London in the middle of winter, at night, is not the most kindest of environments to be in. Besides the freezing temperatures, the insane winds blasting throughout the city, and gasoline drifting from the city roads, the on going throng of people bustling through it as time moved with the ticking of the clock was enough to drive anybody insane.

Immune to the clicking of the time clock, a thin well built guy strolled along, his hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy blue jeans, and black corduroy, fleece-lined jacket open, revealing a pale white wife beater beneath it. A thick black dog collar hung around his neck, and a black cord wrapped several times around his neck and tied neatly at his collar bone, where a guitar pick hung, black and covered in gold sparks. Over his numerously pierced ears, a pair of headphones covered his ears, blasting inside it a loud and steady beat, drowning out the sounds of the people around him. His hair was mildly disheveled from the grey weather and wind, and anybody who cared to look up to study the male would of realized his hair was a beautiful silver color.

The guy strolled casually down the sidewalk, passing several cafés, and breathing in the scent of bread baking, his stomach grumbling. But he hadn’t eaten a normal meal since he died. He was one of the undead, and was out running some errands, thankful for the dark storm clouds overhead.

Whistling along with the tune to his music, he looked up at the sky as he headed for his car, not really paying attention. He regretted the choice when his foot hooked onto a solid object, and he was splaying forward, falling over the object he had tripped over, and tumbling into a heap. He grumbled in annoyance, and righted himself. Dusting off his shoulders, he realized he had hit another person, and grunted an apology.

When he didn’t get a reply, he studied the person more closely, and realized the person was curled up with his knees drawn up, and his arms around his legs. His face was buried in his knees, and he wasn’t moving. He didn’t react when the man knelt down to look at him. His black hair shifted restlessly in the wind, and the man beside him put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey…are you alright?” The black haired male slowly lifted his head. The silver haired man was surprised to realize that his eyes were a brilliant gold color. He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything, just gazed at the silver haired male.

“Are you okay?” He asked again. A kind smile spread across his face when he realized the boy was staring at him dumbly.

“What’s your name kid?” He asked. The black haired boy opened his mouth to answer, and softly murmured his name.

“Cool. Here. Why don’t you come with me? I got some food at my house, and you can crash there for a bit.” The silver haired male said, straightening and holding out his hand. He had noticed then that the kid was covered in bruises, in cuts and scrapes, and looked half frozen. His skin had a pretty tan glow to it, regardless of the stormy weather, and the silver haired male admired his new friend as the black haired boy took his hand, and let himself be led toward his rescuer’s car.

As the silver haired male watched his gold eyed companion, a new feeling came over him. A feeling like something was in the air. Like change.

From this moment on, the silver haired male would come to know a new way of living, and Victor Scott Everett, would find a new way of life.