our bad-to-the-bone monster killing cop protagonist enters an abandoned warehouse, posing as the base of operations where we suspect to find the vampirian culprits. this is our only lead. sparks shoot out of the ceiling and rusted pipes constrict the decrepit hallways. we come out into a doctor’s laboratory of sorts. dismembered human body parts, covered in blood might i add, wrap the floor and distract from the problem at hand. our flashlight blinks as it pans over to an operating table. there’s a tarp forming a body-like shape. a limp pair of feet emerge from this tarp. Mr. hero, who we would assume to be distraught after having seen the horrors presented before us, defiantly calls out.

“I guess that’s what happens when you don’t pay your insurance.”