Yeah, Tuesdays freakin'<span style="font-style: italic">suck</span>.<br/><br/>Saul batted the Vamp's ice pick arm aside with his own, the pick missing his carotid artery by inches. He headbutted the monster in the face, the dull pain in his forehead awarded with a visceral crack as the abomination staggered back in pain. He followed up with a throat punch and a kick to the groin before grabbing the vamp's head and bringing it down on his knee. It was dazed.<br/><br/>NO QUARTER GIVEN. NO MERCY TO THAT WHICH SHOULD NOT BE.<br/><br/>He slammed the vampire's head into the wall. Then he did it again and again and again. He didn't stop until he saw a very pronounced, very detailed dent in the cheap material. It collapsed, unconscious from the beating. The fight lasted twenty seconds.<br/><br/>He'd fought the good fight against the Orlock Cartel for the better part of a year now. Slavers, murderers, rapists, drug dealers, the lot of them. They were scum--a cancer to be excised from society before it metastasized into something truly uncontrollable. He had made some progress in the past few months. A few enforcers arrested here. A successful conviction there. But it wasn't enough. He fought a losing battle, but it was something he couldn't simply leave. Not while there were still people he could save. Not while monsters still went bump in the night.<br/><br/>Saul bent down and hauled the vampire up by his armpits. Cripes, this guy was heavy. He'd probably fed only moments ago.<br/><br/>'Bryan. Frigging Tuesdays, am I right? Come on. Get this guy's legs and we'll talk once he's disposed of. Doesn't seem very mature, so a little bit of sunbathing ought to do him in for good.'