An alleyway, cold and stained with the red liquid, the smell of a meat factory hung above their heads and to the cannibals and normal sane people, you're all welcome here. Apart from one sane fellow, his eyes grey from the rain down his face, one side of his face, human, the other side was injured, brought to justice if you may. The policemen have a habit, you should know.
The male stood tall, his chances of being corrected, long sure had gone. The male was Paul Murphy, a former MI6 agent from the government's legal actions to the mind over matters. It was all him. Now a rebel, under the grey skies.
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"OI! GET DOWN FROM THERE YOU BLOODY IMBECILE! OTHERWISE I'LL HAVE TO CALL THE REST OF THE LADS!". That was a policeman, looking up at the rebel, his cold thundery eyes met the ocean tint of the others, the male laughs, not all saying anything, holding his dart gum and lead pipe style weapon in his hand, "Or what?. His voice agitated, he got himself down, using that pipe of his, standing in the eyes of the law enforcement, he held his lead pipe high, before. *whack*. The male battered him, with every hit, *thrash* policeman's face a bloody shell, until the final blow onto his face, *Crunch with a squelch.*.
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He stood tall against the corpse and and hit another blow to the face. It was a mess, a rather disgusting mess, like a child's bedroom, but without the toys and whatever kids were into. The male smiled and walked off. His eyes remained cold, hallucinating his memories before him, he went down a street, the alleyway, talking to someone,someone he has never met, another rebel, just like him, by his side, he spoke while lighting a cigarette, smoking it, despite being a non smoking area, right next to an abandoned hospital. "They call me Paul Murphy. You don't forget a name like that. Especially mine my dear.". The woman looked at the male, her green eyes met his, out of fear and frustration. She pulled a gun on him, standing up, threatening to shoot him down, she was afraid of him. "Clifton. Kimberly Clifton". Her voice that of Scottish or Irish. Who knew. "So watcha doing here?". Paul smirked while smoking, the woman didn't answer, the red blood still stained Paul's face, putting out his cigarette. The male puffed his smoke out of his mouth, grabbing her arm and looked at her dead in the eyes. "Kimberly. What an innocent name. But strong enough as a woman to fight her own battles. ". The male laughs, rather mad like hell. Clifton looked at him, her eyes full of thought and mischief. She was bruised and physically injured, both in her heart and many other places. Blood dripped from her forehead. "They call you who exactly?". Clifton's voice highly strung, looking at Paul's blood face. The male smiled, getting up, turning to Clifton's view. "The name's Paul Murphy my dear girl. Stay with me if you want to live another day.". Clifton nodded in agreement, going with him.