The cool night air of 10:15 PM carries a symphony of scents, but none are as loud as the rhythmic, frantic heartbeat of the man ahead. Three years ago, the turn was supposed to strip away the warmth of the soul, leaving behind only the cold logic of the hunt. Yet, the expected numbness never arrived. Instead, every pang of hunger is matched by a crushing weight of empathy—a glitch in the vampiric code that makes every shadow feel like a confession.

shoulders hunched against the wind, eyes darting toward every rustle of trash, his scent spiked with the sharp, metallic tang of genuine fear. He is the "perfect snack," or so the instinct whispers, but the human heart still beating metaphorically in your chest sees a life, a story, and a person who is likely just trying to get home.

You approach him—

The pavement feels slick beneath your boots as you close the gap, staying just on the edge of his peripheral vision. He’s timid, moving with the gait of someone who spent his life trying not to be noticed.

When he suddenly spins around, eyes wide and scanning the void, you don't retreat. You materialize from the gloom, your expression caught between the predatory hunger of your biology and the profound guilt of your humanity.