The Pleasure of The End

Prologue :

A dark shadow passed over the window, fading the remaining light into complete darkness. Without the light to see, it was nearly impossible to tell where the enemy lay; awake and waiting for a chance to strike. This could drive any one person insane, causing them to lash out at empty air or open there mouths and speak, which would give away their location. The room was square in shape with a dusty, partial-dirt flooring. The air was a haven for dust particles, causing the air to become very heavy and foggy. A gentle breeze floats into the isolated room, but quickly died out, as there was nothing to stir up.
From a corner of this room, a figure sat. This darkened shadow hugged the two walls, its' back pressed firmly against the growing cracks and peeling paint. Eyes that were colored aqua seemed to glow and hover in the pitch black. A low moan sprung up from the shadows mouth, echoing throughout the square room until fading into silence once more. Shifting positions, this shadow rested on its' side now, trying to curl up in the smallest position possible, despite all the empty space it had to stretch out. From the ceiling. One light-bulb danced and twirled with the breeze, held together by one string that looked to break any second. It flickered on.
A shout sounded from behind a wooden door. The figure, now covered with the eerie pale light, shrieked in protest. Whatever words that were formed was drowned out by loud bagging and yelling from the opposite room. Two male voices, both deep and barely audible, carried from room to room, coming into and out of focus. Other voices were heard, all screaming with protests. The males said nothing, and the clanging of metal and plastic echoed from one side of the building to another.
The door unlocked with a loud click.
Smashing against the back wall with a sharp thud, a male figure strode forward. Both arms were lined with tattoo upon tattoo, and thick muscles bulged out from even thicker shoulder muscles. The face was dark, apparently old and stressed, but still in its' prime. Veins lined around the male's neck and swirling around the forehead and ears. Sweat beads covered whatever bare skin was left. A silver earning marked on earlobe, while the other one kept free of any metal. Wearing a leather jacket filled with scratches and rips, the man almost took up whatever space was in the doorway. He looked like some pro wrestler or something. In the man's hands was a plate and in the other was a bowl.
The figure's eyes narrowed and a low, non-human growl vibrated throughout its' entire body. Not paying any attention to it, the man set the plate and bowl down on the floor and simply left, slamming the door behind him.
Hesitate at first, the figure waited for what seemed like hours until the two men finally left and the building was again quiet. The others either have grown tired or are currently eating. Eying the plate, the figure realized there was a slice of meat lay-ed out perfectly. The bowl was full of dusty water. Without another second wasted, the figure scampered forward, grabbing the meat and gulping it down in a matter of minutes. Once finished, the figure took up the plate and flung it across the room until it shattered against the door. The pieces rained down to the floor, and the echo was louder than anything the figure had heard today.
A creek caught its' attention. Turning slightly, the light blue eyes narrowed with what seemed like brief interest. The door moved half a centimeter. The man had not locked it back up on its way out.
Without hesitating, the figure moved onto all fours and launched itself at the door.