The cold, biting air of the random street in Neo-Tokyo slammed into Blake, sharp and sudden. He stood hunched in the grimy alley, surrounded by the mundane symphony of the city: the distant hum of maglev traffic, the rhythmic patter of light rain on asphalt, the faint, chemical tang of synth-fuel exhaust. The transition from the primordial horror of the dungeon to this indifferent urban landscape was jarring, a whiplash of realities. He was free from that monstrous facility. But a new, more insidious prison now clamped around his very being.
His body was a raw, trembling canvas of sensation. The adrenaline from the final desperate dash had faded, leaving behind an agonizing hollowness in his gut. The hunger, momentarily suppressed by the sheer terror and the brute instinct of the Blood Frenzy, returned with a vengeance. It was no longer a distant whisper but a roaring, all-consuming fire that raged through every vein, every nerve ending. His fangs ached, a constant, sharp pressure against his tongue.
His crimson eyes, though no longer glowing with the intensity of the frenzy, still burned with an unnatural light. He could feel it, the subtle shift in his vision, allowing him to perceive the faintest currents of air, the minute vibrations of distant footsteps, the very beat of hearts miles away. This was his new reality, a hyper-awareness that was as much a curse as it was a gift, amplifying his desperate need.
He stumbled backwards, sliding down the wet brick wall until he was slumped on the ground, head bowed. The world spun. He was dying. Or rather, he was starving.
[Critical Warning: Blood Point Reserves at 105 / 150. Sustenance quality was low. Host System Functionality Severely Impaired. Blood Frenzy Imminent.]
The system notification, usually a cold, detached voice, now felt like a blaring alarm bell in his mind, reminding him of the foul, acrid taste of the Chitin-Crawler's blood. It had bought him time, but it clearly wasn't enough, or wasn't the right kind of sustenance. He was still teetering on the edge.
He forced himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. Every movement felt like wading through thick mud. His Strength and Agility stats were higher than any normal human, but without full Blood Points, they were theoretical values, dormant power he couldn't fully access. He was strong, but utterly, dangerously drained.
His eyes darted around the alley. He was a mess. His clothes were torn and stained with dungeon grime, monster ichor, and what he now knew to be his own blood from the transformation. He looked like he'd crawled out of a sewer, not an interdimensional dungeon. He needed to be inconspicuous, blend in.
A few meters away, glinting dully under a flickering streetlight, was a public clothes recycling bin. A faint hope sparked. If he could find something, anything, less conspicuous.
He stumbled towards it, his hands fumbling with the heavy lid. Inside, it smelled of stale fabric and dampness. He rummaged frantically, pulling out various discarded garments. A torn jacket, an oversized hoodie, a pair of dark, loose-fitting trousers. Not exactly high fashion, but it was dark, baggy, and most importantly, clean. He shed his ruined clothes, the chill air raising goosebumps on his pale, now subtly toned skin. He quickly pulled on the new garments. The hoodie was too big, its hood deep and shadowing, almost cloak-like, the trousers wide enough to hide the subtle elongation of his limbs.
As he pulled the hoodie over his head, his hand brushed against a small, hard object on the back of his shoulder blade. It felt unnatural, embedded beneath his skin. A prickle of unease, then dawning horror, washed over him. He twisted his arm, his newly flexible body allowing him to reach the spot. His sensitive fingers closed around something tiny, metallic, like a grain of rice, but with a sharp edge. He pinched it hard, pulling it out with a sickening pop.
It was a chip. A tiny, almost invisible chip, designed to meld with the skin.
[Object Identified: Subdermal Tracking Implant (Low-Frequency).][Status: Deactivated.]
His blood ran cold, briefly eclipsing even the hunger. They had bugged him. From the very beginning. From the moment Lina's black car picked him up, or perhaps even before, they had intended to keep tabs on him. He hadn't been a scout; he'd been a tagged specimen, a disposable data point. The bitterness of this betrayal, piled on top of the trauma of the dungeon, flared into a cold fury. They weren't just callous; they were insidious.
The revelation solidified his defiance. Gamma 7? To willingly walk back into the hands of these manipulators, to be a controlled variable in their twisted experiments? Never. He crushed the tiny chip between his enhanced fingers, its metal casing crumbling to dust. They would track him no longer.
He had bought himself clothes, and a precious moment of clarity. But the hunger remained. It was a screaming void, threatening to pull him under. His eyes darted around the alley. Empty. Thank God. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, to see the burning red in his pupils, to feel the predatory aura that he knew must be radiating from him. He had to find shelter. And he had to find a source of blood. Quickly.
