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Walking the Line (Razgriz and Beautiful_Disgrace)

With the body gone, Stanson had a much easier time getting around and looking through the apartment. They managed to find prints galore on the safe and bedpost; though only an analysis would reveal if any of these belonged to the killer. It was the same as before in every other way though: No other trace evidence. Not even so much as a footprint, suggesting she was light on her feet and knew how to walk to avoid leaving behind an observable impression.

"I've got nothing aside from the prints. Nothing on the door suggests forced entry, didn't find anything on the victim either. What I find strange was that nothing was taken. If this was her...She always grabs whatever cash she can. There could be stuff missing from the safe, but we'll have to wait and see." Stanson had called for a safecracker to be present at the office to examine the contents, so they had that to look forward to. But if she didn't take the money from her wallet, then it was likely she didn't touch the safe either.

After a few moments, he then stared at the ground, something occurring to him. It wasn't anything related to the case, if anything it was more horrifying. He then went up next to his partner, "You know...If this is her, then she'll go after anyone that did anything wrong. That's got me thinking though...What if there's someone else out there? Someone else like her...Someone with an axe to grind against criminals? I mean, if she's out there right now...What if she inspired someone else to do it?"
 
Alison grimaced at the thought as she crossed her arms. "I don't want to think about that, Stanson. I really don't..." Still, it was possible. Definitely possible considering that she had a growing fan base out there. She had seen some online message boards that she liked to keep an eye on just in case. It was mainly just fanatics following murder cases and commenting on them. There was a small percentage of people who spoke out against her, but the majority of the anonymous users praised the killer as some sort of Angel of Death that delivered justice. "Suppose we need to keep an eye out...for any more differences between cases."

She didn't say much after that, because there was nothing left to say. She only waited for the safe cracker to confirm that indeed, nothing had been stolen. She pursed her lips in deep thought as she stared at the stacks and stacks of cash. "There was no way she'd pass this up. More than likely the victim offered her money for her life if she had time to be tied up to a chair." Alison muttered as she tapped her foot against the plush carpet. It didn't make sense...the gun was from the dead gang members..it was definitely her. So why did she not take the cash?
 
*Cedar City, Utah.*

A naked, heavy-set man hung upside down in chains, his face red from the blood rushing to it. Standing over six feet tall, his dark skin was covered in lacerations and bruises, a black bandana serving as an impromptu gag. His eyes were bloodshot and leaking tears, obvious signs of the agony he endured.

"Now then...Let's try this one more time. You know who I want...You know WHAT I want. If you lie to me, I will hurt you. If you stall, I WILL HURT YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" said his captor, Shawn Mitchell. The man in chains tried to turn his head to look at him, but Mitchell wasn't making it easy. Not that it mattered. Once he got what he wanted, it was over for this clown. Serving in the Marines at 15 and making it through the hell that was Ranger School, he thought he was doing his country a service. But what did he find when he came back? These piece of shit thugs running free because scummy attorneys got them off on technicalities.

"All that bullshit about brotherhood and honor in the Crips. Your 'homies' don't seem too worried about honoring other people, but rarely do you assholes give a shit about common people." Shawn sneered, anger lacing his words. He then removed the gag, the Samoan male trying to recover. "Now then, ass-stain...Tell. Me. Where. They're. Going. I let your friends off easy, but only because they named you as best source." Behind him, seven of his friends were unceremoniously tossed into a corner of the room, their bodies riddled with holes.

By this point, his captive had been broken; he just wanted it be over. He mumbled, trying to form coherent words through his sobbing. "Sorry...Didn't quite catch that" Shawn stated firmly, leaning down closer. "R...Route 50. They're going down Route 50. We were supposed to be ready for them here."

"Cargo?"

"Cocaine and weapons. Crips got a good deal with the Sons; they like our product, man. Nicaraguan uncut."

"How many?"

"I don't know! I was just to make sure the shipment went off, alright! "

"You're doing good, my plus-sized friend. Just one last question...Where?"

