The thicker clouds began to roll in, darkening the sky a little more than usual. Soon, the sun would set, and night would roll in. With the cloud cover, there would be no moon to illuminate the streets, which had streetlamps that only worked sporadically...the ones that did at all.
Jhun peered up, wandering around the most decrepit corners of South Town some more. He did not go near Club Origin. He had understood that there were likely problems, but his black clothing hid most of the blood that was on them. He had even taken some of the worst bits off. His heavy, lace-up boots looked like he had waded through a slaughterhouse, though there was not much to fix that.
It wasn't like anyone was where he was right now, anyway, in the dark alleyways...and if there was someone who came after him, he'd just make sure they couldn't speak to anyone afterward.
Mostly, he was pacing...perhaps figuring out what to do next. He had heard some...odd rumors, during his stalking...which he would do quietly from time to time. Something about a murderer in Second Southtown.
While all Jhun figured he was doing was favors for people-the officer really shouldn't have run at him like that, though-this murderer sounded like he was terrorizing them. Of course, the white haired fighter had no idea that he was doing the same thing, his mind as messed up as it was.
But he wondered if he should try to explore that place a little.
Rubbing his shoulder, he looked down at the wounds the broken bottle had given him. Back at his abandoned apartment-he had just sort of claimed the place as his own to sit in, getting lost in his own fucked-up head-he had gone into the bathroom and pulled the pieces of glass out, one by one. The pain didn't even bother him. The man who did it had his head caved in, so it wasn't like he didn't pay for his stupid actions.
The wound was already closed, and even starting to heal. Apparently, unknown to him, part of his testing involved giving him some level of increased healing factor. He didn't know why he was healing, he just knew he was, and that was enough for him. It wasn't something that happened overnight, but he certainly had a level of increased resilience.
He figured he would just put it all to good use.
Searching around, he decided to try to search out another hideout. While Club Origin was being sorted through, he was almost positive that if he kept poking into warehouses and such, he would find more people he could deliver justice to.
That's what he was meant to do, right?
He sniffed.
Blood? Was there someone injured?
Or dead?
Creeping around stealthily, the sinewy figure-keeping to the shadows-thought he smelled blood, which was something he was very familiar with.
He had heard about something happening around South Town. Lots of blood. Lots and lots of it. And gore, too.
He laughed softly to himself.
It was almost enough to make him jealous. He had ended someone else the other night...someone who had taken a wrong turn, meeting the man in the alley. He was capable of ripping through flesh with his bare hands. He had pinned him to the ground under his boot after downing him with a slash, tearing his arm from its socket-the excitement he would get from blood would send his adrenaline levels through the roof-before slashing him to ribbons while laughing, as he would.
He wondered if someone wanted to come out to play, perhaps?
As the sky grew dark, the thug in his car was sorting through his more ill-gotten gains; picked off some random corpse who had OD's a little too close to the hideout.
He wouldn't miss the stuff, so hey, why not?
Looking around, while it was silent save for the leaves skittering about, he got a sudden chill down his spine which he could not explain. Checking side to side, the lot was abandoned, but dark. No signs of life to be seen; not even a stray animal. Yet...he couldn't help but feel a presence was watching and waiting.
Checking his gun to make sure it was loaded-around South Town, it was a good idea for anyone to be armed, let alone people on the seedier side of the law as it is-he was satisfied, shoving it back in his holster before checking under the seat for something. Satisfied that he had everything he needed before driving to his hideout, he sat up, glancing into his rear-view mirror for a second and stifling a terrified scream.
Reflected in the mirror was a blood-spattered face framed with long, white hair crouching down and peering into the car; the eyes were ice cold.
Turning around to look behind him, the figure seemingly disappeared into the air.
Landing on the hood of his car with an enormous crash-caving in the hood-the thug stared at the strange man with the chained arm a moment as he cocked his leg back, sending his big boot through the windshield and directly into the man's face.
He barely had time to utter a scream before his head was caved in, an enormous spatter of blood and bone spilling out. He pulled his leg out, the remains needing to be shaken off, as they stuck to him from the force.
The killer leapt deftly off the car, walking toward the set of buildings where he was pretty sure their 'hideout' was located.
"More coffee?"
"Yeah, here. It's cold."
"Used to it." Farley took a sip of the detective's coffee, his gloves now off to the side. His coroner's wear looked absolutely horrible right now after cleaning and cataloguing the entirety of Club Origin. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it; Birkon wasn't there to yell at him, and Morris wasn't about to chastise him for breaking protocol again. The remains were pretty much all in various bags at this point.
"Jesus, this was a fucking mess. How many?"
"Can't tell. Somewhere between seventeen and twenty. Some of the bodies were pretty fucked up. And then there's Rian's guy."
"Yeah. You hungry?"
"Not at all. I'm going home, getting a shower, and coming back to the precinct to sleep."
"Same. Guess we get to go through the fun stuff tomorrow, eh?"
"Should make Birkon do it. I'd love to see the look on his weasley little face."
The two men had a dry chuckle at that before taking off to do their respective duties.
