

 Copyright © 2017 by Adam Thielen

 All Rights Reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.

Depictions of companies, brands, or corporations are fictitious and do not represent real activities, roles, or any other aspect of those entities. Mentions of actual brands or corporations are not endorsements, nor are they used with the endorsement of any brand or corporation. Any resemblance to actual events is coincidental.

## Episode 1: The City That Wasn't

Some days Frank Kerwin simply could not sleep. It was a problem that followed him from his previous condition, that of being human. However, in that life it was during the night that he suffered his insomnia, frequently falling asleep only to wake with a panic attack gripping his chest and mind.

The nocturnal man could feel the sun's presence while it hung in the air, a sickening miasma that pierced the walls and ceiling of his small apartment. It caused his body to tremble slightly. Most vampires could not resist the drowsiness brought on by its presence, but Frank wasn't most vampires.

He stood just under six feet tall with a medium build and appeared to be in his late thirties. His skin tone was a curious hue. Born Caucasian with a relatively dark complexion and dark hair, his skin didn't lighten by much after the turning. While the color partially washed out, to an untrained eye Frank was just another guy. He wore a uniform coat of stubble on his face to further conceal his nature. His eyes retained their deep blue aspect.

He stood from his bed and walked to the front door and opened it, revealing a corridor lit only by round LED panels flush with the wall. Frank walked to the end of the hall, passing several doors. He knew a few of his neighbors by name, some of them fellow nightstalkers. Living arrangements that provided absolute protection from sunlight were uncommon and thus in demand. At the end of the hall was a large set of double doors made of metal. Frank pulled one open, and the slightest ambient light washed over his body like heat radiating from a hot oven.

The building's exit was just up a flight of stairs. A thin beam of sunlight came to a stop on one of the handrails a few feet from Frank. He took very short steps toward the foot of the stairs, then reached his hand forward, cutting off the beam. Pain shot through his hand, then up his arm, then through his body, which convulsed in response. His head felt like it was being dragged along a washboard. Frank quickly pulled his arm back, emitting a subdued groan, and covering his mouth with his other hand.

He bent his knees, then straightened them, over and over while shaking his abused hand. He looked at it. The skin had darkened slightly, but he knew it would take little time to heal. Frank looked back down the hallway toward his room, then back at the handrail, then looked up toward the ground floor. The vampire removed his belt, threaded the strap through the buckle, and placed it around his neck like oversized jewelry. He shoved a section of it between his teeth and bit down.

Frank hovered his hand, still burned, near the beam, close to the handrail. "Fffk ew!" he shouted. Then with a quick motion, he shoved his hand under the light and gripped the handrail tightly. Pain again shot through him, but his grip was strong, keeping his hand in place. Though his legs buckled underneath him, he held on. Frank screamed a quiet, muffled scream from behind the belt. His hand turned red, and after a few moments his legs gave out entirely and his body fell, coming to a stop with his arm fully extended above him, still holding onto the rail.

Smoke gently wafted from his hand, and Frank's body shut down. He relinquished his grip and flopped onto the tile flooring. The air became hazy and smelled of burnt food. Frank exhaled heavily, pushing the leather out of his mouth with his tongue. He squinted and blinked a few times, then pulled his hand around in front of his face. It was dark red, but hardly damaged. As Frank rested his head on the tile, he decided sleep was worth another try.

Integral

In the year 2029 governments had buckled under the pressure of financial debts and dwindling natural resources. In a chain reaction, one state after another declared bankruptcy and ceased providing services. Attempts to print money resulted in all trade agreements breaking down, and as the crisis dragged on, much of the world's populace declared their governments illegitimate. For a month it was Armageddon. No police to protect property, most hospitals shuttered, fires raged with no one to put them out, and rioters filled the streets.

While America's collapse wasn't pretty, Europe's was far uglier. Their people, either less complacent or more disgruntled depending on the perspective, razed cities to the ground. Much of Western Europe was in ruin for years. While the western world imploded in on itself, the eastern world exploded outward into conflicts, their generals seizing power and waging campaigns over resources with neighboring states. Any nation spared conflict and unrest simply slumped into a new era of economic depression.

But as quickly as America had collapsed, life returned to perceived normalcy with a relatively quick and convenient reinvention of government. Megacorporations that practically printed their own money already, convened a summit to determine how best to provide law and order to the country. Territory was separated into districts, each one assessed for taxation value, then split up among the largest publicly traded corporations.

In the following years, this new corporatocracy model spread around the globe. Continent after continent found their economic leaders and tasked them with restoring order. A global council, with representatives from each district, was voted into power by shareholders. Some constitutional rights were preserved, but most could no longer be interpreted under the new system and were left behind.

Every year, districts changed hands or were resized based on market capitalization. Profit margins, revenue, and projected growth became the new political news. Investigative reporting could spur global power shifts. After a tense battle with the yuan, the dollar won as the universal currency for the new world order. Some things never change.

When they first took over the role of government, corporations repeatedly stated it was a temporary solution, and that a new government would be established as soon as feasible. However, prosperity in the face of the previous decline stalled attempts to convene a new congress and establish an executive branch. The world had been saved by big business, and as long as it worked, no one—almost no one—cared about conflicts of interest or having a fraction of the already minuscule power they had enjoyed before. The latter was irrelevant to most constituents, who never voted anyway. Freedom is a matter of perspective, and the old perspective died in the collapse.

Out of the haze, a new creature emerged. A human that was no longer a human. A being that lived for centuries and cared only for politics as a means to their survival. A monster, some would say, with pale skin and eyes and a thirst for blood. Nightstalkers, nocturnals, vampires. Having lived in the shadows for a thousand years, they revealed themselves to a world that had more important issues than people allergic to sunlight. The decision to come out was not taken lightly, and vampires found protection within the territory of a corporation owned and controlled by their own kind, Noxcorp.