"Little Sahara. The Sons of Silence boss will be there too! He oversees every shipment that his gang accepts."

Shawn smirked, "Well, figures they would pick a desert area to do it. A lot of ground to cover but easy to meet up for an exchange." He then patted his 'friend' on the head before retrieving a metal container and pouring a foul-smelling liquid everywhere. Coughing, the prisoner weakly shouted, "Hey..Hey, what the fuck.." he choked, recognizing the smell of gasoline. Thankfully, the walls were cement and there wasn't a single bit of wood to be found.

Shawn smiled, "Oh come on, you didn't really think I was going to let you leave, were you? Only reason I'm not on the news is because the brass doesn't want it known that a former Ranger is doing something like this. But you can bet I have some pretty serious people after me." He then went to the door, where a signal flare was tied to a sturdy thread which connected to a door knob. "Guess your mother never warned you about playing with fire" he then joked as he closed the door, starting the chain reaction that twisted the top off the flare and ignited the vapors.

He sat for a few minutes, listening to the bastard scream as the heat cooked him alive. But before long, it was silent once more. "Show time" he then grinned as he went to his vehicle - a Jeep with a cargo cover that he 'borrowed' - and took off towards the meet.
 
It was a very hot day, but that did not stop Antoine Johnson from waiting in his truck for the Sons. His men were preparing the cargo for exchange while he sat on the back of his truck rolling a joint for his enjoyment. Would make the heat much less intense if he was in a certain state of mind. He stuck it in his mouth and reached into his shirt pocket for his lighter as he stared straight ahead. Sure enough a cloud of dust was starting to kick up as a few vehicles made their way through the dessert.

"Aye, look alive! Our buyers are here!" He called out as his Timberland's hit the sand below him and he started to walk forward. The cargo was all ready for the exchange by the time the Son's had parked. The lead vehicle was a white SUV...a nice one. That was where Antoine was focused. As the doors opened, his gang all moved behind him as the waited for the leader of the Son's to present himself so they could get this deal over with and get out of the heat.
 
Out from the lead SUV stepped Bruce Richardson, a relatively skinny man with a balding spot on the top of his cranium, the once-brown hair largely grayed and his eyes shaded by prescription sunglasses; he seemed quite old to be involved in a gang. In fact, one might even say he had that 'pedophile' look. Even stranger was that they were a motorcycle gang, but here they were driving SUVs. It wasn't like they had dirtbikes though...And with the cargo they were carrying, they needed the extra storage.

Still, Bruce had his resources. It was because of him and his gang that their businesses were still thriving. And besides, when a product this good came knocking, who was he to pass up an opportunity?

Dressed in his leathers - the back sporting the Sons' logo of an eagle superimposed over the letter 'A', flying under an arch of the gang's name with the phrase "Donec mors non separat" underneath it all - and denim jeans, he lifted his sunglasses to reveal light green eyes. "You must be Antoine...Pleased to make your acquaintance. What's say we get this deal over with, eh? The sun's a mother today" he then said, motioning to some of his guys to start taking the cargo and loading it.

"So...You know the deal right? This shipment has us set for a while. The Crips will have the Sons' authority to use these routes to ship their goods further east. Just remember the schedule for 'fees'." He then stepped closer, adding venomously "And remember that you keep out of Fort Collins and Niwot. That's our turf."

Off in the distance, Shawn sat under a desert-camouflaged net, the barrel of his customized M39 EMR poking out: Fitted with a sound/flash suppressor and as well as a day scope set to about 4x magnification, the man would be absolutely unheard when he began his 'shift'. He didn't count more than a dozen men, and being about seven hundred yards out, he was well within the effective range of the weapon. Still, he needed to keep one alive; there was a specific Crip he was looking for. One that killed a kid during a gang shootout and jumped bail to avoid charges. The one leaning on the truck seemed like he had information; of course, he could be wrong, but then all he needed was one alive.

