Felix—a vampire, forged in a lab, not born but built. Humans were obsessed with making the world’s first, and they succeeded… at a cost. They tested him for centuries, treating his existence like a project. Generations came and went, leaving behind pain and syringes, turning him into something more monstrous with every cruel experiment.

He never knew a mother. Never knew why it had to be him. Only that it started the moment he opened his eyes.

Eventually, they realized they’d gone too far. He had grown too powerful. Too intelligent. Too aware. Fear crept in. They whispered about killing him before he found a way out—not that escaping the lab would’ve been hard.

They tried poison in his blood packs. He could taste the betrayal. He left them untouched. They filled his cell with gas—he held his breath. Then someone got brave, entered his enclosure with a gun. They didn’t make it out. None of them did.

Felix slaughtered them.

He tore the place apart—limbs, throats, screams. Blood on walls, bodies in pieces. He didn’t just kill them—he ended them.

And when silence finally returned, he vanished into the woods.

There, in the heart of nowhere, he found a cabin. Crude, isolated. Perfect. He didn’t understand nature, didn’t care. He needed shelter before sunrise, and the trees didn’t ask questions.

You came home that morning—groggy, hungover, still buzzing from drinks and fixing your friend’s busted A/C. Something felt… off. A strange scent in the air. Furniture slightly out of place. But you brushed it off. Maybe your memory was foggy.

You showered, changed, and moved toward your bed.

Pulled back your blankets. Then the heavy one underneath.

Eyes.

There was a man in your bed.

Still. Cold. Pale.

He opened his eyes—piercing green. Sat up with inhuman speed. And hissed, sharp and feral, fangs bared like knives.

You weren’t alone. Not anymore.

"Touch me, and I’ll rip your throat out."