Demoniac

Morgue

Nightshift reformed in front of the Daxton County morgue. He easily slipped off the shadows and fell back into the physical world. Re-piecing himself together was a comfortable transition, though as a child it had taken him time to get used to. His parents taught him to hide it, as they had.

He watched the front entrance to the morgue as he approached knowing the doors would be nothing to keep him back and he could easily slip inside, but experience had taught him a quick survey of the area was always a simple but necessary precaution. Misting into a place blind wasn't a concern, but if he had to make his way back out, it was better to know his way around the place.

Nightshift lifted his cane and pressed it against his clothing. It melded into the fabric as if it belonged, like a drop to water. He had a skilled artisan craft it out of shadow, coaxing it from the darkness and tempering it into a sturdy cane. It was because of Nightshift's people that artisans could work with darkness. His kind bridged the gap between the physical and ethereal. The man who had crafted his cane had done a remarkable job with Halak's motorcycle, thanks to Nightshift's recommendation.

Nightshift stepped forward quietly and paced his way around the building. Looking around while riding the shadows would have certainly been much faster, but seeing things in that way skewed his perspective. He preferred rather to keep his mind in the physical as much as possible when trying to utilize spacial reasoning and predicting the routes of his enemies.

He stepped right and circled the building in a lazy strut, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. The air was cold, but he didn't feel it. Distant city lights glinted off the horizon like feral eyes and industrial night-lights shined along the outer walls of the morgue. He passed one with a graveyard of bugs stuck to the inside of the plastic covering, their kin buzzing in futility on the outside. It was like a zoo for the dead. He chuckled as he realized he was essentially doing the same thing.  Nightshift made the rest of his survey of the perimeter quickly.  He wanted to be careful, but he didn't feel like wasting any more time.  Besides, it was only a morgue. 

Rounding the other sides of the building and finding himself at the front again, he stepped up to the door.   He tried it, giving the handle a careful pull.  The doors were locked.  He peeked through the crack one more time and saw no light shining through.

Nightshift dissipated into the cracks between the doorways.  It was a strange sensation. It wasn't like falling apart and being brought together again, it was more like expanding to fill the space between, and then shrinking down again wherever he wanted.  He passed through the door and made his way through a second set of doors on the others side. 

Nightshift felt himself slam back together.  He stumbled and caught himself against the wall blinking to adjust to the white light that filled every direction.  They were bright and piercing and made the hallway feel coldly sterile, like nothing could live under such an intense glow.  Nightshift covered his eyes.  It wasn't that it hurt, but being slammed together so abruptly, especially when he wasn't expecting it, was jarring.  He couldn't ride shadows were there were none.  Shading his eyes and still blinking away the dizzying effects of the light he walked forward, feeling along the wall.  He found the switch and flicked it down.  The light dimmed but the hall was still illuminated from fixtures in adjacent hallways.  At least he wasn't blinded anymore. 

Nightshift walked along the hall, flipping off each light as he went.  His eyes had already adjusted but the darkness would be useful if he needed to make a quick exit.  As he approached another intersection of two hallways, he stopped.  He heard a door creek shut down a hallway.  He reached into the shadows and extended his senses, feeling for any activity, but his reach only went so far, dissipating where the lights grew bright again.