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Graverunner & Pyro Eye





Laena stumbled down the ran - now smattered with a fine sheet of snow. Her face was flushed a tinged blue from the harsh, piercing winds that now graced her. She tripped over a notch in the pathway, just to reposition herself half-heartedly and start walking again.

Her clothes which would have once shined in former beauty - now lay limply and wet around her slender body - edges unravelling, fine silk starting to split. Her thick brown hair now lay in wet curls reaching roughly mid-thigh, giving her the image of a long-haired hobo, despite the rich clothes she was obviously wearing - in tatters.

She felt empty, sick, a tired. She had never been so physically exhausted in her entire life. Not only had she spent the last five hours attempting to avoid the police on search for her - she had also no money because her family had cut off all her money sources - they'd never let her earn money for herself, not until she started to inherit the family company.

People gave her a side-glance every now and then before hurrying forward trying to avoid her. No one would recognise Laena Hayes from the Hayes Foundation in this kind of condition. Laena would not go back, she would only be seen dead back there. She knew this was a stupid idea, and that common sense was basically screaming out to her to take cover - but pride was damn strong in her, and remained to forbid her to go back.

She wandered mindlessly into an alley, and she stumbled, falling to the floor. She tried to get up but strength abandoned her at the crucial moment. She sighed, a shuddering sigh, and darkness started to cover her. She was scared of dying, true, but it was too late to do anything now.

She could feel her throat screamed out for water, her stomach long for the rich flavours she was used to savouring. Laena groaned at her vision dimmed even more, and she could barely make the outlines of the rubbish bins a few meters ahead of her. Her head hit the ground with a sickening thump – and everything went black. Her last thought was that if anyone would find her and bring the body to her parents.

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Michael ran down the streets - black cloak flowing behind him - swaying in the harsh winds. Blood streamed from his arm and his gritted his teeth as flakes of snow positioned themselves in his wound. Behind him the angry shouts and yells were growing fainter, and Michael realised he would running faster then them, and would outrun them in a matter of seconds. Of course he would, he is Michael.

Women wouldn't help looking at him at he ran, taking in his perfect build and handsome face ... - despite the fact is was currently covered in blood. He ducked around a corner, and loaded his gun, smiling to himself despite the situation he was in. The three men in expensive suits came to a halt in the middle of a crowded street and looked around angrily, breath coming out in puffs. Michael attached his silencer with amazing speed and shot at them, each reaching their target with amazing accuracy.

The screaming started.

People yelled and ran like the end of the world - pointing and avoiding the bloody corpses that now littered the street, or trying to avoid the new torrent of bullets that could come at any moment. Michael was tempted to shoot an annoying woman who kept screaming in a high-pitched whine, but decided not so - it would only result in more bloodshed and panic.

He ducked down the off-side street with a smile on his face and his attention came upon on how he would find his limo. He looked around and went to step forward, only to stop dead and survey the fallen body in front of him.

An extremely attractive woman lay sprawled at his feet - if a bit less formally attired. He nudged her with his foot, and tutted at no response. He kneeled down and turned her over, feeling her pulse. It was there, extremely faint, but existent. He stood up, stretched and walked on, stepping over the body with a smirk fixed on his face. He turned around and looked on in astonishment as the girl groaned and rolled slightly, flashing her beautiful face.

Michael trudged down the alley, a unconscious girl in his arms and a confused expression fixed onto his face. Why was he helping this girl again? He shook his head and reasoned this himself. He'd feed her up, fuck her, and then never see her again like he did with others - or kill her if she got serious. He chuckled at himself at the thought and sliding her gently into the back of his car. His driver was looking at him in amazement.

"May I ask who your female friend is?"
"I don't know her. When we get to the company, I need you to wash her, feed her, and find some new clothes for her. Preferably Gucci. Autumn season," he ordered, snapping his fingers. The driver nodded, closed the door for Michael, and got into the drivers seat. Michael looked down at the girl at the car pulled away and he groaned as she stirred. She'd be coming around soon.

