Looking in the mirror felt odd somehow. Mike didn't recognize himself anymore, staring into his reflection. If anything, the face that he stared at was more handsome than he had seen himself. With his face harder than he recalled, the gaze in his pearly-grey eyes startlingly cold, he felt like he was looking through a window at someone else. His hair was dark, not grown too long, nor kept too short, Both would attract attention in some way or fashion. His features weren't exactly bland, but weren't memorable, and easily altered with some stubble on his face, a mustache, some glasses, or even sometimes just a change of clothes would do the trick. He stood there shirtless, just a white towel wrapped around his waist, with the logo of the hotel that he was staying at written... somewhere. His body was well muscled, nothing too big and puffy, nothing too skinny. His uncle had taught him the importance of keeping himself in shape. There were scars across his marble-white skin, each one holding the story of some different kind of monster that he had 'ganked'. Each one had been burned into his memory, even the ones that hadn't left scars. He remembered every last one of the beasts that he had killed.

And there was that cold gaze again when he thought about it, his eyes chilling, his face going hard. Clenching his jaw, he scowled a bit at himself, almost surprised when his reflection scowled back, and he left the bath room, letting the towel drop to the floor as he got himself dressed. People remembered a slob as much as they remembered someone pristinely clean, and they remembered a bum as much as they remembered a billionaire playboy. And he had become something of an expert at finding the perfect compromise between all four to make himself... as unmemorable as possible, at least when it came to looks.

He was dressed in a rugged-looking formal shirt of a bland grey, the sleeves pulled up to just above his elbows. He put on some neutral cologne and a scentless antiperspirant, and his black hair was done neatly, nothing too shabby, and nothing too sparkly. Just enough to be an average Joe in a crowd. Jeans weren't in perfect condition, but that had to do do more with the fact that he didn't really have much time for clothing shopping than blending in. His shoes were something different. Comfortable on the inside, not too heavy, but with a hard outside and a dense rubber sole, these were made for easy running and fighting, something that he ended up having to do a lot in his line of work.

He took a deep breath, picking up the well worn but sturdy bag that he always carried with him and stepped out. It was 9 PM at night, and his shift was just beginning. He piled into the rental that he had picked up a few days ago on a fake driver's license, and pressed the engine forward. While his driving seemed aimlessly drifting, he had a purpose, and a destination in mind. It was just instinct that kept him from going straight to the place. He didn't want anybody following him, thinking that he was up to something. After about an hour of aimless driving, he slipped the Taurus into high gear and got on the freeway for fifteen minutes, then got off, driving down a side road for another hour, stepping off near an abandoned farm house. He moved silently, not slamming any doors, slipping his hand into his bag and pulled out a machete, thick and glowing like new. The blade had been covered in silver, a thin layer, but enough to do the job on anything that didn't like silver all that much. He had a knife in his pocket of similar make too, in case of a rainy day.

He sneaked to the farmhouse, careful not to make a sound and remaining upwind, just to make sure his scent didn't take away his surprising edge. He had scouted the place out for days now. He knew that this was where the pack was staying during the day, along with the fact that this was where they were keeping 5-year-old Mary Smith that had gone missing 12 days ago. He had read the story in the paper while in Jacksonville 10 days ago, and had gotten here 9 days ago, found the spot six days ago, and come up with the plan of attack 12 hours ago. Everything was about timing in this business.

He slipped inside the darkened barnhouse, his eyes flickering quickly from one side to the other, checking his peripherals as much as possible. His night vision was understandably perfect, and he knew how to fight in the dark as well as most creatures knew how to hide in it. He moved to the center of the barnhouse, as it seemed it was abandoned for the moment.

Suddenly, he heard a car starting from the house outside the cracks in the wooden walls of the barn letting the light of the headbeams illuminate the area around him. There was a small, girl lying down about ten feet from where he was, in the hay, he quickly saw. He had been made. They knew that he was coming and had high-tailed it out but quick, but why where they leaving their victim behind?

He moved over to the motionless child and placed a finger over her pulse. There was none, but her body was still warm. They had just killed her. He suddenly realized that his hand was slick with something dark and thick, the metallic scent of it smelling like blood. Her throat had been slit. But again, why had they left her here, he wondered.

That question was answered when he heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

Vivian couldn't breath. It didn't matter how things began, she could be on a beach, wondering town, it didn't matter really. Whatever the location, Vivian would be feeling at peace, even happy. This time, it was a memory, a young girl standing on a green hill in the summer twillight. At the bottom, two figures try to keep up with her, but the child was faster. She would stop a few feet and yell down at them to keep up, taunting them to catch her. The father would catch her first, gathering the child in his arms, swinging her around. Her laughter would turn hysterical as she tried to catch a breath in between laughs. The mother watched, camera in hand waiting for the perfect moment to snap a picture. The little girl would escape and run, then she would stumble into the snow. Wait....no, not snow....the little girl looks around in puzzlement, but as the cold grew around her, the puzzlement became panic. She would try to run, but the shadow creeps up on her, Two shadows with long ink fingers lock around her small neck. . She gasp for breath, but the life was leaving her. Then she hears the screaming, then fire, The snow gathers at her ankles as the fingers cut and dig into her throat. she was dying, just as they had. Then, always then, a voice is heard, a mother's desperate shriek. The last thing the dying child hears. VIVIAN!!!!

