Christian Awakens

         The first thing that hit him was the cold. The bitter, biting cold. He looked to the skies for comfort, seeking some sort of familiarity as he brushed a few loose strands of dirt-matted blonde hair from his face. No stars shone above, hidden behind a thick layer of black cloud. And yet, the night was not dark. Strange poles held balls of light while the tall bricks of grey stone shone with yellow rays through square holes.
          How long had he slept? Christian did not know. He could not know. Why had he slept, burrowed deep beneath the ground? Another question he could not answer. Was his name even Christian? He did not know, but the name felt right. He couldn't be sure it was his name, but it was as good a name for him to refer to himself as any other.
          The only thing he did know was why he had awakened. Hunger. The simplest of feelings, the basest of reasons. Christian hadn't felt in hunger in... in... how long? The questions were starting to hurt his head. Easier instead to focus on the task at hand. He needed food.
          Such a thing wouldn't be too hard to get. There was an abundance of food. He could smell it everywhere. But it wasn't quite there for the taking. There was too much here. He could feel his old instincts rising. To feed where he could be found would only bring trouble.
          Christian let his mind wander, taking his senses with it. A series of low boxes stretched out not too far to the east. He could feel there were only a few eyes there. The light was softer there, dimmer. Still that strange yellow-white, but not nearly as glaring. A suitable hunting ground.
          It didn't take Christian long to cover the distance. He moved quickly, a veritable blur to the few he sensed himself passing. Any one of them could have been prey, could have satiated the gnawing hunger. His hunter's instinct stayed his hand though. There was safer prey ahead.


          It was a quiet night. There really wasn't much for Paul to do other than occasionally venture out of the questionable comforts of the break room, shine a torch around a bit and make sure the cameras caught him checking a few locked doors. Then it was a quick dash back to his small portable radiator heater and a dash of warming amber from his flask to add a little flavour to his coffee. Not a bad way to earn a living, he mused to himself, as he sat himself in an admittedly less-than-comfortable plastic chair and swung his legs up onto the table.
          Without warning, the door slammed open. It was a stroke of luck that Paul happened to throw his cup over his head rather than simply pouring the scalding liquid within all over himself as he fell over backwards. He hit the ground hard, all his high-school wrestling muscle-memory forgotten, as he struggled to free himself from the chair and clamber onto his feet. It took what felt like an age before he was able to take in his situation.
         The man in the door was an odd figure. Pale, emaciated, wearing what looked like a tattered and dirt stained white shirt with what may or may not have been pants but now were little more than rags hanging loosely from his hips. Long, matted blonde hair framed a face.... that face! The skin pulled drum-tight over the bones beneath. It was a caricature. Perhaps with a little flesh it might be a handsome face, even noble, but as it was it resembled nothing more than a pallid mummy's visage.
          Paul took a shaky step back. In response, the other man took a step forward. Very, very slowly, Paul reached for the canister on his hip. It was only a small can of pepper spray, more suited to spicing up a below-average taco than any sort of self-defence, but if nothing else it was a comfort. Paul wasn't a small man, nor was he a man that scared easily. But staring into the piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow from the skull that masqueraded as a face, he felt fear. There was something predatory in those eyes, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It became a lot more apparent when the apparition grinned, revealing two oversized incisors.


          The man who next stepped out of the door bore only a passing resemblance to either man who had entered earlier. The clothing was that of the security guard who had darted back into the warmth and relative comfort of the small building. The blonde hair hanging limply halfway down the back of the uniform was that of the emaciated waif that had crashed through the door a few minutes afterwards.
          The face..... the face belonged to neither. It bore the haughty, arrogant features of one who was used to being obeyed and, perhaps more so, accustomed to being feared. It was the face of a self-assured predator, a fox in the henhouse safe in the knowledge that the farmer was a deep sleeper.


          Christian turned his collar up. Though he no longer felt the cold, he did feel the rough material of the collar against his neck and it annoyed him somewhat. He could also feel that the sun was still a few hours away. Time enough for him to explore this strange new world somewhat before he had to find somewhere safe.
          He turned towards the largest concentration of prey. If he was to hunt, he needed to learn. It was, he felt, the metaphorical dawn of a new era of his life. He may have slept the sleep of ages, but now Christian had awakened.