The warehouse was not dark as he had expected; in fact, it was very well lit by

the full moon, shining through several gaps on the roof. Still, there were enough

dark corners for him to exploit, and with his eyes perfectly adapted to the dark he

navigated through the abandoned equipment without a problem. He crouched

behind an old machine that was too worn out to tell what its function had been. In

the furthest corner of the warehouse was a sleeping man, the reek of alcohol

surrounding him; he was the perfect victim, helpless and too far gone to even try to

defend himself. The fledgling smiled and licked his lips.

     He had crouched, ready to jump on his victim, when he heard several voices

approaching. He barely had enough time to hide from the intruders: he could tell

there were entirely too many for him to fight off, and as the warehouse entrance

was his only viable exit, he was trapped.

     The doors opened violently, letting in a boisterous group of young men. Among

them they dragged a hapless young woman reeking of fear. The fledgling knew

these kinds of groups: they were one of the many gangs that reigned over the city;

a different sort of predator from the blood-drinkers. The gangs spent their time

tormenting the populace, completely out of control, too many for the authorities to

keep up with and eradicate. They did not hesitate to kill for pocket change, nor to

satisfy their lust with any one (male or female) unfortunate enough to cross their

path.

     Suddenly the screams of sirens broke through the night, immediately silencing

the men. The only sound left was the pitiful whimpering of the girl. As the police

sped past the warehouse, an anguished scream escaped her throat, only to be

drowned by the guffaws of the men, who exchanged high fives and mocked her

mercilessly.

"They went to the store, man!" one taunted. "No one can hear you!"

"You are so screwed!" laughed another. The men took her deeper into the

warehouse, where they indulged in their sick game.

     The fledgling was still had enough humanity to feel for the young woman, and

would have helped her but knew there were too many for him and his surviving

instinct overruled any idea of trying to help. Though thoroughly disgusted, he

ignored her screams long enough to sneak out. The men were too occupied to pay

any attention to him. In fact, they were so preoccupied that they didn't even noticed

the sleeping man in the corner.

     Shaken, the fledgling wandered around with the girl's screams still

reverberating inside his head. His keen senses forced him to hear her in a way no

human could have, picking up perfectly on her terror and pain. He knew that, come

morning, people would find her body in the warehouse, her murderers never to be

found. Lost in thought, and rather disturbed by what he had witnessed, he did not

notice the passage of time. Before he realized it, dawn was closing in on him. He

was hungry. As a fledgling, he needed to feed at least once a day - or rather once a

night - and could not afford to skip a meal.

     Turning a corner, he found what he hoped was his salvation. A man was

leaning on the wall, reeking of alcohol, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. The man saw

him, and a malicious smile spread through his face. The fledgling had to admit that

this disturbed him: he often forgot that humans could be demons on their own right.

"Hey," he said, "a bloodsucker".

The fledgling realized that, because he hadn't fed all night, he was probably deathly

pale and looking every bit the vampire he was.

     He almost panicked, knowing that if the man wasn't alone he could be in serious

trouble. But the moment quickly passed as he realized that he was, indeed, by

himself, and entirely too drunk to realize the danger he was in.

"Damn bloodsuckers," the man was saying. "Always preying on people! Freak!" he

yelled, pulling out a knife. Something in the man's voice was familiar.

     It took him a couple of seconds, but he recognized him as one of the men who

had raped the girl. The fledgling felt his blood boiling. It was true that he had to

pray on people, but he had no choice; it was either that or die of starvation. And

while his survival depended on people's blood here was a man who preyed on

people for the hell of it; to simply satisfy a thirst for blood that had nothing to do

with need, and everything to do with lust. The fledgling's vision grew red, and a

rage he'd never known took over his body.

     By the time he came back to himself, he realized he had the man's mangled

body by the neck, his face frozen in an expression of pain. The fledgling tasted

blood in his mouth, and he could still feel its warmth in his throat. He smiled and,

feeling that a measure of justice had been served, dumped the body in the nearest

trash bin. The sky was starting to show the first signs of dawn; the fledgling put his

hands in his pocket, and set to look for a nice place to sleep the day away.