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A bitter, banshee-like breeze bellowed between broken buildings. It may have been April, but Winter was dying a slow, frosty death in Harper Rock. Like an impatient heir to the throne of the world, Spring had been complicit in multiple intrigues to oust the ancient, snowy king once and for all. But Old Man Winter had some fight left in him still, shrouding the upstart season’s buds and sprouts in fresh, frigid frost and putting silence to its sparrow songs. Young Spring would be triumphant soon enough, but for now the Winter’s final days were something to revel in. For the vampire, walking through the heavy, crisp air was like a compress on an aching wound. It howled around him, kicking up crystal flakes that swirled and funneled over cracked and crumbled pavement, up into the star speckled sky.

It would have been the darkest district in town, had it not been for the fires. Beacons of orange and yellow reached into the night sky, burning like fallen stars, shooting plumes of deathly, toxic black smoke into the abyss. Their blaze was so bright that it could be seen for miles even on the haziest of evenings. And up close their flames cast dancing shadows over the derelict structures that littered the streets. It caused shattered glass to shimmer and trails of blood to sheen. Gazing upon the flames as they lapped hungirly at their prey left one to wonder whether they stood as a ray of hope or a symbol of subjugation. And what was it that the inferno craved, roaring for more? Why the dead of course. The lingering stench should have given that away. As corpses were fed to the pyre the air became thick with a putrid, skin crawling smog of charred flesh and bone. It didn’t make for the most pleasant of atmospheres.

Patrols of soldiers, heedless vigilantes, and the occasional hobo roamed streets that the population had abandoned long ago. Thunderous gunfire, an all too gleeful comradery, and the low moan of the undead littered airwaves that would have otherwise been silent. This was Gambondale or what had come to be known as the Quarantine Zone. These days though, no amount of confinement or enclosure could stop the spread of the holy disease that had been unleashed upon the earth. All that could be done now was to treat the symptoms. It made for an all too perfect excuse for martial law. Though if order out of chaos was the goal, one wouldn’t find it here. Here was like a slice of the American Wild West, where man wasn’t the only monster.

There were many reasons to put a visit to the Quarantine Zone off. It wasn’t the gas masked soldiers he would run into, nor the fetid air that would cling to his senses like a leech. It wasn’t fear of the fiends lurking in the shadows or despair at seeing how the seed of tyranny had been planted. For Jack Diddly, it was something else entirely. Since his return to Canada he had been making excuses to stay clear of the place, going so far as having himself taken into Death’s cold embrace. But the gates were ripped open now, like a gaping gash. Out of that gash poured horrors that a few short months ago would have seemed ludicrous. Yet here he was, a short of horror himself, with was nothing left to stop a headfirst dive into the depths of his own darkness.

Keeping to the shadows, Jack wandered down a deja vu daydream. The dilapidated homes seemed to sink into a tangled overgrowth of brown and green. Even in the evening glow, worn paint, broken windows, and caving roofs were a noticeable trend. The streets were covered in craters, with various grey and black slabs jutting up from the surface, while the sidewalk stone was shattered and worn. The shimmer of frost glazed everything. It all seemed so familiar, yet so alien at the same time. The overall feeling of the place caused a shudder to snake up the vampire’s spine and he reflexively pulled his black, faded, leather jacket closer around him. A small group of troops in gas masks and flak jackets with rifles slung over their shoulders turned the corner, passing in front of him. Despite the paisley black bandana he tied over the lower half of his face, Jack instinctively turned his head away from them. It was an image from a nightmare he’d all too often had. They seemed to pay him no mind, however. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t the only character roaming the streets in such attire. Vigilantes in bandit getups seemed to be the flavor of the week. Or maybe they had just become so accustomed to monsters, that they wouldn’t waste a second glance on one that wasn’t trying to eat them.

All he had was a crumpled up piece of paper and hazy memories. He pulled that scrap out of the pocket of his faded denim jeans where he had shoved it earlier. He needed to read the address one more time. It was a funny life that Jack had led and it culminated in this one piece of information, the only link he had from the life that had been robbed from him. The worst part wasn’t that he couldn’t track down a name, but rather that it had been lost to him, buried under the torment of lonely despair. Even now, moving as if he were in a waking dream, nothing seemed to dig up that identity of the boy who walked these sunlit filled streets so long ago. Still he had the address, it was what brought him to Harper Rock, what had defined the last days of his life and the first months of his death. Who knew that a scribble on a scrap could have such an impact?

