Angel of the damned
Isabelle recognized him, and then asked him what she did wrong. The man didn't answer, but stared at her with emotionless eyes. The noise at the club room seemed to have quietened.
"I knew I shouldn't have done it." She said to herself.
Earlier that day, she had experimented with her newly discovered abilities. She had been able to make light objects levitate a few inches into the air, and move them to new positions over very short distances. She had been so overwhelmed, and excited that she had forgotten about the implications in the very near future. She had forgotten about the methodizers; they were like law enforcers, but for supernatural causes. Formerly she had not been accounted for in their catalogue of paranormal beings, because everyone including she had thought her human. But her experiments had caused a disturbance in their catalogue, thereby alerting them of a stray - her.
She had always thought them plain - looking nerds who sat in front of computers all day, but the one in front of her proved her wrong. His muscles were well defined, he was tall and dark, and his face was well sculpted and reflected no emotions. To her, in summary, he was on fire. He wore a black shirt, black trousers, a pair of black combat boots and those customized weapon holders that resembled belts. In fact, he had a gun on him right now, and that was the only weapon she could take account of.
"You'll have to come with me." He boomed.
She thought his deep voice rich, and somehow didn't feel apprehension. But the gun was pointed at her now, and if she tried anything idiotic, she would get a life changer. Not that the gun would shoot a bullet - those types of guns were rarely used nowadays - but she knew whatever would be shot out of that gun would either paralyze her with excruciating pain or cleanly chop off a part of her body, or do worse things to her. She didn't want that; she wanted to be whole till she grew old, if she had the chance to grow old.
She watched him walk towards her with a hand - cuff - sort - of - object.
"Whoa, hold it." She said albeit her fear of the gun pointed at her. Her mind begged her to shut her mouth, but her mouth refused to comply.
"Can we just do this unceremoniously? I don't want to lose my customers."
The music at the club room started again, but not as loud as before. The man tucked the hand - cuff - sort - of - object into the weapon holder, but still held the gun at her.
"This place will soon be closed down." He let a little smirk escape. She would have thought it attractive, if she hadn't just been mocked.
"Well I don't want to lose customers before it closes down. And after that, you'll show me my next source of income." She retorted angrily.
Annoyed the man pushed her towards the door, oh not so gently, and pulled the gun away from her but cautiously held it beside him.
