We stick to the alleys.
Better that way. Fewer eyes. Fewer questions.
A man covered in blood and another clutching a torn-open neck tend to draw attention.
He walks ahead of me, unsteady, one hand pressed to the wound I gave him. I keep close, close enough that he can feel me there.
Guiding him.
Herding him.
We stop in front of an old building—nothing special. Faded walls, cracked windows, the kind of place people don't look at twice.
Makes sense.
If you're hiding, you don't stand out.
I press the knife against his throat.
"This it?"
"Yes," he says quickly. "Yes, I swear."
"Then open it."
He hesitates.
"Do I—"
"Did you think I would?" I press a little harder. "Knock."
He exhales shakily and raps against the door in a strange rhythm.
A code.
The door cracks open.
That's all I need.
I drive the knife forward.
It punches through his throat cleanly. His body jerks, a wet choking sound escaping him as I kick him hard into the door. He slams into the man behind it, knocking them both back.
I move.
Inside before they can react.
The second man is still tangled with the first when I reach him. I bury the knife in his stomach and rip it sideways.
He screams.
Something spills out with the blade.
I let him fall.
---
The room erupts.
Chairs scrape. Glass shatters. Men shout.
Seven of them—maybe more, but seven close enough to matter. They grab whatever they can: pipes, bottles, knives.
They spread out.
Circle me.
One spits near my boots. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm looking for the man in charge," I say.
A few of them laugh.
"Yeah?" another sneers. "And you thought you'd just walk in here and ask nicely?"
"I'm not asking nicely."
More laughter.
"Kid," one says, shaking his head, "we kill people for less than this. You're just another corpse waiting to drop."
I glance around the circle.
So be it.
---
I move first.
I slash at the closest one, but he raises a metal pipe—
Crack.
My blade snaps on impact.
For a split second, we both stare at the broken knife in my hand.
Then I jam what's left of it into his eye.
He screams.
I rip the pipe from his hands and bring it down on his skull.
Once.
Twice.
The third time caves it in.
Something sprays across my face.
I don't stop to think about it.
---
Pain tears across my back.
A blade.
I spin, barely avoiding a bottle aimed at my head. It whistles past my ear and shatters behind me.
I catch the attacker's arm.
Twist.
It breaks at the elbow with a sickening snap.
He howls.
I take the broken bottle and drive it into his throat.
---
Something slams into my skull.
Stars explode across my vision. Warm blood runs down my face, into my eye.
I stagger.
The man with the bat comes at me.
I duck the swing—barely—and drive the pipe into his ribs.
They crack under the impact.
He folds.
I hit him again.
And again.
---
After that—
Things blur.
---
I come back to myself with my teeth sunk into someone's neck.
Blood fills my mouth.
Hot. Thick. Alive.
I'm drinking.
---
Pain slices across my face.
I jerk back with a gasp, clutching at my eye. Blood pours between my fingers.
The last man stands a few feet away, knife shaking in his grip.
I look around.
Bodies.
Everywhere.
Six of them.
All dead.
The room is soaked—walls, floor, furniture. Red coats everything.
My stomach lurches.
"What…" My voice comes out raw. "What happened?"
The man stares at me like I'm something inhuman.
"You did," he says. "You—look at you. You drank him."
I glance down at my hands. At the blood.
At the body at my feet.
"I…did this?"
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. Just fear.
"What the hell are you?"
I don't answer.
I can't.
My stomach twists, and I turn, vomiting onto the floor.
---
He charges.
I react without thinking.
I catch his arm mid-swing and twist, forcing the knife back toward him. His eyes widen.
"Wait—"
The blade sinks into his chest.
He gasps.
Then collapses.
---
Silence.
At last.
---
I stand there, breathing hard, surrounded by the dead.
This is the second time.
The thought cuts through everything.
The alley.
Now this.
I didn't lose control before.
But this time…
I don't remember.
Not clearly.
"What is happening to me?" I whisper.
Who do I see about this?
A doctor?
A priest?
No.
What would I even say?
I drink blood now?
They'd lock me away. Or worse.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing red across my skin.
"No," I mutter. "Not now."
There's still one thing left to do.
---
I move toward the only closed door in the room.
Pause.
Then push it open.
---
An office.
A man stands behind the desk, pistol already raised.
A Luger.
Steady. Controlled.
He's older. Calm.
Watching me.
"So," he says, voice measured, "you're the one making all this noise."
His gaze flicks past me, taking in the carnage.
"And my men couldn't stop you." A faint, humorless smile. "Impressive."
I say nothing.
"I'd offer you a place here," he continues, tilting his head slightly. "But I don't think you're the type to take it."
"No," I say.
"I didn't think so."
He pulls the trigger.
---
The shot cracks through the room.
Pain explodes in my shoulder as the bullet tears through it. I hit the ground hard, clutching the wound.
My vision swims.
Footsteps approach.
Slow. Confident.
He stops beside me and presses his boot down on my shoulder.
I choke on the pain.
"You have anything to say," he asks, "before I finish this?"
I look up at him.
And smile.
"I'll be waiting," I say hoarsely, "at the gates."
I spit blood onto his boot.
He chuckles.
Raises the pistol.
Aims at my head.
---
Bang.