Ruin.

Sloan

Police sirens cut through the light fog and smoke surrounding a small train station,

"HALT, POLICE. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY."

The wanted figure ducks and weaves their way through people and signs, running across a main road and into an alleyway.

"Sir, he went that way!"

A small group of officers enter the mouth of the alley, it's narrow throat seems empty. The officers nod to one another in acknowledgement, moving forwards, hastily pointing their guns behind every object they pass. The alleyway sits silent as a feral cat scampers it's way up the ladders attached to the side of the building, an officer let's of a smirk while following the cat with his full attention,

"Heh, smart kitty-" the officer abruptly stops, the alleyway falls silent yet again as the officers all stand facing the position of their fellow lawman, the cat hisses, following up with a low growl. A pudgier officer looks up to see the commotion, only to come face to face with the head of his comrade, or what was left of it. The officer gasps, backpedalling into another of his comrades, this one unconscious, handcuffed to an adjacent dumpster. In a panic, the officer grabs the shoulder of his final comrade,

"C-call for backup, now!" His voice breaks as his breathing intensifies,

"Slow down officer, no need to freak out." The figure of his comrade turns around to face him before launching at his stocky body, pulling the face clean off like the peel of an orange.

As the early morning sun gleams through broken glass on the floor, reflecting against the concrete walls and roof, the cacophony of the morning commute commences. a boy lays on his back, staring at the roof blankly, devoid of emotion, his hands surrounded in plastic wrap, duct tape and aluminium foil. "And thanks for the morning wrap up Jason, now let's here from Todd" the boy turns to his side, now staring at the mutilated remains of a remote control, it's batteries lay blackened and dry.

"A string of seemingly cannibalistic police related killings have been reported all across Bleydon, Detective J.P Sloan had this to say about these serial murders..." the sounds all blur, forming one big, muffled amalgamation of sound. The boy groans, turning and wriggling out of bed, stepping on a shard of glass as he stretches. His eyes relax to a drowsy state, as if the glass was a commonplace part of his morning routine.

The view of Bleydon was beautiful at this time of morning, the sun rose through the thick clouds, reflecting off of every shiny surface of every building. An impatient banging on the door fills the room, "Kid, I don't know what you've done this time, but the cops are here." An old Asian woman says as she peeks her head through the door,

"Fix that mess, I'll pay for the window, again..."

The door closes, then opens back up,

"Also get your clothes on, I've got some new gloves for you, left them on your drawer, good luck."

The boy puts a pair of shorts over his legs, rubbing against the side of his bed to get them on.

His teeth bite at the foil, then at the duct tape, peeling it off, unwrapping round after round, the plastic wrap comes off far easier. The boy's naked hands stay held up, away from the rest of his body as he pokes the clear plastic box that contains the new gloves. The box explodes rather unimpressively, the gloves are black leather, plated with some kind of metal on the outside, they're heavy. Real heavy.

"Harvey, how'd you like to get to know each other a little better, maybe brunch?"

"Sure, do I have a choice?"