She'd somehow managed to outrun the cops, her car now abandoned far behind. Standing before a random house, her chest heaved with adrenaline, but something about the place felt... wrong.
The house loomed eerily in the moonlight, its pristine exterior at odds with the faint sense of unease clawing at her instincts.
When flashlights tore through the darkness outside, she had no choice. Sprinting into the house, she slammed the door shut behind her, muffling the sound of pursuit.
The living room greeted her with an unsettling sight. A television blared at full volume, casting flickering light across the walls. But the room was empty.
No signs of life.
The space was immaculate. Too immaculate.
She felt the chill crawl up her spine as her eyes darted around the room. It was the kind of clean that didn't belong to the living, sterile, soulless, wrong.
"So," she called out into the silence, her voice tinged with mocking amusement, "are you gonna come out, or do you want to play hide-and-seek, boy?"
Her words echoed, unanswered at first. Then, from the kitchen, a man emerged. His trembling hands gripped a knife as his wide eyes locked onto hers.
"What...what are you?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.
She tilted her head to the side, a slow, predatory grin spreading across her face. "People sure have a lot of questions lately. But me? I prefer my humans dead."
He faltered, taking a step back. "Your...humans?" he whispered, the blade in his hand quivering.
"What's the matter, human? You've got the weapon. Come on," she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. "Fight me."
Her laugh was sharp and cruel, echoing through the too-clean house. She took a step closer, her movements deliberate and predatory.
The man looked fragile, his thinning hair and plaid pajamas doing little to hide his soft frame.
She could smell the fear radiating off him, and it fueled her amusement. "Total mommy's boy," she muttered, her lips curling into a sneer.
With a sudden scream, he charged, the knife raised high above his head. The desperation in his attack was almost laughable.
As he reached her, the knife plunged into her chest, the blade sinking deep. But she didn't flinch.
Instead, she grinned, her eyes dark with malice. Before he could process what was happening, her hand shot out, piercing his chest like butter.
His breath hitched as she held his heart in her hand, still beating, still warm.
"How fascinating," she murmured, her voice husky with delight. Slowly, she raised the pulsing organ to her lips, her tongue darting out for a taste.
The man's lifeless body crumpled to the floor, his blood pooling beneath him as she stood over him, savoring her prize.
Minutes later, she lounged on the couch, the dead man's corpse sprawled at her feet like a macabre rug. The TV blared in the background, broadcasting a local news report.
She flipped through the channels lazily, pausing only when a familiar name caught her attention.
Ken Fury.
Not the weakling she'd just dispatched. No, this was the real Ken Fury, the infamous man sent to hunt down her kind.
Her lips curled into a feral smile as she licked the blood from her fingers.
"Oh, I can't wait to feast on you, Ken," she purred, her excitement palpable.
The screen flickered as she leaned back, her laughter echoing in the otherwise silent house.