[color=gray][h3][sup][sup]He sighed and slammed his laptop shut a bit too hard. For just a second, he worried if he had been too forceful with it, if he might have damaged the expensive piece of technology, but his frustration was restless and it swiftly moved on to the next thing on his list. He clicked his tongue as he scanned his room, his head turning slowly but steadily like one of those older security cameras that he had seen in movies. The room was messy. Clothes were scattered around and thrown everywhere. There were countless pieces of paper with some short pieces of writing on them—mindmaps and fleeting ideas everywhere. Worse of all was the pile of cigarette stubs. They did little for him now, yet still he couldn’t stop.

“This shit ain’t like you Samuel…”
 
He snapped quietly at himself. His voice was angrier than he ever liked to come across. The frustration had taken over—another sign of his fading control. Control—that was what caused him the most frustration these nights, what caused the utter helplessness that he felt. Yes, he was officially dead. Yes, he had lost almost all his material possessions. But he would have been fine with all of that if at least he knew something of what he had been dragged into—if he had a little guidebook or some tips laid out for him on his hotel bed about what was going on. But he was clueless.

Two weeks ago, everything had been different. He had been Sam Davidsen, the kid who had sold a three year old startup to the value of several million dollars. He had gained a comfortable employment as a senior tech consultant and while the work itself had been merely tolerable, it had come with several perks. It was gainful enough that it could cover his cost of living and quite a lot more, and both influential enough that he could enjoy some control while anonymous enough to be free of that annoying spotlight. But now he, his boss, and his boss’ friend were dead, but unlike them he could not rest, instead he needed to rise every night to hunt for blood. A few times he tried to restrain himself from that hunger, to tell himself that he did not need it. After all, he had never had a voracious appetite alive. Why would it change now? 

Then, he had felt it growing. That scratching in his head had grown so [b]loud[/b]. What at first had simply told him to eat had grown frustrated. It told him to strike down anything he saw, to drop the facade, these fake niceties of civilization, and to see the world for what it was. A field full of rivers of blood from which all was free to drink from and use to slake his never ending thirst. Once, that [b]thing[/b] had taken full control from him. It had left him bloody, messy, and dazed in an alley that he did not recognise. After that, he never dared to challenge it directly again. The bloodlust had proven that it was in charge.

So he did not judge his companion’s hunger in this nightmare trip; he knew that she must feel the same as he did, having had the same experiences or maybe worse. At least, he liked to tell himself that it was sympathy. The truth was a lot more complicated. On one hand, he could feel like he was good in comparison to her. Like he still had enough self-control to keep himself just satiated, teasing the hunger -that new enemy of his- and proving he still had some control over his own body, of his own mind. On the other hand was the much simpler fact, she had a pretty face and was his only companion in this darkness. Both factors made it hard to argue with her, and the risk of a fight was one he did not wish to take.

He gazed back at the computer and again clicked his tongue in frustration at the sight of it. He pushed his mind to work as he began to slowly but steadily clean up his hotel room. He had hoped that his computer would help him; he had searched both The Grapevine and various other forums for dirt on people. He had hoped he could use it to trap someone, instead of wasting his time on the streets. In the long run, it would be easier. But there had been no bite on the line; all the traps were empty. In hindsight he knew it was a hopeless pursuit. These kinds of things took weeks or months, especially if he wanted to be discreet. But in that time, his companion would want to be out. She spoke of Mexico as some haven where all their worries would be gone, but he knew it was a fairy tale. After all, what kind of shadow government would not control Mexico? What more knowledge would they gain about their condition from them fleeing from one city to another? He folded the last piece of paper, putting it into his bag and gazed out over his room. He was a bit more satisfied with how it looked now. Nobody would have hired him as a maid for the job he’d done, but it had been enough to leave him feeling a bit better. His worries mellowed from frustration to annoyance and annoyance, he could address.

He took out his phone and messaged his companion in the room across the hall, on a line he knew was secure: “Going for a walk and maybe a drink.” He threw on a sweater and his trademark cap and set off for the nearest dispensary. He had not really felt the last joint, but surely he just needed something stronger. Surely it could still have an effect. Surely.[/sup][/sup][/h3][/color]