Gasping, Vivian springs up from the couch. Both hands go to her throat to fight away the attacker, but the hands disappeared with her nightmare. With a long sigh, Vivian wiped the sweat from her forehead. It was already dark outside, something that appears quickly during these winter months. The only light comes from the TV left on. Whatever rerun of The Simpsons Vivian fell asleep was now replaced with the evening news.A photo of Mary Smith was smiling back at Vivian. Underneath the photo, "Missing" flashes in bright red letters along with the description of the child. Vivian could make out the news anchor's politely sadden voice plea for anyone to contact the police with any information on poor Mary. Then, the expression returns to a cheerful default face, "Up next, easy do it yourself tips to spice up your home for the hoilda..." Vivian shuts off the tv and stands. She needed to get ready for work.

The roads were their usual isolated self this evening. It was a odd thing in a small town, by eight most folks retreated to their homes. Vivian could never understand it, she had the night shift for a reason. The night brought enticement, this electric sensation that made Vivian itching for activity. In their hunting glory, Vivian and Ron would venture into the forest and come back with a buck caught in the mist of his midnight snack. Just because Vivian claimed the nightlife didn't mean the town around her did the same. Most nights, Vivian and her coworkers are patrolling or just shooting the shit until dawn. There was the occasional call, but it usually was scaring away a mountain lion that stumbled in a poor women's yard and stalked her pomeranian.

"Hey Banister, hows that weather?" Vivian glances at her partner in the passenger seat, "Fucking beautiful Sanson, a real winter wonderland." Officer Sanson waves away the sarcastic comment, "Oh come on, you get all quiet on me and I don't know what to talk about. You don't seem like the politics type, and your taste in music sucks, so I"ll go with weather. He says with a playful grin. "Come on man, two months riding together and barely a squeak. At least put on some music, I'll stomach your elderly shit." Vivian flips him the finger but cracks a smile.

The radio crackles to life, Pulling Vivian from her thoughts "Attention officers, car needed at 223 Greenmill lane.." Vivian lifts the receiver "Officer Banister responding, what is the situation." More static as the the male on the other end replies, "Call made, claim a amber is located in the farmhouse, made threats on her life. Proceed with caution."Vivian's hand grips tighten against the wheel until her knuckles turn white. A amber was code for missing child, Mary. Her sirens comes to life, a wail that pieces the silent winter night.

Its only take a few minutes to turn onto the old Brady property. Sanson has gone quiet, the adrenaline builds in both of them as the car comes to a stop. There is only silence that greets them, but the air is tense. There is a moment when Vivian believes she smells blood, but the wind breezes around the officers and there is nothing. They don't need to knock, the house was abandoned after all. As the approach the house, Vivian stops. Her attention is pulled toward the barn house. She nods toward it, but Sanson looks doubtful. She doesn't wait for him, but walks quickly toward the barn. She feels him beside her as she cracks open the side door. They keep their guns pointed outward, with large flashlights searching the dark. The smell of of damp hay and mold is in the air. But there is something else, Vivian already knows what is waiting for them before the beam falls on it. Nine years old, blonde hair, 4 feet, 8inches, green eyes that stare off into nothing, wearing blue jeans, a Micky Mouse shirt and a pink hoodie now stained in blood, there was so much blood.

Sanson is already calling for backup and emergency service on the radio, but Vivian hears a noise in the dark. She spins just in time to see a suspect try to creep out. She has already located where she would need to shoot him. What kneecap she would shatter if this son of a bitch tried to move.
"FREEZE!" She screams with a voice like iron.

The first thought that came to his head was not of how to escape. Instinct did not kick in allowing him to slip into the shadows of night, disassociating himself from this crime scene to be able to continue the hunt for the monsters that had murdered this little girl in cold blood. The first thought to cross through his head was one far less efficient.

He was thoroughly, royally fucked. It stung a bit that he had been baited and trapped so easily. His car would be the first thing that they would apprehend, but there wasn't anything there and so long as he got away, his fingerprints would be useless to them unless they had access to a Federal database. Even then, if a Federal database was activated, it would take 12 hours for the nearest FBI branch to send agents to begin to take over the investigation and by that time he would be long gone.

