China

As they went back to their room in the village nearby, Baptiste couldn't wrap his head around anything that'd just happened! He limped through the trees, Mauga helping him walk while chattering excitedly about the job they accepted from the doctor. He couldn't listen to anything coming out of his mouth; the information he just learned was huge!

After he reunited with a particularly excited Mauga and had a short conversation with Moira, he'd made the biggest discovery! Ever since they became hunters, they familiarized themselves with most of the well-known vamps, and amongst that group of vamps, there was one that went by the name 'Lifeweaver'. As long as he's known, he'd been exceptionally difficult to catch and kill due to the nature of his abilities. He was quite a hot target, and apparently, the doctor wanted a piece, too.

During that brief talk, they both learned that the vamp in question actually inhabited the castle, and she explained how she'd stop by every now and then to try to convince him to participate in her experiments. Mauga, of course, jumped the gun, offering to hunt him down and bring him to her, dead or alive, but Baptiste was a little more… curious than that. He stayed silent, listening carefully as she gave them all the details they needed to find him, and it was when she gave them the description that he knew just who he was.

How unlikely was it that he just so happened to run into one of the most wanted vampires in the world? Even more so, how unlikely was it that he just so happened to raid the very place he lived?

He… didn't want to hunt him.

He'd done his fair share of research on him and learned that he pretty much kept to himself, staying away from everyone and everything, and running into him a second time only confirmed his naturally genuine nature. He didn't want to sound cheesy, but… when they shared that moment, it felt like it was all he needed to know him. He wasn't hostile, just scared, possibly even upset about having to leave his home. And that look he gave him before he jumped out of the window? It did things to him.

Now, Mauga was going on and on about finding him and using brute force, and it was driving Baptiste crazy! If he'd known who he was beforehand, he would have declined the job from that crazy doctor, but his insane partner jumped the gun, as usual, without giving it a second thought!

Those thoughts plagued him while they walked, not even realizing he'd been quiet the whole time and Mauga was firing questions at him. How would he even have been able to decline it, anyway? What could he use as his excuse? He felt horrible for invading his space to begin with, now he had to chase him? That poor, beautiful thing just wanted to be left alone, so why were they bothering him?

"I'm actually starting to worry about you, buddy," Mauga was excited to have a new hunt, but Baptiste had been acting strange since they met back up. A large part of him assumed he was mad because he told him to go up the staircase that nearly cost him his life, but it also could have been the fact that he was direly injured and just wanted to rest. He lugged him into their room and dropped him on the bed, getting out of his gear.

Baptiste groaned in pain, rolling over onto his back. "You tell me you're worried, then drop me like that? I'm beginning to think you don't really care at all."

"Hey," Mauga sat on the bed next to him, helping him out of his armor. Clearly, he should have splurged for the full-body suit. "What happened back there?"

Baptiste stopped and looked at him. "You mean when you told me to go to the left?" He watched Mauga look away with a sort of embarrassed look on his face. Was he feeling bad about this? Compared to what they've been through in the past, this was nothing! He winced, the pain in his leg rudely reminding him of its existence.

"Yeah, I uh," Mauga rubbed the back of his head, ashamed his advice got someone he cared about hurt. If only he'd have just told him to go to the right. "I'm glad you're okay."

"It's not like you set the trap yourself. You didn't know."

"Still," Mauga got him out of his boots and investigated his leg. Although he wasn't the medic of the relationship, he picked up a few things along the way just in case he ran into an issue like this. He lifted his leg carefully, trying to get the fabric off. "Were there any traps on the other staircase?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that.

"Do you really want to know?" Baptiste knew he was beating himself up over it, and answering that question wasn't going to make him feel any better. He should have just gone up the right side, to begin with. The left side was closer to the cellar doors, so it made sense that it was trapped. It was an unfortunate event, and it only made him realize that perhaps he should be less reliant on him and trust his own gut first.

Sure, his senses were sharper at times, but that wasn't the first time listening to him got him caught up in a mess.

Mauga shook his head, hating himself more and more. Why did he have to ask him for guidance all the time? Did he realize what pressure that was putting on him? Now, look. He'd gotten hurt, all because of his horrible advice. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Baptiste let him help him out of his clothes and into the bathroom to clean up the nasty wounds on his calf. It was a nifty contraption, and he had to give props to the vamp that put it down. He hissed as Mauga cleaned the area around it.

"This is some pretty nasty work," Mauga said, carefully disinfecting the area. Some bear trap! It must have been huge to leave such big gashes. He was going to be walking with a limp for a few days. "Maybe you'll get the full-body gear next time around."

"Shut up." Baptiste didn't like how heavy the full gear made him feel, so he never wore it. Plus, he never saw himself needing it aside from today.

"Don't worry," Mauga wrapped his leg up in waterproof bandages and helped him stand. "I meant it when I said I was going to take it easy on you today."

"Fèmen bouch and help me into the shower."

Surprisingly, Mauga kept his hands off throughout the duration of their shower, only helping when needed. It was good for Baptiste because it gave him time to try to sort his thoughts. Like, what was so special about that guy that got him so discombobulated? Was it his looks? Sure, he radiated pure beauty, but enough to send him into a tizzy like this? Or was it the fact that he was beautiful and kind?

