Chains of the New Flesh Volume 1 – Blood, Steel, and Submission
Chains
of the
New Flesh
Volume1
Blood, Steel,
and Submission
Part I:
The Fall of Innocence
Chapter 1
The Rose and the Master
It was a very big city. So big that you could get lost in it. Vanish, die, build a homemade cyborg and no one would ever notice. Except for those who watched, of course. But someone always does, don't they? The city had no name, it had a code. It was M106. Big cities didn't have names. Codes were easier to distinguish. Names had... personalities. Cities as big as M106 didn't have time for personality.
Young man who walked down a rather empty lane had a name, though he also had a code. His name was Logan Chase. His code was M55578769M. First M stood for M106, the city where he had been born. The last M stood for Male. He didn't know what the numbers meant. He didn't like numbers. He liked roses and he loved Jerome. Jerome Carson was his boyfriend. Bouquet of red roses Logan carried around were for him. They were wrapped into dashing white paper. It looked very nice and romantic. Just like in a movie.
He had a date with Jerome and a booked table in a fancy restaurant. It was their second anniversary. He loved Jerome. Not epically since he didn't know the meaning of the word, but he did love him. World was past homophobia a long time ago. There were other phobias now.
Vampires. Werewolves. Cyborgs.
The Aristocrats and Freshmen. The hippies. The Watchers, the scientists and the hunters.
In M106 you were either hunted, hunter or a number.
Logan Chase was a number. M55578769M. His number.
It began to rain. Logan cursed a bit and ran down a little alley. He would have to seek refuge or he would arrive soaking wet. He found a deserted house with an open doorway. There were many of those these days. Here today, torn down tomorrow. Panting, he covered and sighed in relief. If only it stopped soon he could still make it to the restaurant and Jerome.
It was a happy sigh. And then a deep flawless voice behind him said: "Good evening."
Logan jerked and turned to see who had accosted him thus.
There was darkness and soft black robes, a pair of piercing blue eyes and long blond hair framing a noble pale face.
"A vampire!" Logan cried out and made to run. A hand stopped him and pulled him over and against cold hard flesh. "That is correct. A vampire. I am Enoch and Master of the Old House."
"Aristocrat," Logan muttered. "Please, let me go... Sir?"
The vampire gazed at him rather intently, measuring him in the dark, holding him still with but one hand and running the other over his body. Logan shivered, unable to free himself and with those deep blue eyes watching him his will escaped his body. He remained.
"You are...pretty," the vampire said finally. "You shall do. What is your name, little mortal?"
"Lo...Logan. Logan Chase. Code M55578769M."
"Logan will do," came a sharp response. "I detest...numbers." Pale lips curved to bare a set of alabaster white teeth. "Tell me, Logan – have you ever been betrayed by the one you loved?"
Logan was a way too stunned to even think of responding.
"No? I thought so. You are too young, you stink of innocence. Have you a lover? Yes, you do. Those roses you still cling to are for her, aren't they? Or is it a he? Best it be. Because you shall serve a purpose, Logan."
Logan shuddered in response.
"Don't," Enoch ordered. "Listen to me, little mortal. I have a wife. Her name is Grace and she is beautiful. She is also a treacherous little snake whom I found in bed with some peasant. And I swore to have vengeance on her. I swore I would go out and find the first good looking lad. I would turn such lad and make him my lover to get even with my beautiful Grace. Now I have found you, Logan Chase, and I shall chase no further. You shall return with me to my House and I shall turn you and bed you."
Logan's mouth fell open. His eyes turned moist and they were huge.
"You... I... Please! Please no! PLEASE NO!"
Enoch's eyes were reproachful. "Don't scream, little mortal. Else I will silence you and still take you along. It is best you come freely. There are no mercenaries here, no cyborg cops, and no one else dares to approach me. Even your government Watchers shun from me.
I gave you a choice – maintain your own free will or abandon it.
It is up to you, Logan."
Play it along, Logan, a voice whispered. Play along. As long as you live you have a chance to escape, chance to come back to Jerome and your life.
Life, unlife – as long as you have your sanity, your will, you can do it.
Enoch nodded with a hint of smile.
"Wise choice, Logan. And now I shall have a little snack, if you don't mind." It wasn't a question and only when Enoch unbuttoned his shirt and cool lips touched his tender neck did he realize that he was that above mentioned snack. Sharp teeth penetrated his skin and he cried out softly, holding unto Enoch to not fall. Silky hair touched his face and there was more pain. He was rigid and closed his eyes.
A dream, a dream, a dream, yes, this must be a dream, this isn't happening to me, not to me!
But it was and it was his blood which flew into Enoch and became his unlife.
* * *
"Screw you, sucker!" Xavier Ford cursed loudly when the door of his cell slammed shut. Screw everybody, screw you, world! He wasn't supposed to be caught like this. Not he. Not Xavier. He was the best mercenary out there. Gang leader. Xavier the Invincible. He'd offed dozens of these suckers and even some cyborgs. He was not supposed to rot here in this fuckin' cell and wait for his doom. He knew they'd kill him. Or maybe try and turn him to make him one of their own. He'd NEVER become one of them. Never. They were... not human. They were pests. Suckers. Damn walking talking dead and bloody arrogant at it, too. Especially the Old House gang. Freshmen were different, though he really didn't care and killed them, too. But they weren't as arrogant. But these here, aristocrats, as they thought they were, with their flowing robes and capes. Damn right out of some cheap B, class movie of old.
