He waited for the first rays of the Apocalypse to fall. Filthy grey snowflakes drifted across the greasy windows, the rank stink of pollution wafting in the air. Hairless people stumbled dejectedly along the roads, their clothes in torn tatters as the wind stirred them.
He trailed a finger across the window, nose crinkling in disgust as they came away oily, like slick blood. He touched a tainted fingertip to his tongue experimentally and his features were wrought by change. The dullness in his eyes brightened; his eyes sparkled in the dark. It tasted sweet, overly so, like rotting caramel. As he brought his fingers to his mouth yet again, it turned a jarring blend of crimson and black.
The boy grinned, revealing shimmering purple fangs, a small searching tongue and slime that dripped red.
Before long, the windows were clean, a sore thumb with all the other filth around. After all, the Apocalypse was dirty business.