He recalled the tiniest smile he gave, nearly melting him and letting down all his defenses. What was that about? Did he hypnotize him? He couldn't have, right?

"Hey." Mauga noticed how aloof Baptiste had been since they'd gotten back, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. He'd been through tougher situations and wasn't nearly this distraught! He faced him, putting his hands on his shoulders and watching the water cascade down his body. Hot. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," Baptiste averted his gaze, unable to look him in the face. "Did you find any runners?"

"Nope. Went to go save you as soon as I saw the explosion." Mauga wasn't ignorant of the way he avoided the topic, but he let it go. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. "But what we got is so much better."

"When are we leaving?" Baptiste turned, shutting the water off, and stepped out of the tub, forgetting for a second he was injured and almost collapsing. "Merde…" he muttered, steadying himself against the wall.

"Whoa, whoa!" Mauga caught him before he fell to his knees, amused he was trying to leave in this condition. "Be careful, buddy!"

"I'm fine," Baptiste toweled himself dry and limped back into their room. He wasn't fine. His thoughts were consumed by that perfect being, and he didn't know why! It wasn't like him to be so distracted!

"What did you see?" Mauga wasn't an idiot. Baptiste saw something in that castle that he was trying to keep to himself, but why? He crossed his arms and watched him struggle to step into a pair of shorts.

"I didn't see anything special," Baptiste shrugged, hoping to get him off the topic. "Help me out, would you?"

"I'll do more than that," Mauga grinned, dropping his towel and approaching him like prey.

"Trying to top an injured man?" God. Baptiste couldn't even fight him off with how much pain he was in! He needed to take another one of those pills, but they were banned for a reason! They only lasted about two hours and were highly addictive, so he tried to stay away from them. But he'd never gotten caught in a trap like this, before! Even with his special meds, it was going to take forever for him to heal!

"Not trying to," Mauga gently pushed him down onto the bed, watching him land with a thump and standing between his legs. "Going to."

But when he winced in pain, that guilt he was trying to ignore came back and all he wanted to do was make up for it. He wanted to make him feel good. "Get up." He pulled him up and took his place on the bed, cocking his head to the side with a curious look when he didn't protest. No smart remarks or snippy comments? "Wanna have a seat?"

Baptiste rolled his eyes, trying to convince himself this was what he needed to get his mind off things. And in some strange way, it kind of felt like he was trying to be… nicer? So, why not bite? He soon found himself on a large lap, being carefully handled.

"So obedient today," Mauga said into warm skin, positioning his legs around him properly. He put a few fingers in his mouth, getting them wet enough to loosen him up a bit.

"I don't have the energy," Baptiste held onto him loosely, shutting his eyes and trying to let his ministrations clear his mind. It was hard; all he could think about was a certain white-haired vamp and how badly he wanted it to be him he was holding.

"Good, then hang on tight," Mauga squeezed lower cheeks, raising him just enough to lower him onto his eager length, groaning in relief. "You know what a good hunt does to me."

Baptiste bit his lip, trying to hold himself back and failing. God, it was like his mind was consumed with the mysterious creature he was now in charge of hunting. He didn't want to hunt him, he wanted to…

Mauga propelled his hips upward, hands wandering along skin richened with melanin. He seemed to be more sensitive than usual, and he wondered what brought that on. But he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass, that's for sure! He brought him down with a grunt, settling himself snugly in warm walls.

Baptiste couldn't keep his hips still! Why was he so worked up? He reached down, pumping himself rapidly before his hand was snatched away.

"Awful enthusiastic, buddy!" Mauga held his wrist, holding it up to his nose with a hum. He liked this new side of him!

"Just stop talking," Baptiste buried his face into a sturdy neck, he wasn't sure what type of expression he was making, and he didn't want him to see it! All he could do was let his imagination take him on a caramel and white colored journey while this beast did his best to make him feel good.

A low rumble escaped Mauga's depths, he couldn't hit all the right spots in this position, and he really wanted to get in there. Before a certain Haitian could protest, he stood up, keeping his body flush against him and hoisting him against the nearest wall. Much better.

"M-Mete m atè!" Baptiste gasped out, this bastard was still inside him moving around like he was, but his complaints were quickly cut short when he was pressed against a cold wall and given what he didn't know he needed.

"Now, I can dig in deep," Mauga purred into his ear, holding him steady while driving into him rapidly.

Baptiste screwed his eyes shut as thick hair shook around him. How desperately he wished it was silky silver hair instead of wild black. With arms clung to broad shoulders, he let a moan or two slip from his lips while he imagined he was traversing Thai territory.

How would he look splayed beneath him? What expression would he have on his face as he took him? What would he smell like? He imagined being coaxed by a sweet flowery scent as their bodies meshed. He imagined his hands all over that smooth, tawny complexion. He imagined that warm, comforting voice calling his name repeatedly.

"What's gotten into you?" Mauga noticed he was a little enthusiastic, but he was really into it! What kind of face was he making? He gave a firm thrust, freeing a hand to grip his chin and get a good look at him. "You're completely out of it!" His dark eyes were clouded over with lust, and it made him harder than he'd ever been. He connected their lips, surprised when he didn't push him away like he usually would.

Baptiste was incredibly turned on; the imagination a powerful thing as he pretended he was kissing elegance of a man, lacing fingers through alabaster hair, whispering dirty things into his ear while he made him feel things he'd surely never felt… now he was just being cocky!

