I don't see anyone as I move back through the house and exit from the rear-door. The part that talks to me in my head tells me that the people I can sense are under my control and have been told to keep out of my way.

I smile.

Once on the street, I walk as fast as I can from these well-lit streets to the darker areas where sport can be found. These places move and change with an unknowable pattern, but there is something about blood on cobbles that draws me each time.

Maybe it's the smell. Maybe it's something more; the taste of violence in the air.

On this night, this tang in the air that draws me is mixed with the sour stench of the river, and I find myself moving between the buildings down at the dockside. There, thin timber bows and shifts as I walk past, trying to move aside for me. I hear movement and head for the door where a thick fog of sweat and breath curls up into the night air from within.