You see his type all the time on the streets, especially since the recession hit. His clothes are dirty and ripped in places, his hair wild and desperately in need of a trim, his eyes darting and wide from insomnia. He is gaunt, perhaps dangerously so, and pale as a sheet. He can be seen talking, even when no one else is there to listen.

But there is something about him that makes even other beggars and madmen take pause. Wherever he walks, a cold breeze seems to pick up, and even indoors the temperature seems to drop a couple of degrees when he comes nearby. There's also something in his eyes, something unusually fierce, that struggles to come to the surface, like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. Those who know the signs might recognize him as a vampire, but even that does not explain how this man fell so far.