Gaz's writing works

***

When he came to, being almost killed was the last thing he recalled. He had the Necrobeast's blood coursing through his veins. Because of his slow pace, the toxin could have been removed before it reached his heart.

His survival that day landed solely on the fact that he had not drunk from a human for a few weeks. It wasn’t something every one of their kind could do. For him, it comes down to discipline and tea. A small amount of blood was added to sustain his existence. Not quite the same as drinking from a fresh body. But it kept his heart moving just enough to function between feedings.

He didn’t refrain from the kill for any moral dilemma. His kind needed it to live, after all. Something he came to terms with millennia before now. The tea he made would get him through the weeks he didn’t eat. Sustaining his heartbeat by about 15 beats per minute. A few people in his life would ask if he did this so that he would have to kill less. He would never answer them. But if he were to, it would be something along the lines, Don’t be ridiculous, what do their lives matter to me?

His reason was simply that he enjoyed the adrenaline in his veins, matching the adrenaline in his victims. The feel of the blood coursing through his own nearly vacant veins. The blood crashed through his system like an unexpected storm. Renewing everything all at once. His reward for keeping up such a rigid structure in his everyday life.

That familiar feeling stirred through him as he awakened from the deep sleep he had been in. But the refreshing feeling he so longed for wasn’t there. Replaced with a sharp pain. The liquid coursing through his body cut through his veins. The more he awakened, the more unbearable it became. His eyes stung and his mouth ached when he tried to speak.

He wouldn’t panic, though there was much that could have gone wrong. The black blood had not killed him. Or perhaps he had killed him. He had only experienced the black blood once. They must have put him in a permo-sleep. But for how long, now that was the question. He did not know how long it would have taken for his body to heal.

He’d gone to sleep in the catacombs, a sanctuary for weakened or tired Kaw-Sekhmu, who needed more than a few hours of rest to recover. His kind typically needed only half the sleep required by a human, but there were times at which a Ka-Sekhm would require much, much more. When one grew bored with life itself and wanted to sleep through to another era—or, as in his case, when one was so badly hurt that the only thing that could save them was to rest until the body recuperated. They could spend decades or centuries resting in one of the glass coffins that filled the walls of their family mausoleum. Only a select few Kaw-Sekhmu knew the true location of the catacombs. And no other creature was permitted anywhere near. Something terrible must have happened.

He could hear a faint voice, no two. Two people were talking. He didn’t recognize them.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow!” A soft woman’s voice came from across the room, calling out to someone as she drew nearer. She felt human, the heaviness of her steps, the way she breathed. His kind still could breathe, but it was much quieter, and mostly only did so when it was necessary, and in most cases, it wasn’t. Speaking, eating, drinking, extra.

As he got more feeling in his body, he became aware he wasn’t wearing any clothes. A sure sign that things were truly dire. A thin, cheap blanket draped over his entire body. That was when he noticed the sharp pain in his neck. Pumping something other than blood into his body. A strong chemical smell insulted his nostrils.

He could hear the woman sigh as she lifted the blanket from around his ankles. “It clotted again. Why does this keep happening?” as she said this, he felt a prick in his ankle. Blood poured out, then drip, then. “Damn it. I’m going to be here all night because of you. What is going on with you?” She pricked his ankle one more time, and once more, the same thing happened.

Then it happened, as if in a realization, something clicked. He felt the panic wash over her before she did or said anything. She cursed to herself, pulling whatever it was out of his neck. Raising across the room, then back at his side. Pulling the blankets off, he could feel something cold against his chest as she sighed. The panic subsided within her. “Don’t be stupid, why would he…” He could feel her weight on his chest. “What is with your blood?” She asked before cutting into his collar, plunging the tube back into his neck.

Still unable to move. To tell her he indeed had not been “dead” but merely sleeping when he heard a small click. Before he could question it, music played. This was the first clue that things had changed in the world. Things lingered. Clothes, music, culture. Only really became apparent when there were enormous gaps. This music eluded him. He could tell there was only one person in the room with him. And yet, multiple voices and instruments echoed through the room.

He would just have to find out. Focusing all his attention, he performed a trick he was quite good at. One moment, his vision was dark. The next he could see the room through her eyes. A room of metal. Try as he might, he couldn’t see where the music was coming from. She was the only one in the room.

Next to him were two tables. White blankets covering them. He wondered if the people under them were as dead as he was. That is to say, not at all. Pain shot his arm as she moved it. She did this for a few minutes until she was called out of the room by another strange sound. Milo could move his fingers, finally able to examine what was under his eyelids. Slowly removing a substance that held his lids shut and then removing the pointed disks underneath. Then moved to his mouth where he found a thin, but strong piece of thread that held his jaw in place.

As he set up, his stomach lurched as he saw the frightened look on the women’s face. A plastic visor over her head, paper clothes that couldn’t have protected from any elements. What was the weather like in this time period? He truly hoped this was not meant to be the fashion of the time.

He took pride in being able to blend in with the high society of any place he had gone. But he couldn’t ever wear that. He would much sooner go back into the ground for another 100 years than be caught wearing something that despicable.

But his thoughts were quickly brought back to the present, to a slack-jawed woman. “But, but…..How.” Her eyes grew wide with a shaking hand pointed his way. “I checked, I…” The confusion melted away, replaced with fear as she scrambled to pick up the metal box she dropped. “I’ll call.” Her fingers hovered over the screen. “Who do I call when? I thought you were dead.” Her voice was small and shaky.

“No need to get anyone else.” He said in a smooth voice. He had pulled himself up, his legs dangling from the table, the blanket draped around his lap. “It appears I’m naked. You don’t happen to know where my clothes are, my dear?”

Her finger slowly pointed to a bag that held his clothes. As she began to quickly ramble about how they would have normally just cut the clothes off. But they had been far too nice. This caused quite a stir among everyone at the morgue. The clothes would suggest he had money, but why was he found in a ditch with no ID. Homeless, actor, eccentric billionaire.

“Do you mind?” Milo interrupted her ramblings, nodding to the pile of clothes. Hoping to get the girl to stop talking. “I’m having a hard time moving. Would you be a dear and aid me? It’s the least you could do, after attempting to embalm me.”

Moments later, she was fixing the last button on his jacket, mumbling that this couldn’t be happening the whole time. When he placed a hand on her cheek. “Look at me. You have nothing to fear.” As she did, her body became weak. All her worries seemed to melt away. And the events of that night were no longer a mystery.

“I didn’t think vampires were real.” Answering a question that was never asked.

“What makes you think that’s what I am?” Milo asked. Normally, he would hate being called something as low as a vampire. He was something far superior. Any self-respecting Ka-Sekhm would never allow someone to mistake them for the loathsome Netopuri, the monsters that most refer to as the vampire.

But with all that was going on, he let himself find amusement in this. “Vampire, you say? No, not a vampire. I can walk in the sun, I can be seen in silver, and I have a heartbeat.”

“Your accent?” She said in a daze. “It’s so strange. European, old English?”

As he spoke, he reached for her hand, placing it onto his chest. Her hand was warm against his cold skin. The small twitches in her hand, her body trying to tell her to run away, were only known to Milo. At first, there was no heartbeat. Then there it was. Budump. A few more seconds passed before a second budump.

“This is just as unpleasant for me as it is for you. I would much prefer it to be beating faster than this.” Milo’s words were slow and soothing. Giving the girl more reason to relax.

“Is there a way you can do that? Make your heart beat faster, that is?” she asked, forgetting her fear. More fascinated by whatever was going on than what he could mean.

“It’s very simple.” She didn’t notice the wicked grin that grew on his face. “And you can help me.” She looked up at him, about to ask what she could do, when she noticed his teeth. His canines were much larger. Split in two, gadget. All at once, she knew how he would restore his heart.

At that same moment, a dread that she had never felt before rushed through her as she tried to pull away. His smile was unchanged by her attempt to get away. Delighting in her struggle. A moment later, his teeth were in her neck.

Taking all he could and then some. He let her fall, dry meat collapsing in a heap that didn’t even warrant a glance from him. As he stepped over her. He gently looked under the blankets of others in the room. But neither was he. He didn’t have time to worry. Humans were, on a whole, not a threat. But he had no desire to stay when he was so blind at the moment.

Reaching for his top hat, he glided out of the room without a second glance. Stopping only once to clench his stomach as an unknown pain quickly went through him.

The bright lights and the hollowness of the conference room made it feel far more intimidating than before. Justin, Ashley, Miller, and two other men, whose names Justin didn't know, stood around Devon, who was tied up in the center of the room.

Half-naked now, one man searched Devon's body for any signs he was turned, while the other held a gun, ordered to shoot if he made any movements. No one seemed to notice, or perhaps they didn't care, about Devon's pleading to stop, or his discomfort.

If he was turned by a Ka-Sekhm, they would not have bitten him in an obvious place. Justin pulled his collar up, hiding the spot that concealed his own shame, marking him as a pariah. Part of him felt for Devon. If it was true that he was now a Ka-Sekhm, he would be little more than a human. Even if he was turned the same day Milo and Grendel started working for C.R.O.W.

Ashley stood next to Justin. If she had any pity for the man, she was hiding it very well. Then, a sickening feeling overwhelmed Justin. What would Ashley do if she were in Devon's shoes? Would she be this callous?

