Scene I
The waxing moon was bright and nearly full over the fog-laden streets of New Tamsbridge. It was the middle of October, and the wet chill hanging in the air like the freezing breath of winter kept the streets eerily quiet. When the metal door opened, the din of the industrial club inside seemed hugely loud and alien, and when it clanged shut the sound echoed down the streets like rolling thunder. At the corner of the alley, a black-clad woman smiled to herself. She had been waiting. She strained her ears, and she heard it, barely: the quietest gasp of feigned passion. Her smile grew, and slowly drew her dagger out from its sheath hidden at the small of her back, hidden underneath her designer leather jacket. I’d prefer a gun for a serpent in a back alley, but bloody things haven’t arrived yet. The knife will do for now. Besides, if I’m lucky, it will be otherwise engaged. She slipped out of her stilettos, pushing them into the shadows under a fire escape, and turned the c…
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