Wind. The hot, damp smell of the ground as what is left of the rain steams off concrete, creating a minor heat wave. A phlegmy cough, below him of a bum. A dog, barking down 3 streets at a stranger. Gunshots and tires, muttered voices and grunts. The taste of gunpowder, urine and vomit rising up through the air. The blare of a tv, the sounds of rap and rock thundering through the jukeboxes. The gentle caress of the wind, the hard feel of the roof under his feet.

Slam. Knees bend, his body bends and then he's moving again, feeling the air bite across his face, pulling at his lips, across his ears. The smells of the city rush up to meet him, and he rushes across rooftops, a half-seen shadow dancing in the moonlight

The wailing cry of a child, the soothing voice of a mother who nurses it. Shouted taunts of gang members, the slicing of air as a knife swings. The scream of a gunshot victim, the smell of blood and urine that surrounds him. Fear, desperation, hopelesness. Footsteps of a man, of men running away. Quick, rapid stacato of footsteps as they hit the sidewalk and the gravel, the shattering of glass underfoot

The cutting bite of the air as it pushes past his body, the screech of metal as his weight lands upon it. The smooth feel of metal beneath his hand, the sharp edges of rusted grains next to it. Swaying poles, the edged silent lighting of the night.

It's here, in the darkness that he feels free. Alive. His senses razor sharp catch it all, filtered through his mind. The sharp reek of the city, the harsh jangle of sounds and the pressing, cloying feel of the air. The taste, of blood and desperation that slides across his senses. It's now, on the hunt that he feels alive, in the shadows and darkness of the city. A breathless, teehlaced grin splits his face for a moment as he takes the next jump, rolling and springing up within a moment

He flips, twisting in the air and then he's down near the edge of the roof. 4 callused fingers grasp the edge of the roof, holding the body aloft, gently swaying in the night.

Even from out here he can smell it, taste it. Feel it. Sex and drugs and rock and roll. The reeking stink of unwashed human bodies, the cloying smell of cheap tobacco. Cheap alcohol and urine, drifting through the window. Blood, old and new that stains the floor, thrown up by those within. He can smell the body, the putrid scent of a decomposing body. A week old by the smell, the taste upon it on his tongue. They've not even bothered to take him out of the building, so lost in their private heavens and hells. Bums and drug addicts, the lost and the forgotten, all in this abandoned building that should have been torn down years ago

His hunger stirs at the smell, the taste of blood upon his tongue. So easy to take them, too easy. He waits, hanging from the edge of the roof and swaying as he listens.

Yes. Footsteps at last. Firm and heavy. 2, one man lighter and shorter than the other. He's moving in the front, the others stride longer but slower in frequency

Yes. Better, much better. He listens as they enter the building, the gentle thump of a briefcase knocking upon the smaller mans thighs echoing in after them. Making a delivery, feeding the druggies even when they don't come to them. A new test, a new taste appears in his mouth soon after. No, he was wrong. Not feeding, not gaining that extra buck. Testing.

The first scream comes only a bare minute after he first catches the taste. It rips through the shutters, drawing the eyes of even the jaded citizens of North Charleston. He doesn't move, instead pressing his body further into the shadows above and dangling above the alleyway.

Voices, the creak of leather boots moving as the two exit. Leaving, with their little package of horror between them. With the body still inside, the screaming ended by the sharp crack of a gun-barrel on temple. Leaving.

Now the fun begins. The hunt starts... now. With a surge of strength, he's on the roof once more and running ontop. He jumps slightly, the feel of hot, humid air on his knees, ankles telling him of the hole before his nose does. The hunt begins. Now.

And below, his two prey move onwards. Bodyguard and dealer. Predators. Yes, now this is more like it. And again, the grin flashes across it's face

A breath is draw, and then another deeper one. He holds it, tasting it with his tongue, his mouth before he expels it.

The hundred smells secreted by the human body, oily garlicy sweat, hot, minty breath, the moist dampness of the armpits and knees. A hundred human generated smells and then 2 colognes, added and stabbed upon the body in a misguided attempt to hide their stink. Their clothes, old unwashed socks and half-cleaned jeans. Blood and chemicals, the smell of the drugs and the money that comes from it. Gunpowder and oil from their guns, the faint metallic taste of their bullets. Fake gold earrings and chrome watches, leather gloves and cotton shirts. The lingering smell of the factory they were in before, the building that they entered. The aftertaste of a bad exhaust, the lingering smell of the interior of a car used too often to transport bodies and sex. It all tells a tale, one that the hunter reads within a moment.

It stalks, above them in the shadows. Soon, they'll be to the car. He considers letting them get to it, to follow them behind and then he dismisses the thought. Soon then, he must act soon.

Violent lives these men lead. Grunted words are exchanged, as they mutter something about the Doc not liking this. He dismisses the words, not needing them to track these lumbering fools. Their movements are loud and unconscious, offering him a clear trail from the rooftops to follow. He picks up speed, cutting across the buildings with a jump and a roll. He turns slightly switching pace and begins to run, across the side of the gutter, light feet barely make a tip-tap on the metal.

He bends, crouching two-thirds of the way up the alleyway, a flashing grin momentary passing his face. Feral, animalistic. He draws their scent in again along with the harsh unfiltered smells of the alley beneath. A bum, back from where they were half-asleep, his breathing shallow and troubled. The smell of rusted metal near him, leading downwards from the gutter. Residual alcohol tell of a bottle shattered, the mixture of blood upon it adds to the tale of violence. Urine and faeces, half-desolved meat and vegetables cloaked in the unnatural smell of plastic speak of a garbage dump. More, a hundred more smells and tastes tell their tales.

Feel. Touch. Yes. The darkness in the alleyway darkens most visibly here. No light from the exit, the last guttering streetlamp long shot away. Light from behind filtered through the haze, almost gone. Here then. He crouches, his body bent. Here.

Up. Look up. Too late, the figure jerks too late as the fist slams into him. A flashing grin is all he sees before his face, wide mouth full of teeth. The blow, shattering his nose and spreading more blood. Then he drops, twisting to land behind his assailant. A twist, a jerk and then the clatter of metal on concrete. Hurt, angered, half-blind with rage and completely blind without light it lashes out and misses, collapsing on the ground.

Yes, the next one is a fighter. An enforcer, protection for the bag. Too bad, it's not after the bag or the small, whimpering man behind him. The one that is already half-concious from pain and blood lost. The enforcer's fist swings in the darkness but with speed and strength. With rage behind it.

Air breezing past him, across and near his face. A twist, a knee against soft, yielding flesh. Breath exhaled fast, the body already curling in natural response to the blow. It meets an elbow, thrust upwards with the weight of the body behind it. So fast, and it's over, the 2 dealers out.

Now for the prize. The body, already folding backwards is grabbed. Dragged behind, towards the garbage dump. Fangs extend. The prize taken. Blood floods the mouth, prized hot rush of blood filled with fear and rage and pain.

Then it is gone, the wound licked, the body sifted. Money, taken and removed from the pockets on both occupants. The edges of the crumbling wall gripped, held and pulled upon to raise the creature upwards. Fast, faster and then it's over the edge, gone.

Behind, a bum stares wide-eyed, unable to see what happens. Deficient eyes peer into the shadows, the sounds of the fight and gunfire all that happens. He curls up, shivering and wonders of what he saw.