He didn't know Devon well enough to determine if he would betray C.R.O.W. Devon very well may be capable of such a thing. However, from the perspective of anyone in the group, it would be easy to say the same about Justin. After all, he never attacked anyone. But he had taken the life of more than one person during his time with Milo, something he would never be able to forgive himself for.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Devon kept insisting in monotone. If he were turned, Justin was sure there would be that rage and anger he felt. But none of that showed on Devon. He just looked pathetic and scared.

Miller stepped forward until he was face to face with Devon. "Are you calling my daughter a liar?" Miller asked, gripping Devon by the jaw and forcing him to look him square in the eye.

Justin stood across the room, yet he still felt intimidated by Miller's anger. He felt the urge to spill every secret he had ever held up to this point in his life. How Devon was able to resist any of this was beyond him.

Justin didn't see the scars Ashley talked about, but he knew she wasn't a liar. Although no one was very close to Devon, perhaps she just thought she saw them. Maybe it was a dream. It's not like that was something you asked about if you were not close to someone.

"Hey good morning, how is your day? Crazy weather we are having. By the way, did you try killing yourself the other day?"

Justin would have never thought Devon was the kind of person you couldn't trust. But there was something off-putting about him, something he couldn't quite pinpoint. It was the same unsettling feeling he got around Grendel. But Justin had good reason not to like Grendel, even before he murdered Amy.

Devon was just that weird guy who didn't know how to talk to people. Would he betray C.R.O.W.? Justin wanted to say no, but he also knew what one could do when under the influence of the blood urge.

If Devon had indeed been transformed, predicting his actions became an impossible task. It was a reminder of the old adage about the quiet ones.

But Justin couldn't focus on whether Devon was a vampire now or not. All he could think about was: what if they found out about him? Would he be the one tied up right now? Or had he proven himself enough? But how could any of them trust him?

How could anyone trust anything? He knew he was a good person. But that didn't mean this group would see it that way. After all, Devon had been there longer than Justin.

At that same moment, he felt Ashley grip his arm. She turned so only Justin could see her face, not that anyone else was paying attention to either of them.

"I know what I saw," she said in a low voice that Justin clearly heard, even amidst the shouting that continued in the room. "Can you tell? Is that something you can do?"

She didn't have to explain what she meant. She wanted confirmation from Justin that Devon was indeed turned. But he had no way of knowing. He was just as confused as her about why Devon didn't do more to protect himself. Was he that weak of a human that even being turned meant he wasn't strong enough to at least try to break free?

"We should go," Ashley began to say, but there was hesitation in her request. She turned to her father, as if scared to leave him alone in the room with Devon. It felt like it no longer mattered whether he was innocent or not. There was no way Devon was leaving that room today.

None of this felt real. It was as if the room existed in a bubble, isolated from the rest of the world. Everyone else carried on with their lives as if nothing was amiss. Even the men on the other side of the wall continued with their task of packing, oblivious to the impending tragedy in the room. Justin was certain that someone would die here, in this moment.

There was nothing he or Ashley could do now. Miller had made up his mind. There was no reason for them to be there. They could simply leave. No one would stop them. Miller didn't want Ashley involved in such matters anyway, and truth be told, neither did Justin.

He grabbed her hand, and together they would walk away, hoping that Devon had some mastermind plan that this violent act would put an end to.

As the two of them reached the door, no one attempted to stop them. No one even glanced their way. They could go about their lives, leaving whatever was happening in the bubble of that space.

Justin reached for the knob, and as he touched it, it turned. Then, a moment later, the door swung open, crashing into Justin's face. He clutched his nose as searing pain shot through his body, momentarily disorienting him. Before he could see who was on the other side, his body was twisted around, his arm pinned behind his back. Looking up, he saw Grendel, a wide grin spreading across his face.

With a free hand, Grendel gave Justin a quick wave before something sharp kicked him in the back. Before he could comprehend what had happened, he was slammed against the wall at the opposite end of the room.

The door was closed, presumably locked, and Grendel stood a few feet from where Devon lay on the ground. Gripping one hand tightly around Ashley's neck while restraining her with the other.

Justin rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding. Everyone seemed to be in a state of confusion, and one of the men with the gun now had it trained on Grendel's head.

But none of this seemed to faze him. All his attention was directed at Miller, a disgusting, disturbing smile still plastered on his face. "Oh, I see you don't have your nifty little gloves on today. Lucky me."

"Let her go," Miller barked, knowing better than to make a move, but appearing no less intimidating. "You see this man over here, the one with a gun pointed at your fucking face. At my order, he can remove the top of your head from the rest of your body."

Grendel's smile didn't waver as he began to pet Ashley's head. "No, I don't think I will." Ashley tried to pull away, but this was the point. He could do whatever he wanted to her at that moment, and there wasn't anything any of them could do. "Your men try anything like that and..." He didn't finish the thought, just let the idea linger in the air.

He nuzzled his cheek against hers as he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, "I wonder what your brain looks like," flashing Miller a devious smile. "Want to find out?"

Ignoring everyone else in the room, Grendel glanced down at Devon, who remained tied up and motionless since he entered. His left eye was swollen shut, rendering him unable to see out of it. Devon watched silently, offering no reply when Grendel addressed him.

"Still alive?" Grendel's expression only changed momentarily as he spoke to Devon. "Don't worry, we won't be here long."

"Well, that answered that question," Justin thought to himself. Devon was most definitely on Grendel's side. In what capacity, Justin wasn't sure, but Devon wasn't innocent.

"You're a monster," the man with the gun spat. "I'm going to enjoy being the one who ends you. The good guys always win."

An unsettling laughter echoed through the room. "Ha, and you assume you're the good guys? There is no good or evil here, only different perspectives," Grendel shouted. For the first time, a hint of anger cut through his words.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. The blood suckers who kill to live are the monsters that you have to take down," Grendel said, bobbing his head in a playful manner. As quickly as he started, he stopped, once again adopting a more serious expression.

"But you lot don't look that great from over here. From over here, you are the monsters killing the people I love."

As he continued with his speech, Miller began to move, slowly creeping up, a small but powerful gun held behind his back. He was about a foot away, and for a fraction of a second, Justin thought he would be able to finish Grendel, or at the very least, incapacitate him.

"Stop," Grendel barked, glaring at Miller, tightening his grip on Ashley to make a point. "Unless you want to lose two children tonight."

Ashley visibly shuddered, and for a moment, Miller looked as if he wasn't the hardened military man they all knew him to be. For a moment, he was just a man who had learned one of his kids was dead.

That second passed, but not fast enough. Justin blinked. One, two, three bangs. When he opened his eyes, Ashley was on top of Miller, both sprawled out on the ground next to Justin. The two men at the other side of the room covered their faces with blood-drenched hands. And there was not a sign of Devon or Grendel anywhere.

Devon was in pain. His face hurt, his wrist hurt. His head was throbbing. A strange sensation of being out of breath, dizzy, and nauseous overwhelmed him all at once. He was standing, but he wanted nothing more than to collapse. Grendel held him up, rubbing his back.

Grendel was saying something. It sounded reassuring, warm, and caring. But Devon couldn't hear any of it. They were on top of some building, but he couldn't determine where. They could have been on top of the C.R.O.W. building or ten miles away, for all he knew.

Grendel patted down his body as if checking for any broken bits, but Devon wouldn't have noticed. His body went from feeling nothing at all, completely numb, to cold and wet.

He tried to assess himself, to see what was closer to the truth, but every time he did, all he could see was blood all over his body. He was almost certain those images he was seeing weren't real, just memories. But it didn't make any of it feel better.

He wasn't there. He didn't know where he was, but this wasn't real. Strange words that didn't belong to him berated him. Of course they were going to kill you. What did you expect? What did you think would happen? You deserve it. Why are you upset? You had tried this before. You shouldn't even be alive right now. This is what you wanted.

The voice went on and on, and there was nothing Devon could do about it. He tried reasoning with himself. He didn't want to die. He did nothing wrong. But the voice would come back each time, telling him that wasn't true. He had done everything wrong. Why else would no one want to talk to him? Why else was he alone all the time? Why else would he let someone like Grendel change him? Why else would he help him?

The back of his throat hurt, and a shooting pain ran up his spine and into his brain. He could still hear Grendel speaking to him, but had no idea what he was saying.

It was his eyes that finally brought him back to reality. A light from somewhere shined off them, making them look gold, like a light at the end of the tunnel. He didn't know how long he stood there staring at them before Grendel's words slowly started to emerge from the abyss.

"You're okay," he repeated over and over. Had that been what he was saying? As reality started to come back into focus, he could feel Grendel's hands on his face, warm spots that felt like they were melting his otherwise cold body. Just as he thought he was fine, a big wave of realization hit him like a train.

"Oh god, they tried to kill me!" Devon said in a panic, realizing just how close he was to death for the second time in his life. "They were going to kill me." His chest tightened as he grasped onto Grendel's arms.

Grendel pulled him in, placing a kiss on his forehead before embracing him fully. His hand around Devon's head, he stroked his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Devon reiterated, almost believing his own words. He had always kept to himself and never actively tried to hurt anyone. But there was still a part of him that believed he deserved all the bad things that happened to him. Why else would bad things keep happening if he was innocent?

Without any warning, he felt something break within him. He had tried his best, and that was more than most people could say. It was a realization he didn't know he could believe. At that moment, tears quickly built up and escaped just as fast. Burying his head deeper into Grendel's chest, he lost control of himself. His knees buckled under him, and both fell to the ground.

