HELL'S ANGEL

It didn't just rain heavily, it poured wickedly. The streets were practically empty and only alive through the violent splatters of the rainfall. The night was darker than what the darkness of night usually represented. The alleyway that this man took as he headed for the bar called The BrewClub Bar seemed to look like a literal black hole from afar. Was it him? As he walked, the little squared heel on his shoe hit the ground, and the sound of splattered water from the ground resounded on this dreaded night. He kept walking. He was almost there.

He had his hands in his pockets and the hood of his coat, which collected his entire face, seemed to grow an extra 5 inches of cloth to even hide his face, complexion, or even reflection, such that it was as though the night itself wore clothes.

He was at the entrance of the bar now, the arrogant echoes of men's laughter and rowdy noises that emanated as he pulled the door open, disgusted him. It irritated him. It angered him. Men, laughing, jesting at themselves as they confessed their wicked, selfish deeds to themselves and made humor from it. He didn't mind that he didn't care. He just hated the noises and the stench of the sorrows, greed, and evil of these low lives which hovered around them, drawing him, calling him, that he could not freely feed on without prejudice.

What prejudice? You would ask. Soon, he thought the world would know.

Just then, a pot-bellied, ugly looking man dumped half of his upper body on the bar table, ordering 2 large glasses of dry, hard gin. The tired, old man, who was the bartender, pushed the man's order sluggishly towards him, and as he carelessly carried them, gleefully peering at his glass cups as he gulped them down, The man in black, without turning to look or even giving an ounce of attention, watched everything even more than those who had eyes. Oh, gods. The stench. The attractive, dirty stench of a man covered in guilt and regret and suicidal settings. The man wanted his soul.

"It's a wicked night, innit?" The bartender beckoned. The man in black made no comment or reply or acknowledgment whatsoever.

"What poison would befit you tonight, sir?" He asked. And the man in black still said nothing. Rather, he made a very deep grunt and tapped his gloved fingers on the bar table.

"Well, then..." The bartender proceeded to attend to another scruffy looking young man who had just thrown himself at the bar table, before his shuddering, hoarse voice came out. "Whiskey."

The bartender turned to him immediately. His voice was compelling. It wasn't loud, it wasn't screaming, it wasn't happy, it was rather still, yet it commanded, demanded. The bartender proceeded to take a Jim Beam bottle and pour its containment into the set glass.

"What the heck was that?" The young drunk man suddenly spoke aloud, as he stared at the man in black who never turned to him.

" I'm talking to you, Hey!!!" He said again, beckoning him.

"I saw what you did. What's that? What did you say or do to the Bar guy just now? What's the smoke that came out when you spoke?"

The man asked as he hit his hand on the table. The strange man sighed. Indeed, it was true that when a man was so drunk, to the point that he has lost a great portion of his worldly senses and morality, his identity in the spirit begins to wake, and it is a struggle, though it wasn't so usual. Now, this man certainly could not live to see tomorrow.

"Johnny! Stupid. Just get your vodka and come over here, you've beat up enough asses today." A man shouted from the background and a group of men laughed along.

"Yo, Sean, Jack, come on you've got to see this" 'Johnny' said.

"You should listen to your friends, John." The man in black said, but Johnny could have sworn that this man never said a word. "What the hell, he's in my freaking head!!" And yes, he was.

" What, do you hear this guy? " Sean said to Jack and they both laughed heavily.

"He's drunk as hell" Jack said.

The man in black had already gulped down the first glass which the bartender had given him while all this went on. Suddenly, Johnny pulled the man's hoodie from his head aggressively, to reveal his face.

And suddenly, Johnny's eyes widened more than they ever had.

"Whoa!, now that is one handsome negro!" Sean clapped and laughed again.

" Sean? Do you not see what I'm seeing? Are you drunk??

Sean and Jack just kept laughing. While Johnny was staring point-blank at a true, breathing monster, his pal, Sean, was looking at the most beautiful man in the world. Poor Johnny, poor Sean.

"You have seen my true being and now, your end will come. All of you." Johnny suddenly began to stagger backwards and stutter.

"No... no... please... what... what..."

Just then, the quiet man in black drew his bench backwards and proceeded to face the other two men. At that instant, his face began to stretch and unstretch until his true face sat and the two men who had been laughing nonsensically, were stuck to the ground in shock.

"What.... are you?" One asked.

And in the glimpse of an eye, the man raised his right hand, and claws almost 5 inches long cut through his glove and, in a single slash, severed Johnny's head from his body. The man the. Walked towards the body, raised the kneeling lifeless body and sniffed the part where his hand had left, and a white, see-through essence seemed to follow, as the man sucked it into his own body.

Jack subsequently took control of his body and proceeded immediately to the door. Relief seemed to bore out of his expression when he was an inch away from the door. And then, he bumped into the man who appeared from nowhere. Jack looked back, confused.

