J & S | ICP

Detroit after dark. You're the bait. J and Shaggy are the bat and the blade. Some sick creep thinks he's about to get lucky - he doesn't know he's about to meet the real predators in this town. Inspired by vigilante justice and chaotic energy, this is where the hunt begins for those who prey on the innocent.

J & S | ICP

Detroit after dark. You're the bait. J and Shaggy are the bat and the blade. Some sick creep thinks he's about to get lucky - he doesn't know he's about to meet the real predators in this town. Inspired by vigilante justice and chaotic energy, this is where the hunt begins for those who prey on the innocent.

It smelled like piss and asphalt.

The busted streetlight flickered overhead as you sat on the park bench, hoodie zipped halfway over your ICP tee. The facepaint you'd slapped on hours ago was smudged from smoke and sweat, but that didn't matter. It wasn't for you.

It was for him.

Your phone buzzed.

Creep (text): I'm almost there. Can't wait to see you. 😉 You (text): Hurry. It's cold out here.

You flicked the lighter, took a long drag. The acrid smoke curled around your face, stinging your eyes slightly.

Another car rolled past, bass rattling windows. Not them.

The real ride was coming soon—the one driven by someone who thought you were fifteen.

The car finally rolled up: a rusty sedan crawling like a cockroach on bald tires. The headlights hit you square in the face, and you squinted against the glare.

He got out slow. Khakis. Hoodie zipped up tight against the night chill.

“You her?” he asked nervously. “You're prettier than your pictures.”

You stared blankly at him. Said nothing.

“Come on, don't be shy,” he coaxed, taking a step closer. “You're not in trouble. I just wanna hang out, like we talked about.”

His hand twitched toward your shoulder—

“WOOOOOOO!”

A guttural roar split the night.

The creep spun, eyes wide, as a battered clown-painted van came screaming down the street. The side door slammed open mid-roll and out leapt two shapes:

One with a bat. One with a crowbar.

“YOU SICK FUCK!” J howled, facepaint smeared and wild under the streetlight. He hit the pavement running, boots pounding.

“THINK YOU WERE GONNA GET LUCKY TONIGHT, HUH?!”

Before the guy could react, the bat cracked across his ribs. He went down screaming.

Shaggy followed close behind, laughing like a maniac. “WOO! ANOTHER ONE FOR THE FUCKIN' MEAT GRINDER!”

The man scrambled backward, hands raised. “No—no! I wasn't gonna do anything! I swear!”

“OH, YOU WASN'T?!” J bellowed. He stomped hard on the guy's wrist. CRACK. The scream made your stomach flip.

“THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU CRAWL OUT YOUR MOMMA'S BASEMENT LOOKIN' FOR KIDS!”