His gaze fell upon an overflowing dumpster nearby. The smell of rotting food, stale synth-coffee, and something vaguely meaty hit his senses with nauseating clarity. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, but a desperate thought sparked. Meat. It wasn't blood, not direct, fresh blood, but perhaps... a temporary measure?
He stumbled towards the dumpster, his body swaying with weakness. His enhanced nose twitched, picking up a faint, metallic scent from within. He peered into the refuse. Tucked away amongst discarded food containers and plastic bags, he saw a dark, damp bundle. He reached in, his fingers brushing against something soft and surprisingly cold. He pulled it out.
It was a discarded butcher's package, leaked onto newspaper, containing what looked like raw chicken. Disgust warred with the primal, screaming hunger. It wasn't warm, vital blood, but it was animal. It was flesh.
He tore into it, heedless of the grit and the stench, his fangs tearing at the cold meat. It was bland, unsatisfying, utterly without the rich, sweet tang his body craved, but he felt a faint, almost imperceptible whisper of energy flow into him. It was nowhere near enough to sate him, but it was something. A tiny, pathetic supplement.
[Blood Points Replenished: 5 (from Low Quality Animal Flesh).][Warning: Sustenance quality extremely low. Inefficient. Negative effects likely with prolonged consumption.][Blood Frenzy partially suppressed. Danger of relapse: Still Extremely High.]
Blake gagged, spitting out a piece of gristle. It tasted foul. But the system had confirmed it: it provided something. Just not nearly enough. He had bought himself minutes, maybe an hour at best, before the full frenzy returned.
He needed to get off the streets. Sunlight. He remembered the weakness. Even in this dreary, drizzling Neo-Tokyo night, the thought of dawn filled him with dread. He had to find somewhere to hide, somewhere safe until he could figure out what to do. And now, he had to do it while evading anyone Lina might send.
He stumbled out of the alley, onto a slightly wider street. Dim neon signs flickered, casting long, distorted shadows. The street was quiet, mostly deserted at this late hour. His new Perception picked up faint, rhythmic vibrations from a block away: footsteps. A human. Heading this way.
Panic flared. His eyes still burned red. His new features, though subtle, would be obvious if anyone got a good look at him under a direct light. He instinctively ducked behind a parked cyber-van, his heart hammering in his chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed the thrumming hunger.
The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by the muffled sound of a comm-unit conversation. A young man, probably in his early twenties, walked past, engrossed in his call, his data-pack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Blake felt his senses lock onto him, the warmth of his blood, the rhythm of his breathing, the faint, vital scent of him. The hunger surged, a powerful, almost unbearable force, threatening to drag him from his hiding spot.
[Warning: Blood Point Depletion accelerating.]
He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, drawing a tiny amount of his own metallic blood. The familiar taste, his own, was a bitter reminder of the monster lurking within. He fought it. He had to. He couldn't be like them, the beasts in the dungeon. He wouldn't be.
The young man walked past, oblivious, his voice fading with each step. Blake sagged against the cyber-van, gasping, shaking. He had resisted. But the cost was immense.
He needed a plan. He was a vampire, in Neo-Tokyo, with almost no Blood Points, no money, no home, and now, he knew, a target. His communication crystal, now stripped of its purpose with the tracking bug gone and his defiance set, felt inert. He clutched the white dragon crystal. It felt cold now, a silent, cursed prize.
He looked around the deserted street. His old life was gone. His normal human existence, the pathetic 'broke talentless bum' routine, that was a luxury he could no longer afford. He was a creature of the night, driven by a primal need, hunted by unseen forces, and now, actively evading his captors. The rain picked up, cold and persistent, mirroring the grim reality that settled over him. He had to find a true source of sustenance, a safe haven, and quickly, before dawn broke, or before the beast inside consumed him entirely.
He stumbled away from the main street, deeper into the maze of alleys, his heightened Perception picking out faint structural weaknesses, abandoned fire escapes, and dark, unlit crevices. He spotted a derelict multistory parking garage, its lower levels a cavern of shadow. Perfect. He slipped inside, the darkness welcoming, its stale air a temporary comfort. He descended into the deepest, most shadowed corner he could find, collapsing onto the cold concrete. Exhausted, still deeply hungry, but for now, hidden. He could only hope this fragile peace would last until he could think, until he could plan. The night was long, and the hunt for him had already begun.