Percy lurked in the shadows of New York’s central park, scowling as he watched the beat cops push the ever present bums from the benches. Their presence was making his dinner harder to come by, pushing him to new and more interesting lengths to find a kill. Anson and Arthur had given him too many excuses to put off a proper hunt lately. His skills
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"Fuckin' hell...." He muttered, trying to get his footing again, eyes darting from side to side.
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Hissing he rolled to his stomach, pushing up on his hands and knees as he looked around.
"Fuckin-," he stopped, a sudden (unwelcome) memory creeping slowly to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to breathe out slowly. "Where are you?"
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