You pounce on the throat of the younger officer while his back is turned. You have the advantage for the moment — time to use it.

In the split-second it takes for the younger officer to veer in your direction, your bloodless body starts to undergo a transformation.

Your facial muscles stretch and distend themselves to accommodate the changes to your pronounced Slavic jawline. Your already well-defined canines elongate and the bones of your jaw contort and expand. Your sight improves as you see distinct heat signatures within each living thing in the alley. Other senses have improved equally. The rat treading lightly behind the garbage piles doesn't escape your piercing gaze and hound-like scent.

The resulting grimace plastered across your distorted face is unpleasant to behold, but it does the job.

The elder officer offers up an extremely unmanly shriek — that's embarassing, you think to yourself — as you lunge directly for the larger man's throat. Your superhuman strength comes in handy in outmuscling the young officer. As your jaws clamp down and rip out the vast majority of his carotid, he crumples to the ground. It has to be done right, you consider. One extra second and he would have turned... which would have been highly inconvenient for you. Explaining a new nightwalker to the Triumvirate would be problematic.

Unavoidably, the senior policeman fires three quick rounds to your chest. Taking a couple of unintended steps in reverse as the momentum of the bullets propels you backwards, the piercing pain of the triple impact hits you all at once. You wince and grit your teeth to bear it — this is nothing new.

Stabilizing yourself, you stare unerringly at the remaining cop, a haunted look in your eye.

"I'm sorry, but you didn't really leave me much choice here."

The End

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