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Posted: Sep 8 2017, 03:08 PM
James GrimmVirus is Offline
The human race was a funny old thing. You could live for a thousand years and never be away from their lust for war. James thrived on that, having always found a place when there were people to hate. He sung, loudly, in his own apartment, shifting aside a false wall to look upon his collection with a sense of pride. Each weapon, each piece of equipment had his ID number carved into it with the Friends of Humanity’s chanted motto. Rolling his shoulders, James smirked as he brushed his hair once more in a neat fashion, getting it out of his eyes before pointing at a gun. “You’re coming with me.” He laughed to himself, knowing that inanimate objects didn’t need to be spoken to, but he was having a charming time thinking of what was to come. It was this part of the chase he loved the most, this part that sent little shivers down his spine and made him bounce on the balls of his feet with excitement. Maybe that’s why he always got ready early, because it took him so damn long to do what it was he needed to do.
Armour on, covering each piece of his flesh in case those mutant scum got too close. Spare bullets at his thigh in easy reach, both tranquilisers and metal depending on the situation. Guns locked into place, safety only on until the drive. James looked as if he was planning to face an army single handed, but the smirk on his face told another story. With The Friends of Humanity under a constant target now a piece of filth in the headlines had died (none of his were taking credit, but he was proud if he could call it theirs), you could never be too careful. The world was in uproar, for one reason or another, and the creatures were out in force. They called for justice when they didn’t realise what that would mean for them. James would give them the justice they deserved for what they were. “Fiúk!” There was loud, aggressive barking from the kitchen, where the two brutes of dogs heard their master calling for them. The little kitchen gate keeping them inside could have been broken down in seconds if they wanted to, but they waited patiently, only barking viciously until they saw him, and then just started wagging their tails.
“Who’s good boys then?” Opening the gate, the mutant hunter knelt down to give them an amount of fuss that should be considered unspeakable for someone so filled with hate. They lapped it up, getting their collars put on and chains for leads. They stayed at his heels, either side of him in the dark streets, and James couldn’t look more content in his life if he tried. Determined and happy, and waiting for his boys to pick up the scent of a mutant that was going to find itself on the receiving end of something horrible.
With a skip in his step, James made his way to the sewer lines, once again glad of his watertight boots with the stench of it all. With a grumble, he pulled his bandana like scarf over his mouth and nose - hating that he had to do it. He wished he could show his face with pride, but when dealing with vermin he didn’t want to deal with the mess of it all. How did they live like this? Even as filth they had to have noticed it? Weird thoughts, as usual, putting on his little flashlight that was attached to his armoured jacket. “Fiúk.” The two dogs looked up, waiting for more instructions as they were released from their chains, allowing their master to slip the dampening armour over them as well. “Menjünk.” They bolted down the sewer tunnels in the same direction, sniffing at the floor, looking for a sign of something or someone. Jogging along behind them, James made sure he didn’t lag too far behind, because while his dogs had been in enough fights, he knew one wrong move from them and they might take their last. A sacrifice he didn’t want to make tonight, at least, not against little sewer rats.
Growling started around a corner, and James froze for just a second as he located where from and his best way to take a peek without being seen. Peering around the corner, he smirked, seeing the dogs get either side of the creature, and he himself stepped out, raising his gun to eye level… “Police, identify yourself.” He looked like police, and his attitude might help him get away with it. It always worked before. If they ran, they were guilty, and if they didn’t… well, he’d find out what happened next.
This post has been edited by James Grimm: Sep 8 2017, 03:14 PM
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