Sun, Oct. 2nd, 2011, 09:29 am
Dio Pt. 3 - Discovery

  After that day, Graham changed. He became harder, colder, far more millitary than before. Malcolm and I were swept along in the wake of Graham's thirst for answers and revenge. We didn't mind. We wanted them just as badly as him. We pulled in favours lent to us. There was no shortage of dirt we'd gathered on politicians, high-profile businessmen and cops over the years, and we could use all the help we could get. 
Following lead after lead, we found the gang that did the deed, the Wolves. The Wolves had a bad name. Even the roughest gangs stayed clear of them. Strange things happened when people got involved with them. Some people called it black magic. Me? I don't believe in fairytales. I grew out of that a long time ago. Graham figured that the Wolves hadn't, though. Got it into their heads that they were sacrificing our people to some power. Well, it was time to sort them out. We were called the Blades for a reason, and three blades are enough to take down any beast.
We tracked down the Wolves' pack leader, Ralph Lyall. Ralph was a tall, hairy, beast of a man. His position fit him well. His eyes were golden, wild, bestial things that sent shivers down spines. His shaggy brown hair was matted and unkempt, reaching to his mid-back. Anyone stupid enough to be deceived into disrespect due to his derelict appearance found a knife in them. 
The Wolves' den was an old warehouse in the old dock district. There'd been a whole redevelopment project started in the area that was eventually forgotten about, leaving decrepit ruins of medium density housing, old shops and run down parks. All in all, it was a haven for those who wanted to move beneath the radar. Even the cops seemed to deny its existence in the scenic city of London.
I still remember what Ralph said in a creepy-ass voice when we found him: The sacraficial lambs have finally arrived. I wanted to knock his block off there and then, but Graham put his hand out to stop me, and for good reason. The glowing red dots in the shadows were eyes, and there was at least ten pairs. My right hand firmly was firmly grasping the grip of the dagger I'd stolen at the markets. 
It was a very tense few moments. My eyes were darting between those glowing red eyes and Ralph, who stood smirking on top of a rusted shipping container. The bastard had time to be grandiose with us so outnumbered.
'Why'd you do it, Ralph?' Graham asked in a level voice.
'He who sacrificeth unto any god, save to The Lord, shall be utterly destroyed,' replied Ralph, looking down on us. I'm pretty sure we were all perplexed by this. In our line of 'work', you don't meet many religious types. 
Malcolm scoffed at the words, stepping forward with a swagger. 'Who died and made you the high priest of this district?' He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Ralph. 'Rabid dogs need to be put down. Plain and simple.' I could see his finger tightening on the trigger. The mad bastard was actually going to do it. The thought just managed to fly through my head before the deafening blast of the shot filled the warehouse, echoing off the walls, around the old containers and through the derelict distric.
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