His breathing slowed, finger gently pressing on the trigger in time with his steadying heartbeat. He was falling into the zone that all good snipers achieved, that state of mind where that final steadying breath would unleash hell on the enemy

Inhale...

Exhale...

Inhale...

Exhale...

Inhale...

Exhale...

The first shot cracked, the rifle butt pushing against Shawn's shoulder as it recoiled. The slug screamed through the air, carving a clean tunnel through Richardson's skull and catching one of his boys in the shoulder, making him stumble and fall. He adjusted his aim to the Son just behind the second SUV, and fired again. That shot caught him right in the side of the heart before he could even react, the bullet destroying his lung in the process.

And like clockwork, even as they might scurry, he kept his patience and scanned for targets, firing whenever the opportunity presented itself. And with the wind picking up a little now, it would be much harder to figure out where he was coming from.
 
Antoine hadn't processed the situation until after the second shot was fired, and that's when the gears started turning. "What the fuck?!" He shouted as he watched his one of his men catch the second bullet, which proved to be fatal. Was this the work of the Sons? Some kind of muitiny against Richardson? No, one of their guys was dead too. He didn't have to say anything to his gang, they were are starting to go for cover. Wherever the shooter was, he could obviously see them well enough, but they couldn't see him!

Antoine moved towards the back of the SUV as quick as he could, while simultaneously drawing his weapon. "You assholes! Someone followed you here!" He shouted over to the Sons as his eyes darted out for the shooter. Where were the bullets coming from?! Some of his boys decided to try and figure it out for themselves, and they quickly found themselves with lead in the head. Whoever this was, he was a damn good shot and Antoine wouldn't make any moves until he figured out where the fuck he was.
 
So...The rats were scattering.

That was the thought that passed through Shawn's head as he kept picking his shots, Sons and Crips falling down to the ground with a hole through the head. He reveled in each kick, each silent report of the weapon that ended every scumbag its bullets struck. This was a service to the country. They wanted to sell poison, manipulate and kill people? He'd show them what it was like on the other side of the looking glass.

And when the last one fell, the man had a distinct impression that there was still a few left. No doubt all those corpses around would deter the remaining ones from being brave. Still...He had hoped to not kill all of them, because these assholes had the info he needed. Or so he'd been told; and god forbid his previous informant only dropped this information because that meant starting from ground zero.

With no-one looking in his direction, he decided it was best to get up close, crawling backwards from under the tarp and moving around behind the hills, keeping tabs on the location of the last few gang-bangers. For CQB, he had an MP9, fitted with an extended magazine, cold-forged barrel and suppressor. He also carried a knife in case things got too close, but he'd rather not make them bleed over all his clothes.

The last of the Sons in the group, back against the third SUV, was clutching his pistol like he was holding a lifeline. "Man, you fucking Crips really screwed us this time! This your way of trying to get all the goods for yourself?" he hissed, to which the second-to-last Crip sneered, "Oh right, yeah, 'cause the Crips would kill their own homies for shit like this. You realize how stupid you sound, cracker?" The Son grimaced, "You better shut the fuck up, nig--" But that was all he said before a short whistling put four holes in his chest, falling over dead. The other Crip looked up and tried to draw to fire, but soon dropped to his back, eyes fading as blood stained the front of his white shirt.

"Ah, ah, ah...You best drop it, my friend." then said a voice right behind Antoine, adding "Sorry about the Son asshole though; we're not all racists, so please don't think badly of me because his parents were related."
 
Shit. He was in some real deep shit. He could feel the sweat basically dripping from his sack. Or maybe that was piss, who the fuck knew? Where did this guy even come from? What were his balls made of that he dared to pick a fight with both the Crips and the Sons? There were so many questions in his head, but he knew none of them would be answered. All of his crew, dead within minutes. Whoever he was dealing with would kill him too.

"Man, fuck you." Antoine said simply, though he couldn't control the shaking of his voice. "The fuck you doing, killing my boys like that? You just messed with the wrong gang, and I'm sure the Sons are going to be out for blood too. You think you're going to get away this? Not a chance!" He sneered.
 
