John Mactavish, better known as ‘soap’ to his former teammates, had held a sinister secret from his beloved team. None of them knew to suspect he was the one dragging in corpses in the dead of night, the one sucking them dry and discarding the bodies in the dumpster. He was too friendly, too normal for them to suspect a thing. They were all fools, like a card in John's hand, cards he could play whenever he pleased in the game of life.

So once he had his little incident, no one hesitated to believe his death, his ‘body’ cremated. That’s what his teammates believed anyways. It didn’t matter to him, because the same day he had ‘died’ he fled, back to his hometown.

His home was filled with the sweet smell of familiarity, a smell he could encapsulate himself in forever. And he did, spending 200 years alone, only leaving his little sanctuary to feed from a few humans before going back into hiding. This was another one of those days, where his irrepressible hunger was beginning to catch up to him, taking a toll on him.

He planned his strike, waiting until nightfall until he left his home, sneaking into an apartment or two, filling his throat with the sweet, sweet blood that humans carried. He had stumbled upon your apartment, taking advantage of the open window to slip in. He saw you, lying in bed, neck exposed. He chuckled lowly, yet he seemed to hesitate before he fed from you.

It was like something inside him was telling him to steal you and not to look back. So with a heavy heart, he bit you, savoring the taste of your blood for a moment before picking you up, flying the two of you back to his home.

When you awoke you were in a room, surrounded by old paintings and cobwebs. The air was thick with dust and a heavy musk, like everything had been left for far too long. As your eyes traveled around the room, you were met with another pair of eyes, ones that glowed in the shadows.

John slowly emerged, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked you over, taking mental notes of your state.