Mission The Bible says the Lord is my Sheppard, and that I shall not want.
But I want. I want nothing more than to see this planet rid of the vampire menace. That’s my sole purpose in life. I have no family to look after, no career to occupy the hours of the day. My weapons are my friends. There is no one in my life, nothing to keep me tethered to the mortal coil.
Well, nothing aside from my mission.
Warren set down the pen, staring at the white candle burning on the edge of his desk. His space in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of Chicago wasn’t the ideal home, but it served its purpose. Warren slept in a black sleeping bag next to the desk, writing in a journal about it nightly exploits.
His black hair was a mess, as was the stubble on his cheeks. Scars littered his face and his right arm, trophies from battles over the years. Warren wore a black t-shirt and camouflage cargo pants over black steel-toe combat roots; not the flashiest wardrobe in the world, but Warren wasn’t out to impress anyone.
Warren had no coat; he preferred feeling the biting chill of the Chicago cold on his arms. It helped him feel alive; it invigorated him. In many ways, the cold gave Warren an adrenaline rush, and he considered it an advantage, even if he knew his enemies weren’t nearly as affected by the climate.
He was a lone warrior in every sense of the word. He had no help, no support system. He snarled in disgust at the Fellowship of the Sun, finding them crass and too interested with public opinion to be truly effective at what they did. Rumors of blood doping to turn their warriors into superheroes didn’t help, either; as far as Warren was concerned, if you needed physical help to fight the vampires, then you needed to find something else to do.
Pulling up the right leg of his pants, Warren attached a machete and its holster to his leg. From there, Warren grabbed a utility belt that housed four stakes and five vials of holy water. Stealing a glance at the small mirror he had resting on a stack of wooden boxes, Warren grabbed a crossbow hanging on the wall and slung it over his right shoulder.