[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Oh, well there you go, leaving me behind again, just up up up the ladder, must be nice to have opposable thumbs!"

Laurentian pauses in his ascent, looks down at the agitated mutt. In the lowest voice that will still carry, "If you must complain, kindly do so away from my position. You'll bring the creature down on us both, at this rate."

Mansfield gives as close to an exasperated sigh as his flapping jowls will allow, more of a sneeze, really, and trots off down the alley, muttering to himself. "Can't ever just go for bloody walk... well, I suppose that's all we ever do, come to think of it."

Now perched atop the slatted iron fire escape of the tenement house across the street from where the beast seems to be active, going by the commotion, Laurentian adjusts the monocular scope fitted above his functioning eye, waiting for the dust to clear.

He must admit, he has never seen such a creature. He will require a sample of its organs and tissue to take back to his laboratory.

Pausing to push up his sleeve, he tightens the strap around his bicep until the veins begin to bulge below. With careful movements, the assassin retrieves his vial of lynx adrenaline and a fresh syringe, precisely filling two milliliters of the viscous fluid before stopping up the vial once more. It takes him barely any effort to find the vein, depressing the injector with methodical patience. Tapered thus, the adrenaline heightens his awareness, drowning out the noise of the surrounding city, the distraction of moonlight on slate cobbles. Leaving only the beast, every quiver of its muscle distinct in his new sight.

Laurent retrieves his crossbow, the ribless, mechanized weapon fitting smoothly in a holster at his hip. He winds the spring inside and selects a quarrel -- brass-barbed and likewise spring-loaded, the blades expandable -- neglecting to employ a poison lest he damage the creature's humors.

He checks his monocular one final time and draws in as much air as his lungs will hold. Exhales. Aims for its presumable throat at the end of the searching neck. Pulls the trigger.