The Cantina was deserted. It was more than deserted, it was a mess. The tables were turned over, sitting listlessly on their sides, some broken into splinters. Peculiar blood stains decorated the walls and parts of the floor, particularly the threshold of the kitchen. It was behind the bar, where almost all of the glasses were lying in broken fragments on the polished wood, where Lep materialized.

Lep was a peculiar sort of fellow in his own right. Not the man to be trifled with, Lep was a patient observer, quiet and calm and slow to anger. He was the shadow out of the corner of your eye, the man who was there, but not there. What was most peculiar about Lep was not his sleek, black curly hair that shone in the moonlight, nor his pale, sallow skin, but his eyes. Sunken into high cheekbones, Lep’s eyes burned and flickered with a cold, unquenchable fire. One might figure that he had seen too much – that is, if one lived long enough to ponder such a thought; because Lep was, in fact, a vampire.

Surveying the scene, Lep carefully picked his way round the bar and strode silently into the open area of the Cantina, which was now littered with broken pieces of chairs, tables and glass.

He knelt down to a particularly gruesome splatter of blood and eyed it curiously. He swiped a finger over the table top. The blood was cold; it was not fresh. He licked his finger clean.

“This is the blood of a Time Lord.”

He got to his feet, enjoying the popping of his kneecaps. Without a word, Lep marched across the rubble and entered the kitchen.