?"





He stared at her with a blank look, he seemed to disbelieve his own eyes. Then like a glacier deciding to crush a small animal he crossed his arms and stared unamused at the little urchin. His blank but certain posture indicated uncertainty in Riot’s future.



"…No." he said eventually without a hint of arrogance.



‘Yeah, saw that one coming a mile away, Note to self; More cute,’ thought Riot not daring to give it voice.



Riot firmly planted herself on the ground and dropped the innocent act. She would have to use the other trick up her sleeve. Feeling the pit of her stomach drop as the dark aura engulfed her body. The change took less than a second, but it could freeze a pursuer dead in their tracks. She felt the odd cold chords in her voice as she pulled back and said “Fine!”



Taking advantage of her moment of surprise Riot turned lightly on her heels and ran like hell back down the hall. She was calm again her mind clasping escape in the hope of swinging into a side room that connected with the other hallway. After that she could double back and escape her pursuer.



The priest genuinely looked shocked, the canary coated figure who had seemed so harmless had transformed into his biggest priority here.



Like a dog chasing a squirrel he hounded the fleeing shadow. His keen senses were baying at him as his feet slapped the concrete, alarm bells had already started to go off the moment he’d set foot in the basement. The place was rank with the aroma of stale blood. Perhaps he was hoping that this would be an easy job, it wasn’t now and this felt wrong, a person had been hiding above him… hiding… not ambushing… it was intriguing at least.



Riot was in the zone now as she ran forward grabbed the door jam and thrust herself forward, thanks to a few parcour tricks she’d picked up from some German guy who hung around the area she had already circled through the basement and now ran back out onto the dance floor. There were a few scared people running out to the main doors like a herd of terrified cattle. There was no sign of police or the raid she assumed had caused the panic, the fire alarm was shrieking like a banshee, bathing the whole club in orange light as it flashed and trilled in impotent confusion.



"Git’ Back 'ere laddie, u’ve got sum icksplainin teh do!!!"





"No thanks!!"



Tearing down the twisting hallways at breakneck speeds Riot ran up the wall and leaped over a large pool of blood from the earlier attack, her hand grasping the door handle when something shiny flew past her peripheral vision and hit the door frame with a sickening jolt, wedging it in place.



“ .........You son of a bitch." she muttered pulling and rattling the door knob. Whatever was holding it prevented the door from budging an inch.



She sighed and turned to face her foe eyes defiant. Calmly she pulled out her shotgun, the one she called Riddick, and with her right hand aimed it squarely at his face. The advantage of the shotgun was fear and she needed all the scary she could muster to make this loony back off. The disadvantage was she was holding it the wrong way, if the priest called her bluff right now the kick of the shotgun would break her arm like a twig. She tipped her head, just enough to catch the light on her orange goggles and tried to look fearless, even daft. He tilted his head too, making his own glasses shine bright white form the florescent lights above. He was smiling, the freak was enjoying this.



"tha' woont hurt meh lil' lad, put it awa' fer ya hurt yer self." he said calmly his smile never faltering.



Riot shifted position dropping her arm to crook the gun correctly watching the priest intently as she readied herself to fire, she didn’t like being cornered she didn’t like it one bit.

"I'll give you till the count of ten." She answered training the barrel on the priest to mask her nervousness.



Still trying hard to stare him down she pushed out her mysterious aura almost misting the air with the uncomfortable feeling of danger. She didn‘t want to shoot, even in the correct posture the kick it caused could leave her stunned not mention noise could leave her stunned, attracted police and other people not as ethical. Now was not a good time to be stunned.



‘If I can beat him without wasting bullets that’s great, if not, I’ll make a mess out of him.’ She thought reveling for a second in her perceived triumph.



"Ten eh? Dat's enou-"



BANG!!!



Shards of buckshot flew out of the blasting end of the gun, Riot rolled as the stock slid with the kick over her shoulder before the absence of air sucked it forward making her sway like a palm in a cyclone.





The priest yowled in surprise and pain as his hands wrenched down to protect his blasted calf.



"YOU SED TEEEN!!!!!! DAT WUS ONLA THREEEEEE!!!!!!!!"



He screamed as he pressed hard on the bloody mess, Riot felt satisfied at this turn of events.



"I suck at math."



She laughed cruelly and was about to turn back to the door when she felt a presence further down the hall that made chills run along her back.



It smelled of death.



@



“So explain this to me again,” ordered Domino sitting on a roof some way from the club as people fled panicked from the Harlequin’s eye, “The Old silver,” he pointed at Kurtz’s old silver cross with some emotion “Felt that psycho comin’ and you decided to get me out,”



“I vould not refer to Fazzer Anderson kvite zat vay but ya, yah I did not vish for a confrontation,” replied Kurtz seriously, as he picked up a small bottle and muttered a prayer hands clasped.



“Like I’d fight with than maniac? Honestly Kurtz I know better than to stick my nose into Iscariot business,” replied the leather clad man pulling out a pair of long silver tipped arrows out of his jacket and stringing a large crossbow at his feet.



“You did in Frankfurt,” replied the Priest reproachfully putting on a knee pad.



“That was against Higgins and he was killin’ people,” said Domino firmly, pulling a length of wire taught before rolling it up and inserting it into his pocket.



“He would argue he was protecting Catholics,” scolded Kurtz not making eye contact.



“And I protected the rest from that stupid grenade, it’s not my fault that the git had all those pipe bombs,”



There was a moment of silence, both parties continued assembling and preparing weapons.



BLAM



A pair of panicking pigeons shot past Domino’s ear as the sound of a shotgun punctuated the Parisian noise.



Reaching for his parabolic antenna Domino felt a rush of schaden freude as he heard cursing in Gaelic from the club.