It was a small place resting on a corner lot. White with a black roof and a grey front porch, though the rot that had taken hold made it seem all rather grey now. Brown and yellowed vines choked the wooden banisters of the porch, while wilted weeds ripped through the ruined steps. A faded red door hung from its hinges, wobbling ever so slightly, to and fro, in the frosty breeze. The creak that rang out was like a withered whimper of woe. Much like the other former homes that littered the rest of the block, the yard was covered in decayed leaves. A large barren tree twisted into the sky above the place, it’s empty branches hanging like claws over the dark roof. Shambles of a small picket fence remained with various graffiti symbols haphazardly scribbled about. The empty sockets of the upper windows stared down upon the street with a dreary sort of menace. Jack stared back at those windows, dark eyes for dark times.

Memories had been sneaking back, but now they washed over his mind like a deluge. They were all shrouded in a ghostly, white haze and burned with the light of the day. He could see the boy flying through the air from a wooden swing that was no longer tethered to the mighty branches of the tree that was no longer green. He could see the boy’s mother in her red, wide brimmed and floppy hat, trough in white gloved hands, tending to her small garden of flowers, now just a jumble of frosted weeds. He watched the scene play out in still silence, mesmerized. Only May’s appearance dragged him back into the present. She floated in front of him, barefoot in that white bohemian dress, auburn curls dancing around her freckled features. She smiled sadly and began to sing a soft, familiar song as she turned from him, drifting across the small yard, up the porch and through the doorway. Her soothing serenade beckoned for Jack to follow.

The vampire stepped over the cracked planks of the rotten fence and slowly crossed the yard, his footsteps crunching the frozen growth as he approached the small porch. The old wood wailed under his boots as he made his ascent. Jack was surprised that the wood held his weight like it did, though these days he felt light as a feather...at least in a physical sense. The red door hung open like the mouth of a dying man trying to utter his last words. It’s gentle creak a constant cry for one more moment. He saw the woman again, with the boy in tow, lugging a brown bag of groceries into the dark abyss. The boy ran circles around the porch before the woman called to him from within. The boy ran through Jack and through the door. The young allurist sighed, he needed a cigarette, preferably a joint. It was an excuse to delay the inevitable, one that his body wouldn’t seem to tolerate. He reached out and grabbed the edge of the door, pulling it open as it screeched in pain.

The vampire walked through the threshold and into the gloom. The old myth was true, to enter a home, one had to be invited, but no one had called this place home in quite some time. The intricate cobwebs that weaved throughout the nooks and crannies of the ceiling and stairwell were only one indication of that among many. Upon entering that stairwell was the first thing one would see. At one time it had been polished wood, that shimmered in the illumination of the day, now it was the color of filth and decay, the only shimmer that could be seem was May’s spectral glow. She was sitting on the top step staring down at him, still singing one of those sweet, soft, sad songs they had so loved. The lovely phantom was just as out of place here as he was, yet Jack knew it couldn’t have been any other way. Taking a few steps towards the stairway, he ran his fingers over the rounded, dusty banister. He saw the boy as he rounded the corner, running through the the rays of sun that poured through the windows. With small arms outstretched he ran straight through the vampire and up the steps. May opened her arms to him and, for a moment, Jack thought she’d catch him, but the light blinked out and they vanished. The vampire was alone in the dark once more.

“Why didn’t we ever talk about this, love?” May’s voice posed the inquiry as Jack carefully made his way up the narrow staircase. Truth was, it never seemed relevant. It was a time he hardly knew and May hadn’t opened up much about the days before they had met. It was something they had each had locked up within themselves, throwing the keys far away. The hall at the end of his ascent seemed to stretch on for miles. Jack made his way carefully towards the door at the otherside. He could hear the wood of the door shaking and he was sure he could hear the cry of some desperate spirit trying to escape. There was more graffiti lining the walls up here, mostly cultish and satanic stuff...art by those who played at power. Real power was in the blood that flowed through his veins...it scared him still. He was surprised to see the door intact and on its hinges, as the doors to the other rooms all had been torn asunder. Though it did look as though someone had tried to shove a knife through the wood a few times. He marveled at how light it felt as he pushed it open.