Shawn just grinned as the man tried to keep up the tough guy act, not replying to him pointing out the obvious right away. Walking around and behind him, he then took the piece from the man's hand, tossed it aside and kept his own barrel trained on him. "They won't find out until I'm already long gone; but if you're pissed at me now, you should see the scummy fucks I killed to get this location. More of your 'boys'. Guess there's no honor among thieves after all."

Keeping his distance, he then asked as his grip tightened on the weapon, "Now then...My turn. A boy was killed during a gang shootout, and one of your homeboys thought to jump bail and head out of town. Now, I didn't think to see any Crips in Utah, but I guess I'm just that lucky. So here's what's going to happen: You're going to give me a name, and where this ass-clown's going."
 
Antoine wrinkled his nose in disgust when he heard that. This dude had killed even more of them? He gritted his teeth in anger, but there wasn't much he could do now that his gun was gone. How did he get them to talk?! He didn't think he'd live through this, not the way this guy was looking at him. Even if he did, he'd be gunned down for ratting out one of his boys. He knew exactly who he was talking about. Dominic Brown...he had recently skipped town for killing some kid. Why did this guy care so much?

"I ain't no goddamn snitch, mother fucker. You gonna kill me? Pull the trigger! If you don't, you're going to regret it.." He had to wonder what the guy did to make the others talk, but he wouldn't break that easily. He had a gun pointed at him many times, and seeing as death was the only option no matter what he did, he wouldn't give this asshole the satisfaction...
 
Shawn couldn't help but grin even more; it wouldn't have been any fun if he'd just given up the name. "Right, right. Snitches end up in ditches, that's the motto you gangbangers go by. Well, I wouldn't worry too much; you at least seem to understand that you're dead no matter what you do." He then put a round into each of Antoine's legs, forcing the man to crumple. "But the real question you should be asking is: How long will you make your suffering go on? Because trust me, I've got nothing but time."

Ripping the shirts off the dead gangsters, Shawn forced his newest 'informant' to wear a gag, legs and arms locked in cuffs before half-dragging him back to his own car.

*Somewhere in Capitol Reef National Park*

Shawn had soon arrived at an abandoned homestead deep in the Waterpocket Fold of the park; this park was so vast and unexplored that even the recent influx of tourists here meant there was little chance of him being discovered. And with his 'kit' for particularly resistant assholes like the one he had now, the man soon found himself upside down hung in chain, naked body covered in deep lacerations. He had also affixed an iron ring to Antoine's throat, its inner surface lined with spikes that poked at his jugular and windpipe, to prevent him from screaming once the gag came off.

"Now then...Are we feeling more cooperative? You know, you could have made this a lot easier on yourself had you just given him up. You think whoever you're protecting would have put up with this for you?" Shawn chuckled, adding "See, I know how gang leaders operate. They're cowards, manipulators, pussies afraid to get their own hands dirty. So they get gullible fucks like you to do their dirty work. And when they do get caught? "Sorry officer, but it wasn't me." That is what they say, and you know what? It works every fucking time and you..." He pointed his hunting knife at Antoine, its edge driping "take the fall for it. Now, how does that seem fair?"

He then leaned down and removed the gag just a little bit, the ball of fabric now resting on the man's forehead, "So come on...Just tell me where he is, and I promise to make it quick. And...If you have any honor left in you, you would give that ten-year-old boy's parents closure. Let them know that their son was avenged. Don't you think you owe them that much?" That last bit was said with quite a bit of anger, showing that he cared more about bringing justice to an unjust murder.
 
He should have known that this maniac wouldn't have just killed him. Killing him would have been a mercy. Maybe if he was younger, maybe if he was still some punk kid, he would have caved in. But he was determined to hold out until the very end, the issue is that he wasn't sure when that end would come. It hurt like hell being dragged to wherever the fucker wanted to torture him too, but it was nothing compared to being cut up, stripped down, strung up, and having some kind of collar poking into his neck.

