"Help..." The frightened female voice that suddenly pierced my ears was like a red-hot needle stabbed straight into my brain. I felt as if I had been struck by lightning and plunged into ice-cold water at the same time. In that same second, my legs buckled and I fell to my knees, clutching my head with my hands. The pain was so intense that I didn't immediately understand what was happening. I rocked back and forth, as if trying to shake off this agonising flash. "What's happening to me? Where is this hellish pain coming from?" Thoughts raced through my mind as the world around me began to blur.
However, with each heartbeat, the pain gradually subsided, and with it the terrifying echo of that scream: I no longer heard the desperate "Help!" — only the ringing silence in my ears and the hoarse breathing escaping from my chest. My hearing gradually returned to normal. When I was finally able to comprehend what was happening, the pieces fell into place: most likely, another of my abilities had just awakened — super hearing. I hope it won't be so unsettling next time.
I slowly got to my feet and looked around the dark alley. It was quiet. And yet, somewhere, someone was calling for help — it was too clear. "Whatever it is, I have to find the person who was screaming," I decided. It was unlikely that someone would shout "help" just for fun. Most likely, someone had attacked the poor soul. Without wasting any more time, I took off running.
Walls flashed by, rubbish flew up into the air, and faint flashes of light from street lamps were barely visible as I rushed along, changing direction every few seconds, combing through alley after alley like an invisible gust of wind. I even thought I could hear street cats scurrying away from the whirlwind that had appeared out of nowhere. If anyone had been looking down on the city from a bird's eye view, they would probably have seen only faint lines, like lightning bolts cutting through the dark alleys of New York.
A tense anticipation beat in my heart: "Where is she? The voice is clearly female. Maybe even girlish..." And then I suddenly stopped in one of the particularly dark courtyards, where a streetlight flickered helplessly, like a moth beating against the glass. Leaning against the cold brick wall stood a girl of about sixteen, her shoulders trembling, her gaze fixed on three thugs who had surrounded her with clearly malicious intentions. Another stood a little further away, clearly keeping watch: he smoked and kept glancing towards the street. All four were dressed in identical leather jackets with patches resembling biker symbols. "Looks like we've found our target," flashed through my mind.
I didn't hesitate. In a split second, I pulled the hood of my jacket over my face and lunged at the guy standing guard. Trying not to use too much force, I slapped him lightly on the back of the head with my open palm. A thought flashed through my mind: "Just don't crack his skull like an overripe watermelon." The guy didn't even have time to turn around before his knees buckled and he collapsed unconscious on the ground. I immediately "returned" to normal speed so that I didn't feel like I was surrounded by statues.The sound of the fall, of course, did not go unnoticed. Three other gangsters spun around. One of them, a dark-skinned guy with a long scar on his cheek, waved a knife in my direction:
"Hey, who are you? What did you do to Eddie? Are you looking for trouble?" His voice was filled with anger mixed with genuine confusion as to how I had managed to get there so unnoticed.
The girl, seeing that their attention had shifted to me, seized the moment. She jerked away and, while one of the thugs had his back to her, swung her leg between his legs. I could literally feel the impact of the blow reverberate through the unfortunate man's entire body. Out of male solidarity, I automatically pushed my consciousness to the limit, and everything around me slowed down. It was like a scene from an old action film: the guy's face contorted in such a dramatic grimace of pain that I even wondered if she had gone too far. His eyes rolled back, showing the whites, and his eyelids trembled as if he were about to lose touch with reality. With a loud but slow moan that sounded to me like a drawn-out "ooohhh...", the poor guy sank to his knees — neatly, solemnly, as if a ballet director had choreographed his agony. I must admit, I even felt a little sorry for him, but then a nervous chuckle escaped me: "At least now he knows what karma is."
I returned to my normal speed and smiled to myself: "Well done, girl! Nice punch." The dark-skinned man immediately ran up to his writhing friend:
"Andre, are you okay?" Realising that he was barely breathing from the pain, he barked, turning to me and the girl: "Ah, you... I'll cut you up! First you wanted to rob us, and then you wanted to get a little rough. And now... You're finished, redhead, and you too, hero in the hood!
