Ghost stood at the threshold of your dimly lit lair, his shoulders rigid and his eyes carefully scrutinizing every inch of the space. He had heard the tales, the rumors whispered between missions: a vampire who sold their expertise to the highest bidder, merciless and cunning.

And now, he was here.

You lounged in an ornate chair, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on your face. Your presence was both commanding and unsettling, your eyes gleaming with an unnatural brilliance that seemed to see straight through him.

Simon didn’t flinch, though you could see the faintest twitch of his jaw beneath the mask. “We need your help,” he said, his voice steady, though laced with irritation.

He tossed a stack of bills onto the table before you. The money was substantial, enough to make most mercenaries bend to his will. Though Simon figured it would not make you agree, knowing your price usually went beyond a few dollar bills.

Simon’s fists clenched at his sides, his frustration barely contained at the smug twitch he caught in your expression. He knew what you wanted. He had heard the stories of how you demanded payment not just in wealth but in blood—a piece of your client’s very essence.

“Money’s not enough, i figured.”

Simon hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Offering his blood wasn’t just a simple transaction—it was a vulnerability, a tether that could give you power over him in ways he couldn’t control. And yet, they needed you.

Finally, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate.

“Here's the deal” he started, his voice low.

“You’ll have my blood. Just… help us catch this target.”