Some bloke had hit him on the head and then they'd just bagged him like some ripe apple or carrot. No chance to fight back or else he would have offed a good dozen. Xavier knew what he was capable of.
And now they were coming back. One was the guard dude, Toby something. He knew the other one, too, the tall one they called Maximilian. He'd fought him once, but the sucker got away. Both had scars from the meeting, though. At least Xavier did, because he didn't heal as rapidly as those suckers. Actually he'd been offered by the government that they could turn him into a cyborg. He'd sent them a polite mail and told them just where they could chuck such idea. But he could guess that they were still lingering around that thought. It was the way of the government to be uptight stubborn and mostly – damn stupid.
By Maximilian's side stood one in white coat – my my, what is this, a new fashion, weren't you guys supposed to wear black only. But that one was rather short, slender, with long dark copper hair straight down his shoulders. Keen gray eyes. Lively.
"Hello there," the new vampire spoke as he gazed intently at Xavier. "I am Emmanuel. You are Xavier Ford, vampire hunter, leader of the mercenary gang."
Xavier smirked.
"I know bloody well who I am. Cut the crap. What do you want of me?"
"Certainly not to kill you, unless I really have to – unless you really make me," came a smooth reply. "I wish to talk to you, mister Ford. Toby, Maximilian, will you leave us, kindly?"
Toby left as ordered. Maximilian hesitated, though.
"You are aware he is the most dangerous man in town, Emmanuel?"
The smaller vampire laughed.
"Very much so and counting on it. Go. Give me the keys and go. I can take care of myself, thank you very much, Maximilian."
"You...are mad, Emmanuel. You intend to go INSIDE?"
Emmanuel nodded.
"I do so. Now, give me those damn keys and go. Go! I command you, Maximilian. And if I find you going around complaining just how mad I am I'll cut your bloody throat and burn you like a rag doll. Be a good boy, and I'll love you as ever."
Maximilian sighed, gave over the keys as ordered and left, shaking his head. Emmanuel was crazy. And as many madmen through history, he was also a bloody genius.
Once his lover was gone, Emmanuel chuckled and gazed at Xavier again, teasing bars with the key. Old fashioned, aye. Why not. Big locks and heavy keys were sometimes much more efficient than top-notch remote controls and such. You could almost always count on heavy steel.
"Now, tell me, mister Ford, what will you do if I step inside to have a little chat?"
"Grab you and fuck your brains out," Xavier grunted.
Emmanuel laughed lightly. "I don't think I would mind. You look like you'd be a total animal in bed. I love that. But seriously? I have an offer to you, and I do not feel like yelling all over the corridor. May I come in?"
Xavier growled. "Come in then. Stop the damn babbling, you're making my ears bleed. Not as if you didn't remove all my weaponry. What do you think I'll do – bite your head off and ignite you with my fart?"
Emmanuel chuckled. "I already like you, mister Ford. Now, please back away from the door. Thank you."
Xavier witnessed the door being opened and closed again. How easy it would have been to slam into the vampire and wrench the key off his hands. But then what? A bloody dungeon full of armed bloodsuckers and absolutely no idea where to go. Since this place was a fuckin' labyrinth. Besides he found himself curious of what this little vamp had to say to him. Of course he knew who Emmanuel was. You couldn't possibly live around M106 and not know of Emmanuel, the Second to the Master of the Old House. The mad scientist. The genius. Biology, genetics, synthesizing, cyborgs. Yes, cyborgs. Xavier had got enough hints from the Freshmen and even some sloppy mouthed aristocrats, that Emmanuel was working on building vampire cyborgs. Many said he was more dangerous than Enoch. And about as dangerous as Grace.
Xavier peered at Emmanuel now that the vampire was standing in front of him. Sneaky, lithe, pretty attractive – for a bloodsucker, of course. And not as if Xavier would ever be eying vamps in such fashion. Of course there were humans who hung around with vampires but he always thought that government really should charge them for necrophilia. Besides, he was taken. He had Shawn. Who was most likely pissed like hell and out for bloody vengeance upon these aristocrats.
Bloody walking talking corpses.
"So – you're gonna hang around here or tell me what the fuck you want," he demanded.
Emmanuel sighed. "I see you are a straightforward man, mister Ford. And one with eloquent vocabulary. Very well then.
I wish to hire you, mister Ford."
Xavier laughed out loud.
"Ha! Well, if you'd like to commit euthanasia, I am more than willing to assist. Just get me my gear back and we'll settle it..."
"No, mister Ford. I am very keen on my life. However, I do need to "off" someone, as you would put it. And luck brought you to my door. You only need to accept and this door shall open for you, I shall return your equipment and also pay you handsomely."
Xavier rolled his eyes.
"Bloody hell. So, MISTER Emmanuel, whom do you wish to see dead so badly that you're willing to risk with your own black dead heart?"
"Will you take the job?"
"Will you give me the name?"
"Mister Ford...!"
"Name, sir. Name or we have no deal."
Xavier watched the vampire hesitate for a few seconds and then step even closer to him. If he'd been alive, his hot breath would have assuredly brushed Xavier's neck.
"Enoch."
Xavier took half a step back. And then he laughed.
"You are mad. They say you are, and indeed you are. Mad and bloody stupid if you think I'd take such job. Government already tried to talk me into it and I refused. Told them they can screw themselves. You think I'd honestly do it and have every last bloodsucker after me? Start such a pesty riot? Hell no. No, mister Emmanuel. My answer is no."
