People Are Strange, When You're a Stranger (Dante)

[Malcolm Gaines]

The pitter patter of the light dusk drizzle graced Malcolm's ears as he made his way through the almost deserted streets of New York. Things were different these days. People seemed to be almost afraid to leave their homes at night. Or maybe he was just crazy. But something about the empty walkways seemed suspicious to the detective.

Now passing an abandoned apartment building, Malcolm noted that a young woman, maybe mid-twenties, dressed in a short that just covered the top of her thighs and a shirt that probably couldn't even classify as a shirt, stood around 3o feet ahead of him, propped against the side of an empty office building. Almost in dubiously a hooker, Malcolm made a b-line across the street, attempting to avoid her, but she seemed to take note of him and did the same, now standing directly in his path.

Trying his best not to lock eyes with the young lady, Malcolm eyed a jet black 1967 Impala that was parked opposite of the office building, noting what appeared to be a shovel in the back seat. A rather suspicious item to have stowed in the back seat of your car, however it was highly unlikely it was involved in foul play.

Distracted by the car, Malcolm hadn't noticed the woman somehow manage to get ahead of him, now standing under the street light at the end of the block, seeming to notice him coming and began to stride in his direction. Unsure if she was coming for him, or just lost in the city, he continued on his way, once again trying his best to avoid all eye contact. However, it would soon prove to be inevitable as she spoke to him, flashing him a rather seductive smile,and being the gentlemen Malcolm was, he replied, kindly of course.

"Hey, mister. You looking for a date?" Giving a small smirk, Malcolm stepped past her. "Sorry, miss. Not tonight." Even though Malcolm had prompted he wasn't interested, the lady began to tail him, following close behind and furthered her offers, not intent on giving up so easy.

After several moments of pestering, Malcolm stopped near an alleyway, turning to look behind him for someone else, but saw no one. Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him. Or perhaps it was the same character he could have sworn he saw the other day, seeming to follow him after departing the precinct.

"C'mon, I know you wanna ask me something. Go ahead, you might get lucky." Now annoyed, and slightly paranoid, Malcolm turned, coldly replying as he fumbled with his jacket. "Only with humans."

"What's wrong, honey? Don't like vampires?" Before Malcolm could turn to ask her what the hell she was on, he was slammed hard against the concrete wall and jabbed in the gut, having the wind knocked clean out of him, instantly collapsing to his knees, arms wrapped tight around his midsection.

Sprawled on the ground of the alleyway, Malcolm's hand slid into his jacket, removing his Colt MKIV series 80 from it's holster, however before he could raise it, the woman kicked it from his hand, sliding off into the shadows.

"I'm a cop, asshole. And you just assaulted an officer. That's a 25 to life right there. You're fucked!" Letting out a raspy cough, Malcolm steadied himself, trying to stand. Before him, the shadowy figure of the supposed vampire hooker looked down at him, now beside her another figure, presumably her killer pimp Guido. Malcolm looked into her eyes, a fiendish grin plastered to her face. He could have swore he saw fangs, however it may have just been his mind fucking with him.

Unable to muster enough strength to stand, he reached down to his ankle, planning on getting the Colt Government .380 he kept as a backup weapon for times like this, but his attacker had other plans, the heel end of her boot connecting with his forehead, sending him straight into a black sleep, unaware of what would happen next.

Violent pain shot through Mickey's side, stirring from his sleep and groaned, clutching his side. "Ah, fuck!" The salty, almost metallic taste of blood tainted his mouth, spitting a glob of it onto the ground beside him, coughing violently as he did. It felt like she'd stomped his chest in, then stabbed him repeatedly with each breath he took.

Demonic giggling filled the eerie night air, standing before him was the psycho hooker, Guido the killer pimp nowhere to be found. She'd probably already stripped him clean of anything valuable, watch, wallet, guns etc. As a matter of fact she held his Colt MKIV, aimed right at his head. Not the best position to be in. 'Think fast, Mickey..'

"So, tough guy. Watcha gonna do now?" she quipped. Her voice was almost sweet sounding, and innocent. However, she was almost the exact opposite having just skull-fucked the shit out of him.

Before Malcolm could respond to her, something happened that ordinarily only happened in re-runs of the old Looney Toons show. Malcolm watched, his eyes widening as a shovel out of nowhere collided with the dead center of her face, her muscles tightening, causing the gun she held to fire off a round which struck the ground near his head, sending chunks of asphalt ricocheting around. It was quite humorous, almost letting out a laugh, however, under the circumstances he refrained, struggling to reach down to his ankle and draw his Colt .380.

His mysterious rescuer stood before him, like a knight in shining armor, shovel in hand and proceeded to finish off the hooker, when behind him, the sulking brute of a man, presumably the pimp he saw earlier, moved behind the vigilante and raised a rather fiendish looking blade, poised to strike. His plan was thwarted however, as Mickey gave him a .380 to the face, which sent the back end of his skull into oblivion, the crimson and Gray brain matter now decorating the alley wall behind his crumpled corpse.

