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</div><br/>The world was a shit hole that much was true, but Randall Brentwood knew better than most of what terrors lurked in the dark of the night. He had faced off against some of the most sinister monstrosities the world had ever known. The sort of creatures that children knew were real and hiding beneath their beds, but their parents had told them they were merely figments of their imaginations. No, those beasts were real and they hungered for either the flesh or souls of the everyday human, and Randall was one of the few stupid enough to fight them off.<br/><br/>He knew of other hunters, even working with them from time to time when a particular job proved too difficult. However, in his line of work one did not make long lasting friendships. It always ended with violence and bloodshed. A hunter's true send off was not celebrated with parades in their honor or rifles firing off into the cold morning air. No, they were remembered by whatever poor soul happened to be working with them long enough to build their funeral pyre if they were lucky. More often than not though they were left to rot where they fell, forgotten by all but those they had managed to save in the past.<br/><br/>The memories of fallen comrades and slaughtered innocents haunted his dreams, but the hunter had built up walls to protect himself from the feelings evoked by such thoughts. As such, he had become a shadow of his former self. Once he had cared for others deeply, so much so that it tore his heart to shreds with each fresh loss, but not anymore. Now he was a grizzled veteran whose only mission was to wipe out every last freak that had the unfortunate turn of luck to catch his eye.<br/><br/>He had even left the comfort of his original hunting grounds of Chicago where he had become well known among hunters and their prey alike. He missed his old stomping grounds, but there was evil everywhere, and he had decided long ago to take up the true mantle of a hunter and travel across the land in search of his next target. That was how he had come to the sleepy little town in southern Georgia where he had recently dispatched a particularly nasty spirit that was torturing a small family. The job had not been especially difficult, but it had cost the life of a father of two young boys before all was said and done. He chalked the man up as collateral damage and told himself that he couldn't save them all no matter how hard he tried, but it didn't fully take the sting of it away. He had simply walked away after dispatching the specter, leaving the family to their grief. It was not his way to accept thanks or admonishment for his actions. In the end they would be better off forgetting he even existed.<br/><br/>It was nearly two in the morning when Randall pushed his way into the dimly lit bar, and even though he was exhausted from his work he was in serious need of something to take off the edge. His eyes scanned the crowded automatically, not even thinking that he would find anything just working solely off of years of instinct. What he saw at the bar though was enough to stop him in his tracks if only for a moment. The young woman sitting there nursing her shot glass sent a flood of tortured memories through him that he had tried so long ago to forget. Apparently blood and alcohol alone were not enough to wipe the slate clean after all.<br/><br/>He strode up beside her and took a seat, his eyes never leaving the girl even when the bartender tried to get his attention. He could tell that she was ignoring him, and he was about ready to say something to her when she stood and paid for her drinks. He couldn't believe the gall this little bitch had, feigning ignorance when a man that she had known in her childhood sat not three feet from her. He muttered a name just barely high enough to pierce the music in the background, "Donatelli." Grabbing her wrist he jerked her roughly back to her seat and spun her stool around to face him head on.<br/><br/>"Leah Donatelli," Randall said with a hint of maliciousness in his voice, "I thought you and I had talked about this years ago. You became a fucking hunter anyways after what happened to your father? Do you realize I still have the scars from that night?" His grip tightened, torquing her wrist painfully as he glowered at her.<br/><br/>He had heard of a huntress that had prowled the streets of Chicago during his travels, and while he had always suspected it was her he had never bothered to return to the city to confront her. The years had hardened him to the point of not caring, but somewhere deep inside he had always wished he had the courage to face his old partner's daughter. Even though he had made a promise to William Donatelli on the man's deathbed he had failed to convince the girl to not follow in her father's bloodstained footsteps. For that he was sorry, but even so seeing her here and now filled him with a volatile mixture of sorrow and rage, and right then it was rage that was starting to win out.<br/><br/>"Has it really been so long that you don't recognize your old Uncle Randy?" The question was a dagger pointed directly at Leah's heart. While he wanted to believe that he could not actually hurt her in that moment he wanted nothing more than to slap some sense into her...