Brighton crept through the quiet house, the sounds of his footfalls muffled by Alchomancy. He held an empty shot glass that had held Jim Beam Burboun in his right palm, the shot left a warm feeling in his chest which was comforting in the cold room. Across his torso, a black strap held 12 capped shot glasses filled with different types of liquor. Each one activated a specific power and the more intoxicated he was the more potent the shot - he drank them accordingly.

Brighton slid back the backroom curtains and peeked out of the patio door. The four frames multiplied in his vision, he stepped back and unhooked gin, quickly downing it's contents. A warm sensation spread through his stomach adding to the thick layers of nausea. Brighton flared gin and then the sensation spread up to his face, his sight returned to normal as if he had suddenly sobered.

He stumbled forward leaning on the window-framed door this time. Drawing back the curtains he looked out toward the back yard shed,he spotted movement and a light was on. Brighton skulled back Vodka, he felt his weight decrease and his navigation of his surroundings were more then perfect.

He smashed through the patio door, doing a tumble roll onto the ground and running toward the shed. The man inside looked up in shock through the shed window and turned tail.

The chase had begun.

He unhooked the Red Bull and Yager bomb, tossing it back as fast as it had come undone. Brighton pushed off the ground and was sent soaring far above the roofs of houses and street lights.The rapid breathing of the offender was now audible as he drew closer.

The man tripped as the hems of his coat hooked onto a bush, he rolled over a look of pure terror as he made eye contact with Brighton. His face was young, despite his chubby appearance and dress code being that of an older man.

Brighton halted in front of the offender, "tsh jo can do?"

He felt for his reserves of Jameson, the liquid was absent from his bloodstream. He quickly downed another shot of the drink and looked back at the man, who was now shaking with fear.

I guess it doesn't get any worse then being caught by a flying drunk, Brighton thought.

"Now, as I was saying. Hands behind your back or i'll be taking you in by force." Brighton said.

The man wiped the wet off of his cheeks and rolled over, bum in the air with his hands behind his back.

By the time they reached the station, the side effects of the alchohol had severely kicked in. Brighton's head was pounding, his hands shook, his eyes were sore from the night lights.

He unhooked bloody Mary taking a quick glance around before throwing it back and stashing his supplies.

The prisoner began babbling about a drunk policeman assaulting him the moment they were through the doors. The other cops laughed and shook their heads as Brighton walked the man to his cell.

With a lock and key they went their separate ways, his secret safe another day.