Chapter 1: Make The Kill, Drink The Spill!"
December 2005 Los Angeles, California;
The city streets were loud and dirty, just like the people. You couldn't last one night here, not going one minute without the sounds of screams, gunfire, or car horns. Apartments were rarely in any good condition, and if they were they would be robbed or burned down, or even be the scene of a massacre. Some of the worst crimes of modern day society happen here. And the worst part is, no one really cares. Everyone has their own lives and schedules to keep to, and everyone has an opinion about somebody else. Forced into two main lifestyles, rich or poor, no exceptions. To live in the ghetto, and children grow up without fathers or even food, learning at early ages to abandon charity and sensitivity. For the rich, all that had to be done was to step over someone else, purchasing large cars and nice suits to show off their power. All that can be said for the wealthy or the hard-up is the same. pride creates blood-letting monsters in humans. You can't be naiive, and the only way to survive is to give into the madness, to let the City of Angels rule you.
If only they knew that the real wonders and beauty of the world, if Paradise, was actually under their feet, in a place no one would think to go.
It was raining, heavilly, and cold. It was twenty degrees above zero, rain so cold it seemed upon falling it went from snow to water. Though clouds layered the sky, it was a full moon, swelling with energy.
It was on these nights that she walked the city.
Downtown, it was getting close to midnight, and the hustle of the night life was beginning. Late-night couples, punks, whores and their pimps- -all out for things you couldn't do during the day. Among the small crowds, concealed from any wandering eyes, was a girl. She was clad in black; simple jeans, knee-high army boots, and a sweatshirt with a hood over head, were only the bottom half of her pale face and random strands of raven- black hair poked out from the opening. No one would notice her, or suspect her for that matter.
Everyone except them. At least the smart ones anyhow. But humans were not intelligent in the slightest, especially this pathetic filth that went to Dark Shadows, a mainly goth and S&M dance club, which was her destination.
But she was patroling, and hunting. For protection, for game, for dinner. Whatever. It was her choice.
BLAM!
Suddenly, she felt a severe pinch as a silver bullet went through the side of her breast and out her hip. She grunted and staggered, falling slightly. Screaming and panic filled her ringing ears as people began to scramble away from the scene. A click was heard from the roof of a bar, and her head jerked up and her hood falling back. Her eyes were sparkling ruby and her lips pulled back, revealing sharp inch-long fangs.
A man stood atop a building, dressed in a priest's outfit and holding a three foot shot gun. He looked down at her in a patronizing way, uttering a prayer. Her eyes opened wide, and she smiled widely like a beast.
"Well well, if it isn't the fuckin' Vatican after my ass AGAIN."
"Abomination! May God have mercy on your soul." He raised the barrel again.
"Heh." She leapt up into the air and stood infront of him, and he jumped back, startled. She reached into the back of her pants, and pulled out a ruby red casull. "Well?" She said amused. "Don't you wanna play, jack ass--GRRAH!!!"
He had punched her in the stomach, and in his palm was a long knife. The end of the blade was shaped like a cross. But her hungry eyes looked up at him, powerful and deranged, and he gasped. "Ironic, huh?"
Without a word, she drew her hand back, and slammed her fist straight through his abdomen. His eyes popped out of his head and he gagged on his own blood. The rain washed the crimson life from the roof and onto the streets below.
The girl grabbed him by the throat and dragged his squeeling body to the edge of the building, which reached above fifty feet. Jerking his head over the side, she stared down at him, her eyes the color of wild fire.
"So how does it feel, fuckface, to be beaten by an animal?" He spat blood in her face. She growled. "Not even your blood is worth my feeding. So what's your name, big boy?"
He growled. "Britz."
She giggled. "Okay then, when you get to Hell, tell them Annastasia Bathory sent you."
Her gripped loosened, and he fell.
December 2005 Los Angeles, California;
The city streets were loud and dirty, just like the people. You couldn't last one night here, not going one minute without the sounds of screams, gunfire, or car horns. Apartments were rarely in any good condition, and if they were they would be robbed or burned down, or even be the scene of a massacre. Some of the worst crimes of modern day society happen here. And the worst part is, no one really cares. Everyone has their own lives and schedules to keep to, and everyone has an opinion about somebody else. Forced into two main lifestyles, rich or poor, no exceptions. To live in the ghetto, and children grow up without fathers or even food, learning at early ages to abandon charity and sensitivity. For the rich, all that had to be done was to step over someone else, purchasing large cars and nice suits to show off their power. All that can be said for the wealthy or the hard-up is the same. pride creates blood-letting monsters in humans. You can't be naiive, and the only way to survive is to give into the madness, to let the City of Angels rule you.
If only they knew that the real wonders and beauty of the world, if Paradise, was actually under their feet, in a place no one would think to go.
It was raining, heavilly, and cold. It was twenty degrees above zero, rain so cold it seemed upon falling it went from snow to water. Though clouds layered the sky, it was a full moon, swelling with energy.
It was on these nights that she walked the city.
Downtown, it was getting close to midnight, and the hustle of the night life was beginning. Late-night couples, punks, whores and their pimps- -all out for things you couldn't do during the day. Among the small crowds, concealed from any wandering eyes, was a girl. She was clad in black; simple jeans, knee-high army boots, and a sweatshirt with a hood over head, were only the bottom half of her pale face and random strands of raven- black hair poked out from the opening. No one would notice her, or suspect her for that matter.
Everyone except them. At least the smart ones anyhow. But humans were not intelligent in the slightest, especially this pathetic filth that went to Dark Shadows, a mainly goth and S&M dance club, which was her destination.
But she was patroling, and hunting. For protection, for game, for dinner. Whatever. It was her choice.
BLAM!
Suddenly, she felt a severe pinch as a silver bullet went through the side of her breast and out her hip. She grunted and staggered, falling slightly. Screaming and panic filled her ringing ears as people began to scramble away from the scene. A click was heard from the roof of a bar, and her head jerked up and her hood falling back. Her eyes were sparkling ruby and her lips pulled back, revealing sharp inch-long fangs.
A man stood atop a building, dressed in a priest's outfit and holding a three foot shot gun. He looked down at her in a patronizing way, uttering a prayer. Her eyes opened wide, and she smiled widely like a beast.
"Well well, if it isn't the fuckin' Vatican after my ass AGAIN."
"Abomination! May God have mercy on your soul." He raised the barrel again.
"Heh." She leapt up into the air and stood infront of him, and he jumped back, startled. She reached into the back of her pants, and pulled out a ruby red casull. "Well?" She said amused. "Don't you wanna play, jack ass--GRRAH!!!"
He had punched her in the stomach, and in his palm was a long knife. The end of the blade was shaped like a cross. But her hungry eyes looked up at him, powerful and deranged, and he gasped. "Ironic, huh?"
Without a word, she drew her hand back, and slammed her fist straight through his abdomen. His eyes popped out of his head and he gagged on his own blood. The rain washed the crimson life from the roof and onto the streets below.
The girl grabbed him by the throat and dragged his squeeling body to the edge of the building, which reached above fifty feet. Jerking his head over the side, she stared down at him, her eyes the color of wild fire.
"So how does it feel, fuckface, to be beaten by an animal?" He spat blood in her face. She growled. "Not even your blood is worth my feeding. So what's your name, big boy?"
He growled. "Britz."
She giggled. "Okay then, when you get to Hell, tell them Annastasia Bathory sent you."
Her gripped loosened, and he fell.