A bar fight. Simple as that, and overlooked by many. A customer seemed to have gotten too aggressive. The bouncer asked him to leave. A fight ensued. Simple.
Her fist cracked against the intruder's face, just beneath his left eye. The cheekbone was likely fractured in the blow, and blood poured from his face.
"We know who you are," came the warped, yet feminine voice of the bouncer. "We know why you're here."
The young man stood to his feet, sneering. He should have known it would be a mistake- he knew what these people were capable of. All the same, he drew his right arm back, and sent a fist flying towards the bouncer. His fist connected with her palm as she easily blocked it, and clamped her fingers over his fist. He tried to pull away, but her inhuman strength wouldn't allow it.
"You and your merchandise aren't welcome here." She squeezed- all those delicate bones in his hand began to crack at the pressure and he let out a cry. "I don't have the authority to stop you, but I can ensure you know better to ever try and sell in a protected place again." The grip tightened more, almost closing entirely around his hand. His scream was... embarrassing, to say the least. She released him, letting him fall to his knees clutching his ruined hand. A foot came forward, pressed against his head, and merely shoved him to the ground in front of the back door. "Don't come back," she said, before turning, and slamming the door behind him.
Slowly, groaning, he stood to his feet, eyeing the box truck he had driven into the back alley. Damnit... had some meddling hunter not killed his fence for this shipment, he wouldn't have been reduced to this. Half-blind from the blow beneath his eye, and unable to use one hand, he opened the door to climb up into the driver's seat anyway. Fumbling for the keys that were in his leather jacket, he pulled them out, having to reach across the wheel with his left hand to crank the truck. Sighing, he sat with the heater on, letting it warm up a bit before he, once again having to reach across, shifted into drive and pulled away.
"We're moving," came a meek voice. A girl with messy, fiery red hair sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest.
"No shit," came another voice, a mild Southern drawl to his speech. "All you been doin' is stating the obvious since we got locked up in here."
"Leave her alone!" a woman spoke up. "She's a child, there's no telling what she's already been through!"
There were four people locked in the back of that box truck, and only one hadn't spoken. Oh, he was far from silent, however. Occasionally huffing in annoyance and grumbling in boredom, Adam Karogen seemed a little less worried about having been kidnapped. He knew what was going on- he was a part of this world. They were being sold- to some vampire, some werewolf, some sort of creature that sustained on human life. Hell, it could have just been another really screwed up human they were being sold to- that was the worst. Better food to some creature than a slave to a real monster. Not that it mattered to him- his curse gave him worse things to worry about. This? This was an inconvenience- how big of one depended on whether it took him days or months to escape. Their captor had to have known who he was; Karogen had a reputation, and coincidence was rare in this world. Of course, Fate wasn't quite as rare... perhaps it was his curse that had him captured? It had been like this for a decade now, a repeating, hellish cycle.
The vehicle had been moving now for some time, with jerky motions that made all four of the prisoners rather carsick. Perhaps their captor was drunk? Then they felt the acceleration... and then, their worlds turned over as the box truck flipped on its side. There was a moment of panic, and then, blackness.
The front door slammed closed. The fuckin' luck today! His fence gets killed, he gets beaten to a pulp at the one other place he knew where to sell, and now that truck was totalled. He had been flung out of the vehicle before it went too far down the cliffside, sparing his life, but now he was more fucked up than before. Even worse, his merchandise was lost- no way the four of them survived that. At least the truck couldn't be linked back to him. Limping in, he moved straight towards his liquor cabinet, flinging the door open with his one good hand, and pulled out a bottle of vodka. He didn't much like vodka, which is why it was the only bottle not left empty at this point.
Moving towards the living room, he slumped down on to his couch and took a swig. Probably not the best move, given he likely had a concussion and was bleeding pretty much everywhere, but he didn't care. He had enough set back to find a good healer, if he could find any that'd still do business with him. A second swig made him realize the stinging pain in his mouth- it had been hard to notice over everything else that hurt. Lifting his left hand up to his face, he felt where his lip had been ripped on one corner, almost up into a smirk on that side. Blood was pouring from it- it was deep. Healer or not, it'd definitely scar. He still couldn't see out of his left eye.
He was about to take a third swig when he heard a giggle come from somewhere in his house. "The fuck?" He stood to his feet, the groaned as he was reminded of how injured he was. Taking a moment to sit back down and take a breath, he tried to see any movement in the dimly lit place. "Look, if it's about the money I owe ya, I've got it," he announced to the darkness. "One botched sell ain't fuckin' me over that bad. Just gimme a second to-"
There was a loud crack, and that was the last thing he remembered.
