Snippet #2498883

Blake walked up the steps of the rundown apartments he called home, although in reality the worn out building resembled more of an old motel well past its prime. He walked up with both hands in his dark pants pocket, not daring to even touch the rusted out metallic railing. Lord knows what might wind up on his hand if he did.

As he made his way onto the second floor he stopped and eyed his surroundings, his one good eye taking in every minute detail of the empty streets below. Somewhere in the distance sirens rang out, the distant whale all too familiar.

Standing there for a moment longer his right hand found its way into the vest coat he seemingly always wore, his gloved hand returning with a thick long brown cigar that he quickly popped into his mouth and lit with the flick of a match.

Every successful hunt he awarded himself with a fine, far to expensive, cigar. And at this point in his career he was smoking two to three cigars a week. For years now Blake had been a hunter, a member of an underground organization committed to fighting more tangible forms of evil. And he was honestly damn good at it.

Letting a large plum of gray smoke spill from his lips he turned back to the task at hand, his feet quickly carrying him to the third floor. Upon reaching a ratty looking faded yellow door that bore the number '207' he pulled his keys out, quickly inserting them into the lock he turned only to quickly realize someone had already unlocked his door. “Sonuvabitch...” He spat quietly to himself, his stone face turning into a scowl.

His mind raced as he turned the nob-maybe it was a simple burglar after his valuables, or maybe it was his landlord, but his mind always returned to what he was sure was really behind the door. A demon. As one hand opened the door the other had found its way into yet another one of his pockets, his fist now encased with a large silver pair of brass knuckles that contained a small cross above each knuckle. It was one of his preferred weapons.