Empty. Unless you counted the debris that had fallen through the hole in the room, it was just an empty room. The sliding door to the closet at the left hand side of the room had caved in as well. There were no wailing ghosts here, just the howl of the bitter breeze. He let it envelop him as he walked to the middle of the room and stared up through the ruin of the roof and into the stars. How often he had wanted to fly out into them, now it was possible that he’d have that chance. The wind had quieted and it was nearly silent again. A familiar shuffling noise accompanied by a mindless groan touched his ears. Jack followed the sound to the window. Peering down to on the street, he could see a lone zombie of a man slowly roaming the boulevard. It was a rather ghastly thing, most of the flesh was gone from the right side of its face and both hands seemed to have decayed down to the bone. What skin did remain was black and green with rot. Jack could smell the old blood that covered the rags it sported. The window sill was large enough to sit in, so the young vampire did just that. He reached into his coat and withdrew the small golden pistol that always made him feel so much like James Bond, took aim, and fired. Three direct shots to head was all it took for the decrepit skull to implode with a smattering of black matter. The body fell to the street with a sickening ‘plop!’ Jack had quite the eye since he had taken his dance with death. He didn’t put his gun away, but instead placed it on his lap, just on the off chance that anything else decided to visit his neighborhood.

Two pins adorned the front pocket of the vampire’s leather jacket. One was a Dead Head, with an hourglass on a field of stars in the skull. Steal Your Time, something Jack, personally, no longer had to worry about. He had all the time in the world now. Death had taken him and fashioned the musician into one her immortal tools. The second pin was a small white skull within a downward pointing black heart. The duality of his taste in tunes reflected the complicated nature of reality, times could be lighthearted and heavy handed all at once. The young vampire pulled the bandana down off of his face, letting it rest around his neck, before reaching into that front pocket. He pulled out a silver harmonica. Someone once said that music was the bridge between the physical and the spiritual. Jack wholeheartedly believed that, so he began to play. The melody that drifted out into the darkness was heavy and haunting. As he blew through the chambers, Jack didn’t consider who or what the song might draw. Only the memories drifted through his mind, slowing, playing out into the night.

It had been six months since it all began, or depending on how you look in at it, ended. There was a time when Katalina could have easily deciphered one from the other, now she wasn't so sure. The world was black and white; grey had never been much of a forethought. Then again, death should have never been made a grey area. But, to say that would be hypocrisy, at least for her. While she didn't create any Children of the Night, she didn't exactly throw herself off a metaphorical cliff when it happened to her. She had guidance though, and a will that very few souls in this generation had. She couldn't give up. She had to survive. In truth, it didn't seem so brief anymore. The days had seemed like years in an eternal darkness.

Walking around the sewer system had not always been her first idea. The first time she did it she swore to never go back to that rat infested filth ever again yet, here she was. Come to find out, it was the easiest way to travel. No people, very few zombies and no ghosts. Just the way she liked it. Not that she knew where exactly she was going. Even Ripper told her the first day that it was easy to get lost but she wanted to figure out the underground maze herself. In her hand she held a piece of paper that was marked up beyond anyone else's legibility, but she had been laboring over the tunnels for a solid three days. It was an adventure. Something she could do that wasn't dealing with her mentor or tearing apart the countryside, even if it was in her personal hell. She took a right at the crossroads kept a light pace. A man at six foot would have to stoop down, but Katalina's petite size worked to her advantage. As she went deeper into the corridor, it opened up before narrowing off again. The pipes had flaked to rust and the stench turned her stomach. It was no longer the scent of feces, but burning and rotten flesh. Any normal being would have backtracked, but the smell did mean something: there was an opening near by. She picked up the pace, searching for any little crack of moonlight in the gloom. Scuttling through what was left of the claustrophobic space, the sight of a man-hole cover was practically a god-send. What was left of the latter clanged over her weight but retrained from ripping off it's hinges as Katalina lifted up on the grate and emerged into freedom.

Pushing off her hands to stand up right, she realized only a second later that this was no longer freedom but the definition of chaos. The once mild smell of death now a putrid taint like a stain that would never come out again. Smoke seemed to rise in bellows despite the unrelenting wind. It felt good on her skin even if she could no longer feel the cold of it's embrace. The world around her, however, was broken. Buildings long abandoned or extinguished by the flames that ravaged everything else were barely hanging upright if not plummeting, only to cling to it's original form by a thread. A word echoed in her mind: Quarantine Zone. She had heard about it enough but she had no idea...

