"Don't you have a hug for your mother?"

On the empty street the rain pour down as heavy as ever. Bubbles start to appear amonght the rain drops, deflecting their path into spots on the steps to a well know building; the karma building. The bubbles dispel to reveal a man; Short with black hair wearing a finely cut three piece suit and tie covered by a black leather long coat. Fashion from the cat walks of new Paris but with something very different on his mind. He walk on, with propose in mind, up the steps and into the building.
As he walks the door the open as if to his will. He stops and looks at the people at the front desk, he point to the doors "time to go ".

They look in disbelief,as to say, 'who are you to order us about' Their collective gaze scans him for id but there is nothing to back up his authoriative stance. Instead he flicks his hand towards the thick pillars supporting the high Cathedral ceiling. They cracked as some unknown power hits them
His authority established the workers flee towards the doors, not caring who gets left behind, just worrying about their own lives. Some one retains enough alturism to hit a panic button as they flee.
As guards start running out of a side door, the man throws an almost disinterested glance at them before moving on towards the middle of the building.

The straggles of the guards, suddenly possesd of a degree of occupational pride, shout after him "Stop or we fire!"
At the noise he stops and turns. He cock his head to one side, a smile floating to his lips. A grim smile. One of the guards twitches his weapon in a half hearted threat. It is cue enouth. The man draws a gun from under his suit jacket. Simultaniously the guards opened fire. The bullets seem to deflect off the man as if something was stopping them from entering his body, but not protecting the fine suit and jacket. Fragments of the material scatter under the on slaughts. But for all the effect it is having on the man they might just as well me spitting at him.
Virtually ignoring the onslaught of bullets, he raises his gun.

Smoke driftes out the gun barrel.
Six guards lie on the floor dead.
The damage to his clothing vanishes silently as the material repains itself, once again assuming the perfect catwalk look.
The man himself moves on into the building, there are other things to do.

The cracked pillars shatter and fall to the floor. The rumble of thier collapse sending an eathquake ripple throught the building. Ignoring it he moves on, still deeper into the building. Atr the odd half hearted flick og the man's hand, parts of the decor exploded, sending spark showers and sharp shards to embed into the walls.
Locating the stairs he turns down, Casualy glancing along to corridor to look for others who may wish to challenge his right to wander through the now sagging building, he head inexperatly towards it heart .

Chaos errupts in his descent. More guards turn up. Move bodies land on the ground, the life spilling out of them. The man stops, remove a cigarette from a pocket. Displaying apparent ignorance of the devistation around him he lights it and moves on.

"STOP OR WE SHALL OPEN FIRE" The order comes thundering down the hall.
The man turn around look. Not guards but Sla ops.
"Wondered when they would send slops in." He observes, drawing on the cigerette.
"Yeah and us Sla ops are going to stop you" replies a red hair frother, She lifts a large gun as if to make her point.
The man looks at the Sla ops. His eyes running over the small squad, a stormer, a ebon and a human stand behind the challenging frother. His eyes instictively focus on thier badges, Nothing higher than SCL 7C. The squad name leaps out to him. Panza Dragoons.
He supresses the smile. Time to get a little respect.
"You think you have the power to stop me? Ask your ebon how much power I have, then tell mewhat you want to do."
The frother looks at her ebon companion. He frowns slightly, an expresion she knows all to well as an indication that he is worried. Worried about something that is not as it should be, and that something was down the hall in a long coat.
The Ebon tilts his head slightly muttering to the frother. She frowns back, retaliating with some reference to 'We are not failing another one." He respond with a single word then the whole team started to back up the hall away from the man.

Unfortunatly they are alone only in seeing the wisdom of walking away when they are given the chance. Another Sla op team comes bursting into the hall at the other end, without even pausing to evaluate the situation they opened fire. A flash goes off somewhere close by, dazzeling both teams. In the confusion bullets fly in all direction.
Eventually then some one has the presence of mind to called to stop firing.

The bullets stop. The Sla ops look for their target. Nothing. Not even a hint of blood. Paranoia fills the squads sense strain for trace of thier opponant.
"Behind us" the ebon shouts .All eyes turn to look there.
The target stands, a sword in his hand and grim smile on his face. There is a burst of movement, faster than any can follow. Bodies slam into walls and floors, trigger fingers twitch but not a shout sounds.
Stillness descends on the scene. Only one Sla op is not collapsed against the debris of the building. The ebon.
The man holds him easily in the air, on one extended arm. The victim coughs against the pressure on hs windpipe. With his free hand the man start to peel something of his face; A mask.
The face beyond is revealsed. Pale skin, pupiless eyes, turned black but the hate and anger he is holding. This gaze bores into the eyes of his victim, willing him to acknowledge thier common ancestry. Their common bond. That they are both the same, Ebons.
"Goodnight" says one ebon to the other, the victim sags as he is dropped to the ground. The man we now know is Ebon moves on, running as if only now time is growing short for something.

The carnage continues. More death, more destruction, more dying. None of them the ebon we are observing.
Our hero(?) stops in the hallway. Sniffing the air he lights another cigarette then turns as something appear in the hallway.
The newly arrived Necanthrope stands looking at him almost casually. Her copiously displayed pale skin reflecting the sparks from the destroyed lighting tube. As she shifts the tight black dress ripples like water to accomidate her new stance, her long deep purple hair rising to the surface before the clothing resolidifies to a smooth black reflective sheen.
She stares pointedly at the cigerette, frowning in disaproval. The gore cannon on her shoulder oozes slightly as it turns to focus on the glowing tip.
He lifts it equally pointedly to his lips and takes a long drag.
"Hello mother. Was wondering when they would send you." He comments lightly
"Hello son. Well if you will wear mask "replies the mother.
"Just thought it would spice things up, you know" stated the ebon
"Intermately." She looks him up and down, weighing him up. "Well things have changed I see. You are not the sniffling little wimp I left with my weak will husband".
"Yes mother I have grown up a lot. Learnt a tick or two since I last saw you." counters the ebon.
"So I see. I take it you are aware your father failed us. I was a fool to associate my self with some one so weak. I seriously hope you are not considering following in his foot steps."
"Certainly not." He takes a draw on the cigerette, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils.
She smiles at the vague hint that he may consider joining them.
"He was meerly the prototype. I am the finished model."
She frowns. "You can not win Rich. You and that poxy metal ridden friend of yours. You are wasting your time. Teeth is all powerful." She hold out her hand. "You could come with me." She looks round pointedly at the devestation. "Your wage packet may be seriously reduced, but I am sure they could come to some arrangement."
The ebon shifts, muscles start to bulge from places where there was no hint of anything but skin before. Fangs drop from his lips, a growl starting in his throat. The neatly manicured finger nails distort and grow, a crackly of power leaping between the tips.
"So that's a no then." She sighs, she sounds resigned rather than surprise. Her own form twists, bulking out in the same way as her sons. As the fangs drop into place she slavers one final challenge at him.
"Tell son have you got over that little thing with women? I did enjoy setting that one into motion."
The beast growls its responce. "Time to see who is the better trickster don't you think."

Then the two beast race at each other anger and hatred in the eyes.