Full Summary: In a decaying world where safety has taken precedence over life itself, Sebastian’s existence as a cold-blooded soldier has been nothing more than black and white. Ever since his parents were brutally murdered by environmental terrorists, Sebastian has never looked back and has dedicated his life to exterminating the cruel environmentalists for the military alongside his two best friends and the girl he has always loved. However, when he begins to find himself becoming sick and filled with a strange lust for blood, he soon finds himself trapped and alone beneath a world of lies and deceit, a world he used to believe in. Now, upon meeting a peculiar girl with a sense of hope and unthinkable kindness, Sebastian has to stop himself from becoming a blood hungering monster, and he must fight against all those that he loved, in order to save a crumbling world.

Chapter One: Beginning to an End

In this world, there is nothing living that is not poisoned. Everywhere, there is this poisonous disease. It seeps into every moment of life like blood beneath a door crack. Everything in this world is tainted with destruction, decay, and death. Yet this world is the safest. It is the sanctuary of security and persistency. Even in all of the ruin, there is not a place more protected than this world. Citizens can sleep soundly in their warm beds at night, dreaming of tomorrow. Almost everyone can believe in a tomorrow. Almost everyone.

Cold and sterile, the pistol fit his hand like a friendly glove. His predator’s eyes scanned the darkness, and impatient and eager, he squeezed the waiting gun close to his chest. He had to wait, wait for the signal. This was a game of pass the baton, and he was the final runner. Yet if she did not come with the baton . . .

He never made a mistake and never cowardly ran away from an assassination. None of the tasks that his superiors assigned him failed, especially if he was leader. This was his life. If he failed it would mean the end of everything. Nothing would exist. Absolute failure was not an option for him.

The balcony groaned as he shifted his weight to his other leg. To not swear out in frustration he clamped his lips shut. Every noise was dangerous, and this balcony was too frail to move on. If only she would make the signal, he thought and glared at the window diagonally below. The signal would come from there, but why had it not come yet? Checking his watch, his heart froze with tension. Thirty seconds late.

Bitter, the wind washed over him in a great wave and spiked a shiver through his spine. In an attempt to ignore the cold, he carefully tilted his head to stare up at the full moon that was too bright for his liking. His team had arrived at twenty-three hundred hours. To stealthily crawl into their positions it took a mere five minutes. One person per floor was all that was necessary. From his respective position he had given them their orders: hunt and purge. Sluice out the filth, but do it quietly and calmly. Composed and collected was their motto. Show no fear or hesitancy. Be firm and concise. Meanwhile, and most important, leave no witnesses.

Lower floors would be first. Start at the bottom and eliminate all possible exits. Slowly force the cockroaches to have no other options except to ascend, ascend right into an unknown hell. Floor by floor they would eliminate all the evilness from the building, and only with a signal would the next floor begin their cleansing.

He was supposed to have started a minute ago, and that minute was making all the difference. What was wrong? Had something happened? Had she run into a problem? Had someone foreseen the attack? Had someone pulled out a gun? Was she lying in a pool of blood, hoping to be rescued?

His heart froze again, but not from tension. Nothing could be wrong–not with her. She was always precise, always the intellect, and she was always absolutely everything. Thorns twisted and coiled in his stomach. Stiffness formed in his slouched over position. Just signal, he thought, please just signal!

Yet it was there before he could blink again. Liberating, a flash of light in the corner of the window relieved him. The light winked out at him with every ounce of pride and relaxation, as if mocking his worry. Ignoring the arrogance, he turned his head to the lone grimy window, slightly ajar. The balcony had long since been unusable due to rust and wear, and therefore the door had been replaced with a simple window. It was probably in hopes of keeping their profane secrets a bit more secret. He wanted to laugh out loud.

Pressing his back against the brickwork, he glanced through the window’s crack and stared past the darkness. As expected, there was no one in sight. There was a perfect silence. How he loved silence. Carefully he pried the window open and leapt into the room with all the stealth and grace of an expert hunter.

Eyes primed and ready, his gun pointed straight ahead prepared to fire at any movement. Yet there was none. There was not the slightest movement or the slightest sound. There was nothing. His head turned left to right. Shabby cardboard boxes suffocated the petite room, and there was nothing else but a lonely broken light dangling pathetically from the towering ceiling.

A mere quick glimpse around and he threaded his way through the sea of boxes. Once he left this room there would be only one more room and then one bathroom. In this aged industrial building many of the workrooms were on levels one through three. The fourth level was supposed to be a resting area. Therefore, he was assuming the other room would now be used as sleeping quarters, or at least he was hoping.

Behind a column of boxes he spied the exit and hastened toward it. His left hand turned the grating doorknob and allowed the door to peel open with a long moan. The noise rose hairs on the back of his neck, and he lowered the gun to peer around the corner of the door. No one.

