21/4/10 Brighton 23:15

My breathing was heavy, staggered and almost out. I can't keep running like this, I thought. It was nearing me, this cretin of the night with nothing better to do than play games with his food. I knew what to do, I was pondering for a long time; are the stories true? Can you kill them? No more running, I thought as I span round whipped out my pistols and emptied a cartridge into the shadowy figure. Nothing, it did nothing. However, it was oozing thick blood, it kept advancing. Its breath getting heavier and heavier as it approached. I knew it was over; I was a gone. Suddenly the night turned to day and I heard a deafening squeal. The creature fell to the cold, hard ground with a thud. And the day turned pitch black once more. I then heard a rattling in the dustbin near by and a man stepped out. He was tall, slender and was sporting a Mohawk which was complemented by piercings all over his ears.

"You're a lucky bastard" he whispered in his cold London accent. I didn't reply, still paralysed with fear. "Jesus Christ, have you shit your self?!?" he chuckled. "Here come with me and I'll clean you up, just try not to piss as well". I was embarrassed, so I quickly changed the subject,

"Your trench coats got blood all over it" I stumbled, "I'll pay to have it cleaned if you..." He cut me off, "Don't worry kid, I'm used to it."

"I'm guessing you're a bounty hunter" I mentioned as I crawled into his black 1984 vintage Mercedes Benz. "You could say that, and I'm guessing your one too" he responded. "Yeah" I replied, completely hiding the savage truth which is that I only started a mere month ago. "Err, what's your biggest kill then?" I stuttered.

"I'm not one to brag. Oh by the way, who the fuck are you?" he asked, with his harsh South London accent.

"Ricky, Ricky Tomlin" I replied. "And you?"

"You don't need to know that."

"But I want to" I argued, adamantly.

"You couldn't pronounce it, even if I told you, so back off, kid." He snarled.

"Try me." My spine was chilled, my nerves were faltering, and I was truly putting on a brave face. He pulled out a ragged wallet with spots of ask and blood coated on it. Out of that he pulled a crumpled business card and handed it to me.

"Happy?" he sighed

"Aznervalshique? Can I call you Ash?" I replied confused.

He slammed on the breaks of the car and snarled "No. If you really can't pronounce my name then call me Azner and nothing else. Understood?"

"Yeah I guess..." I stammered. From then on it was awkward silence until we had reached our destination.

When we arrived it was well past 3 in the morning. The house we were about to enter was three stories high with what appeared to be poison ivy growing down the side. The windows were barred and the roof was surrounded by security cameras.

"This is one big prison" I whispered.

"Open the gate, and enter." he spat. This gate was jet black, at least twice my height and the top was covered in razor wire. The wire had specs of green gunk spotted on it, which I presume is some sort of acid or venom. But I couldn't be sure. I'm not climbing over this gate that's a fact.

"If I was being observant I would say you're trying to keep someone in" I said with a nervous laugh in my voice.

"Not keep someone in, but keep something out."