Katalina stepped forward, if only out of curiosity. It seemed to be her one weakness. The craving to see, go and do. She took in everything. Knowledge was a sin to anyone who believed in the Bible, but that book had no place in this realm of existence and certainly no longer in her life. The chorus of footsteps prompted her to act quickly and in a blur, Katalina dashed over to the nearest crumbled building and ducked inside; her dark hair loosing and falling to her shoulders in the process. Military. As the foot-soldiers marched passed, Katalina could only go deadly still as if she too, were hunting prey. They stopped to examine the open underground entryway and Kat held back a curse. While they were inspecting the hole for any escaping dead, and breaking off into patrol, Katalina snaked her way around to the backside of the building, wandering through a stale kitchen and out the side door. She had to get to a safer place and while there might not be one with the zombies about, there had to be a place were the human traffic slowed.

She had to walk a few blocks but sure as sunrise, the patrols were in smaller packs and a place where the damage had hit families hard steadily emerged. Yellow and tan houses worn by the elements sit awaiting people who would never come home. Katalina stopped. There was a soft sound barely carried by the breeze. It was sweet like something she had heard a long time ago...before the screams and the laughter. She found herself gravitating towards it like she was once again a small child. As she grew closer, the sound became full and tune ever changing. Some part of her scoffed that it was just music but it was different, older. Across the street from the melody, the girl dressed in full black could see a man perched high in a shambled window. It were as if the world were not there in front of him, the way he played. And, for a few minutes the lost girl was too, home.

The melody was rooted in the past. Tinged with hints of gospel and the blues that flowed into a sad rockabilly tune, it became something all its own. To say each note was dripping with sorrow would have been an oversimplification. The vampire poured a smattering of different thoughts and feelings into the song. Emotions and musings which were presently playing out in front of him. There’s something to be said for the kind of song that doesn’t limit the listener to the musician’s story, but rather allows for the listener to incorporate their own memories into the melody. Any ear that happened to catch Jack’s song this evening would have experienced just that.

As the vampire played, the room filled with sunlight, with impossibility. The degradation and ruin seemed to vanish all around him, leaving him sitting in the sill of the past. The empty room was furnished in the familiar manner of what was only a dream. The small boy ran into the room in a fit of giggles, diving under the bed with the white comforter. Jack could hear his mother calling back out to him through the melody, trying to draw him from his hiding place. A thunderous clap and everything faded back to black. It happened in only an instant, but the vampire was back in the present, with only the dancing glow of distant fires and the harmony swimming from the harp at his lips.

The haunting music stopped abruptly. What had been the point of this? Coming back here. It was the sweetest way to torture himself. Dying had been part of the plan, but he’d put his coin on the much more permanent kind. The kind where you were found in a gutter with a bottle in your hand and the saddest song tucked away in your pocket. It would be left unsung of course and maybe in a decade or two someone would stumble upon it. They’d call it a masterpiece and he a genius. The dead always were.

Here he sat though. Not so much breathing, but alive. If life was limited to consciousness anyway. Watching a world where the dead no longer stayed silent, no longer rested. A world where they had become a people unto themselves. There was most definitely merit in being a witness to times such as these. The world had changed and would change again quite soon. Still there was a grave that seemed to call Jack’s name. May’s ghostly form sat in the windowsill across from him now. If she were at all solid he’d feel her legs resting in his lap, next to the golden gun. He’d feel the soft caress of the hand that reached out to touch his cheek. Her fair, freckled features were contorted into a mask of despair. Jack knew that she felt what he felt. They’d always be so close to each other, yet would be forever separated by a divide that neither of them could cross. It was maddening to say the least. And here he was looking for a life that didn’t belong to him anymore, that maybe never truly did. A joint was sounding better and better with each passing moment.

Gazing into the deep hazel pools of her starlit eyes, he remembered his promise. He recalled the guilt that locked up the easy way out. Locked it up and threw away the key. “As long as you know how I loved you…” the vampire began to sing softly, in that gruff, melodious voice of his. Something stopped him though. It was a sound in the darkness. For a moment he thought just another zombie or a browshirt on patrol. Then he locked eyes with her. She was nothing but a face in the gloom. She wore the darkness well. At first Jack thought her another form of shade that drifted from the depths of the rift to haunt the world, but realized that she was just sporting a cloak of shadow, probably just some black clothing really. Jack, unusually capless this evening, tipped an invisible hat to the stranger.