He let his head fall back, resting against the wall while he reached down to stroke himself. He moaned out when Mauga hit his sweet spot, release imminent. "T-Telman bon…"

"I know it's good, pepe," Mauga crooned, slowing his pace and taking it nice and easy. He never got a chance to be intimate with him like this, so he was going to take full advantage! He pulled out slowly before barging in with a guttural grunt. "I wish you were like this more often," he said into his neck, latching onto skin salty from a thin layer of sweat. He was close.

Baptiste shuddered, his orgasm taking over him abruptly and expelling milky white all over his torso. It was the best he'd experienced in a while, and he was ashamed to admit why. He fell against a sturdy chest, his energy completely drained as Mauga finished with a thrust.

"Round two?" Mauga grinned, squeezing his thighs with mischief in mind. He was so responsive this time around!

Baptiste caught his breath, mad at himself for wanting more… but it wasn't him he wanted. "Put me down," he squirmed in his hold, trying to get down when he was reminded of the pain in his leg. "Ah!"

"Malolo~!" Mauga held him and walked him over to the bed and laid him on his back, still planted inside of him. "I'm gonna take good care of you, buddy."

England

Wednesday

There was a click indicating the end of a call. "Hmph," he combed his fingers through his slick black hair, accented with streaks of gray along his temples into a high bun. The gray was a testament to his lifestyle, he was about a decade shy of when his father began growing his own silvers. He gazed into the mirror before him, assuring he looked presentable, he always figured he owed his targets that much at least. No one wanted their last look before the chilling doors of death yanked them in to be of some scraggly-looking man. Especially one with a gun, he always held the opinion that guns made killing too easy.

He enjoyed a challenge. Unfortunately, he feared the job just moments away from popping up in his inbox was going to be an easy one. Though there was something about the way his potential new client spoke that enticed him to accept and who knows, he had run into plenty of surprises in his line of work. From the sounds of it, this target seemed of little risk yet high reward, for who knew what reason.

His phone buzzed, there it was. He opened the file while ripping a protein bar open between his teeth. Yep, a simple job. Forty-two-year-old white British male, no criminal record or known family members, and his home location wasn't known or provided. A bit strange, but not the first time he'd seen that. He stopped wondering why his clients wanted his targets to be dead years ago, he liked to get in and out and have the money hit his bank account less than an hour later. The call was perfect timing, as he was thinking of leaving London soon anyway. He found the people to be uninteresting drunkards who had nothing good to contribute to the bettering of society. Though he was ever so fond of the rain and gloom, the sun made him sweat and inhibited his eyesight at certain angles.

Confirmed locations: The Black Deer, The Hub, and The Cottage Loaf.

"Likes his beer, just like the rest," he scoffed then swallowed the last of his breakfast. Only the heavens, or perhaps the underworld, knew how much blood was on his hands. Assassins never had a shortage of supply, even an independent one like himself. Who was he kidding, even though he was well estranged from his family, his name still carried an incredible weight along with certain expectations. It hadn't been difficult in the slightest when he broke away to work for himself, as his name had already been made.

For a brief moment in his past, he had considered becoming a hunter, as the pay was substantially better, but the thought of having to be near those things left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Something about a creature that looked human, yet preyed upon them was unsettling at best and terrifying at worst, or perhaps terrifying was just the reality of them. He'd run into what he suspected was a few over the years and wisely kept his distance.

One instance in particular sent shivers down his spine. He was searching for a target's home in the early morning before the sun peaked on the Cairo horizon. Not a soul was on the streets, or so he thought. As he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, his peripheral vision caught a shadow. When he looked down into the alley his eyes fell upon the palest being he had ever laid eyes on. Their skin was not fair, it was gray like a walking corpse, a very unnerving sight. They seemed to wander aimlessly, unaware of his presence as he curiously followed from up above, that is until he made a hard landing from jumping. The creature halted and nonchalantly lifted its gaze up at him and he froze in fear, ignorant of what to do. He could never forget that moment, its eyes seemed as hollow as a gourd and appeared to notice his weaponry. After a brief moment of intense eye contact, it continued on its way, disappearing into the city.

An instance he never wished to repeat.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number back, it rang only once before the line was answered. "I accept," he spoke frankly.

The same voice from the call fifteen minutes prior seemed pleased. "Excellent, I trust you will do a fine job, Hanzo Shimada."

Even waiting until the evening to pursue his target, the streets were nearly just as busy as they were during the day at this late of an hour, simply replaced by a different crowd. Hanzo's absolute favorite type of people bustled around him, he could smell the alcohol and sweat stronger than the atmosphere itself as he sneered. The quicker he found this low life, the quicker he could take a bath and rid himself of the wretched stench of a London pub street. He never understood the appeal of inhibiting one's senses willingly and making a fool out of oneself in the name of fun. In fact, he could not think of anything more wretched than ingesting subpar beer upon sticky floors, all while unable to hear one's own thoughts.

Hanzo turned his attention to the sign above him: The Cottage Loaf. He pivoted his head around as he slipped earplugs in, making sure his prey didn't happen to be lingering outside before stepping in.

