Ethan wrinkled his nose as the aerosol fumes wafted into his mask, a shallow breath held still in his lungs as the nozzle of the spray can hovered over the stencil, laying down a layer of black paint. The spray paint sputtered and hissed as the fine mist of paint gave way to a gurgling gout. A small growl emanated from behind the barn owl visage the young man wore, its dark acrylic lenses boring a hole into the spent can. Though the mask itself was as stoic and neutral in expression as the bird it was crafted after, if one looked long enough it almost managed a look of disgust as Ethan threw the spent can over his shoulder, the hollow aluminum cylinder clattering off into the dark of the alley. To Ethan's dismay, the card stock stencil was wearing out too; another use after this and he doubted the image would be recognizable. Replacing that was no big deal, but it would mean that there would be no more tags placed tonight. He had planned on at least three more... the telephone pole down at the corner, the back of the bus stop, and at the entrance to the park.<br/><br/>The park...<br/><br/>In the handful of weeks that he had been at this vigilante work, the park had seemed to mock him. Unusually large for a city of this size, it was impossible for him to ever completely clear out and maintain. The place practically brought in the Freaks like bugs to a streetlight, and he was getting stretched out thin as it was just keeping the cleared areas, well, clear. It would appear that he had reached the limit of what he could handle... a meager handful of blocks. When he had started this endeavor, Ethan had only sought to clear his own neighborhood, which he had accomplished and then some. In the end, all he was really doing was just shoving the threat into the surrounding areas, heightening the danger for the people who lived there. A small stab of guilt struck him, but what else was he supposed to do? Continue to live as though it was situation normal, while knowing for a fact that creatures of the night ran amok at night?<br/><br/>It seemed that there was always some sort of violent crime on the local news or in the paper... So-called animal attacks, missing persons... Occasionally, you would have somebody found with their throat slashed, the blood drained from the corpse. Of course, nobody suspected a thing because of the gore created by the act covering a scene. Ethan though, he knew better... Memories of flashing teeth and blind panic rose to the surface for the briefest of moments before he banished them to the deepest parts of his mind, but it was enough to make him shiver in spite of the balmy summer night. A sudden rattle of trash from behind snapped him out of his reflections, tape-wrapped hands diving into the front pouch of his navy blue hoodie. When they emerged, both grasped a pair of sinister sickle-like knives in a reversed grip, his index fingers fitted into the rings at the end of their hilts.  Feet planted, knives raised to guard against whatever horror might lurk in the shadows, he stood ready, occasionally looking above and behind him in anticipation of an attack from any directionâ€¦ Ethan swore under his breath at the fat tabby that trotted out of the shadows before him, half tempted to punt the creature into the dumpster as it rubbed into his leg, meowing loudly.<br/><br/>â€œGo on, get!!!â€ Ethan hissed, nudging the portly feline away with his shins. Satisfied that if anything other than the cat had been lurking about it would have struck a moment ago when his guard was down, Ethan sheathed the karambits inside of his hoodieâ€™s pouch. Pulling the stencil off the side of the building he had tagged, he tore the spent paper and tossed it into a nearby dumpster. Shouldered his backpack, the freshly-painted black outline of a barn owl stared at him from the brick wall. Walking the sidewalks in this getup just would not doâ€¦ one phone call from a concerned citizen about a mask-wearing hooligan and he would have to worry about dodging cop cars as well as demons. So instead, he would head home the way he came. This was one of the oldest parts of the city, and fortunately the spaces between nearly every building on the block were three or four feet tops, with some building having no space between them at all. Combining his need for clandestine movement and the planning of this part of the city, parkour was the perfect answer. Clambering up the fire escape and onto the rooftop, he made ready to make his run back home after what was so far an incident free night.