Participants:
| Scene Title | Shadow Hound |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | One of Arthur's shadow clones finds one of the Gillians. |
| Date | July 4, 2009 |
The coast of Staten Island is as much of a presence as its inland, with rivers that invade right into its heart as well as cutting off the circulation of transport from the rest of New York City. The coastal regions reflect a lot of this borough's rural nature, with rough shores and plantlife, broken brick, and general abandonment. The harbors are left to the devices of those that freely come and go, a conspicuous lack of official presence - a number of them notably overrun by the developing crime syndicate, but there are still quite a few, particularly on the coasts nearest to Brooklyn and Manhattan, that are accessible to the lawful public.
As the evening grows into the early morning hours, the streets of Staten Island suburbs are dark and wet, rather unwelcoming. The safehouse drop point left behind, Gillian wanders the streets in clothes borrowed from the people there. Children for clothes— about as good a trade as anyone can get.
The smell of the ones she carried filled her with more strength than she would readily admit to, making her muscles pulse with an unknown energy. Knox had said it felt wonderful— she would have to agree. Even if every other piece of her wants to feel horror at the things that happened, that tells her just how strong she is.
But not strong enough. No fear comes wafting out of the shadows that shift and move, creeping along in a silent form. Shadow is only the absence of light. It should not contain substance, it should not be capable of such things. But this one is.
A unseen stalker, hiding in the darkness, sliding along until he reaches her. No contest, really. Not for this clone.
Only the sudden shivers wracking over her body give her any warning, looking down as frost collects on the wet pavement, freezing the water still falling from the sky in chunks of ice that impact. Cracks grow as water solidifies, a slip of the shoes she'd just borrows sends her crashing to the cold pavement.
The cold grows, a shadowed hand sliding around her neck, covering her mouth. Gillian thrashes. Fist shatters the street, heels dig into the ground, but there's no stopping the slow freeze of her body. Insides crystallize, a kick shatters her leg, a struggle breaks her arm into icy chunks that melt in the rain to drift away into the drainage systems.
Finally the struggling stops. The shadow creeps away the direction it came from, leaving the half frozen corpse behind.
One down.