Title: The Darkness That Consumes

Rating: M – Mature
Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance, Suspense
Pairings: Main: John Cena/The Miz Other: Hunter/Jeff, Punk/Matt, Randy/Ted/Cody, and others
Warnings: Slash, death, torture, sex, mentions of rape and other crimes, slightly alternate universe, others to come
Summary: Gangs and cops are notorious for being enemies. The gangs want their freedom to do what they want, and the cops want them brought in for justice. But when the cops are in a gang, and the gang has infiltrated the justice system, things happen… All kinds of things.

AN: So, this story was inspired by NeroAnne's Rapture, which I suggest you read if you're into slash and Hardycest. Honestly, I'm not that into Hardycest, but I loved it. She gave me permission to use her idea, so I'm dedicating this to her, hoping I do it justice. Thanks again, NeroAnne.

Disclaimer: I do not own World Wrestling Entertainment or any of the wrestlers mentioned herein. The wrestlers portrayed in this act of fiction are property and copyright of the WWE and their respective owners. The idea is originally property of NeroAnne, who gave me permission to write this story. Thanks again.

The moon hung low in the night sky, bright silver beams illuminating the otherwise dark streets of the city. The shadow of the two adjacent buildings hid the darkened alley from the tantalizing beams of the moon above. The frantic thuds of a pair of rushed feet continued in a frenzied pattern on the somewhat damp asphalt as a man turned a corner, skidding slightly, as he ran into the alley. Two pairs of identical thuds followed him as he ran into the back of the alley, blocked in.

"You'd think they'd learn it's pointless to run."

"That'd ruin our fun though."

The first voice, deep and dripping with arrogance, belonged to the man who stepped into the few remaining moonbeams in the alley. He stood at a towering six feet, three inches, with dark brown hair that fell almost at his shoulders. It was pulled back by a pair of Aviator-style sunglasses, allowing it to fall in soft waves around his ears. He wore a pair of black boots, black tight pants, and a matching black hooded sweatshirt, one that was zipped to about his chest, and revealed the smooth bronze skin of his chest. His partner stepped into the light beside him, the six feet, one inch owner of the also arrogant second voice. His dirty blond hair was gelled up, giving the center a sort of Mohawk-esque appearance. He wore a pair of blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a black hooded sweatshirt with vertical gray pinstripes. It was unzipped enough to reveal the top of a dark gray t-shirt underneath it.

"N-no! What did I ever do to you?!"

The higher-pitched, terrified yelps of the man in front of them caused the partners to look at one another. The shorter male looked at his partner, blue eyes lit in mock-confusion.

"What did he do to us, John?" he asked, a smirk resting on his lips. John, the second man met his smirk with an identical one of his own.

"I don't know, Miz. I don't think he did anything to us."

The terrified man in the back of the alley sighed softly, putting one hand to his heart as a half-hearted laugh escaped him.

"You two shouldn't scare a guy like that," he said, the fear still evident in his voice. Miz shook his head as the partners moved toward the man cowering against the back wall of the alley.

"But you're still going to pay," Miz said, his voice low and terrifying. "You're going to pay for everything you've ever done."

The man squeaked in terror as John picked him up, one strong hand wrapped around his throat. He wasn't holding the terrified man hard enough to strangle him, but he was causing the man tight enough to cause him to gasp for air.

"What did he do, Miz?" John asked, a grin on his features.

"For starters, he could get dressed a little better in the morning. And take a shower. That'd probably help."

"Miz."

"Fine, you asshole. He stalked a young woman, by the name of Melissa, for three years, something that usually catches Michelle and Gail's attention, but then Melissa got married. And then, you locked her and her new husband, Jean, in the house and doused the exterior of the house in gasoline. After that, you dropped a match on the gasoline and watched them burn to death. That puts your ball in our court."

The man's eyes widened in terror as he was made aware of his crimes, had it all pointed out to him as though these two men were simply reading the paper. He shook his head, his grubby hands holding onto John's wrist.

"N-no! I-I didn't… I loved her! And she ignored me for that stupid, filthy, French bastard! I tried to talk to her! She wouldn't listen! He wasn't good for her, no, no… He was bad for her…"

John made a face of disgust and tightened his grip on the man's throat. Miz sighed and shook his head.

"They'll never learn, will they, John? They always must repent for their sins and blah, blah, blah. Can we kill him now? Nip/Tuck is on in five, and I'm not missing it tonight."

