Typical Compton; crackheads on every corner, gangbangers rolling on chrome, and the fact that every night you spend in the hood and come out alive is a blessing and a curse. A blessing, cause you don't have to meet your maker and account for all the evil you've done in your life. A curse cause you've probably still be stuck in the hood the next evening.

Early March, 2010. For months now, Jacob Lewis had been without a set, without his brothers, ever since his brothers had turned on him and tried to hunt him like an animal. It was bad enough that he had been cursed by one, but to treat him like that? They disrespected him, and now he dwelt in Compton as a lone wolf.

It was almost midnight on a Friday night, and Jacob's '71 Impala sat on the side of the road, one wheel up on the curb. Jacob sat in the driver seat, smoking a blunt; he didn't know why he bothered, really, since it didn't do anything for him these nights - even after he had worked to get past the urge to flee mindlessly from the tiny flame required to spark it up.

Jacob watched the traffic - which, to be honest, barely existed at this time of night - passing, then as a beat-up SUV rolled past he heard the sound of footsteps off in the distance.

The demon inside him was instantly on the alert, but not yet ready to lash out, since neither it nor Jacob knew who approached. Of course, Jacob could have had a guess; it was an accurate one.

A group of three Crips, flagging blue, caps to the left, made their way up the sidewalk in the general direction of Jacob's Impala. Jacob reached under the passenger seat and rested his right hand on the Glock he kept there. At the same time, he hardened his body so if he did get stabbed, shot or anything of the sort, he would be able to take it like they were baby punches.

And then, sure enough, the Crips noticed the Impala and started walking straight for Jacob's ride. "Sup, fool!" one of them called out, a hostile tone in his voice. "You rollin in our hood flaggin' red? You a dumbass fool?"

"Yeah, motherfucker! You think you can just come into our hood, Blood?" the second Crip spat. Jacob just rolled his eyes, then slowly began to climb out of the car, any sense of urgency that would normally come from a three-on-one... well, there was none. Jacob was use, by this point in his unlife, to settling punks like this single-handedly.

"Or maybe you a pussy," the third Crip piped up.

"Did you just call me a pussy?" Jacob replied. "Can you prove that? I'm in your hood, yet you're callin me a pussy; can you prove that? Then you can call me a pussy!" Jacob knew full well that they were trying to start him. It wasn't gonna work. On the other hand, they might make for an easy snack later on.

Then one of the Crips drew a knife from under his hoodie, and Jacob knew it was time to put him in his place. Bringing the Glock up and aiming it at the Crip's face, he spat "drop the knife, motherfucker, or I'll plaster your brains all over the sidewalk and leave momma to come clean you up! You hear me?"

And then, at the most inconvenient of times: a police siren sounded. All three Crips, and Jacob, reflexively turned toward the source of the police siren. And the vehicles they saw, they did not expect: two Dodge Vipers and a Cadillac Escalade SUV, all with sirens and lights. All three of them crimson in colour, too.

Jacob knew it was time to bail. "Actually, fuck the knife." Then he pulled the trigger. The gangbanger he had his piece aimed at dropped, the back of his skull missing. He saw the blood that now splattered across the ground, smelt it. The scent was overwhelming, but his attention was drawn to the predatory growl of the approaching vehicles. Then, as Jacob saw the cop cars coming straight for him, he leapt into the Impala, starting the engine as he did.

Then, the last thing he saw of the lead Viper before it slammed into his ride was a hefty bullbar. The force of the impact flipped the Impala, landing it upside down.

A few moments later, Jacob knew he was in more shit than he could ever be with the police when he sensed three demons nearby. He looked up, and felt his own demon beginning to rear frantically as he saw a over half a dozen figures wearing combat gear and armed with silenced AK-47s surround him; three of them, Jacob could sense, had demons inside of them. Two men, one who unsettled him extremely (and not thanks to his demon) and another who's demon was very powerful, and a light woman - beautiful apart from the combat gear, with a lithe figure and deep blue eyes.

Then, then woman walked up and, grabbing Jacob by his hoodie, picked him up like he was a rag doll and slammed him up against the side of his own upturned Impala. Jacob saw a patch on her uniform that aroused his curiosity; a strange symbol with a fanged skull in the middle, and a series of jagged lines tipped with arrowheads.

"What the fuck, bitch?" Jacob spat at the woman. "The hell's your problem? Back the fuck up!" He could really feel his inner demon struggling to take over and run like there was literally no tomorrow.

"Watch your mouth, neonate!" the woman snarled, baring fangs. Jacob jumped and tried to back away. "Your name, Clan, Covenant and Sire! Now!" Jacob was now confused. Very, very confused. What the hell were a Clan, Covenant or Sire, to start with?

"I'd answer quick smart if I were you, son," one of the two men, the unsettling one, interjected.

Jacob's attention was pulled toward the unsettling man. "And just who the fuck are you, white boy!?"

Suddenly, he felt his jaw shatter as the woman drove a solid fist into it. It shattered, so badly that the one strike sent half of the teeth in Jacob's mouth flying through the air.

And that was when everything went red and Jacob had no choice but to let his demon take over. He couldn't hold it back any longer.