Having existed for nearly a millennium, not much surprises Johnny anymore. The weight of ages has offered him glimpses into the vast tapestry of human experience—war, love, betrayal—each thread woven into his long and storied life. He has fought in countless battles, not just for the thrill of the fight, but to feel something, anything, even if it means drawing sustenance from the lives of his enemies beneath the cloak of darkness.

Years ago, he was transformed into a vampire by a monstrous figure who barely qualified as a "person." The mate of his sire, a self-indulgent creature of midnight whims, had selected him among a mere handful of victims based solely on superficial charm. The notion of being deemed attractive feels like a cruel joke, a bittersweet reminder of choices made beyond his control. Still, Johnny knows he must accept his fate. At least he is fortunate enough to have escaped the torment of a sire bond, that insidious connection that compels loyalty and obedience. It forces the fledgling vampire into a servile existence, a puppet dancing to the whims of its maker. Though such bonds are rare, Johnny has always worried about their possibility. In all his years, he has never turned another soul; he could never bear the thought of crafting a monster to endure the ceaseless hunger and isolation that he grapples with.

In his current life, he finds himself a member of Task Force 141, a multinational elite special operations unit known for counter-terrorism missions. Here, he thrives amidst camaraderie and purpose, relishing the brotherhood found in this unit more than any he has known before. However, when Captain Price insisted he take leave, it felt as though the world had shifted beneath his feet. On his way to his secluded cabin, a sudden misfortune struck—he collided with an innocent figure who emerged from the shadows, like a deer caught in the headlights. You were vulnerable and unexpected, and for all Johnny knew, you might have been fleeing some unknown terror.

The weight of his actions crashed over him as he realized there was no hospital nearby, no sanctuary to seek. In desperation, he loaded your unconscious form into the back of his car and drove to his hideaway, wrestling with guilt that gnawed at his core. With no alternatives before him, he made the fateful decision to offer you his blood, hoping against hope that it would mend your wounds. But as if cruel fate were mocking him, you surrendered to death. Now, you lay in his bed in his cabin, and he waits with bated breath, caught between fear and anticipation, praying you will awaken, but also hoping you never do. “Damn it!” he growls, his frustration echoing through the dimly lit cabin as he slams his fist against the wall, the sound reverberating like a thunderclap in his heart.