[ TT ] [ WP ] Urban Fantasy : The Hunt Is On

It was quite a cramped warehouse, filled to the roof with a thick tobacco smoke. Crates had been fashioned into dividing walls for various'rooms' and over the general noise Mark was sure he could hear faint far off screams of dying animals. He tried to hold it back but his body shivered of it's own accord. He looked back to Junker, the blonde, thick bearded man he'd come with 
'You know, I'm having second thoughts' Mark blurted out anxiously 
 
'That's fine, nobody is going to force you,' Junker said, staring at Mark with his deceptively friendly dark olive eyes, he added with an animated shrug'I just thought you needed the money' 
 
'I do... but, you promise my family will be taken care of If I... if I do n't...' he trailed off with a small hand motion 
 
'If you do n't make it? Of course. It's traditional' Junker looked at Mark again, he would barely last ten minutes'and you know how we feel about tradition' 
 
 Somewhere behind the crate walls raucous laughter broke out, and Mark looked around again taking note of the high vaulted ceiling and windowless walls. He looked ahead, to the arched doorway, he was less than 20 seconds away now. All he had to do was go in and volunteer, then whether he made it or not, his family would have the money it needed. He tightly clasped his left hand around his crucifix, before leaving the relative murk of the warehouse. 
 
 And into the warmly lit study of what appeared to be an old, well-dressed gentleman. The man who had been lounging quite comfortably, sat up and leaned forward he seemed to take two long sniffs before leaning back again, a hand running across his thick facial hair. 
 
'He's here to volunteer' Junker said, a smile steadily growing across his face, he nudged Mark with one of his muscular arms 
 
'Yes, that's right. I'm here for the hunt' Mark stammered nervously. 
 
 The older man did n't say anything for a while, then he nodded to Junker and said with a slight German accent'And what a hunt it shall be, the last von Saxon hunt' 
 
'The last?' Mark questioned, he did n't much care but he did n't want to seem rude in the company of the Baron 
 
 As Junker left the room the Baron redirected his attention, his green eyes gazing hungrily, his lips curled up at the edges and his eyes betrayed a savage laughter'Oh yes, quite an honour for you. I'm sure' 
 
 Mark nodded hesitantly, trying desperately to avoid that green glare, he turned relieved when he heard Junker return 
 
'Everything's ready,' he said, staring directly at me' We just need to get the volunteers together' 
 
 -- 
 
 It felt like hours had gone by. He had checked his phone many times though, it'd only been ten. He'd met and talked to four of the other nine volunteers, they were Jake the doctor who lost his license, Alison the thrill-seeker and probable lunatic, Charlie the former guitarist now crack addict and the survival show celebrity Eric Hollmann, who had been more than happy to reveal the locations of his secret cameras and had asked if Mark would interview if he survived. Of the other five, it seemed three were hiding, one was mute and the other was Javier- who spoke no English. Mark tried to clear his head of the distractions of giving Tv reports and focus when he was interrupted by the Baron stepping onto the large makeshift stage and tapping the microphone. 
 
'Brothers, sisters, volunteers' the Baron gave a hand gesture' welcome, to the last von Saxon hunt, a proud tradition of our family since before we came to the United States.' He gave a small hand motion to the man behind him wearing black biker leathers and a dark red band around his left shoulder'For the first time since our arrival on this continent our family has made peace with the Bloodhounds, and as such we have invited them into the hunt to celebrate' the Baron's eyes swept through the crowd before he added'So without delay, volunteers.' 
 
 Mark, reached for his phone and stuffed it quickly into his backpack before fastening his coat up, it was going to be a long cold night. 
 
'Each of you knows the rule, either survive until sunrise, or make it out of the city bounds, and you will have twenty minutes headstart to run or hide' he looked fixedly at me'starting now' 
 
 The audience, the ones who made up the brothers and sisters, began to shout whilst the volunteers scrambled out of the warehouse. Mark was last out of the door and slammed it shut to block the howling laughter. 
 
 -- 
 
 It had been twenty minutes, he'd checked his phone. Several times now. Just to be sure. This was n't good he'd made a good start in his first five, but then he'd been out of breath and wheezing his way down the next ten. He'd spent his past five minutes trying to call a taxi, but none were open at full moon. 
 
 Now Mark had decided his best bet was to hide his scent with the deodorant he'd put in his backpack. It was n't a fantastic smell, but it'd only cost him a couple of dollars, for what was potentially minutes. He took his nearly empty aftershave bottle, his mother had gotten him it a few years back before she passed, and with slight hesitation he threw it into an alleyway and began to run down the street. 
 
 Mark ran faster than he'd run in his life, he dropped his backpack- it would only slow him down. Blood pounded throughout his body, his lungs screamed for air, and his legs grew heavier with every heavy stomp. But he did n't stop, he did n't dare to. If he stopped, he knew he'd never get running again. So Mark kept running, against the wind howling between the building and cutting into his face, against the screaming from every muscle in his body. Against time itself. There were seven hours until sunrise and maybe five minutes until the pack found his last location. 
 
 He passed the occasional moving car and thought about begging them for a lift, nobody would though. Everybody in the city knew what today was, it was the night responsible for many of the start-up businesses, it was, after all, a loan where the only payment you had to make was optional. He turned a corner and saw a figure dart into an alleyway, possibly another volunteer, probably a homeless drunk. Mark did n't envy the homeless, there were no prizes for their continued survival, or even rewards for their families if they did n't. Mark shivered the wind carried a sharp chill and a more chilling howl. It seemed too close for comfort, so Mark kept running. 
 
 -- 
 
 He'd made it into the suburbs, he'd decided against entering the beast districts at night, though this way was longer he did n't know if his family would be paid if he was mauled by some drunk ogre. But now the howls were closing in, he heard them behind him, but thankfully when he cast a glance backwards he saw nothing but the street. When he looked forwards again he saw a figure, a man dive over a fence and gracefully roll before continuing forwards. 
 
 A loud noise indicated the fence had shattered into splinters and a large straw furred werewolf bounding towards him indicated much the same. The beast tackled into him, it's long and powerful limbs flinging him downwards towards the floor before it crouched down. Mark tried to pull his body up before it pounced on him again. Crushing his chest into the ground, it's maw hungrily snapping at his face, he quickly squirmed out of it's grasp and crawled away from it, before his putting his arms up to block another attack. 
 
 Instead Mark heard a suppressed shot and the snarling beast stared at him, it's dark olive eyes filled with bewilderment before the beast fell tumbling to the ground and pinning Mark underneath. The burning heat of it's body as it began it's post-mortem transformation back into a man making Mark uncomfortably hot. With a heave he pushed it off and struggled to his feet. 
 
 Mark turned to see Eric positioned with his left shoulder pointed outwards towards where the Lycan lay dead'So, about that interview- I'd really like it if you would use the words `` heroic'' and `` courageous'''
