In the distance, perched atop a building, something or someone could be seen watching the entrance of a police station, its eyes like pools of blood.
That entrance could be seen under the sickly yellow glow of flickering streetlights, casting long winding shadows that stretched into the darkness.
One of these shadows belonged to a hooded man, Mr. Valen, his eyes calm as he looked to the purple moon pulsing with an otherworldly glow.
'It's around 9pm, the party should have already begun,' he mused, raising his hoodie to reveal a stomach bordering on malnourished, a stomach mottled with bruises. 'I'm hungry.'
Looking around, Mr. Valen checked if there was some kind of diner around, but all he saw was a flag pole, its flag limp, its colors dulled by the night.
There was also a patrol car near the curb, its headlights cutting through the mist like dead, unblinking eyes.
The air smelled of wet asphalt and something sour, and the sound of distant conversations sometimes slipped into his ears.
He then walked out of the police station and into the street, his hand in his pockets.
The thing followed, creeping through shadows, sometimes moving atop buildings, its gaze never leaving its prey.
As though sensing something, Mr. Valen stopped, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to look behind him, 'What was that?' he thought gravely.
But after standing still for a while, all he could see on the open street was distant pedestrians, their heads down, and of course one or two vehicles that did not dare turn on their headlights lest they disturb the darkness.
Mr. Valen resumed his walk and soon arrived at the bus stop. Never saying a word, he waited; a faint buzz in the air.
'I'm being followed,' He concluded, but did not move; rather, he waited. 'Whoever is following me will either have to get on the bus with me or stop following.'
Soon, the bus arrived, and without hesitation, Mr. Valen got in, inserting a few coins into the fare box.
The lights inside the vehicle were bright, too bright, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Picking a spot, Mr. Valen sat and observed his surroundings, specifically the people in it.
A few riders slumped in their seats. There was a man with hollow eyes in front of him, seated next to a scantily clothed woman clutching a stained plastic bag.
Behind him was a teenager with earbuds in, their music leaking tinny and distorted.
The driver was further ahead, his reflection a gaunt mask in the glass.
The air was thick with the stench of mildew and something metallic, like old coins or blood, it always smelled of blood to him.
And yet in this short ride, his focus was on the man in front of him, the dark-skinned one with hollowed eyes.
From Mr. Valen's point of view, everyone in the bus had a dark aura around them, yes, but this man's own was worse.
It was not close to the level of The Artist, or even to Miss Carla, but it was enough to foster, 'An avatar?'
Seated at the top of the bus seat in the small space behind the man was a tiny thing, a small blob thing with stick-like arms and legs.
It swung its legs slowly.
Mr. Valen was curious, so he stretched forth his arm, and the thing, in response, stretched back, touching him.
Once again, the world around him faded, and he was no longer himself, but this time, Mr. Valen did not get carried away; he resolved not to speak, taking into account what had happened the last time he did.
«She is afraid,» a thought suddenly invaded him, as he gazed at a woman, shaking in a dark room.
«I had hand-picked her myself from the slums of another district, a fresh one who just turned 18 the day before,» Mr. Valen thought as he undid his belt, grabbing the girl by the hair and dumping her on the bed.
He then proceeded to rip off her clothes, grinning as she screamed. «My boss will enjoy her... I am a predator, and this is my prey.»
With those thoughts, Mr. Valen found himself back on the bus, but this time he was not smiling, nor was his heart beating, he felt no excitement.
'A predator does not hunt for another,' he thought, a breath escaping him.
Looking to the girl who sat beside the trafficker, the one who clutched the plastic bag, he recognized her as the girl whom he saw in the vision, and he felt something faint and inexplicable well up within him.
'He does not deserve this prey,' Mr. Valen mused, his hands sliding to a pen in his pocket, but then he stopped.
'Normal teenage boys may fantasize about saving a girl in trouble, but they are ultimately unable to when faced with real-life scenarios,' Mr. Valen thought to himself and let out a breath, resting on his chair.
The bus came to a stop soon after, and Mr. Valen got off, resuming his walk, his steps slow and deliberate.
Soon his surroundings had changed from streets to a well-to-do neighborhood, mansion after mansion, skyscrapers as tall as the night sky, luxury cars driving by.
The nightlife of this place was exceptionally rowdy, with people moving to and fro, their auras overwhelming Mr. Valen so much so that the man resolved to look down at the ground as he moved.
His heart soon began to race, not out of fear, but an excitement, the kind one felt when there was an abundance of something to choose from.
He soon made it to his location a mansion secluded from the rest.
The mansion loomed behind a mighty iron gate, its windows blazing with a feverish light.
Music pulsed from within, deep bass throbbing like a swollen vein.
Walking into the compound he could hear the sound of laughter and conversations, but he paid it no mind.
There was no one outside.
Reaching the front door, he noticed that it was slightly ajar, spilling a wedge of jaundiced glow onto the porch.
'It's time to party I guess,' Mr. Valen thought as he stepped inside.