Preston’s Sunday morning odd encounter(Catrina)

Date: 2025-06-22 05:14

(Preston’s Sunday morning odd encounter(Catrina):Catrina)

[Sun Jun 22 2025]

On Colonial Avenue/span

It is dawn/span, about 69F(20C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey clouds. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Sycamore/span

(A group of supernatural hunters is out to get your target. Maybe for sport, maybe from ideology, in either case they need to survive for long enough that their allies can come and help them deal with the threat.
)

Behind Preston is the office building of Coretech Consulting. The man, this time is not going for a jog this morning, he’s fully clothed in fact. There’s a casualness as he steps out of the office and into the early morning light, rolling his neck, and stretching.

The morning sun, just rising over the buildings of New Haven, paints the world in hues of pink and gold, lights going out as the necessity for them is eliminated. The air is clear, or as clear as it can be, with the faintest crisp bite of chill that will, in time, fade into the warmer rays of sunlight.

Around, early risers have begun their days, though, compared to usual, the morning is quiet, only a few people passing here and there, and as Preston steps out onto the street that runs past Cortech Consulting, no one is there to join him in his morning.

That is, until a crack resounds through the air, and a bullet goes whizzing past Preston’s head. It pings off the wall of the building behind him, and, off in the distance, the flash of metal can be seen on a rooftop, highlighted by the rising sun as a pair of footsteps come charging down the street from opposite ends.

If you hear the shot it’s not meant for you. Or something like that. But screw that, Preston is immediately sprinting off, beginning to tug at ballistic vest he carries around his shoulder – tugging it on over his head as he begins to run for any cover. It’s an office building, and fortunately Preston knows the area surrounding the building. Sprinting forward, to the north and then ducking into the nearby alley. Eyes darting around, scanning further down the alley. “Fucking hell,” he lets out under his breath. “The fuck did I do?” It’s very fortunate for him that he had just come from training, because he’s got weapons attached to the rucksack he wears. Slinging that ruck sack off, he squats and begins to gear up.

Preston even pulls on a helmet, for good measure.

Usually that saying might apply, but when a shout from above announces:

“He’s taking cover!”

Its pretty clear that… that shot was probably meant for him. The footsteps slow outside the alley, and by the time two men rush in, panting for breath and waving silver knives, Preston has had time to gear up completely.
“You bastard! We don’t want no wolf in our town!”
One of the men, this one really looking more like a boy than anything, shouts, lunging and swinging clumsily for Preston. The attack might have been easy to dodge, but its not much work in the end, as his grip slips from the weapon, and it clinks harmlessly against the alley wall.
“Damn it Mike!”
The other shouts, this one baring a long scar from temple to chin that leaves his right eye a patch covered ruin.
“Aim ‘for’ the wolf, not behind it!”
“Oh… sorry boss…” The boy, Mike, says, dropping his head. He looks to be just barely into adulthood, with a few whisps of a beard and a face still holding the last of baby fat from youth. His companion, on the other hand, is older. He has the look of jerky, tough and leathery, scarred, and, by the precision of his movements and stance, he knows what he’s doing, even if his friend doesn’t.

The men rushing into the alley has Preston’s attention now, eyes dart to the entrance – firearm raised and trained at them. Eyes track the slash from ‘Mike’ and he hesitates for a second, not quite firing off a round. Backing up, rifle trained he continues to walk backwards, checking behind him every so often, just in case someone is attempting to come up behind him. “Listen,” Preston calls down the alley. “I’m very certain you have the wrong guy. Because, I am not a wolf. Now, I would suggest turning around, and walking the other way.”

Lifting his wrist for just a moment, Preston speaks into the smart watch though, a hushed conversation between him and it. “Sam,” he says, voice level and calm. “Alley just north of Coretech. Some dumbasses think I’m a wolf, and are attempting to threaten me.”

“That’s exactly what a wolf would say!” Mike yells, earning a cuff to the head from his companion. “Shut up.”
Then, the scarred man points his knife at Preston. “I don’t care if your a wolf or a donkey. We don’t need ‘your kind’ in New Haven. Your all monsters, all of you.” He pulls out a pistol with his free hand (like a pistol will help against an assault rifle) and levels it at Preston. “Kal! Where the hell are you!”
There’s a scuffle from above, and then the barrel of a rifle points down over the rooftop at Preston. Though, either Preston is good at avoiding getting aimed at, or the sniper is ‘really’ bad at aiming.
“Here boss!”
A small ping notifies Preston that Sam is on his way.
The scarred man takes a few steps closer to Preston, gun still aimed. “I’m going to rid this Earth of another one of you filthy bastards. In the name of God—!”

Bang!