As he played, the girl did not move and needless to say, had no reason to even breath. She was as still as a statue, still as the stars. There was no way of knowing who the man was or what he thought hanging there above her, but the bittersweet sway of tune said more than words could. Her eyes could not see the ghost of lady past perched next to him nor the visions that he saw that night. It was not her path. What she did recall, however, was something in what seemed to be, another world.

It was summer; still early, given the grass was a fresh green. There were trees everywhere, all of which bloomed clusters of pink flowers. Cherry blossoms loomed over a small wooden house that was painted to the shade of bark, and a forest of oak awaited just yards behind. Katalina was a small child back then and her little feet could only carry her so fast, but to her, she was flying. The sound of a old music fluttered though the air as she ran eagerly to join her brother on a soft patch of earth. Mark sat with his knees folded under, his eight year old face struck with captivation as he watched their father, who rested on the stump of a newly cut tree, his feet tapping to a swift tempo. Mark and Katalina held very little similarities to their father what with his squared chin, jade eyes, and roman nose. The only thing that all three had in common was their mid-brown hair, warmed in shade by the sun-rays. As they listened, little Kat undulated side to side, slowing with the beat as it slowly grew soft, almost in longing.

She could've stayed in that memory forever. Back when life was simple, when everything was alright. But, the outward music stopped, dragging her back into reality. It felt colder than it had only minutes before, not due to any change in temperature, but rather a change in the mind. She pursed her lips, giving the stranger a last glance, even though to him, she had been staring the whole time. As he begun to sing, she took a step back. There was no place for her here, not among the living or the dead. The man deserved his peace. She didn't watch where she placed that heel and even the slightest crunch made her peer up. He was looking right at her. She must have caught his eye. She looked right back at him with a modest grimace like a thief caught in the act. Knowing his hand movement all too well, a tiny smile played on her lips. A pale hand raised back to him, her fingers still half-flexed. She wasn't sure she was welcome. Not many vampires were that social or even friendly. I suppose you could say, that was the one thing Katalina had not totally lost. She was more leery of people, but traveling alone had its one downfall: being trapped in one's head.

One could never tell who’d you meet in the dark in a city like this. Well in any city really. Though ‘round these parts you were liable to end up someone or something’s dinner. The vampire liked to believe he’d climbed to the evolutionary apex of peak predator, but he’d tousled with a few things lurking in the shadows that told him otherwise. Taking a look at the lady below though she didn’t seem too monstrous. The way her skin seemed to shimmer in the shadows with a supernatural sheen led Jack to believe that they were quite similar. He’d have grinned at her greeting, maybe even continued to play (it was always nice to have an audience) if he hadn’t happened to catch what was in the distance, what was heading their way.

Their hooting and heckling carried through the evening like nails on a chalkboard. The wind wasn’t the only maniacal howling beast any longer. He may have been young, but he’d been watching events as of late rather closely and the vampire knew the type right off the bat. They were the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to burn a vampire where he stood. They’d drink around the blaze and piss on the ashes. Scared men who hid behind a sense of superiority with a mean powertrip. Some of their lot were soldiers, some militia, but mostly they were just rabble rousers aiming to stomp out ‘the infection.’ And they were making their way through the overgrowth, into his neighborhood. By Jack’s count it was a band of ten. Ten too many in a world already filled to the brim with monsters.

No doubt the lady in the shadows would hear their approach as well. The vulgar racket they were making could have woken the deaf. Hoping that he still had the girl’s attention, Jack put a single finger of his left hand to his lips, while signaling her to approach with his right hand. One thing vampires didn’t lack was a sense of secrecy, the ability to move like the quietest of mice and remain undetected. Perhaps it was because they were more similar to spirits than not or maybe it was just an internal survival method. Something that kept them from being ripped to shreds by a mob of townspeople or a cult of zealots.

Jack pocketed his harmonica as well as his golden gun, stepping out of the windowsill and back into the ruin of the house. Wasting no time he pulled the bandana back up over his face and made his way into the hall and towards the stairwell. The steps creaked and shrieked as he made his way down and the dust from the banister caked his palm, leaving a hand trail down the old wood. Something caught his eye about mid-flight, something he hadn’t noticed when he’d first arrived. The hardwood, near the entryway, had a dark stain upon it. Something that had soaked through the planks. Then the room was filled with the bright of the sun again.

