The club is hopping, lighting works in tandem with the music and the movement of the crowd, most everyone is either inebriated or high on one thing or another, and all or at least almost all, are bouncing to the sounds of another rowdy night.
Eyes open suddenly, purposely. From where he wakes, Colin gets up off his ass and stands for a moment. Where it is he stands, is right beside a dumpster halfway down a dirt ridden alley not so far away from that bouncing nightclub. There is blood on his clothing, blood on his right hand. Feeling dizzy, disorientated, and most definitely not feeling like himself, Colin begins to move forward, being more a passenger, if even that, in his own body rather than being someone sitting in the driver's seat.
He moves out of this alley, turns to the left and begins to move down the street. An older, scraggily looking man with a long thick grey beard and a mesh of hair to match, approaches and begins to speak. This older man requires assistance, he requires recognition, but Colin doesn't hear this man, he just keeps on moving as if this older man isn't actually there at all.
Noticing the blood on the man before him, the older gent is brought to a halt, left standing, watching as Colin continues to move, turning right and crossing a street without looking, causing at least a couple of cars to slam on the brakes and sound their horns in anger. Still, Colin does not take any notice.
It is dark, it is late, and the town is a buzz of activity among the dulled street lighting. The difference here between night and day is literally night and day itself, a town existing in town existing within two worlds, conservative by day and anything but at night. Where the exact threshold between the two world is ... is an unknown, though it does exist.
Colin continues to move, being driven by some sort of force with which he has no control over. His eyes focus forwards; the activity all around him is irrelevant, some dodge out of his way upon seeing blood. Shock and horror ensure that Colin is not confronted.
Things are getting hectic at the club, especially at its entrance. Security becomes distracted, dealing with a larger number of troublemakers than what they are used to dealing with, so Colin is free to enter the club, his entrance meeting no resistance at all. It is as if there are surrounding forces working together in unison to get him to some point or other.
Once inside, there is less dodging, movement forces itself forwards. Still focusing straight ahead Colin mows through those who are either standing or dancing before him, some are knocked over as if they aren't there at all and drinks are spilt all around. In anger one man goes after Colin. From behind, this man places a hand on Colin's shoulder.
Colin turns and stares this stranger in the eye, a stranger who was ready for an all-out war but once he sees the blood on the man in front of him, he steps back and holds his own hands up in the air in retreat. Surely no one needs to be hurt, then again.
'Hey there buddy ...' speaks this man as he backs away slowly.
With his bloodied right hand, not his own blood, Colin reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a revolver, then takes aim at the man who had come his way. Two seconds pass, a moment which seems much longer than just two seconds, and Colin fires the gun. The bullet hits right in the center of the forehead and the man who had come to confront Colin, only to soon back off, now has his head jerk backward somewhat before he as a whole drops to the ground like a large sack of potatoes.
The place comes to a standstill. The music stops and a few screams escape all round. Colin turns around and resumes his trance like walk. Seconds pass and he soon confronts another man before raising the gun once more. This second man with whom has a confrontation with Colin stands up out of his seat and fairly soon he too drops like a sack of potatoes.
