Edited Woke Culture

Chapter 3- The Hunt

After an entire month had passed of stalking, Rylan and I were ready to execute our first kill. It was night when the vampire left his apartment where he always kept the curtains drawn, which would further the case about him being a vampire. As someone who knew a lot about vamps, I knew there were ways they could walk in the sunlight, but they were relatively uncommon, especially for a rogue who probably didn't know much about the culture yet. Not belonging to a coven was bold. Most vamps had circles they ran in. And almost always, there was a chain of command, which made rogues typically more dangerous, because they answered to no one.

He walked up the street in our direction. We probably just looked like a bunch of Londoners headed to the pub. It was a Friday. I remember because I felt the urge to go out, but this was too important to pass up. While I wasn't the biggest partier, I loved drinking. I felt like I was my true, authentic, brazen self when I was drunk. I was bolder, and perhaps dumber as well. I wouldn't take calculated risk, and often, I would risk everything, which was exactly why I couldn't have a drink all the time. While I didn't like it, I had great restraint.

The rogue stopped by a pub, where we followed him inside. I thought he was starting to catch on to us when he looked me dead in the eyes. He might have been planning his next meal. I wasn't a vampire, so I didn't know if blood tasted different varying by person.

He grabbed a beer at the bar and approached me. He was kind of rude. But he was British, so I halfway expected it.

"You're one behemoth woman," he stated as I approached the bar to order a beer to make everything seem normal. I would order a beer, because it was the least heavy drink the bar had, and I couldn't afford to get drunk; I was hunting.

At first, I ignored his comment, then he got in my face, "oye! Retard! I was talking to you!" He loudly said, almost as if he owned the bar.

"I have nothing to say to you," I tried to ignore him as I bought myself and Rylan a drink.

"The massive lass shy?" He snipped. "You're a pretty looking cunt. Care to go into the alley and have a war with each other!" He shouted in the heavily occupied bar.

I couldn't avoid him any longer, but I didn't like his abrasive nature. "I'm just trying to get a drink for me and my friend," I said, glaring directly into his eyes. It was hard to explain, but I could almost see the death within his eyes. I could almost tell he wasn't living, but I'd felt that way about people I knew weren't vampires as well. Some people truly had no souls. Most called them psychopaths, but this was even different than that.

"You probably got a cock hidden in them trousers," he spat at me for rejecting him, "tucked in between your legs like a scared little dog," he snarled as he grabbed my genital area.

I didn't know what to say. I just looked at the bartender so he would hurry up with my drinks, and he obliged. I couldn't stand being around the abrasive rouge any longer. Then he shouted loudly so everyone in the bar would hear, "this one's a lad, fellas. Don't be tricked by his long hair. He's got a cock."

The rest of the patrons just tried to ignore him. It made me want to kill him even more, outing me like an imposter. That was the first time anyone had outright claimed I was a man ever since my transition. While not everyone agreed with transgender rights, most respected them.

He offered to buy the next girl to enter the bar a drink, but she denied him. I could see it in his eyes— he was going to feed on that poor girl just because she didn't want to get a drink with him. That was how he picked his victims. You either bone or get drained. I doubt he really cared which one.

He stayed at the bar until that girl left, then he followed her. We were stalking a stalker. She turned up an alley, where he would bare his fangs at her and suck her blood. I took out my modified glock-18 that I had concealed under my long trench coat.