It was a sight the vampire hadn’t witnessed, so it couldn’t have been a memory. The chirping of birds and the passing of a car filled the otherwise quiet afternoon. A woman was humming from just around the bend. It was a sweet song, something filled with a carefree mirth. She called out to her son and that same mirth could be heard in her voice. It was a playful tone without a hint of stress or wear. It led Jack to believe she’d enjoyed the role of motherhood. She called out to her boy again before the room filled with a loud pounding on the front door, the door just at the bottom of the stairs. She’d just been turning the corner, about to head up the steps. The light vanished and Jack was left quite weary, in the ruin and gloom again, clutching hard to the banister, staring at the door that was hanging from it hinges again.

The humming swirled around his mind like a ghostly haze. He was trying to memorize each note, trying to hold onto every little harmony. ‘Not to disrupt you, love, but we’re about to have guests,’ May’s voice shattered through the swirl and it dissipated back into the past. Jack couldn’t help but imagine what kind of mother May would have made. He could picture her singsong voice playfully calling out to a child that would never exist. ‘Now’s not the time to be dancing in those dreams…’ The sounds of taunting obscenities was most definitely growing closer and the breeze had picked up a rather boozy odor. A wonderful addition to the scents of charred flesh and rotten corruption.

Jack hurried the rest of the way down the stairwell and peered through the broken doorway. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the shadowed lass, hoping she’d headed his way for a bit of cover. The last thing Jack wanted to see was a fellow vampire fall prey to the sick designs of men that made merry on misery.

Something changed in his face. It was slight and nearly undetectable like a bad smell hit his nose, then her senses prickled too. It occurred to her that it wasn't a scent but an echo. As she listened, the voices grew louder into drunken banter. Even without being one of the most hated creatures on the planet, that sound was never a good sign. Apparently the stranger was thinking something similar as he gestured to her. She gave a slight nod, not completely sure he caught it before he disappeared into the warped remains of a house.

Laughter boomed out from behind her. Like a cat, she bolted across the street. How could she have let this happen? Her feet pushed hard against the pavement, yet they still weren't as ear-splitting as the band of heathens somewhere behind her. She wondered if they'd even hear her, but as a precaution she closed her eyes and concentrated on muffling the sound. Stepping up the curb on the other side, Katalina slid into shade left by the overhanging roof. The grey mask of the walls and night would serve her well if they had indeed heard her trespassing, but the ranting kept it's ever bouncing stupidity and stride. She slithered along the outside wall until she reached the stretch between the side wall and front door. Hurrying forward, she passed just below the shadow of a large tree. She too, noted it's swing still hanging by an old piece of rope. It seemed to be the only living entity still left in this broken city, unless you wanted to call those plunderers behind her living creatures.

Reaching the porch, she found a silhouette already waiting on her. She dared not stand on it at first, the way it was eaten alive by time and weeds. The moonlight was angled perfectly upon her as long as she stood there, even though the house left him in the shadows. She had a surprisingly soft face and short chin, but by no means looked pudgy due to both her cheeks and the way her shoulder-length, dark chocolate hair framed it. Her eyes were bright blue and seemed almost iridescent though he probably swore they weren't when he saw her from the ground. She wore jeans, soft leather boots and a long sleeve turtle-neck that had been folded down just below the neck, all in the same dark color. It was no wonder she stayed so well hidden. There was one thing she had forgotten to conceal, however. There was no shadow to match her body anywhere to be seen despite the fact that the golden pistol on her waist and dark blue hilted sword on her back cast their own. Assessing that he most likely ventured in the same way, she eased upon the porch where it even groaned under her own weight. She could have walked right inside regardless, but her sassy nature won out.
"I don't suppose you still live here?" She whispered in a voice inaudible to the human ear. There was that hint of a joke to her voice, but it suddenly dropped before he could answer. "What am I saying? Thank you."

(Power: Silent Hunter - Successful)

As midnight blue eyes peered out into the gloom, the vampire was slightly taken aback, a bit startled. It was the angry groaning of the old porch that really gave him the jump, as the sound hit his ears just as his sight escaped through the doorway. The sight of those same eyes immediately fell down into two pools of shimmering blue starlight and for a moment he was transfixed. It was as if the lass’s eyes had brought the night sky to his doorstep. Though he should have been expecting to see her standing before him, he’d thought he moved quicker, thought he’d reach the threshold before she would. It made him question just how long he’d been stilled by the frames of a time long passed.

