New Hunting Grounds

A cool fog hung over the harbor of Gateway City like a Sunday veil, clear as a graveyard mist. It's a night that's quiet and calm aside from the horns of cargo ships coming in and out. As a green crate was being loaded upon the deck, crewmen began to prepare to unload the crates before it. Opening up the green crate, one of the loaders went to check the cargo within the crate.

No sooner had he barely cracked an opening with a crowbar did a clawed hand clasp around the worker's throat. Grasping at the hand, the poor soul couldn't escape the vice-like grip preventing him from uttering the slightest scream. He felt cut from nature's precious gift to man known as oxygen, his vision starting to go dark. The last thing he saw before everything turned black were two vertical, amber eyes peeking out of the crate. Before long, the dock loader's neck went 'snap' as his windpipe broke like a toothpick.

A large burly figure peered out of the crate. No one saw him. Good. He carefully tossed the carcass into the crate as he used the darkness of the mist-covered night to aid in his escape from the bustling night work of the ship yard. He made it through the city using the long alleys ignored by the masses. He came across a drunk bum wearing an oversized trench coat and a gray winter hat and ended his life with a single stab in the jugular with his sharp, metallic-looking claws. The gurgling noise emitted from the unwanted soul was ceased after a quick rip of his throat.

The intimidating figure threw the corpse into the dumpster the bum was sitting against, but after putting on the large overcoat and winter hat. His identity now concealed, the stranger was able to blend in with the citizens as he passed under the dim lights glowing from the various buildings and skyscrapers.

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, a squad of GCPD's SWAT team were en route in transferring a dangerous meta-human to Reform Island where she could be locked up and have the key thrown away. They had one squad car in the front and another in the rear. All they had to do was make their way to either the docks or the airport and drop the criminal off so that she can be someone else's problem. Sitting in the driver's seat and leading this entourage of blue bloods was Detective Mike Schorr, a Caucasian male in his late 30's with brown wavy hair and brown eyes. Like the rest of the squad, he was dressed in protective police gear with the GCPD badge on each of his shoulders with large yellow initials "G.C.P.D" on his chest.

"Look alive, people," he said loud and clear to his team through the radio mic. "We're coming to the halfway point of our route." He looked down at the route laid out by his superiors. They were taking a less obvious route away from the public eye in hopes of less casualties and less attention drawn to them. The team were armed with armor piercing rounds and tranquil darts strong enough to take down the tough bastards like King Shark and Bane. If that wasn't enough, they had tasers with enough voltage to knock out an coked-out criminal in less than ten seconds with adjusting volume. All he can hope for is for this to go smoothly without any hiccups.

Little did Detective Schorr realize that they were about to get unexpected company. For right on top of one of the buildings was the cloaked stranger. As soon as he saw the police entourage, a wicked grin took shape on his face as the glow from the city lights glistened off his sharp fangs. It was time to play.

Timing it right, he discarded his hat and coat to reveal what he was wearing this whole time. A tan bodysuit with a large furred collar, and the claw mark motif that informs all of his later costumes begins here. Talon-like claws emerged from his elbows, and he wore a headdress that covered his ears and cheeks but left most of his hair exposed.

Without hesitation, he jumped on the back of the squad car behind the SWAT van. He immediately went to work ripping the hood of the squad to reveal two confused and frightened cops. When one of the cops tried to radio his superior, the stranger slashed and ripped the cop and his partner to death. Not wasting time, he leaped onto the top of the SWAT van and ripped open some of the top of it off. Seeing the surprised boys in blue, his grin returned only wider and leaped inside.

Mike and the driver heard a thud from on top of the van. "Schorr to car #24, we got some commotion going on top of us. Can you tell us what's going on up there?" No answer. He tries again, still no answer. Both he and the driver soon heard muffled screaming coming from the back. Something was terribly wrong.

Meanwhile in the back, the murderous stranger looked over his massacre with satisfaction. He turned his attention to the prisoner of interest. "Cheetah?"

Heavily restrained in a container big enough for one and muzzled was the dangerous criminal known as Cheetah. She was formerly a British archaeologist and heiress to a vast fortune in her ancient family seat in Nottinghamshire. Now she was woman granted with the powers of a cheetah complete with the animal appearance save for full, shoulder length red hair. "I am," she said. "Am I to assume you're Victor Creed?"

"You'd be correct," the blood-covered man said. "But I'm better known as Sabretooth. Whichever you prefer is no difference to me."

Snatching up both security cards, Victor slid them both into the key inserts and turned one counter clockwise and the other clockwise at the same time. Turning green, a click and some whirls accompanied the unlocking of Cheetah's restraints. Free from her bonds, she kicked the lid open and walked out.

Her green eyes flashed with delight being free at last. "Shall we go then?" Minerva asked her rescuer.

"After you, spots," he grinned at her, gesturing to the hole above them. Smiling wickedly, Cheetah leaped out of van with Sabretooth following after her. They leapt through the streets and disappeared into its dark underbelly.

Just as they escaped, the cars screeched to a halt. With weapons at the ready, Detective Schorr, along with the remaining officers, immediately got out of their vehicles and rushed over to the van. On the count of three, the two officers from the front car threw the doors open with Mike and the driver ready to open fire.

What they got instead was a bloody and gory mess that almost made one of the officers gag. Mike frowned in disdain and spoke through the radio mike. "Base, this is Detective Schorr. I'm sad to report that the prisoner has escaped and…we got ten officers down." He sighed. Chief Akins was gonna be up in arms about this. He looked at the hole in the SWAT van. Who or what could have done this? It could only mean that trouble was back in their city.