[CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/JaeBQ9Q.png[/img][/CENTER][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/GQf6jfe.png[/img][/CENTER][center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center]
[center][color=#3A5F7F][b]Location:[/b][/color] [color=#56DD73]Vex’s Apartment[/color][/center] [center][color=#3A5F7F][b]Time:[/b][/color] [color=#56DD73]Dusk[/color][/center]
[center][color=#3A5F7F][b]Interactions/Mentions:[/b][/color] [color=#56DD73][@Tpartywithzombi][/color][/center]
[center][color=red][b]Trigger Warnings: Implied SA flashback[/b][/color][/center]
[center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center]

[color=#A9A9A9]Zachariah’s Warden training kicked in immediately. His eyes darted around the cramped bathroom, searching for anything resembling a weapon. The razor on the sink caught his attention, but he dismissed it just as quickly—plastic cartridge razor that could barely nick skin during a shave, let alone slit a neck. Useless.

The kitchen knives were his best option, but in his current state—trembling, disoriented, gripped by bloodlust—he doubted he’d make it there before…

Too late. The door burst open with a groaning creak. Zachariah pressed against the bathroom doorframe, fingers digging into the wood. He watched as the blonde woman sauntered in, keys clattering onto the table, cigarette dangling between her lips. Tattoos peeked from beneath her crop top, complemented by a worn leather jacket and combat boots. This was clearly the apartment’s owner. From her confident movements to the lean muscle visible along her arms; all of it told him she knew how to handle herself in a fight.

When she pushed her sunglasses up and turned, their eyes met. Yellow. Inhuman. 

[color=yellow]“Well, well, look who finally decided to wake up,”[/color] she purred, studying him with amusement.

[color=#3A5F7F]“Who—”[/color] His voice emerged as a ragged scrape, alien to his own ears. He swallowed against the burning in his throat. [color=#3A5F7F]“Who the hell are you?”[/color]

He took one unsteady step forward before forcing himself to stop. Every nerve ending screamed at him to lunge, to hunt, to feed. His disciplined mind wrestled against these new, feral impulses, refusing to surrender control.

When she called him [i]pretty boy,[/i] fragments of memory flashed through his mind—[i]hot breath whispering those same words against his neck, the smell of sweat and blood mingling, unwanted hands roaming every inch of his body.[/i] Zachariah shook his head sharply, banishing the memory to focus on the present. It’s been a while since he had one of those... 

With steely determination, he began slowly moving toward the kitchen, each step a battle between instinct and will. His eyes remained fixed on her, only flickering away momentarily to take stock of his options.

[color=yellow]“Beer?”[/color] She held the bottle out.

Zachariah’s eyes narrowed at her casual demeanor. [color=#3A5F7F]“No thanks,”[/color] he said tersely, then pressed on. [color=#3A5F7F]“Why am I here?”[/color] he asked, voice low and controlled, despite everything. His fingers flexed at his sides, fighting the tremors.

More importantly, was she the one who turned him?[/color]