The light of the moon was like a brilliant stark white beacon above the vampire as he walked slowly along the outside of some abandoned warehouse. Spraypainted words and gangsigns decorated the concrete wall beside him, their colors muted by the omnipotent cobalt blue and white from the nighttime sky. Only when his foot cracked a bit of frost on the pavement did Mithias realize how cold it was. His own breath failed to produce that beautiful soft-floating vapor that encircled the heads of hot-blooded creatures, and thus he had not noticed. The gunsshots had died away with their echos long ago, and even the streets were silent from the hum of cars, as if sleeping themselves all around him. It was the pristine time of night, when all the world forgot it was crawling with humanity, and returned to its original state of silence and spirits, the eternity ever-waiting beneath the fleeting bustle of the daycreatures who thought they ruled. Mithias' own heart lay with this invisible omnipresence, true immortality. He enjoyed the serenity, and truly, he did not seek a cure.

What would he do if he found another vampire? Capture it? Kill it? Gain its trust? As far as Mithias believed, that esteemed scientist back at his lab complex was not to be fully trusted. Which species was more fit to survive, and could vampires even be called as such? They were parasites, a living disease. Answers came only at the price of sacrifice. 

Finding his way up to a high point, Mithias watched the silver clouds grace the moon's radiant countenance.