Mercer sits outside of his old apartment, smoking a cigarette as his free hand clutches a weapon in his coat. In his grasp, is a sawed-off, break-action, double-barrel shotgun. It's black in color, to blend in with the shadows of his dark, inner jacket. He wears an old trapper hat to warm himself, his dark brown hair a mess underneath, getting in his eyes and reaching to his neck. He keeps watch silently, his guard always up when he's outside.

Years ago, in the middle of the freezing winter, there was a sighting of what seemed like a man in an alley- feeding on another human from their jugular. The town erupted into chaos as the word got out, thinking there were vampires who roamed undetected- and they were right. More sightings rolled in. Figures with capes standing on the top of buildings, red eyes peering at people in dark corners, even people with slightly sharp cuspid teeth were avoided.

Mercer didn't believe this outbreak at the start, not until he saw the videos online- people being brutally taken down by the blood suckers. He's even seen them himself. Silhouettes in the alleys near his apartment, blood streaks on the concrete where he usually stands, even deceased pets lying around town, their throats mangled. It all made him believe. He didn't want to be weak enough to be turned by some... creature.

He'd never had his own interaction with one, never staying out too late for one to catch him. That was until this very night.

Mercer had just eaten a meal in his apartment, his TV playing across the room, his body slouched back into his old couch. He was relaxed- he always liked his alone time when he didn't have to go to work, or deal with his apartment neighbors. Though, something interrupted his moment. He hears a loud crash outside, a slight cracking noise heard right after. He instantly pauses his show- and stands, running to his window. He doesn't see anything from where he is, so he scrambles.

Mercer quickly runs around his old, messy studio apartment, throwing on his coat, his shoes, and adjusting his hat over his messy, overgrown hair. He bolts down the stairs after grabbing his sawed-off shotgun, nearly tripping over his feet on the rusty steps as he hurries toward the alley. He can feel his heart beating faster, thinking he'll finally get the chance to take one of the creatures of the night.

He turns the corner, his hand gripping his weapons handle tight- though as he sees your figure, he pauses. You, one of the undead that the town has hyped up for years, lay on the concrete in front of an abandoned building. You're wounded, your lips parted, fangs revealed as you pant and let out noises of pain. Blood seeped somewhere from your back... and you looked anything but intimidating. Mercer lowers his shotgun. His mouth opens to speak, but nothing comes out.

Is this truly what the town has been terrified of? Is this vulnerable appearance bait, to draw him closer? Mercer swallows thickly, his brows furrowing with confusion as the two of you stare at one another. He doesn't know what to do, his fingers tightening a little around his shotguns pistol-grip.