The air was stale and noxious, driving Thaddeus into annoyance. He hated these seedy streets, hated everything about them. The smell, the awful lingering taste of death on the wind. This city was fit to rot with evil, harboring a collective soul of a million damned, a vulgar reminder of the evil that slept in the homes of all those living here, right at the threshold of that which was held dear by those just wanting to survive. However, scraping by in this godforsaken cesspool was too much to ask, when the midnight streets were infested with vermin of all sorts: murderers, rapists, thieves. They all made a mockery of justice and righteousness, spitting upon it with acid breath and laughing with vile cackles.

However, it wasn't the mortal scum of villainy his attention turned to; no, his attentiveness was aimed at those things which threaten the survival of his kind. Even now, he had one before him, forced upon its knees and staring up, hatred encasing its red-colored eyes. Fangs barred and bloodstained, any trace of of a smile gone now, taken along with its victory. It was once a young man, in his twenties maybe. However, it had accepted the curse, not having the common decency to obliterate itself, sparing the lives it had indubitably stamped out with its own existence.

At gunpoint, Thaddeus held the creature in place, Vincent just a few steps behind, prepared to retaliate should the monster dare to rise. "Where is he, beast?" Thaddeus demanded angrily. This creature's knowledge of its master's whereabouts was of utmost importance. Thaddeus had been tracking that particular devil for years, dreaming of the day when vengeance could be exacted, the day he drove his stake in the damned vampire's heart. However, the creature's response was mere angry breathing, and a glare of vehemence. Taking the butt of his revolver, Thaddeus struck the no-longer man, spilling blood onto the concrete beneath its knees. Fuming, it snarled at the hunter, whose trigger finger suddenly tightened considerably, a hair's width away from tainting the ground with the monster's blood and grey matter.

"I said answer me, you damnable thing!" he thundered. The vampire merely held his endlessly hateful gaze. "Burn in hell, old man!" he spat. Thaddeus' grip tightened around the pistol. A roaring gunshot echoed into the night, crimson liquid painting the concrete canvas below. "I'll meet you there," he replied to the now dead monster. He turned to Vincent, his son, exhaling.

Another one dead, and still no leads. It was becoming increasingly frustrating to track down the vampire lord that decimated Thaddeus' clan those many years ago. "Shall we go, father?" Vincent asked. "Surely there is more we can do tonight." Thaddeus contemplated this for a moment. "Yes, perhaps. Come, let us make haste away from this wretched corpse."

Rhaego had only just joined ranks with the self-professed protectors of humanity, and he was already regretting the decision slightly. While they talked of how dangerous these creatures were to mankind, and how much of a threat they posed, all he heard was fear of them, which was confirmed when they were to be killed without honor. He'd signed on to hunt what he'd heard were the most ruthless killing machines, untouchable by mortal hand and deadly in the extreme. So far most of what he'd found were kids who'd signed on to become something more than mortal but less than human, and he'd been able to take them on without much danger. Still, the organization assured him there were in fact much more difficult monsters on the road ahead, and assigned him a pair of partners to acclimate him to the city. He held little respect from someone who'd shoot a man on his knees, but he knew better than to hold Aruetiise to his own standards of honor. He'd remained silent as they questioned the kid, the only noise the occasional hiss as his armor dumped bad air and sucked in good, scrubbing it clean before pumping it into his helmet smelling of chemical sanitation.

"You know, we might get more answers from these punks if you used your head a little more than you blasted theirs open. We could've pumped him for information for days if you hadn't lost your temper."

He nudged the corpse with his boot and unlimbered his rifle, pumping an incindiary 'dragon' round into the chamber with the iconic sound than nearly everyone respected and feared. He could have upgraded to a newer model of shotgun, a semiautomatic version, but he liked that sound. Liked the effect it had on people. Liked especially that he didn't have to say or do anything but move that pump action back and forth to get what he wanted most of the time. He placed the barrel against the center of the Vamp's chest, glancing over at the other two as if asking permission. He'd still defer to their expertise on the matter of disposal, but he preferred to behead and burn the body first and think about asking questions later, if he got around to it. Questions were for the living, and this unfortunate sap clearly no longer was.

