It was hot. Amon opened his coat a bit, to allow for whatever breeze there might be to cool him. He paused, then glanced around. Wind craft was untraceable by the STN. Amon had hated witches...but what he had discovered in Factory had somehow reconciled him to his craft. Actually, it was very easy to control...and useful. In his last examination, the organization had found no trace of his craft, and the other discovery was that he was of sound mind. He would not be going insane...and thus, he wouldn't become a witch. He felt slightly guilty, but lightly reached out and called a trace of wind, cooling the day down immensly. If he had been anyone else, he would have sighed with relief. He absently let it grow stronger until such time as his trech coat actually felt comfortable. The wond easily cooled the day, and Amon had a feeling that someone would appreciate it. He felt something and stopped, then casually glanced down an alleyway to his right. A dark male sat there, torturing a small puppy. Amon extended his 'craft-sense', and almost reeled, finding a bloodcraft user. The witch was enhancing his craft with the animal's pain. Amon, with a feeling of nausea, pulled out his orbo gun and fired off one quick shot. The witch went down, and Amon called his American contact to inform them to send their men to pick up the witch, noting idly that hunts were getting to be too easy these days. How powerful had the orbo become? He put away his communicator, and stopped, looking towards the other end of the alley. A female figure was silhouetted at the end of the alley, and somehow he had the impression of Robin. Thie figure froze, then broke into a trot, as if she had realized she was late and was attempting to rectify the situation. Amon worked his way out of the alley, and around the block, coming up on the fleeing girl. He stopped for a brief moment, conflicting emotions warring within his consciousness at the sight of his old partner. The gun went back into his pocket, and he tried to catch up with her, tried to get her attention. She turned momentarily, and Amon saw a trapped, panicked expression on her face, that of every witch he had ever hunted, and the tree in front of her went up in flame. Amon threw his arms over his eyes to protect his sight. He opened them to see her ducking down another side street. "Robin! You're loosing control!" He yelled after her. She ignored him, running faster. Another tree burst into flame. He fired a warning shot, which grazed her cheek. She ducked, and a stream of fire came over her shoulder at him. Amon's second shot buried itself in her chest. If she hadn't run, he could have borne anything. Even if she was a witch.