The Prisoner

Abiathar held his laptop case close to his chest and he trudged through vacant streets, his weak human eyes barely able to distinguish what was directly in front of him.

Pausing, he drew his phone from his pocket, alerted by the vibrations on his upper thigh. A soft blue light pulsed on the upper portion of the screen, signifying a new text message.

"Location and time of arrival, please." The message was short and to the point, typical for his Guildmaster Infinity. The fae was never known as a man of heavy conversation.

Scratch, scratch.

Abiathar's fingers paused over the key board of his phone, blood turning to ice water in his veins. His head shot up, searching for the source of the noise.

Scratch, scratch.

In the dumpster in front of him, something was moving.

Driven by fearful curiosity, Abiathar crept closer, sparks of electricity dancing across his arm. Something started to stir again, and Abiathar's eyes were locked on it. It seemed to be buried under the mound of trash.

He relaxed, shaking his head. Probably just a cat. I'm too skiddish sometimes.

Right at that moment, a massive, tattooed arm wrapped itself around Abiathar's neck from behind, locking him in a choke hold. He felt the barrel of a pistol knock against his skull.

"Don't move," a deep voice growled, hot breath falling against his ear.

A dark blur shot out from the dumpster, orange feathers scattering on the pavement. A tall man's feet slapped the ground inches away from Abiathar, two bright green eyes glimmering in satisfaction.

"Hello, Abiathar Norton," the man in front of him snarled, licking his jagged fangs, "We have some questions for you."

Author's Note- we're off to an excellent start, huh? gotta love a good cold opening.