Angelo was going through his mission for that night. He was sent to retrieve a package at the docks, but he was early. It was late, raining, and he was alone, but he didn't mind. For a guy that could manifest fire into his fist, he really like the rain. It was… calm. Steady. Unpredictable. He spent his time wondering where the next drop would land, refusing to flinch at the gentle touches on his skin. It was like practice for when he would find someone real that wouldn't hurt him.
When he made it to the docks, he went inside the corresponding warehouse and looked around. Six large crates, about as high as his abdomen, probably filled to the brim with guns or drugs. Whatever his father was shipping this time, of course illegally, he didn't care.
Angelo decided a rest for a while was for the best. He was early, didn't even look like the guys were here yet. So he walked up to one of the crates, hopped on top, and leaned with a hand to prop him up. He stared off outside, amongst the roiling sea, the edge of Santa Monica. He listened to the thunder, the calming droplets of rain, and…
Whimpering.
He didn't understand what that meant at first. The soft sound of a woman or a child, sniffling and crying. He thought, maybe he was daydreaming… but the more he tried to ignore it, the more he realised, it was coming from underneath him.
Angelo looked down, towards the crate, listening hard. It was silent at first, but he wasn't sure he was imagining it, because he heard a cough. As soon as he heard it, he moved, hopping off the crate and looking at it like he was looking at a bomb. His heart hammered, his thoughts roiled, and everything that was bubbling to the surface was about to explode.
He looked around, and found it. A crowbar – perfect. He rushed back over to the crate, jammed the flat side into the wooden fixtures. At first he wasn't strong enough to pry it open, but determination filled him when he heard a scared sob from inside. He bounced, and slammed all his weight down, popping it open immediately.
Dropping the crowbar, he found himself barely hesitating. What if what he heard was real? What if it was all real? What if his father was dealing in humans, and under this crate hatch he would see people? He didn't like the thought, but he hated the thought of doing nothing at all even more. So he shoved the top, and peered in.
There were two girls, and a little boy. They were all tied, and one of the girls was gagged. One of the women seemed maybe twenty, but other was only a teenager. And the little boy… he couldn't be possibly old enough to comprehend any of what was happening. Yet, he looked up, and he saw Angelo. Tears were in his eyes, watching him with fear, anticipation, and dread.
Angelo was frozen. Fear, shock, and horror crept inside him all at once, making him cold. He found he wasn't breathing, just staring at the bruises on their skin. The raggedy clothes. The knotted hair. The teenage girl pulled the boy closer to her, hissing in an unfamiliar language – was she from some other continent? Had they been shipped across the entire sea in a crate to be sold?
"Shipment's ready, Donald. Just get the truck started, and we'll wait for-"
Footsteps were behind him. Angelo stepped back from the open crate, barely turning, seeing a man standing there in the rain. He had shaggy brown hair, a big beard, and a thin body. Easy – he wouldn't be hard. Lots of attached pieces to grapple, and he was small.
"Blaze?" The man said, confused as he walked in. Not suspecting a thing. "You're not supposed to be here until- What're you-?"
Angelo was on top of him before he scream. He moved, no comprehensible thoughts, just anger. His hand was on fire as he grabbed his arm, throwing him straight over his head. Then he got on top of him, rage burning inside as he choked him. He was kicking, unable to breathe, unable to speak. Angelo wanted so much to keep going after he saw his eyes close, to choke the life out of him until his heart stopped, but…
You get a taste for it.
Right. That was what Jose said. People didn't stop once they started to kill. Angelo slowly released him once he was clearly unconscious, and got off. He had more important things to worry about right now than whether some deadbeat asshole survived tonight.
He started moving, but everything was a blur. Crates were opened, bounds were cut, people were running. Angelo started to back up as chaos spreading. Someone clung to his leg as he disassociated, and he looked down to see that little boy from before. The teenage girl was seemingly pleading with Angelo, waving at the boy to come back to her, but Angelo just knelt down and cut his restraints. The boy said something, he didn't know what, and the girl pulled him away and ran.
Angelo stood up again, but he couldn't breathe. He felt small, locked in a closet, unable to escape – surrounded by horrors and terror engulfing his heart. He backed away, turning, but something hit him; hard. It bashed against his temple, and everything faded away in an instant.