It was late at night, a full moon hung above the black city. It's gentle glow was unable to penetrate the thick shadows that draped down from the different buildings that stood tall at the city centre. It was a interconnected web of roads and alleys hidden by darkness. 

Not all of the city was a bleak however. On the outskirts lay small housing estates that were partly illuminated by few street lamps, the sharp light showing many roads and paths. There was no sign of life, everybody and everything was hidden away. Almost everything that is.

In a small park, there stood a black bench. On this bench was a figure, it's back was resting against the cool dark iron of the bench back; it's head drooped down with its chin on its chest, slowly rising and falling. They had long uneven brown hair covered in dirt, wearing old clothes seemingly found in a ditch somewhere and with nothing to cover there bare feet. It was a young man, no older then nineteen. He was very evidently homeless.

Suddenly, a fierce wind picked up and swept through the park. The figure woke to the sound of the wind and the rustle of leaves. His bleary eyes opened slowly, his breathing went from the slow deep breathes of sleep to the slightly shallower breathing of the awake. He peered about, looking for the source of the sounds. His eyes were unaffected by the pitch blackness that lay about the park; they looked everywhere trying to find anything that was out of place.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

He couldn't find anything, so he prepared to sleep once again. But before his eyes closed again, he saw movement from the park entrance. He knew what this meant. He had lived on this bench for the past year and had done this many a time. Quickly, quietly, he fell to the floor and crawled under his bench to the opposite side of the cool iron he called a home. He focused his eyes towards the thing which had entered the park. It had a black, smooth body covered in some kind of mucus; a long tail dragged along the floor after it, with thin membranes of skin appearing above and below, very similar to a newts; and its head was dark green and was made of a hard chitin like material. It was long, around four meters, with its head about half a metre. Its strong jaws were lined with tiny razors called teeth, heading all the way right to the back of its head. If it open wide, its jaws could be mistaken for a hydraulic press (although a very strange one).

After carefully observing the lizard (as he had very creatively called them), the figure breathed a sigh of relief. These lizards had nearly no smell and relied on their below average eyesight on land. Hidden as he was in the darkness of the park, he should be safe.

Hssssss. A low hissing came from behind him. At this point, he realised that he messed up. Too focus on the first lizard, he neglected to keep an eye out for any other hunters. Only one thought remained in his head. 'Move.'