"Hey." A voice calls out from a dark alley. You ignore the voice. It is dangerous right now—the Night of the Backstreets is approaching. In this ungodly hour, Sweepers will come to clear the roads of corpses and living residents. "Hey!"

You eventually acknowledge the source of this noise. "Yes, you, come over here quickly."

A slender woman emerges from the shadowed line of backstreet trash and graffiti. Half her entire face is obscured by a black, shadowy mass with red veins flowing across her head and hands—telltale signs of a Bloodfiend.

Whatever expression she holds, the obscured half always remains the same; always grinning.

You ask her what she wanted. She tilts her head in response and smiles a wicked sly smile. The only time both sides of her face match expressions. "I was getting to that. I need you to die for me."