For disclaimers and warnings, please refer to the first chapter.

Enola Gray

::: The rogue vampire :::

When the designers of the metropolitan designed this acre-long park, they thought of something to break the monotony of the gray steel structures that were encroaching not only the earth below them, but the skies itself. They thought of a place where the busy employees can safely leave their children. They thought of a luscious green park that not only housed a variety of tame animals, but could also provide shelter and invaluable sources of knowledge to their visitors. They thought of something other people can enjoy, something they could take the time out of their busy schedule to relax in once in a while.

They envisioned something close to Nirvana.

And it was amazing, that with the proper backing and support of some of the most influential people of the Metropolitan, all their dreams had come into fruition.

The Acre-long Park, aptly and succinctly named, had provided throughout the decade it had stood there, a constant source of relaxation and entertainment for the busy inhabitants of the Metropolitan.

It was a haven.

And on this day, just as it had been and probably always will be, it was teeming with people, regardless of the fact that it was still officially office hours.

Tourist buses, lined with people from all places and walks of life, continued to deposit their passengers for a brief lunch period. Their endless chatter and excitement could be easily understood, nevermind the fact that they were speaking in a variety of languages.

Children, accompanied by either their parents who had taken an early break, or by their babysitters, positively squealed and enjoyed the space they were provided by running and playing around, as children were wont to do.

Dogs who are being taken for a walk by their masters who are similarly out for their own walk, greeted each other happily.

It was a controlled chaos, and is probably the greatest expression of humanity at its finest.

And in the midst of all these, stood two men, no more than young adults really. They were arguing playfully, and would not have stood out from the other people had they been talking about something else.

"It really is unfair, Trowa! Why is it that all the people can comment about is the fact that we haven't caught the Master? They didn't even report that in the latest bust, we alone captured 10 fledglings! Without any aggravated injuries even, which is probably the greatest sign of competence in this team, if you ask me. But no, they had to go on and on about how we failed in the greater scheme of thing. Well, those ten could have become bigger problems later on if we left them to their own devises, don't you think? Saving people from 10 more, instead of just that one Master is a greater feat, is it not?"

The shorter of the two, a fair-headed blond, with perceptive aquamarine eyes, pierced the darker olive green ones of his taller partner. He had a carefree look on his face, and were it not for his constantly roving eyes, would have been the perfect example of a teenager cutting school on a particularly boring day. He was dressed casually in a pressed pair of white tanktop and white jeans, to ward of the heat wave the was now coming in torrents, and in his left hand, he held a melting strawberry flavored ice cream.

His partner on the other hand, could not have been more different from him. A good two inches or more taller than his talkative friend, his cool green eyes were partially shadowed by a sheaf of brown hair that fell over one part of his face. He also wore a green turtleneck, to the constant consternation of the blond who was certain he was slowly dying from the heat. Perhaps the white jeans the quiet one was wearing was more than sufficient to stave off the warmth.

True to form however, was the chocolate-mint flavored ice cream he held in his left hand, from which he took a careful long lick before answering.

"Forget about it Quatre."

"But - !"

"It's no use trying to change the thinking of humans. It is inherent that they always will find the fault no matter how good the remainder is. Even more so for us. There are still a lot of people who do not agree with what we do."

Trowa's tone gentled as he noticed the downcast features of his companion.

"You know what I want, Trowa? I want to be like the great Dhamphir. He was never feared. He was respected. They knew that what he was doing was right." Unlike us.

"Aa."

On the other side of the Acre-long park, a black-clad man was too busy searching for something, to truly mind the heat that was assaulting him. All he cared about at that instant was to reach the center of the park, where deep in the wooded area and coincidentally secluded from the people, was a grove that housed one of but hundreds of the vermin he had the self-ordained duty to exterminate.

His target was but a fledgling, new to the powerful ways he was forcefully exposed to. He had not learned enough to fully survive on his own, and as such, his extending aura would be his death sentence.

Perhaps his sire had left him to sleep fitfully, knowing that the weakling he had created would no more than last a fortnight.

Perhaps, but on this day, no one would ever find out.

Red eyes surrounded by black snapped fully open, wide with fear.

He could sense something moving within the perimeter of the place he now called home. Something dangerous.

While normally he would have snarled and gotten out of his niche to protect his abode from those daring enough to approach his place, the sun that was shining powerfully in the outer world was enough force to hinder him from doing anything.

Made stronger than most humans could ever dream of becoming, he was nonetheless powerless in the face of day. A fact that this hunter seemed willing to exploit.

Rage bubbled within him, but the creature that was once known as John Nichols, could do nothing about it.

To remain inside this place was suicide. To get out and protect himself was equally suicidal. A classic case of 'damned if he did, damned if he didn't'.

All that he could do was hug the shadows that he knew would remain should the person outside even manage to open his place. He would not surrender easily. He would fight till he went down, and bring down the presumptuous being that dared to hunt him in the process.

Quatre was a born talker. Bred and raised to be the heir to their vast family fortune, he had learned at a tender age the intricacies of diplomacy among many other things. Letting others, especially potential rivals know of his state of mind, was something he had been trained to resist ever since he had learned talking. He knew how incriminating it is to suddenly falter in speech, regardless of the reasons it had to be done so.

