Astraeus & Thoth: The Shadow Of England

One

Clouds of dirt trail behind three black trucks as they drove up to an unmarked building. The vehicles screeched to a stop, the lights darkening. A man dressed in a white suit stepped out from the back seat of the center car. He ran a final check over his suit as armed guards all dressed in black suits poured from the cars, surrounding their boss. They move forward as a unit, the only stride not synchronized being the boss's. Graffiti covered every surface of the interior, the sparse light originating from the moonlight streaming through dirty and broken windows.

The stairs creaked as the group traveled up to the designated meeting location: the fifth--and top--floor. The group made it to the top floor, pushing through the stairwell doors.

On the other side of the large room there was another gathering of armed men. These men were the antithesis to the suited men. The wore t-shirts and shorts and apparently just about anything casual they could get their hands on. Tattoos covered nearly every inch of exposed skin; not even the face was safe for some of them.

A man stood closer to where the suited men entered, his back turned in conversation with members of his gang. He was notified of the other group's entrance by the nods of heads and the clicks of safties being disarmed. The leader slowly turned around, heartily laughing at the sheer number of guards the other leader had brought with him.

"Mr. Hopkins, it's always a pleasure doing business with you," the gang leader announced. He wore a black tank top with Jean shorts and sneakers. He walked towards the man in the white suit--Mr. Hopkins--with his arm outstretched. The suited men brought their weapons up, but a wave from Mr. Hopkims had them pointing back down.

"Mr. Bertrum, I see you haven't gained any class since the last time we've met." This drew a laugh from Bertrum; a cackle that resembled a cough. The two shook hands.

"You don't need class to sell weapons," Bertrum said. He snapped his fingers and a crate of guns were wheeled over to Hopkins. He peered over the rim and judged them from a distance; he didn't dare touch them and risk getting his prints on any of the weapons.

Neither group spotted the shadow gliding above them.

"How much are they going for?" Hopkins asked.

POOF!

A flash went off in the middle of the room, filling the air with a thick smoke that stung eyes and noses. The men rose their weapons towards the cloud, expecting a attack at any moment. There never was one. Instead, the smoke cleared from the air, granting vision back to its victims. Hopkins was in the center of his men, protected by a wall of flesh. Hopkins still stood in front of his men, a gun from the crate now in his hands.

In the center of the room was a newcomer; a stranger to both crowds.

"Now that's how you make an entrance!" he announced. His arms were out to his sides and he took a bow. No one knew what to do, neither side knew this man was also a stranger to the other. He wore a long-sleeve crimson button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just above the elbow. Dark swirling tattoos covered every inch of his expose forearms. A double-layered vest wrapped around the shirt; the inner layer crimson and the outer layer black with a swirling pattern stitched in crimson. A black tie wrapped around his neck; a similar swirling pattern stitched in black, only revealed when the light caught it just right. A pair of dark jeans bunched up over dark semi-formal shoes. "You may call me Thoth and tonight, I shall be your entertainment--and your escort to jail."

There was no longer any confusion. Before anyone could pull their trigger, Thoth opened his hands, releasing small pellets that erupted in smoke as soon as they touched the ground. Bursts of gunfire lit the smoke like clouds during a storm. Men dove behind pillars and over crates, finding cover where ever they could to escape from the crossfire.