Keone
Keone walked the dark streets in all of his brooding, irritated glory. He kept his hood over his buzzed head and frowned as he continued to be preoccupied instead of scanning his surroundings like usual—this was becoming a regular occurrence in the past months. All filled up with her, the woman he murdered.
He balled his hands into fists, having the urge to cut them off, to cleanse himself of the crime he had committed out of impulse, not that the manner in which he made the decision somehow lightened the burden of fault on his shoulders. Keone was feeling more like a fraud the more he observed her.
While he had never been fond of humans, even since before his undying time, and in spite of the temptation that was their addictive blood, Keone had never given into the urges. He didn't bother to indulge those strange fantasies that plagued most vampires. Ones that were filled with human being drained, being tortured, being dominated by the supposed superior race. His sense of temperance was what attracted Angel to him, and why he recruited Keone all those centuries ago.
Keone had thought himself above his peers, those who did act on those urges, the undying Angel had trained him to either check or terminate altogether.
But after seeing the barely-concealed terror and rage in her eyes once they landed on him, Keone could not escape the blood on his hands. And since then, as he protected her, maybe watched her a bit too often, he was unable to deny what he had done to her and the aftereffects of his attack. She spiraled in ways he had not anticipated.
He was caught off guard by how unsettled he was when finding her after she shot herself the first time. The gun was still warm in her hand. Keone remembered cleaning up the blood and brains, even cleaning up the weapon itself. He remembered how heavy and full of life she was as he lifted her unconscious body and left her on her sofa, where she would eventually awaken. Did she know it was him? Did she even care at all?
Keone had given her far too much time, but he couldn't go back on his word, he wouldn't. For whatever reason, the undying were attracted to her. He could smell it too—or the lack of it. It was a hard occurrence to describe. This was unique considering most humans smelled alike, like something—sweet, salty, sour, meaty, etc. But her? Well, when he'd first met her, he was embraced by a sweet earthiness. Now, there was nothing past the perfume she wore or the soap she washed her skin and hair with.
This had piqued the interest of many stragglers, violent, addicted vampires who did not belong to any vampiric dynasties.
Keone recalled he was tracking one right now, not just patrolling. A couple of humans had been disappearing in the last couple of weeks. When Keone visited the homes of the missing, those spaces reeked of the undying. There was fear and distress. Human sweat. Death. This straggler rapidly approached the last stage of addiction, the craze.
There were many rules of vampiric existence that, if not followed, would lead to the kind of fuckups that Keone was tasked with cleaning up.
This almost-crazed straggler was still coherent enough to try to cover up their scent. Considering their bodies were trying to absorb and digest the incompatible human blood, their brains weren't all that efficient anymore.
After miles and miles of tracking, Keone came upon an abandoned building. It looked like it might have been some kind of local diner at one point in time. Its concrete walls were cracked and darkened and becoming engulfed by green life. Most of its roof was caved in, and considering how much it had rained in the past week, he wasn't surprised when the mildew assaulted his nose.
He removed his prized sword. The handle was infused with white marlin bone dust and black dyed, cattle bone dust. The lightweight blade itself was a mainz gladius. The entire border of the metal shone with ultraviolet light. The most powerful vampires could withstand daylight with little discomfort, as long as they continued to maintain most of their blood from their human lifetime. But stranglers, and especially the crazed ones, were extremely sensitive to any kind of light, but ultraviolet light was deadly to them.
Keone sniffed the air and had his weapon at the ready.
He briefly looked at his gloved hand for the second skin on his body. There was no way it could disappear, but he still couldn't kick the habit of checking.
His boots barely missed the broken glass as he stepped through the shattered doorway. A welcome sign dangled before Keone from the ceiling like some sick joke made by the universe. The distinct sound of suctioning and squelching rang out, creating a breadcrumb trail for him to follow.
Stragglers were always consumed by their need for fresh blood, so much so they only presented threats to humankind, who were ignorant to the vile presence of the undying world.
Keone breathed through his mouth as he reached the old, walk-in freezer. The door was left ajar. This one was becoming more careless as each second passed. Disgust flashed through his body as he saw the outline of the creature engorging itself of its latest victim.
