The Chicago Lurker Exposed???

The uptown lakefront was awash in red and blue sirens. Spotlights blared from the building-tops as a tiny mote of blue light bobbed and weaved through the cramped alleyways. A police officer rattles off his pistol, only to be bowled over by the lumbering monster and shoved back into his car. Traffic is brought to a standstill as news choppers hover overhead, the headlines all raving about the horrific monster-- now unveiled.

Caught on camera it was like a frog and an angler fish had a horrific humanoid baby, a row of teeth many inches long paired with a large and bulbous body supported by oddly frail-looking limbs. Despite its looks it was fast as could be, leaping from the walls and over fences like a terrified gibbon.

More bullets rattled off and a few found purchase in its back, splattering black blood across the concrete. Despite this, it managed to duck into a warehouse by slamming its body through the door and slamming it behind it-- but as the police hesitate, the news choppers report that he's escaped into the 'old ironworks storage,' where dozens of workers were killed in a fire and whose ghosts are said to haunt the building to this day. Of course, such stories could just be stories-- but the world as it is, who would take that risk?

A hero, of course. With the building surrounded, police waited for someone, anyone, who was brave enough to intercept the monster themselves...

It was something of a morbid fascination, reading about the Chicago Lurker. It came up occasionally- small, local bounties cropping up on eccentric websites asking for clear photographs or proof of this new cryptid, and the desperate could often be cajoled into paying for it.

Finnegan saw plenty of strange things when he dipped out into the night, black feathers blending seamlessly with the dotted sky so that he was a mere blot against the moon. A few times, those great golden eyes of his had been the subject of speculation itself, and so.. 'Chimney Swift' felt a certain measure of kinship with this horrible monster of scale and flesh, oddly unsuited for ground or sea alike. He felt the same as he glided along the updrafts of the wind-tunneled city.

This wasn't night, though. The sun was searing down, and black feathers stood out unless you knew how to hide them. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, some nerd-lord near Des Plaines was offering a grand for a close up shot without motion blur and, well, he didn't specify live or dead...

And so the vulture advanced. Alternating between moving through cramped alleys at an oddly hunched lumber, his winter coat and parka draped thoroughly over his feather-made-bulky shape, and slipping his wings free of the confines to flap his way over fences, he made sure to keep out of the eyes of those mechanical stopgaps to -true- flight and ventured closer to the Old Ironworks Storage.

By then, police had the place thoroughly surrounded, but there laid out many high windows that'd long been broken by the searing heat of raging flames. Getting height, Chimney beat his arms laboriously to ascend into a misty stratus cloud-- gasping then by the time he'd reached 3000ft, but it provided the cover he needed. Several officers were arguing with a portly gentleman out front about 'Why this road has to be diverted when they've got the barrel right there, just shoot the damn fish-' and the chopper was just starting to make another wide, ungainly revolution when Chimney Swift tucked his wings in and -plummeted-.

They were designed for this. He was designed for this, down to the curvature of how those feathers folded. The black shape plummeted at astounding speeds, and he'd grown adept at just how to angle his body in the appropriate ways to modulate velocity, direction, the ensuing turbulence in the wake of his feathers even- and this is where Chimney felt most alive. Smaller than some of the targets he practiced with, like... The hole in Shipley's Donuts down on 8th, or that billboard that'd been punched clear through last month, but- It wasn't a matter. He soared, he dived, he...

Didn't have a clear view of where exactly he was entering, of course. The dim light filtering into the husk of a storage warehouse revealed little until Swift was careening unseen into it- He hadn't been seen, but he -had- been heard when he proceeded to widen his eyes and tuck his limbs, balling up for when his back collided hard with a huuuuge stack of abandoned, crumbled wood pallets. "OhFFU-" he managed before the crash, the stack toppled. Planks of brittle wood went scattering, with Chimney heaped several layers within, giving a muffled groan from within.

But it wasn't like the coppers were gonna come in and investigate that business themselves, probably, hopefully, oh NO...

With the most graceful of entries, Chimney slowly combobulated himself and glanced over his arms to ensure he hadn't snapped any blood feathers-- thankfully no, just.. Would be incredibly -bruised- for his stunt later-- before beginning to slowly shuffle, ruffle, and clamber his way out... Squinting though they were, his golden eyes slowly peeped out of the rubble, squinting around his immediate vicinities...

There sure were a lot of places to hide here.

Where they were, the ironworks storage had never truly been repaired from the fire. In the dark and hazy mist (there wasn't mist outside by the way), one could look to the floor and sees the burns streaking across the granite. Massive shelves were stacked end to end with pallets and boxes never opened, cleaning products and wood slabs and gardening equipment never opened, just left to rot in this warehouse after the buyout sale largely flopped.

What was even more concerning were the other additions to the warehouse-- things not granted by the beautiful specter of capitalism. Chains hung from the ceiling with hooks attached to the ends, like fisherman in heaven were sending down their lines to bring unwitting souls up with them. There were even chains stuck to the floor that, oddly, seemed to go upwards into the air and gently wave and bob, like they were being blown by an updraft. This made it all a forest of sharp things, a forest inhabited by ghouls and monsters...

In particular, one monster, who was hooked through the top of its mouth. It gargled loudly as its buggy eyes panicked and swiveled, its claws wrapped around the chain as it tried to pry itself free. Its awkward body-plan portrayed it in a much more sympathetic light, when it was jerking at a hook it swallowed of its own accord.

It stops, though, when its eyes dart to the massive clatter of boxes-- and to the birdy form that walked out. Tiny pupils formed in those bulbous eyes, and despite its inability to properly -emote-, it was beset with equal parts anxiety and relief. Oh good, a person! Oh-- FUCK, another person. It jerked harder and harder, black blood splattering onto the floor below it. GET IT GET IT GET IT OFF...

He could have ended up with a fate far worse than he'd managed. Breathlessly cursing his recklessness, Chimney Swift slowly crept into a sense of stability and straightened upright with a quiet grunt, his gaze scanning over those eerily swaying chains in place... Why? What purpose did they serve in a warehouse? The bird's thoughts would have to go without answer as frantic clattering and the sounds of struggle had Chimney swiveling his head to peer through the dank vape.

They stared at one another for the space of a few moments, the bird and the fish. Great, golden eyes cut through the darkness and eerily dilated at a rapid pace, flicking ever so faintly as all the fine details of the Chicago Lurker were taken in, though... Before long, Chimney Swift's brows set in a concerned furrow as they followed the splatters of black blood leaking down the Lurker's jaw.

His voice was soft, a bit raspy, strained really to call out over the stretch of distance that separated them. Slowly, he began to climb down from the pile of broken lumber that he'd made and approach the wiggling shape, speaking calmly all the while. "easy... hey, i don't want to hurt you," He swallowed, grimacing some. It was straining to speak loudly, and even yet, that was.. Un-ideal, goodness knows who'd be strolling in before long- Chimney Swift glanced over his shoulder.

"i really don't. you're hurting yourself worse that way. calm down, i can-.. I can get you down. Take it easy..." And he crept, a shape of long, ruffled feathers carefully folded in, a set of three-fingered hands on the crooks of those wings trying to show their open palms to the Lurker, boots surprisingly light for this figure's TALL form trodding through. "Easy..!"