"Screw you, V! We're done." The call went dead.
He huffed and pushed himself out of the Wolf's Den. The storm wasn't falling from the sky. It was crashing. Sheets of rain hammered the pavement as if someone upstairs had decided the city deserved a cleansing.
He stumbled into the alley behind the bar. His shoulder clipped the brick wall. He steadied himself with one hand and cursed under his breath.
The whiskey burned in his throat, but everything else burned in his chest.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't want to look. He pulled it out with wet fingers and squinted through the rain.
Marissa: I can't believe you did this. I don't know you anymore.
Vincent wiped his face with his sleeve, though it didn't help. The letters swam. He blinked until they sharpened.
He typed back.
Vincent: Riss, please. I told you I'm sorry. I told you everything.
Send. A tremor ran through his thumb. He wasn't angry with her. Tonight, the anger curled inward like a poisoned vine.
He deserved any message she sent.
One night. One stupid, drunken betrayal. The kind you think you can bury under guilt until it quiets down. It never quieted. It only rotted louder.
His phone buzzed again.
Marissa: You told me weeks later. That's not honesty. That's guilt!
Vincent dragged a hand through his soaked hair. The alley smelled of wet stone and spoiled fruit. He leaned against the wall and typed again.
Vincent: I wasn't trying to hide it. I didn't know how to tell you without losing you.
Three dots pulsed.
Stopped.
Returned.
He waited with breath held tight.
Marissa: You lost me the moment you climbed into someone else's bed. The truth just confirmed it.
His stomach twisted. A cold ache crawled under his ribs.
He stepped deeper into the alley. The rain felt deserved. Maybe because the shadows felt easier than facing what he'd broken.
Marissa: Go home, Vincent. Sleep it off. Don't make this worse.
He typed with desperation he barely hid.
Vincent: Please don't shut me out. I love you. It meant nothing. You mean everything.
Send.
He hated himself.
For the plea, the pain he'd caused, and for becoming the man she now texted like this. The alley narrowed. Water pooled around his shoes. Rain hammered his shoulders.
His phone buzzed again.
Marissa: If I had meant everything to you, you wouldn't have done it.
His chest hollowed. He stopped walking.
Vincent: I was drunk, stupid, and angry. I didn't even know what I wanted. Please don't give up on me.
A beat. Then another.
No reply. Lightning flashed, lighting the alley like a camera shutter. When darkness fell again, it was heavier.
A low hum rose behind him. Mechanical. Smooth. Wrong. He turned. A white panel van glided into the alley. Rain streamed down its windshield. Its engine purred low, too smooth for the old chassis.
Vincent frowned. "You're in the wrong place, man."
The van didn't stop.
"Road's closed," he tried again. "Delivery entrance is around—"
The driver's door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Calm. Untouched by the storm. His face looked assembled rather than born.
Vincent raised a hand. "Okay. You're freaking me out. Stop there."
The man lunged. Metal clamped around Vincent's wrist. A sting hit his throat. The world spun. His knees buckled. As he fell, his phone buzzed in his hand.
Marissa: Vincent I'm worried. Where are you. Please answer me.
The phone slipped from his fingers.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He resurfaced too cold. Not rain. Not weather. Something sterile. Forced. Surgical. A steady beep pulsed above him. Metal clinked. Air hissed through vents. Light pressed behind his eyelids.
Vincent groaned and opened his eyes. White ceiling. Too bright. He tried to move. Leather bit into his wrist. Straps tightened across his chest, stomach, ankles.
His breath caught hard. He turned his head. A glass coffin lay on the table beside him, its inside fogged with frost. Tubes ran into it from blinking machines.
Something moved inside. "Hello?" His voice rasped out. "Anyone?"
No answer.
Voices whispered behind a frosted partition. "Host response is unstable."
"Cycle's initiating."
"He won't survive this."
His pulse hammered. The frost on the coffin thinned. A blurred silhouette pressed against the glass. Too-sharp cheekbone. Sunken eyes. A mouth not meant for words. Fangs like carved ivory.
Not a corpse, or no longer one. A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling. A needle extended from its tip, long enough to hurt just by looking at it.
"No." Vincent strained against the straps. "No no no wait."
The needle plunged into his chest. Cold fire roared through him. His back arched. His ribs felt pried open from the inside. Something slithered behind his heartbeat.
Something old. Starving. The creature inside the coffin slammed into the glass. Cracks spider-webbed across its surface. A sound rose from it, wrong in every way.
Lights burst overhead.
The coffin split. Black vapor erupted upward and swallowed the creature's dissolving body. It twisted toward Vincent.
He tried to scream. The vapor hit him. It sank. Cold plunged into his lungs. His skin steamed. The straps smoked from friction against his skin.
Words carved themselves across his vision.
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION FAILED
Unknown Essence Detected
Assimilation Imminent
You have become: Nosferatu
His heart hammered in irregular bursts. His breath stuttered. Every muscle trembled under invisible weight.
The hunger unfolded inside him. Slow and curious. His senses sharpened, hearing spiked, and his teeth ached.
The straps snapped.
Vincent lurched forward, gasping. His chest was smooth. No wound. No blood. He slid off the table, legs nearly giving out before stabilizing with unnatural ease.
The door burst open. Two men rushed in. One with a sedative gun, and the other with a clipboard.
"He's loose," the gunman whispered.
Vincent didn't hear the rest. Hunger roared. Instincts surged and thought vanished.
One blink.
Then he was across the room. The gunman slammed into the wall. His body slid down, still.
A chime flickered across Vincent's vision.
[Hostile Eliminated]
[+25 EXP]
[First Kill Bonus: +50 EXP]
[Total: 75/200]
The clipboard man fled. Vincent was already moving, faster than thought. He caught the man's coat and yanked him backward. The man's plea barely left his throat. A single strike.
A soft thud.
Stillness.
Another chime.
[Hostile Eliminated]
[+25 EXP]
[Total: 100/200]
Static fuzzed across the next message.
[Status Screen Unavailable]
[Reason: Feral Hunger Compromising Cognition]
Vincent staggered back, chest heaving. His hands shook, vision pulsed, and he should have felt horrified.
He wasn't.
The hunger purred. His gaze shifted toward the coffin. Mist spilled from its cracked edges. Something inside him responded to it. The essence inside it hummed to him—not as a command, but as recognition.
Take it.
He pressed his hand against the glass. Cold hummed through his palm. The coffin wasn't just equipment. It was his now.
He lifted it. It rose like it weighed nothing. A last whisper slid across his thoughts.
[Predator State Active]
Alarms blared deeper in the facility. Vincent carried the coffin through the emergency exit. His bare feet slapped tile. He shoved the door open. Rain burst across his skin. The alley outside was the same one he'd died in.
The storm greeted him like an old friend.
Lightning flared. Vincent stood in the downpour with the coffin balanced on his shoulder. His reflection in a puddle stared back with ember-ringed eyes. He didn't recognize himself, but the night recognized him.
Vincent Collins stepped into the storm.
The hunger followed, and the world whispered a truth it would soon learn to fear.
Far above the roofs, thunder rolled. Somewhere behind him, in a puddle beside the dropped phone, Marissa's last message lit the rain.
He didn't look back.
A Nosferatu walked again.