<strong>Outside Cafe Georgio's, One Week Previous</strong><br/><br/>Since the cafe was closed, the parking lot was nearly empty except for a single car, a midnight blue sedan which bore a number of bumps and dents.  Vehicles were capable of withstanding a decent amount of abuse, but like humans, they always bore scars to mark the terrible occasions.<br/><br/>The scene in the alley was an absolute mess.  A portable electric lantern sat upon a trash can to illuminate the grisly scene, where a number of bodies were situated.  One was nothing less than a corpse, dead for months and bearing the fetid stench of rotted flesh.  From the looks of things, it had been put through the agony of gunfire, baseball bats and even axes.  In the end, its head had been cleanly severed from the rest of the body.<br/><br/>Two others were nothing but charred black skeletons, covered in soot and ash as if burned to death by horrific flames.  It looked as though they had been bathed in chemical fires, or something else so powerful that modern science would have had to go well out of its way to even try to replicate the effects.<br/><br/>The other men were dressed in biker gear.  The man with the axe laying by his side also had his phone on his lap, splayed out with various black scars that looked to have been caused by fires, but nothing short of molten metal could have made such terrible burns across his chest, arm and thighs.  All three of them had similar wounds, although one of the three had already had an arm and both legs burned clean off.  A charred set of bones lay next to his huddled form, and he was clearly in shock, quivering and trying to hold on.  Such a person might be able to be saved in a hospital room, but definitely not in an alley by a single doctor.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://img5.imageshack.us/img5/1691/ripvw.jpg)</div><br/>The man in biker gear who still had both arms and wasn't wielding the axe and phone had a can of spraypaint, and was solemnly marking the wall of the alley with a strange symbol.  It seemed to be almost a ritualistic type of behavior, and he seemed not to want to be disturbed.<br/><br/>"I got about $200," the man with the phone said, whose voice matched the one she'd heard upon the phone.  "Whatever you can do for that, I'll be happy to accept.  If that's not enough, just deal with the others and don't worry about me."  The hack he gave afterwards was either from the terrible smoke he'd inhaled, indicative of damage to his lungs, or both.