Michael de Shade - Knight of the Veil

Rolling to a stop Michael slid from the car and popped his hat on with a familiar ease, he was solo today, his partner had called in sick which meant he had the brown bottle flu, or was getting laid. Did matter to Mike, he preferred solo. It let him handle some of the weirder cases.

The funny part was he always grabbed the riot shield from the trunk, but it had saved him from bottles to the head a number of times, and a dozen plus knife attacks. If they only knew why he always carried the shield they’d piss themselves.

The gun on his hip was lower than officially approved but it was within regulation and allowed a faster draw. He was one of the best shooters on the force. In truth he was best, but he made it a point to miss the highest score. He didn’t need, or want, the attention.

He already got enough attention with the weird calls he took. He’d been told to take the detective examine enough times that he was already looking at moving again. He was being noticed, plus he was pushing the time limit. And fuck he hated dying the tips of his hair every month.

Climbing the steps to answer the domestic he figured it was some drunk asshole beating on another drunk asshole. Gender didn’t matter anymore, the city was equal opportunity for assaults and battery. 

Punching the door jam he announced himself and held the shield up, just in case someone decided to shoot first and apologize later. Shouting again he heard the slide action and braced as the shotgun blew a hole in the door and a scream followed it.

A shoulder slam knocked the busted door off it’s hinges and his hand slapped leather drawing up as he cleared the door. The dust made the shotgun bearer more of a shadow than a target, but the stance was clear as another round was racked into place.

Just to make sure Michael let the man fire a second time before he shot him. The blast from Michael’s Smith and Wesson Model 500 punched a hole through his heart and made a frying pan size hole through his spine before it shattered glass on it’s way out of the Apartment, and into the brick wall across the alley.

Movement to his right brought his hand up in a black as the other occupant came at him with a frying pan. Why was it always a fucking frying pan? Nobody ever fought with knives anymore. 

Punching the pan with the barrel of his gun he heard the shot from the alley. And the stench of rotting meat and sulfur wafted through the broken window. Demon!

Shifting his stance he smacked the butt of the gun into nose of his second assailant and then gave them a head butt for good measure when they went limp. Running to the broken window in the living room he took in the scene below and holstered the gun. A glance back told him the condition of the Domestic and he made a quick radio call before he hit window at a run.

Slamming into the roof of the car he rolled off and with a practiced and oft used motion he redrew his gun. “I see you, demon.” he snarled as he clenched the gun tighter.