Some Kind of Monster: Prologue
Prologue: This Monster Lives
"Stop thief! After him, he's got the gem! Open fire; kill that bastard-- just don't let him escape with that blasted stone!"
By those words, his long night began at the crack and burst of semi-automatic. The unsettlingly melodic triple-tap of gunfire spread high above the rooftops in one long and echoing cycle that seemed to tax the limitations of one's ears; it was both cumbersome and loudly thus, yet the three-round-burst of each machinegun seemed to chime in eerie unison, causing the force of the racket to drive itself home harder. Subsequently, such was virtually murder on the eardrums. But as more peals of thunder tore through the reigning silence of the town, the sound of fleeting footsteps slowly clamored into range, four separate sets forming a marginally percussive strand; one of them raced far ahead of the clustered others. It was like the cadence of a drum roll just before a parade march, only with one drum beating hurriedly out of synch. It was the sound of a quick departure, a getaway, a clean heist now only awaiting the climactic grand escape.
Perhaps his judgment was unfounded, mostly influenced by the thrill of the chase and the heightened fear of being caught by those mongrels, yet he sped to left when he should have kept straight. This was a dead-end alleyway, more literally than the dark-haired cat-boy would have desired. He turned around and the dog-faced troopers in olive-drab were already upon him, bearing their rifles with hateful glares that he could actually feel etching into his consciousness like miniature daggers puncturing his throat. They wanted him dead. There was no mistaking that murderous intent lingering about like a stale odor cloud that simply refused to thin out. Even if he willingly returned what he took, they'd still slit his throat-- there would be no easy way out of this stick predicament, he realized.
He seduced her. With that pretty little face of his which boasted an almost feminine quality of radiant, ethereal beauty, and those disarming baby-blue eyes, how could any woman resist all five-feet-six of emasculatory feline? The sable-and-silver haired cat was a tiny little thing, barely out of puberty with his manhood intact, his voice having never matured past soprano. When he spoke, it was like listening to a woman's sultry moan resonating behind the fact that he was still male beneath all those clothes. When he moaned, the sound of an angelic choir hummed in unison, as seemingly innocent as the day was long. But it was all a farce in the end. The almond-skinned lad could exhume sweet saccharin from his pores if he desired and seemed as delicate as a china-doll, arms as slender as a woman's and a figure just as befitting beneath a red jacket and a black jumpsuit. For an established woman like Countess Evanna Violoné and her 'eccentric' tastes, he must have seemed like the perfect entrée in a sea of delicious hors d'oeuvres. That was the intended allusion, anyhow.
Of course, this was no time to be getting aroused, and he knew that well. The sight of a boner lumping beneath his suit wouldn't scare off the local law officials, no matter how large it was, and it certainly didn't help his predicament in the slightest, so he turned his thoughts to reflect upon something far less enticing-- the guns shoved in his face. He'd definitely have to do something about those.
The streets were remotely paved, with splotches of broken asphalt that must have been ignored long before they became as noticeable as they were now, the houses were pretty to look at but revealed shoddy craftsmanship when close enough to notice the leaning, poorly constructed architecture and framework, and the locals, when not sporting insanely high-priced brand names, were clothed in rags instead of riches. For a professional thief, this place held the same allure a two-dollar hooker had to a pimp: none. Cars were typically spares for regions that weren't populated by those oppressive humans, yet it was usually to see at least one household with the financial pull and tow to afford even a small sedan here or there. Violoné seemed more like a festering deathtrap, not a center of commerce and trade, save for the small interest in a particular jade sphere that had caught his attention from the attraction's listings in his tourist pamphlet, from the Kingdom of Preludia in the Fortissimo Continent to the northeast, to the secluded little continent of Intermezzo, and through the city limits of Violoné.
The fight took off without a chime or bell to signal the combatants, two soldiers rushing ahead in a blur that left the olive tint of their uniforms spreading in thin air as they launched themselves headlong into the fray with the butt-stocks of their rifles aimed to bludgeon the cat's scalp to the consistency of bowlful of mashed potato. Their feet assaulted the pavement in terse staccato, pattering violently as the came soaring up to the Seal-point Siamese. Seto's hand flickered like the dying light of a candlestick, his knuckles touching and departing the canine's cheek in a flurry of speed that left the imagination reeling in disbelief. The soldier's eyes darted to the left from the unprecedented force of the blow, but his lower jaw fluttered off to the right in a spray of hot vermillion mist.
"Shit, it's a Super! Lieutenant! The thief's a blasted Super!" the collie yelped. The Siamese's lips spread into a sinister grin that threatened to split his face in two, an insidious smile that spread from cheek to cheek.
"Well, well, well...looks like the tide has turned in favor of the underdog, huh? You might wanna put those guns to use, gentlemen...'cause I'm gonna enjoy tearing you two shmucks apart," He hissed. The shadows crept around him as if magnetically drawn from their murky corners, shrouding around him like a thick blanket of midnight black as he stalked ahead, pinning back the remaining hounds. The collie lost his nerve first and threw down his gun to flee, clawing at the steel dumpster while screaming at the top of his lungs about how he didn't want to die. The lieutenant, however, was of harder resolve; that or he was simply too paralyzed with fear to make a move. Whether by instinct of a creature about to fall prey to tooth and nail, or purely by incident alone, the Dane squeezed back on the trigger and issued a volley of hot lead sputtering from the muzzle of his gun. The fight for survival was on. Curiously, outside the alley, a small mouse nudged closer to the end of the dumpster, intrigued by the sounds it could hear on the other side. The tiny rodent squeaked in surprise when the voices began to yell at each other, followed by panicked cries.
"Lieutenant, help me!! Lieutennaaaan--aulgph!!"
"So it was this small, after all? Huh...go figure. Guys like that are all talk." He growled, tossing the shredded cock of his shoulder for the hungry mouse to nibble at, thankful at a decent meal for the night. Looking around, it wouldn't be long before more soldiers were called into action. Those who were smart enough to turn their lights off inside their homes were the real geniuses, rather than the gung-ho soldiers who raced into certain death without ever knowing that they never stood a chance. At least there were none foolish enough to come running outside to bear witness, although he could see a few pairs of eyes peeking through their blinds at him. He shrugged. It didn't matter. He would be out of town before daybreak and well out of reach. True, if his identity got out and word spread like wildfire through underbrush - which it typically did - that the wanted jewel thief was in town, there would be nowhere in Intermezzo that he could lay low for a while until a ship bearing to Fortissimo left port. Still, as he reached into his gym-bag and ran his hand across the smooth sheen of the emerald-green orb, he realized that this little excursion to Violoné had proven to be a lucrative one.
"This place sucks. Time to head home now that I've got what I came for." That was the basic idea, he had in mind. As much as he favored the idea of heading back to the Countess' place for a little more 'diplomacy', he was certain that his was the last face she wanted to see at this point. He needed to get home to Preludia as soon as a ship could carry him, before his contractor could lower their payment due to him taking longer than expected. He initially intended to jack up his rates at the last minute, anyhow, so he figured that turnabout was fair play. This was a legitimate business after all. He spared a glance back at the Countess' estate at the top of the hill, slowly bringing his hand to his lips to blow a kiss. Then he popped his cigarette back into his mouth and began to slip away into the cover of night. He had the Jade Hope, a treasure of immeasurable wealth. That was a heist he never imagined pulling off when his contractor first contacted him. But he'd done it. Now, only time would tell what the future would have in store for him.
"This place REALLY sucks..." he reiterated.