It was a dreary night in November. Lightning sliced its way through impossibly thick rain, briefly lighting the darkness, followed immediately by the harsh crack of thunder rolling down from the clouds in a deafening eruption. Millions of raindrops fell in seemingly endless descents, until suddenly falling faster and faster towards earth, splattering relentlessly on the pavement in a screaming chorus of noise. The wind howled and whined, whipping the limbs of trees in all directions, thrashing and scraping at the decaying roof of Randal’s house.
Inside the house, the noise of the storm was drowned out and forgotten in the fray of battle. A sloppy mixture of rock and fuzz blared from a radio at full volume. Empty beer bottles on the counter eerily clinked as the rolled around, pushed by wind through a kitchen window left ajar, letting in equal amounts of noise and water. But the blaring radio and window went unnoticed by the screaming family in the dark living room, filled with the overwhelming noise of a lamp shattering against the wall and two young girls shrieking and crying. The older girl hugged the younger, trying to protect her from the rage that exploded from her mother and brother.
In the middle of the room, Randal stomped angrily, in a heated fight with his mother, screaming “You can’t do this to them. Not to us. It’s not fair!”
Randal’s mother screamed back through dirty matted hair and a mouthful of cracked yellow teeth, “Shut up before I beat the life out of your useless body!”
Randal gave up reasoning with the pathetic excuse for a mother he was cursed with and left the room with a roar and a heavy punch to the trim of the door, splitting open his knuckles and leaving four crimson smudges on the old wood.
Randal stormed out of the house as he often did in a fit of rage, exhausted by the addict he was forced to call his mother. Tossing on his hood, Randal walked off into the night, head down, away from everything he hated, for good.
Eight rough years later, Randal was living in the city. Randal had left his house on the night of that November storm and never looked back. He was adopted by the streets, and baptized in blood and fighting. His ruthless violence earned him a reputation, while his criminal skills earned him his jobs. Randal was creating a name for himself, acting as a punisher for gangs. He beat, whipped, and tortured. He killed and forgot. He saw red and enjoyed it. Randal hardened with every job He became more savage with each beating as he slowly lost his humanity and became an animal of the streets. But even animals have desires, and Randal was not satisfied. Even in the crowded hell of the city, Randal felt completely isolated. Alone. Nobody would blink if he disappeared. Nobody would come if he called. Randal felt the desire for companionship and sympathy shared by humans and animals alike. 
After a shivering night against a building, Randal decided to take more. He went to steal what he knew he deserved. He knew he was nothing but an animal; a thoughtless murderer that could run the streets. He knew who to talk to and found the thugs in control. A violent gang that killed without remorse and stole without pity. Randal saw animals like himself; some stronger, and some weaker.
Randal wanted to compete with these monsters, to be part of their bloody hierarchy. Deep down, Randal craved the respect he knew he could gain and the little companionship that comes from competition. The pack wasn’t open to all however. Only the most heartless and bloodthirsty of men were accepted after they proved themselves.
Randal talked to the boss, asking, “I can shoot, man. I can slice and stab. Show me the man you want and I’ll take his life for you.”
The boss replied, “Anyone with a gun can shoot. Anyone with a blade can stab. It takes something else to twist a blade in organs, or watch the blood spout out the bullet hole, or stand over a dying man and watch the light leave his eyes. It takes another type of animal to do this to a b****. What type of animal are you Randal?”
Randal knew what he had to do to earn their respect. At an earlier point in his life, he may have hesitated, but now, Randal just left, knowing what he had to do, desperate to earn respect, companions, and the lifestyle he wanted. 
A couple hours later, Randal sat in one of the gang’s cars, parked near the city park. The sun had already set, and a grey light covered the sky, soon to be black. The weather was getting colder every day and the park was empty. A slow wind blew through the trees, rocking the swings and rattling the leaves. Randal sat calmly in his car, waiting for the night.
Eventually, the grey sky turned black. Billowing storm clouds rolled over the sky, covering and uncovering the moon. A heavy rain poured down to earth, accompanied by deep thunder and the flash of lightning. The jagged branches on the horizon reached towards the moon like long, broken fingers. A mangy stray cat jumped up with a howl and streaked away through the night, startled by the low drone of Randal’s engine starting. It was time.
Randal cruised slowly through the alleys, like an evil serpent in the night just searching for prey. Randal felt no hesitation. He felt no remorse. He only felt desperation.
A woman walked alone in the night. She made a quick pace with her hood up and her head down. She walked on the sidewalk, close to the side of the buildings, as if she was already afraid of something supernatural in the night.
But Randal was not supernatural. The woman feared the wrong evil forces in the world. The real threat stalked her in an old red Acura, without a sound. With his headlights off, Randal followed, waiting for the right moment to strike.
The woman turned left into a dark alley. At the end of the narrow street, an overflowing dumpster hosted a horde of skinny rats. The moon was not visible anymore. The alley was isolated with a grim and evil vibe.
Randal knew this was it. He grabbed a dirty white shirt from the passenger’s seat and wrapped his face with it. He took the pistol out from his waistband as he whipped around the corner and lowered his foot, accelerating straight at the woman. A small scream escaped the woman’s mouth before her body was smashed by the dented hood of the car with a loud thud.
Randal left the car with a hop and slammed his door. He grabbed the barely conscious woman by the hair and dragged her to a slightly ajar door on the side of a tall building.
The woman began to kick and scream, but Randal only yelled “Shut up b****! I’ll kill you! I swear to God I’ll kill you!”
But God was not there to take Randal’s promises. God was not in the elevator as Randal took his prey to the roof of the old building. God was not there as Randal bruised every inch of the woman’s body with heavy fists and sharp kicks.
Randal stood over his victim, filled with the exhilaration of the hunt. All of his years on the streets had forged him into the monster he had become. Sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped into his eyes. The salty sting of the droplet went unnoticed as the woman rolled over with a moan.
Randal dropped his heel down onto her jaw, shattering the bones in her face. A sharp jab in the back burst the woman's kidney. A dark purple color tainted her skin as internal bleeding destroyed her body. Her breathing became raspy and wheezing. A punctured lung leaked splatters of blood into each exhale. Tiny drops of blood speckled the ground next to the woman’s mouth, only to be washed away by the torrents of fat raindrops.
Randal’s heart was racing… pounding relentlessly against his chest. His breathing was in short gasps and his hands shook with excitement and shock. The woman was beyond saving. His head spun in the high of the hunt. Randal bent down to finish the job, ripping the soaked shirt off from his head.
Randal’s heart stopped. He blinked. He breathed in. He breathed out. He blinked again. God was not there, but the devil certainly was.
Randal closed his eyes. He could not shut it out. Time stood still and all Randal could see was the broken face of his little sister. The scared little girl that he had left in the living room eight years ago laid on the ground dying.
Randal could not recover. Not in a year. Not in ten. Randal’s head spun, not with the high of the hunt, but now with unfathomable chaos. Everything he was was destroyed in that instant. The roar of thunder went unheard by his ears. The raindrops on his face were not felt. Randal was just a body drifting without thinking. Moving without calculating. In a mindless blur, Randal walked to the edge of the roof, staring out above the city with glazed over eyes. The cold streets were dark and brooding. The street lights flickered an ominous warning. A chilling wind picked up and Randal jumped.