When he removed the gag, he simply clenched his teeth together so he could keep himself from cussing the mother fucker out. It seemed like if he even breathed too hard, the spikes would cut deeper into his throat. He listened to the mans words, carefully as he glared into his eyes. Keeping his breathing level, he only smiled in response to his question.

"What, is he your brother or something? Cousin? I don't give a fuck about him. You act like child murder don't happen all the time, where I'm from." Antoine spat. "Fuck that little boy."
 
"Of course...None of the bangers ever care about kids that get caught in the crossfire. But I will tell you this..." Shawn then whispered, leaning down to say this right in his ear, "He was a kid from your friend's neighborhood, just trying to go to school. And whoever he was targeting happened to be there when he and his homeboys did that driveby." He then stood up, feeling a little flustered that this shitstain on the earth was so callous. "But what should I expect from a dreg? Not like you would have brought any good in this world; any kids you might have had would have been just as bad as you. Maybe even worse."

Shawn then redid the gag, bringing the blood-crusted knife back into view. "To answer your question? No relation; unless I had a black stepfather I never knew about. That's always a possibility. But let's change topics, yeah?" The cool steel of the blade touched the inside of the man's calf, a sharp 'tsk' singing as it pierced the chocolate-colored skin, careful to avoid the major veins as the knife cut the skin, blood running down and dripping along his back and front.

"I wonder what'll kill you first. Septic shock? Blood loss? Two very unpleasant ways to go. Be glad I'm not a surgeon; but then again, clean cuts never were my thing to begin with." Shawn continued to drag the point of the knife right along his capture's thigh, stopping right above the very thing all the hood boys said white women loved. "You know, you're a lot smaller than I was expecting. But you know what that means, right? Same number of nerves, more pain. After all, we've all heard the horror stories being emasculated. But *you*, my friend, will know what it feels like unless you talk."

The tip of the knife then moved to touch his perineum, dangerously close to his manhood and pressed down just the tiniest bit to show he wasn't kidding. "They say a cut on your balls can bleed just as bad as getting slashed across the neck...I've been looking for a subject to test that out on." He then leaned down and removed the gag again, adding "Looks like it's your lucky day, my friend. Unless you, you know, feel like cooperating."
 
The fear in Antoine's eyes immediately became apparent as soon as the cold steel of his knife touched his taint. He didn't even have time to get angry at him for insulting his size. "Oh hell no! Come on, man! That's fucking low," Antoine cried out in a panicked whisper as sweat being to drip from his forehead. Something told him he wasn't bluffing, a man who could slaughter so many individuals at once could carve out some dudes testicles without a second thought. He seriously thought about squealing at that moment, but he knew that if he did, this fuck would win.

"How do I know you won't just do it even if I tell you? You can do whatever you want to me, man. Why should I tell you anything?!" He asked, trying to stall for time. Even if he had a chance of getting out of this alive, he wouldn't want to be if he was missing his balls, or his dick, or whatever this guy was going to go for first.
 
"Like you said, child murder happens every day. And a lot of bangers harder than you think *that* is fucking low." Shawn sneered coldly, pushing just a little bit harder to get his point across. So now this guy wanted to lecture him on low-blows? What a fucking joke; this guy must be bottom of the totem pole if he was going to start pulling that high-ground shit with him.

"Why you should tell me, you ask? Because for one fucking moment in your miserable excuse of a life, you might be able to reverse a family's fortune even if it's just closure. And..." To show that he wouldn't in fact cut his dick off, he then dropped the knife away from him, hands up to show he wasn't holding anything else. "You already know how this is going to end for you...So the question you have to ask yourself is: Is your pride worth being buried as a eunuch? Worth *knowing* that the guy you're protecting is going to lose his shit laughing because you had your dick cut off before you died?"
 