He tapped his weapon against the door.
It froze. From the back of its profile, it was hard to guess their gender, not that it mattered. Their spine was protruding, outlined by their flesh that was veiny and crimson from the excessive blood consumption. Most of their hair had shed. They snapped their head at an awkward angle instead of turning around, revealing a skull-like face, razor sharp teeth, and hollow, crimson eyes. It sniffed, eyes widening—even in this state, they knew who Keone was and why he was there.
They tried to flee from his bright weapon, screeching out ungodly noises.
Keone would have tried to get some exercise out of this once upon a time, but these days he just wanted to get the assignment completed and then forgotten. Not wasting any time, he cut off the creatures path and with one heavy swing of his sword, their stuff-of-nightmares head went rolling. Its body caught fire instantaneously, until the embers burned into nothingness.
He dusted off his pristine outfit.
Instead of setting the diner ablaze immediately, he went over toward the cadaver. A woman. Keone recognized her as the missing mother from the last house he visited. Ai Goh. Twenty-four. Two daughters (two and four years old). Hard-worker—she was abducted on her way home from work. The children were staying with a foster parent.
He rubbed his chest as he recognized how tragic it was for her to have died so brutally. The head was already gone, but Keone noted the merlion tattoo on her shoulder and it confirmed her identity without a doubt.
Keone had to do something.
He looked around. It was quiet, with the distant sound of mechanical life the only sign that there was anything at all past these infested walls.
Stay the fuck away from me, you murderer.
His shoulders hunched. He realized what he was doing and straightened himself.
Keone had a fire to start.
Renata
Two hours. She arrived at the DMV around seven in the morning. Her phone read a little past nine. All for a temporary ID. This was what she got for being careless with the original one. It was somewhere out in the world, just not anywhere she knew.
The sun burned brightly that day, hitting Renata's bare face. It was because of the heat that she decided against makeup while getting ready. Acne scars it was.
Renata unlocked her car and got inside, planting herself on the scorching leather seats. Her half-consumed iced coffee was warm in an unappetizing way at this point. She sighed in disappointment, inhaling her new air freshener called 'rainforest mist'. The tips of her fingers pushed against the hot steering wheel with the lightest possible touch.
A call popped up on her dashboard. Renata's eyebrows just about disappeared into her hairline once she recognized the phone number. She began driving and contemplated whether to answer. What the fuck did they want? She cursed a couple ugly words and pressed the green button. "Rocio?"
One thing about Renata's sister, she always sounded so unbothered, like a lake as the waves rippling through it eventually calmed once again. "You know, it would have been nice to have been told you changed your number. I had to bribe a couple people to get it."
Why did Renata answer again? She began heading in the direction of her office building. "I forgot to program a lot of the numbers from my old phone. I was getting around to it... eventually."
There was Rocio's classic and not-missed sarcasm. "I bet you were just about to do it tonight? Dying to talk to your big sissy."
Renata tried to think about Rocio's face. Dark brown skin. Pierced nose. Broad chin. Pouty mouth. Black locs down her back. But that was years ago. Too many at this point. Rocio could look completely different. Renata hadn't seen her sister since her teens. "How long has it been?"
Rocio sighed. "Too long."
"What do you want from me?" Renata was only mildly curious and severely pissed. At least traffic was better than she anticipated, considering she was navigating the heart of the city, where her office was located.
"Well, I actually have a job in your town for the next two months. When I saw where, it just felt like it was meant to be."
Renata didn't see the point in entertaining Rocio considering how much was on her plate already. "You've sent me a birthday card every year. A text for each holiday. You called maybe a handful of times. You don't even know me anymore. I don't know you—"
Rocio's voice finally had some liveliness in it, maybe even hurt? That's rich! "That's not true, Nata. I'm your big sissy. We grew up—"
"That was years ago!" Renata snapped, driving with a heavy foot against the gas pedal and a palm hovering over the horn. "I really don't understand why you called after all this time."
"I'm sorry. I really am." Wow, that actually sounded genuine. "Let me fix it."
Renata scanned the cars around her as she changed lanes. Her blinker sound was so loud as she didn't say anything for a beat. "When are you coming?"