"How...." he was about to say, but the man opened his mouth and, a red, unearthly fire, came out of it, and engulfed poor Jack, as he screamed and the man joyously inhaled Jack's sweet, sweet essence. And when he had savored Jack's soul, and his screams died into the very extinction of this unearthly fire, he then proceeded to Sean.

Sean hurriedly ran, taking a bar stool and running towards the man, in an attempt to hit him..... But as he neared the man, no less than three inches, his aura itself seemed to create a barrier of which poor Sean could not get through, and suddenly, with no force from the strange man, Sean began to elevate in the air, and he screamed, not out of pain, but out of fear. Yes. This was what the man enjoyed. It teased him...excited him.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, please wait...." Sean begged. It was genuine.

"Yes", the man spoke.

"What, what manner of man are you...?" Sean asked.

Oh. This question! He didn't walk towards him. He didn't raise his voice, but to Sean, his voice echoed with so much bass in his head when he answered.

"I...am not a man" he said, and with that, in the air, the bones that made up Sean's joints began to break, his elbows and knees, pointing intensely in the opposite direction. His entire waist turned 360 degrees, as did his neck, and with the screams of a man experiencing the torture of death, died into a silence while the man, who was not a man, sucked his soul and his lifeless, broken body, fell to the floor.

"Thank you. I am glad." He said finally, as he turned towards the door and exited. As soon as he left and the doors clicked, it was as though a god's finger had snapped, and an invincible veil had been lifted. The bartender and every other individual seemed to be on about it, not noticing that something was wrong or something had just happened, until a scream echoed that brought everyone to the broken body on the floor, and the severed head and headless body.

The real question on every mind present was, "when in heaven's name did this happen?"

The man-or whatever he was - stopped for a second in front of the door, eyes closed, as he heard the bold screams that emanated from inside, and once again, he stepped his left leg into the pathway, and began walking again, disrupting the music of the noisy splattering the rain had developed, with the drumming and splashing caused by his boots from walking.

Lightning struck, but he was unperturbed.

Zora Beaumont lived alone on the second floor of the Angel House Building. She loved it. She loved waking up every day to a beautiful glass view of her city. The buzzing of everyday life and activities, the cars, the lights, the skyscrapers. She was intelligent and agile.

As she slept ever so peacefully on her master-sized bed, dressed neatly with a dark pink bedsheet, so clean and properly spread, you would think she never tumbled or moved side to side on the bed while asleep. Her night - black, eight-inch long hair covered half the side of her face, which was meant to show off, and she looked lifeless, as her heart pumped ever so peacefully. Just then, the startling outburst from her alarm clock beside her bed on the bedside table intruded. She didn't jump up, neither did she proceed to stretch her hand to stop the alarm from ringing. Rather, she just murmured a tired, undisturbed sound into her pillow.

"Ugh!," She hissed, and blew her thick hair out of her face, and used her fingers to complete the work.

6:00 a.m.

She gymed. That was her major reason for waking up at 6am. She did her stretching exercises and went on to attend to her punching bag for 20 minutes every day. Now, when she was done, she brushed her teeth, took her bath, and headed to her kitchen to make toast. She never rushed to work.

She worked at Avalon's Daily. She was a photographer and a top journalist there. She wasn't much liked, but she was tolerated because she delivered best and her boss, Franklin, adored her. But that was only because he found her attractive and had been wanting to sleep with her since the day she came in 4 years ago as a fresh graduate from University, with a very appreciative curriculum vitae. She moved up fast in the chain.

The house was so quiet, save for the ticks from the working toaster and the coffee-making machine. She proceeded to turn on the TV and listened with half devoted attention to the news that volumed out.

In the next 6 to 7 minutes, her breakfast was ready, and she served it in the sitting room, in front of the TV and, just as she found comfort in the food she was eating, the news began to capture her interest.

7 a.m news.

"......it was a horrible incident that happened at the BrewClub Bar on 22nd Street in Baldway. All the witnesses present, who happened to be intoxicated at the time did not seem to understand or comprehend the incident that had occurred. This has led the police to literally no progress in developing a case scenario worth explanation and investigation. As a result of this, the public is still in panic, and there is a great deal of fervent unrest at present....."

Just then, her phone, beside her on the chair, rang out. She looked at it before picking up. It was Jason. Jason Webber.

"Hey –"

"Zora, are you watching the news?"

"Yes, nothing as captivating as usual. Why?"

"You should rush down to my location, A-S-A-P, Zora. As in, now!"

"What? I just sat down for breakfast, J. This had better be good Intel."

"Trust me. I'm sending you the pin now. Use your car. No time for taxis."

Jason never bluffed. It was thanks to him that she's at the top of her job right now. He never failed her. He never failed to deliver. She loved him for that. Fiendishly.

Zora threw in some chunks of toast and hurried off to get dressed.

