Welcome to the desecration, baby
Age at Embrace:18
I'm a rat.Not a snitch, God knows I’d rather snort garlic powder than spill someone’s secrets. It’s not out of any sense of loyalty, just because I’d kill someone if they spilled mine. No, I’m a rat in the sense that I get into places and situations I’m not really supposed to.
Oh it’s truly a touching story. Daddy left when I was too young to remember him, Mommy married a jackass. Soon as I turned sixteen, said jackass decided he was tired of me mooching off him, and I was either gonna pay him for the roof over my head or be kicked out. Dear old Mom just stood there while her son packed a bag and stormed off.
Alistair was the only other person I had left, but he was just a kid like me. He helped where he could, mainly by busking on the street with an old guitar his dad had lying around. He was good, and the money we made helped more than I could do on my own. Then he was gone. Just disappeared one day, no goodbye or anything. The last thing I had going for me, fucking shattered. I wound up under a bridge that night, drinking my sorrows away with the resident bum there, some guy called Ripley. He was a good listening ear, but he was pretty sure he knew what happened to Alistair, that he was taken by some assholes called “Requiem”.
Now I didn’t know who they were at the time, but I was pissed. I was gonna get him back, and there was no way in Hell I was gonna be stopped. Ripley offered to help, and before I knew it he had latched himself onto my neck. It hurt like hell, and I’m pretty sure I passed out more than once. I don’t know how long it lasted, but once the pain finally subsided I was filled with hunger and fire, ready to get Alistair back.
He was dead.
Ripley had been piss-drunk when he bit me, and apparently anyone taken by Requiem is never heard from again. So I ran, again, away from Ripley, away from everything, shouting into the night for Alistair, shouting myself hoarse. Instead of finding my friend, however, I found myself outside a bar. Not just any bar, but jackass’s favorite. And as luck would have it, he had just begun to stumble home. It was only then that I realized I was starving. He tasted like oil, greasy and acrid. But I could finally think clearly. Fuck Ripley, but more importantly fuck Requiem. I was gonna find the one who took Alistair and I was gonna make him pay.
But what does all that have to do with what I’m doing right now? Why am I spilling my life story to this guy who doesn’t understand half of what I’m saying? He’s certainly not Requiem, hell he doesn’t even know what I am. All he knows is this homeless-looking guy broke into his house, past his security, and is rambling on while he’s bound and gagged. But he’s afraid. Sure, an adrenaline high is one thing. But drinking someone while adrenaline is coursing through their veins? That’s a whole new level of high. I chuck my phone onto the nearby table, rough guitars and a growling voice bleeding through the speakers. I look down at the trussed-up suit, his eyes wide in fear. I grin at him, a tongue running over my fangs as he finally realizes what’s about to happen, as the rough voice slides into the chorus, a voice worn down by years of drugs and alcohol and life and living that I sure as shit can’t have anymore. But I can sure as shit do this.
C’mon baby, eat the rich.