At that moment, he didn't care if Grendel was just using him. Even if Grendel himself told him he would end his life in the next year, Devon felt warm and safe. Grendel was the only person who had shown him any compassion for as long as he could remember.

Devon tapped his finger against the mouse as if it would make things go faster. It was simple to deactivate the software that controlled the devices in Grendel and Milo. But that wasn't the hard part. If he had it his way, no one would notice he had made any changes.

It might take them a few days to fully remove the devices. But even that wasn't good enough. He also had to ensure that no one could simply reactivate them. For a normal human, it would be capable of completely destroying the spine.

Long-term, he wasn't sure how much damage it would do to the two Kaw-Sekhmu. In the best-case scenario, it would be a temporary inconvenience. In the worst case, it would kill them.

Devon didn't want to take his chances. With Miller's extensive reach and recruiting power, it was hard to predict the technological knowledge the new team would have. It wouldn't have been impossible to think that any of them were more advanced than even him. He couldn't risk it.

He kept thinking of the way Ashley looked at him. Had she known? What did she tell Justin? His eyes kept darting to the opposite side of the room. If someone approached, he couldn't just run for it. On the off chance they didn't suspect him, that would surely give him away.

As Devon feverishly tapped the keyboard, the elevator hummed ominously, each second drawing closer to his impending doom. Fingers danced across the keys in a desperate attempt to mask his digital footprint. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sound of the elevator grew louder, signaling its impending arrival. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in, amplifying Devon's panic. His mind raced with thoughts of exposure and capture, a terror that consumed him.

Done! He was still alone as the elevator stopped. He had enough time to walk to the door, then book it. With a final keystroke, he shut down the computer. He couldn't run. He had to play it cool. Or he would have, if the person who had emerged walked in at a normal pace.

Devon's hand reached for the doorknob, his breath hitching in his throat. But before he could make his escape, he felt a powerful force driving him into the wall.

"And just where the hell do you think you're going?" Miller's voice boomed, his hot breath like fire against Devon's ear as he pinned him against the unyielding surface.

Grendel felt a pit in his stomach as he curled up in the passenger seat, his feet resting on the dashboard of Devon's car. There was still a question he didn't quite want the answer to, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. After all, that was the whole point of this.

Truth be told, he had let it all play out longer than he should have. The incident in the bathroom the other day was evidence of that. Besides, if he allowed this to continue much longer, he might find himself actually caring for the members of CROW.

Glancing over to where Devon sat, hands gripping the wheel of the motionless car, Grendel observed his tense posture, fixated on the hill ahead. It seemed Devon was just as uncomfortable as Grendel, albeit for different reasons.

"Are we going to get out of the car?" Grendel asked, nodding towards the group of people gathered in the middle of a funeral service.

Devon's gaze remained fixed on the hill ahead as he responded. "No, I..." He paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "I'll wait until it's over. There are too many questions I can't answer right now."

"When was the last time you talked to her? Your mom, that is?" Grendel asked.

Devon's silence spoke volumes, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. "I don't even remember," he admitted, his voice strained. "I couldn't bear it if she asked when she could see the kids...So I kept putting it off. I...I thought there would be more time."

After that, the car fell into silence. Grendel felt the weight of Devon's words. He had almost become a father twice. He wondered what he would have done in that situation. Losing the children he never had was hard enough. What would it be like for ones he had grown to love?

He couldn't afford to feel bad for Devon. If he did, he might not be able to do what needed to be done.

"People die all the time," Grendel began. "You and your friends make it happen every day." He spoke, reminding himself of the monstrous nature these people truly had. He needed to prevent any empathy from surfacing.

Killing for survival was one thing, but for most of the members of C.R.O.W., it was a sport masquerading as community service. Grendel understood revenge, but C.R.O.W. killed indiscriminately, gaining nothing from it.

Devon didn't respond immediately, leaving an awkward silence between the two. "I'm sure some of them had families," Grendel persisted.

"You're talking about the girl with the purple hair?" Devon turned to him, the first time he had looked over since getting in the car.

"How close were you with her? I'm assuming that's why you're here..." he stated, as if the words themselves were poignant and burning his throat as they came up. "For what it's worth, I didn't. She didn't deserve what happened to her. I think she was..."

But this just made Grendel mad. He could understand the humans not wanting bloodsuckers around. Many of them killed other humans--hell, he had been one of them. He comprehended why someone, a human, would want to put an end to him.

At his age, he had learned that life revolved around survival. No one could endure as long as he had without feeding on the energy or essence of others. However, he always treated his prey with respect, offering comfort and friendship before taking what he needed from them. He wasn't the bad guy.

Moreover, Kit-Kat hadn't engaged in any actions that the humans deemed wicked or evil. According to their standards, she was innocent, even more so, the child she carried.

Even the netopuri, who used willing donors, weren't always innocent. It was easy to lose control and take too much from a human. To them, the experience might be considered sensual, making it hard to restrain themselves. He couldn't comprehend that notion; for him, sex was sex, and blood was blood, and were entirely separate things.

But Kit-Kat was different. She had never killed anyone, and it would have been hundreds if not thousands of years before she would have needed to. She was young, and she had never harmed a single person in her entire life--not to the extent that should have warranted her death.

He must have started to say some of this out loud because, once he snapped himself out of his own head, Devon was looking at him.

"You have no reason to believe me. But I really did try to help her. She didn't change like the rest. And..." He paused for a moment, head hung down, avoiding Grendel's gaze. "No, an innocent person died that night. I was there, I can't say it wasn't my fault."

"Two," Grendel snapped. "Two innocent people died that night." A burst of pain coursed through his body. He felt his eyes start to water as he turned to look out the window.

Biting his bottom lip. Stopping the strange words his brain was thinking from coming out.

"Why are we still alive? Why haven't you done it yet?" Devon asked as simply as one would ask how your day was going.

Grendel shrugged, a question he'd been asking himself almost every day now. There were a few obvious answers. They had to play nice because they were being held hostage. But he could have ended this long before it reached that point.

He might have claimed he was doing it for Richard, assisting him in dealing with the Netopuri who had been causing him issues. There was a delicate bureaucracy between the Netopuri and the Kaw-Sekhmu that made it impossible for Richard to act directly. Instead, he used C.R.O.W. to carry out these tasks, all while concealing any trace of his involvement.

But none of that was the real reason. He didn't really know. Maybe he was punishing himself. He told her he would protect her and didn't. It was his fault. He didn't do his goddamn job and his Kit-kat paid the price for it.

In truth, he wasn't okay. There was no reason why humans should ever gain the upper hand on him or Milo. Yet, whenever he was around them, Kit-Kat consumed his thoughts.

He couldn't shake off the nagging questions – which one struck the fatal blow? How did it happen? Their presence weakened him, clouding his thoughts, or worse, he often was under some influence that dulled his senses and reactions.

Devon was right; it needed to end. But Grendel also felt the need to know the details of Kit-Kat's final moments. He understood it wouldn't serve anyone's purpose, especially his own. Perhaps it was just another way to inflict punishment upon himself.

That's when he spoke. No longer able to stop himself. Yet another decision to make his life just a little worse. "I want to see what happened."

He turned to gauge Devon's expression. And from the look in his face, he knew exactly what he was asking.

"I'm guessing you're not talking about video footage?" Devon slowly answered. "Not that there is any. Having video proof that you had killed someone, even a vampire, isn't a good idea."

There it was. The words were out. That was what he was waiting for. What he wanted. He knew it was stupid. That if he was wrong about Devon, things would be so much worse for him. Turning Devon would give him what he wanted. He could see everything unfold and see it for himself as if he was there.

But that also meant he would be bonded to Devon for no less than a year. And he had no idea how he would feel about him after he showed his part. He said he tried to help her. But he had no way of knowing that. And in the short amount of time he knew Devon, it was clear, Devon didn't always tell the truth.

It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that he was just telling Grendel what he wanted to hear. For all he knew, Devon delivered the killing blow.

At the same time, the sky grew darker till it almost looked like night had arrived early. A few seconds later sheets of rain began to fall down. Crashing down on the metal of the car, almost as if it was mocking Grendel.

He saw the wheels turning in Devon's head. He was really thinking about it. Well, worst case scenario he was giving a suicidal person immortality. If he was the one who killed Kit-Kat. He would then have to spend the rest of his life, which was now expanded quite a bit, alone. And he would only have to keep him nearby for a year.

Grendel turned to the hillside just as Devon opened his mouth to speak. "Hey, looks like they're leaving," Grendel said, not quite ready for the others' answer.

The rain relentlessly pounded down on Devon's head, yet he remained impervious to its touch. Standing solemnly over his mother's grave, an inexplicable emptiness consumed him. One would expect feelings of loss, anger, or sadness in such a moment, but Devon felt none of it.

Years had passed since he last spoke to his mother, a deliberate silence maintained to avoid revealing the painful truth--his wife had left him. As he stood there, he tried to reclaim the emotions he should be experiencing, but the numbness persisted. The fear of being told he was delusional, that his belief in his wife's return was unfounded, haunted him.

In his heart, Devon justified the silence by convincing himself that his wife still loved him, dealing with some unspoken family matters that kept her away temporarily. The painful reality, however, was far bleaker than the lie he told himself.

But he knew that wasn't true. Maybe if he had talked to his mother, she could have confronted him, made him see how foolish this delusion was before now. Perhaps he would have moved on by this point.

But no, he avoided her. She probably thought he hated her. Perhaps she was heartbroken that he had not once tried to see her before now. God, he felt he deserved to die. What kind of person does that to their own mother?