Karogen groaned as he came to. Blue and red lights flashed all around. How long had he been gone? It depended on the damage to his body. He slowly looked to his left to see one of his fellow captives- it was the lady that had stood up for the girl. Her head was crushed in and one arm was missing. Karogen thought for a moment. Three, maybe four hours? Assuming his injuries had been similar. He sighed... of course. Being sold to some monster to maul him had fallen through, so his curse had sought out other means of retribution... only this time, it brought the lives of those three with him along for the ride. It looked like the first responders hadn't been there long. They must have already checked vitals- he could probably sneak away while they were waiting for more support. Lucky they were out in the hills rather than in the city, or he'd have woken up in the morgue again after the wreck had been quickly reported. Out here? Probably took a couple of hours for anyone to realize there had even been an accident. At least that ass hole that had caught them all was just as dead as his prisoners. Small blessings.
Getting up to his hands and knees, he looked around at the ambulance and cop cars. They'd be coming to clean up the bodies soon, but it seemed they were focused on paperwork and securing the site. He darted off into the bushes, ready for the several-mile walk back into the city.
He had had to blend in with the homeless population while moving through Skid Row to avoid any unwanted attention. Karogen was covered in dirt and blood, and some of his clothing was burned. Of course, he occasionally got the odd stare from someone who wasn't minding their business, but he was gone each time before anyone could be called to investigate. Eventually, he made it home, stopping by the alley behind the apartment complex.
"Carlos, you up man?" Karogen called out. There was a grunt, and then someone stood up from beside the dumpster.
Karogen jogged up towards the man, a middle-aged bearded guy with clothes that didn't quite fit and a tangled mess of a beard. "Hey."
"Holy fuckballs, they really messed you up this time!" Carlos said, eyeing Karogen's blood-soaked clothes. "Was starting to worry you ain't coming back this time, you been gone a week."
"Nah, a week. You left this here Wednesday," Carlos said, handing him a bag.
"And this is.. Sun... no.. Monday?"
"It's Wednesday morning man. Pay up."
Karogen sighed. Twenty bucks a day to keep a change of clothes safe normally would have been no problem, given he was usually working when he was gone, but he had spent most of this time tied up and not getting paid for it.
"You know I'm good for it, but things didn't work out this time. No cash on me right now."
"You fucken owe me, cabrón. Don't forget."
A quick behind-the-dumpster change of clothes helped him look more acceptable for going in through the lobby, but there wasn't much he could do with his dirty face and matted hair. He turned the key to get into the building, kept his head down as he passed tired neighbors checking their mail in the lobby, and headed into the stairway to avoid the elevator. A jog up five floors, then a brisk walk to his apartment, and a fumble with the keys had him home safe. He closed the door behind him, locking the three deadbolts he had installed.
The apartment was cluttered, but organized. Crystals and stones and various relics sat on shelves- the items he used the majority of his income on. Each had an aura to it- enchanted or cursed in some way, just enough magical noise to hide the presence of the one thing he wanted no one to find. As he headed towards the bathroom, he stopped to readjust an apple on top of a fruit basket on the kitchen table, and headed in.
He never really could make himself feel clean enough after nights like that. He scrubbed and washed and rinsed half a dozen times, and even though he was clean, he could still feel the blood all over him. His mind kept flashing back to the three others that had been in the car with him. The entire reason he used his curse the way he did was so that he could try to stop people like them from being killed. After all, why worry with having to hide bodies of your victims when you had a blood supply that always came back? After turning off the steamy water, he stepped out of the shower, not bothering to dry off. Karogen wiped the condensed fog from the mirror and looked at himself. Brushing aside his long hair, only not messy at the moment because it was currently dripping wet, his green-and-blue eyes met their reflection. Heterochromia, something he had inherited from his mother. He checked the scar over his left brow- an X, positioned in a spot that was difficult to hide, even with his long hair. It had shifted a little to the left of the last time he had checked. It shifted every time he came back, just slightly, but always positioned somewhere over his left brow. Sighing, he left the bathroom, moved to his bedroom, threw a shirt and shorts over his sopping wet body, and flopped onto his bed. Reaching over to grab his cell phone- his main one, as the burner he had been using when he was captured had been taken by that short dude, he checked the local news. Scrolling past a few fluff pieces about the mayor, an article about the rising homeless population, and a few ads that temporarily locked up his screen, he found what he was looking for.
"Two Bodies Recovered in Palisades Wreckage". Huh. That didn't make sense. Should have been four- the driver, and his three captives, given Karogen had slinked off. Narrowing his eyes, he read that the bodies recovered were an adult male and an adult female, unidentified for now. He kept scrolling, scanning for information, but he couldn't make sense of it. His head was spinning- coming back took a toll on his ability to stay focused for long. "Fuck it, whatever, food." He hopped up, trailing dripping water from his bedroom and into the kitchen, where he snatched up a back of cereal and dug his hand in to just start chomping away like it was a bag of chips.
He was gone for a week. He'd have to sell himself to someone with expensive tastes to make up for that. Good thing he had paid his rent early, or he'd have been really screwed. He scrolled through his missed messages, ignoring any voice mails. Anyone that knew him enough knew not to leave those, so he moved through the text messages with one hand while chowing down on dry cereal with the other, until he saw one from a client that paid well. Not a very nice guy, but he was rich. Grimacing, he began to text out his reply. It was time to get to work.