Or would be, if all went well. In a city he wouldn't have this problem, but out here in the middle of no where, getting away without a car would be complicated. He didn't want a manhunt on him, especially since he wasn't the one that they were supposed to be hunting. He scowled, the police car coming to a stop outside the house. Hopefully they would search the house first, and then the barn, allowing him to slip out and away, taking his car to a more populated area where he would dump it and steal another one.

The door to the barn was opening, the light of a flashlight coming dangerously close. He moved quietly to a hidden corner, where the shadows would cover him, and she wouldn't see him. Hopefully. He could tell it was a she from the flashback of her torch. She saw the girl, and seemed focused on her for the moment. He began inching his way towards the door...

FREEZE!

Shit.

He raised his hands and tucked his head in, falling to his knees. He grinned a bit as he said," This... really isn't what it looks like, officer..."

It takes all her restraint to keep Vivian from striking the grin off the suspect's face. He was a man of average height and weight. He is dressed in simple clothes with no notable logo or anything to make him stand out. It was his eyes that would give him away, something in them that a normal citizen would not have. It made Vivian uneasy, what has this man seen? With Sanson acting as backup and providing light, Vivian approaches the man. Her gun remains aim as she circles the kneeling man until she is behind him.
"Move, and we will use force, Understand?" Sanson gives a nod and Vivian holsters her gun. The pair of handcuffs come out of a pocket looped around her belt, they catch and shine in the torch light. In one swift motion, Vivian Forces the man's hands behind his back with a roughness she wouldn't usually use on suspects. Once secure, Sanson helps Vivian pull him to his feet and the two escort him out of the barn.

Wailing sirens echo in the distance, breaking the unnerving silence the officers had arrived to. But the world seem to grow colder, clouds had gather, shutting out the moon and the first few snowflakes began to fall.
"Snow storm, they said it was going to be rough." Sanson mutters, though the comment was more to himself. Vivian pays him no mind; she leads the suspect to the hood of the cruiser and leans him against it. The pat down was textbook and done with a swiftness that Vivian had learned courtesy of the academy. Meanwhile, Sanson had pulled a bundle of plastic baggies from the trunk.

"Three weapons, a haunting knife, handgun, 10 gage shotgun, sawed off barrel." She says out-loud the items while her partner seals them inside of the baggies, "Leather wallet, three hundred in cash, two credit cards, and an I.D. Jim Hendrix....hilarious" Vivian spits out the word with sarcasm. AS the sirens grow closer, painting the world in blue and red, Vivian turns the suspect around to face him. She meets his pale eyes with a stare bright and furious like a wildfire. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used..." the words fall from her lips without any real emotion. Around them, the wind begins to howl as the snow falls in fat flakes. It was going to be one hell of a storm.

He chuckled as she pulled his arms back brusquely, snapping the cuffs on him," What, no foreplay?" He mumbled in a low voice to himself as she pulled him to his feet, grunting a bit as he felt his shoulder crack a little. An injury there had left it feeling a little stiff over the years, but he tried not to complain overmuch. The pulling back of his arm as roughly as she had had flared the old injury up again, waking him wince as she bent him over the car. He moved, he got a kneecap if he was lucky, a mushrooming round in the stomach if he wasn't. Despite his light temperament, he was fully aware of the shitstorm that he was currently in, and he didn't mean the snow that was gonna be covering the city in an hour or two. They would catch his fingerprints, he was gonna be turned over to the FBI, he would be tried for a bookful of crimes, ranging from impersonating a federal officer to torture and murder. The death penalty would be a very distinct possibility.

She was searching him, and, oddly enough, he didn't make any dirty jokes as she pulled out his gun, shotgun and knife, the reality of his situation sinking in a bit. He tilted his head back, though, at her sarcastic comment about Hendrix," Hey," He growled, have joking, half not," Respect the classics."

He had the right to remain silent. He had the right to an attorney. He wondered if there was a lawyer alive that would want to represent him. There were a few lawyers among the ranks of the hunters, but he wouldn't call on them. Anyone that was associated with him now would be under very careful scrutiny, and he didn't want to drag down any more hunters with him. He was going to be killed or imprisoned until he died anyways for helping humanity against monsters, the ingrates, but he wouldn't complain. He had his own reasons for being a Hunter, and saving people wasn't one of them. Granted, when he could save one or two from their grasps, it was a bigger win, but he had come to terms with the fact that he couldn't save them all a long time ago.

He nodded as she finished quoting him his Miranda rights," Yes, I am capable of understanding my rights," He grumbled, seeing as more police cars arrived," We had better get back to the station before the lot of us freeze to death."

