[Apex]

His paws hit the snow dusted grounds with a heaviness that could only indicate age. He was in fact old for a street dog and even older for a mafia mutt, but he was Nero and survival was his essence. He didn't cling to life with bitter clutch like he had seen within the rogue's he had snuffed, he simply existed and merely argued with death. The junkyard was barren except for its towers of steel contraptions whose purpose and name escaped him, it was a desolate kingdom for an unthroned king. He had been born into the era of the dogs, his kind ruled the human blighted domains and he had once been a means to maintain lupine dominance..but every soldier retired and his retirement party had not been kind in nature.

His brutish, square head swung low between his legs, eyes hooded against the icy wind occasionally blowing its breath upon him. His blue coat was scored with mark after mark, not an inch of him escaped the detailed history of scars tracing his bodice. Flesh was rough and puckered beneath his short coat, but the most noticeable indication of his rough past was the raised nubs where erect audits should have stood. They were leftovers from an underestimated ring opponent and had been a rude lesson to the then young Nero, life was unfair and often liked to cloak unlikely enemies.

His salmon tongue streaked out of his mouth to wet his gnarled black nose, it had dried to an uncomfortable degree from the moistureless atmosphere. His head lifted at the sound of his belly, it rumbled a mighty chorus of hunger and as if to prove its point, the sound was accompanied with a sharp pain. Heavy paws turned to vigor saturated steps, the old leaving their structure, replaced with a purpose. His body swayed with the jarring movements of a less than graceful trot, he had always been a less handsome creature and his movements were no different. The junkyard had become his retreat and he had protected it from all sorts of the unwanted, he cast a brief look over his shoulder at his barren kingdom, always wondering if it would be the last glimpse. His tail was like a flag at half mast, strung out behind his body in a stiff display, if one looked closely they could see the former glory of his ring days draping him in an old vision of supremacy. The beast was not yet dead, far from it but he still aged and his once bright and brilliant coat had dulled and grayed and on bad days he could feel the wear of being a mafia dog on his bones.

Nero tilted his head to the light wind, black nose flickering as he drew in scents and the smell of a rabbit was all to enticing. He slowed from his trot to a painstaking precise walk, careful to pick his footsteps until he too sounded like nothing more than rustling pebbles, the white hare came into view. He halted, every muscle rigid and eyes beaded on the hare with death lining their gaze. He waited for mintues in the same posistion, waiting for the hare to return to her unassuming grazing. It happened and a hulking blue mass rocketed through the air, large paws pinning the hare to the snowy ground in which she blended. His blunt jaws opened, a snarl silenced within the juicy flesh of his prey, he rumbled his satisfaction as her crimson filled his maw. An ear twitched at an odd sound, and once again a growl lined his throat.

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