"Well, I think it's time to end this clown show," I decided. Without particularly accelerating, but still moving much faster than you would expect from an ordinary person, I lunged forward and immediately hooked my right fist into the jaw of the nearest thug. He didn't even have time to raise his hands before he passed out. Turning around, I saw that the dark-skinned man was pointing the knife at me again, clutching it in his hand. Finding nothing better at hand, I grabbed the lid of a rubbish bin and threw it at him. The metal clanged loudly as it struck his chest, and he fell backwards, dropping his weapon. His eyes clouded over for a moment, but he gathered his strength and crawled towards the knife.
"No way, buddy, not today," I muttered, jumping over to him. As soon as his fingers touched the handle, I pinned his hand down with my foot and broke his wrist with an unpleasant crack. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, but didn't have time to make a sound before he received a heavy blow to the head with the toe of my boot, which instantly knocked him unconscious.
"Goal!" I blurted out, and I caught myself in a silly impulse to throw my arms in the air as if I had really scored the winning goal. Then, lowering my voice involuntarily, I added, "I hope I didn't send him to his ancestors."
I turned around and saw the girl looking at me with wide, astonished eyes. Despite her fear, she looked incredibly cute — I even felt a little uncomfortable that I had barged into her life like that. She looked about sixteen. Her red hair fell in waves over her shoulders like tongues of flame and was held back by a purple headband. Freckles dotted her face, highlighting her sharp chin and bright green eyes, above which turquoise shadows glimmered. Her lips, painted with pink gloss, shimmered in the semi-darkness, and on her cheek was a smudged ink mark, like a trace of a ballpoint pen, as if she had just run away from class. All sorts of badges glinted on her cropped leather jacket, from Depeche Mode to MIT and I ♥ NY. A plaid midi skirt, belted with a wide belt, paired with high white leggings and painted Reebok trainers gave her the look of a daring urban rebel.
"Um..." I began, then quickly caught myself and pulled my purchase out of the bag. "Want a super-hot taco? I'm sure you've never tried one before." I held out one wrapped in foil, hiding my excitement behind my back. After all, we were standing among defeated gangsters, and I was offering her... a snack. The situation seemed almost absurd.
The girl looked from my face (or rather, the lower part of it, as the hood slightly covered my eyes) to the rolled-up package. And suddenly she burst out laughing — loudly, perhaps a little hysterically, but absolutely sincerely. I couldn't help but laugh along with her, because it really did look very comical from the outside: two teenagers, four knocked-out thugs at our feet, and the two of us standing there discussing food.
"You know, I won't say no!" she finally said, wiping away her tears and coming closer.
I unwrapped the foil, handed her the taco, and took another one for myself. We began to eat in almost complete silence, except for the occasional moans from one of the defeated gang members. A few minutes later, when we had swallowed the last bite, she threw the wrapper into the rubbish bin — the same one I had just torn the lid off.
"Thank you for saving me," she said, smiling and holding out her hand. "My name is Pepper. Pepper Potts."
I almost dropped the last of my taco. "Pepper Potts? The one who's going to be Tony Stark's right-hand woman? Is this really the girl I met in the alley?" My head was spinning from the overload. But I quickly pulled myself together because the girl had already tilted her head in surprise, noticing my long, silent gaze.
"Hey, saviour," she muttered, covering her eyes. "What are you looking at? Half your face was hidden, and now I can see everything."
Realising that I had made a fool of myself, I pulled off my hood, exposing my head, and smiled slightly:
"Sorry, I was lost in thought. I'm Bruce. Nice to meet you, Pepper. I'm glad I was here in time to help.
"Oh, you're welcome! Without you, I would have gotten into even more trouble," she replied, taking a half step towards me. Then she stood on her tiptoes and unexpectedly kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks again."
Pepper walked away and then slowly made her way to the exit of the alley. I couldn't help but admire the way she walked away. "An interesting girl, and not at all flustered," I thought. "That's the advantage of youth..." But, as if coming to my senses, I rushed after her and caught up with her at the turn.
"I thought you were just going to stand there like a lamppost," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously, a hint of mockery in her voice.
"You know, someone might decide to attack you again, so let me at least call you a taxi. And by the way, would you share your phone number?" I suggested boldly, trying to sound confident and friendly at the same time.
"You're quick on your feet, Bruce," she smiled, but fortunately didn't refuse. "Anything for my saviour. Remember it!"
She gave me her home number. I waved my hand to stop a yellow taxi passing by and gallantly opened the door for her. Pepper smiled and got in, adjusting the strands of red hair that had escaped from under her purple headband.
