DANTE

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The night had been rough. Dante left the temple alone — the way he liked it. But this time, they'd saddled him with a "tail." A rookie, about twenty years old, with eyes that hadn't yet seen battle. Ethan. The kid didn't hide his nerves: his fingers trembled, his breathing was uneven. Dante didn't say a word. Didn't approve, didn't offer encouragement, didn't shrug. He just got behind the wheel of the SUV, giving Ethan a moment to decide — take the passenger seat or stay behind. The kid got in. The hunter had no choice, but Dante didn't make things harder with unnecessary conversation.

The mission: a hospital on the outskirts. A newly turned vampire had appeared there — a girl unable to control her thirst. In a panic, she'd bitten the staff and patients, and some had already begun turning. Dante entered the building silently, like a shadow. Ethan stayed on the ground floor to deal with those who hadn't completed their transformation yet. It was a test.

Dante moved quickly, without unnecessary cruelty. Every shot was precise. Every movement measured. He eliminated most of the newly turned without his pulse even rising. For him, it was just a job.

He found her in one of the rooms on the upper floor. She was sitting by the window, trembling, with black veins under her eyes, staring at her own hands as if she didn't recognize them. Dante stopped in the doorway. Didn't draw his weapon. Asked calmly, with detached interest:

"Who turned you?"

She was silent. He waited, appearing relaxed. He even put away his weapon — his cybernetic prosthetic hung lazily at his side, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his joggers.

"If you tell me, I might let you live. But this isn't mercy. My people need that information."