The police arrived in torrents, armed with yellow tape and evidence bags. Blue and red lights illuminate the area, but cast darker shadows on the edge of the farm. Uniformed officers move swiftly around Vivian, some breaking in groups toward the barn while others slip into the darkness of the farmhouse. Vivian could see the beams of lights flickering through the vacant windows. The EMT arrives next without the flashing lights or the dramatics of the police. They only sound the sirens when they are racing to save a life, not retrieve a body. She doesn't say a word to "Jim" as she guides him into the back seat of the cruiser, though she does spare him a final glance before closing the door in his face. For a brief moment, Vivian sees something about the suspect that she recognizes. A younger version with warmer eyes in the back of her mind, but then the thought is gone. Instead she locks him inside.

For some reason, Vivian glances toward the deep forest that enclose around the crime scene. The blinking lights makes it difficult to peer closely into the woods, but Vivian can make out something. Back and forth, the shadows shift in rhythm of the lights, but there is a figure watching. Her eyes narrow but she isn't sure if she could really make it out. She saw a pair of eyes peer out from the dark form, and watching them both.It looked to the police car, but its focus moved to Vivian, and she could feel it. Vivian reaches for her gun and steps forward.
"Officer Banister." Vivian tears her eyes away to face the Sargent, who had approached her along with Sanson. She looks toward the place in the woods to find nothing but trees waiting for her. Perhaps it was the trick of the light that Vivian had seen, but the space in front of the trees looked more empty than before.
"....but I'll need a report by tomorrow" She realized that the Sargent had been speaking all the while, "Yes sir, of course." Vivian replies deadpan, her attention still on the woods. "Banister?" He tries again, "Vivian." This time, her attention to brought back to the sargent, concern was all over his face as he spoke, "Are you alright?"
"Yes sir, this was just a great loss."
"Well, you caught the suspect, we can at least see to it that he faces justice, for her parents sake." He places a hand on her shoulder and there is a moment of warmth from the older man. Vivian didn't find the thought as reassuring. Time before a judge wouldn't bring her back, even if they gave him a death sentence. His death wouldn't bring hers back. But, she nods anyway.
"Ron would be proud." He lowers his arm and his face hardens, transforming back into the fearless officer they all knew "Now, you and Sanson get that son of a bitch out of here, before those vultures with cameras pick this place apart." As if on cue, a set of news vans appeared in the distance. Vivian and her partner were already pulling away as the camera crew arrived.
"Alright, you know the drill!" the sarg barks to the camera man setting up, "Behind the yellow tape, and if any of you come into my crime scene, I will have your ass in a cell until New
Years!"

"I'm not liking this snow," Sanson mutters next Vivian in the passenger seat. "Gonna but up to our asses in snow, and guess who will get to put on the snow tires and shovel around the whole fucking station? Should have moved to Florida, Florida never gets snow." Vivian nods along, occasioning glancing in the mirror toward the man in the back. Once or twice, their gaze would lock but Vivian would just narrow her eyes and look away. "Hey, Hendrix," Sanson calls from the front seat, "Gotta any recommendations for somewhere nice? Gonna be able to afford a nice vacation this year after picking your sorry ass up." He grins at his partner, "not that it works like that, but the respect is gonna be nice."

No hunter enjoyed the press. Having their faces plastered over every headline in a tri-state area was a Hunter's worst nightmare, as they did what they did for various reasons, revenge, love, or simply because it was a job that needed doing, and not a lot of people were physically or mentally prepared to take on the fight. There were other reasons too, but there weren't a whole lot of hunters that did what they did because they liked fame and glory. There wasn't much to be had in this business, and the little that there was was short lived. People remembered villains a lot longer than they remembered heroes, after all.

He should have just killed the officers and skipped town. Avoided all of this hassle.

He shrugged as he ducked into the police vehicle, sighing. No, that wouldn't have been right. He was closer to being a monster than they were. They were just doing their job, and he was an unfortunate casualty in that. crossfire. He was going to the chair or some psychiatric facility, as was the norm when Hunters got caught. Monsters put a lot of effort into being a part of their community and hiding in plain sight amidst their prey, and so when a shifty and ragged looking man appeared and tried to kill them, these pristine members of the community would be believed over them, especially if the hunter claimed that they were monsters and not nice people.

Humans were odd sometimes, he thought, ducking under the view of the cameras in the news vans. leaning back once they were clear. The air was getting cold, and the hunter shivered, recalling that he had left his coat in the car along with the rest of his stuff which was likely going to get confiscated. All of this he didn't mind much, past a primal survival instinct. Nobody was going to miss him a terrible lot, and he hadn't exactly been a prime show of a good person. He was something of a dick, if he did say so himself. The only regret that he had was that his failure to catch the fuckers that had killed the little girl was going to make another hunter go out of his way to do so.

He leaned back in his seat," Nah, I don't like the warm places. Cold is just fine for me. Although I hear Miami is pretty nice, if you like mosquitoes..." He chuckled, remembering the Wendigo that he had trapped down there. Fun times.