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Grim Wolf
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Raidon's skin had gone a sickly greenish-white as he leaned against the dank concrete wall of the alley. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and his hands and lips trembled violently. He couldn't stop thinking about each scene--the knife to the back of the head, the pit of needles, the-

It was just a movie. It was just a movie.

A hand--meaty, a little clumsy--slapped into his shoulder. Raidon whirled, his eyes bugging out of his head, and Simon took a step backwards. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes reflecting nothing but good-natured concern.




Jesus.

The water played a steady beat on Raidon's bare back as he stared at the drain. He had his left hand out in front of him and was staring intently at his missing finger.

I don't want to remember that.

He grabbed one of the splinters, pulled it in one direction. Pain sheered through him, stripped at his skin, burned through his hand, and he focused on it, relished it; it obliterated memory as he sucked liquid breath through his teeth, struggling not to cry out.

Agony like fire, agony cauterizing thoughts of Simon Grey, agony blocking out the memory of his murders and the sure, certain knowledge of what he was...

Pulling on the splinter, he could pretend that the tears dripping down his face were the result of pain.

The creak of the door opening sent him rocketing to his feet. Whatever guilt and pain he might be feeling, they had not eliminated the all-too-solid part of him still desperate to make it out of this place, whatever the cost. Someone was coming in, he didn't have time to sit here crying, he didn't have time to think. He threw himself out of the shower, rolling to avoid any assault, snatched his gun from where he'd left it by the sink, and aimed it towards the door, screaming, "FREEZE!"

This, at least, was the intention.

What actually happened was that Naoko Raidon's complete lack of natural athleticism, combined with the slippery tile, resulted in him taking a dive towards the floor, which ended in him slamming his head into one of the faux-wood cabinet doors and left his naked half-conscious body sprawled upon the ground, as false constellations blossomed in front of his eyes and darkness impinged on the corners of his gaze.

The force of impact also dislodged the gun from its place on the counter, so that it landed with an insulting thunk atop the back of his skull.
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