Now, he would never be able to talk to her again, and he felt nothing. What was the difference if she was sitting in her house and him ignoring her or if she was under six feet of earth?

"Hell with it," Devon told himself. If Grendel wanted to see what happened that night, why shouldn't he? Grendel had lost so much. What right did he have to live?

He was almost certain that this involved giving his life to Grendel. But what was he doing with his life that was worth keeping? He was a terrible person, and no one seemed to want to be around him. At least, by doing this, he would have given Grendel closure.

He knew Grendel was only using him. All his kindness was leading to this. But in the end, none of this was new. He was only worth keeping around as long as he had something to offer. That was the only reason the members of C.R.O.W. allowed him to stick around. At least Grendel's company made him feel something.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there. Long enough that the numbness started to melt away, and he felt how cold the rain was. His body began to shake, and he could sense that the cold had already infiltrated his bones.

When he was young, his mother would make soup for him after he had been playing in the snow all day. In that moment, a piercing pain hit his otherwise frosted heart. He would never have her soup again.

When he became aware of his surroundings once more, he noticed Grendel standing next to him. Grendel wore a serious expression that somehow made him look handsome. It was only then that he noticed his right hand wasn't quite as cold as the rest of him. When he looked down, he saw Grendel's hand on his own. At least he pretended to care.

Rex operated on pure blind rage. The image of Victoria's mangled body in her own apartment enraged him to the point where he couldn't retain any new memories. He couldn't recall how he had reached the Motel Dam Sanctum--had he walked, or gotten a lift? None of that seemed important. The only thing that mattered was finding Grendel

He knew Grendel was responsible, and he was going to make him pay. He must have recalled Victoria mentioning Milo and Grendel staying at the Motel Dam Sanctum at some point. Why else would he have gone there?

In this sense, his blind rage served as a useful tool. If he had been in his right state of mind, he might have assumed they would no longer be there. If they were planning to attack a group of vampire hunters, surely they would have relocated to a place unknown to those hunters. At the very least, Milo would have been smart enough to do so.

Barging into the place as if he owned it, a man in a gray suit with thinning hair quickly approached him. He wore a scowl and exuded an overall unpleasant demeanor.

"Sir, I must ask you to calm down or inform me of your business here before I can allow you to proceed any further," the man asked in the typical manner adopted by those in the service industry. It was polite, with a subtle hint of wanting to tell the person where they could stick it.

"I'm going to kill him," Rex barked, showing no interest in small talk with the man. He intended to search every door until he found Grendel.

The man's scowl deepened as he raised an eyebrow. "Well, that certainly isn't helping your case. May I ask whom you're trying to murder?"

"Grendel! I know it was him. I'm going to kill him."

At that, the man's frown faded, replaced by a growing grin. "Oh, in that case. Go around that corner, take the lift to the top floor. There are only two suites on that floor. It will be the one across from the elevators." He turned on his heel, about to leave when he turned around. "If anyone asks, we never spoke. I've never even seen you."

Rex wouldn't have to lie about speaking to the man; by the time he reached the door, any interaction with the man had vanished from his thoughts. He pounded on the door, expecting a response.

No one answered.

He continued pounding on the door for several moments, despite hearing voices from inside that seemed to ignore the noise he was making.

Undeterred, he reached for the door, assuming it would be locked. He intended to take his frustration out on the doorknob. But as his hand made contact, the door swung open.

Initially, the place appeared deserted. Had he imagined the voices? However, a lump beneath silk blankets on the sofa began to stir. Despite his reasons for being there, it was shocking to see Grendel lying there as if it were an ordinary day, carefree and indifferent.

Rex remained silent, observing Grendel. He seemed strung out, lost in his own world. It wasn't surprising; some individuals simply lived as degenerates, unconcerned with the outside world.

Grendel shifted sluggishly, causing part of the sheet to slip off, revealing his lack of clothing. He appeared unconcerned about his lack of modesty, displaying an indifferent attitude.

"What do you want?" Grendel responded in a flat tone, his gaze unfocused and directed somewhere behind Rex.

"You killed her," Rex blurted out. "You killed Victoria, and now I'm going to kill you."

He raised the shotgun he hadn't realized he was holding until that moment.

Yet, Grendel remained motionless, seemingly indifferent to the unfolding events.

"Are you certain? How do you know it was me?" Grendel questioned calmly.

Rex hesitated. There were no bite marks, no remnants of Grendel left behind. Slowly, he began to lower the gun. Was he mistaken? No, he was sure. He just knew.

Rex raised the gun once more. "No, I know it's you!" he shouted, but Grendel remained unmoved with the same in-different look in his eyes.

"Do you want to know?" Grendel answered, his voice steady and unyielding. "I know I would," he said slowly, lifting himself up and gripping the edge of the sofa in an almost inhuman manner, making everything he said unsettling.

"She, and all of you, sealed your fate a long time ago. You didn't know it, but all of you have been on borrowed time up until now." As Grendel spoke, his voice no longer resembled that of the idiot who fumbled around, barely able to scrape by. There was something guttural and dark in his words, as if he was more a thing than human, finally revealing his true nature.

Rex felt a pit in his stomach. He didn't understand what Grendel was talking about. But Ashley--when was the last time he talked to her? Has it already become too late for her?

A twisted grin crept onto Grendel's face. "You want to know about your sister? You thought she could live your life without her being in danger?"

That was all the confession Rex needed. He pulled the trigger.

A loud popping sound echoed, but it didn't originate from the gun. As everything went numb, the weapon slipped from his hand. His body collapsed to the ground. The last sight before darkness consumed him was Milo standing over him, glaring down with an annoyed expression.

***

Milo cast a glance at Rex's lifeless form, sprawled on the ground, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "What a pain," he muttered, then turned his attention to Grendel. "I thought you claimed you were only targeting Victoria and Rex."

The dark, callus facade Grendel had put on moments before had dissipated. He now slouched over the edge of the sofa, his arms hanging limply, head tilted as he observed the chaos on the floor. "Yeah, but I wanted to make him suffer a little more before..."

"Before he blew your head off?" Milo interrupted, barely concealing his irritation and concern. Grendel had always struggled with growing too attached to people too quickly. The recent bond with the violet haired girl, someone he had turned and who had been targeted by C.R.O.W. in their first year, caused him unbearable pain.

Milo had never experienced anything quite like that himself. However, his unusual connection with Grendel allowed him, at times, to sense a fraction of the pain Grendel was experiencing.

Grendel looked up with a smile. "I knew you wouldn't let him."

Milo hated that smile. It was Grendel's ace up the sleeve, a get-out-of-jail-free card that had, at times, spared him from detention. Witnessing him engage in the most depraved, horrific acts one moment, only to consider him a saint the next, was the power of that smile. Even Milo wasn't immune to its influence.

"Is this finally over? Can we drop the facade with the vampire hunters?" Milo inquired, settling into a seat at the far end of the sofa.

"Yeah, I think so," Grendel said, wrapping himself tight in the sheets, melting into Milo's lap, with a heavy head and closed eyes.

"You're going to be the one to tell Richard," Milo said after a few minutes of silence.

Grendel's face scrunched before he responded. "Why do I have to be the one to tell him?"

"Because all of this was your idea," Milo answered bluntly. He knew Richard wouldn't be happy with this alliance being severed. Working for C.R.O.W., it was easy for Richard to send Milo and Grendel to deal with the Netopuri that was giving him problems without getting his hands dirty.

"Besides, he'll have to find someone to get these stupid things out of our spines. I assume they were already deactivated before you decided to end our ties with C.R.O.W.?"

Grendel's silence worried Milo. Before Milo could repeat himself, Grendel untangled his hand and waved it dismissively. "No, no, don't worry about it. I have Devon working on it now."

This did not reassure Milo as he intended. "Didn't you say the only way he could deactivate it was at their headquarters?"

"Yeah," Grendel answered slowly.

"The same place where they have all their weapons and vampire hunting equipment?"

"Yeah," Grendel said again, slowly understanding what Milo was implying.

"And considering Devon has little more than a normal human strength right now."

The headquarters of C.R.O.W. was hardly recognizable now. It wasn't something that was talked about out loud. But Even Justin couldn't ignore the secret meetings between Rex and Miler that have been happening that last month.

It might have seemed like a typical father-son interaction at first glance. However, Miler never exhibited the characteristics of a father seeking connection with his children. Instead, he treated them as subordinates, lacking the warmth expected between flesh and blood.

Now, the purpose became evident to Justin. Over the past month, Miler had been actively recruiting individuals to aid in combating the vampire threat. Presently, around fifty of them were situated in the C.R.O.W. bunker, a mere fraction of the larger force Miler appeared to be assembling.

It felt peculiar observing the place in a state of both disarray and meticulous organization. Computers were carefully packed into boxes, neatly aligned against the wall, while workout equipment was dismounted and stored in sturdy wooden crates.

Every item, regardless of its potential use in the new location, had to be removed. It was imperative to eradicate any trace that C.R.O.W. had once occupied the premises.

This sensation unsettled Justin. Despite knowing that C.R.O.W. had formed just a few years before. It still somehow felt more permanent than this. To see it be so easily disassembled felt strange and wrong to him.

An inexplicable sense of permanence lingered around it, almost as if it existence was static. Yet, the reality contradicted this feeling--it had existed for less than five years, and Justin had been part of it for less than one.

