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There are four archways along the side of the tunnel closest to the canal, each leading close to water down a small stairway. While most of the tunnel is well-lit by several wall-mounted lamps, these nooks are cast in shadow—the perfect place to lie in wait for your prey.

You wait for several minutes, growing anxious the more time passes. Your Hunger claws at you in anticipation of being satiated and somehow it feels even stronger than it did before you came down here. You feel relieved when you finally hear the sound of a person walking slowly through the tunnel, footfalls echoing off the concrete walls. You reach out a curled arm, fingers spread like talons, and grab your victim by the arm, pulling them into the dark with you. You're surprised when the man twists in your grip and throws you back. You teeter on the brink, almost falling into the canal as you regain your balance. You've gotten sloppy—no mortal could have done that to you if you hadn't been distracted by the strength of your bloodlust.

"Stay back!" a gruff masculine voice shouts as your intended victim steps back into the light, revealing the uniform of an active duty police officer. His hand is on his gun—still holstered, but no less a threat.

"Show yourself, hands up!"

Oh, hell.

"Don't shoot," you say, lifting your hands as you slowly emerge from the darkened archway. "I didn't mean anything by it; I thought you were my buddy, guy." You can't think of a way to sound less threatening than a blunt Canadian stereotype. Slurring your words like a drunk probably helps too. You keep your head down, hood up to disguise your Nosferatu features. Hopefully he doesn't notice until it's too late.

"Put your hands behind your back," the officer says. You can already tell that he's dismissed you through his tone. "You can't walk around in public, drunk, grabbing people. I'm taking you in—"

You lash out and grab his gun, throwing it into the water before he even knows what's happening. He fights back, and you take several punches to the gut before you manage to subdue him and drag him back into the shadows. Once your fangs prick through his skin, he finally relaxes and falls sedate into your arms.

You drink your fill, watching carefully for anyone who may have overheard the commotion. Thankfully, the tunnel is quiet, and you're able to finish your meal in peace.

You prop the officer up against the wall and scour the nearby trash cans for anything smelling of booze. You luck out and find a discarded beer bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. When you return to your dazed victim, you slosh the remainder of the container onto his uniform and leave the bottle at his feet. It's not a perfect frame, but if you're lucky, he'll only remember the last few minutes through a haze.

Your appetite largely sated for the moment, you decide to move on, always aware that there's a Hunger for more that you can never fully extinguish.

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