As the man sprinted out of the warehouse, his footsteps fading into the distance, Don's figure emerged where the bloodied message had been left on the floor.
He glanced down at the letters smeared in crimson. It was a perfect warning, a seed of fear he was sure would be firmly planted in the gang, but he didn't want it spreading too quickly, at least not to the police or the public. Not yet.
With a wave of his hand, shadow tendrils slithered across the floor, smearing the blood and erasing the message completely. The warning would stay among the Hell Riders for now, building panic and disorder in their ranks. Satisfied, Don vanished from the warehouse, reappearing in a quiet, empty street.
The street was dimly lit, with only a few vehicles parked along the curb. The occasional flicker of a streetlight cast long shadows across the cracked pavement. Don surveyed the area briefly before vanishing once more, reappearing inside a dark brown, old-looking vehicle.