The absence of a heartbeat was the sure confirmation of what he had expected, the lady was immortal. When her hushed words slipped through to his ears, a wry though somewhat sad smirk graced his lips, though the bandana over his face hid the expression, “It’s post-apocalyptic chic, all the rage in the States,” he kept his own gruff voice low, but a hint of ironic humor was still present. If time and circumstances had been different, Jack probably would have put on a mock air of sophistication. It just wasn’t the time or the place. He pulled open the distressed red door, gently, carefully, trying to avoid the loud shriek of age. Still it whimpered as it tried to escape from its hinges. Truly this was more action than it had seen in years. Standing just outside of the doorframe, in the shadows of what was once a living room, the tall, skeletal vampire made an exaggerated gesture of ‘come on in’ to the petite vampiress with his long arm, “Don’t be thankin’ me yet.”

A thunderous series of claps seemed to scream out into the night. The sounds could only be those of gunshots. Instinctively Jack reached into his coat, grabbing the butt of his gun. Laughter followed however, as well as the shattering of a glass bottle. As far as the
young vampire could tell, they hadn’t made the house as a hideout for the two vampires. Gunpowder and whiskey tickled his nostrils as the gust kicked up again, pushing the old door and causing it to slam into the inner wall. There was quite a crash. Jack cursed, so much for being sneaky.

With another exaggerated hand gesture, this one crying ‘follow me,’ Jack began to drift deeper into the darkness of the old house. The floor creaked a bit, but nothing that would have be audible over the howling that was taking place inside. With his hand still tucked into his coat, the vampire plopped himself down next to the window at the far end of the cobwebbed room. The glass was completely gone from the crossed frame, but countless tiny shards sat in the sill, reflecting a bit of the starlight from the darkness above. He sat off to the left, positioning himself just so he could get a glimpse of the fellows outside and still use the shadows as a cover.

A rowdy bunch indeed. A few men dressed in camo fatigues, a few in black, even a few sporting flak jackets and body armor. More than one covered their faces with various dark colored bandanas. No helmets, but winter hats and black beanies seemed standard. No guy had a gas mask on top of his head. They were ragtag and wore no discernable symbol of any particular group.

A bottle was thrown up into the air as another hail of gunfire rang out into the night. The bottle shattered beneath the bullets, hooting and hawing quickly followed. The hunting party, as Jack had come to think of them, wasn’t parked directly in front of the house, but somewhere between the end of the neighboring yard and the place across the street. The cry of “save your bullets!” preceded another round of laughter. There was quite a few of them, but quite a few were also quite inebriated. He wondered if he’d be able to take them down, if a quick escape was needed. Shooting them outright would be a mistake. Though they had a bit of cover, Jack was pretty certain the semi automatic rifles and what looked to be flame throwers that more than one of them carried, would rip them to pieces. No, it would take something a bit more creative. He sat back against the wall, closing his eyes. He really wanted to get his hands on one of those flamethrowers, what a toy that would be.

Turning his attention to his guest he spoke softly through his own bandana, “There’s a door ‘round back, leads out to a small yard. Might be able to get through without any trouble.” Jack kept his drawling voice hushed, hoping that the wind didn’t carry it. Though, the way that group was carrying on, Jack doubted they’d hear it anyway. The low moan of something rotten hummed along beneath their commotion.

"I know right? Nothin' like the sound of rotted floorboards in the mornin'." Her voice held a slight southern Mississippi draw when she didn't pronunciate the 'g,' but it was slight, as if she had forced the change over the years. A tiny smile growing from the counter of her mouth at his welcoming voice, she steps inside. Taking a breath, the smell of mold, the tinge of copper blood, and other obscenities bombarded her all at once. It made her want to take a step back, but she didn't. This had become the normal expectation. She really didn't know why she bothered trying to breath anymore. The sigh of relief was more of an emphasis than a necessity. Believe it or not, it was something she almost missed, until something tried to kill her. The floor was surprisingly soft under her boots, an old carpet leading to the grand staircase. It was torn at the seams, and riddled with holes that revealed decayed sub-flooring. There were stains everywhere, so much so it was hard to tell what the carpet's original color had been, some obviously caused by the spray paint covering the walls, and others she didn't even want to imagine.