"Hey, can you lend a hand?" A voice emerged from behind a box where Justin stood lost in his thoughts. He hadn't noticed the burly man initially, so deeply immersed in his own musings. The man seemed to be approximately Justin's height, perhaps a bit leaner.

Dressed in civilian attire like the others, the man nodded toward the sizable wooden box Justin was leaning on. "I'm trying to move this closer to the door to make room to dissemble some of the other equipment," he explained.

"oh, yeah," Justin replied, effortlessly lifting one corner. Unaware of his own strength and the man's gaze, he swiftly dropped it after hoisting it a few inches off the ground. Nervously laughing, he added, "Wow, that's heavier than I anticipated."

He wasn't entirely certain whether the expression the man wore conveyed judgment or suspicion. Regardless, the man reached for the handles temporarily drilled into the box's side. While the box still retained some weight, Justin couldn't gauge how heavy it might have felt for an average person.

One of the reasons he made an effort to appear as if he was being lazy, lingering around and lamenting about how rapidly exhaustion was setting in. He preferred others to perceive him as weak rather than to raise doubts about his inhuman strength.

Justin exerted himself to match the man's strength and pace, maintaining silence until they reached the opposite side of the room. Initially content with the lack of conversation, he preferred minimal interaction with these individuals. However, that was short-lived.

"My name's Aaron, Aaron Smith," he introduced himself, extending his hand immediately after they set down the box. "How long have you been involved in this—fighting vampires, I mean?"

"For a few years," Justin lied, fabricating the truth, concerned that revealing the real timeline might raise suspicion. There was still a lot he didn't know, but he had an advantage of being one himself now.

"Oh, cool, cool," Aaron said nonchalantly. "My family has been hunters for generations. I learned how to take down a vampire before I could even walk," he chuckled, a sense of pride evident in his demeanor.

It wasn't that Aaron was overtly cocky, but rather he seemed to boast. Justin couldn't resist wondering about Aaron's true strength. He speculated that Aaron might not be as formidable as he believed, envisioning Milo effortlessly subduing him with just a glance.

As Justin comprehended his thoughts, a harsh realization struck him--this situation posed a significant danger to him. Besides Ashley, nobody in C.R.O.W. knew his true nature. Yet, he didn't know how much these interlopers knew. What if someone among them had encountered it before? What if he was showing a telltale sign not even he knew about.

The vast expanse of the bunker seemed to constrict rapidly. All it would take was one observant person, and the domino effect of mob mentality could quickly snowball. He felt vulnerable--no one there knew him, no one would defend him. It just took one person to discern he wasn't human.

Justin's final recollection was expressing his need for some fresh air. Departing the bunker and ascending in the elevator occurred almost mechanically. He found himself halfway across the office, making way for the door, when a sudden impact jolted him out of his daze, striking him squarely in the chest.

Justin moved to apologize to the person he collided with but was met with a frantic stream of apologies: "Sorry, I didn't see you. Sorry." Devon hastily gathered scattered papers from the ground while persisting in his apologies.

"It's okay," Justin attempted to reassure him, but Devon persisted in expressing his remorse, transitioning from sad, to annoying.

Justin extended a hand to assist him, yet Devon sprang up as if propelled by springs in his shoes. After a couple of attempts, Devon managed to gather his thoughts. "What are you doing here?" He inquired, gazing up at Justin as if just recognizing him.

"I'm guessing it's for the same reason you're here," Justin replied, initially finding the question peculiar but not dwelling on it.

Devon glanced up at him, a mix of discomfort and confusion evident on his scrunched-up face. "Your here, because... wait, who sent you?" he asked, clearly flustered.

"Miler did," Justin began, but then hesitated. He hadn't interacted much with Devon, who always appeared nervous and awkward, but a sense of something being amiss lingered.

"Why are you here?" Justin inquired, unintentionally sounding more accusatory than he meant to.

Justin stood his ground, determined to wait until Devon responded. He sensed that something was amiss and resolved to uncover the truth. However, his focus shifted when Ashley stormed in with the intensity of a Category 5 hurricane.

"Is my brother here yet?" Ashley demanded, diverting Justin's attention. Forgetting about Devon, Justin shook his head and replied, "No, I haven't seen him. What's the matter?"

"Our father," she barked, slamming her bag beside her computer. "Everything has to be a big secret with him. We were just here a few hours ago. Couldn't he have mentioned wanting everything moved out tonight during that meeting? No, he had to wait until we made plans, and then suddenly spring it on us."

As she continued, Devon sidled past her toward his desk, frantically tapping away at the keyboard.

"Who's supposed to return?" Justin inquired, his concern escalating at the thought of Milo and Grendel being involved. Uncertain whether he was more anxious for the hunters or for Milo.

"I think it's just me, you, Victoria, and Rex," Ashley mentioned while rummaging through her bag. "Rex said he couldn't reach Victoria, so he's planning to swing by her place to pick her up. If he's not here yet, our dad will be furious."

Simultaneously, Devon accidentally knocked a cup off the desk. While attempting to retrieve it, his sleeve snagged on a part of the computer. As he reached out to grab the cup, he managed to catch it but inadvertently spilled its entire contents onto the floor, narrowly missing Ashley's shoes by inches.

A peculiar staring contest ensued between the two, a moment that baffled Justin. Initially relieved that it appeared to halt Ashley's escalating anger spiral, he soon sensed an underlying tension simmering beneath the silence.

"Devon, why did you say you were here?" Ashley's tone held a hint of inquiry that validated Justin's earlier suspicions. He felt a sense of vindication, sensing that his intuition about something being awry had been confirmed by her question.

Devon made some incoherent sounds before managing to speak. "I needed to verify something," Devon replied, his focus returning to the screen. "It's likely nothing, but I had this strange dream about a potential hack, and..." His voice trailed off, fading amidst the increased tapping of the keyboard.

"Alright. We'll let you focus on that," Ashley responded as she leisurely picked up her bag and swiftly guided Justin to where the elevators were, taking hold of his arm.

Justin attempted to speak, but Ashley squeezed his arm, signaling for him to stay silent. They maintained their silence until they were more than halfway down in the elevator. Eventually, Ashley spoke in such hushed tones that it took Justin a few moments to register her words as actual speech.

"Once someone's turned, do scars vanish?" Ashley inquired once more, her voice barely audible, nearly drowned out by the elevator's noise.

Justin hadn't contemplated this before. Since his transformation, a myriad of events had occurred. Initially, he leaned toward answering in the negative. After all, he confronted Milo's repulsive bite mark each day.

Just as he was about to respond, the elevator doors parted. Aaron and a few others stood nearby, setting down another box adjacent to the one Justin had helped move earlier. "Hey, feeling better, man?" Aaron inquired.

He made some noncommittal answer in the positive as they walked by. However, Ashley was already tugging him across the room, pulling him into the now vacant conference room.

The table and whiteboard, present just a few hours ago, had vanished, along with all other items. The room now appeared as though someone was moving in rather than out, with its remarkable tidiness. It exuded an atmosphere of being off-limits.

It resembled a scene from a horror film, wherein the protagonist assumes safety only to realize the lurking monster in the shadows. This sensation intensified due to the room being dimly lit by faint streaks of light that sneaked around the blinds from the main room, now seemingly distant as if miles away.

Ashley brushed away Justin's hand as he reached for the light switch.

"Well?" She pivoted toward him just as the door was nearly shut, her voice now a harsh whisper.

"Yeah," Justin replied, slightly startled by her sudden aggression.

"Yeah? They do go away? Because I've always thought that vampires remain exactly as they were when turned. But you're different, so is it different for you?" Her arms gestured wildly, a hint of panic edging into her voice.

Feeling that merely answering her wouldn't suffice, he rolled up his sleeve, recollecting a moment when he and his mother were melting sugar on the stove, trying to create candy rocks. He was old enough to have known better but lacked the coordination to avoid spilling it on himself. This accident had left a scar, which he concealed with a tattoo right after turning 16, believing it was nothing more than an eyesore.

With it now vanished, he regretted its absence. That scar had become a reminder of someone he'd never see again. Moreover, his tattoos were fading by the day, a bitter realization he was no longer human. What made it worse was the necessity of pretending that this fading was his deliberate choice.

Rex had noticed the gradual fading and prompted him for an explanation. In response, Justin had to concoct a story, claiming that they were too painful to look at after Amy's passing. This lie was necessary, even though those tattoos were the sole memento he had of her.

Justin had to endure people's congratulations each time they observed the tattoos getting fainter. Now, they were almost imperceptible. The fear lingered--how long until he forgot about Amy and lost all connection to his humanity?

He rolled his sleeve back down, revealing his neck. Justin was grateful that Milo's bite mark was located low enough that he could easily conceal it.

Justin's hand extended, almost reflexively, to meet Ashley's touch. Her gesture, however brief, brought forth an emotional warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. It was as if a spark of life ignited within him, dispelling the numbness he'd grown accustomed to. He found solace in that fleeting moment of connection.

He didn't know what he was going to do. Hug her, kiss her? But whatever it was, he didn't have the opportunity to regret whatever his body wanted to do. Then Ashley took a step back. "So, your body heals itself," she said, looking at him inquisitively. "How fast does it happen?" He could see the gears turning as she waved her hands. "Not important." She looked around the room and bit her lower lip. "I'm going to have to say something."

"What? What's going on? I'm lost," Justin confessed. "Who are we telling what?"

"Devon, keep up," she replied, adding to Justin's confusion.