The rifle reports from above, a bullet sparking off the concrete, completely and utterly missing Preston. Another Bang! rings through the air as the pistol fires wildly, the aim that was once steady jumping up so the shot goes wide into the air. “Damn it Kal!” The scarred man roars, rushing at Preston with wild abandon, along with the sniper from above calling out weakly “Sorry boss…”

The man is still fairly far away from Preston, and he’s not so fast that Preston couldn’t outrun him if necessary. But he does still have that pistol clutched in hand. Mike is scrambling to retrieve his knife, and Kal is trying (and failing) to line up another shot.

Maybe Preston is just really, really lucky. It could be the case as each shot misses him. Preston still backs up, down the alley – putting more distance between himself and the man with the knife and the pistol. “Last fucking warning!” Preston calls out, rifle trained now. There’s a grim expression on his face. “You’re probably drunk, or high, or some other stupid bullshit. One more step, or one more shot? I’m shooting.” Bracing his rifle against his shoulder, he narrows his sights down. “Seriously, just fucking walk away.” There’s some suggestion in those words, some force. It might not work from this distance, but it’s another attempt at de-escalating without just going for an all-out war and ruining these streets.

The ping is registered – a blip in his brain that his friend is on the way. “Sam,” he murmurs softly. “Deal with the sniper on the roof, yeah? I know you’re close.”

“Last warning!” The leader shouts, levelling his pistol at Preston. “By the fires of God, we shall be victorious!” And then, in quick succession, two guns fire. One is the leader, aiming at Preston. The second is a misfire from the rifle as its owner yelps, the weapon clattering down to the alley as a body is forcefully tackled into the roof. Mike has recovered his knife, and, with a battle cry, he rushes at Preston, swinging wildly. The leader of the bunch, immediately after firing, rushes at Preston, knife coming out in a forceful slash, and while luck might be on Preston’s side… its also on his, it seems, as Preston would have just enough time to deflect the blow aside, preventing injury but sending him offbalance, or to take the slash.

Nope, talking it out didn’t work. So it’s time for violence. At least Preston gave reasonable warnings, probably more than someone else might. “Fuck,” he grunts, flattening himself against the wall as the pistol is squeezed. Luck? It seems it didn’t touch him, or he’s yet to feel the result of it hitting him. It’s really hard to say, adrenaline really can be one hell of a drug.

There’s about two option that Preston is left with, getting himself off-balance, or hoping on all hope that he can rely on luck and body armour to protect against that slashing knife. Preston opts for the latter option. His rapier isn’t held in his hand, it’s sheathed at his side, using the butt of his rifle he attempts to send a blow directly into the leader’s face, letting the slash hit wherever it may hit.

The butt of Preston’s gun crunches into the man’s nose, and, with the shriek of metal on metal, the knife scrapes against Preston’s armor. A sharp nick of pain is the result, a trickle of blood drawn from a scratch on Preston’s side. Something sharp hits Preston’s neck, chips from the bullet’s impact drawing little pricks of pain on Preston’s skin. Mike has started sprinting down the alley towards Preston, but the leader, staggering back and clutching his bloody nose, has dropped his knife. Above, the scuffle seems to have resolved itself, and Sam appears over the edge of the roof, taking aim at Mike as he runs. The sight of a weapon leveled at him has Mike stopped dead in his tracks.

The leader of this little gang of incompetent hunters is still reeling, giving Preston all the opening he needs. Its just up to him now to take it.

Preston grits his teeth against the sharp nick, and the scattering of shrapnel pricking his neck, but forward he marches. He’s a big boy, he can handle small pricks of pain. This is New Haven, and Preston has come up against dangerous things before. “Sam!” Preston calls upwards, “Hold.” It’s an order, and one that his loyal friend seems to obey. As Preston marches forward, rifle trained on the leader. “I told you to fucking turn around, and leave.” Preston stops now, muzzle of his fireaim pressed firmly against the leader’s chest. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he says, a grin creeping into his cheeks. “I was bored, so you’re fucking lucky.” That rifle is lowered quickly, and Preston just squeezes the trigger – shooting the man in the foot, and then the knee, and Preston kicks out – sending his boot right into that shot knee. “I’ll let you go home today, mm? But next time,” a free hand comes out, patting the man on the cheek. “Make sure you’re actually going after the right people, yes?”

The bones shattering in the man’s knee, along with his scream, tears through the alley as he drops like a marionette with its strings cut. Curling in on himself, its not even clear if he hears Preston’s words, locked in pain as he is. Nevertheless, with Kal subdued up top with Sam, Mike seems to have lost all the bravado he previously possessed, turning and running as fast as he can away from Preston. Aside from the crumpled man on the alley, and Sam up on the roof with the, presumably from the quiet, unconscious Kal, Preston is free to continue his morning as he wishes, hopefully unhindered by any more foolish attempts on his life.

And off Preston goes with his morning in fact, clicking his safety into place, and giving a very approving nod to Sam. “Thanks, owe you one.” And then he’s marching out – leaving the man in the alley with his broken leg.