Dark, damp, decaying. Rainwater reflecting the cold streetlights formed a fine net, gathering around the light into a lifeless pallor. The windows beside the streetlamps were tightly sealed, and the striped wooden fences bore streak after streak of slapping and scratching marks.
A rat slipped along the windowsill, stopped at the edge, and lifted its head, whiskers trembling. An eerie light flickered in its black little eyes as its soaked body began to convulse. Suddenly, it opened its mouth wide and spat out several strands of black Slime.
A cigarette butt fell onto the Slime, and its already feeble glow vanished in an instant. Two pale fingers pinched the butt by its end and lifted it. A tiny bit of Slime still clung to the ash as it was raised before a pair of dark brown eyes that blinked once.
The cigarette butt was tossed back where it had fallen. The poor rat was still convulsing and vomiting when a dagger ended its suffering. The man in black Gauntlets pulled the blade free, rinsed the rat's blood from it beneath the drainpipe's flow, and wrapped it up again.
He tilted his head, and a broad smile appeared on the face beneath his hat. Pressing a black leather-gloved finger to his lips, he spoke softly, his voice echoing through the silent alley.
"Looks like you've run into a little trouble."
Another corner of the city presented an entirely different sight. The building blazed with light, valet attendants moved methodically among the cars, and polished leather shoes reflected immaculate suits. The red-haired receptionist, warm and welcoming, smiled as she bid farewell to a guest who had just checked in. Then she rang a bell, and a tall Black man emerged, wearing a gold-trimmed nameplate. He was clearly the manager.
He was tall