User:Shandon/Underworld:Evolution

After 200,000 nights, I faced the sun. Don’t let a little thing like that bother you. Sunshine to anyone is fatal in large quantities and I was no exception. It was just that, in my line of work, you didn’t leave the nightlight on.

They call me a Death Dealer, which I think is quite stupid. Like I'm high-end Las Vegas staff. The kind of person you bring in to clean up the mess when the house has been losing way too much. Sure, I played against Bond at Casino Royale. But I didn't have to beat him with cards: all I did was bare my dentes canini at him and he ran away to his car. When you've got six centuries of experience under your belt a thing like that's a breeze.

I was looking for a way to leave, and a little thing like a door wasn’t going to stand in my way. Vampires are known for subtlety not gatecrashing, but I had options available and very little time. Simple enough--I had to find Marcus and get him on my side, or die quickly. Marcus had some problems. I mean, nobody can have probocis-arms and leathery wings and still feel OK about their attractiveness. His self-image suffered. We had a conversation along an isolated eastern European highway at 4AM and it didn't go well: he made a comment about my parentage and I didn't help his skintone any with the autopistol rounds. Hadn't seen the guy in six centuries and he was still a jerk.

So there was this hybrid boy, like he ran on deionized water and magic amulet pabulum. What a kid. But he was HAWT!! I didn’t know what he was looking for, but I was a leatherette silhouette with a nice ass against the moonlight. Yeah, he snuggled up to me good. Supposedly he was half-wolf, half-vamp. Whatever. He looked like a Nazi halftrack with a square jaw and diamond eyes. What more could I want. We hung out.

I think the main issue with our relationship, in the early going, was that he forgot I was a regenerator. He'd get awfully concerned about little things like my hands being sizzed by sunshine, or a bad gash caused by a master from the occult underbelly of this world. After awhile I think he figured out it wasn't a big deal.

The token black vampire was friendly, but he wasn’t cool. All I know is that he said something nice to me, and then got shot in the shoulder by his expiring comrade and mauled by a wolfee. He wasn’t a black man…he was an Oreo cookie.

After we garborated one brother and pulled the head off the other like he was a dandelion, what was there left to do? I’ve killed in so many different ways it’s becoming repetitious. Blow fifty holes through is chest with UV bullets. Knife him through the skull. Cut a guy’s head in half with a sword. Whoop-dee-doo.

I am my own evil spirit. I am a crumbling castle like that tarot card that got hit by lightning.

I wanted evolution, like a third eye or something, and all I got was the ability to get a suntan.