Lansing, Michigan, USA

Lansing was possibly one of the most silent cities he had ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

Like any city, Lansing should have been alive with the sounds of cars; their engines growling, their horns beeping, their windscreen wipers squeaking against the windscreen as rain tapped against it.

Instead of jam-packed streets and crowded sidewalks, barely any form of life existed. You would be lucky to see a car pass by or anybody walking the streets even though it was only 7 PM. Compared to how desolate it had been this morning, it was a bustling metropolis. It was a ghost town compared to New York, where you were choking on fumes from cars and barging by people every moment of the day.

One would think that the calamity that had transpired would have aroused some mass panic in this catatonic city. Instead it only brought some moderate concern from some old hag, cosy in her apartment, and two police officers after she called 911. After what he done there must be at least a patrol searching for him. At the very least.

He wasn't even thinking about what he had done to the two men only doing their job - after all, they knew the risks that came with putting on that uniform and neither were particularly good people anyways. All he was focused on was resting. He didn't pay attention to the cold rain drenching him or the searing, white-hot pain that flared up in parts of his body. All of his muscles ached and blood dripped and dropped off of his chin, mixing with the rain.

He stumbled into an alleyway, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the pungent stench of urine and garbage he could smell through his brken nose. A neon sign was above him, glowing a soft crimson and advertising some bar. It suddenly blew out, sending sparks down onto him after a flash of crimson flooded the alley.

It cast him in it's glow, clear for everyone to see for a brief moment. He stood at around 5'9" with a lean, healthy build. His short, chestnut brown hair clung to his forehead from the rain that came down from the grey sky above and his bloodied face was twisted in a permanent scowl. His jacket, shirt, jeans, and sneakers were also soaked.

The most stand out feature of him was his eyes, green in colour. At first glance, it seemed that it was his anisocoria that made them unique. This wasn't the case. His eyes harboured festering emotions of cynicism, bleakness, and hatred. A product of his environment, he justified.

Parts of his leather jacket was scorched and, in other areas, melted and scorching the tender flesh underneath in painful burns. But it didn't bother him anymore and he continued stumbling onwards, thumping his back against the slimey brick wall and sliding down it. There he sat, his neck craned upwards as he gasped for breath.

He could hear the distant sound of a helicopter in the air above. Whether they found him or not was irrelevant. Everything had been done and there was no way to reverse his actions. Death was the next step. Die and be born anew, away from the scum that surrounded him on a daily basis.

'Is it done?' a voice rang out in his head. It was deep and rough and guttural, a powerful voice to some. But to him, it was a voice that briefly sparked a long dead feeling inside his heart; hope.

"Done." He murmured, coughing and spurting. He covered his hand with his mouth, removing it to find it bloodied and a bitter taste of iron in his mouth. It must be internal bleeding. "Both dead." his voice carried a Nova Scotian accent.

'And you'll soon follow, I see.' the voice commented. It was silent for a moment, before speaking again with a growl in its voice, 'where are the others, Alex? Did he kill them?' it demanded.

Alex looked down, seeing a ghastly cat looking up to him with amber eyes like headlights. It's big brown body was partly transparent and it's muzzle was scarred. He thought it had been a figment of his imagination when it first appeared to him, until he probed its mind and learned about things he would have never entertained beforehand.

It found out about a culture of warrior cats, complete with their own laws and religion and hierarchy. He found out that the poltergeist before him was named Tigerstar, the leader of ShadowClan. The tabby's knowledge became his own. Though he wasn't happy about the forced entry into his mind and it's contents. But he now knew it was no delusion.

It was interesting to say the least. It was like a child's fantasy had come to life yet it had been made cynical by the harsh reality of the world. But he craved to be there so bad, where he would live out the rest of his joyless existence in peace.

He also learned of Tigerstar's goals and ambitions. He didn't care what he planned to do, or that he was small part in a grand scheme. What he wanted was a life of peace. So long as acquired that peace, he could have been unleashing hell on earth for all he cared.

"Dead. Was too fast. Knew what he was doing." responded Alex, still panting. It was only half true.

The spirit leered in response, 'I'm not surprised, you twolegs lack the training of warriors.'

He sputtered and coughed again, grimacing in pain. "Shut up." he mumbled, "just shut up."

The spectre wasn't happy with his response, hissing audibly. Alex could hear the thoughts of Tigerstar, threats of being stranded and left for dead were swarming in his mind. Alex knew that, while his efforts in this grand plan Tigerstar had devised would be undermined in time, he was too important to just die as of now. But he still kept his lips sealed. Just in case.

He was becoming light headed, resting it against the cold brick wall. The rain was still beating down on his face, mingling with the blood on it. "Why did you want them dead?" Alex suddenly asked.

Tigerstar responded, 'they had potential to be future threats. It was an unlikely chance they would have interfered, but I didn't want to risk it,' he explained, 'what do you twolegs call it? Tying up loose ends?' there was a sadistic purr in his voice.

Alex only gave a subtle nod in response to show he had head. He knew what it meant, his heart would soon stop beating. He could feel it now, slowing and weakening. He muttered, "what happens once it's all..." he paused for a second, coughing, "when it's all over?"

'Once you've fulfilled your purpose you can live as you please, whether or not you choose to stay with the Clans I don't care.'

"Is that the same for them?"

'Yes. But once you're all where I need you, I won't be able to guide you - not for a while. I must regain my strength before I can walk among you or in your dreams.'

Alex again nodded in response. He closed his eyes, coughing again. "Finally. I get away from this hell hole," he chuckled dryly, his voice low and hoarse. Alex covered his face, laughing. "Oh thank God. I don't have to deal with this shitty world anymore..."

He breathed in deeply, "...what a blessing."

Tigerstar looked up at him as Alex took his last breath, condemning his kin as he did. As his life faded, so did the spectre. There was no reason to stay. His twolegs were dead, as were possible threats to his plan. Now it was time for history would repeat itself, but it would have a different ending this time.

Darkness would not be expunged - it would plunge the Clans into the void where he would finish what he started.