Gordon shot through the fog, his heavy footfalls like a war drum cutting through the cool night air. He clenched his fists in anticipation. The figure was slowing. His blood roared through him, hot and fast. It wouldn't be long. The thrill of the hunt. It never got old.
He leaped. The man stumbled, a look of horror washing over his features. Gordon fell short, but the man was cornered. In his haste to escape he had taken a wrong turn. A dead end. He panted, scrambling at the walls around him, like a cornered animal.
Just as he got a foothold, Gordon grabbed the back of his collar and threw him to the ground. Face first. He scrambled but Gordon quickly pinned him to the asphalt.
Something inside Gordon growled. Hungry. Eager. Bloodthirsty. The tattoo on his hand burned. He wanted to. He needed to. But he didn't. He fought it. With a groan Gordon pulled the handcuffs out of his back pocket.
“The things I put up with in this job.”