I-1
The dark alley provided such comfort that he stayed in it. He had made a primitive nest, and for now, sleeping was out of the picture. He wanted blood—wanted it more than anything. He had transformed into a brutish monster, complete with the sharpened claws (not to mention elongated) and teeth, plus the crimson skin that extinguished his humanity. Vampire: that's what they call people like me. He thought. Damn this thirst! He would have said it, but the words came out as; "Graggghh clishgu!" as if a brutish animal.
He was crouching, eyeing at his prey through a dark hole. The rain poured, it seemed that of all times, stalking his prey while raining was a good effect. The prey was a hobo, complete with the tattered trench coat and beard. The prey was drinking a bottle of beer, when he creeped up behind him.
He took hold of his neck, gripped it hard, choking the man. He took hold of the shoulders and bit him in the carotid artery. The hobo's throat was ripped when he did this—the spurting whole seemed to spill more blood. He bit more with his numerous razor-sharp teeth, draining the man of his blood in the process.
Hungry…I'm still hungry!!!
But no, he cannot resist. He must feed. He must do it until dawn, where he will sleep in the hole he has made on the wall of a warehouse. The other wanderers might recognize him as a monster sleeping, and might even 'stake' him to kill him, but no. He will awaken, and kill them, avoiding sunlight of course.
The prey's hand went limp, and it went pale with the bite. Dead. He released the grip in his hands and teeth and let the man collapse. Through his darkened eyes he saw the dead man, the last look on his face was agony.
"More", his primal self told him(in his mind, for his twisted, mutating body was lurking n the darkness of a corner), "more! "
"We need blood. We are the prophecy."
"Prophecy?"this came from himself.
"You are the newborn vampire. The new kind. From you shall the Volturi fall!!!"
I-2
The man sitting inside the dimly lit room was around forty, a scarred man. He was as the ladies call him, "tall, dark and handsome" in form. Here the detective worked with the freak occurrences happening in Fallcreek city. 'Freak' occurrences are considered 'paranormal', which he was. So paranormal investigator Michael Steele was studying the strange report of a 'vampire' attack in an alley at Fleet Street, located just a few blocks from his office, inside Fallcreek City Police Department, in a dark alley.
It says here that the victim died of blood loss in the Jugular artery. And another part of the autopsy report said that 'the victim had no bodily fluids. He was sucked dry.' Weird.
He approached the telephone, conveniently located on top of his desk, and dialed a number. He was answered by a man who sounded like a teenager.
"Hello?"Said the teen.
"Sonny? Is your uncle Lou home?"
"What this time?"The voice changed.
"Lou, you can change voices?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, Lou, I need your help. You see, I was wondering, as the 'ambassador' of vampires in Fallcreek, I was wondering of your brethren have been fed up of having to drink blood bank blood."
"No, of course not. We love blood bank blood, why?"
"There was this murder in an alley near Fleet Street. The Vic was sucked dry."
"Great. I'll look it up."
"Thanks, Lou."
They both hung up.
For a decade, Fallcreek has not reported any malicious vampire activity due to a deal in which the Center was willing to give blood from blood banks to them. Also, police cooperate with these vampires through vampire 'ambassadors', with the knowledge of the Volturi—still unknown to humans. Michael Steele has been assigned to the 'Daylight' project, Daylight being a weakness that some variants of the vampires have. He had worked with another person—two, to be exact. They were a team once, but the two seemed to go for better careers. One of them, agent Hart, was killed in a joint mission where a 'superhuman' grabbed her by the neck and flew out of the window. The other, worked deep in the Center, a 'Men In Black' company that tackles supernatural occurrences with special trained agents.
God, if that thing was a vampire, what are the odds that it could spread its toxicity. Look at all the damage that 'thing' could cause. He would have to stop it, conventionally. He had his two friends for that job, one is Matilda, a Heckler and Koch VP70, and Link, his 9mm Berretta, shining silver, in all its glory. Vampires, unlike in legends, can be slain by severing the spinal cord, or putting a bullet through the heart or brain. They will melt in sunlight, but some variants have immunity to it, Lou is one. A stake to the heart does nothing, as noted when a rogue vampire was 'staked'. The heart regenerated. The vampire, apparently went onto further mutation: longer nails, an arsenal of teeth, and an uncanny speed. He put a bullet through its brain, though, using good old Matilda. The cross, indeed, does seem to do damage to rogues vampires, which causes them to flee if the one holding it has faith. For the mean time, Mike doesn't have a cross. That's one thing he regrets.
The telephone rang.
1-3
The jeep sped through the Arklay highway, south of the city. The driver had a police uniform on, with golden letters at the back: FCPD. He didn't seem to be part of the police, but that young, youthful look on his face let off a word, rookie. The jeep was on district one, Creek Avenue. It was deserted, not even Mrs. Mooney's pie shop was open.
Brethren, come to me!
The newborn vampire hid in another alley, this time in Creek Avenue between Mrs. Mooney's Pie shop and a derelict apartment building. He had fed upon dozens now, hid them somewhere to decay. He also created more brethren. More red-skinned, sharp clawed, rage-filled creatures. There were a dozen of them. But he made a mistake.
The future king of vampires, making a mistake. You're pathetic, maggot. A voice in his head said.
The body of Mrs. Mooney lay on the gravel road because he left her there when the street lamp went on. A crow was pecking pieces of her intestines. It was too late when the rookie's jeep came.
More prey. He thought.
Ken Kennedy, the rookie cop, stopped when he saw Mrs. Mooney dead on the gravel road.
"What do we have here?" inspecting the body, a mutilated, scratched bitten body. There wasn't any blood. None on the floor.
"Vampire." He said. There was a sudden response—a snarl. A creature leaped from a nearby building. It's hair was neatly combed, pointing to the back, it's eyes, black, with half-moons under them. It was in a crouched attacking position, meant to leap onto the target's face, in this case, Kenny. In the light of the street lamp, he could see that the creature's skin was crimson red.
"What the hell?"
The creature snarled again, rearing its bloody head onto the light of the street lamp. The creature's teeth were razor-sharp talons that could be the teeth that bit Mrs. Mooney. Ken, realizing the danger of this creature—and many speculated others, un-holstered the M9 Pistol he had in his holster and began firing.
The creature's eye blew up into smaller bits, the bullet easily entering the brain. The creature did not care; it snarled and ran at him with lightning speed.
"No!"
Another report of gunfire came that the center of its skull blew up, sending pieces of the creature's skull flying. It collapsed. Dead. Another creature screeched at him and attacked.
He aimed his sights at the 'thing' and squeezed the trigger—click!
"Great."
The creature leaped at Kenny. He responded with a sucker punch to the face. The creature landed on the car's windshield, unconscious.
"Oh, fuck!"
Dashing, he went to the passenger seat's dashboard and took the magazine clip. He reloaded his pistol; then shot the creature's forehead two times. He pulled the thing's dead body onto the gravel road, then got in and started the car. He hit the gas hard.