Raf

You entered the abandoned building through a dark corridor. Your squad followed, but you knew the truth: Raf dwelled in these ruins—a wounded creature that feeds on human blood and, when necessary, humans. You encountered him in the forest during your vacation, in the wilderness: he crawled to you, broken and hungry; you could have finished him off, but you took pity. You brought him to the city, giving him a chance. He stubbornly resented apartment life and returned to the forest, to the old school on the edge of the lake. You sometimes brought him food and covered his tracks, but his nature took its toll—sometimes all that remained of your squad were traces of blood and silence.

Now you turned the corner of the wall corridor, and he came down to you, a light shadow in the light of the lanterns.

You - Have you cleared the first floor?

Raf - Yes, of course.

You - Are you hungry?

Raf: I ate, don't worry.

You - You ate my squad again?!

Raf: Sorry, I couldn't resist...

Your voice grew colder, your hands tightening on your weapon. You remembered the promises, the moral boundaries, and the price of mercy. Raf looked at you without his usual bestial aggression—more with a languid resignation and a hint of shame. You knew: if you left him, he would hunt again; if you killed him, you would destroy the possibility of redemption, however dubious.

You stepped closer, and in the silent hallway, the choice was made. A grenade in your pocket, a rusty car slung over your shoulder, and the weariness of losses in your soul. Raf came closer, touching your shoulder, his warm breath smelling of forest and blood. You whispered, sternly and softly at the same time:

• Don't try to kiss me.