"Miz, TV will rot your brain," John stated, throwing the man against the brick wall to the left of them. Miz sighed, pulling a small bottle of a clear liquid out of the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"I know. But I'm okay with that as long as I get to watch more of it," he stated. John shook his head, pulling out a small pack of matches. The blood dripped from the man's head, and the partners looked at him, unsympathetic blue and brown eyes eyeing the blood as it pooled around his head.

"Come on, John. I'm sick of looking at this," Miz said, opening the bottle of gasoline, and pouring it on the man's body, drenching his clothes and skin. John nodded, ignoring the scent of gas as it tickled his nostrils, and he rubbed the end of the match against the strip on the pack, watching in mild interest as the gray tip went to a bright, vibrant orange with a blue center. He shook his head, leaning down to press the flame to the trail of gasoline leading away from the body before he waved the match out, placing the match in the bottle, which Miz then closed and slid back in his pocket. They watched as the gasoline lit fire, the trail of flames hitting the man's body and igniting him like an inferno. They turned, walking away from the scene, as the dead man became conscious, and his screams were swallowed up by the night.

The door slammed open, hitting the wooden door behind it. It opened directly into a large, plush living room. A large, white couch rested against the wall and there was a longer, black couch perpendicular to that one. On the white couch, a blond haired woman with gray eyes was laying, lounging, her arm around a smaller, Asian woman. The blond woman wore a pair of baggy blue pajama pants with Eeyore on them, and a matching dark blue tank top, where as the smaller Asian woman wore a pair of blue jeans and a short, white tank.

"Hey, Miz, John. Have fun?"

The blond was grinning outright as she played with the Asian woman's black hair.

"Yeah, Michelle. We had a blast," Miz said, putting his thumbs up sarcastically. He rolled his eyes at the blond. "Hey, Gail," he stated. The Asian woman raised one arm lazily, leaning back on Michelle.

"Taker's looking for you. He's back in his office. Whatever's up with him, it's not good, so I wouldn't be a smartass tonight," Michelle advised, her gray eyes serious. Miz and John exchanged looks with one another and nodded, moving through the large, sprawling house, to a large, oak door. Miz knocked once, waiting, before he heard a booming, deep voice growl for him to enter. His hand hit the ebony doorknob and he turned it, swinging the door open.

The office they entered was filled to the brim. Across the back wall, with the exception of the back corner, where an oak door, identical to the one they just entered, was, were rows and rows of bookshelves. A window with a black curtain rested on the adjacent wall, and then more bookshelves lined the rest of the walls. In the center was a mahogany desk, a large, black chair pushed in to it. Papers and such were scattered on the desk. But the most filling thing in the large space was the six feet, ten inch man standing at the window, glaring through the black curtains at the moonlit yard.

"We're back, Taker," John said. Miz closed the door behind his partner and stood against the bookshelf next to the door. Taker turned, his black hair hanging down to his shoulders, and he looked at them.

"I assume you didn't fuck this up?" he growled. Miz said nothing, merely pulled out the bottle of gasoline, with the match in it, rubbing the back of his hand, where a black and purple tattoo rested. Taker crossed the room in a stride, grabbing the bottle. He was silent for a moment, before his eyes rolled in the back of his head, exposing only the whites of his eyes. After a moment, he put his hand down, the bottle clanking loudly on the desk. He looked at the two of them, his dark orbs returning to his eyes as he blinked.

"Good. Try to tone down the poetry next time," Taker growled. Miz smirked.

"What? You don't appreciate the irony of burning a man to death when he did the same?" Miz remarked. John sighed, but Miz was saved from Taker's response by the door swinging open.

In the doorway stood a man who was as tall as Miz. He wore a pair of black cargo jeans, and a black tank top. On one arm, he had a tattoo going all the way up his arm, from his fingers to behind his ear. The other arm had a black arm warmer stretched across the muscles there. His green eyes held a sort of soft sorrow, while his bright blue hair fell into his face. Taker growled and moved over to the smaller man.

"Melina and Adam are dead," he said, his voice touched by a deep Southern accent. Taker swore under his breath, looking at the small man.

"Where are they, Jeff?" he asked. Jeff sighed, turning and leaving the room and coming back with a man who looked similar to him. He had naturally dark brown hair and brown eyes, and wore a pair of blue jeans and button up black shirt. His hair was in a low ponytail, while Jeff's hung down to his shoulder. They returned carrying what looked like the mangled remains of a man and woman. Miz growled, but it was swallowed by the sound of Taker's growl.