Antoine was quiet, or at least he didn't speak through his whimpering. He thought long and hard about his situation, and how he wanted to go out. He could handle getting beaten, cut, stabbed, but not this shit. He knew it would be a long, agonizing, and humiliating death if he kept his mouth shut. He didn't even really like Dominic, but he hated this guy more. Still, if he was going to die, he wanted it to be quick. If he was going to die, he didn't want people to remember him as some punk who got his dick chopped off.

Being a snitch was a little worse, but not nearly as painful. If he was dead though, what did it matter? "Dominic Brown. Last I heard, he was running to Joliet, Illinois to hide with family. He might not stay there long, so you better get going." He begrudgingly told the man, not able to look in his eyes. He was ashamed of what he had done, but he knew that Dominic would have done the same to him if it meant keeping his balls attached to his body.
 
Letting out a sigh, Shawn grinned mildly, "Thank you, my friend. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" And with this, he unclasped a suppressed Beretta M9 from his hip holster and leveled it at Antoine's face. "And like I said...Quick. And painless." And with one pull of the trigger, the silent 'stch' of the bullet went straight between the man's eyes, his body hanging lifelessly before being released, falling dead on the floor. It would take too long to bury him, so best he just packed everything up, cleaned up what he could and went. After a few minutes of meticulously cleaning the blood stains pn the vehicle with some peroxide he kept in the glove compartment and storing all chains back under where the spare tire was supposed to go, he was off. Illinois was a hell of a drive, but if it meant ending this Dominic Brown, then he'd go all the way around the world if he had to.



A few days later, Shawn arrived in Joliet, already having found reliable information through some of the other bangers about where this clown was. And while he figured it would be somewhere out of the way, he was going into the shady parts of eastern Joliet. No where his white-boy ass was supposed to be. Down close to Aurora, where he was supposedly 'with family'. Usually that meant a hideout in banger jargon, but if he really was with family then he would need to deal with him differently.

The area was run-down, very much the projects and looked only marginally better with the darkness covering its ugliness. Another area for the rats to infest. He rode down towards the house - a shitty-looking place with a busted fence and a patio with broken furniture, the grey paint peeling and patchy - before parking a few streets down and getting out, a hooded black sweatshirt concealing the body armor he wore. With him too was his trusted Beretta loaded with overpressure rounds and two spares of standard ammunition in pouches on the vest.

Dogs barked in the distance as he approached, already he could hear voices inside as he started to sneak around back. Being on a corner, it meant his current route was the better choice especially since a wall was at his back. He could have stormed the front if he wanted, but he needed to be sure how many were inside. Whoever they were though, definitely didn't sound like family.

He slowly came up to the back patio, peeking in through the window above the kitchen sink. It just so happened to give him a direct shot into the living room: Ten guys, all sitting around drinking beer. All sporting Crip colors and laughing.

"Man, how the fuck did you get out of Cali? Do they even know you're here?"

"I got mah means, cuz. No wack-ass pohlice going to get me, cuz I'm too slick, hahahaaaa. Fuck that little boy; ain't like I wanted to shoot him, but he just stepped in front of me and my boys' bullets!"

Shawn's lips curled up a little as he drew out his handgun, he was going to put extra bullets through this smug fucker's face. And it was here that he took his position in front of the back door and with a hard push, broke through firing....Unknowing of who it was he was going to meet in this run-down homestead.
 
It had been a slow couple of days in Joliet, crime wise, which meant Adrian could devote her free time to do some proactive cleaning. After running into a kid who was being used by a certain group of drug dealers, she decided very easily who her next targets would be. She didn't know who Dominic Brown was, but she did overhear him bragging to his gang banger friends about skipping town after killing a boy one day when she was doing some surveillance on the run down shack they were staying in. She confirmed they were Crip affiliated, which was a risky job in itself, but wiping child killing scum off the face of the planet made it even more worthwhile.

It wasn't hard for her to slip through the cracks, climbing in an open bedroom window while the fuckheads were snorting their crack and chumming it up downstairs. It was a daily ritual they had after a hard days work of peddling drugs through minors and protecting their territory, and whatever else thugs did. She had already loaded her weapons of choice of the evening, a Browning 9 mm and her Mac-11 equipped with a suppressor, which was currently in hand.