The vampire was certainly taken aback and he bared his teeth viciously. Xavier didn't care much. He'd had enough of these suckers glaring and hissing at him. Mostly just moments before their death.
"I would ask you to reconsider," Emmanuel said finally, his voice very tempered and cold.
Xavier shook his head. "I'd ask you to drop the idea and get out of my cell. No decent mercenary will take this job, sir. Maybe some ragged cyborg, but no hunter with wits would take it. Unless you have a fortune to pay them. Do you have a fortune, sir?
Not that I care. I won't do it. You can kill me here but I won't end my life doing something so outrageously stupid. I LIKE Enoch at his position. He makes a good leader to you, suckers. I much prefer to have him around and on top than some lunatic such as yourself, MISTER Emmanuel. Vampire cyborgs, indeed..."
Emmanuel nodded coolly.
"You have made your point, mister Ford. I apologize for the bother. I shall take my leave now."
"Oh please do. And take it really far."
The vampire exited the cell and locked the door. Then he smiled and pushed a tiny button on the wall. It was Maximilian who came within thirty seconds.
"Maximilian. Gas him. I want him asleep. Now."
Maximilian nodded and left.
Within a minute there was a hiss around Xavier and colourless gas began to fill the air, eating it up hungrily. Xavier roared.
"Good night, mister Ford," Emmanuel said, standing in front of the cell and smiling. Of course the sleep gas had no effect on him. "Once you wake I will have turned you into one of our kind. You shall be the creature you detest most. You really should have taken that job. But alas – I wish you good night and sweet dreams, mister Ford!"
Xavier recalled running to the bars, laughter echoing in his head, all around him. Then there was a cloud of mist and he fell deeper and deeper until he made it to the bottom with a low thump. Xavier Ford fell asleep.
Chapter 2
Vengeance of the Old House
"That's a good boy," Enoch said when he finally drew away.
"Am I...dead?" Logan stuttered.
Enoch smirked. "Silly mortal. No. If you take a sip of a bottle of wine, is the bottle empty? You are very far from being dead. I will not do it here. It would have no style. No, you must come with me to the House. And I seriously hope I won't have to hypnotize you or drag you. Will I?"
"N...no, sir," Logan whispered.
"Good. Then come. Give me your hand. The less you fear the more enjoyable it will be. One out of thousand or ten thousand is granted the immortal fate of a vampire. Feel proud, Logan Chase. Feel very proud."
But Logan just felt scared and his stomach rumbled and he was so sick that he would have almost thrown up. He was also dizzy and at least partially under Enoch's influence. Drowsy. So tired.
"I... don't care any more," he said. "Do with me what you will. Just let me...sleep." And he slumped down, or would have, if Enoch hadn't moved and caught him just in time. The vampire sighed.
"Giving in already. No fight at all. How pathetic. Oh Grace, Grace."
He picked up the lad, carrying him like a rag doll. Nobody really dared to pay attention to a vampire walking in the rain and carrying a body of a pretty human male.
* * *
"Come. Come now! Don't keep me waiting!"
A demanding succulent voice from a very beautiful woman. Grace was seductive, alluring, she was everything a normal man – or in her case – a vampire could dream of. Slender, wide hips, big boobs, tiny waist, mane of black hair, tanned, big eyes, juicy lips. Body of a goddess, everybody told her.
"You are all set and ready. Come. Take me. Oh god damn you, Kirk!"
Grace was growing impatient. Why on Earth was his lover taking so much time to admire her body instead of just taking her, tossing her on the bed and fucking her senseless.
She'd taken him for his size and beauty. Unfortunately, one couldn't get everything, so Kirk lacked of brains. Oh well, he was a commoner, almost a freshman, so what could one expect? Nothing.
"Stop that, Kirk. If I want my nipples to be pinched, I'll do it myself. Really. Just fuck me. Fuck me, you son of a bitch."
She knew he loved when she talked dirty. Then again, Kirk loved everything about her. In case he was capable of love, of course. She doubted in it. She sought a dream, but she couldn't just find it. Not anymore. There had been Enoch. Had been. When they were younger and dating, and even within the first few hundred years of their marriage... He'd loved her. She'd been mad about him. She still was, but she was no longer certain if it was the man or his memory. How passionate their lovemaking had been, how violent. Enoch had used to grab her, slam her against the wall, tear her robes into shreds in case there was something to be torn, lift her up against him, penetrate her with such might that she felt she'd be torn apart just like her clothes and then Enoch had fucked her. For hours. For eternity.
How naïve she'd been. No eternity lasted for ever. None.
So now there were lovers. One buffoon after another. Just like this one. Choose them by their looks or most likely, by the size of their members. And Enoch, he was being so ignorant that he hadn't known until yesterday, or so he claimed. How blind, how stupid could a man be? Her man.
No, no longer hers. What had happened, she never knew.
"Take me, you bastard!"
And Kirk tried, but he was afraid of her. They all were. In love, in lust, afraid to hurt her! She LOVED being hurt. She could take the tension in her body no longer so she slammed Keith down on the bed and mounted him, pushing his dick ball deep into her cunt. She rode him, but she did not see him. She saw Enoch. She always saw Enoch. She spoke to him while riding upon another cock.
"You shall fall, my love. Your time is over, your time is due. You have failed me, betrayed me, and I shall have my vengeance. I shall cast you into dust, my beloved Enoch, and then I will come down and ride upon you and I will drive a stake through your heart while I fuck you. I wanted you to be my lord. Now you shall be my pet. Once I am done with you, this is what you shall be. My slave. My wonderful, wonderful slave!"
