#circleshades

Game over.

Clinging desperately to his last shreds of consciousness, Kurtis was slumped up against the hallway's wall, hands clutching the gaping hole in his abdomen. After dragging himself away from Boaz' corpse, and the puddle of his own slick blood, he was attempting to stay awake... trying to hold on with all of his might.

He was morbidly aware of the fact that he didn't have much longer before he bled to death.

But he had to know before his work was done here... had to be sure that Eckhardt was dead, and that justice had been brought to his father, once and for all.

Kurtis looked down at the bloodbath that was now his favorite t-shirt and khakis. A sheet-white hand twitched, grazing against something slick and pinkish among the pooling of sticky, warm crimson gushing through his fingertips ... most assuredly a piece of his innards poking out.

With nothing better to do, alone and bleeding, Kurtis laughed. Hell, he didn't even feel it any more.

He felt himself drifting again when he sensed something, in the telekinetic depths of his fading mind.

His Chirugai. She'd found it.

Her mark was unmistakable. With the last ounce of energy in his broken body, Kurtis closed his eyes and concentrated. Jolted his weapon, giving a grunt as he did so. Leading her to him...

Cafe Metro was the sort of seedy joint you’d expect from the Parisian ghetto. But, the coffee was strong, and the wine went down smoothly. It was quiet... which was just what Kurtis wanted.

Motorcycle parked outside, he’d taken up space at a table in the farthest corner, by the window. He almost felt like he was in the famous Edward Hopper painting, but with a couple less people. A vantage point to the outside world as he glanced about occasionally, and kept up with his newspaper. His French was a little rusty, but he got the gist. The Monstrum killings were plastered all over the front page.

The place was otherwise empty, and the guy called Pierre didn’t seem to mind his extended stay. People came in and out, but no one stuck around for very long. Odd. He almost wondered if the owner was purposely pushing people away. Or maybe they were just spooked.

He turned the page of his paper, reaching to sip at his drink.