He sidled out of the room and peeked down the short, featureless hallway before darting to the next door. Routinely he flattened himself against the wall. Moonlight trailed in through a window and it tossed his immense shadow across the hall. The eerie shadow was huge and wild against the quaint space. His fingers latched onto the doorknob and twisted. Yawning open, the door produced not the least bit of sound.

According to reports there were only thirteen parasites in this building. Most probably slept in the quarters. He had to be vigilant and enduring. So he waited–waited for any sounds of surprise or recognition. He waited for an unending time, but nothing happened. Tired of the silence and waiting, he swallowed the spit congealing in his throat and edged into the blackness that devoured him whole.

Anorexic threads of moonlight propelled in from the hallway, but it was enough for his nocturnal eyes. The room was expansive compared to the previous one. No lumpy boxes adorned this area, but instead there were mats and blankets sprayed across the floor. Every now and then a mountain would rise up and out of the blankets as if something was there. He counted five mountains. That meant the others were elsewhere or already dead.

He took a step forward, but grinded to a halt and glanced at the pistol in his hand. If he wanted to keep this as discreet as possible, the pistol’s silencer would not be enough. Only the sound would be reduced, and there would still be a chance of waking others in the process. Screaming and pleading was too much hassle, but that meant it was going to get messy–really messy. How bothersome, he thought.

He eased the gun into its holster and leaned down to slide out the serrated combat knife from his boot. Stale, the air forced him to hold his breath as he weaved his way to the first lump.

Not bothering to glance down, he maneuvered one leg over each side of the lump, and eased his body down until he hovered directly overhead like a watching spider. The immoral parasite below him was a young woman with lank blonde hair and candlewick thin limbs. In sleep, she looked breakable and blameless, but he knew it was a lie. He lowered his knife close enough to feel her hot breath on his icy cheek. All of them were liars and thieves!

His grip tightened around the handle, and he slowly brought his unoccupied hand to her lips, ready to silence her screams. Lingering above her exposed throat, the knife smiled up at him. All he needed was one quick stab right into the carotid artery. There was no need to think. Simple. With one tensed breath . . .

The knife bit into flesh. Blood sprayed out, spattering his uniform. Her eyes and mouth gasped into life, and his left hand mechanically slammed down, choking her airway. A leg jerked out from beneath, but he only sank in the knife further. Larger and larger her eyes grew as they stared horrified up into his placid face. Warm liquid crept across his palm from her mouth, and he observed as the liquid leaked from underneath his hand like a slick waterfall. Another choking cough sputtered from her lips, and he twisted the knife. Her body convulsed one last time beneath him before going limp. The chore had taken no more than twenty seconds.

He guided out the knife, allowing the blood to spurt from her neck across his chest. He dragged himself away from the corpse and lifted his blood soaked hand, swallowing his disgust. He smeared it on his pants and glared down at the girl, whose eyes were still peeled open like skinned oranges. Such a mess, he thought before taking a stride toward the next vulnerable lump.

Those five vermin took only three minutes, but the time was still too long. Was he losing his edge? He shuddered as he walked toward the door. No, it was not his fault they would not stop struggling. Moonlight engulfed him, and he glanced down at himself before shoving angrily through the door. Verdurist blood–how staining and revolting. It drenched him from head to toe, and the warm slick wetness seeped through his clothes to his skin. Revulsion prickled through his body. Was this what it was like to be infested with disease?

Just the bathroom remained now. Doubtful that anyone was left alive, he strolled to the dented bathroom door with no name plaque and halted. He placed the knife back in its sheath and removed the pistol from its holster. If anyone were in there, he would pull the trigger before they even knew he was there. To be killed while taking a piss, what a comedic end to their life, he thought. He stifled his chuckle.

Eager to depart, he grasped the doorknob without bothering to be wary, but just as he began to twist the steel, he heard a noise that forced him to instinctively freeze–voices. Alertness spiked through him faster than a releasing coil, and he whipped around, pressing his back flat against the doorframe. Not daring to breathe, he listened.

The voice was noticeably female. “Emmett, let’s hurry now.”

“But I’m not sleepy.” A childish voice replied. He assumed the person was a boy.

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone else is asleep, and I’m exhausted.” The boy let out an audible protesting whine in answer. What was this? Why was there a child? And how had he not noticed them entering the bathroom?! “Don’t act like that. Let’s go.” Footsteps grew close. Pounding, his heart thrashed inside. He had to act now!

The door crashed against the wall, and he threw out his gun arm. “Hands behind your head!” he snarled as a shriek devoured the bathroom. A pathetic candle sprinkled the white walls and the lone figure standing petrified in the middle of the room. She was a thief caught in a floodlight. Fear trembled through every crevice of her body, and it washed off her in a great tsunami that left his body feeling strangely heavier. Her fear smelled intoxicating.