* * *
Xavier slept. He dreamt.
It was a really strange dream, rather a nightmare. There was a misty haze and he was lying on bare cement, chained down by wrists and ankles. Echo of a voice, perhaps a choir. No, a single. Calling his name. But he couldn't wake up. Laughter.
Lips on his neck. Then pain. More pain, and he was too sleepy, too tired to fight. He tried to wake but he couldn't. His sleep was too heavy, he couldn't break out of the mist.
His blood, his precious blood was being sucked out of his body. He became one with the one doing it. He was naked, and the one straddling him was, too.
Emmanuel. Yes, wasn't he? He whispered that name so softly.
Xavier.
Cold hands upon his body, fondling him.
Weaker, weaker.
Must...wake.
But he only wished to close his eyes and sleep. Then it would all go away. Inside a dream it was all good what was done to him. No life crushed, just a sexy vampire sucking his blood and pleasuring him.
I am dying, he whispered.
Yes, somebody nodded. You are.
OK, he said. OK. I don't bloody care. Just kiss me. The kiss of death.
Emmanuel laughed. But Xavier just fell from his hands into the abyss. It felt good, too. He was free.
A dream of death, how ridiculous.
Unfortunately, there was also the awakening. Blood filled his mouth and he feasted upon it. More! Give me more, he begged. Emmanuel laughed.
"It is enough. You will not die any more. You are dead, mister Ford. You are a vampire now, Xavier. Will be. Your body will die tonight and by morning you will be one of us."
He heard it, still too weary to think or say anything.
"I shall leave you hear, chained up so that you would not hurt yourself too bad. So that you would feel your body dying and be helpless. By the morning you shall be tame. Mine. My little child. My lover, should I wish so, for I am your Maker, Xavier. Isn't it wonderful?"
Emmanuel laughed and walked out of the cell, leaving Xavier behind. Before leaving the hallway he stopped, though, and chuckled.
"By the way, you are an exquisite kisser, Xavier. I thoroughly enjoyed our little make, out."
* * *
Three men stood on a hilltop gazing down at the city and its surroundings. Their loyal bikes were by their side, cloaks and hair heavy of rain.
"How long do you plan to keep watch here, Shawn," one of them asked.
"As long as it takes to see Xavier return to me," the middle one replied firmly. He was tall, appeared noble and proud. He was also quite young, about seventeen or eighteen. The two beside him were quite some years older, twenty, five or so.
"What if he won't come," a blond one said. "We saw tracks of at least twenty vampires. He was obviously outnumbered. He is probably dead, Shawn."
Shawn drew his gun and pointed it at the blond one, who jerked.
"Say that again! Say that again, Drew, and I'll blow your fuckin' brains!"
"Hey, hey, Shawn. Drew. Calm down, guys," a shorter guy on Shawn's left told them. "We're all comrades. Shawn, you're worried, we know. Drew – shut your fuckin' mouth, really. We have no evidence that Xavier has been killed. I'll believe it when I see his dead body, and then I'll double check, cause he's such a cunning bastard."
Shawn pulled away and sheathed his gun.
"Thanks, Emory," he whispered. "Drew, you can go back if you want. Really. I know very well there's someone waiting for you. Someone with big tits and tight pussy."
Drew grunted. "Hey, don't you call Rose a pussy. She's a mercenary, just like you. Just that she ain't screwing around with the Chief."
Shawn almost pulled his gun again, but Emory placed a hand upon his fingers and the sheathe.
"Well fuck," Drew cursed. "I'm out of here. You're a nutcase, Shawn. Just that you know!"
"Fine. Go. Get the hell out of here before I fuckin' shoot your balls off, you wuss."
Emory sighed heavily. "Stop it. Drew – go. It's OK. Just go." And when the blond had walked off, spitting, he continued. "Shawn, you're a really nice boy, smart and pretty and damn good mercenary, but you're a way too trigger, happy sometimes. Hold yourself together. Patience is a virtue, you know that. I know it's Xavier, I know you're worried, we all are, but put out some good example. You go exposing that gun around and next thing we have is a bloody massacre."
Shawn sat down on the muddy ground and looked up at Emory.
"You're a strange guy, you know that. Anyone else in your shoes would hate my guts and probably want to shoot off my head... And still you're here as my good pal, you're damn loyal to Xavier though he dumped you for me... I really don't get you, Emory."
Emory chuckled. "Well, to be honest, at first I badly wished to put a bullet or two in your pretty head, Shawn. But then I looked at the two of you, I really looked at you and I saw that you made him happy. The way I never had. We'd been just fuck buddies or so. But he loves you, Shawn. You make him happy. And above all, even above my happiness I wish him to be happy and content. Besides – I care about the gang. We're Blood Brothers. And not just by name. You're my little brother, Shawn. So is Xavier. That's it."
Shawn smiled.
"So... you say he'll be back?"
Emory nodded. "He will. He's about as immortal as those suckers. I've seen him take six bullets in a fight and still walk off, victorious. He's the best mercenary in town, Shawn. And when it comes to wits, then he's as cunning as a devil. He'll be back, Shawn."
For some time Shawn sat in silence. Then he looked up again.
"Emory?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks, man."
Chapter 3
Urban Poetry of Blood and Stone
How does it feel to be alive as your body is dying?
How does it feel to be awake when it happens?
