The biting Colorado wind whipped around Jo McReynolds as she cut the engine of her motorcycle, the old gas station looming like a forgotten relic. Rust chewed at the pumps, and trash spilled from overflowing bins. Inside, lights flickered weakly, battling the distant lightning that illuminated the cracked asphalt. She swung her leg over the seat, the familiar weight of her modified Glock a comfort against her back.

Her boots crunched over broken glass, each step a testament to the decay around her. She needed silence, but a churning in her gut warned her: phantoms were inside, more than one. This wouldn't be easy. She'd have to be quick, get rid of them, and vanish before the authorities showed up. Vampire hunting was illegal, and the last thing Jo needed was another stint in jail.

“Where are you?” Her brother’s voice, a faint echo in her mind, cut through the night. Jo rolled her eyes. The IAC, a relic from before the Revelation, was barely functional now, but Cadon still managed to annoy her from states away.

“I’m at home, nuking a Hot Pocket,” she lied, already drawing her weapon as movement flickered behind the dirt-streaked glass. She raised a black boot, kicked through the door, and flung herself into the convenience store, the Glock's soft blue glow illuminating the shadowy interior. Vampires.