Thaddeus noted Rhaego's concerns, turning to the decidedly strange hunter, a look of deep consideration. "There was nothing to be done. These beasts are dedicated to their cause. Interrogating them is useless. Believe me, I've tried, with a number of them. It seems they will die before telling me of Vayne's location. Or perhaps he wills them not to..." he trailed off.

Even with that helmet masking his visage, Thaddeus could tell that Rhaego was still doubting him, judging his motives and questioning his effectiveness. There was honor in this man's standards, and it was no secret that he preferred a good hunt over an easy one. However, these particular miscreants, these fowl predators, served one Vayne Tanis, a vampire lord of immense power and immeasurable wickedness. His pawns were not easily broken. Death was the only way to ensure they would be no more trouble to anyone ever again.

Vincent took notice of Rhaego, hovering above the body, weapon in hand, staring at the others with an air of seeming anxiousness. Thaddeus waved him off. "Proceed," he stated plainly, allowing him to go about properly eradicating the remains of the vampire. They stood for a moment, silence pervading over them like an apparition. Finally, it was Vincent that broke the silence. "What should we do now?" he asked.

Thaddeus kept his gaze towards the ground, silent and contemplative. Wing City was a hive of wraiths and wretches, and fining a new lead on Vayne wouldn't be that hard. It was all a matter of finding an individual who could be persuaded to talk, to spill the secrets of the dastardly demon. Such a place should be easy to find. A tavern, maybe. Perhaps one of the various and shady social establishments that litter the streets.

"I believe I know where we could go." He picked his head up, turning back toward Rhaego, who was carrying on with disposing of the corpse. "Unless you have a better plan, Rhaego," he said with finality.

The streets filled with the sound of manmade thunder as the shotgun roared into the Vampire's chest, driving white phosphorous flechettes into the corpse's heart at close to thrice the speed of sound, the searingly hot phosphorous eagerly devouring the dead flesh and setting it to flame, an orange-white glow emanating from the entry wound, sparks and white smoke boiling from below the corpse. It wouldn't be long before naught but white ash marked the resting spot, fodder for someone else to clean up. If not for the gunfire, wretches would likely be gathering around the corpse even now to use it's warmth to survive the night and possibly heat whatever food they'd scavanged.

"This is your city, I'm just working in it. Until I've got the lay of the land settled, it's your show. You got a lead, then by all means let's check it out. No sense chasing our tails, right?"

He returned the rifle to it's usual position, slung over his right shoulder in a cross body manner, easy to retrieve in a hurry by either slipping the three point sling over his head and seating it proper with the weapon across his chest or by unbuckling a plastic buckle on the sling and releasing the weapon to slide and dangle under his arm pit in a modified one point sling. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated that the more experienced hunter should lead the way.

The Slums were a promising location, despite their rather insulting appearance. Ransacked apartments and desolate shops abound, the slums were practically a breeding ground for all manner of atrocities; vampires especially. Roaming the abandoned streets, the hunter scoured through the darkness for their prey. Thaddeus procured the Blood Orb, beckoning it to detect any vampiric activity. It picked up nothing in the immediate area, and so he stowed it away. Carefully he tread, his eyes wary of his shambled surroundings.

Their footsteps echoed through the empty air, reverberating off of the dead walls of the surrounding architecture. Bleak and seemingly endless was this place, a grave for the destitute. Vincent hated being here, secretly feared what lurked in the dark chasms of the wreckage. Thaddeus held strong, step by step roaming into the enemy's territory.

He stopped, looking down at the metal manhole cover beneath him. The air enveloping him suddenly turned colder; much colder than it had been. He crouched low, his hand passing over the hard iron portal. Absolutely chilling air emanated from the depths of the hole, indicative of the perfect atmosphere in which to stow a corpse. Or, a mass of corpses, in this case.