It does not stop all together. First that great drum of heart slows its beat and then it ceases. Feels so... unreal. To hark your ears and hear it...stop. And then it begins. Blood just doesn't go around any more. The usual heat inside a body vanishes. Not fast, of course. Slow enough to torture.
But it wasn't just it. No. First Xavier lost control over his bladder and soon enough he was lying in a puddle of his own shit and piss. He could still think, and he thought of all those writers and artists who'd described or painted death as something noble, even beautiful. Of course, they'd all been alive when they'd written those scenes or painted those pictures. He wondered for a moment if any vampire artists described it differently. After all, they were supposed to know. But he was damn sure none of them had been left dying while bound down by chains. Like some monstrous beast, lying inside his own body fluids. No longer his.
Then the everlasting circle of blood ceased.
It was cold. It was so cold. Worst was that he didn't feel it with his body, but with his...soul? Since when did you become fuckin' spiritual, Xavier Ford?
He could think and feel.
Such was the torture. Hours passed. He could grasp the meaning of eternity.
He was afraid.
He cried softly.
He called out for God.
He cursed him. He cursed everyone. He begged anyone. He was still alone.
All the while his beautiful perfectly functional body was dying more and more.
Something happened to his muscles and nerves. He couldn't feel himself. He became a thing. But the thing had thoughts in it. Trapped. He felt trapped inside this dying cell.
He wept like a little kid.
Somehow he knew it was morning. He was alive. He was dead. Yes, dead, but still there. No breath, no movement. He was a corpse. He wished to scream and he couldn't. His mind rattled but he was caged.
Now he knew that dying was no the worst thing that could happen to a life loving man. The worst was dying and surviving it.
Finally there was a change so sudden that he did cry out. A ravenous fire in his chest and he tore the chains. He could move! Oh gods he could really move? He closed his eyes. He could do it. He opened them. He saw. He heard the House around him moving. The only two things he could not hear was his heartbeat and his breath. There was none. He was cold. He was dead.
He knew the laws about the dead.
Dead people cannot receive insurance, inheritance, or social security. Dead people do not have to pay taxes, although the next family member must cover any debts. Dead people also cannot hold a job, or be paid a salary, unless their identity can somehow be proven. Nor can they own an apartment, or do any process requiring verification of identity. Dead people cannot vote. Dead people are classified as vagrants, although the law likely has no means to arrest the dead.
There was yet another thing he suddenly knew.
He was hungry.
Luckily or unluckily he also knew his only possible diet now.
Blood of his fellow men.
Wait a minute, Xavier. They are not your fellow men any more. You're a vampire.
No I'm not. I'm not some fuckin' bloodsucker.
Yes you are, Xavier. Yes you are.
You are a vampire. Nosferatu. Living dead. Child of the Night. Call it whatever you like, but you are.
He roared, but very quietly. And he wept. There were no tears, just his body heaved and shuddered.
Xavier Ford mourned himself.
* * *
The Old House was big. Alright, that was a clear understatement. It was huge. It was fucking enormous. In good old days it had been some sort of a factory. Industrial areas were wide districts in the outskirts of towns. M106 was no different. There were loads of warehouses and abandoned industries. But the biggest of them all was the Old House, base (as the government called it) and castle (as the vampires did) of the Aristocrats.
Logan was already a bit dizzy from the blood loss and soaking rain, and the future forced upon him, so when he saw that dark building looming before himself, he nearly fainted. Enoch grinned.
"Welcome home, Logan. Welcome to my home. I must tell you that not many mortals have entered inside these walls. Old House is for vampires and sometimes for those about to be made vampires. There are about five hundred vampires living here. And I am Master of the Old House.
Now, come."
And with these introductory words he lead the young lad inside.
There were metal stairs upon metal stairs, some curving upwards, some downwards. Windows upon windows and huge barred doors. It was stone, concrete, cement. All huge, fat, solid, firm. Permanent. The stairs chimed as they walked up. The narrow yet high corridors seemed to go on for ever and ever. There were tapestries and torches, but it was still so... cold. Hostile. Alien. And yet somehow very welcoming. It had this boyish excitement in it. Made you want to explore further, see what secrets this building withheld. What stories it could tell.
Logan felt a rush of curiosity surge through his veins. His heart beat loudly.
Enoch smirked. "You seem enthralled with my home. Everyone is. These places are castles. They are more than castles. They are poetry made of metal and stone. Urban poetry."
Logan stopped. The vampire seemed almost... sad? Nostalgic? Or just – sweet. Couldn't he just...
"Let me go, please," he whispered.
Enoch gazed at him and sighed. "Haven't you had enough already? I am man of my word. I shall have you, or if you resist too much, I will wring the location of your boyfriend from your mind as I have already seen his image, and take and make him. He is beautiful, too, perhaps even prettier than you. Is this what you want? Shall I set you free and take him in your stead? At which cost would you buy your freedom?"
Logan bit his lip.
"Leave Jerome out of this," he hissed. "You leave him out of this or I fuckin' kill you, I swear!"
Enoch laughed. "My my, little mortal shows he has some character – or balls, as you say it nowadays. Very well. As I said – the decision is mine, but it is also yours. I chose the result, but you can decide the path which takes you there. I can make it very enjoyable or I can make it hellish. I can hold you in my arms and soothe you while your body is dying, or I can chain you up in a cell and listen to your mad screeching and crying.
You can say green or you can say red.
You can be my lover or you can be my slave. Choice is yours truly."
* * *
Alice, run! RUN! ALICE!
Mommy!