The first round of gunshots didn't seem to phase her. She had been shot at enough in these past few months to double the amount in her actual life and then some. Living in the country with shotguns and in Michigan with semi-automatics does tend to make the ringing of shots almost common. Almost. She flexed her fingers, itching to touch the butt of her gun. She didn't need to, but it was an old comfort. Amusingly, the crash of the door was what got her started. Her feet actually left the ground by a couple feet as she whirled around in midair, her gun brought up and feet hit the ground in one smooth motion. It took a full second for her to realize there was nothing there, just a beaten down door giving into the wind. She closed her eyes and tilted her head down and to the side like a half head shake. The golden gun remained in her hands but she angled it down. Opening her eyes, she tried to cover an embarrassed expression and turned to follow the stranger past the staircase. She couldn't help but stare at the old grandeur and wonder what it had looked like before the outbreak. She chose her steps, carefully following his with great un-trust of the dishonest floor.

Sliding down a crossed from the vampire, she too got a glimpse of the men that awaited beyond. It didn't appear to be a good match. Two against ten never was, but something about them sent a fire sparking into her unbeating heart. These people weren't just after her or her kind; they would kill anything that moved and lie with women who protested against them. She knew these men from the slums of every corner of the earth. As if her orbs could tell her mind, they lit with a baby blue light, bright with anger. "And leave these assholes to do whatever they want?" There was a growl in her voice that she evidently had held back as best she could. He had a point but a fight seemed a lot more promising. "We could do this your way, but if something goes wrong..." She paused in thought creating at least part of a plan. "I can distract them. It's hard to kill something you can't see." She gave a mischievous grin as if she knew something he didn't. "Go after the fire-breathers first. Best to get them out of the way. After that, it's a game of cat and mouse." A sadistic, more animal-like quality had weaseled it's way into her though she clamped down on it hard, most nights, but tonight? With the victims being murderers themselves, she held no mercy. "After all, what is the use of being dead if you can't have fun with cut-throats like these?"

Something primal gleamed in the starlight of the vampiress’s eyes. There was a fury in it, but also that instinctual desire that was peculiar to predators. The young allurist picked up on it immediately. It was something so familiar to him and it ignited the same flare within himself. It wasn’t completely irrational, nothing like what drove their neighbors, the zombies. Still though there was something that powered the feeling that hadn’t been there in life. Perhaps it was the simple lust for blood, the elixir of their immortality and the drug with the greatest high. As the drunken rabble rousing continued on the streets just outside their window, Jack knew that the lady’s proposal had some merit to it. After all, were these not just the type of men, who, if continued unchecked, would ultimately find themselves in positions of authority? Weren’t these just the type of folk that he’d been working against?

The young vampire nodded and continuing to keep his smoky voice low responded, “Fair enough, might as well do some good.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, but his eyes kept a stone cold appearance. Underneath the bandana a small, wicked smile twisted over his lips. It was a rather hungry smirk. Jack had a few tricks up his sleeve himself and as he looked from the vampiress back to the men outside, he put a bit of a plan into motion. “What if we could get them to rip themselves apart?” It was a verbalized thought and he spoke it without turning his attention back to the lass. It was the greatest weakness of mankind, they were so predisposed to turn on each other at a moment’s notice. The same causes that united could often be used to divide. A dog eat dog society was more of a truth than a tired expression. Of course there’d be a bit of preternatural prompting involved, but just to hurry along the process.

The howl of the wind ripped through the shell of the house again, rattling it a bit. A familiar groaning sound was carried with it. It could have been confused as just the cry of the gust, but with preternatural hearing there was a sharp distinction. It could have been his imagination, but Jack was quite sure that the hot stench of decay also became more pronounced, if that was even possible. It appeared that the commotion drew the attention of more than just the two vampires. If they were to have some additional company, though, they’d be slow coming. Perhaps they’d have enough time to play their game with the guys out front. Perhaps they’d be able to use the approaching monsters to their advantage.

Jack turned his attention back to the vampiress, a certain, wicked gleam in his dark eyes, “Let’s see what ya got, then?” Was it a reckless statement, of course it was. But her words were curious. The young vampire always found the gifts of an immortal rather interesting. Additionally the combined might of two vampires against ten or so humans, well it was worth a quick study. The vampire caught a glimpse of his phantom paramore, just floating behind the vampiress. As her long auburn, spectral locks seemed to drift in the breeze around her, she flashed him a mischievous smile and nodded in knowing approval.

==========AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENTS SYSTEM==========

Katalina Black feels a wave of renewing energy washing over them from some unexplained, benevolent force.