Tricks and traps, shadows and smoke, that all this was. A game. One that Ryah wanted no part of. But one, he had a feeling, he was being forced to endure regardless. The vampire knew he was hurt, weakened, but he was pretending to him go. The fact that he knew Ryah was bleeding, could smell the blood?<br/><br/>Maybe Ryah couldn't lose him on foot but the maze of the subway system might have been able to do the trick. He had to stop after a while, catch his breath. His arm felt tight in the way it did when blood was drying, sticking to his shirt and jacket. He'd really liked this jacket, goddamn it.  Maybe he could salvage it, if he were lucky.<br/><br/>There was a clatter and Ryah whipped his head around, hackles rising. When he saw that it was a rat, real vermin, that had landed on a garbage can, knocking the lid to the ground, he fought back a snort.<i>An actual R.O.U.S.</i>, he thought to himself. Then something occurred to him, making him chuckle dryly to himself. For all that he liked to call vampires vermin, he was feeling more like the mouse in this cat-and-mouse chase.<br/><br/>After a minute, the hunter straightened up and took off at a trot. The closest metro station was a block or two away; it was a hub too, Pennsylvania Station. He could catch one of multitude of lines, lose the vermin on his tail, and get back to the hotel to shower and heal.