The grotesque cacophony people referred to as music nowadays suddenly enveloped him. The earplugs luckily did a fantastic job protecting his imperative focus. A bow had no place in a mission such as so, as there was no way to conceal it. Instead, he harbored a mid-length katana neatly tucked under his long dark overcoat. A quick glance indicated he was not at one of his regular spots, but no need to be hasty and leave.

He took a seat at the bar and decided to wait awhile; patience was an invaluable virtue in his line of work after all. He ordered water, much to the bartender's disappointment, and kept a watchful eye on the door for about an hour. As he stood from the circulation-depriving bar stool, he secured his coat and set the exact change amount for his water down. He ignored the obvious scoff from the bartender, setting the GPS for the next destination, he was staunchly against tip culture. Especially for mediocre late-night glowering service. Though, at least he didn't talk his ear off in an attempt to woo him into purchasing drinks.

During the hour he sat inside, the temperature had dropped just enough to disturb one's exposed skin, and he was thankful for bringing his long coat, regardless of the initial reason. Oddly cold for this time in June, yet once again, nothing he hadn't experienced before. As he waded through crowds of sloppy, inebriated London folk, a fleeting thought invaded his mind.

There were quite a number of strange circumstances tonight regarding the job, a wave of doubt nearly settling in his empty stomach. He quickly walked it off, standing by his rule to never eat a meal before a job. A full stomach invited a dull reaction time amongst other things, at least in his mind. Hanzo at one point during his stroll peered up at the moon, just over halfway full. The moon always reminded him of his father, Sojiro, who filled his and his younger brother's childhood with tales of all, triumphant and not. Stories that reminded him of the sleepy summer haze, and ones more so of dark, moonless nights. Night and day, that is how Sojiro compared the brothers. If one had to guess who was who within a few minutes of meeting them to win a million-dollar jackpot, the chances were certainly in their favor.

Sojiro had told a particularly sulky young Hanzo, that although his brother, Genji, possessed the presence of the giant star in the sky; Hanzo cast his light when the sun was too scared to show. That is why the moon reminded him of his late father, a multi-faceted, troubled man who met an early demise. Hanzo often saw striking resemblances between him and Sojiro and did his due diligence to extinguish the chance of a similar fate.

Though, fate was never in anyone's hands.

He turned left and saw a dingy, faded sign bearing the name, The Black Deer at the end of the street. Hanzo realized he had lost himself in thought on the way there, for he failed to notice the crowd had thinned and turned into a few stragglers, stumbling through the streets. A far different scene than the bar he had visited earlier, though perhaps his target was feeling more of a recluse that night. Just as Hanzo approached, four or five buildings away, a man exited the bar walking towards him, and after a quick glance, he was sure it was him.

Perfect. He was relieved to not have had to babysit him in some atrocious, filthy tavern. He waited for his prey to turn down another street, before whipping around and beginning the chase. After weaving through various streets, staying just close enough to keep him in sight, he felt puzzled at where in the world this man was going. Hanzo quickly peeked at the map on his phone, it was as if this guy was heading to the woods. Was he begging to be assassinated? This was far too easy! After a few more minutes of trekking behind him, he sure enough was heading directly into the forest, and it was odd because he wasn't stumbling like he was inebriated, and he hadn't smelt alcohol when they passed each other briefly. So, why such a place?

His target stopped in his steps, at the mouth of the woods to look behind him and continued on when he appeared to notice nothing. Hanzo came back out from cover, taking some large strides to begin gaining ground on the oblivious fool. It could be awfully easy to lose a target in the shroud of a dark forest, but Hanzo considered himself at home in such scenarios. However, something seemed to change along with the scenery. His prey's movements seemed to become more purposeful and smooth, as if he almost glided between the trees. Hanzo blinked, to maintain his predatory gaze.

The man disappeared. Hanzo's face scrunched, he carefully scanned around him to only see endless darkness.

How could this be?

He strutted forward, swinging his head to either side, desperately trying to gain sight of his target. It's as if he vanished into thin air. Preposterous! Was he hallucinating? There could be no way, nothing about this made sense! A pit in his stomach began forming, this wasn't normal, he took a deep breath in and attempted to focus his senses. Not a sound in the forest. The pit in his stomach only grew, though he grew out of his father's silly stories, he couldn't help but feel a silent forest only meant trouble.

Just as his hand grabbed ahold of the hilt of his katana, pasty, frigid fingers wrapped around his neck. His skin grew goosebumps. A voice just as cold as its grasp spoke, "I didn't know I'd be getting delivery tonight," followed by an unnerving chuckle.

How did he know I was tailing him? Hanzo drove the butt of his sword into the man's gut, causing him to release him. He swiveled around to face him, seeing him up close and in person for the first, and last time. A fair-skinned, blond man of average build stood before him, a typical sight if it wasn't for the dead expression in his even paler eyes.

The corner of his mouth ticked upwards, "Ah, I've had many of you come after me. Just another day in the life."

Hanzo's eyebrows furrowed, how in the world has this man had more than one assassin sent after him and lived to tell the tale? He looks like a nine-to-five London lowlife.

The man grumbled, "a silent one? You're no fun. Oh well, all the same." His gaze did not waver, fixed upon Hanzo as if he were an unfortunate critter caught in a trap. The man pulled a blade of his own out, and with a click, it lit up with a sharp azure pulse of electricity.

