Malachi strolled a back alley of New York City, his only source of light, the pale moon shining overhead.
A slight breeze could be felt, causing his leather jacket to billow slightly in the wind. Other than that, the street was silent.
"Where are they," he wonders, frustration setting in. This hunt so far has proven very unsuccessful. That is, until he hears a scream coming from around the corner of a building.
Reaching unter his coat, he felt for the reassuring touch of his antique short swords. Then he took off at a run.
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