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When Laena Maddox finally came to, she woke up feeling like someone had puked in her mouth; her head as if her brains were bashing itself against her skull and her body aching all over. In short... she woke up feeling like complete and utter crap. She groaned, eyes trying to blink the cob-webs of unconsciousness away.

Where... am I?

She'd half expected to wake up in the same alley that she had fainted in. But this was definitely no alley. In fact... the longer she stared, the blurred surroundings gradually began to clear to show her the expensive interior of a car. Plush seats, the smell of leather and smooth, expensive black lines. It hit her then that her family must have found her, that she was now in one of the many cars that they owned about to be chauffeured back to the mansion. She started panicking then, struggling as much as she could in her tired state against something that seemed to be holding her back. When Laena finally looked up, she immediately stilled.

This blood-spattered man was definitely no one that she knew. Her next reaction was to look away, horribly embarrassed. After everything that had happened, she now had to be cradled by a drop dead handsome guy while looking like she had been dragged down the seven levels of hell and back again. She had never shown an un-made up face to a man. Well... now she had.
Maybe you should worry more about the fact that he has blood on him... her mind pointed out.

As it was, she was simply too tired to care at the moment. Blood-spattered or no, she was merely grateful that she had somewhere to lie down for the moment. She could not even summon up the energy to ask who the mysterious man was right now.

"Oh, you're awake," he muttered, lighting a cigarette and filling the cabin with a dusky smoke. He watched in amusement as the girl blushed and looked away, and he raised an eyebrow. He fingered her rich, yet torn dress, and when he spoke his voice was amused and taunting, "Come now, a rich girl like you? I can't be the first handsome guy you've ever seen?" he laughed at his own little joke, and dropped the silky fabric from his hands, and stared ahead, pulling at his cigarette.

He looked over at her, smiling, and stubbed it out, realising for a girl that weak wouldn't take to well to a smoky cabin, even more so because she looked like a non-smoker, and possibly unused to the fumes of cigarette smoke. He reached down and brushed a bit of dust off his shoe before sitting up and taking out a first aid kit. He opened it up to reveal a first-class aid kit; equipped with things no one would suggest using unless you had first class medical training. This was something Michael had, but never learnt.

He took out a damp clean cloth; and rubbed some anti-disinfectant in. He looked at the girl, smiled, and looking into the head mirror, dabbing at his wounds. It was deep without a doubt; a strong but narrowly missing blow with a knife always seemed to make a rather impressive mark. He looked over to the wide-eyed staring girl and passed the slightly bloody cloth into her hands and shrugged apologetically.
"You don't mind, do you?" he asked, leaning forward, "I can't seem to see very well, everything looks crimson to me. Do you mind tidying up my cut a little?" he made a mental note to throw her out of the car at a high-speed if she stared squealing in disgust. It was one of the many things he couldn't stand, he hated squealing.

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No, of course not, merely that all said handsome men have never seen me without so much as a hair out of place and I look like something scraped off the bottom of someone's shoe at the moment she would have liked to snap back, but her conversing capabilities were not at the finest for the moment, seeing as how the smoke that filled the car caused her throat to become even more parched and for every inhalation she took as if sandpaper was scraping down her throat. She didn't say anything however, only turned her head away from the smoke being breathed out and tried to breathe as little as possible. Even if she could talk, it wouldn't do to complain to your savior. Especially one that emanated 'danger' in waves by the moment.

She was staring at the man when he started tending to his wounds. Rude, yes, but she could not quite help it. She had never seen wounds as deep before. It would leave a mark behind, she was sure of it. Laena was the sort of person who could stomach extreme gore, but only if it was on the big screen. She wouldn't bat an eye. No matter how realistic, it was all fake after all, was her blunt judgement. The smallest injuries in real life however, be it just a tiny nick... now that, even that was enough to make her queasy. As such, she was feeling even more light-headed and she knew she should probably look away but it was like a car crash; horrible and entirely fascinating all at the same time.

"No," she whispered, taking the cloth from his hands before firmly proceeding to wipe the blood off. "I do not have anything else to do, now do I?" The stench itself was enough to make her want to her uneasy, but she persevered.