"Here," Thaddeus proclaimed, gripping the manhole cover and casting it aside. He ushered the others inside, before clambering in himself, pulling the cover back to its original position, gently and quietly. Finally, they stood at the bottom of the hole. Frost lined the walls, and there were even icicles dangling from the ceiling. This place was very heavily refrigerated, of that there was no doubt. How they managed such a setup was the question. Thaddeus ran his hands along the wall, feeling the moist condensation that laced the frost. He pointed downward into the tunnel, indicating them to move.

Silently, they tread into the frozen hideaway, Thaddeus procuring a stake from beneath his coat. Vincent kept his hand close to his swords, in the event that they run into trouble: rather, in preparation for such an eventuality.

The trio rounded several corners, Thaddeus marking their pathways by breaking off icicles and using them as arrows to point the way out. Their feet crunched softly in the patches of frost beneath their feet, the chilling climate seeping into their skin. Rounding a corner to the left, however, finally brought them the result they had been anticipating: gathered in a circle, sitting on old and tattered furniture around an old, round and splintered table, sat a group of the fiends, feasting from blood packs. Several dead bodies were culminating in the far right corner, their limp bodies slumping over onto one another.

There were five of the monsters in all, sitting about, not noticing the hunters yet. Thaddeus signaled for the others to stay back, momentarily. He held his hand up, then held three fingers up, counting down.

3.....2......1....

He rounded the corner, a stake in his right hand, pistol in his left. The group of monsters whipped their heads in his direction. One of them roared in defiance, jumping from his seat before being shot into oblivion by way of a silver bullet through the heart. Another stood, and received the projectile end of Thaddeus' stake in the knee, crippling the beast in the most horrific manner, splitting its kneecap and causing it to writhe in agony. Thaddeus made sure to keep an eye on that one as they dispatched the remaining three.

As they descended into the sewers, the Mando'ad's armor shifted with a soft electric crackle, something like a liquid crinkling sound. Previously it had been a digital urban multicamo pattern which blended in with the drab city environment quite well, but would have contrasted sharply with the new darker environ. In stead, the armor colored itself inky black, matte and imposing, seeming to drink in the light.

As they moved through the sewers he shifted his rifle back into his hands, buttstock in the pocket of his shoulder, and moved at a slight crouch, his steps gliding across the ground in an even and measured manner, the combat glide keeping his eyeline from drifting up and down too harshly as he moved, lest he need to fire on the move. The soles of his boots were a thick rubber, soft enough to muffle footsteps on concrete and provide good traction, but with a firmness below the outer layer which lent them toughness and dissuaded penetration. His eyes had no trouble in gloom, and the teeth of the cold never took purchase in his shin, as his second skin, his Beskar'gam did it's primary job, which was to take away distractions and allow him to focus on the mission. He glanced briefly at the external temperature displayed on his HUD, but otherwise took no note of the humid cold climate.

As they entered the room, he stayed back, dropping to a knee quietly as the others advanced and sighting in on his target, those furthest from where they entered from. There wasn't a whole lot of lore on plasma weapons versus Vampires, but he was pretty sure that a high-yield blaster bolt through the chest wouldn't be good for them. The moment the fighting started, his blaster barked, the weapon emitting high shrieking discharges of blue-white coherent energy packets, about half a meter in legth, which streaked toward the target just under the speed of sound. He focused on what was referred to as 'failure to stop drills', consisting of a hammer pair to the center mass of the chest, a three inch ring containing the heart and vital arteries and veins around it, the two shots streaking out so close together they nearly sounded as one. Immediately after these two shots, he'd shift his aim point to the head and sqeeze off another round, watching for only a fraction of a second before shifting his aim to the next target and repeating the process. Should anything survive that barrage, he would fire more follow-on shots as needed.

Once the firing died down, he would glance around for movement, making sure nothing was attempting to sneak up at the sound of gunfire. He called out in a low voice to his companions, asking the only question that mattered after the firefight.

"All clear?"

