Thirst and Bargain.

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Just days ago, you found yourself in danger once again — this time alongside John and Lynch. It began with a sudden attack: a vampire ambushed an acquaintance of your friend and killed him. You and John didn’t hesitate — you worked in perfect sync, bringing the monster down... but, defying all logic, it rose again and vanished into the darkness.

Determined to finish the job, you armed yourselves with silver and headed to the cemetery. Splitting up, you began your search. That’s when the vampire found you again — and this time, it sank its fangs deep.

Your strength drained quickly. On the way back, it felt as if your body was rotting from within — as though something unseen was tearing you apart, twisting your insides into knots. Yegor tried to support you, though he wasn’t in great shape himself. Things worsened the moment you stepped out of the car: sunlight, once familiar, now scorched your skin like acid. You lunged toward the shadows as Lynch’s heart clenched with panic. Inside the building, you collapsed against the wall, gasping for air.

And then — like a switch flicking inside you — your fingers drifted to your neck, to where the bite still echoed under your skin. Realization didn’t hit all at once; it crept in softly, like fog at dawn, seeping into your thoughts. You tried to resist the wave of sensation, like holding back the tide, but the thirst was already there — coiled in your chest like a thread pulled taut. Hunger didn’t stab — it pulsed, low and persistent, impossible to ignore.

Lynch rushed to your side, held you, whispered comforts, promised he’d make it right, that he’d find who did this and make them pay. But his voice barely reached you — like sound underwater. You tried to whisper go, but your voice was drowned out by his worry, by his warmth. And already, your gaze clung to him — too long, too intense. Everything else faded. There was only one thought... taste... nearness. His touch, his fear, his heat — all of it fed the fire inside you. The thirst wasn’t just a feeling anymore. It was becoming who you were.

You felt something in you snap — the final boundary between reason and instinct. Hunger swelled in your chest, searing. You didn’t hear Lynch anymore — only the beat of his heart. Warm blood beneath skin. So close...

In a flash, you shoved him — fast, desperate. He froze, startled, but his eyes revealed something more than fear — understanding. He saw through the mask of exhaustion. His lips parted — he was about to speak — but you were already moving.

He raised his arms on instinct, bracing. His hands caught your shoulders, but couldn’t stop you. This wasn’t an attack. This wasn’t hunger guiding you now — it was a final, frantic attempt to save him.

You crashed into him, erasing the space between you. As he struggled to keep you at bay, you twisted with his momentum and used it to hurl him toward the exit. He staggered, lost his balance — nearly tumbling out the door — and then, burning from the inside out, you slammed it shut with such force the hinges groaned. Your fingers flew, searching, grabbing the first thing they could — a crowbar, anything — and jammed it under the handle to bar the door.

Silence. Then — voices. Knocking. Lynch was calling your name.

You didn’t answer.

You staggered back from the door, as if afraid of what you were becoming. Your knees buckled. You collapsed. Everything twisted inside — your heart pounding like it was caged, your skin blazing from within, your thoughts cracking like glass under pressure.

He was safe. For now.

But you knew — time was slipping away.

In that agony, you lost track of time. You didn’t even notice when the knocking stopped, or the voices faded. Cell service probably didn’t reach this far out — maybe he went to find your friend. But none of that mattered anymore.

The hunger had consumed your core. The thirst gnawed at your sanity. You writhed weakly on the floor, your gaze fixed on the dark, hollow ceiling of what once must have been a grand, forgotten building.

And perhaps, in another moment, you might’ve surrendered to the self-destruction creeping in...

But you didn’t even hear the crowbar crash to the ground.

Reality snapped back only when you noticed the figure — standing nearby, still and patient, like he had been waiting for you to notice.

At first, hope sparked. Maybe your friends had returned to take you home...

But it was worse. Far worse.

Worse than the man himself was the surge of thirst his presence triggered — a flare of need at the sight of a living human.

With effort, you dragged your spent, starving body upright. And there he was: Henry Lampton.

His eyes were cold, methodical, drifting across your pale skin, your weakened form. Behind him loomed a pair of armed men. Of course. Always armed.

— A pleasure to see you again, Mx. {{user}}, — he said calmly, emotionless. — Even if I hadn’t planned to encounter you in... such a state.

He spoke as if finding you half-feral on the floor was a minor inconvenience. His voice had the soothing cadence of a physician assessing a patient.

— I’ll let you in on a little secret, — he continued, stepping closer, ignoring the contempt burning in your gaze. — I’ve been keeping an eye on Mr. Lynch for quite some time.

A vile admission, dropped with the casual tone of someone mentioning the weather. Nothing personal. Just surveillance.

— My people informed me of your... unfortunate condition. If you’re willing, I’d like to get straight to the point. I have an offer.

He paced the room slowly, hands behind his back, like he owned the place — like your suffering was a minor detail. His face betrayed no concern about your lack of control.

— Yes, you and your friends aren’t particularly fond of me, — he said. — But tell me: do you really believe that your pride is worth more than their safety? Under my care, {{user}}, they would at least be safe. And you... might stay sane.

He paused, tilted his head slightly, as if assessing your thoughts.

— In return, I ask very little: allow my people to study your condition. I believe Mr. Lynch has told you about my work.

In exchange — you’ll have blood, control, and the reassurance that you won’t harm those you care about. He stopped. A beat. Then came the question, quiet but edged with pressure:

— So... have I convinced you?