Room 13...

How ironic...A smirk crossed his boyish face, widening the red line that was the cut scar, the only thin scar to adorne his face. It was night out, but it was obvious that this one also dwelt in the day, for his skin had healthy tone, at least his face, beyond the raised collar of the dim-grey overcoat, which seemed black almost, in the poorly lit hallway.

He remembered now, and a little laughter from a cruel, aristocratic baritone that dwelt within.

You really think to go for peace now, to simply walk away? Come now, that's just lame...Weak-ass bastard child, go and vindicate yourself!

It uttered this in the crevices of his mind like he was chiding a child, and finally, the emotionless face, bereft of eyes concealed behind a mass of long hair, allowed a sadistic, barely noticeable smile to form on his lips.

"Alright then", he whsipered... "The poor nosferatu becomes 'sanctified' tonight..."

Deep laughter, deeper then black, it echoed through the maddened young mans mind, and a vision passed through his mind, of some grim drak-lord murdering a studio full of people. All he seems to catch in his minds eye is a vision of a mass of intricate armor, and a set of deep crimson eyes, aglow with madness and power...

The vision passed, and he returned his mind's eye to the present.

"Just shut-up, and put-up", he said, again bereft of emotion. The slight smile vanished. From the seemingly endless folds of the overcoat he drew out a sawed off twelve gauge ever so slightly, raising it only to the door handle.

And with music loud and long...

He emptied a shell of it's shot, and with earsplitting fire, the door handle and surrounding wood were blown to splinters.

He kicked open the broken door, and flowed into the room like a dreamy phantom. He drew another weapon in his free hand, with seemingly no movement at all. It just rose up, unnoticeable of movement, and he soon had both weapons and both souless eyes trained on the chair in front of him, where sat a splayed out form, gutted and drained, a longly canined jaw astraught with agony past. Time sped up once more, and he approached the area where his supposed prey sat.

They neither spake, nor moved their eyes...

Daniel stopped, and the hitman known as Glade stared deadly at this dead husk that had laid up the world class assasin in a hospital for a weak.

Someone else has taken your prey...you must now switch your attention, and deal with them...

Glade gazed upon him with compassionate grey eyes, though souless and mad, and he forgave the vampire. He noted that it appeared it had been immobilized, then its heart removed by means of ripping open the chest both surgically and explosively.

Then the creature within took over, and he blew off it's head with three shots from the other weapon, the Desert Eagle...

Blood can only be cleansed by blood...

But we must cover up for both ourselves and the assasins.

He saw that in a distant ashtray remained a cigar, and on a lampstand in this seedy motel, an old oil lamp. He blasted the lamps oil vase to a shatter, and threw the cigar into it's liquids, igniting a firestorm with a 'woosh' sound.

Time to leave.

He threw a chair through the first story window, and leapt through, arms disappearing into the coat, and the weapons with them. He fell to the ground below, not too far below.

Soon enough...

[Come one and all, let's have a good story]