"Call me, I'll be waiting. Bye!" she shouted as she disappeared into the car.
I watched her until the car turned the corner. My mind told me that the Marvel universe still held many surprises, and that my encounter with Pepper Potts today was just one of many amazing episodes. "Maybe next time Thor will fall out of the sky on me," I thought ironically. "Although let's do without such experiments." Life will show who else I will meet in this world.
Sighing, I glanced once more at the thugs sprawled on the ground, their faint moans echoing around me, and at the inconspicuous alleyway, then looked up at the sky, where the faint light of street lamps flickered, blurring in the city smog. "Well, it's time to go home," I said to myself and moved away, leaving behind this short but important story.
*****
My friends and I slowly descended the school steps, happy that classes were finally over. Freedom beckoned us like a fresh breeze, and plans for the rest of the day were already spinning in our heads.
"I thought this day would never end," sighed Ethan, mechanically adjusting the strap of his backpack. "Why do I even need this school? I'll become a football star, sign dozens of advertising contracts, and earn millions of dollars!"
Ethan's eyes were burning with such enthusiasm that for a moment he could have been mistaken for a real professional who had just returned from a championship. But Lily, our friend, immediately decided to bring him back down to earth a little:
"You're an idiot, Ethan," she shook her head. "Only a few people become professional footballers, and that's with the best combination of talent, perseverance and luck. What if it doesn't work out for you? What will you do then? Oh, I almost forgot: you have a best friend who's a millionaire, so you can just live off him!" She narrowed her eyes and made innocent eyes, clearly teasing the guy.
Ethan frowned, then suddenly grinned and turned to me:
"Lily's right about that. I've got you, Bruce, my loyal friend, who'll always help me out and find me a cosy spot. Right?
I looked at his sly face and smiled:
"Of course, buddy! But first I'll 'refresh' you and throw you to the wolves, a dozen professors, so they can knock some knowledge into your head. Why would I want a friend who can't string two words together?" I quipped, slapping Ethan on the shoulder. "Take Lily, for example, I'd rather invite her to work for me: she definitely won't let me down."
"See!" Lily immediately latched onto my words, turning to Ethan. "So if you want to take my place, maybe you'll start studying harder."
"Ugh, Bruce, that's a setup!" Ethan feigned offence, pretending to frown even more.
At that moment, I heard someone calling me:
"Mr. Wayne! Bruce! Wait, don't rush off!
Turning around, I saw Mr. Murphy, our head football coach. He was walking quickly towards us, slightly out of breath, but it was clear that he was in a hurry to share some good news.
"Hello, coach," I greeted him, a little wary. Mr Murphy rarely stopped students after class for no reason.
"I'm glad I caught you here, I was about to call you," he said, smiling. "I have good news for you. We have a game next Saturday, and I've put you on the team roster!"
My heart leapt with joy.
"Really?" I asked, almost not believing my ears. "But I've only been on the team for a few months. I thought if I was allowed to play at all, it wouldn't be until next year..."
"You came at the right time," explained Mr Murphy, straightening the folder under his arm. "Henry injured his ankle in the last training session and will be out for at least a month. The coaching staff and I were racking our brains trying to figure out who to replace him with so we wouldn't mess up the next game. Alex suggested you. We've seen how hard you work, and your results are excellent, so we decided to give you a chance. So, Bruce, on Saturday you'll be defending the honour of our school and our city. Get ready!
"Thank you so much!" I felt the blood rush to my cheeks from the overwhelming excitement. "I promise I won't let you down."
"Great, great," Mr Murphy nodded. "That's all, I won't keep you any longer, guys. Get some rest and get ready.
The coach was about to leave when Ethan suddenly coughed loudly, trying to get his attention.
"Mr Murphy, what about me? What if someone else drops out of the team? Maybe you could take me as a replacement?" Ethan's voice sounded almost pleading, he wanted to prove himself so badly.
Mr Murphy looked at him, raising his eyebrows:
"You're doing well too, Ethan. You're the right height and you're in good shape. If you keep training, you've got a good chance of making the team when you're a little older and put on some weight. But it's too early for that now. I think we'll talk about it again next year.
The coach patted Ethan on the shoulder in a friendly manner and slowly walked towards the teachers' car park.
"Ha, look, Ethan, it looks like Bruce is going to be a professional footballer before you!" Lily persisted, adding fuel to the fire. "Maybe you should stop building castles in the air and finally take your studies seriously?
