Dmitri rubbed his penny until it shone before popping it in his mouth. He had heard that the taste was supposed to be reminiscent of blood, but it felt like a feeble kind of "supposed to", invented as a desperate means of coping with starvation.

And yet, Dmitri still found himself sucking on the penny, pushing it between his fangs and around his mouth with his tongue. What else was there to do, after all?

No work again this week, not at the loading bays, the factory, or even Sal's Diner. Sal was a sympathetic, but she only had so much work for vamps - had to spread it around. Dmitri had already had a turn this month. But no work meant no food, which meant weak limbs and sick head... both of which would only make it harder to get any work next week.

The bitter taste of the penny suddenly made Dmitri's stomach churn. He spat it into his hand and clenched his fist over that one pitiful piece of outdated, offgrid currency.

He saw sudden movement at the entrance of his narrow alley and turned quickly. There was a man standing there, watching him. Dmitri half-rose, tensed to run, even as he made his assessment.

At first glance, actually, the newcomer didn't seem to fit in down here at all. His outfit looked stylish, clean, well-tended... not the sort of stuff you saw in the factory district. Hair... a bit long, a bit unkempt, but not excessively so. As far as Dmitri's past experiences and instincts could say, this man was not likely a threat, though why a human who looked off-grid middle-class or on-grid lower-class would be wandering into known vampire slums was a mystery. That alone made Dmitri wary.

His apprehension grew as the man advanced into his alley, tugging the neck of his jacket to one side.

"Bite me."

Dmitri felt his feeble confidence in his own safety crumble. He shifted backwards slightly, trying to think of a way to respond to this clearly unstable human in a way that wouldn't seem insolent.

"Go on, drink my blood," the man insisted, coming even closer. "You're starving, aren't you? Don't worry, I've already run tests to make sure it's clean."

"I... I'm sorry, we can't bite," Dmitri stammered, wondering how this person could be so knowledgeably ignorant that he knew to check for blood pollutants, but not that most vampires would never dare bite a human. "It'd only make trouble. There are plenty of donor hospitals--"

"Drink my blood, curse it!" the man snapped, and Dmitri prepared to make a run for it. As quickly as he had snapped, though, the human relaxed again, and a spark of understanding flickered in his eyes. "No, I get it. The vampire-haters would see any bite as an excuse to attack you all, right?"

Dmitri nodded quickly, relieved. "As... much as I appreciate the offer," he said carefully, "it really in't a good idea for either of us. Bitin' can cause real damage to a person, get infected... cause all manner of trouble. And for my side... if word got out I was bitin' people, even other vampires would avoid helping me. 'Least, the law-abiding ones. And I'm not a ganger."

The human nodded in agreement. "Right, of course. What was I thinking? I didn't come to cause trouble." As he spoke, he reached into one pocket. Dmitri was so relieved that biting was out of the question now that he almost missed the flash of light glinting off the opening flip-blade. Almost.

Even while Dmitri was trying to process what was going on, the human calmly pushed up his jacket sleeve and slit his own wrist.

"Go on," he said, his voice strained but somehow eerily cheerful. "No danger now." He held out his arm, and Dmitri stared in rapt horror as blood began dripping, flowing, to the ground.

A moment later, though, the reality of what had happened hit him, and Dmitri bolted.

This man's crazy! And Dmitri wanted nothing to do with him.

Drew watched the vampire run, the rejection like a knife twisted in his heart.

"I'm trying to help!" he screamed, but there was no turning back, no hesitation. Once again, it was an utter refusal, with no hint of regret.

Blood dripped to the dirty ground. Drew didn't even register the pain of the cut.

He stumbled back a step to steady himself against the closest building. Now what? he asked himself, dismayed. Even the lowest of the low... the people most in need... even they didn't want his help.

No one wants my help, came the cruel little thought. Drew let out a shaky sob. I'm no longer making a difference.

The next thing he knew, Drew was sitting, leaning, against the building. He glanced down at his throbbing wrist and found a torn piece of his jacket wrapped crudely around it to try and staunch the flow of blood. It was already dyed red, and blood was still dripping.

"Another blackout," Drew muttered to himself, dully tearing off more cloth. It was far harder then he thought it would be.

They were becoming more frequent, and he was becoming more aware of them. It was possible they had been around during even his hospital days, but he had never noticed them before. Now, however, it was impossible to miss. What baffled him was how active he still seemed to be, and how much more driven. If his blackout hadn't gone to the trouble to amateurishly wrap up that wrist, at least trying to save himself, Drew suspected he would have just let it be.

If he died, he died. It wasn't as if this world had any use for him anymore.

He leaned back against the wall, and let darkness take over.