“Well this will be fun,” he said giving a toothy grin as he settled into a sniping position. “Somebody just shot our Irish friend, I wonder how long they’ll last?”



















**



"Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!! Ya Shot Him!!! Ha-hahahaha!!" laughed a drunken voice from down the hall. Her buckshot spent, she turned and pulled Rath out, carefully aiming the modified pistol towards the newcomer she cradled the reloading Riddick never once lowering her guard the whole time



"Who the HELL are you!?" she demanded of the stranger more cock sure now that the priest was dispatched





The man smiled a toothy grin that highlighted a set of prominent canines and half-bowed with a flourish.



"The name’s Trevor, sonny,” he said smacking his thin lips on every syllable “but that’s not really important here, the important question is… what is such a tasty meal like you playing with this old fart?"





He was short, squat individual with a greasy pinstriped suit and a bad comb over, the grease stains were red and brown and the whiff of old blood and spilt whisky covered him like a badge of honor, he put Riot in mind of the kind of dealers who frequented the garage, the cheap car dealers who weren’t interested in the car as much as they were to sell the car. This was a man with a tarnished soul, if he had a soul at all…



YOU!! CHILD O HELL!! TA NITE TA LARD’S JUSTICE DEMMANS YIR LIFE FORFEIT!!"



The Priest was on his feet again holding out two more of the shiny short swords he had used to seal the door.

Riot jumped in shock, she had hit him with a motherfucking shotgun and yet now he swaggered across towards the concrete floor as he advanced a sheaf of paper rolled from his fingers into the vacuum created by his charge



She stared as if he’d told her he was a Martian.





The pudgeball snapped his unusually thin fingers as his stance changed



"Sounds Fun!" he answered manically grinning as he ran to meet the Priest head on.



The Priest was going full tilt now closing the distance in fractions of a second white paper storming behind him like a hurricane as he roared, logic a forgotten memory.



The grease-bag screamed leaping upwards as he threw himself at the Priest hands outstretched fang filled mouth gaping open to rip out his throat.

"Die you fuckin templar pig!!" he snarled just before they connected.



Fang tooth and claw.





Both of these human monsters struggled on the floor tooth against blade, terrifying but it left Riot with a chance.

She slipped out quickly, fleeing back towards the dance floor she ran towards the bar and vaulted over it, landing in a crouch. As she leapt she grabbed a bottle imprinted with a mermaid from the counter, it had a strong, nose wrinkling smell and made her eyes water. Needing a boost she took a swig and pondered for a second what needed to be done.



“Okay, I need out.” She though stroking her chin, “How do I get out?”



She took another swig and winced the anesthetic killing the adrenaline, she needed to think, remember the blueprints, where were the other exits?



She saw something out of the corner of her eye, a clink and Riot swiveled to face the thin shadow wobbling in the inefficient light. She trained her pistol on the shadow, peering into it with her viridian eyes.



She breathed again it was a girl, not a monster just a girl. She had been hiding in a cabinet, body pressed against the emptied bar dispensary she was cowering too scared to move, both watery eyes trained on the barrel of Riot’s gun.



“Hey, there” whispered Riot quickly putting away her gun in an easy to reach position “So’kay, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you tell me what I missed while I was out?” she cooed desperately trying to seem pleasant. She was such a pathetic little thing, tear streaked face smudging carefully applied make-up like wax crayon. She looked familiar and recognition whipped by like a rat tail, she was the girl from earlier; the one she had dumped her empty glass on. The girl sniffed, her dress was not in a good way, it was stained and ripped in places, quietly she blew her nose and looked across to Riot with puffy eyes. She stared at her for a few seconds before her eyes glassed and she started to cry again.



She was too terrified to say a word.



Riot sighed and handed her the mermaid bottle and sat back down in her crouch. The sounds of fighting and screams echoed dully in the empty club.



“Eighth.”



The girl in the blue dress looked at her blankly like a fawn meeting an octopus she had no concept of what Riot meant.



"The eighth air vent leads to the roof and that's our best bet." Riot said to herself more then the frightened girl child across the way.



Standing up from behind the bar Riot began looking for the eighth vent, also known as 'My Big Fat Exit.'



Riot found her target and began to cross the now deserted dance floor. The distant sound of sirens beginning to hum.



Also sounding was the two frea- men fighting was still echoing down the halls but the flurries were more desperate, it was ending. The girl watched as the irate thief climbed up to the air vent, tearing open the plastic fastening with more force than needed and crawled in.



***







You really can't buy a Thrill. 

 





.xXx. Will I Bite The Hand .xXx.

.x2x.

.xXx. Fire In The Hole .xXx.



A stranger's voice reminds me



To serve and not to speak



 



Am I myself or just another freak?



 



_______________________________________________________________



So yeah, first chapter. Exciting. *jazz hands* Please R&R.



@I'm footnoting the song at the top. It's by Steve Conte and was written for the Anime Wolfs Rain. A lot of you knew that.



I'm not doing 'song fics' it's just when I started this I didn't call them chapters but Tracks. Like this is Track 1, Track 2 ect. It's also the song that best fits the mood of the chapter and it's fun to listen to 'em. I use to write on Quizilla and back before they sold their horny, free-spirited soul you could do fucking ANYTHING. Pictures? you bet your ass! Backgrounds? Totally love the animated clouds over the moon one. Music embedded in the stories? PLAY ALL THE MUSICS!!!



I'm not used to all this strict-ness and control of everything that I post. It's weird and almost pisses me off.  But I understand it's to AVOID trouble, not make more of it. So I'll go along until I figure out how to over throw Nicka-ruin-the-fun-dian. Damn I wish I was back on quizilla.... where the world made sense. (and vampires were fucking awesome.)




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