Cool air, damp from the river, misted Brenn's face and white stars sparkled faintly from the drain opening. Here eyes widened in relief and with a grunt she stumbled forward, one clawed hand clutching at her ruptured shoulder. Her fear disappeared as she came out of the pipe as though they were shadows chased banished by the starlight. Muddling onward the young vampire limped forward, each step sending stabs of pain through her shattered ribs. She wondered if a normal person would have been able to keep moving at this point but by the time she reached the streets she branded the thought as useless and pushed it away.

Her mind was no longer clouded with fear but each tortured footfall brought a small wash of pain and a stab of anger. Her head was bent forward, long greasy, shit covered hair hiding the grotesque split of her upper lip as it twisted in a snarl. She'd been beaten and shot almost to death, her flesh still tearing under the strain of climbing, swimming, walking, and cranking fucking wheel locks. Joseph Hartman was likely dead, as well. Dead because she'd been too panicked to use her Disciplines properly; dead because she'd fought like an adrenaline hyped teen; dead because she had had to flee; dead because she'd been helpless. It was possible he was simply in torpor, still unseen underneath the black water, possible that he had been passed over by the murderous militants. Yeah, possible, but more unlikely than Brenn winning a beauty pageant. No, he was dead.

She wanted to growl and scream and go back there and tear apart those homeless murderers but none of those things would do anything. So on she clopped, the anger eventually subsiding as she began to find streets that looked familiar. Turning down an alleyway she began to blunder through the trash and debris when she noticed a figure slumped under an overhang. It wasn't a homeless person. It was a young man in a loose sweatshirt and overly large jeans. A baseball cap was perched on his head and he stood as though he owned the ground she was walking on.

"Shit," the man muttered, "You smell like you crawled out of the sewer. Just keep walking, you don't want to be sticking around here." One hand went into his front pocket, as though he held a knife. Brenn paused, half smiling at the truth of the man's statement, but slowly her mind began to could with something other than fear. If she had been standing in any light the man would have seen how drawn and pasty her features were, how bright her eyes, and wounded she stood. Her blood was thin, very thin, and a burning pit yawned wide in her stomach. The haunt imagined she could smell the blood pumping beneath his skin, flowing through his veins. With a lurch Brenn pitched herself at the man, arms flailing wildly, as a snarl escaped from her wrecked mouth.

To the man's credit he didn't make a sound as her fingers curled like steel bands around his arms but he did throw a clumsy knee into her ribs. Bone shattered further, shards digging into her organs, and the world span with swirls of black as Brenn slammed the man into a wall. His skull cracked off the concrete and he continued to struggle as Brenn bore him down and latched her fangs deep into his neck. The seductive taste of blood exploded inside her mouth as her spiked teeth tore through flimsy flesh and she bit down harder, feeling more flesh tear. The man gave a strangled wail before the kiss brought a crushing curtain of bliss over his brain and he lain moaning as the life was sucked from his neck.

Scarlet rivulets spilled from his torn neck, escaping the hungry seal of Brenn's mouth, as she suckled greedily. The pit in her stomach felt like a burning weight, an all encompassing contortion of her organs, and the blood was so good, so sweet, so smooth and rich. It was liquid bliss and a haze more red than the very drink she was consuming filled her eyes. She didn't know it but small animal noses echoed softly through the alleyway as she fed.

Finally his veins closed up, whatever blood left in them sitting too far in his exsanguinated body for her to draw up. Collapsing back on her haunches, bloodied jaws open as though she were still working his throat, the red mist lifted and let Brenn to find a corpse beneath her. Bone crackled beneath the Haunt's skin as she healed her bodies most grievous injuries, all the while staring at her victim blankly. She knew that she had killed the man, that he'd also died because of her weakness, but she didn't cry. The pinkish blood slowly trickling from her eyes weren't tears. They were...they were tears. Brushing them away Brenn stood, ashamed and angry for more than one reason.

The cleaver in her belt hung heavier, as though reminding her that it was there, that it could make disposing of this body easier, but she ignored it. She couldn't even think about cutting the man up. Instead she carefully lifted the body, still feeling her wounds, and carried him to a dumpster. Hiding the body under other bags of trash oddly gave her time to collect herself, the wasted drops of pink blood from her eyes falling against black plastic bags, empty beer cans, and a lonely, ripped teddy bear.

Still Humanity 5