Just as she reached the end of the hallway with her finger pressed firmly on the trigger of her pistol, she heard the door bust open and the shots fired immediately afterwards. Although her body kept calm, she could feel her heart rate elevated. She hated surprises, and this didn't sound like a raid by another gun. It was just a single gun firing before the others started firing back, and whoever was shooting was dropping bodies much faster than some shit head with a gun.

She didn't have much time to think, since two of the Crips made it out of the living room and were headed her way.

"Yo, what the fuck?!" One of the shouted just before he caught the first wave of bullets from her Mac-10 straight to his skull before he could raise his own weapon in reaction. The bullets went straight through him and caught his larger buddy in the shoulder, but Adrian made sure that he caught the trail end of her shots in the heart.

Well, she supposed she had given herself away now. Neither of these fools were the child killer she was looking for, either. She would have to fight for her prey, provided he wasn't already dead...
 
Thankfully, the bottom floor was fairly small, meaning the bangers that remained really had nowhere to hide as the two vigilantes cut them down. Unfortunately leaving Dominic to try and scramble to the stairs, only to run into the woman that had been cleaning Joliet's streets of criminal scum. And when he turned back around, all he saw was the psycho that broke in through the back...Soon enough the man falling onto the couch he had just been sitting on, both wielders soon deadlocked with each other.

"Man, what the fuck?! Who are you two!?" Dominic shouted in fear, too afraid to move as the criminal killers stared each other down, guns unmoving from the vital areas they were aimed at. "Good question, dirtbag..." Shawn replied, adding "I don't know who you are and frankly I don't fucking care, but this one's mine. I've been hunting his ass from California all the way here. Killed a lot of these Crip shitstains to find him too." Dominic stuttered, eyes darting between these two nutjobs, asking "You came all the way from California? For what? How did you even know--" but Shawn interrupted him "Will you just shut up?"

Dominic's eyes seemed to search around in contemplation, trying to find a way out, Shawn then addressing the young woman, "But because I know chivalry's not dead, I'm going to give you this one chance: Are you with or against him?"
 
The silence was deafening as Adrian stared down the man. She ignored Dominic's incessant groveling, after all she was more intrigued by the man who was before her now. He had searched for his prey for miles, and it had eventually got him to Joliet where he crossed paths with her. She couldn't say she wasn't impressed, since she had only hunted in the cities she lived in. She had to respect that.

Still, it was a problem that he had seen her face. He was a threat, and she didn't know how to deal with him. "I'm not with him." She simply said, though she did not drop her guard at all. Her suppressor was aimed right at the man's chest, just as his Beretta was aimed at her. "That's a nice gun. It should do the job just fine," She said simply as her eyes glanced to Dominic. "Go ahead, you can have him. I will not steal your prey, you've been hunting him far longer than I have. But I want to watch him die. Shoot him."
 
Shawn didn't seem too fazed when she asked him to shoot the prick; there was no doubt Dominic was going to die here, begging that someone would save him from this hell. Two demons gunning for his life, only for one to concede on the right of killing. His eyes went to the man in the hooded sweatshirt, wide with fright and terror

He hadn't gotten this far by being stupid, but he couldn't help wondering what Dominic did here that might have attracted her attention. And it seemed she wanted him dead...Very dead. "Alright, no problem." he replied to her request, his gun swinging to square on the criminal's forehead and pulling the trigger, that familiar blast of red painting the wall behind him, a nice-sized hole in between his eyes as blood leaked from the fresh wound. And now he was disarmed; even if he could finish her, he didn't go after someone without a reason. And aside from being in the same spot as him, there was no real reason.

He then raised his hands in a surrender, showing that he wasn't hostile towards her. "Thanks...But let's say we keep the guns off each other for now, yeah? Besides, you don't want to be anywhere near me with who I've got on my tail. 'Course, they might be glad I got killed, but who knows right?"
 
