div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"The wind had started to pick up, driving the cold rain against the grimy windows. At one time, this had been a rather happening night spot in Gotham. Anyone who was anybody had been there, some of the photographs of those important people still hung behind the bar, the pictures were yellowing with age and the corners beginning to curl. A few of the dust caked glasses stood their lonely watch on the shelves behind the bar, never to be polished by a bartender again. The rest of the glasses had been shattered, the pieces glittering on the floor like so many diamonds. The mirror behind the bar had been shattered, cracks were spider-webbing out from where it looked like someone had either hit the mirror or thrown something at it. Empty liquor bottles were strewn about, some left from the bar's glory days, others were brought in and left by the homeless that plagued the city./div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"There were broken and overturned tables all over the floor, yellowed, torn table cloths on some of the ones still upright gave a hint at how high class this place had been. There was a dance floor that used to gleam under the lights, now dull with dust. A beautiful stage rose above all of this. That stage had seen many a band in its time. Gleaming trumpets and beautiful saxophones, booming drums and crashing cymbals... All just distant memories now. The only thing that was left of that golden time was an old grand piano. At one time, it had glimmered under the lights of the stage while the pianist's fingers danced along the ivory keys. It now sat abandoned, much like everything else in this place, forgotten by everyone in the city. The building was slowly decaying, much like the memories of the place in people's minds. It was the perfect place for a bit of art./div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"The man sat in a chair at center stage. There was a shaft of silver moonlight on him from a hole in the ceiling. He was bound with red, silk scarves and a piece of duct tape covered his mouth. The front of his white shirt was red with blood and drops fell like rubies into the cold puddles on the stage. His throat had been slit in the end. The cut was so deep, it would have taken his head off if his assailant had been anymore energetic with the cut. The man's body was a road map of cuts and bruises, some of the cuts were intricate designs. Whoever had done this had taken their time and enjoyed it quite a bit. The man had been missing for three days. His face had been plastered all over town under the word span class="_4yxo" style="font-weight: bold;"MISSING/span and a phone number underneath. Had this man known that he was going to die all along? Had he known that right after kissing his wife goodbye that morning three days prior, he would be stolen right off the street? What were his last thoughts? Had they been of his wife? His unborn child? Had they been of what the police might find in those hidden files on his computer? Did he stop to think about the young girls that would be found in those files? About where they might be or what happened to them after those pictures were taken?/div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"The man's assailant had not left yet. She was draped over the top of the piano, pale skin spattered with blood. The black lace of her dress was soaked in it. The best thing about black was no one could see the stains. Always best when doing your job. She ran her bloody fingertips across the keys of that old piano, smearing blood across their grimy surface.../div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"And she waited./div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"There were broken and overturned tables all over the floor, yellowed, torn table cloths on some of the ones still upright gave a hint at how high class this place had been. There was a dance floor that used to gleam under the lights, now dull with dust. A beautiful stage rose above all of this. That stage had seen many a band in its time. Gleaming trumpets and beautiful saxophones, booming drums and crashing cymbals... All just distant memories now. The only thing that was left of that golden time was an old grand piano. At one time, it had glimmered under the lights of the stage while the pianist's fingers danced along the ivory keys. It now sat abandoned, much like everything else in this place, forgotten by everyone in the city. The building was slowly decaying, much like the memories of the place in people's minds. It was the perfect place for a bit of art./div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"The man sat in a chair at center stage. There was a shaft of silver moonlight on him from a hole in the ceiling. He was bound with red, silk scarves and a piece of duct tape covered his mouth. The front of his white shirt was red with blood and drops fell like rubies into the cold puddles on the stage. His throat had been slit in the end. The cut was so deep, it would have taken his head off if his assailant had been anymore energetic with the cut. The man's body was a road map of cuts and bruises, some of the cuts were intricate designs. Whoever had done this had taken their time and enjoyed it quite a bit. The man had been missing for three days. His face had been plastered all over town under the word span class="_4yxo" style="font-weight: bold;"MISSING/span and a phone number underneath. Had this man known that he was going to die all along? Had he known that right after kissing his wife goodbye that morning three days prior, he would be stolen right off the street? What were his last thoughts? Had they been of his wife? His unborn child? Had they been of what the police might find in those hidden files on his computer? Did he stop to think about the young girls that would be found in those files? About where they might be or what happened to them after those pictures were taken?/div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"The man's assailant had not left yet. She was draped over the top of the piano, pale skin spattered with blood. The black lace of her dress was soaked in it. The best thing about black was no one could see the stains. Always best when doing your job. She ran her bloody fingertips across the keys of that old piano, smearing blood across their grimy surface.../div
div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="white-space: pre-wrap; direction: ltr; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 28px;"And she waited./div