"Hey, Russ, it's Aly. Look... About earlier... Just... Just meet me tonight at the usual spot, ok? We can talk about it there. I know things have been tense... I'll explain everything then. Anyway, I'm almost to Dr. Helsing's. I'll call you later."
The message cut off and Russell shook his head as he pressed a button and slipped the phone back into his coat pocket. He knew in his heart of hearts that something had happened, no matter what she said in that damn message. It had already been four days, and still no call from her. And she had never shown at their usual spot. Angry or not, Alyson would never leave him hanging like that... She knew how he worried about her- it was just a good thing that he had copied down the address of her most recent "meeting" just in case. And so, when the twins returned with only what appeared to be her PDA, he was prepared, and set off for the Fringe, unsure of what, exactly, he would find there.
One thing was certain, however, and that was the fact that she had gone, against his advice, to see Doctor Helsing. And so that became the starting point of his dogged search, even as the weather took a turn for the worse.
Russell's shoulders hunched against the chill breeze that danced through the abandoned streets, playing childishly with everything it touched. Unfortunately, this stirred up dust and debris in the decimated street, and the young man's grey eyes narrowed as he was forced to pull a scarf above his nose momentarily. Admittedly, he should have had it up anyway, in this rotting edge of civilization, but it was more hassle than help anyway.
As the gust died down again, Russell adjusted his suede trench coat and continued through the ruined remains of suburbia. This far from the thriving city center, the effects of the war were still largely evident- as though the cease-fire were only signed yesterday. As he walked, the young man made it a point to keep himself alert, and turned his head this way and that as he took in the scenery. Mutants and rebels were the only life out on this fringe of the waste, and neither of them were particularly friendly to strangers- especially... gifted ones.
As such, he regarded the world around him with a wary glance as his toned form made its way down the street towards his target. Every burned-out car, every crumbling chimney, every rotting wall seemed to possess a life of its own, and the shadows refused to stand still. The further he traveled, the more tense he became. When he flexed his fingers to crack the knuckles, he made sure that the black, curved claws replaced his own fingernails, and ran his tongue over wolfish fangs. Indeed, even as he walked, something much darker overtook him and despite his ragamuffin appearance, he exuded an air of quiet brutality.
True, the wandering vagabond didn't know exactly what he would do when he reached Helsing's, but he had a fairly good idea in his mind. And so, he was not as surprised at himself as some may have been when he at last found the place- a seemingly bombed-out rotting hill of debris-, rang the bell, and promptly made contact between his fist the owner's face. Indeed, his expression never changed as he shoved the door open and advanced on the man. A quiet fury raged beneath the calm surface as he bent over his quarry.
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