Alice, run! Run away! Run away, Alice!
She hesitated. Then she ran a dozen steps and halted. She could hear engine outside, and then people running to the door. Her mother stood in the hallway with her gun drawn, pointing it at the front door. She yelled at her to run, save herself.
The door was heavy and bolted, but then... they were shooting at it. One of the bullets came through and grazed her mother. She cried out her name.
She ran. She could hear naught but silence, and then gunshots and a woman's high pitched scream.
And then – more silence. Silence and rain. Wipe off the blood, wipe off her tears. She fell down to a puddle of mud and water, beat it with her little fists and cried her heart out.
They'd killed mother. They'd killed her mommy. They'd killed her and she'd ran away.
She would never again run away, she swore. Never.
Alice woke, panting heavily, hair and skin moist.
Would there ever come a night when she wouldn't see her mother being shot down by the mob and herself running away from her home? Like a constant reminder of why she became what she was.
Assassin, cyborg, codename Justice, Alice Meyers.
Her heart steadied fast and she rose, brushing fingers through her short hair. White. They'd been strawberry blond, but once they improved her, blond turned into snowy white. All colour bleached out of her hair. Gone, along with a part of her. But she would never have to run away again. The price was fair.
She walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Some cold orange juice. She downed half a litre and wandered to the balcony. The night wind was cold and clear. It was beautiful outside. All the lights, and the sky lit with stars above. She belonged here. Now she could.
She took care of this town. They didn't know, but it didn't matter, either. She was their Justice. They were her children as she could have none of her own. She needed none. No man in her life. No one.
Only her quest. To vanish the evil from this town.
Her quest.
* * *
"Wolf Princess! Wolf Princess! Wolf, wolf, wolf princess!"
The crowd was cheering, jubilant, ecstatic. They were calling her name. Paige flung her braid over her shoulder and sneered. She clicked with her metal claws and the crowd went mad. Half of them had a hard on and wished to fuck her. All of them loved her. Because she was beautiful. Because she was sexy. Because she won.
Her opponent was already exhausted. Humans just didn't have the stamina of a werewolf. Not the strength or the speed. None of it. And yet it had been hard. This one had put up a fair fight and she bore quite some bloody marks from his sword.
She made a half circle on the arena, deaf to the cheers and drew nearer to her opponent.
She did not hate him. Neither did she feel sorry. It had been a fair fight. She was better, she won. May the best win, they said. And she did.
Don't beg mercy, she whispered in her mind. Don't fall on your knees, my opponent. Be worthy and I shall grant you a worthy death.
Daniel. His name was Daniel, she recalled.
The man was a bloody mess already. But he still tried to fence her off. But she was too agile and with a quick gash disarmed him. The crowd roared and clapped, whistled and jeered.
She caught a glimpse of his green eyes.
"Good night, Daniel," she whispered and slit his throat.
Thump!
She heard this, and a thunder of applaud when she bowed to all of them and yet none of them as ever.
She could still see those green eyes.
What had this man or any of these men ever done to deserve such death?
They were but amusement. They were all but entertainment to their fellow men.
A man died, sometimes a woman, and everyone was happy, they went home to their families, kissed their kids goodnight and fucked their wives – or their men. Sometimes they fantasized about screwing her. And that was it.
All there ever was and had been. Nothing more.
She took a cool shower and enjoyed it. All the sweat and blood flowing down into the sewer.
Daniel. Alexandro. Marc. Griffith. John. James. Alucard.
She could have recalled them all, just the way her memory worked. But it didn't matter. By midnight they were all but blood on her skin washing away into the sewer of M106.
The midnight story of this town, the story of human life.
Chapter 4
Innocents and Monsters
"Jesus, you killed her! Why did you kill her? God..."
Two men in dark jeans and coats. One dead werewolf female. Dark alley.
Joe Charles crouched beside the dead body and gazed up at his partner.
"Why did you have to shoot her down, Jesus?"
His partner shrugged. "Well, she was drawing her gun at us, wasn't she?"
"You saw that, Jesus? Did you? I didn't."
"Well... I saw her reaching for her pocket. What else could such beast hold there but a gun, huh?"
Joe sighed and slipped his fingers into the dead woman's right pocket. He drew out an identity card. "Dona Mitchell", it read. Female, 32, lycanthrope.
"This was what she was reaching for, Jesus," Joe said. "Her ID. She's got license to move inside the city. And you just killed her, Jesus."
His partner shrugged again. "So what? She appeared dangerous. They're all dangerous, these beasts. Let them into range and they'll claw your eyes out and tear your throat out. You're so fucking naïve, Joe. So OK, maybe she wasn't attacking us. But it doesn't matter. There's one less now. They're but pests. We should scourge them all. Nobody will care that I put her out. Put IT out. They're not human, Joe. So quit the damn nuisance."
Joe bit his lip and held his tongue. No point arguing with mister Jesus Barrera. He was older, trusted Watcher of the city government. Joe was just a freshman. And one to be eaten soon, as they'd warned him. Sometimes he had nightmares about the city turning into a beast with many limbs and claws, chasing him down and eating him. Fucking him and eating him, that terrible monster they called M106.
Ingrid said he had too vivid imagination. She was right, of course. So he no longer told her of his dreams. No reason to trouble his beloved wife. Especially now that she was with their first child.
M106 was for men like Jesus Barrera. They were its citizens. Joe Charles was an alien.