Hanzo's eyes narrowed, certainly an unusual weapon, but nothing beat the elegance and dependability of a real sword. A bolt of electricity was hurled at him, he rolled and dodged it. Bolt after bolt, he dodged them with relative ease, though it would be impossible to get close to him at this rate. Each one lit the forest up, exposing the absolutely deranged look this man possessed as he flung electricity every which way, not even caring what he hit, so long as it eventually fried him to a crisp. Hanzo rolled behind a tree, finally getting back onto his feet.

"COME OUT, YOU TASTY LITTLE TREAT! IT ONLY HURTS FOR A FEW MOMENTS!"

Another bolt flew past Hanzo's side, scorching the trunk of another tree. "He's clinically insane," he muttered to himself, ducking over to another tree. Not a moment later the tree he had just taken shelter behind received an overcharged shock, piercing right through its trunk. He scaled up branches, achieving high ground in silence and watching in disgust as the lunatic scorched the forest around him, void of any rhyme or reason. However he got ahold of such a weapon, he definitely did not know how to properly wield it.

"I CAN HEAR YOUR HEART POUNDING!" The man shrieked into the night.

Hanzo snarled in physical repulsion of such a sight, surely that sword had a limited source of power – it was only a matter of time before he wasted through it. He could hear the crazed man grunting and huffing, running around sniffing like a hound. What ailment did this man possibly harbor? He had never seen anyone like him.

The cracking of electricity, followed by darkness gave Hanzo his cue. He slid further down the tree, and leapt from above, slashing the man's back. The man gave a low grumble, before dropping his weapon and flinging himself towards him. Hanzo's eyes grew wide, "what is wrong with you?!" He plunged his blade straight into the man's abdomen, expecting that to be the end of it, but a moment later, fingers began clawing at his torso, as if they were trying to pull him closer! He yelped and retracted his katana from the man's gut, swiftly swinging it across his neck. Blood generously sprayed onto him, not saving his face, unfortunately. The sound of dead weight hitting the forest floor followed.

Hanzo sighed, "Finally," He wiped his face off and spat blood out from his mouth. His chest stung, that bastard scratched him pretty deep. He would have to make sure to disinfect it when he returned home, heavens knew what resided under his ghoulish nails. He pulled his phone out, snapping a photo of the body for confirmation. The job was done, and the last thing he wished to do was spend more time with the dead body.

Aside from a few fearful looks, he made it back home swiftly. He immediately drenched his chest in a disinfectant, grumbling from the sting. His next destination was straight to the shower, then he could begin relaxing for the night. Once he had thoroughly washed the evening's events from his body, he sat on his couch, towel draped over his shoulder as the steam escaped the bathroom. He opened the secure inbox he needed to send the proof to, pausing to inspect the photo. The target's skin was pale as ever, even for a fair-skinned person. Peculiar he thought. Hanzo shook his head and sent the photo, then deleted it from his phone. It was perfectly normal for a London rat to be that colorless, a place the sun seldom blessed. No need to spend another moment ruminating on the disturbing event. With that, he set his phone down and shut his eyes, nodding off for the night.

SUNDAY

His fist barreled into the countertop, splitting the skin upon two of his fingers open. Hanzo grabbed his head, tears of desperation trickling down his cheeks and into his beard. He felt like he was slowly going mad, with a splitting headache since the day before that refused to go away, no matter the drug he threw at it. His focus was shot, paired with a rapidly deteriorating sense of reasoning. The more his head throbbed, the closer he flirted with the idea of driving his own katana into himself as nausea, and what he imagined to be a nasty fever accompanied the headache. He began begging to anything that could possibly exist for an end of this sudden onset of suffering. His fingers dug into his scalp as he fell onto the floor, slowly curling into a fetal position.

He instinctively sucked on his knuckles to contain the bleeding, all he wanted to do was fall asleep and wake up feeling well again. Anything but this, it felt like a true hellfire he had been dipped into. Perhaps he died that night and was paying for his mortal sins. Sweat built up on his hairline, the back of his neck felt wet as well, yet he couldn't feel any colder. Soon enough part of his wish came true as he passed out on his kitchen floor.

TUESDAY

He slammed the metal mailbox shut, not even bothering to lock it. His goal was to get back to the flat he'd been renting for his duration in London before he hurled again. Sometime after he passed out on Sunday, he woke feeling somewhat okay, though the headache was still there, it was lesser for a short period. He used that time to order morphine from a questionable source, albeit expensive, it was desperately needed.

He had gotten the notification on his phone that it had been delivered and somehow was able to make the journey downstairs to collect his package. He threw himself back into the elevator, shakily clutching his belongings with all his might, wondering how it was he made it back into his apartment in one piece. The moment he crossed into safe territory, he heaved and coughed, expelling phlegm onto the floor and wiping his mouth weakly. He tore the box open, connecting the vial to the needle gun, very fortunate that a vein wasn't needed for this type of morphine, as he wouldn't be able to aim in his state. He hastily shot himself in the thigh, knowing one vial was roughly the correct dosage for someone his size.

Though, he really didn't care to check, as death seemed awfully inviting at this point.

