[h1][center][color=ed1c24][b]Deon Erickson[/b][/color][/center][/h1]

Deon knew a few things. First, Soldier knew he was here and alive. Second, no one else other then Mr. Jones and Soldier knew he was here. He knew Mr. Jones could keep his mouth shut, unless Soldier payed him off. But he wouldn't get involved with people who had too much attention on themselves. Despite it being late at night, the streets were still busy with people, cars ran through the streets, people were packing the sidewalks, and Soldier was sitting right there with a collection of automatic weapons at their disposal. And if unable to hide said evidence, things would look pretty bad if something were to happen.

Deon was a lot faster then most vampires, but he was almost an old blood by all technicalities. His first step was to disable Soldier's vehicle, making it so they would have to leave it behind and be forced to walk until someone could pick them up. Once the guard inside the vehicle was taken care of he put on his uniform and went to work. First removing the spark plugs, then braking the connection with the battery, then crushing the radiator to the point where it was reduced into a small ball. He let it drop to the ground as he closed the hood. Some people were watching as he preformed his actions.

He just smiled as he tightened the grip of one of his rifles, he kept the other one on it's sling, not needing it for the blame he was going to put onto Soldier. He raised his rifle to the crowed of onlookers, at first everyone was shocked and confused, but once the first burst of bullets started cutting through the crowds everyone got the idea. He unloaded the entire clip before running off at the pace a mortal would run if he were trying to flea a scene. There wouldn't be much evidence that could even be remotely linked to him. The rifles shot a 7.62 cartridge, common in many rifles, and the bullets had no prints on them. What could even get close to registering to a print would date back to a time long before finger prints were used, leaving it useless.

Less then a few hours Later Deon had cleaned himself off, he got more blood on him then he meant to. He hated blood on him in non working hours. It was time to relax now, time to unwind, time to think about the meaning of life and the meaning of immortality. He was now in a refurbished office building, where one of the many businesses he owns (Under different identities of course) is waiting to be opened. Though it never will, it's being converted into a Forward Operating Base for events Erickson has planned. From the windows he had a great view of the New York City skyline. The only thing separating him and the outside world now was the Hudson river, a collection of docks, and some really pricey bullet proof glass. The building may not look it, which is the point, but it is the next best thing to a full fledged fort. But the nice and fancy upper section of the building was not important right now, what was important was what was in one of the sub-basements.

He went down the express elevator to sub-level 7-b. As deep as the place went before hitting one of the maintenance levels. He stepped out into the hall, it looked nice, it seemed like any hallway in an office building would look like. The only difference was that it was at least seven stories underground. But the lighting was all automated so it was very well lit as Deon walked his way down the hall. He walked his way to the far end of the hall to a reinforced Titanium door. It was a prison cell, designed to hold some of the biggest and baddest vampires and werewolves ever to walk the earth. But that's not who he had with him today, today he had an annoying pest who made his job as a Colonel during the Nightwars  the worse pain in the ass ever.

Deon entered through door one into the airlock. The room in between the cell and the hall was airtight, making it that much harder to get past. With that it also acted as a kill box if a prisoner did find a way to get out of the first section of their cell. Once the first door was closed the room re-pressurized. It felt weird on his body as the pressure built up but he knew he would be fine. The second door opened, the pressure remained about the same as room two of the cell was also airtight, and kept at the same heavy pressure as the airlock. Any mortal that was in here would surely die, though if Deon wanted to he could cut off the pressure and let what ever mortal he wants to survive in his cell.

Deon sat in a chair across the table from his guest. He laid back as he locked eyes with the man in the chair across from him. "[color=ed1c24]Hello there old friend.[/color]" He greeted him. "[color=ed1c24]Well, friend is a poor choice of words. ore of Hello Asshole who doesn't know when to stay out of people's way![/color]" Deon looked as if he was about to kill the man in the chair across from him. Both of Deon's hands were pressed against the table that was not welded, but actually part of the floor. The whole room was one piece other then the dog bowl he left in the corner of the room and the three inch thick braces that were molded to the wrists of the chair around his prisoner's arms. "[color=ed1c24]No, no. That's an improper way to greet my guest. Even if you are a total dick.[/color]" He sat back down, calm as if nothing had happened. "[color=ed1c24]Do you know why I brought you here? Mithias.[/color]"