* * *
"Not so cocky any more, are you, mister Ford," Xavier heard a voice mock him. Emmanuel stood before the cell and gazed down on him. "Now look at you, lying in a pool of your own shit and piss. Weeping like a little wussie boy. Where has your arrogance gone now? Why don't you laugh at me now? Mad, was I?
How does it feel now, to be what you so much despised. What, I can't hear you? But I can smell it. The hunger. I have just the game for you. I will break your chains and then have some food brought to you. Then I can sit back and watch how long it takes you to make your first kill. How much of a man are you, mister Ford..."
Emmanuel laughed.
"You've killed so many of my kind. Hunted us. Burnt us. Now you shall hunt your own kind and kill them. Only through their death can you live, mister Ford. Or are you so heroic and noble that you prefer to starve or perhaps kill yourself? Frankly – I don't care. I made you an offer which you declined. You serve no other purpose than amusement to me now. I may be your sire, but you are still my enemy, mister Ford.
Toby, release him. Then bring me the boy."
Xavier didn't respond. He had nothing to tell Emmanuel. Perhaps some of his cockiness had died within this night. Perhaps there were just no words terrible and cruel enough to be uttered.
The stocky vampire called Toby entered the cell and unlocked his chains. He didn't even get up, only turned to a side so that he wouldn't see Emmanuel. Hearing that voice was bad enough. Finally he managed to sit up and face away from the cell door. He was butt naked, he found now. And dead.
Hungry. That fire inside him, that terrible craving he already felt was hunger. One that could be sated in a single way.
The door closed, the door opened again and something was tossed in. Something that let out a weak yelp. Xavier lifted his head and dared to look. Damn them. Damn them to all the pits Dante Alighieri never dreamed of.
Blond pony tail, large gray eyes, slender and pretty as a maiden. Thirteen years old. Goldie's kid.
"Michael..." he whispered.
The boy looked up. "Xavier? Oh my god, Xavier!" He crawled up and ran over to him, flung arms around Xavier. "They caught me, Xavier. I was just patrolling and they flew upon me. I think I almost put one down, sir. Thought they'd kill me right there, but they took me into the House. And then this vampire said he'd feed me to his beloved son. But he lied, didn't he? He lied. I'm so glad. Some said you were dead, Xavier. Shawn was so worried, and Emory and Goldie. They're looking for you. I'm so glad you're alive, Xavier."
I'm not alive, boy. Can you not feel that I have no breath, that no heart beats against yours. He didn't lie, boy. I am his son and you... of all the evil deeds... Damn you all! I shall kill you, Emmanuel Amado Zimmerman. I shall kill you though you are my sire. Because you are.
* * *
"No pain, please," Logan whispered. "I don't want...IT...to be terrible. I cannot fight you but please... do not hurt me. I'm not a bad man. I..."
The vampire nodded. "I understand. You shall see, Logan, that I am not an evil man. I see no pleasure in torture."
You damn bloodsucker, you're killing me, robbing me of my life and you say it's not torture? That you're not evil? Logan bit his lip so hard it bled. But there was no other way now but cooperate. If he resisted, he would be broken. Best that he bend. But in his mind he whispered Jerome's name.
"You hate me," Enoch asked all of a sudden.
Of course I hate you! How could I not?!
"What does it matter," Logan muttered. "You shall do with me as you please. What do you care if I hate you?"
Enoch shrugged. "I suppose I don't. As long as you don't resist me, it will be fine. If you do, I shall punish you and still have my way. I've decided what I want as a result. And you have chosen the path there. Now we shall walk this path. Enter here, please."
Corridor was all too suddenly exchanged for a luxurious room. It was still cold, but there were draperies and tapestries, a medieval styled bed with curtains, white leather sofa, armchairs of similar fashion, loads of books on shelves, soft carpet...
"This is my room," the vampire said and closed the door. "You may undress and sit on the bed."
"Undress?" Logan shivered. He was scared, it was cold.
"Once your body dies it will cast out all unnecessary bodily fluids," Enoch replied matter, of, factly. "Unless you wish to stain your clothes I advise you take them off. Besides, I would like to see you. Naked. You are gay, so it shouldn't be an issue."
Logan nodded.
Play along. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you and I shall kill you. Yes I will. I'll bend and I'll survive and then I will hunt you down and kill you. I'll find a way!
He undressed.
It was cold, but strangely he got no goose bumps. Enoch measured him.
"You are beautiful," he said. And Logan nodded. Jerome had said that. He believed him. The vampire didn't matter. Only those mattered whom he loved. None else could hurt him. Not with words. And they couldn't have his mind. That was reserved solely for Jerome.
Beautiful, aye. About 1.80, slender yet muscular, a bit tanned, reddish brown curls falling to his shoulders, set of bluish brown eyes, firm plump buttocks, good looking cock which sized even a bit above average. Clean, trimmed, smelling of soap and some perfume.
Fear withdrawn and mostly replaced by hatred. He sat on the bed. It was still damn cold. Why wasn't he afraid any more? What had happened to him?
Enoch threw his overcoat to the sofa and walked down to the bed and Logan.
"You will make a pretty vengeance," he said.
Logan didn't say anything. Yes, he would be raped. Since he wasn't actually consent though he would pretend to surrender, it would be rape. His breath was erratic, but still it wasn't fear. There was something else. Something burning inside him. It brought tears to his eyes, but he knew it wasn't fear and it wasn't just helplessness, either. There was more to it. Something with claws and sharp teeth.
Kill you, yes. Kill you.