It was hard to take in what just happened. His head still spinning, ear still ringing and side still aching, Malcolm slowly proceeded to get up, groaning in pain as he propped himself against the wall and stared wide eyed at the two mutilated corpses, using the business end of his gun to knock away what appeared to be one of Guido's eyeballs.

"Jesus...christ." Malcolm caught his breath, looking up at his rescuer and let out a sigh, notching the safety switch on his Colt .380 and returned it to his ankle holster. "So, who the hell are you? "

[Dante Stark]

Dante had been tracking a group of vampires to a location around town, he'd always been one to keep himself busy as he sat their during the afternoon eating a cheeseburger, he'd brought along a few essentials to use in tonight's adventures but firstly he'd have to wait for sun to go down.. Stark had fallen asleep in his Impala waking up to the sounds of rain on his windscreen.. yawning as he stood up he examined the now empty streets, getting out of his car he quietly closed the door as he'd heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. Stark had forgotten about the shovel he'd left on his backseat, he'd be needing it later to dispose of the evidence.

Stark slipped down an alleyway as he'd observed a man checking out his Impala and then being perused by what appeared to look like a prostitute, he kept himself clear of the scene waiting for it to unfold.

He'd heard the woman offering herself to the man and he shrugged her off, Stark peered around the corner making sure to keep tabs on the two of them he wasn't sure if the man was directly involved in today's hunt. Stark observed as the woman began to attack the man and he quickly moved to his car and grabbed the shovel, the woman had the man at gunpoint and Stark struck running at her and hitting her with the shovel knocking her away.. Stark grabbed the shovel and jammed it through the woman's neck decapitating her. Stark had paid no attention to the second man that the guy shot.. Instead he held his shovel like a broadsword as the man asked for his name..

"Detective Dexter Miller I'm undercover investigating a strange craze, this woman was not a vampire she was just high on bath salts.. Pay no attention to the crazy blabber she gave you, and well now that this is done i guess I'll be heading off now. Stark had faked a New Jersey accent as he'd helped the downed man up.. He turned on his heel and walked towards his car and he'd turned to face the man once more.. "Have a nice night then sir..." Stark smiled as his accent nearly broke half way through..

He'd turned back and opened the boot of the car throwing the shovel inside.. Stark opened the car door and jumped inside of his car starting the engine driving away from the scene as the rain started to come down slightly harder.. He had saved a man's life there and the guy wouldn't even know that he was almost taken out by a Vampire.

[Malcolm Gaines]

"Hey...wait!" Malcolm said, still half unconscious. He splashed abit of water from a puddle onto his face, partially cleansing himself of his own blood, and attempted to stand to follow his rescuer. "I'm Detective Gaines, NYPD. I'm gonna need you to-AH!" Cringing as he partially stood, Malcolm retrieved his Colt MKIV, which was laying beside the hookers corpse and placed it in his waistband, gritting his teeth in pain as he stepped out of the alley.

Propping himself against the wall of the building, Malcolm watched as the black Chevy Impala's engine started up, the car making it's way down the street and out of view. With a grunt, Malcolm slumped down against the building, letting out a soft chuckle and reached for his phone.

11:23 AM Three days later...

"The victim was shot twice. One grazed his abdomen, the other penetrated his left bicep. The weapon was a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson, which we found discarded in the hallway. It appears four shots were fired, however there are only signs of two shots in the building. They could have been shot before the murder. Which could mean we have a double homicide on our hands." Malcolm watched as a fellow detective briefed him, his eyes shifting down to view the corpse of a Victor Crowley, resident of the apartment building in which he stood. It was unclear why he was killed, but it must have been for good reason. As after the victim was shot, twice, he was stabbed various times in the gut, then had a nail driven through his skull. It is clear whoever did this wasn't a fan of Mr.Crowley.

"Has anyone spoken to the neighbors? Landlord? Anyone?" Malcolm said, crouching before the body and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Ah, yes, Stanley had spoken with the neighbors. Apparently nobody heard anything before or after the shots. And nobody saw the man enter or leave." As the man spoke Malcolm lifted Crowley's arm, inspecting the gashes on his upper bicep, noting what appeared to be bone fragments embedded in the skin. "Marco, what you make of this?" Marco, another detective, stepped over, crouching beside Malcolm and inspected the wound, before standing once more. "Looks like bone to me." It didn't add up. How would pieces of his bone wind up embedded in his own arm?

"You think it's his?" Marco rubbed his eyes and wet his lips, placing his hands on his hips and stared down at the mutilated body of Crowley, occasionally glancing over at Malcolm. "I don't see how it could be. Unless his arm was broken, but it would have to have been shattered with something like uh, like uh, hammer or a bullet. Something that would shatter the bone, sending fragments everywhere. Which a hammer wouldn't cause that. It'd take a bullet wound, direct on impact from a high caliber. A .38 hasn't got that kind of power. Plus, there is no bullet wound, at least not a visible one on his right arm. Which means it is someone elses bone fragments, probably someone who was shot point blank while standing beside Mr.Crowley."