Ethan sighed heavily and shook her hand off.
"Lily, leave me alone!" he muttered, trying not to show that her words had hurt him.
I realised that my friend was upset and quickly changed the subject:
"Ethan, don't be sad. Let's go to a café — it's my treat. We can celebrate my appointment to the team.
"Oh, I'm in!" Ethan's mood changed instantly, and his eyes lit up with joy. "I hope you have enough money with you: I intend to order the most expensive things."
"Well, let's go then!" Lily urged us, smiling. "Before you change your minds."
We went to a nearby café-bar, which was considered a popular place in our town to meet after school. We took a table in the corner and started studying the menu. Ethan, of course, whispered to himself, trying to decide what to order that was expensive so as not to miss out on the "generosity" of the moment. I called the waitress over and decided on a pizza and a glass of orange juice. When Lily and Ethan had made their choices, we placed our order and leaned back in our chairs, ready to discuss all the latest events.
"Lily, remember how you promised to go to the games and cheer for us when one of our group made it into the starting line-up?" I asked, squinting slyly.
"Um... I think I remember something," Lily said thoughtfully, then put on an innocent face. "I didn't promise anything like that!"
"Yes, you did," Ethan chimed in, grinning conspiratorially, then added with his mouth full, "And you can't get out of it!"
"All right," Lily shrugged, as if admitting defeat. "Since you said so, I'll go. Especially since it's your first official match, Bruce, how could I miss it?" She immediately turned to Ethan with a disapproving look. "By the way, Ethan, chew with your mouth closed — don't you notice how everything flies out of there?"
He just waved it off embarrassedly, and I was about to reply when I suddenly heard a bell ring at the entrance. A tall, very muscular African American man with black glasses entered the café. When he appeared, even the cheerful buzz died down slightly: the patrons, noticing him, immediately became overly quiet and tense. The newcomer looked... "colourful" is an excellent word to describe him. A black leather jacket with a stand-up collar, a dark T-shirt or turtleneck underneath, skinny jeans, heavy boots with thick soles — all black. His short hair was neatly combed, and his sharp features showed almost no emotion. Rectangular glasses hid his eyes, adding even more mystery to his appearance. He looked like he had stepped out of a comic book or emerged from a nightclub, accidentally finding himself among ordinary people at lunchtime.
I froze, staring at him with wide eyes. "That's... fuck me... Blade?" — the thought pulsed in my head. "The vampire hunter himself! The half-vampire, the Daywalker." I exhaled mechanically, trying to comprehend that such a thing was even possible. "What is he doing in our little town?" — the thought flashed through my mind. "If Blade is here, that means there are vampires nearby. What a meeting! No, I'd rather Thor fall on me than this..."
He approached the bar and exchanged a few words with the bartender. The bartender nodded knowingly and pulled a phone out from under the counter, obviously a landline, which wasn't in plain sight. Blade handed him a bill, moved to the far corner of the bar, and dialled a number. I tried to look like I wasn't interested, but inside I was consumed with anxious curiosity: "Who is he calling? What does a vampire hunter want in Kingston?"
I gripped the edge of the table, listening, and suddenly felt a familiar tingling in my temples. It was like an invisible wave of pain passing through my head: it was another "activation" of my superhearing, which had been surprising me more and more lately. But I had already learned to control it to some extent, so I clenched my teeth and tried to channel the sensation in the right direction — to listen to what Blade was saying.
"Abraham, I'm here," I heard Blade's muffled voice. "The information has been confirmed: something is definitely going on in Kingston. They already have more than a dozen victims. It looks like the work of vampires. I'll stay here and try to find the nest and clean it up.
I could only catch fragments of the second speaker's reply, but I managed to make out:
"All right, Eric. Be careful and call me periodically. Are you okay with your weapons?
"Yes, I'm equipped. Don't worry, Abraham," Blade replied and suddenly cut off the conversation, slamming the receiver down on the lever.
He spun around, and our eyes met. I couldn't read his expression through his black sunglasses, but I had the feeling that he had noticed me. Blade nodded slightly in my direction, and I nodded back automatically. He headed for the exit without looking back at the bartender or the other patrons.
"What just happened?!" my inner voice seemed to scream. "Are there vampires here? That changes everything... Could that explain the mysterious murders in the city?" I immediately remembered Kenny's recent death. "So, these might not have been just murders..."
