Music is loud. Turn down your speakers if you listen to it. 

A/N: This is the original, very rough draft of this story. Initially I hadn't posted more than five chapters of the rough draft because readers kept on telling me where I could do better, so the story just stopped. I just kept editing and editing. I'm hoping to change that, but I do want to save the more heavily edited version for Radish! Also you'll notice in this version one of the male's is named Ethan (I can't help it, I love this name), but that's something that I've changed in the edited version. Enjoy!

Things you need to know:

'Sup' is an abbreviation for supernatural being. Pronounced like 'soup'.

H.A.S.P is the organization Ginger is trying to get to notice her. It stands for Humans Against Supernatural Persons.

Pronunciations:

 'Lyssa' is Alyssa without the 'A' in the beginning.

Chapter 01:

The corner of her mouth lifted in a half smirk as her green eyes darted back and forth, swiftly examining the gothic, castle-like building with gray cracked stones covered in carefully pruned green vines. She could even see statues of gargoyles at the pointed entrance.

"Talk about a cliché," she mumbled, scuffing her dirty white sneaker against the concrete sidewalk that led to the entrance of the building. "They should just kill themselves and save me the trouble."

She said that, but it wasn't really a lot of trouble, especially when she enjoyed it like she did. Well, most of the time, she enjoyed it, or so she kept telling herself.

She was a hunter, or rather a wannabe hunter, who needed her first job to be big. Massive on the Richter scale was the only way she'd catch the attention of this hunting group she intended to join. She wanted to make a name for herself, to be a merciless killer of everything supernatural. The fact that the leader of the group was drop dead gorgeous, eye candy for any hormonal teenager, and way out of her league, only helped a little.

Of course, they had no clue she existed. They wouldn't even meet with her, which just pissed her off. It also made her more adamant about this gig.

Ginger was going to be a hunter, whether they trained her or not.

Sure, she couldn't fight and walking was a bit of a problem due to her clumsiness, but her ambition to get it done made up for that. She knew how to kill them at least, even if she did stumble on the weapon that did most of the work for her. It was due to the knowledge she obtained in killing them that she managed to make a resume at fifteen. That resume included two witches, one about to perform a dark spell, two werewolves, one in human the other in wolf form, and two vampires, one about to feed and one that already had.

The anatomy of everyone was incredibly informative, but what was most surprising was the six chambered heart of the werewolves, three atria, three ventricles. All equipped with the pulmonary veins and arteries. She concluded that the transition the werewolf underwent required more blood to travel through the body. The left lung had also been different, bigger. Instead of the normal two, it had three lobes more alveoli meant more oxygen. Werewolves also needed more oxygen. Even with the three lobes, the heart still had room, though thinking about the average build of any werewolf, it wasn't shocking. How these particular supernatural's passed for human was beyond her. The kids were doubled in size compared to normal human ones.

We humans could be rather oblivious, especially if we didn't want change.

The vampires were no surprise. Most people believe vampires are dead and don't breathe, but that's just not true. They need to breathe to continue being alive. The brain needs oxygen and healthy blood no matter how much 'magic' vamp blood had been injected into them at their time of transition. If they don't get fresh, oxygenated, human blood, then they basically choke on chunks of coagulating blood.

Another fun fact that Hollywood got wrong: If vampires are biting at the neck, they're biting the carotid artery, not the jugular vein. The pressure in the artery is higher, meaning it will gush way more than the vein. Also, arteries are more oxygenated than veins, meaning it's more fresh. So, basically, do you want the two-day-old, cold, cheeseburger or would you prefer the new, hot one?

Ginger would take the hot new cheeseburger any day too.

The fresh blood from the carotid artery replenishes the vampire and heals him. For example, the brain of the vampire that had been interrupted in his meal was telling the body he was hurt and lacking oxygen.

Loose blood clots are troublesome...even for vampires, apparently.

The vampire that had just finished eating, however, had a rich and healthy heart and wasn't suffocating. No black splotches, no blood clots, it confirmed Ginger's theory, now, if she could only capture a born vampire, but that was verging on wishful thinking.

Most born vampires were smart, genius even, because they carried information from their past lives. Unfortunately, every born vampire had Xeroderma Pigmentosum, the sun allergy, otherwise known as XP, and normally stayed underground. Of course, some young born vampire got the idea, centuries ago, that he could be in charge of the human race. That's how the whole 'vampires are allergic to sun' came about actually.

The witches were basically the same as humans. So close in fact, that Ginger had believed she'd killed two humans. That is, until the slightly pinkish, red blood started eating through the metal table, her new scalpel, and her new, hands free, retractor.

Witches, most likely due to the alchemy of the craft they performed, had acidic blood.

Ginger most definitely wasn't an expert on alchemy or witchcraft. H.A.S.P, 'Humans Against Supernatural Persons', the group she'd been desperate to join ever since she'd heard about them, had refused to give her any information on witches or any other creature of that matter too. She'd sent tons of e-mails when the acid had killed her tools, even hand written letters filled with questions. She also explained her interest in joining, with no success, but after going to the organization in person they still denied her an audience.

It had been the last straw for Ginger and she'd started planning a supernatural massacre in honor of H.A.S.P. She needed them to know she belonged. She needed to belong somewhere, to someone. Maybe even to Lucca, the leader of H.A.S.P. He also just happened to be the man who'd saved her life when she was little.

He didn't remember her, but Ginger would never forget his face.

She would prove to him she belonged.

So here she was, after drowning herself in knowledge upon knowledge. After what seemed like hours on a ferry to get to the isolated island. Finally, at the front entrance of Eve's School for the Gifted, ready to be enrolled.