There. There it was. The little slice of the relief he so badly needed, his body relaxed slightly, easing up on the tremors. Since this was the first moment he had in a while to think, he dragged himself up against the couch, panting as if he had run a marathon. His clothes were drenched in sweat, he had attempted eating and drinking various things over the past few days, only to expel them shortly after. Without the energy to clean or even bathe, his flat reeked of his expired stomach contents and his body absolutely ached from how tense it had been between the shaking and convulsing. He reached and grabbed another morphine vial and shot it into his leg, thinking the first dose should've knocked him out and wondering why it didn't.

Another wave of relief traveled through his body, and he closed his eyes, welcoming the slumber taking him over. He was even spared the horrible, dark thoughts that consumed his mind. Things he was sure were not normal. He had made a mental note that if the morphine didn't work, it truly was time to go to a hospital, as much as he detested them.

WEDNESDAY

He was out. This was the last vial of morphine he had in his possession, and the next batch surely wouldn't arrive in time to keep his symptoms at bay. For some reason, his ailments lessened slightly during the night, and darkness had already fallen upon the London skies. This was it, he needed to go in, something was horribly wrong with him, and it wasn't something he could wait out. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he managed to dial 999 and heard the operator call out over the line before letting go.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was snugly tucked into a hospital cot. As he came to, he noticed he wasn't in pain. Hanzo rubbed his eyes and heard muffled speak coming from numerous shadows outside the privacy curtains. The cot was warm, and he hadn't felt this comfortable in nearly a week. Perhaps hospitals weren't so bad, and he could drift back to sleep. Soon, more shadows congregated outside the curtains, though he didn't pay any mind. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

He awoke in the emergency room to dim fluorescent lights and a silence so sharp, you could hear a pin drop. A strange occurrence if considered, but Hanzo wasn't in the right mind to ponder such a thing. He felt weak, as if someone had drained all the blood from his physical vessel. That's when he realized he needed to use the bathroom, a great sign considering nothing really had gotten the chance to make it through his system for days now. He feebly rallied himself upright, legs dangling off the side of his bed.

He sharply exhaled, perhaps he should call for assistance. Hanzo mustered his energy, "nurse?!" He called out.

No response.

He repeated himself, to no avail. Strange. He would just have to help himself to the restroom, he grabbed the portable pole his IV was connected to, using it for balance. One step forward, and another, and another. Careful steps, but he was managing. He undrew the curtains, exposing an empty ER. He stood there, processing the scene before him. "What?" He murmured. The lights were dimmed across the department, and not a soul existed in the same space as him. How was this possible? Was he dreaming? Suddenly, as if hit over the head with a baseball bat, faint memories came flooding back into his mind:

"What do we do?"

"Is it really what we think it is?"

"No one is safe. We must leave."

"It's clear he doesn't even know what he is."

"Yes, but he's too far gone."

He held his head in his free hand, what on earth was happening? Were those hallucinations? No, he was sure he heard them, he recalled them clear as day! What did they mean, though? Sure, by profession he was a monster to many, but there's not a chance they knew what he did. He limped over to the restroom, pushing the door open as the automatic lights flicked on. What he saw nearly caused him to faint.

"No…" His eyes widened. He lunged forward and grabbed the sink, staring into the mirror. His heart began pounding against his chest, with every thump he felt as if he were going to puke his guts out. "I–I can't," He tugged at his hair that had been let down, now scraping his shoulders. "It–" He gulped, "It's impossible."

The man in the mirror's hair was pale as a fresh coat of snow, as well as his skin. It was just like in the thing he saw in Cairo – and his most recent target. The thing in the mirror was a monster. A kick of adrenaline shot through his veins, as he violently ripped the IV from his arm, blood trickling down. He had one thing going through his head:

Run.

His vision skewed into a tunnel, and he skirted around hospital halls as if he were an animal that'd been trapped in a cage, toppling things over and hitting walls. He arrived at the exit doors, just to find them locked. He yanked on them again in vain, I'm being trapped like a rodent, is this some sick game to them? Windows were the next option, he frantically searched. Are there any goddamned windows in this forsaken place? Is this a normal occurrence? He turned down another hall. His mind raced faster than his own feet, if he was the rodent in captivity, that meant only one thing: there was a famished snake en route, if not already let in.

He burst into a side office, there lay his salvation. Hanzo threw a paperweight through the glass, causing an alarm to sound off. He climbed up onto the table and kicked the remaining glass through, jumping onto the grass below. In the near distance, he saw the perfect shelter, a fine wooded plot of land. The parking lot to the left was filled with cars and ambulances, he heard people shouting and voices over intercoms, none of it mattered. He pressed forward until he reached the haven provided by the trees and ran as deep in as his legs could take him.

It wasn't until settled behind a newly fallen tree that he noticed he was cut by some of the glass, he surely left a partial trail. He could deal with the potential consequences of that later though, for now, he wished to curl up upon the forest floor and sink into the earth's core. His sanity was in shambles and felt more feeble than a broken relationship. Except the applecart that had been upset wasn't love, it was his entire self and life as he knew.

He gasped awake, dirt laced in his hair and pressed into his skin. The moon was teetering on the edge of being full, looking more brilliant than a million north stars. Hanzo sat up, half-assedly brushing the dirt from his head. He had not the slightest clue where he was, and no tools to aid in anything on him.

