<div style="
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display: flex;
margin: auto;
max-width: 600px;
flex-direction: row;
align-items: center;
flex-wrap: no-wrap;
justify-content: space-evenly;
overflow: hidden;
background-position: 100%;
align-items: left"><div style="margin:auto;
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height: 550px;
width: 500px;
background-image: URL(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/f4/f6/04/f4f604e439de50b2b39cc5340b1ee2b5.jpg);
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background-position: 60% 0%;
font-size: 0.5px;">pink box</div><div style=" /*background*/
height: 550px;
width: 700px;
padding: 10px;
margin: auto;
position: 100px;
opacity: 0.8;
background-image: URL(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9a/76/80/9a76804d072a3687ccd94b8a896c87d6.gif);
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"><br/>
<br/>
<div style="margin:auto;
margin-top: 0px;
max-width: 400px;
height: 80px;
font-family: times new roman;
font-size: 35px;
color: #ffffff;
text-align: center;
text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px black;">ryke bright</div><div style=" /*text box translucent*/
top: 0px;
margin: auto;
overflow: auto;
padding: 15px;
height: 400px;
width: 300px;
color: black;
font-family: times new roman;
position: relative;
background: white;
opacity: 0.85;
font-size: 13px;">He felt nothing.<br/>
<br/>
Even staring down at the body of a man that had once lived, breathed had walked the earth for years, searching for purpose. Sometimes, he waited for an inkling of emotion to creep into his mind after killing -- doubt, guilt, confusion, sadness, fury. <i>Anything. </i>But it never came. Ryke couldn't pinpoint the exact time he'd learned to disassociate from his emotions and disconnect from reality in the sense it caused him to feel so <i>out of touch </i>with other people that roamed the earth. Even as he brought his attention back to the picture on Jason Henderson's social media account that'd lured him to his unit, standing next to his smiling partner, he felt nothing.<br/>
<br/>
At what point does a man turn into nothing but a weapon when they can kill so easily, without a second thought? As a product of war, perhaps he'd turned into just that; able to relate more to the pistol in his pocket than the deceased man at his feet.<br/>
<br/>
The flickering of light wavered at his feet, casting irregular shadows across the facade of the line of units. The clatter of quickened footsteps, splashing through the shallow pools of water in what sounded like boot-cladded feet advance towards him. Ryke stiffened, knowing he was vulnerable in the open air, with a body at his feet. What was someone doing walking around at 2am on a Tuesday evening? Ryke clenched his jaw as his hand simultaneously reached back into the pocket, gripping the pistol firmly as he remained with his back to the oncoming intrusion.<br/>
<br/>
<i>He-hello?! POLICE! Is everything okay?!<br/>
<br/>
Fuck. </i>He didn't often have run-ins with the law, but tonight seemed like it was unfortunately the night for it. Everything had gone suspiciously smoothly, until now. Sharpened auditory perception honed in on the person behind him, who he had dubbed as female and somewhat young after momentarily studying her call. The light of the torch ceased. Ryke knew if there was a window of opportunity, that would've been in; while the tucked the torch away and began to evaluate the situation presented before her.<br/>
<br/>
In a single movement that could've been described as a blur, he spun around to face the woman, concurrently recovering the pistol from his pocket and pointing the barrel toward her. The weapon felt stable in his grip, poised and ready to fire as he took a predatory step toward her. His eyes darted to the radio, watching as her finger hovered over the transmit button, gun pointed between her eyes. He knew police officers wore bulletproof vests. Firing at her chest would only bruise her ribs at best. The sacred space between her eyes was sure to elicit more permanent damage.<br/>
<br/>
"Put the fuckin' radio down," Ryke growled, "Or you'll endure the same fate as him." A bitterness laced his words, filled with promise and a hint of malice. He wasn't fond of killing people without reason. In fact, it was one thing he <i>despised. </i>But the nature of the job unfortunately often led to innocent victims caught in the crossfires of the underworld dealings. If he had to, he'd shoot her if it meant securing his own safety. <br/>
<br/>
Thunder crackled in the distance behind them. The rain had slowed to a light, uncomfortable mist. It wasn't enough to distract Ryke, yet the heaviness of his coat became evident, the hood drawn over his head wrapped around his face as the water-drenched cotton struggled to maintain its shape. Misty breaths skated through the air as his warm breath blended with the cold. Ryke studied the officer, wondering if it was indeed fear he'd detected within her eyes.<br/>
<br/>
Acknowledging he had the upper hand, Ryke strode forward again, closing the gap between them. The warmth of the barrel of the pistol connected with the soft curvature of her jaw, forcing her head to cock upwards. He deliberately pressed his body flush against hers, concealing the view of the bodycam he knew she wore. At least if someone was to watch back, he'd have a chance at concealing his identity.<br/>
<br/>
"Do not test me. My patience is already fuckin' thin," he warned lowly, "Do as I say and you might leave in one piece." As if to reinstate his threat, Ryke inched the gun closer against her throat. The jumping of her pulse became evident, thumping against the confines of her neck as he lowered his gaze for a split second. Fear was admirable, <i>beautiful </i>almost. The sight of a bird threatened and held within the paws of a cat, unsure what its future might hold.<br/>
<br/>
"Take off your body cam. Reach for your gun or try anything silly and your brain matter will paint the concrete."<br/>
<br/>
</div></div></div><div style="font-family: times;
font-size: 10px;
font-style: italic;
color: #FONT COLOR;
text-align: center;
position: relative;
text-shadow: 2px 3px 3px #SHADOW COLOR;">code by saffron</div>