John walks down the street. He is a police constable on the night shift. Not that he minds. He has faced much worst in the war then anything the city’s wretches can throw at him.
The darkness of the night conceals his facial features, black hair and soft brown eyes. He has retained his lean and fit body from his time in the army and not even the dark can keep that hidden.
A shrill noise rings out. John looks around, shining the light from his torch.
Despite the noise and darkness, John remains undaunted and tries to figure out the source of the noise.
He is looking at a warehouse, abandoned after the war ended, when the shrill noise strikes the night again. It’s louder this time.
Better find the source of this sound, thinks John as he strides towards the warehouse side door.
John checks to see if the door is locked. It’s not. Cautiously, the policeman pushes the door open and shines his torch inside. Only piles of abandoned crates and containers.
“Hello?” asks John into the darkness, “Is anyone there?”
The noise returns for a third time, definitely nearby now.
“Show yourself!” demands John as he stands in the middle of the warehouse.
The noise rings out, but this time, it is intermixed with a sharp laugh.
“As you wish Officer,” drawls the laughing man.
Something lashes put from the shadows at John. The police officer is slammed into a crate and his torch knocked from this hand.
John grunts as he struggles to his feet.
“Assaulting an officer is against the law!” yells John defiantly.
“You won’t live to report it,” laughs his attacker, “It is so much fun when my prey thinks they can fight back.”
A man steps out of the shadows, covered in black robes and with pale skin. A scythe gleams in his hands.
“Die fool!” screams the man as he rushes John.
John closes his eyes and braces himself. He takes a deep breath as the madman strikes him.
The man lets out a gasp of shock as the sound of breaking metal fills the warehouse.
John looks at his would-be killer, taking in his look of horror and shock.
John’s hair and eyes have turned bright white. The scythe has broken against John’s body.
The robed killer takes a step back as John suddenly floats up. John looks down as he hovers two metres off the ground.
John grins and zooms at his foe.
John strolls into the police station in the morning dragging the unconscious body of his roughed up attacker.
“Hey John,” greets another officer, looking over at John, “How was- Whoa! What happened last night?”
“Just catching another criminal,” answers John with a shrug.