It was almost midnight, the cold rushing wind the only sound in the empty, deserted streets.
Someone had been following the detective ever since he left the public-house. This had not been a social visit; he had been looking for information, seeking to loosen a few tongues with the help of the local brew. It had been another waste of his time, his mood as black as the night around him.
A sound behind him made him pause, and he waited for the person to come into view. When no one appeared, he knew he had been mistaken, due no doubt to being more than a little drunk and frustrated.
Something hit the side of his head as he stood at the side of the road, something hard and painful. He had been right, after all. His senses began to fail as the pain in his head intensified, his sight the first to go. As his knees buckled, he reached up, his fingers touching the alien object that was protruding from the side of his head.
The shock of realising what was happening accelerated his system failure, and he collapsed, his head hitting the road hard. As he lay dying, someone knelt down beside him. He couldn’t see who it was, whether they were friend or foe, but he had the feeling it didn’t matter anymore anyway.
The last thing he felt were the icy fingers on his face…