The punch lost its flavor almost immediately. Everything lost flavor. Color. Everything is muffled now. Scent and sound is all that's left - the odor of bodies, the pounding of blood. He's hungry, but none of this food serves.

His eyes are glassy as he scans the room, dragging himself slowly, shamblingly along. His body is delicate, barely holding its dead self together, but he is determined. He has to feed.

Something snaps at his attention.

The girl who has vanished into the air was familiar, as is the man left behind, or is it a man, it smells right, but it's not - there is something else there.

Something tugs at him. More powerfully than the tug of Hunger.

He moves toward it, saying nothing (the dead do not remember speech), breathing slow.