He was vigilant of his surroundings, always aware of the sights and sounds, he had to be. This part of Old Montreal was home to them. They thrived along the water front. They could hide among the ships and shore lines, the docks. The back alleys, their playground. Tonight they would hunt, not for food, but the lust of the kill. Mack Delaney had hunted them since Bosnian, before the NATO bombing started in 1996. He was good at what he did and the Institute knew that.
Tonight Delaney was back in his old neck of the woods. He knew the area well having played all around here as a kid. He knew the smells of the river, the sounds, he loved this place. This time was different, this time he hunted them. There had been a killing down on the docks two nights ago that had all the markings of them, “The Flock the Institute called them. Delaney now worked for Lawrence Kolb who started the Institute for Alternative Thinking.
Delaney worked alone, he had trained with the best in the military, and his years in prison taught him a side of himself he never knew existed. He had no family or love, making him perfect for this job. His past had made him cold and uncaring, a perfect killing machine. At times his mind would drift and he would think of memories with a smile, then reality of a hunt would snap him back. Memories could be dangerous he though, they can cause weakness in a man he was told. Movement to his right caught his eye and he approached cautiously.