The moon over Salt Blake shone like a blade cutting through the sky — cold, pale, indifferent.
The rooftops still dripped from the afternoon rain, and the distant sound of sirens echoed through the empty streets.
Between the alleys, a figure ran with a torn backpack slung over her shoulder and a heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
"Out of the way!" — Kimberly shouted, shoving a man aside as she bolted across the street.
Behind her, the grocery store owner yelled, clutching an old shotgun.
"Get back here, you damn thief!"
Kim vaulted over a fence, slid across a metal rooftop, and hit the wet ground with a painful thud.
Her knees cracked; the backpack burst open, spilling apples and cookie packs across the pavement.
She scooped up what she could and kept running.
The old man's footsteps echoed somewhere behind her — but Kimberly was no ordinary girl anymore.
Her eyes glowed red. Her legs felt weightless.
The world around her slowed to a crawl, and in one blinding leap, she crossed the alley — vanishing before the old man could even raise his gun.
She laughed.
"Ha! Take that, grandpa." — she said, tossing an apple into the air and biting it mid-fall. — "Guess I should thank you for dinner, huh?"
Perched atop a wall, Kimberly looked down at the city below.
The sweetness of the fruit did little to mask the metallic taste lingering in her mouth for days.
"I can't… not again. I'm not a monster."
But deep down, she knew she was lying to herself.
Hours later
The rain returned, light and cold, just enough to wash the dried blood off the asphalt.
Kimberly walked along the dark streets, her hood covering half her face.
She was exhausted — hungry, angry at the world, at fate, and mostly… at herself.
That's when three men stepped out from a corner.
"Well, look what we got here," — one said with a crooked grin and the stench of alcohol. — "A little girl lost in the big bad city."
Kim just sidestepped and tried to walk past.
But one of them grabbed her arm.
"Let go," — she muttered, her tone cold.
"Easy, sweetheart," — the second man laughed, shoving her against the wall. — "We just wanna talk."
She stood still for a moment.
Took a slow breath.
"Talk, huh?" — she arched a brow. — "Alright. Who wants to start?"
The man reached for her again — and that was the last thing he ever did.
In a blur, Kimberly's fangs appeared.
Her eyes turned crimson, and she sank her teeth deep into his neck.
Hot, sweet blood gushed into her mouth.
The second man tried to pull her away, but she spun, kicking him so hard his neck snapped.
The third man stumbled back, horrified.
"W-what the hell are you?!" — he gasped, fumbling for a knife.
Kim tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming.
"Wrong question, buddy."
She lunged — and bit.
Silence.
Only the drip of blood echoed in the alley.
Kimberly fell to her knees, panting, her face smeared with red.
She looked at the bodies, then at her trembling hands.
"I didn't want to…" — she whispered. — "I didn't want to do this."
She turned away, vomited, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
Then came the tears — hot, angry, full of disgust and guilt.
"You're a monster, Kimberly,"
the voice in her head whispered.
"You always were."
She slammed her fists into the wall until her knuckles bled.
"Shut up!" — she screamed, staring at her reflection in a puddle. — "I'm still human… I'm still me!"
The wind blew, carrying away the scent of blood.
She picked up her torn backpack and stumbled onward, every step heavier than the last.
Later that night, Kimberly wandered through the empty industrial district of Salt Blake.
She found a run-down bar — Blood's Bar, the flickering neon sign read.
"Blood's Bar, huh?" — she muttered with a faint smirk. — "Guess fate's got a twisted sense of humor."
Beside it, a dumpster and a pile of cardboard.
She curled up there, hugging her backpack to her chest, the pendant around her neck cold against her skin.
"Just… one night…" — she murmured, closing her eyes. — "Tomorrow, I'll figure something out."
The creak of a door woke her.
A man stepped out — tall, long coat, cigarette between his lips, eyes tired and sharp.
Roshi.
He glanced toward the dumpster — and caught the glint of red eyes watching him through the dark.
"What the hell…"
Kim jumped up, ready to bolt.
"Touch me and I'll rip your throat out."
Roshi raised his hands slowly.
"Easy there, wildcat. Just takin' out the trash."
"Uh-huh. Heard that one before." — she snapped back, baring her teeth. — "Stay away."
He studied her for a moment.
The stance, the eyes… and that pendant.
Something told him this girl wasn't just another street rat.
"You're alone, aren't you?" — he asked.
Kim rolled her eyes.
"And what if I am?"
"It's cold, and you look about ready to pass out." — Roshi took a drag from his cigarette. — "Got a hot cup of coffee inside, if you want it."
She hesitated.
"You sound like a kidnapper with bad pickup lines."
Roshi chuckled, pushing the bar door open.
"Think what you want, kid. But if you change your mind, I'll be inside."
He went back in. The door shut behind him.
Kim stood there, staring at the fading trail of smoke.
She scoffed.
"Weirdo old man…"
But deep down, something in his voice — calm, steady, almost kind — made her feel… oddly safe.
She rested her head on her knees and whispered to herself:
"I don't trust anyone. Not ever again."
And as the cold wind swept through Salt Blake,
the girl running from her own nature had just crossed paths
with the first pair of eyes that would one day change everything.