Adrian smiled at the sight, her dull eyes lighting up as she still felt satisfaction from seeing the child killer die, even if she wasn't the one who wasted him. Her job here was done, she was sure this mysterious person had cleaned up the rest of the scum for her. Still, when he raised his hands up to show he meant her no harm, she was hesitant to lower her weapon. If it wasn't for the fact that time was of the essence, she may have dwelled on it more in contemplation. However, she didn't have the luxury to at the moment. Plus, anyone who cleaned up scum like this didn't deserve to be shot without questioning. She would give him the benefit of doubt.

"Fine, but follow me. You can't get caught, you've seen my face." She said simply as she holstered her pistol and moved to the back of the house. She had taken the time to figure out where the back door was so no one would see her running out the front. After all those shots, she knew there would be witnesses.

After they left the house, she took him through the backyard and jumped the low fence. She was quick to find the dark street that would be her quickest way out of the neighborhood, and since it wasn't lit correctly it would be hard for anyone to spot them out. She was quick, but not suspicious in her walking, and she obviously knew where she was going. She didn't say a word to him as they quickly and quietly escaped the scene, and she didn't stop until she found a quiet ally to clean up in. She unzipped her oversized jacket, revealing her lithe yet curvy body wrapped a tight sweater dress as she wiped her face clean with the jacket.

"You're not a cop." It seemed less like a question and more like a statement. She had to be sure before she moved any further with him.
 
Shawn just wordlessly followed her, thankful to remember wearing gloves as they hopped the fence. He kind of worried about them finding his car, but that would have to wait for now. He would need to get back to it at some point though and stash it somewhere safe. Last thing he needed was the feds tracking his location, especially right now and he couldn't be certain she didn't know about him and was just playing dumb.

Still, anyone who didn't mind him wasting a low-life earned some points in his book. His eyes wondered over her figure as she slid the topmost layer off; she wasn't half bad-looking to be honest. But he was starting to get a little stuffy, pulling the sweatshirt over his head and showing the plain white shirt overlayed by what appeared to be a military-issue combat vest complete with ammo and supply pouches, before tying the hefty fabric around his waist, arms rippling with well-trained muscle. And now she'd seen his face, five-o-clock shadow and all, but he didn't realize what her deal actually was about that.

"Aren't you a sharp one." he joked, adding "And I can tell you're not one either." Ironically enough, he could already hear the sirens of the squad cars coming in to investigate the incident. "Fifteen minutes, my ass" Shawn snorted, turning his attention back to her since they were a safe distance away. "Look, much as I'd love for us to pat each other on the back, can you just tell me what you want? Scumbags aren't exactly itching to kill themselves, you know."
 
"I want to sleep well tonight." Adrian said simply, her eyes studying his face, then his body. It was hard to tell if she liked what she saw, but she definitely wasn't shy about her staring. It seemed like she wasn't really used to talking to anyone, or being around people. "We're even. I've seen you and you've seen me. You're not from here, right? Well you can go home. I have everything handled in Joliet, and I'd rather us not step on each others toes again."

Then again, if he had people chasing after him, especially the Crips, it would probably be hard for him to go back to wherever he came from. That wasn't her problem, but she couldn't have someone surprising her like that again. It bothered her when things didn't go exactly as she planned.
 
"The road is my home" he replied calmly; it was clear that she and he had no idea about the other. Who they were or their motivations for doing the things they did. "Heh, kind of figured this wasn't your first. But anyway, I won't be staying long. That assclown was my only business here; next place I'm headed is Chicago. Might as well since I'm in the state, you know?"

Admittedly he was curious about this young girl, but he had other business to attend to. "Anyway, if someone asks, you never saw me. Don't worry, I'll do the same for you." he then said, getting his sweatshirt back on; thankfully, he wasn't too far from his car. He needed to get back to his motel room and gear up, as he knew there was a cornucopia of targets there. Many of them much more dangerous than the small fry here.

"Later." was all he said to her, leaving the young woman to her own devices as he turned the corner.
 
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