Malcolm gave a puzzled frown, standing up and waved for the boys to come and take the body, stepping over to the window, which overlooked the alleyways down below. "Has anyone checked the alley yet?" Turning, he met eyes with Marco, who wiped the sweat from his forehead, and shook his head. "Not that I know of." Malcolm nodded, giving one last look out the window before stepping over to Marco. "Right, go down and sweep the alley. Take Stanley. I think this guy may have had a weapon of his own. And if he did, I bet it was knocked out that window. Have you checked the ballistics on the shot in the ceiling?" Marco looked up at the ceiling before shaking his head once more. "Right, get ballistics on that. And get someone to check the heater vent. I have a feeling you'll find a shell casing in there. Now, I gotta run. I want you to get Greenly and Ruffalo to go down to, what's the nearest gun shop?" Marco thought for a moment, running a hand through his hair. "Uh... Mclusky & Sons, it's on the corner of 11th Avenue." Malcolm nodded, grabbing the baggie which contained the .38 special and handed it to Marco. "Take this there, see if you can get an owner for the gun. Once you get that you go to the address, see what you can come up with. You got all that?" Before Marco could even reply Malcolm had patted his shoulder and started out the door.

Stopping in the lobby, Malcolm inserted .75 cents into a pop machine, hearing the "clunk" of the Coke which popped out and retrieved his beverage, popping the top and took a quick swig. "Gaines, where you headed?" The familiar voice of Stanley came from behind him, which Malcolm turned to greet him, sipping his drink. "Lunch. I'll meet you back at the station. Marco's waiting for you upstairs. I have a job for you two. Don't let me down." Stanley gave a slight chuckle, turning to head up the stairs. "C'mon, Mickey. When have I ever let you down?"

Malcolm was now seated in his black and white '68 Dodge Coronet, inserting the keys into the ignition and started up the engine, sipping his drink. His newly assigned homicide wasn't as shocking as it used to be. Back in the day murder cases were more unsettling, however now it was a common sight. People were killed everyday, it was the natural order of things. This case, however, wasn't as unusual as the others. He doubted it was related to the odd strand of murders that occurred, where blood had been drained form the body, and almost cannibalistic mutilations. This was a lowlife in to deep getting capped off. It was almost a relief for him. The less supernatural encounters, the better.

Before Malcolm put the car in gear he noticed something, someone rather, walking down the sidewalk across the street, which almost made his jaw drop. It was the vigilante from the alley. Obviously if Malcolm yelled he couldn't hear him, so instead he put the car in gear, throwing his half empty Coke can out of the car and pulled out into the street, not even checking for traffic. Luckily, there wasn't an accident, just a very pissed business man in a Mercedes.


As the detective's car pulled around the corner, he came head on with an on-coming car, the sound of crunching metal filled his ears, shattered glass covered his lap and a yelling man stepped out of his car, walking over to him. Malcolm blinked, groaning has he un-fasted his seat belt, wondering if he'd gotten whiplash. At that moment his heart sank as he inspected the ravaged front end of his beloved Coronet, which had once belonged to his father.

While inspecting his vehicle, Malcolm almost didn't notice the man open his door, grabbing him by the shirt and jerked him out of the car, landing hard on the asphalt with a loud grunt, clutching his side in pain. "I hope you have insurance buddy, you fucking wrecked my car, piece of shit!" Once again Malcolm was grabbed, this time by the back of his shirt which cause him to choke before being slammed onto the side of his car. "You better fucking answer me, pal! This is a brand new 2013 Cadillac, that probably cost more than you make in a year!" Dazed and lightheaded, Malcolm raised his hands, trying to reach for his badge and managed to speak, coughing abit as he did so. "Hey, listen, I'm a cop. I was trying to-" The man, seemingly unfazed at the fact Malcolm was a cop, shoved him back against the car again, yelling even louder. "Cop or not, you're paying for this, asshole!" Now, Malcolm was annoyed. This man had already assaulted him, threatened him and would not allow him to explain himself. So, he decided to deal with it the easy way and swung a fist up into the mans temple, then kicked him as best he could in the knee, straightening his jacket and ran a hand through his hair, coughing as he realized a crowd had gathered around the wreck. "It's okay, I'm a cop."

Sidetracked, almost forgetting what he was doing, Malcolm jolted off, heading down the sidewalk and saw the man standing near the intersection down the street. Running as fast as he could, he darted through people, almost knocking a few over until he had made it to the intersection, walking up behind the man. "Hey...hey...mister! I need to talk with you." Malcolm said, almost collapsing from exhaustion and leaned forward, grabbing his knees as he caught his breath.