He recalled the dream he had just woken from, rivers of blood calling his name as if something existed underneath the running liquid. He stood at the edge, gazing at the opaque fluid and felt an incredible pull. He had looked up, realizing now there was only one river and a magnificent blood moon hung just over the end of the stream, beckoning whatever came forth. It was a dream he kept having, but it took a different turn this time. Normally, it would end there but this time he dared to step in, and slowly descended into a warm and welcoming darkness. He struggled to breathe and felt as if he were drowning. Hanzo had never been a swimmer; it was one of the few things Genji was superior at over him. Why would he ever step into a running river? He lashed and thrashed, yet inevitably sunk. It was painful, so ever painful. The feeling of fluid being forced down his lungs, the panic that ensued, he felt the light be squeezed out of him and gave in to his demise.

But that wasn't the end.

Still in a dream state, he realized the river around him had suddenly drained, and he sat on his knees facing the gigantic moon. Immediately, he threw himself down into a grovel. He had been reborn.

Reborn. He stared at his lifeless-looking limbs, drained of any color that once was there. The headache slowly crept back, whatever drugs they initially gave him were wearing off. Unlike before, his mind and body were now on the same page and knew what he craved.

"No…" He shook his head. I can't. I deserve to perish out here. Hanzo felt this indeed was punishment for his sins, and it was time for him to join the many people he put in the underworld. He was in no state to take on a job, and he was staunchly against the idea of taking an innocent's life. Figuratively, he may have been a monster, but he refused to actually become one. The thought sickened him.

After some time, he stood up and began wandering. It seemed as if he had walked for hours, slowly losing himself. He resembled a certain crazed creature he had recently slain, just a week prior. At this point, his body was taking charge, and he was unaware of where it took him.

That is when he heard voices, perhaps in his head? It didn't matter, he needed to follow them, whether they led him off a cliff or to a magical cure. As he grew closer, they became more clear and certainly were real.

A car door shut. "–It's colder than it should be in late June."

"You're right about that."

From behind a tree some yards away, he studied the scene. A man and a woman seemed to have come to a halt, perhaps broken down? The man appeared to be changing a tire, though all Hanzo unfortunately saw was a wonderfully fresh piece of meat.

He shook his head once again, "No," He muttered to himself, and hit his forehead against the bark. Though as if something switched inside him, his eyes fixed upon the man's neck, it looked so, so delicious. He peered around, looking for something to aid him, his eyes fixed upon a rather solid-looking stone. Hanzo carefully crept closer, not two yards away from the obliviously vulnerable couple.

"I'll go get your handkerchief," The woman peeled around to the other side of the vehicle. He was alone! He took an eager step from behind a tree, carelessly stepping on and snapping a stick. He quickly hid again, peeking around the trunk to ensure he didn't blow his cover. He would only be out of the car for a little longer, he needed to go! He needed to move, now.

"It might be in the glove compartment," the last coherent words that escaped from the man's mouth, Hanzo charged, stone in hand. The man noticed, perhaps a moment too late, and let out a petrifying scream that echoed throughout the forest. The rock connected with the victim's skull, sending a scrumptious, enticing liquid pouring from his battered head. The woman came from inside the car, and they made brief eye contact before Hanzo dragged his meal away like some sort of beast.

Once he was what he considered a safe distance away, he buried his head into the man's limp neck, tearing through straight to his carotid arteries. A sweet fluid shot into his mouth as he sucked it in, he felt higher than the heavens, the feeling of life being returned to his body. If this was all he had to do, then he would murder a million fools!

A few minutes in, he sat on the ground, stomach feeling fuller than a fattened pig. His body relaxed, and his mind became more clear. He looked over at his unfortunate friend, and guilt hit him like a full-speed train. "What have I done?" He whispered into the night. Now sitting before the body, he delicately brushed the man's matted messy hair with his fingers. His breathing became shaky, only once in his life had a body evoked this response from him. He looked down at his own blood-stained clothes. He squeezed his eyes shut, sending little droplets down upon the fresh kill. Hanzo took his shirt off, and laid it over the man's head, silently saying something to send his soul off. It was the least he could do.

"This sonovabitch could be anywhere dammit," He sighed. He had left a nice little blood track straight into the forest, and in some. Unfortunately, the path went cold a couple of hours ago. He reached into his satchel, pulling a fat cigar out and lighting it, sparks illuminating in front of him in the dead of night.

"Mmm. That's better," he slurred from the side of his mouth, looking up at the moon. "I guess I got nothin' better to do tonight." He remembered watching the newly turned vampire dash across the field and into the woods earlier in the day, he had just arrived at the scene and was being briefed. The hospital employees and patients were terrified and claimed they locked "it" inside. He knew it was a terrible idea, but was lucky enough to see him escape at least. He hadn't tracked a newbie in some time, as he often found them to be so unfortunate, though they were quite dangerous. They were usually in a frenzy by the time they were noticed, unable to accept what they'd become and ended up giving in to instinct. So, when the call came, he accepted, might as well since he was in the area anyhow.

Now, he was walking around the forest in the middle of the night searching for the bastard. Good thing he had just eaten a heavy lunch before the call. He had been following the road for a little while, figuring the vamp might be looking for an easy meal along the way. A slow-driving car had passed him a minute before, even stopping to ask if he was okay. He chuckled and told them to stay safe. He was the most prepared man on the planet, whatever was flung his way. As he strolled further down, he heard a man's horrified scream just ahead and around a curve.

