<strong>Piledriver Lane</strong><br/><br/>"That's George's favorite toppings," the man in the fraternity letters said, glancing over to Greg with a bit of confusion.  "Maybe he ordered?"<br/><br/>"Not a chance."  Finely coated in blood from the arms down, as well as his face, something about Greg just seemed purely unnatural.  His flesh seemed to shimmer and crawl as if something beneath was trying to get out, or forcing his movements.  At the mention of the blood, he kept his gaze tightly on her.  "What are you talking about?  Everything is fine."  His eyes briefly flickered crimson and ebon for just a moment, staring intensely at her, but if he was trying to do something, it wasn't having any effect.<br/><br/>Leaning into the house made it clear where the sound was coming from.  One of the doors was closed, the doorknob stained further with blood.  Yet the cry for help had been much louder than should have been possible, as if it had been somehow amplified to make sure that Lorraine had heard it.  From inside came the sound of another man chanting whispers, similarly amplified from what should be inaudible from this distance.  The doorman looked very nervous at the mention of the other girl.  "How does she...?"<br/><br/>"Shut up, Brandon!"  Greg moved over closer towards Lorraine, wafting over the stench of blood and death with him.  He reached into his wallet, pulling out a $20 and offering it to her.  The crimson on his hands caked off as he offered her the bill.  "This is all about getting a better tip or something, right?  Just take it and go."  Another flicker came from his eyes, but still without any sort of clear effect.