Enoch sat by his side and ran fingers over his neck. He shivered, but managed to stay still. And then the door opened.
"Grace," Enoch called out. "Oh, hello dear. Care to come and join us?"
The woman rose her pretty brows. She was beautiful and snakelike all over. Wildly sexy, of course, if Logan had been into women. But he still could see it. She was the crazy wet dream of every straight guy out there and most likely many lesbians as well.
"May I inquire who is this, dear husband?"
So this was Grace. The one who'd cheated on this vampire and thus caused this chain of events.
"So you may," Enoch replied. "This is Logan. Isn't he beautiful?"
Grace looked at him. Their eyes locked and Logan understood something – this woman loved Enoch. Madly. If he had planned to hurt her and he had, then he was succeeding, Enoch was.
Grace was wise. This was a charade. Just how foolish did Enoch think he was? Bringing a little pet home... One that did not wish to be here at all. Stupid. Couldn't he at least take one that would really want him? Ah, but this was much better. She would...keep an eye on the boy.
"He is very handsome," Grace said. "Young and fresh. Appetizing. Wonderful selection of food, my dear."
Enoch smiled at her. "We thank you for the compliment, but here you are mistaken. He is not to be my meal, dear lady. I shall sire him and keep him as a lover. I am certain he will be excellent in bed."
If Grace had any out bursting feelings, she hid them well and smiled. "I am sure he will and you shall enjoy him greatly, my dear. Now, if you excuse me, I have errands to run."
"So you won't stay around after all, Grace? How sad."
"It is sad indeed. Yes... very sad. But I am sure we shall meet again soon."
She gazed intently at Logan. "Very soon, and then we shall talk. Good night, gentlemen."
Door fell shut. Enoch hissed. "Arrogant bitch. She is. So beautiful. So intelligent. And such a treacherous slut."
Logan didn't say anything, of course. He was thinking. Would she grow to hate him? Or could he possibly win an ally. Oh gods please make it so. Make her see that I want this even less than she does. I have love of my own, I hate the one who wishes to turn me and bed me. I want to go back and be a number again. Want my boring daily routine back.
Want Jerome.
Want him so badly.
Chapter 5
The Bait of the Sire
"Lay down and relax," Enoch suggested. "Do not fear. I shall drain you until you walk the verge of death and life, then I shall have you drink of my blood and bring you back. To life, to unlife. To immortality. Feel proud, little mortal. Very few are granted what you get out of a whim. Be a good boy and I shall take good care of you as well."
I hate you, Logan repeated in his mind. You damn monster, turning me into a monster and thinking I should relish it. Damn you. I hate you, hate you, will kill you, yes. Shoot you down, shoot all that stolen blood out of you and then cut off your head. Or maybe take a flame thrower and kill you, burn you alive. Burn you until you die, monster.
The vampire chuckled.
"You think that is so easy, do you?"
Logan jerked.
"I can hear every thought of yours," Enoch explained politely. "So you dream of killing me? How sweet. How pathetic. Aside all the cockiness I don't really possess, you are being ridiculous. If I was so easily killed, I would not have made it to hundred. But I am seven hundred years old, silly boy. And frankly growing weary of your mad screams of vengeance. Please, keep it down, you are causing me a headache. Besides, I much dislike stupidity.
Do you so much hate this fate? Say if you do and I shall put you out of your misery. I can always go out and find another prey. Perhaps that sweet worried one, the one you call Jerome? Kill you and make him my lover, how does that sound?"
It was then that Logan burst forward and struck Enoch into his face... or would have, if the vampire wouldn't have moved away at godspeed and wrenched his wrist aside so swiftly and with such power that Logan cried out loud.
Enoch gazed at him and shrugged.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to break your wrist, really. I just keep forgetting how fragile you, mortals, are. But you must understand – think what you like, but you shall not make any physical attacks on me. I do not tolerate that. Is it clear?"
Logan gritted his teeth in pain and nodded.
"Now, will you lay down or do I have to tie you up?"
Logan didn't respond, but he lie flat on the bed. It was cold. Yes, he would have to play along. But how, how could he if he would be turned into such...monster? He chewed his inner lip. The burning pain in his wrist was even good. It kept the pain in his mind a bit under control.
"Good."
Enoch lie beside him, dead cold body touching Logan's. The young man twitched, yet managed to remain still. Like marble. Marble stone. Dead and cold white stone. Not human. Monster. Monster.
"I shall begin," Enoch said simply, wrapping one arm around Logan's torso and tilting his head with the other. And then those terrible fangs pierced his tender skin again, going deeper and deeper, straight at his heart. It beat so loud as if trying to escape its fate. But there was none now, was there?
* * *
"Get away from me, Michael," Xavier managed to grunt. "Please," he added, since the boy was still clinging to him, gazing at him earnestly.
He could smell him. Hear him. That drum which had been his just hours ago. It was calling. And he saw Michael as red. The world was red. Hunger.
Michael drew aside, looking at Xavier with huge baby eyes. "I'm sorry, sir."
Xavier sighed. "It's alright. Just... keep the distance. It's for your own good, Mike."
"Yessir."
He kept his silence and composure. The boy didn't say anything, either, since Xavier was the superior.
Pain in his body was not the worse. Hunger was in his mind. Rolling, rattling, smashing against his will. Soon enough he found himself clinging to the bars, eyes closed.
It did not matter. The beast was still there. So hungry.
No. He would rather die than injure Michael. He would cling to his human mind. He had been turned into a beast, but he still had ...