Mike sat in the passenger seat of his dad's new car.  He never was a car guy, so he didn't know the make and model.  He knew it was new, the best money could buy, but he just didn't care.  He sat in that car, watching the landscape change as he drove towards his new life.  High school.  He didn't care much for high school two hundred years ago, and he doubted things had changed much.  He looked down at his arm at his cross shaped scar and grimaced.  It had been 130 years since he'd been attacked, and yet it had still not faded.  It still looked as fresh as it did the day he earned it.  Earned it...that was a gruesome thought, albeit, an accurate one.  Vampire hunting was, of course, socially acceptable in his society and it gave him plenty of time to get rid of his excess energy and it gave him somewhere to place his violent tendencies.  He flexed his muscle and made the cross distort.  How fitting, he mused to himself.<br/><br/>A distorted cross indeed.  Not because of the threat of vampiracy looming over him.  No angel on record had been converted to vampirism, yet he still felt uneasy.  He had never been harmed by a vampire before; never felt it's icy claws rake his skin.  He remembered with vivid detail how it felt to have been pinned, by a female, no less.  Helpless, he had watched the vampire lower herself closer to him.  He recalled how he had been saved, but through no fault of his own.  It was not skill of any kind that saved his ass that day, but luck.  Luck that his cross had slipped out of his tunic and grazed the vampire's skin.  The cross, which weakened the vampire enough for him to slay her.  Helplessness, he feared, would become a recurring theme now that he had been shipped off to high school under the ever watchful eye of his father.<br/><br/>So he sat.  And thought.  And sat some more; gazing out of the window at the ever changing scenery.<br/><br/>