He ran his fingers across the hard, dried oak. Cracks could be seen on its dark, dehydrated surface. It never rained here -- just an endless, cloudless, black night. A streetlamp hummed somberly, illuminating a metallic deadbolt with faint white light. Underneath, a brass handle. Slowly, he twisted it.
It's cold.
He pushed gently. Nothing moved. He tried again, harder this time. His other hand impatiently fidgeted an antique metal lighter in his trench pocket. Peering through dark gap in-between the frames, he saw the lock jam the large chunk of wood in place.
Stepping back for a brief moment, he analyzed the estate.
It was a multi-story penthouse. Geometric and unsightly. Walls were crassly painted with bone-white, revealing underneath red-brown brick and dull cement. Though florescent lights were visible from the outside, it was dead quiet.
In the distance, squares and rectangles split the sky like unadorned monoliths.
He was looking for a vampire -- Sir Stela from the family of the same name, who led co-led the 1000 Year Royals along with Madame Stela. Supposedly, the Candles believed him to have information regarding the production of Ash, an unknown new drug abused by the Undead. Yet, through his own investigation, he believed that there was more to it than merely a high.
The silent night was shredded by a loud crack from the upper floor of the penthouse.
He let go of the lighter, and drew a Smith & Wesson Model 30 from his inner left pocket. It chambered only six .32 caliber rounds, but it would have to do for now. He banged on the door with a curled fist, splintering pieces off the frame, further disturbing the dead night. A grunt, then footsteps could be heard approaching the door. The sounds were hollow. Heavy. Rattling. And then -- a click.
As the door pried open, he pulled the trigger lightly, cocking the hammer.
As the wood groaned against its hinges, a gaunt, skeletal figure was swiftly met with smooth iron in his jaw.
And as the light poured out from within, so did shards of bone and lead, splaying across the doorstep and hallway with withered, black blood painting the dried wooden frame.
Cold air flooded the penthouse -- and the deadbolt's steel body continued to shine in the lifeless luminescence.
It's cold.
He pushed gently. Nothing moved. He tried again, harder this time. His other hand impatiently fidgeted an antique metal lighter in his trench pocket. Peering through dark gap in-between the frames, he saw the lock jam the large chunk of wood in place.
Stepping back for a brief moment, he analyzed the estate.
It was a multi-story penthouse. Geometric and unsightly. Walls were crassly painted with bone-white, revealing underneath red-brown brick and dull cement. Though florescent lights were visible from the outside, it was dead quiet.
In the distance, squares and rectangles split the sky like unadorned monoliths.
He was looking for a vampire -- Sir Stela from the family of the same name, who led co-led the 1000 Year Royals along with Madame Stela. Supposedly, the Candles believed him to have information regarding the production of Ash, an unknown new drug abused by the Undead. Yet, through his own investigation, he believed that there was more to it than merely a high.
The silent night was shredded by a loud crack from the upper floor of the penthouse.
He let go of the lighter, and drew a Smith & Wesson Model 30 from his inner left pocket. It chambered only six .32 caliber rounds, but it would have to do for now. He banged on the door with a curled fist, splintering pieces off the frame, further disturbing the dead night. A grunt, then footsteps could be heard approaching the door. The sounds were hollow. Heavy. Rattling. And then -- a click.
As the door pried open, he pulled the trigger lightly, cocking the hammer.
As the wood groaned against its hinges, a gaunt, skeletal figure was swiftly met with smooth iron in his jaw.
And as the light poured out from within, so did shards of bone and lead, splaying across the doorstep and hallway with withered, black blood painting the dried wooden frame.
Cold air flooded the penthouse -- and the deadbolt's steel body continued to shine in the lifeless luminescence.