As such, it takes a lot of something unexpected for him to stop mid-speech.

Today, at this particular moment, is such a perfect instance.

The young blond heir is known by many to be a gifted individual. Not only was he gifted with riches most would gladly offer their right hand for, he also possessed the mental faculties to not only maintain those riches, but even further it.

As it was, having a brilliant strategist at the helm of a family company was such a rare commodity nowadays. A blessing his family has thanked for, ever since he was born.

Few, however know of an even rarer gift Quatre possesses. The gift of empathy.

While it has proved its uses in the cloak and dagger atmosphere of a business boardroom, it became his greatest asset during his induction into the world of the Hunt. Not only could he pre-empt danger by sensing the negative emotions before it could even turn into action, he also had an uncanny knack for locating victims, due to the distressed signals they emit. And most often than not, where there were victims, they could find the aggressor, in this case, the vampire.

And at the moment, his empathy was vibrating strong enough to render him speechless even if only for a few moments. A fact that his partner immediately noticed.

"Quatre?" Trowa asked, concerned for the blond's welfare, even as his eyes automatically roved about their seemingly peaceful surroundings in an attempt to zero in on potential trouble.

"Not here." Quatre replied, even as one hand subconsciously rubbed the general area of his chest in an effort to lessen the pangs that suddenly assailed him. With a remarkably steady hand, he pointed into the direction he knew the commotion was coming from, right in the middle of the dense overgrowth of trees.

Without further delay, the two sprinted for the foliage, even as the taller one unclipped from his jeans a communicator each Hunter was required to wear at all times.

"Yuy. Situation in Acre-long Park. One rogue approximately 20 degrees East of South in sector 15."

He terminated the call as soon as he heard the signature "Roger" from the other end. Trowa would need both hands in this situation, both partners having only a limited amount of gundanium knives in their possession.

It would be enough to stabilize one rogue vampire, but experience had taught him the virtue of being prepared for the worst in the most terrible lesson possible. He would not be caught off-guard once again.

The preternatural howl of the Undead in its final stages of dying was a sound he would never grow tired of hearing.

With a mere flicker of his wrist, he twisted even deeper the ebony knife that was currently embedded in the fledgling's chest, eliciting more of that tortured whine. Blood spurted like the sluggish beating of a human heart, coating his hand from where he gripped the blade, and spattering among his dark clothes to blend in with its blackness.

Other than those minute signs, there were no other indicators about the young man to point to the fact that he had just gone Hunting. Afterall, he was a professional in a job that required no less than the very best men. And he took great pride in his work.

He clinically checked to see with a practiced eye if any of his four knives had been dislodged in the vampire's thrashing about, and was satisfied to see that they remained buried in the dirt, going through the bones of both hands and feet to pin his errant target like a spread-out butterfly.

With a futile last twist to the knife, he stretched and stood up from his crouch. Red on black eyes stared at his own hard violet ones all the while with a hatred so intense that were he an ordinary being who did not thrive on such emotions, he would probably have felt guilt for what he had done. As it was, he merely watched as the fledgling finally succumbed to his sufferings and decayed before his very eyes. He had been too young a vampire to fully turn into the dust as the Ancient ones did.

He smirked, the thrill of the Hunt engulfing him in its euphoria of a job well done.

As sudden as the emotion came over his gamin face it just as quickly disappeared as his head snapped up just in time to catch with his left hand a dagger that was headed straight for his head. Cold chips of violet carefully scanned his surroundings in an effort to figure out where the attack came from.

Could it be that the fledgling had companions? No, it was impossible. He could tell by the weight of the dagger in his hand that it was made from gundanium as well. Definitely not a weapon any vampire would choose.

A Hunter? Most likely. Though he would have to admit, he is a bit surprised at the speed he was detected. He is facing a powerful Hunter then.

Or two, he corrected himself, as he was forced to move out of his original spot, the three daggers still vibrating from its impact with the ground, a testament to the accuracy and speed of the throw. Judging from the general area the daggers originated from, there were at least two different Hunters taking point, each having a stand directly opposite the other. Boxing him in.

A most effective task, he grudgingly noticed. Those had been mere warning shots, probing to test his ability. He had no doubt that should they attack for real, he would be hit by the second dagger just after he moved to dodge the first. They were that coordinated.

Though, he thought irritably, had he possessed his familiar weapon, a black scythe made from the purest gundanium, he just knew that those two would have been no match for him. As it was, he had been forced to leave behind for this mission his beloved scythe. It had been illogical to bring an unwieldy weapon in a place full of trees, where it would have been more of a disadvantage than an advantage. While the practicality of that decision had served its purpose earlier, he was still smarting from its loss now as he was forced to be on defense. He hated not being able to strike back.

Impressed nonetheless by their ability, he raised his hands to show that he was defenseless, the silver dagger falling limply from his hand to rest beside his five other knives still stuck amongst the corpse. He knew when he was outmatched.

He couldn't help but raise a surprised brow though as he saw the two Hunters. He had been of the impression that they were much older, seeing as to their level of competency, but at first glance, they seem to belong in the general age group as him. Definitely of young standard to the normal Hunters he met along the way.

Interesting.

He would have loved to challenge these two in a much different setting.

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