"He had these huge, ugly ass scars along his arm," she nearly shouted, as if that clarified things. "No one mentioned it because there's only one reason someone would have scars like that. Everyone knew about them. And just now, they were gone. Not a trace was left."

"Okay, but it's Devon. Even if someone turned him, what's the worst he can do?" Justin asked, trying to grasp the severity of the situation.

Ashley's eyes widened as she looked up at the ceiling, as though searching for answers beyond it. "He has access to everything."

It took a moment for Justin to realize the gravity of Devon potentially having unfettered access. Was that the reason Milo was involved? To manipulate someone from the inside?

He contemplated how challenging it had been to resist Milo's commands, even with his strong will. How would someone like Devon fare against a Ka-Sekhmu's orders? Devon appeared kind-hearted, not someone who'd willingly harm others. Yet, he also seemed vulnerable in many ways. How susceptible would he be to manipulation, especially by a Ka-Sekhmu?

"So, what's the plan?" Justin asked, acknowledging his limited understanding of computers. He comprehended the potential havoc Devon could wreak, but the full extent was uncertain.

"That's the thing, we don't know what he's doing or what his plan is," Ashley replied, her brow furrowed in deep contemplation. "I mean, for all we know, he's like you and wants to help. Devon doesn't strike me as someone who would be okay with the guilt of another's death on their hands. But who would have turned him?"

Unless the person who turned him didn't care. Unless he was ordered to do it, Justin thought but hesitated to voice his concerns. He was deeply contemplating the possibilities. Reflecting on his relationship with Milo, he remembered the numerous things he hadn't wanted to do but was compelled to by Milo's influence. Despite being a person of strong will, Justin found himself adhering to Milo's commands. The thought troubled him. What would happen if someone like Devon fell under such control?

He longed to share all these thoughts with her, but it could jeopardize his safety. Revealing his inner conflicts might make Ashley distrust him, and she might be justified in doing so. If Milo appeared at that moment and commanded him to harm everyone, he couldn't be certain if he'd resist. He desperately hoped he could, but the reality was, he didn't know.

Justin remained unable to decipher Milo's intentions concerning C.R.O.W. If Milo harbored hidden agendas, utilizing Devon to manipulate situations would be astonishingly straightforward.

The two of them stood in silence when, all of a sudden, a burst of light flooded the room, casting a silhouette of Miler at the door. "What in tarnation are you two doing in here?" For a moment, Justin felt like a child again, caught making out with a girl in her bedroom, thinking the parents were out. Miler glared at the two of them. "This room is done. No one should be in here. Get out and start helping us work."

Despite knowing they hadn't been doing anything wrong, Justin frantically started to explain himself, rambling haphazardly about the conversation he and Ashley had just been engaged in moments before Miler's arrival.

Even as he spoke, Justin was certain that nothing he was saying made any sense. Yet, it was evidently clear as Miler's face quickly reddened, directing his attention towards Ashley.

"You're telling me that fag was turned into a vampire, and you two are just sitting in a dark room... talking about it?" Miler's tone sounded like he was on the brink of exploding. "And worse, you're just leaving him alone with the computers to do whatever he pleases?

Justin felt foolish when Miler framed the situation that way. He trailed behind as Miler stormed off, with Ashley trying to keep up.

"What's the plan now?" Ashley questioned, struggling to match Miler's pace.

"I'm going to rip him limb from limb." Miler pressed the up button so forcefully that Justin half-expected it to crack under the pressure.

"But we don't know what he's done," Justin tried to reason. "We can't just....kill him. We need to know what he did. Make sure he didn't get information out to anyone else."

As they stepped into the elevator, Miler abruptly whirled around, his gaze fixating on Justin. "You're too eager to defend those bloodsuckers," Miler growled, seizing Justin's collar and jerking his face up to meet his own. "If I find out you're in cahoots with them, Devon won't be the only one facing consequences."

Devon had developed a disdain for people constantly seeking favors from him. It always felt like that was one of the only reasons they kept him around. And it never felt like a request or even appreciated. He felt continually utilized, but there was something different when the request came from Grendel. It hovered in an ambiguous space, leaving him unsure whether it was an improvement or a regression.

Pulling up alongside the instructed spot, he scanned the area but found no sign of him. Yet, he was certain Victoria's apartment was only a few blocks down. His stomach plummeted at this realization. He chided himself for holding on to nonsensical notions about Grendel. It wasn't like he mattered to him. He mattered to no one.

Confused and unsure of his next move, he glanced around when his phone suddenly began to ring. Answering it only deepened his confusion. 'What do you mean you're behind the dumpster?' Devon questioned, shutting off the car's engine before stepping out. Moments later, he found himself standing over Grendel, who indeed was wedged between a wall and the dumpster.

"Holy shit, you look awful," Devon blurted out upon seeing Grendel. His initial shock stemmed from Grendel's appearance--half of his face was stained with black and red. A deep gash marred his features, stretching from mid-cheek up past his eyebrow. However, it didn't take long for Devon to realize it was far worse than that.

His clothes were torn and stained in multiple places, the dark substance making it challenging to discern the extent of the damage.

Grendel forced a smile. "Well, it's good to know the outside matches the inside." He raised his hands weakly. "Help me up, I'm having a hard time moving. Please." Flashing a quick pout for good measure.

Devon knelt down. "Only because you said please," he teased, endeavoring to aid Grendel. However, with his initial attempt, Grendel cried out in pain. The wound produced a ripping sound as a mixture of black and red fluids trickled out, causing Grendel to collapse onto the ground. Initially attributing the putrid odor to the nearby trash, Devon now realized it emanated from Grendel's wounds.

Standing over Grendel, Devon hesitated, fearful of causing more pain by touching him. On closer inspection, it became apparent that the black liquid was slowly eating away at the flesh surrounding the initial wound.

"Alright," Grendel waved his hands, attempting to catch his breath. "Let's try that again, shall we?" Devon readied himself and reached down for Grendel once more. Despite the scream of pain, he managed to lift Grendel off the ground this time, albeit with a few faltering steps. Grendel clung to him tightly as they both tried to re-calibrate.

Once the two of them were in the car, Devon couldn't help but notice the change in Grendel. He never in a million years imagined he would see him in such a state. Grendel's eyes were cold and empty, and his body had started to tremble that consumed his entire body.

Devon lingered a second or two longer watching Grendel. "I'll have it cleaned," Grendel said in a defeated tone.

"Oh, um, thanks," Devon began to respond before realizing what Grendel meant. Only then did he notice the various liquids seeping into the seat.

However, his greater concern was the tremors passing through Grendel. He started to worry. What if this killed him. He certainly smelled like death. "Don't worry about the car. You look like you're in a lot of pain."

Grendel shot him a sidelong glance. "No, I just..." He stopped, too fatigued to even attempt a joke.

"I have some pain meds. I don't know how much it will help but--" Devon trailed off, still met with Grendel's exhausted expression.

"They wouldn't work on me," Grendel said. "Not unless you take them first and let me--" Grendel attempted a smile for a brief moment before his expression fell flat again.

Devon grasped the side of his neck, eyes widening in fear as he quickly shook his head. That was a foolish question, forgetting how the Kaw-Sekhmu worked. If other drugs and alcohol needed to be absorbed into a human's blood before affecting them, then his Tylenol wouldn't be any different.

Grendel sighed, resting his head against the window. "I just want to go home," he said, chewing at his bottom lip, on the verge of tears as he gazed out the window.

Devon started up the car, passing Victoria's apartment building. He stopped himself from asking another futile question and stole a glance at Grendel during a red light. Piecing things together, he realized he'd now have to refer to the building in the past tense. The black liquid was the blood of the Necorbest, a weapon famously used by C.R.O.W.

Guilt washed over Devon. First, for foolishly feeling jealous of Victoria when he had arrived. Then, the realization that she was dead and he was now aiding the person responsible. But what troubled him most was that, despite knowing Grendel had just taken the life of another being, his primary concern was for Grendel's well-being.

He had come to terms with the knowledge that he was on that list. Devon understood he was living on borrowed time, aware that eventually, either by Grendel's hand or C.R.O.W.'s., his time would run out. Yet, every time he encountered a red light or even a stop sign, Devon seized the opportunity to steal a glance at Grendel. With each glance, Grendel appeared worse. The shaking grew more violent, his complexion turned pastier, and the blood that managed to seep through the black substance on his skin became more vivid.

It was difficult to comprehend how much damage Victoria had inflicted on him. She was only human, and Grendel had demonstrated on several occasions that his strength far surpassed theirs.

However, perhaps raw strength didn't hold as much significance as training. In television, becoming a vampire was often portrayed as granting mastery in various fighting styles.

This incident seemed to contradict that notion. Merely gaining more power didn't guarantee expertise in using it. Devon pondered what kind of human Grendel had been. It was evident he wasn't a fighter, even now. Devon was certain that without his supernatural abilities, Grendel would be easily bested by a wet paper bag.

The remainder of the ride was silent. The issue arose when they arrived at the hotel. Given Grendel's condition, going through the front entrance wasn't an option. Instead, they had to use the back entrance. This route proved to be both lengthier and filled with narrower hallways. Maneuvering through these cramped passages and staircases with a Ka-Sekhm who appeared half-dead was no simple task.

Devon assumed it would be easier once they reached the hotel room. However, he was mistaken. The wounds remained unable to heal completely; instead, parts had slowly begun to dry, making their removal more challenging.

