The shadows shifted as the stalker crept along the wall. Using the boot’s adhesive soles and one hand for balance, the stalker defies gravity scaling the wall. Switching from visible light to night vision mode, the black-clad stalker peers down at the balcony below. Two guards stand, sweeping their gazes at the landscape before them. Both are wearing turbans with desert robes and tunics. With the enhanced goggles, the stalker scans the guards. Immediately, the black stalker sees through the brown robes and discovers the two are wearing lightweave armor. A quick scan reveals their armament: Kresnov AR-57 assault rifles, Fuchong Type 4 side arms and titanium-refined scimitars.

Behind the black mask, the stalker smiles.

Blanketed by the darkness, the black figure scans for additional threats and obstacles. Satisfied, the stalker scales the flat wall, positioned just over the guards. Seeing only their heads, the stalker extends their arms. With the right arm, the assassin takes aim at the guard on the left. From the left arm, twin blades extend from the elbow to nearly four feet in length. The scanner within the stalker’s technologically advanced goggles inspects the guard for any spot of exposed skin. Finally, the scan finds enough skin to strike just below the guard’s right ear.

It’s a difficult shot and the stalker clenches their teeth. The computer’s crosshairs lock onto the intended target and with a short breath, the stalker squeezes their fist. A dart flashes from the weapon gauntlet and swerves, striking the guard. The dart’s liquid spreads with lethal speed, knocking the guard unconscious within a second. As the guard’s comrade notices, the stalker is upon him. The attached blades pierce through the lightweave armor. Unable to strike at his attacker, the guard desperately attempts to grab a long knife from his right hip. He is too late.

2) When Angels Fall

Cold rain cascaded from the darkened, night sky. It neither stopped nor slowed. It kept falling, unforgiving upon the drenched and unprotected. A slight gust of wind blew the rain westward for a few seconds. The only thing colder than the rain was the chilling breeze of a moonless March night. Outside the sprawling city of spires, skyscrapers and bridges, illuminated by artificial and synthetic lights, a spaceport was overrun by countless ships, many damaged.

From the seats and cargo bays of the damaged vessels, came the horde of refugees. Medics and doctors from the sprawling metropolis began treating those who were in critical condition and moving them into the fleet of ambulances surrounding the spaceport. Observing the doctors were armed and armored soldiers, to the ire and irritation of the former. When the situation turned desperate, the soldiers were ordered to help in the care and transportation of the wounded and traumatized.

Within a few long, arduous hours every single refugee was herded from the spaceport to various hospitals and clinics within the colossal city. Near the edge of the city, yet twenty-five miles from the city limits, stood the elegant Saint Brittany-Seton’s Hospital in all its regal carvings and ivory walls. The building boasted the fusion of an ancient European cathedral and the latest cutting-edge in architectural design. On a balcony, overlooking the central gardens the hospital encircled, stood an alone figure.

The extended balcony faced a jagged mountain range to the west and the pitch black ocean to the north. He knew the ocean was there, he could hear it: the roar of the ocean as the waves crashed upon the sandy shore. It reminded him of a dire lion-wolf’s roar. Just barely, he could see the slight flicker of the waves every few seconds, even without the moon to scintillate the water’s surface. A thick blanket was draped over his shoulders and he hugged it close to him. To his exposed skin, it felt incredibly soft for such a heavy blanket. It repelled the cold wind and kept him warm. His soul, on the other hand, was not.

3) The Lost Bloodline

Tracing his fingers along her bare thigh sent a tingling sensation from his hand to the rest of his body. When it came to his spine, he could feel the hair on his neck stand and bumps along his arms. She lay on her side, her body uncovered, facing him. Slowly, he glides his fingertips on her smooth skin. Tantalizing her skin, his eyes follow the invisible path his fingers follow.

From her thigh to her toned belly, to her chest, his fingertips cast chills down her spine. He stops, resting his hand on her neck. Moments pass and he strokes her flushed cheek, gently pushing a strand of hair away from her face. Every nerve in her body tingles and her dark eyes glitter in the moonlight. Staring deeply into those brown eyes, he seems to swim in an endless ocean.

His heart soars as he pulls her closer to him. Holding her close to him, he savors her exposed skin, from his chest down to his legs. Heat rushes to his cheeks, reddening them, and his ears begin to burn. Their faces almost touch, as they lie suspended upon the sweat-soaked sheets, secured in each other’s arms. His senses perceive every inch of her silky skin as though their flesh becomes one.

She flashes a satisfied smile at him and raises her arm to cup her hand behind his head. Upon first touch, her fingers dig into his hair, which is soaked with sweat. Closing the distance, she leans in and their lips connect. A surge of tender, yet intense, energy explodes and floods like a rapid from a rushing waterfall. The burst of pleasure cascades from his lips and barrages every nerve in his exhausted body.

The alarm blares, screaming at his sleepy mind. Startled he sits up; eyes snapped open as the dream is ripped violently from his consciousness. The sweetness is replaced by the familiar taste of bitter resent. With every passing second, the dream’s warmth dissipates along with the dream itself. The dream is recorded into memory and slides into his subconscious. Reality sinks in viciously with dark clarity and he despondingly silences the alarm. Glaring at him with silvery blue artificial lights, the digital clock reads 5:01 AM.

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I hope you like them, or at least interested to see what happens next. If not, then I have a lot more to learn about capturing the reader's attention.