It was cold, but Yūrei felt no chill. It was dark, but Yūrei felt no fear. Not tonight. There were days that Yūrei felt fear. The days where she fled cities, forced out by rising suspicion from its populace. When citizens began to turn up dead in unusual numbers, in unusually brutal manners, the first place fingers tended to point were foreigners. And Yūrei had been a foreigner for the past two hundred years. She had fled too many cities in self preservation to count. But tonight, Yūrei wasn't the one fleeing. She wasn't the prey. No, tonight Yūrei was the predator.
Slinking down the alley, keeping her eyes on the prize, Yūrei followed the drunk discreetly farther into the bowels of the city. She'd spotted him leaving a bar several blocks back. He'd stumbled, and yelled at the bartender before storming off towards the city's warehouse district. He was ripe for the pickings. Drunk enough to make things quick, but coherent enough to put up a bit of a fight. Just the way Yūrei liked it. She always liked it when her meals were well marinated, and a whiskey soaked dinner was always her favorite.
The man paused to steady himself on a wall some hundred yards ahead and Yūrei stopped in the shadows. He was drunk enough to not notice her presence, but Yūrei was practiced enough to know how much distance to keep to make sure she wouldn't be observed before the right time. After a few moments, the man continued on with a liquored swagger. The way he was headed, it would only be another block or two before he was far enough into the quiet, and abandoned, district for her to make her move. For now, she would follow him through the alleys in silence. But soon, it would be her moment to strike.