Every attempt to undress Grendel was met with a weak cry of pain. By the time they managed to get him into the shower, he was too exhausted to stand. He sat at the shower's base, curled up as the water cascaded over him.

Despite several attempts to assist, Grendel swatted Devon away, seemingly disoriented and unaware of his surroundings.

After a substantial duration, about twenty to fifty minutes, allowing the water to cleanse the grime from his skin, Grendel began to regain some semblance of himself. The wounds, although more visible now and larger than before, remained open, with the tar-like substance trapped between his muscles.

Gradually, the uncontrollable shaking subsided, and color slowly returned to his face. Though still curled up, he seemed to regain some awareness of his surroundings.

Remaining cautious, Devon stayed close to the door frame, mindful of the last time they were in that room and keen to avoid a repeat.

There was some blood seeping from the cuts, but far less than Devon had anticipated. He wanted to believe this was a positive sign, yet a nagging feeling in the back of his mind suggested otherwise.

"Can I help?" Devon inquired upon noticing Grendel picking at the remaining black substance lodged in the gaping wounds, swiftly turning away as soon as any red liquid became visible.

Grendel startled at Devon's voice, seemingly unaware he wasn't alone. Observing Grendel, Devon noticed he was still in pain, although he no longer resembled a walking specter.

"No, I'm..." Grendel's voice trailed off as he turned back around, resting his head on his knees.

Devon felt a growing sense of intrusion and considered leaving, but before he could step away, Grendel abruptly turned his head. "There's something I wanted you to do."

After listening to Grendel, Devon felt a knot forming in his stomach. "Yeah, no problem," he replied with a feigned confidence that he didn't truly feel.

Merely half an hour had passed, and Grendel was already asking him for that? Devon was certain there was only a slim 15% chance of surviving this request. However, the thought of refusing didn't even occur to him. At least Grendel hadn't asked him to take someone's life. He would have said no to that.

As Devon moved to depart, Grendel called out, fixing him with wide, pleading eyes. "Thank you," Grendel softly said, genuine sincerity in his voice. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't helped."

Devon nodded, relieved that Grendel hadn't asked for something more sinister. Despite his internal conflict, he knew he wouldn't be able to deny Grendel's request.

"Oh, and one more thing," Grendel started to ask.

"Get Milo for you?" Devon interjected, finishing Grendel's sentence.

Victoria and Grendel walked down the long corridor of her apartment complex. It was only now that she noticed the details in the red rug that ran down the hall. She had lived there for a few years now, and the walk had never felt this long.

She felt like she was in high school again, sneaking a boy into her room. It was ridiculous, really. She was a grown adult who could have friends over whenever she wanted. But it didn't make the bright lights feel any less accusing.

Fumbling with her keys once she finally made it to her door, she felt like she was making a fool of herself. However, all she could think about was Grendel's kiss. How was it possible for anyone to have such an amazing touch?

She knew Rex wouldn't approve. When he first brought it up, she never thought it would come to this. But in the last month, she had been watching Grendel like a hawk. From wiring his phone to tapping into the cameras around the hotel he was staying at. As far as she could tell, she had nothing to worry about from him.

She hesitated when the key finally found the lock. Had she cleaned up before she left? Not that she was a messy person. With how small the place was, it was hard to get too messy. The living room was the first room you entered. Had she left any dirty dishes on the coffee table?

Her worries melted away when he crept up from behind her, wrapping an arm around her, pushing her hair away from her neck, and planting small pecks that quickly erased any hesitation she may have had.

Yeah, he was a vampire. And yeah, if something happened between the two of them, Rex would probably never talk to her again. Or so he said; she didn't believe him. The two of them had been on and off again since high school. She knew she was done trying to be his girlfriend, done making excuses for his anger problems. But they would always be friends.

She squeezed herself through the door, scanning the room from right to left. The couch was clear of any blankets or clothes. The coffee table was mostly clean with the TV remote and the weekly flyers.

The hallway leading to the back bedroom and bathroom was clear. The entertainment center was also good, and a quick glance into the kitchen told her the sink wasn't full of dirty dishes.

Satisfied, she opened the door for him to enter. Noticing he didn't need an invitation, she remembered that other vampires, the evil ones, needed to be invited into a place first.

"I know," she said jokingly. "Not as fancy as the hotel you're staying at."

He shrugged, looking around the room. "It's just a place to sleep. But this place, it's cozy. It will be perfect."

In hopes of not looking too desperate, she put some music on, the slow, soft kind that made it impossible not to want to dance. "I think I've got some wine I can bring out." Did vampires even like wine? Had she ever even seen Grendel eat or drink anything?

"Sure," he answered, looking around the room. It was strange. All she could think about on the way there was being close to him. But now that they were free to do whatever they wanted, it was like they were both playing coy.

A few drinks later, and the two were slow dancing in front of the coffee table. They didn't have much room, but that didn't seem to matter. Looking into his warm, welcoming eyes, something strange hit her.

She assumed what she was feeling was just lust, a mix between how attractive and charming he was and the lack of intimacy she had felt in so long, nothing more. But at that moment, she wondered if it could be something more.

She wanted to say something, but her words failed her. None of that was necessary. Grendel kissed her, and she felt herself melt in his arms. Unable to break free of him, they both made their way to the couch.

Laying her on her back, his hands slid down her torso. His fingers caught the bottom of her shirt as he slipped it up over her head, then paused at her wrists. Looping the shirt around itself, he bound her wrists together before gripping them tightly.

Consumed by the moment, his mouth slowly traversed down her body, leaving a trail of electrifying kisses. His progression halted only when he reached her navel, while his hand ventured farther, passing her outer thigh and trailing up her inner thigh. Pausing right between her legs, his hand hovered above her, not quite touching but emanating warmth she could feel.

She couldn't take it. she needed him to move, to touch her. She was going to go crazy if he didn't. "What are you doing?" she asked in a whimper.

As she glanced downward, she noticed his hand hovering over the zipper of her pants, his head bowed low, hiding his face from her view. "Debating on how far I should take this," his voice emerged cold and distant, sending a chill down Victoria's spine.

"What do you mean?" she asked, panic lacing her voice. She attempted to pull herself up, but she found herself pinned down, his grip around her wrist tightening. As she struggled to maneuver for leverage, he shifted his hand around her hip, his fingers tightening and pinching her skin.

"Grendel, you're scaring and hurting me," Victoria sobbed. She needed to gain control and she needed to do it fast.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Victoria pleaded. The truth was, she genuinely didn't know. "Who are you talking about?"

"Kathrine, my Kit-Kat. You and your stupid group stole her from me. She was mine, and now." The more Grendel spoke the more fractured his words became, as if he was on the verge of crying, but too angry to allow himself too.

Then it struck her. He must have been talking about the girl with the purple hair. The one who killed Ashley A. The one who almost appeared human. Understanding what she now knew about Grendel and Milo, that night finally made sense.

"I didn't know," she began to plead, but stopped herself. Confessing wouldn't help her. Explaining that it was Malachi who wanted them to do it wouldn't bring this girl back.

Grendel's bottom lip started to quiver. "I made her. I felt it all – her fear, her anger. I sensed the exact moment she died. Do you have any idea what it feels like to experience the death of someone you love? Do you?"

"It was Malachi," she lied. "He was the one who did it. He said he needed you distracted, and..."

A sharp pain went through her body. Starting at her hip and making its way through her. Grendel's eyes locked with hers as his thumb penetrated her. She could feel it slowly ripping through the muscles. Making the most god awful sounds as his finger made its way through her.

"Liar!" he shouted. "I saw it. I saw YOU kill her. I made him... And now I can't get it out. Every time I close my eyes, I see her die."

As Victoria turned her head, crying out in pain, he released her wrist and gripped her chin. "I want to see the pain in your eyes. I want you to know what you did."

With her wrist finally free, this was her chance. She headbutted him with all her might, spitting in his face as he recoiled. It was only a momentary reprieve before he was on top of her again. However, it afforded her just enough time to reach for the knife she had concealed in the end table.

She plunged the knife into his thigh, causing him to leap back, howling in agony. Hunched over, he pulled the knife out, tossing it aside. He stared at the large hole in his thigh in shock for a long moment – long enough for her to retrieve it from the ground.

At that moment, she couldn't comprehend. Was it all a lie? He seemed so sweet, so kind. Was this his true nature all along?

Panic infused his voice, "Why isn't it healing?" His words were accompanied by a leaking, tar-like black substance oozing from the wound. His eye transfixed on the hole in his lag.

Victoria and Grendel walked down the long corridor of her apartment complex. It was only now that she noticed the details in the red rug that ran down the hall. She had lived there for a few years now, and the walk had never felt this long.

She felt like she was in high school again, sneaking a boy into her room. It was ridiculous, really. She was a grown adult who could have friends over whenever she wanted. But it didn't make the bright lights feel any less accusing.

Fumbling with her keys once she finally made it to her door, she felt like she was making a fool of herself. However, all she could think about was Grendel's kiss. How was it possible for anyone to have such an amazing touch?

She knew Rex wouldn't approve. When he first brought it up, she never thought it would come to this. But in the last month, she had been watching Grendel like a hawk. From wiring his phone to tapping into the cameras around the hotel he was staying at. As far as she could tell, she had nothing to worry about from him.

She hesitated when the key finally found the lock. Had she cleaned up before she left? Not that she was a messy person. With how small the place was, it was hard to get too messy. The living room was the first room you entered. Had she left any dirty dishes on the coffee table?