"Bruce, are you listening?" Lily shook my shoulder gently, seeing that I was staring blankly at the empty space by the front door. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, sorry, I was distracted," I replied, trying to look calm, although inside I was seething. "Nothing terrible happened. Just thinking..."
Lily nodded, apparently deciding not to press the issue. She turned back to Ethan, continuing to talk to him about school, his studies and his plans for the future, occasionally drawing me into the conversation with a question or two. But I only answered distractedly, unable to get the mysterious scene at the bar out of my head. I couldn't help replaying it over and over in my mind: "Now I know who could be behind all these attacks and deaths. But what should I do? And how does Blade plan to 'clean up' here without attracting attention?"
"Whatever the case," I concluded to myself, "something must be done. I can't let the vampires continue to hunt people in my hometown." While Ethan and Lily chatted animatedly about the upcoming match, I continued to ponder the new information.
*****
It was already the fourth quarter of this incredibly tense match. It seemed like our entire team was on the verge of exhaustion, while our opponents, on the contrary, remained confident and attacked with increasing determination. As a rookie, I was only put in the game twice during the entire match: once I scored a field goal, which earned us three points and gave us a little breathing room. After that, the coaches put me back on the bench, allowing me to play in defence only once, and then only for a couple of plays. I felt like I was capable of more, that I could help the team much more, but time was passing and I remained on the bench.
The score was 21-25 in favour of our opponents, and there were only twelve minutes left on the clock. With every passing second, I became more and more frustrated: "We're one step away from victory, we're literally one touchdown away!" Sensing that the outcome of the game could be decided at any moment, our opponents continued to play their game, methodically earning new downs. And then, finally, the ball came to us with only six minutes left on the clock. I was sitting on the bench, my heart pounding as if trying to escape from my chest. I wanted to rush onto the field and prove that I could be useful.
At that moment, Mr Murphy, our head coach, approaches me:
"Bruce, go on, give it a try," he says quietly but firmly. "I can see you're raring to go. There's not much time left, but who knows, maybe you can work a miracle. Get into the running back position."
I stand up, feeling the adrenaline rush through my body. "This is it!" flashes through my mind, and I quickly run to the other players to hear the play call. Everyone looks at me with excitement and tension at the same time: the stakes couldn't be higher. We're losing, and there are only a few minutes left in the game.
The referee blows his whistle, and the Tigers' offence lines up. Standing behind the quarterback, I hear him shouting code words, giving orders to his teammates. The snap follows — the ball flies into his hands. At the same moment, I make a sharp dash to the left, breaking through my blockers. The quarterback passes me the ball on the run. Our opponents manage to react, but our lineman successfully blocks their defensive leader at the last moment. I see a narrow gap between two big guys from the opposing team and dive in with desperate courage.
The clanging of helmets and armour on both sides sounds like thunder. Jostling and blows — I almost lose my balance, but manage to recover and make a dash forward. The enemy is already close. One of the opponents' defenders rushes at me, trying to grab my waist. I reflexively step to the left, managing to deceive him with a movement of my body, and slip out of his hands. Now a second one tries to knock me off my feet — I bend down and pass under his outstretched arms. The third, tall and muscular, jumps viciously at me, but at the last second I shift my centre of gravity and "slip" to the side.
The roar of the stands becomes deafening. It seems as if the entire stadium is holding its breath, and all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart. The field seems to stretch out. Every yard is a struggle. Finally, I break free from the defenders and see only the green field and the distant end zone in front of me. I have to run just a few dozen yards — yes, you could say the entire rest of the field. To my left, I hear someone approaching, hoarsely shouting my name or cursing. I don't know, I don't turn around, I just speed up.
Step by step, I'm getting closer to the coveted line. When there are only about five yards left to the end zone, I notice the last defender appearing behind me. Judging by his heavy footsteps, he's one of the biggest players. It's the moment of truth — either he's going to knock me to the ground, or I'm going to slip through to the coveted goal. Gritting my teeth, I lunge forward and, almost losing my balance, cross the line with the ball in my hands.
"Touchdown!" shouts the commentator, and our fans explode with cheers. The score changes to 27:25, and the moment takes my breath away. The stadium goes wild. The referees blow their whistles, confirming the score. My classmates and coaches shout, throwing their hands up in the air. I also drop the ball and my helmet, unable to believe that it really happened. The seconds ticked away, and now we've managed to take the lead!
