Dare Vengeance, six feet, three inches of muscle packed into a tight, black t-shirt, threadbare jeans, and biker leather, straddled his Harley. He was so at home on the growling metal monster that the motorcycle seemed a mere extension of his body. Longish, dark hair framed his ruggedly handsome face, his cheeks scruffy with a three days' growth of whiskers. A silver chain at his throat caught the thin light from a streetlamp, glittering against his tanned skin.

Danger lurked in the darkness, and Dare lived for the sun to set and the stars to wink on. He was a nocturnal hunter, completely at home in the dark, and he was very, very good at what he did.

He froze, instantly on high alert as an instinct born of long experience told him something was coming... something big. He turned off the motor, listening hard, his hand automatically sliding to the cool, familiar butt of his Glock.

If his past had taught Dare anything, it was never to step onto the streets of Hardass City unprotected. In addition to the Glock at his hip, his broad back supported a holster for his sawed-off shotgun, a double-barreled, antique Lupara he'd named Gertie. He also carried a ten-inch knife with a cruel, serrated edge in sheath strapped to his left thigh, and, secreted within the pockets of his black leather jacket, extra magazines for the Glock, shells for Gertie, and a half-dozen, razor-edged shurikens.

These were his weapons of choice, although he'd carried others from time to time. Grenades, nunchaku, a rocket launcher, and a flamethrower had all found their way into his arsenal, and his skill level was high enough to turn commonplace objects like garbage can lids and beer bottles into lethal weapons when necessary. But he rarely took the black beast out of the garage. He preferred the maneuverability and speed of his Harley to the bulk of the Hummer. He admitted that purchasing the Hummer was a vanity thing, more to be able to say he owned one than for practicality. It was a very limited time offer, back when he first started playing the game and wanted every bell and whistle he could afford to buy, regardless of practicality.

A sound caught his ear, the click of a boot heel against asphalt. It was close, coming from the alley on Dare's right. He held perfectly still, barely breathing, only his eyes sliding to the right, watching the dark mouth of the alley for movement. Except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he might have been mistaken for a statue.

Two heartbeats ticked by, then three. Suddenly, his eyes picked out a darker shape moving in the shadows. Tall and extremely broad, it loomed in the darkness like a huge blot of ink floating in a black pond, staying just out of reach of the weak glow of the streetlight. His upper lip curled as he whispered under his breath. "Come on, fuckface. Show yourself."

The figure moved infinitesimally closer, just enough for the dim light to illuminate its grotesque features.

That was more than enough for Dare.