(Chase) Track Star

A vampire was running through the barren streets of a sleeping city, only barely visible in the spaces between the shadows of the towering buildings, when the moonlight shone on her pale hair.

And because the vampire was running, so was he.

She was supposed to be a recently-turned, low level vampire. It should have taken him half an hour, tops. But she had run, and she was fast. Chase had considered trying to shoot her down, but hitting a moving target was hard, and hitting a moving target while moving yourself was even harder.

Despite his earlier mishaps and blunders, luck had apparently not abandoned him completely, since he had worked here before, and knew that if the vampire kept on track, it would hit a dead end and let him finish this without making it a multi-day mission.

The vampire turned at the end of the street, managing to run a couple dozen more meters before realizing her mistake. Turning, she tried to bolt, which, if luck has been even more generous, would have had her stuck on the end of his blade, but she skidded to a halt before the kebabed herself. While her reaction speed was certainly an inconvenience, life was rarely that easy, so, pistol already in hand, Chase lit up the alley with two quick shots, one hitting her lower torso and the other striking her hip. Being a vampire, it didn't kill her, but it would slow her down enough for him to kill her. Blade already in hand, Chase took her surprise as a chance to attack.

Vampires died based on the amount of damage they were dealt, not where it was dealt. Because of that, things like bullet wounds, while easier to deal, were less effective than wounds made by more manual weapons, like blades. Every Hunter had a blade, no matter how well trained they were with it.

Chase, who had been trained primarily by his father, used a short sword. It was with his sword that he fought now, swiping it across her chest. He flipped his blade, dealing a second blow, but hit nothing at all. He drew back, raising his sword, only to bump into something behind him.

"Shit!" He swore under his breath, realizing his mistake. Vampires, much like humans, sometimes possessed unique traits, allowing them to do things not normally possible. Being newly turned, the traits of this vampire had yet to be discovered. Based on what he'd just seen, it was probably some sort of movement ability.

Pain filled his body as a clawed hand raked brown his back. Swinging blindly, Chase only managing to connect out of pure luck. It was an opportunity, though, and he wasn't going to let it go. He knew that if he returned empty handed, he would be all but disowned, and his position in the Hunters organization was ridding on the results of this mission.

With a pain-filled hiss, the vampire leapt away from him, and made a run for the street. The moon now at his back, he could see her clearly now, and struck one more time, right across the back of her neck. The force of swing and the weight of his blade carried his sword cleanly through muscle and bone, severing her head from her body.

Even before her body began to collapse, he knew it would be enough. Based on her strength and regeneration speed, she wasn't highly infected, and didn't have enough Vampire cells to regenerate her head before the rest of her body died.

Collapsing onto the ground, Chase carefully leaned his uninjured shoulder against the wall of the alley, careful not to touch his blooded back to the cold stone. As good as it would feel, he highly doubted it was sterile, and didn't need an infection taking him off duty for a month.

Sighing, he allowed himself to rest for a minute before standing once more and heading back down the street.

"It just had to be a track star, huh?" He thought. He didn't usually mind walking. He needed to be in good shape for his job, and generally, he wasn't injured. But now that he wasn't fighting, his back really hurt and his tiredness began to set in. That was another downside of fighting vampires. Their sleep schedule never aligned with his.

Though it felt like twenty minutes, it was probably only ten before he reached his car. Opening the trunk, he pulled out a trash bag and pulled it over the back of the seat. Theoretically speaking, he could bandage himself up before returning to base, but the scratches weren't that deep and he had only ever used bandages on the test dummy to prove he wouldn't let himself die in an emergency during the licensing test. In reality, he had little to no confidence in his first aid skills whatsoever.

By another stroke of luck, Chase didn't run into any other cars as he drove back to Headquarters, because he knew he had drifted between lanes at least twice. His exhaustion paired with the blood loss made him a noticeably bad driver, and had the drive been any longer or there had been any more of a chance he would meet someone else on the road he would have just called someone to pick him up.

Thea was waiting for him at the door when he got back. As usual, she looked stunningly beautiful and mildly peeved, which only worsened when she noticed the blood on his shirt.

She said nothing as she approached him, only grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around so that she had a clear view of his back.

"You didn't even try to disinfect this, did you?" She asked.

"Ah…" He waited for a second, his head spinning from the turn before he finally managed to reply.

"I tried not to infect it," he tried. He couldn't argue that he'd skipped first aid, but he knew she wouldn't like his answer if that was all he said.

"Chase!" She lightly slapped his good shoulder, grabbing it to steer him towards the infirmary. "Even an idiot could splash some disinfectant on themselves." She paused. "I'm not going to have to clean your car tomorrow, am I?"

"Trash bag," Chase said.

"Prat," Thea said.