The Nightman (Extract From [TheNumismatist]) THE NUMISMATIST (THE NIGHTMAN EXTRACT) DRAFT #3 By Benjamin Alldridge The Nightman approached, taking gradual, steady strides. Psy was backed into the corner, such as the cat traps the mouse. The Nightman had a determined look about him, and much like the predator, was focused intently. He was wearing a long duster jacket, which was almost scraping along the arid gravel at his feet. His Stetson hat completed the ensemble, casting a shadow over his eyes. There was a single light above a trashcan to the left of Psy. The dim glow radiated onto the pile of garbage which was stacked at the ground. The light was warm, and provided the energy & small fragment of hope needed to suppress his fear, his fear of the smoky outline almost looming over him. Psy let out a steady, deep breath & closed his eyes for a moment. As he cautiously opened them, he regained a blurred focus as the Nightman lunged forward, gracefully but ferociously sliding the blade in to Psy’s torso, pushing until the tip scratched the wall behind him. Psy let out a muffled, shallow groan as the pain sent his entire body into shock; pain piercing every cell and slicing through every positive thought of recovery. He started to glance upward to his undertaker, taking a moment to look him in the eye. His face was now ripe with accomplishment, and as Psy accepted his fate and began to slip, unwillingly, to unconsciousness, the Nightman presented him with a smile. A cheeky grin that was evidence of a pure psychopathic monster. His hat still covered the top half of his face, shading his eyes from direct contact. Psy felt unfulfilled in his task to stare down his murderer, although trying to force a Nightman to show compassion or empathy was no simple feat. As Psy’s body failed, with the blade still being forced upon the wall behind him, the Nightman leaned forward and whispered, "Heavy minds hold a heavy price." Psy accepted the words as a final blow of sorts. His body ultimately failed him. The light above the trashcan dimmed, plunging the entire alleyway into blackness. *** “Boss, we’ve found him. Intel I received this morning says that he’s in hiding in the forbidden zone. He’s apparently communicating via satellite, but he’s good. We are unable to trace his exact location, in fact we can’t find any evidence supporting the theory that’s he’s there at all. I need your permission to send a team down to the area to scout for us.” {THE BOSS} sat in his large leather chair, with his elbows on the table and his fingers over his mouth. He tilted his head up to look at Ron and gave him an solid stare. Placing his hands upon the polished wood, he said, “If I give you permission, and the team does not return. You will be held fully responsible. Alternatively, you may lead this team, and in this case, you may take what you need, and I wish you the best of luck.”