"Miz, John, leave. You're excused for the night," Taker said, his voice a soft rumble as he took the woman out of the other man's arms. Jeff held the blond body to him as the brown haired man followed Miz and John.

"Matt, what happened?" Miz muttered. Matt looked at Miz, shaking his head.

"I don't know. Jeff came in, carrying them both, and put them down in the living room before he went to Taker's room," he said. Miz turned around, watching Taker put an arm around Jeff's shoulder as the door closed. John moved to the kitchen, allowing Matt and Miz to talk.

"God help whoever did it. Jeff's upset about it, meaning you and Taker are going to look for some serious revenge," Miz said. Matt cracked his knuckles, eyeing his blond friend.

"More than take care of it, Miz. We're going to get back at the bastards."

"Do you have a problem with that, Randy?"

The deep, dominating voice came from an extremely pale man who stood over the smaller, tanner man in front of him. The first man stood at an imposing six feet, nine inches. He wore a pair of black dress slacks and a white dress shirt over his large frame, his bi-colored eyes watching the man in front of him. Randy stood shorter than this man, but was still tall in his own way, coming in at a measly four inches shorter than his boss. He wore a black t-shirt, stretched across his muscled torso, and a pair of blue jeans. He growled softly, under his breath, before he spoke, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

"Yes, I have a problem with that. I work solo, Kane, or with Hunter only," he spat. Kane's blue and brown eyes narrowed.

"Now, you work with him. Bring him in."

With that, a large man came in, a white t-shirt stretched across his chest. He was leading a smaller, Mexican man. The Mexican was shorter than anyone else in the room, his five feet, six inch stature causing him to be loomed over by the six plus feet man in front of him. He wore a pair of blue jeans and black shirt, but his face was covered by a black and blue mask. His blue eyes moved back and forth between the three men, and he said nothing.

"Oh, God. A Mexican midget? Kane, I can't handle teaching babies how-"

He was cut off by a glare from the pale man in front of him.

"His name is Rey, and he is not a baby. He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You're just going to take him out on a few test missions to see if he can deal with doing what we do, or if I have to shift the roster again," he said. The tall, dirty blond haired man who led Rey in, smirked under the facial hair.

"Shut the fuck up, Hunter," Randy snapped. Hunter shook his head.

"What's wrong, Randy? Throwing a tantrum because you're not getting your way?" he asked. Rey watched as the two began to argue, turning his bright blue eyes to watch Kane, who sighed in frustration.

"Besides, Randy, I'm sure Rey can kick your ass," Hunter stated, crossing his arms over his chest. Randy's furious gray eyes moved to Rey, who simply looked up at the larger man, without blinking.

"Where do you come from? More importantly, can you speak English?" Randy asked. Rey frowned.

"I speak perfect English," Rey responded, his words laced with a soft, Mexican accent. "And I'm from San Diego."

"Hn," came Randy's response.

"Learn to work with him, Randy," Kane stated, leaning back in his plush, red chair. "Because he's your new partner. You two have a case now. There's a man who's been going around, mugging people and then killing them. He usually strikes around midnight, around seventy-third street. Go take care of it." Randy looked at Rey before walking out. Rey nodded to Kane, jogging out of the room to keep up with his new partner. Hunter, on the other hand, dropped into a chair, leaning back, lacing his fingers together as he sprawled out.

"Think that was a good choice?" Hunter asked, his brown eyes cutting to his boss. Kane shrugged slightly, obviously not giving a damn. He watched Hunter for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Hunter, I've got a job for you," he said a moment later. Hunter didn't shift, merely watched his boss with an expression of only mild interest. Kane continued. "But it's not the same as usual. You're going after three, instead of one, and these three aren't your typical cowards."

"Typical cowards? Are they cowards at all?" Hunter's question was sarcastic and rhetorical, so Kane ignored it.

"They're dirty cops who have been taking on sexual favors and hiring prostitutes for their own fun. They haven't killed anyone yet, but I'm sure they're getting close. Not only that, but there's a rumor going around that rape may be involved. If not now, then in the not so distant future. Take care of it."

Hunter watched his boss for a moment before a grin spread across his face. He stood, cracking his knuckles and nodded.

"I'll get on it now."

The deadly smile on Hunter's face was enough to reassure Kane – had he needed it – that he had picked the right man for the job.

TBC

AN: There you go. First chapter. NeroAnne, I hope it did justice for you. Review it and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome, but don't flame me.

.: The Miz Magnet :.