Jhun headed to the warehouse-hideout, he guessed-that he had heard about to go deal with whatever was there. He knew they were probably up to no good. It was his job to deal with them, was it not?
Yanking the door open, he did not hear anyone begin scrambling; he wondered if they were located in another room and simply did not hear him. Moving inside, the light was dim, but noticeable...and he saw blood on the floor.
He wondered if there was a fight here before him, perhaps. The blood was not old...and was sticky, trailed from the room next to where he was now. There were no signs of life.
Moving into the corner room, there were several men, brutally slaughtered. Gutted, ripped from stem to sternum, one decapitated, a couple of other missing limbs here and there. One had a large hole through his face as he lay on his back and was missing his lower leg.
He wasn't sure what killed these men, but he wondered if he had...competition.
But was the competition like him? Did they want justice, too? He would have to search them out to see. Starting by following the sticky trail of blood out of the place, it eventually tapered off...but seemed to lead generally toward a different area.
Second Southtown.
Looking around, the wind blowing and skittering the leaves everywhere around, clanking the chains on his wrist, he thought for a moment. Perhaps, he would find the other there?
Disturbed by a sound coming down a nearby alley, he decided to follow it to see what was around. Spotting two men-they seemed to be unsavory types...who were both covered in blood, searching around.
Were they the others who took out the men in the building?
Following them, they swiftly span around when they heard the eerie, clanking chains of the frightening looking fighter making his way down the alley.
"Wha…? You…? Another?!"
He walked toward them, realizing they were some of the bunch inside. The two men-not knowing anything what Jhun was actually like, ran at him, weapons drawn; the second man realized the mistake that was when Jhun cocked back, lashing out with his leg four...five...and then six times, directly to his partner's head, shredding it more and more each time until he simply shattered it, the pieces landing on his friend bit by bit.
Terrified, he stopped and turned, hoping to escape; however, he forgot that it was a dead end, and that the door he needed to go through was in front of the terrifying killer that was now running toward him…
With a bloodcurdling yell, he met the man with a flying kick...that was all too close to the wall.
Splat.
With that finished, he landed heavily, turning and leaving the mangled corpses behind in the alley, as usual. Glancing into the hideout one more time, he shook his head, considering his options; however, he found himself moving toward Second Southtown anyway, perhaps to see what was afoot there this evening.
A stray dog turned the corner, growling at the calm, yet crazed man, as it smelled blood.
He paid it no mind.
"Holy shit. I think I got it!" Farley was peeking into the car with the horrible remains.
"What? You got evidence? What's it, Farley?"
"Well, not specific, but I can tell you...this poor son of a bitch got his head kicked in. I can see some markings and tell by the window."
"Well okay then! That...doesn't really narrow it down," Morris sighed. "And...what the fuck kinda person can DO this? How many hits?"
"...One, by the look."
"You mean to tell me there's someone out there who can smash a guy like this in one hit?"
"That's what the evidence is tellin' me."
"Hurry up and get done here. I need to go meet the others in the alley and we'll need you."
"Yeah, just gonna see what I can tell here."
Moving his way to the building where he was told there were four more-he had long lost track of bodies, and their morgue was backed up still from yesterday's pieces and parts-he lit yet another cigarette and exhaled.
Moving on in, Birkon still thankfully was not there as to start grilling him on why they hadn't solved this impossible to solve case yet, he frowned immediately upon seeing the first body after following the blood trail.
"...Why are these different?" he asked one of the officers on the scene.
"Fuck," he sighed, deciding to just call Farley despite only being about a block away from him.
"Yeah? The hell?" he answered. "What's goin' on?"
"You ain't gonna like this," he said. "These? They're different."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, they got different wounds. Slashed. Ripped. Pulled apart."
"Wait...isn't that…"
"Like the Second Southtown killer? Yeah, I remember when we saw them crime photos."
"Awww shit. Alright. I'll be there. Gonna get this guy rolled into the morgue so I can study him."
Hanging up, it only took a few minutes for Farley to get there; the heavyset man was somewhat out of breath by the time he got in.
As he joined Detective Morris in the other room, he pulled his gloves on and shook his head.
"Goddamnit. Fuck. So is this guy starting to copy him?"
"I dunno," he said. "I mean, again, they're different. Well...this guy sorta has the calling card of ours," he said, pointing to the one whose face had a large hole in it on the ground, that was drilled through to the floor. "But that's it. The rest are all different."
"Hells...did the other guy come here?" Morris asked, handing Farley a cigarette before he could even ask.
"I kinda hope he's just copycatting, but...I got a feeling it's gonna be the other thing."
Both men sighed deeply, realizing that once again, their night was getting long.
He had walked for a long time, it seemed, but he almost reached the outskirts of the city. A couple of people had accosted him on the way, but he dealt with them like he did the others, spreading them across the sidewalks.
Standing for a moment-the wind blowing his blood-spattered hair as the chains eerily rattled-he wondered how he could find the other.
And if he was on his side.
If not? He would deal with him like the rest.