All was quiet in the underground chambers, save for the pain-ridden grunts of the downed vampire off to the left. He writhed, having in vain attempted to pry the stake from his kneecap. Thaddeus sauntered over, aiding the monster in its plight by ripping the silver spike from its flesh, producing a shriek of agony and a sharp spurt of blood. Its knee was now little more than shrapnel; this vampire wouldn't be walking anytime soon. Thaddeus took the opportunity to grip the monster by the neck, hoisting it up, feet dangling inches above the ice-encrusted floor. Hard, piercing gaze burning deep into the creature's eyes, Thaddeus began with his interrogations. "Vayne Tanis. Where is he?"

The vampire grunted in the vice grip of the hunter's firm hand, a smile permeating across his face. "Ha. Ha-ha-ha. And what- what could you possibly want with Vayne Tanis?" he mused. Thaddeus scowled, flashing his teeth in an animalistic manner that was better suited for one such as the vermin he now held suspended in his grasp. "To kill him, what else? Where is he?" he demanded. The vampire only continued to smile. "And what makes you think I would know that?" He remained, hands clutching at the hand around his throat, making no attempt to pry it away. "You and your ilk know much about Vayne, pawns of his or no. You're either going to tell me, or this little meeting is going to get far more unpleasant."

Quiet once again, that haunting noise of nothing that stilled the air of conversation. It was a long and hefty specter that paraded about, keeping the truth at bay as it did. Finally, laughter, faint but apparent, broke the noiselessness, and the roundabout resumed. "Do your worst, old man."

Old man. It was a phrase he heard too often from these blights, a moniker that always brought out the worst in him. Of course he was well aware of his age; however, the way they said it, taunting him, as if he were powerless to stop their ravaging of humanity by their kind. It was disgusting, and drove him overboard.

A raised foot, heavily clad in armored boot, stomping down on the vampire's already eviscerated kneecap, bending the leg backward and causing the bones to puncture the skin, thus collapsing the devilish heathen. Procuring a dagger, Thaddeus made several lacerations about its chest, spilling blood in streaks, all the while ignoring the screams and the jolts of anguish. He constructed his hand into a fist, repeatedly striking it in the face, furious and heavy-handed, before slamming the vampire into the wooden table.

Standing the creature back up, he forced it to look him in the face. "Tell me where he is!" he screamed. Dazed from the trouncing he had suffered, the wretch groaning, groggy and unsure of himself. "Piss off, human," he managed. At this, it raised its own hand, attempting a forceful blow to the hunter opposite. Thaddeus managed to catch the hand, twisting so the palm faced upward, snapping the elbow inward and exposing the ulna, thus coaxing further screams.

The hunter finally dropped the vampire, pulling from his coat a thick, metal collar, latching it to the creature's neck. It looked up at Thaddeus, dumbfounded, feeling at the circular apparatus. What the fu-AGHHHH!!!!!" he managed before suffering an electric shock, 200,000 volts. Had he been dealing with a person, Thaddeus would have to consider if such a shock would kill. However, seeing that these beasts were already dead, he was given certain liberties as far as this was concerned. Thaddeus then proceeded to bind its hands with steel wire.

"Vincent, take this monster with us. He should be far more ready to talk than the pawns of Tanis." With that, Vincent strode over, slumping the vampire over his shoulder, following behind his father.

The Mando'ad shook his head at the treatment of the Vampire and moved around the room, methodically pumping incendiary rounds into each corpse. In the event there were detached parts of corpses, he scooped them up with the toe of his boot and tossed them into the flame, taking care to burn every last piece of the Vampires lest they find some way to regenerate. It wasn't likely, especially with ones so low on the food chain, but it never hurt to be careful.

With the corpses burning merrily in the cold chamber, as well as the nearby furniture for good measure, Rhaego glanced over the prisoner with a shrug.

"Maybe we can keep this one alive to tell us something useful. Who knows."

He kept his rifle at the ready in case someone decided to show up late to the party. They'd made quite a lot of noise down there, and there was no telling how many of the bloodsuckers were laying in wait in other caverns just like this one spread throughout the catacombs and mazes of tunnels networked under the slums. More than likely, he'd find out exactly how many there were in time, as he cleared them out a nest at a time. In the meantime however, there were more important things at hand, such as the questioning of a prisoner.