The mannequin-man sits in the shadows, inconspicuous to those he is watching.  Upon his head rests a black leather fedora, complimenting his murky white face with a kind of stark familiarity - everyone here should recognize his kind.  But no one does.

           At his feet rests a large orange-colored dog-creature.  It's eyes are closed, but it's ears are wide open, and listening.  Together the odd pairing sit and observe the swelling crowd of peoploids pouring into the bar.  Of the mannequin-man, there radiates an air of vague indifference to their being.  He is waiting for the signal.  The masses, in their ignorant and brutish sense of reality, have not realized that they are being watched and, perhaps, it one day may be bane to the small few who do not understand  the implications involved in being unaware outside of their own realm.

           The Diamond Dogs are hunting in Hunger City.

           The petty peoploids mix and match, mingle and intertwine, leave arm in arm or minutes apart as to avoid social suspicion.  As they do so, the mannequin-man stands up and, in doing so, is finally noticed by one and all simultaneously.  He has noticed one odd lad leaving quickly and quietly -  the key to his task.  The crowd freezes.  Faces gaze toward the familiar stranger, always avoiding his ominous black eyes.  Someone, they realize, is about to die.

           The feeling is in the air, and it hangs there, like the rotting carrion of a long-dead cadaver forgotten on the gallows.

           The mannequin-man's onyx eyes fix on the exit doorway as the hulking orange beast at his feet climbs into a menacing stance.  He steps forward, the orange dog-creature at his side, and the crowd splits into two sections, parting, and allowing the Diamond Dog passage.  As he walks forward, more of the nightmarish mannequin-men, seeming carbon copies from the voids of space wherefore they had not existed up until this point, join him, and find their way through the mass of flesh and sweat, and into the makeshift aisle-way.  

           There are, it appears, fifteen mannequin-men heading now toward the exit. Two by two, the mannequin-men and dog-creatures file through, with a  uniformity that is frighteningly militaristic.  As they exit the building, they take notice of the sparse and dissipating crowds surrounding the outer area of the bar.  A hush has already fallen over these people, for whispers travel fast when carried in the throats of terrified youngsters, any one of which might be slotted for a violent death within a moment's notice.

           One of the mannequin-men walks to a nearby crowd and halts in front of a youth of about seventeen years.  The boy stands for a second, trembling, and begins to slowly but hastily back away from his now-obvious pursuers.  

           "Stop," utters the mannequin-man, his black eyes piercing through flesh, bone, and finally, into that superficial energy that some might call the soul.  "You let him escape," it mutters to the teenager.  "I-it wasn't my f-fault," the boy stutters.  He begins to sob, and lets the tears trail openly down his long-painted face.

           "Kill, my boys," mutters the Diamond Dog.

           The mannequin-men collectively release the chains holding the dogs in place.  Fifteen of the wretched creatures from fifteen wretched machines attack the helpless child in an instant.  The first beast closes it's massive jaws around the boys arm, tearing and severing, filling the air with the sounds of hungered frenzy and the horrid sound of tooth gnawing on bone. 

           It swings it's immense head around with an incredible might and throws the victim against one of the bar's brick walls, shattering his spinal cord and both legs simultaneously, and filling the air with a hideous crack.  Blood trails down the bricks to the now heaped body of the boy, who is mercifully no longer conscious, but this is only noticeable for a brief moment - before the feeding frenzy begins.

           Like sharks, a swarm of orange dog-creatures pounce on the body and tear it apart, swallowing and gulping whatever pieces find their way to the mouth of one of the hunters.  Orange and red waves cover the surrounding land for a period of two to three minutes, and when it is over, there is nothing - 
nothing left.

           And the Diamond Dogs, their task accomplished, hunt for another.