A cold wind blew down the brick-paved alley behind Collins Street, as Alsace prepared for another winter. Laketowns always got cold early, and the winters were often harsh, as harsh as some of the people who roamed the night-lit streets....
J-Roll blew on his hands, wishing for the tenth time that he had gloves. "F__it", he said to himself, "buy me some gloves after I hit me a lick". His wiry body, shivering slightly even inside a jacket, was tense with anticipation, for J-Roll was a hunter, albeit a minor one, dashing out of dark corners to rob tourists and bar-hoppers with a gun and an attitude. He wanted money, and saw no reason that these Pill Hill slummers should have while he lacked. Since he was fourteen, he'd made his way on the streets, hustling, taking, robbing when it suited him.
At the end of the alley, he saw a figure, silhouetted by the streetlight at the alley's mouth, walking toward his blind behind the Dumpster. "Showtime", he thought, settling his grip on the revolver, stepping forward as the man in the long....coat? came closer
"GIVE IT UP, 'SCHOOL!", he hissed, thrusting the weapon into play.
Strangely, his quarry didn't react, at least, not in a normal way....no cringing, pleading, no fumbling for wallet or watch, just silence, and a calm posture.
"J'you hear me, a__hole? I want what you got-"
J-roll thrust the muzzle of the gun toward his victim's face, angrily, his anger turning to fear as the shadowy figure, garbed with and cloaked in black, grabbed his weapon hand with unnatural speed and strength. Its other hand reached for his face, plastering itself over his features,
Moments later, the silence of the night had returned to the alley. J-Roll, a smoldering handprint searing his skin to the bone lay lifeless, the prey of a far more potent hunter....
The Legion Of Night had arrived; hunting season was open.