Jason Webber was a trusted police officer of Avalon City Police Department. (ACPD). He was a good man who was devoted to his job and his best friend, Zora. The pin he gave her led her to this bar called The BrewClub Bar.

"This place was on the news this morning..." She thought as she reversed and parked a few meters away. When she came down, she took her notepad and pen with her, her camera hanging on her neck, as well as her AD journalist license ID card.

Yellow tape drawn from square edges surrounding the bar prevented her from further entrance. She needed to find Jason. Reporters were already present, pictures were being taken, and she knew this was bad for business.

"Zora. Over here." Jason scolded from a distance as he bent down below the yellow tapes, waving at Zora to meet him. She caught up.

"What the hell is going on?"

"You wouldn't believe it even if I told you, but I would anyway. Three men died there. One beheaded, one barbecued to ashes, and the other with every single bone in his body broken."

Zora had already put her pen to action and began writing when the barbecue part stopped her halfway. And they both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before Jason nodded his head, hands to waist, as if to tell her, "Yes, Hun. This is no bluff."

"Thirteen witnesses, none of them can vividly explain what went down."

"What? How is that possible?"

"Basically, it's as though they never saw anything."

"So... how are they witnesses to the crime?"

"Sorry. Supposed witnesses. They were all there at the bar between the time frame where the incident should have happened –"

"-should have?" Zora's eyes widened. She hoped Jason would correct himself immediately.

"Zora. These people were at the bar last night, and their reports are the same, that these bodies just appeared from nowhere, dead. But they were alive and laughing, cracking jokes minutes ago and before their deaths. The bartender admitted to serving them all drinks."

"But he has no idea of how they ended up dead. They were brutalized. How could anyone not know? They're hiding something. All of them."

"That's the problem. I personally don't think so. But they're standing suspects as we speak. They've all been arrested. They'll be questioned and tested as soon as the alcohol in their systems has been flushed."

"We need answers."

Jason scoffed, "Why do you think I called you?"

"I don't even have a lead, J. All the witnesses are in police custody. Yesterday was a rainy night, so I'm pretty sure no one went in or out at that time, so that's pretty much all."

"Actually, there's a major suspect, however."

"Name." She said, holding her pen that way again, ready to strike her paper and bleed ink on it.

"Zora?" Just then, a voice said behind her. She turned.

"Chris. What are you doing here?"

"Franklin already sent me here. I'm capturing." Chris Newton said. Zora scoffed.

"Is that so?"

"Seriously, Zora, you can't just show up here. Have you even dropped by the office?"

"I'm allowed to follow a lead. I'm also allowed to check on my friend if he's okay, aren't I?" She said, gesturing at Jason, who waved with a hint of disinterest at Chris.

Chris scoffed and walked away, and Zora proceeded to grope her pockets.

"Shit. I left my phone in the car. Franklin would have called by now. It's probably way past 7:30 by now."

"You should get going then. "

"No. He's inconsequential. "

"He's your boss, Zee."

"I know that. But he also wants to-" Zora smirked.

"Do not say it." Jason interrupted, smirking as well. Zora chuckled and shrugged.

"About the major suspect..." Zora reminded him. And he shook his head left to right in disappointment and sighed.

"No name. No pictures. My guys are still checking out security footage surrounding the bar and across the street from it. The news won't be ready now."

"Wow," Zora sighed.

"I'll fax you."

"Alright. Male?"

"Yes. Dressed in black, hoodie, and the likes. He came in a few minutes before the murder and had a mystic nature to him. The bartender said he thought he even spoke to one of the guys who came in to order a drink after he ordered his. But the hitting bit is the fact that another witness saw this same guy leaving, and immediately, they noticed the bodies."

"But...how...at what time did he leave? Does it correspond with the time the bodies were seen?"

"I don't know, Zora. I just don't know. Look, I gotta go."

Zora sighed. She took down some notes. "I'll see you." She said, and they bade goodbye as she headed for her car.

That was when she noticed Chris hanging by it.

" Can I ride with you?"

"Hell, no, taxis are all over, Chris."

"Waste money? Zora, come on, open up, thanks. "

Zora signed and reluctantly unlocked the car.

Meanwhile, just at the far end of the lined blocks opposite the BrewClub Bar, a white man, auburn hair, about six feet tall, with tiny eyes and thinned lips watched the scene for a few minutes. He was in a black, explicit, suit which the sun gave extra life to, and his neat shoes sparkled. His bow tie was neatly, evenly knotted, and his white inner sleeve, white as snow. He could hear everything faintly, for he was actually at a reasonable distance. But, he could definitely discern much more when the funny-looking, nearly handsome police officer had said something about a major suspect. When he turned sharply , his gaze met the woman's, who looked care free as she turned away harmlessly. Frankly, it sharpened his ears. And he proceeded to get in his black, tinted, Mercedes-Benz, when he heard the conclusion of this police man's meeting with the tall, long and black-haired woman whom he concluded was definitely a journalist.

He started his car and drove away.