just as quiet when you leave [jae]

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

We like the quiet.

The evening, the sounds of the wilderness and other beings on the hunt. We revel in those moments, especially when we, ourselves, are hunters. Our current experiments don't allow for the same satisfactions that killing does, because we must keep those victims alive. Such a shame, to watch our prized captures be left behind in some random location within the town, just because they are too important to be missed for longer than we are allowed to keep them. However, we suppose it is better now since we cannot feel shame or delight any longer. We cannot even enjoy our kills the way we used to, because even though immortality has been a gift, it has also cursed us to wander without joy, without satisfaction like we used to know when our blades and scalpels ripped into flesh and took breath from the lungs of our victims. Each one was a treasure, and now we see them as a compulsion, something we have to do in order to keep lock-step with the same routine, day after day after day. In some ways, even this, the thing we have enjoyed and loved most in the world has become a chore. So, tonight – we hunt. Another night, another pattern, another victim.

The Old Town has seen better days, and we know this because we have been here in Manuka for some time. Since our Daphne was young, a mere toddler running around in green grasses and enjoying life. Before they hollowed out that joy and spirit just like immortality did to us. If only her father hadn't already died, we might have enough feeling left to turn our blade on him and punish him for making our little treasure different, an outcast. Although, there is part of us that wants to be glad that she is an outcast, because perhaps that will make her understand us for a few moments before we take her life. First, we will study her secrets, use that faerie magic that runs deep within her veins to cure us, and then we will complete the cycle and be free. A little blood, and she will be no more, but we will be restored to the monster that we used to be. Before all changed, and we were slaves to our compulsions. We don't want to be slaves any longer – freedom, that will be our greatest victory. She will show us the way.

Tonight, we look to the streets of the Old Town and know that a victim will come upon us, someone who doesn't expect to be captured and parted from their life too soon. Carefully, we touch the vial of chloroform in our hands and stuff the dirty cloth in one of our hands, waiting for the perfect moment. Our ears carefully hear a sound, it sounds like whistling, and then we see a boy. Oh, innocent little creature, wandering through the darkness. What has brought you so far from home and so close to your demise? After waiting behind the corner of a building for a moment, out of sight, we look down the streets, making sure that nobody else can see us. Even the streetlights are dim, like they want to help us stay within the shadows. And then, with the silence we've perfected over a number of years, we pour some of the chemical onto our rag and strike, hands going over the boy's mouth before he can even scream, and then he is limp in our arms. We drag him into the alley, into our vehicle, and then head toward home.

This one... this one will die tonight.

OUTFIT:

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[JAE SUN CHOI]

jae thought he was getting used to the nightmares, but they just kept on getting worse. he thought he could at least ignore them and manage to just go back to bed, but that never was the case. he saw his sister wherever he turned; if he didn't see her, he saw the man that attacked him the night jae met moka. he still owed the other male a few debts; saving his life, for one, and being so nice when jae was walking around in the middle of the night. it was so much more than he could have ever asked for, the human had no idea of how he would ever repay the man. he thought about cooking for moka sometime, deciding he would do it in the morning. maybe it would help jae get his mind off things, at least.

pulling his jacket tighter around his body, jae wandered the streets. he didn't care about where he was or where he ended up; he always somehow managed to make it home. that, or moka swept in to save the day. the male smiled to himself at the thought of moka stepping in to once again save jae sun from something that could potentially harm him. he kind of wanted to give moka a call - tell him where he was, ask about why he was always such a hero and worrying about jae - but as he poked his phone, he realized it was dead. jae sighed and shoved the cell phone back in his pocket. he could call moka later if the other got worried.

to be honest, jae was never one to be cautious about what was going on around him. sure, he was always taught not to talk to strangers or leave his stuff laying around, but he never really thought that something truly bad would happen to him. sure, he was already attacked once, but jae figured that the world would leave him alone after that . . . at least for a little bit. well, he couldn't really be more wrong, now, could he? oblivious jae just walked through the streets, not even batting an eyelash as he made his way into an alley. sure, it seemed a little suspicious, but he wasn't expecting anything. no, he wasn't expecting anything at all.

not liking the silence, jae took to whistling various theme songs for tv shows that his family had on. svu, ncis, doctor who, game of thrones - he just started whistling them. he didn't think that this drew attention to him or that anyone would give two shits if he was whistling; he just wanted the silence to be gone. well, maybe if he had dealt with the silence he would have heard the person near him, putting chloroform onto a rag and ready to attack. he didn't realize he was even being attacked until the cloth was against him and he'd already taken in a deep breath, feeling dizzy. jae tried to struggle and shout, but the struggling looked more like a wiggle, and his scream came out as nothing more than a groan. then there was nothing.

outfit

[VINCENT HUGH JACKS]

The ride back to our cabin was short, but it always was. The climax of a proper hunt that actually had a chance to peak with a kill was... priceless, even to us, with the emptiness deep inside. Even though we were clever enough to know that killing the boy who was unconscious in our trunk wouldn't change anything, it would be enough to temporarily satisfy the compulsion that had been burning bright like an imploding star within us, before turning back into the void we knew so well. Experiments could only do so much, and while we had been accomplishing much in the way of our research, we could never stray far from the knowledge of exactly who and what we are. Shadow. Monster. Killer. Apex predator, we are the top of the food chain, and while our crossing the path of a nervous young man wasn't something we planned – and usually, we are so meticulous – it was enough. Surely, there will be people to miss him, but they won't find a thing. Not a trace of forensic evidence, nothing to link his passing to us; a gap in the chain, and nobody will ever know. Nobody but us.

After we get to our cabin, we double and triple check the woods, knowing that for such a small victim, the chloroform along with the other special chemical we placed on the rag will keep him unconscious and pliable for a few more hours before he wakes from his slumber. There is nobody – animal, vegetable, or mineral to see us carry his body from the trunk, but still we act quickly, removing him from our vehicle, and taking the blanket that we lined our trunk with to wrap him, a swaddle technique, as he is thrown over our shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried like a babe all the way to our special holding room in the basement. Soundproof. Windowless. Underground. This was the room we started with before we built our home atop it all, because we never liked to stray far from either victim or experiment. Sometimes, we keep them for a while, as house guests, before we send them on their way, or further on their way to a land of eternal slumber.

We remove the boy's jacket, shoes, and shirt, then fix him to our operating table with metal bindings around his ankles and wrists, special devices that we've made just in case the victim gets irritable or squirms during the surgery. See, there are little holes in each one that line up perfectly with the bones of the wrists and ankles, and with one proper thrust of a needle, we can penetrate through the hole in each cuff until we hit marrow. Such lovely screams then. We doubt we'll have any trouble with this one, no... no, this one will behave. More afraid than the type to beg for his life, but there are no certainties until he wakes up. We change, throwing on our work clothes – surgical mask, apron, gloves, and a head lamp, and set up our tools on a nearby table. An IV bag with special medicine that will cause him to hallucinate is administered, needle piercing flesh as the green-blue liquid starts to trickle down, down the tube and into his bloodstream. Then, we hear the sound of quickening breath. There is a slight twitch of a foot at the end of the table, and then we reach for our clipboard. Meticulous note-taking is an important part of any patient protocol.

”We are happy to see you awake. What is your name?” Our voice is soft, but still stern – like we used with our patients when we were actually a doctor. He may not answer, but we will get our answers, one way or another.

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