"Shit," He sprinted forward, running straight through the forest as a shortcut. He arrived upon a gruesome scene with the same vehicle as before. The woman stood, kicking her heels off as the man was being dragged away. He leapt forward, restraining the woman from doing something moronic and dangerous.

"Whoa there, darlin'," How unfortunate, they seemed to be coming back from a date. "I don't think you wanna tread those waters."

She thrashed about in his arms, whipping her head around with fear and desperation in her innocent eyes. "That's my husband! I can't just let that thing take him!"

Unfortunately, that is exactly what was going to have to happen. "I'm afraid to be the one to tell you this, but I don't think you'll be able to bring him back," he sighed.

"Then you go get him! I can't…" She had luckily come to some sense, it was clear she gave up, as he held her full weight. Heavier than she looked. "I can't lose him…" She tearfully trailed off.

He lifted her up and let go. Noticing his newly lit cigar had been lost in the commotion, he pulled a new one out and lit it, blowing a puff into the still night air. He definitely needed one for what was about to happen. "I'll make sure to find that bastard. He couldn't have gotten far."

The woman blinked, seemingly in a daze. "You're… a hunter."

"Damn right." He reached into his pocket, as he always had them handy, and gave her a card. "Jesse McCree, reliable hunter. You give that number a call if you run into any more trouble."

He wrapped up by telling her to get in the car and get as far away as she could, assuring her he would be fine. He walked across the road and headed straight into the forest, the vamp needed to settle somewhere to enjoy his meal, and it wasn't going to be far.

Sure enough, a few hundred yards in, Jesse spotted him. Instead of ruining the party right away, he watched from a distance. The vamp was carefully draping what appeared to be his own shirt over the man's head. Odd behavior. The moonlight shone upon the vamp's bare skin, scratch marks decorated his chest, where Jesse assumed he must've gotten infected. His hair and skin had already returned to normal color, so he was no longer the pale fleeting creature he had seen minutes before. Pitch black hair reflected the light of the moon, and hung just at his broad, toned shoulders. The vamp seemed to be knelt over, now saying some sort of prayer.

Ironic thought Jesse. Though, he would be lying to himself if it didn't make him feel a spark of empathy. He seemed to be a man in his late thirties – perhaps early forties – hailing from northeast Asia. He wondered what life was like for him before this series of unfortunate events. Hopefully, he lived a fulfilling life. The vamp cradled his head into his hands, guilt written clearly in his body language. Jesse sighed; he couldn't let that get in the way. An innocent life was taken, and he needed to be stopped before he left a path of devastation behind him. He drew his revolver out and cocked it as he ever so slowly approached. Even though he had made his presence known, the vamp did not move and stayed with his head down.

"Quite the chase ya lead me on there," Jesse quipped.

Silence.

"A man of few words huh?" He kept his gun ready.

"I am not a man. I am a monster."

Jesse's eyebrows raised; this was the part they typically begged to be let go or restationed as some put it.

"So please, do your duty, and put me down for what I have become."

A certain sadness settled in his heart, he was just a regular guy a week prior probably. Now he was forced to kill to survive and regretted it dearly. A horrid existence, truly. Most vamps he ran into didn't express empathy though, they showed fear, anger, resentment, sorrow, yet seldom empathy. How could someone who looked so small and regretful have done something so gruesome and terrible? He shifted his feet, indecision had begun to strike.

The vamp raised his head up, meeting Jesse's gaze, his eyes bloodshot. "Just do it already! I have suffered well, and my place is in the underworld," He said sternly.

Jesse took a step back, not understanding where this intense reluctance was coming from. Sure, he felt bad plenty of times, but it never surpassed a fleeting feeling. He seemed like he was such an elegant man, in his normal life. Sturdy cheekbones, and a fine beard if not caked in clotted blood. "What's your name?" Jesse spat out.

The vamp shot his head to the side, gently shaking it. "What is this, some sick game you hunters play? Put your bullet through my head and be done with it," he hissed.

Jesse stuttered, "W-what? No! I meant it earnestly. Aw shit, I don't know what I'm sayin'."

He drew out a sigh, "If you won't do it, then I will," and lunged for Jesse's revolver, getting his hands on the barrel. A wrestle ensued, as Jesse struggled to get back in control of his gun, the vamp pulling him down to the ground.

"Sonovabitch you're a strong fella!" Jesse locked the vamp's arm, to be kicked in the back of the knee. He hollered in pain. "You're gonna get us both killed! Get off, will ya?!" He threw an elbow back, connecting it with something.

"I don't care. As long as the end result is me dying," His words were cold as ice, spoken into the back of Jesse's neck.

Jesse made a split-second decision, freeing a hand and reaching into his satchel. He grabbed onto a needle gun with a vial loaded in it, as he leaned all of his weight on the vamp's arm that was reaching from under his side. "Here goes nothin'..." Jesse swung his entire weight onto the vamp, pinning him underneath him, and swiftly driving the needle into his exposed stomach. The vamp began to relax, his eyes fluttering. "There we go. You're gonna have a nice sleep."

"N-no…" He murmured as the drug overtook him, his body going limp.

He sat there with a passed out, yet very much alive, shirtless vamp underneath him in the middle of a dark forest. He sighed, wondering what the hell he had just done.

Jesse McCree had gotten himself into quite the predicament.