Her worries melted away when he crept up from behind her, wrapping an arm around her, pushing her hair away from her neck, and planting small pecks that quickly erased any hesitation she may have had.

Yeah, he was a vampire. And yeah, if something happened between the two of them, Rex would probably never talk to her again. Or so he said; she didn't believe him. The two of them had been on and off again since high school. She knew she was done trying to be his girlfriend, done making excuses for his anger problems. But they would always be friends.

She squeezed herself through the door, scanning the room from right to left. The couch was clear of any blankets or clothes. The coffee table was mostly clean with the TV remote and the weekly flyers.

The hallway leading to the back bedroom and bathroom was clear. The entertainment center was also good, and a quick glance into the kitchen told her the sink wasn't full of dirty dishes.

Satisfied, she opened the door for him to enter. Noticing he didn't need an invitation, she remembered that other vampires, the evil ones, needed to be invited into a place first.

"I know," she said jokingly. "Not as fancy as the hotel you're staying at."

He shrugged, looking around the room. "It's just a place to sleep. But this place, it's cozy. It will be perfect."

In hopes of not looking too desperate, she put some music on, the slow, soft kind that made it impossible not to want to dance. "I think I've got some wine I can bring out." Did vampires even like wine? Had she ever even seen Grendel eat or drink anything?

"Sure," he answered, looking around the room. It was strange. All she could think about on the way there was being close to him. But now that they were free to do whatever they wanted, it was like they were both playing coy.

A few drinks later, and the two were slow dancing in front of the coffee table. They didn't have much room, but that didn't seem to matter. Looking into his warm, welcoming eyes, something strange hit her.

She assumed what she was feeling was just lust, a mix between how attractive and charming he was and the lack of intimacy she had felt in so long, nothing more. But at that moment, she wondered if it could be something more.

She wanted to say something, but her words failed her. None of that was necessary. Grendel kissed her, and she felt herself melt in his arms. Unable to break free of him, they both made their way to the couch.

Laying her on her back, his hands slid down her torso. His fingers caught the bottom of her shirt as he slipped it up over her head, then paused at her wrists. Looping the shirt around itself, he bound her wrists together before gripping them tightly.

Consumed by the moment, his mouth slowly traversed down her body, leaving a trail of electrifying kisses. His progression halted only when he reached her navel, while his hand ventured farther, passing her outer thigh and trailing up her inner thigh. Pausing right between her legs, his hand hovered above her, not quite touching but emanating warmth she could feel.

She couldn't take it. she needed him to move, to touch her. She was going to go crazy if he didn't. "What are you doing?" she asked in a whimper.

As she glanced downward, she noticed his hand hovering over the zipper of her pants, his head bowed low, hiding his face from her view. "Debating on how far I should take this," his voice emerged cold and distant, sending a chill down Victoria's spine.

"What do you mean?" she asked, panic lacing her voice. She attempted to pull herself up, but she found herself pinned down, his grip around her wrist tightening. As she struggled to maneuver for leverage, he shifted his hand around her hip, his fingers tightening and pinching her skin.

"Grendel, you're scaring and hurting me," Victoria sobbed. She needed to gain control and she needed to do it fast.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Victoria pleaded. The truth was, she genuinely didn't know. "Who are you talking about?"

"Kathrine, my Kit-Kat. You and your stupid group stole her from me. She was mine, and now." The more Grendel spoke the more fractured his words became, as if he was on the verge of crying, but too angry to allow himself too.

Then it struck her. He must have been talking about the girl with the purple hair. The one who killed Ashley A. The one who almost appeared human. Understanding what she now knew about Grendel and Milo, that night finally made sense.

"I didn't know," she began to plead, but stopped herself. Confessing wouldn't help her. Explaining that it was Malachi who wanted them to do it wouldn't bring this girl back.

Grendel's bottom lip started to quiver. "I made her. I felt it all – her fear, her anger. I sensed the exact moment she died. Do you have any idea what it feels like to experience the death of someone you love? Do you?"

"It was Malachi," she lied. "He was the one who did it. He said he needed you distracted, and..."

A sharp pain went through her body. Starting at her hip and making its way through her. Grendel's eyes locked with hers as his thumb penetrated her. She could feel it slowly ripping through the muscles. Making the most god awful sounds as his finger made its way through her.

"Liar!" he shouted. "I saw it. I saw YOU kill her. I made him... And now I can't get it out. Every time I close my eyes, I see her die."

As Victoria turned her head, crying out in pain, he released her wrist and gripped her chin. "I want to see the pain in your eyes. I want you to know what you did."

With her wrist finally free, this was her chance. She headbutted him with all her might, spitting in his face as he recoiled. It was only a momentary reprieve before he was on top of her again. However, it afforded her just enough time to reach for the knife she had concealed in the end table.

She plunged the knife into his thigh, causing him to leap back, howling in agony. Hunched over, he pulled the knife out, tossing it aside. He stared at the large hole in his thigh in shock for a long moment – long enough for her to retrieve it from the ground.

At that moment, she couldn't comprehend. Was it all a lie? He seemed so sweet, so kind. Was this his true nature all along?

Panic infused his voice, "Why isn't it healing?" His words were accompanied by a leaking, tar-like black substance oozing from the wound. His eye transfixed on the hole in his lag.

Without hesitating, she charged towards him. He only realized moments before the knife connected. Instead of hitting his chest, she struck his shoulder blade.

The force flung his head backward, colliding with her nose. However, the movement also caused the knife to drag across his back, creating a deeper and longer gash than Victoria could have made on her own.

Dislodging the knife from his back, he tried to turn it on her, she swiftly kicked him between his legs, buying herself a moment. Bolting for her bedroom, a thought of escaping through the window crossed her mind. However, the bed partially obstructed it, prompting her to change direction and dive into her closet.

The closet was a sharp contrast to the rest of the orderly house, cluttered and in disarray--an ideal hiding place. Crouching in the back, she positioned herself where she couldn't be easily seen at a glance.

Among the chaos lay her stash of weapons. Swiftly, she retrieved a Bowie knife, coating it with the same black tar-like substance present on her previous knife.

She didn't expect the substance alone to kill him, but she knew it hindered his healing abilities. If she could strike him in the head or heart, she was certain it would incapacitate him for good.

The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall, slower and more agonized than her hurried steps. He approached her half-opened window, then pivoted, coming to a halt in front of the closet door. A surge of worry washed over her; she feared he might open it. Crouched down to grab the knife, she realized it wouldn't be easy for her to rise swiftly.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the rapid beats so loud she was certain he could hear it.

She heard his steps approaching the door, and soon, he would have his back to her. An inner voice spurred her into action. "Now," it urged. Vaulting past her scattered belongings in a sudden burst, she leaped out of the closet, aiming directly for the center of his back. However, he spun around unexpectedly, attempting to grab her around the waist. In the struggle, she managed to slice his face--across his cheek and eyebrow--before swiftly disengaging.

The next few moments seemed to blur together in a whirlwind. Grendel's voice boomed, commanding her to stop. He simultaneously recoiled and advanced, his hand darting beneath her chin, positioning her face upward. With a quick and violent thrust she felt her lower jaw smash threw her tongue, severing it and crashing into her teeth, shattering a few along the way. A quick sharp pain went through her neck, then she felt nothing.

Grendel loomed over Victoria's motionless body, a tumult of emotions stirring within him, their complexity eluding full comprehension. Superficially, a sense of relief washed over him, grateful that the ordeal had reached its conclusion. Yet, beneath this veneer lay a persistent ache in his gut, a lingering pain he had hoped would fade with her demise.

Yet, overriding everything else was the excruciating pain consuming him--the unhealed wounds that tormented him relentlessly. The agony intensified with every movement, as if the black tar was burrowing deeper into his flesh. Each step he took sent shock-waves of torment through his body, the cuts serving as gateways for an unrelenting surge of pain.

He staggered toward the front door, his movements labored and sluggish, a mere shadow of his usual stride. Limping with difficulty, he dreaded the daunting journey back to the hotel. As he reached the door and caught a glimpse of his own reflection, a wave of shock hit him. His appearance was far worse than he had anticipated. The black blood had smeared across most of his body, tainting his clothes, and mingled with fresh blood seeping from beneath the black substance.

Richard's voice echoed in his mind, a stern warning reverberating within. "You better not cause me more trouble. I have a family, and your constant messes are becoming too much to handle." He had already caused him enough probables.

Unable to leave through the front door, he pivoted toward the bedroom, the mere thought feeling like an arduous task.

Once he was able to make his way back to the bedroom and with painstaking effort, he maneuvered the bed and end table out of his way before reaching the window. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he proceeded to exit through the window, opting to jump off the fire escape from five stories above ground. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have posed a challenge; he had leaped from far greater heights, landing gracefully on his feet.

However, his body wasn't accustomed to sustaining injuries. Midway through the landing, he faltered, struggling to maintain his balance. Attempting to regain his footing, he took a few unsteady steps, only to collapse onto his side. The impact reopened both the gash in his thigh and the one across his back, worsening the wounds even further.

Lying on the ground for what felt like an eternity, he was half-convinced that this was the end. When he didn't succumb, he compelled himself to rise, a decision he immediately regretted. Agonizing pain coursed through his entire body. Managing to struggle to his feet, he pushed forward, managing to cover a mere two blocks before realizing he wouldn't be able to make it all the way back to the hotel.