When the game finally ends in the remaining moments and we secure the 28:25 result, our entire team rushes towards me, jubilant. The guys pick me up, shouting with joy. I hear them chanting "Tigers! Tigers!" as if it were a victory anthem. For the first time, I understand how great the happiness of a real team victory is.
When they finally put me down, the coaches are the first to run up to me, congratulating me and patting me on the shoulder. And right behind them is my best friend Ethan, red-faced with excitement:
"Bruce! You're crazy!" he shouts breathlessly, hugging me. "You ran across the whole field, you could have been tackled four times, I thought it was all over... But somehow you managed to slip away from every tackle!
"Thanks, Ethan," I said, catching my breath. "I still can't believe I did it..."
I look around, my heart still pounding, and suddenly I notice that Lily is nowhere to be seen. She promised to come and cheer me on, she should be standing somewhere in the stands.
"Ethan, have you seen Lily? She said she'd be here," I ask, anxiety already pulsing inside me.
"Yes," he nods, looking around. "She came in the third quarter and said she was going to the cafeteria to get some water. I didn't even notice how long she'd been gone. Now that you mention it, I realise she really is late."
I feel a chill inside. A sense of unease stirs in my chest, quickly turning into panic. "What could have happened?" I ask myself.
"Let's go look for her," I suggest to my friend, trying to sound calm, even though I'm shaking inside.
"I agree. I'm feeling uneasy too," Ethan replies quietly.
Unnoticed by the others, we slip out of the jubilant crowd that continues to cheer in the centre of the field and split up to cover as much of the stadium as possible. I run behind the stands, where no one is around, and, making sure no one can see me, I break into a sprint. In the blink of an eye, I run through the corridors, changing rooms, coaches' rooms — everywhere I can get into. Images flash before my eyes: empty rooms, narrow passageways, gleaming tiled walls, but Lily is nowhere to be seen. I stop abruptly and try to concentrate, remembering my special ability to hear, which sometimes kicks in during stressful situations. A slight tingling sensation appears in my temples, but without the intense pain I felt the first few times. I close my eyes and listen.
Through the cacophony of voices, shouts of joy and the sound of clapping from the stands, I hear a quiet but desperate moan. I would recognise that voice among a thousand — it's Lily. From the fragments of her muffled cries and muffled pleas, I realise that she is in some kind of trouble and is calling for help. I focus my attention: "That's the school journalism room," I realise. "That means she's inside the building, not outside the stadium!"
A second later, I'm there, in the school hallway. I kick open the door marked "Journalism." Inside, there is chaos: overturned chairs, sheets of paper and equipment are scattered everywhere. Lily is lying on the floor, curled up, pressed against the cold surface; I can see her breathing heavily, but she is unconscious. A stranger is leaning over her. His skin is pale, his eyes are burning, and sharp fangs peek out of his half-open mouth. He hears me burst in, turns around and lets out a hissing sound, more like an animal's growl.
"A vampire!" I realise, and anger mixed with horror flashes through me. "Damn, a little more and Lily would have been..." — the thought overwhelms me in a split second, and I forget everything — about hiding my powers, about not yet being able to control them properly. With a wild roar, I lunge at him, raising my hand to strike.
The blow is so powerful that it literally tears my opponent apart, as if blown up from within. An unnatural surge of power bursts through me, and it's all over in a matter of seconds: bloody shreds and splatters fly across the office. Red drops mix with papers and furniture, leaving puddles on the floor and stains on the walls. I freeze in shock in the middle of this nightmare. My uniform and hands are covered in sticky, warm blood, its metallic smell filling the air around me. Unable to believe what has happened, I look at what is left of my attacker. Lily lies unconscious, unaware of what has happened.
Then I hear footsteps in the corridor, and a tall man in a black leather jacket with dark glasses and a grim but impassive face appears in the doorway. It's Blade, the vampire hunter I saw in the city. He looks around the room and, noticing the mangled body of the vampire, smiles crookedly.
"Yeah, I've only seen that once before, when I threw a bloodsucker under a train," he says quietly but meaningfully. "Looks like you gave him a good beating.
I turn sharply towards him, my heart pounding like crazy. Blade, his arms folded across his chest, looks at me, then at the bloody remains, assessing the whole scene. His lips curl slightly into a fanged smile.
***
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