In his moment of hesitation though, she bolted. He fired. The bullet exploded above her left shoulder splintering the wooden stall. Trembling, she clung to the door, and when another scream echoed from inside the stall’s confines, her eyes widened to panic. She tried to save the boy! His eyes lowered darkly, and he cocked the gun. She flinched at the sound, and he moved the gun the fraction he needed to shoot her. Sacrifice? How foolish. The bullet had missed by an inch. Pathetic, he thought.

“I said, HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!” Every particle of the room echoed with his demanding voice.

Her frail thin arms rose as she placed her small pale hands behind her head of ivory spring curls. Trills of shivers strummed through her slim body. Nevertheless that did not matter. She was the enemy and the utmost threat. He took two measured steps toward her, the gun not wavering the slightest as she cringed against the door. “Move aside.” He knew the power of his commanding voice, and he watched as her quivering plump lip dropped open.

“I – I . . .” Fear dripped from her lips.

“I don’t believe I stuttered.” He took another step.

Tears welled into her eyes. “I – I – I can’t!”

“Meiran!” The child cried out and banged against the door. He flicked the gun up and fired into the door. Wood splintered like a blossoming flower. The boy yelped from inside.

“STOP!” the girl shrieked to the boy. “Just stay there! Everything’s f-fine!” The pounding stopped and a whimper cried out. Her eyes darted to the gun. “Please!” she pleaded. “I don’t care what you do. Just don’t hurt the boy. Please!”

Pleading did nothing. He heard it before. Prayers, damnations, and entreaties: he heard them all before, and they never worked for him. The candle flickered. Why should they work for her? He took another step. They were close now, close enough that he could smell the saccharine fragrance of her flesh. It stained the air and penetrated his nostrils. It made him dizzy, but he did not falter. He needed to stay focused. “Why? There is no reason to save ugly fleas.”

Her violet eyes were impossibly huge and she tensed. “Y-y-you, how could you say that?! He’s an innocent child!”

Innocence was her reason? “That’s a laugh. That has never stopped any of your kind before.”

“What?” Shock demolished her pretty features. “I would never . . . what are you talking about?”

Silence warped his insides, and his head felt stuffy from her perfume. What was that scent? He had to shoot her. His finger flexed above the trigger. “I cant. He’ll just mutate into one of you.” He stepped closer, bursting with intent and hate.

“No . . .” Her arms began to drop, but she was too late. He pulled the trigger. The bullet ruptured into her chest. A gasp erupted from her, and her eyes fluttered shut as she slumped back against the door. The boy gave a ghastly scream. Blood crept across her green dress like a flesh eating disease, and her body slipped to the ground, leaving behind a streak of crimson.

Simple and clean, a pistol was much easier. Edging forward until his boot kicked her abdomen, he gazed down at her hunched frame and lowered the gun. See what pleading gained a person?

He knelt beside her and leaned over her legs to check her neck’s pulse. He had to be sure. Yet as his face neared the bloody pulsing mass on her chest, he froze for a fraction of a second. Arising from the blood was a foreign smell, something he never experienced. It caught him unaware, and before he could think, it flushed into his nostrils like a strike to the gut. He reeled away and plastered a hand over his nose and mouth. What was that?! He stared at the body only a few feet away from him as his heart thumped rapidly. That fragrance, what was it?

His eyes frantically flickered to the blood spilling down the trench between her scarcely ripe breasts, and his face flushed with heat before his eyes darted away. Oh damn, it was absolutely irresistible. Desire and pleasure made his head lurch. He just wanted to reach out and . . . and what? He couldn’t think that! She was impure and vile and . . . but that fragrance! It was unbearably delicious, and he felt a sinister impulse to touch that crimson dark patch of liquid. Unfurling around the gun, his fingers jerked, ready to latch out. But no . . . !

“Sebastian!”

Melodic, that voice evaporated the fog from his mind, and he whipped around, dropping the hand from his face. “Lil–?” That was all he could manage before that aroma lunged into his throat and numbness penetrated his body. That smell was heavenly. His body melted against the cold stone and tremors snaked through his veins leaving him paralyzed. He wanted it. He needed it like oxygen. He would die if he did not taste it.

“SEBASTIAN!” Thoughts buckled in his brain, and he knew he had to escape or else suffocate. He stumbled to a stand, and a shrieking pain tore at the pit of his stomach. Grabbing at his abdomen, he disregarded it. He had to get away. All of his self-discipline he put into ripping his mind away from that seducing smell, and without a second pause, he bolted out the door, shoulder slamming against the frame in his hurry. Agony flowered throughout his shoulder, and breathless, he collapsed against the door as it shut with a click.