The night was warm. It was a miracle no fires had started. Even though it was the summer solstice, most people were out partying on the weekend instead of being stupid and starting fires. But the night was young, and there was still plenty of time for mistakes. Sampson was on call, because he was the fire marshal of his district, but he'd chased back a few shots of whiskey at his favorite bar. He was with his buddies, and there was a game on the big screen. They were all sharing a plate of nachos and just enjoying the night, really. It was rare that they got such peace in an evening. A lot of fires were started by accident, and very few were commercial fires. They hadn't had a fire bug in years. Sometimes Sampson was called out of his jurisdiction to help, especially when wildfires broke out.<br/><br/>He'd been obsessed with fire for a damn long time, and it wasn't good for his lungs. What was worse was his smoking addiction. Tobacco and nicotine were rapidly pulling him towards an early grave, though he'd been lucky not to get cancer, yet. The scruff on his face was shaved close, hair and beard a sandy blonde with startling gray-blue eyes. He'd been single for a long ass time, and really had no interest in picking up another. Everyone at work knew he was gay. But work meant more to him than anything. Even relationships. And since it was pretty inevitable that he was going to die early he didn't want to worry about such things. Every once in a while he picked up a one night stand, but even that was getting increasingly rare.<br/><br/>When the game ended, Sampson parted ways with rest of his pals. He was full, happy. No reports had come in and he was pleasantly buzzed. He actually didn't live very far from the bar, so it was easy to walk home. He was dressed in a button down shirt and jeans. Since his place was only ten minutes away, even if he got paged for a fire he could easily get home and into his fire gear, or to the fire station to change quickly. It unnerved him, how quiet it was. Something just wasn't right about it. The neck pricked on the back of his neck before he was suddenly grabbed and wrenched down a small, dark side road. Dark in the fact that the street lights weren't worked. Pitch black, the road was gravel, hardly used.<br/><br/>He kicked out, trying to fight, but he was disoriented due to the alcohol. Instead he tried to drop his body weight, but another body slammed against him. He fell against the first, and his arms and legs were quickly restrained. There was a sharp pain his neck, like needles stabbing into his flesh. The other began tearing at his clothes. Male rape was far more rare than female rape, but it wasn't unheard of. He screamed through the hand over his throat, but any jerking sent the pain even worse through his neck. There was nothing he could do, and he wasn't even aware of the others lining up to take their turn. The first hadn't even started. His senses felt muddled, and the group of demons (he didn't know what they were) spoke in a language he couldn't discern. He didn't even know that another was about to join in the fun. He was just absolutely paralyzed with fear and terror.