Some say that governments are governments, no matter what you label them, and that the new world was actually born seventeen years before the collapse, in 2012. That was the year that something came into the world of man and vampire that would change everything, though its existence would be hidden well into the 30s. And so it became the responsibility of the new world order to fear it, control it, exploit it, and when necessary, destroy it.

* * *

When his com beeped at him, Matthias Trent had just sat down at his desk after retrieving a cup of the world's worst coffee from the break room. Spiked with plasma, it was an absolute necessity at seven in the evening. He set down the cup and reluctantly answered.

"Yeah?"

"Matthias!" said the loud voice on the other end.

"Blist," he acknowledged. Terrence Blist was Matthias's handler and the captain of Noxcorp investigations. He was a large man, both tall and wide, whose dark gray skin was once a very dark brown. His hair was just a shadow that sat atop his head, and the irises resting inside his narrow eyes were silver with a hint of brown.

"What's up?" asked Matthias.

"The sky, Matthias." It was an exchange that repeated itself at least once a week. Blist hated the phrase for some reason beyond Matthias's comprehension, and so he refused to stop using it.

"You don't say."

"I do. How would you like to stretch your legs this week?"

"Sure," Matthias replied, knowing he had no choice. "Where am I going?"

"There's a situation in Dodge. I will brief you when you get there," Blist explained.

"Cripes, don't we have some agents closer?"

"I want KC in on this," said Blist, referring to their own Kansas City office. "But an agent stationed there will assist."

"Doc Holiday?" quipped Matthias.

"Ha, good one," Blist said sarcastically. "Get on a copter."

"Get to da choppa!" Matthias yelled, causing several other agents in the office to turn and look. Terrence had already disconnected. The Noxcorp agent chuckled, then sighed. He rose from his seat slowly, lifting his coffee cup with him. He skulked to the elevator and pushed the roof button.

Matthias was a thin man, and as far as vampires went, he was pale. Reddish-brown hair hung down to his shoulders. While old enough to retire with partial benefits, he looked about thirty-five. His pallor made his vampirism obvious to anyone familiar with the condition, which these days was most people. His kind had come a long way since the pre-collapse days. Though regarded with suspicion and contempt, humans had at least come to tolerate their existence.

As the helicopter lifted into the evening sky, Matthias contacted Blist.

"Alright, I'm on my way."

"Matthias, there's been a murder in Dodge City. We have an agent there, but he is considered unreliable by his handler in Garden," explained Blist.

"The victim is a nocturnal?"

"The perp."

"Oh."

"What's worse is that the details have been leaked to a local streamer."

"Shit."

"Yes," agreed Blist. "For now, the council has convinced them to hold off airing the story until we have a chance to investigate."

"Why isn't Garden sending someone?" asked Matthias.

"The two cities have been adversarial going way back," answered Blist. "Which is why Kerwin's handler is useless."

"Kerwin?"

"Frank Kerwin, the Dodge agent," Blist clarified. "To say he's got a hands-off approach would be an understatement. His reports indicate that he comes around for high priority assignments, but ignores everything else."

"My kinda guy," stated Matthias.

"The council is less than impressed, but supposedly he has friends," Blist sighed. "They often send agents from Wichita when they want something done."

"Not this time."

"I was an agent there before Frank, and I want this handled right."

"You want to impress," speculated Matthias.

"That too."

"Bit of a risk."

"You will not fuck this up, Matthias," Blist demanded.

"I'll get it done," he replied confidently. "What am I getting done?" He could hear Blist breathe heavily in response. "I mean, how do I handle the perp?"

"Put him—" Blist paused for a moment. "Put him down quietly. We don't want a big show out of this. The council is in talks with Cargill. They run the SWK, and all they want is assurance that our people are under control." He meant the southwest chunk of Kansas, now just an acronym as state lines meant little. Meat production had always been its forté, and it was especially true these days, with half of all able bodies employed in turning a cow into a sandwich or steak.

"Is the victim someone important?" asked Matthias.

"Name is Lance Burton. He was a local sheriff, so not really."

"They still have those?"

"There's no legality to it, but the SWK is a weird place sometimes. The people there elect sheriffs to handle local matters that corporate policing won't," explained Blist.

"I bet Cargill just loves that," said Matthias.

"Remnants of a different time," stated Blist. "Cargill has tried to do away with the practice, but their worker bees threaten to revolt."

"I'm starting to like the sound of this place."

"Just wait until you smell it."

* * *

Frank watched as the helicopter touched down at the Fort Dodge airfield. Dust kicked up, blasting him in the face. No one has ever come from Kansas City, he thought. Something ain't right.

He waited as a pale vampire exited the chopper. As soon as he strode forward, the aircraft ascended into the dark sky. Frank analyzed the man's gait, skin tone, and face. He was thinner than Frank and clean-shaven. His skin tone indicated that he would be physically strong, but more vulnerable to silver and sunlight. Confident, but lacking in emotion. The pale ones were always the same, he thought.

Matthias stopped in front of Frank and extended his hand.

"Frank," he introduced, shaking it.

"Matthias."

"My car is this way, let's get something to eat," proposed Frank. His voice had a hint of an Irish accent mixed with midwest America.

"I'm good," replied Matthias.

"Well, I'm hungry."

They got into Frank's car, a navy blue sedan that still used gasoline. Superconductor rail development hadn't reached the SWK outside of Highway 56, but it was on its way with the new development spider-webbing out from major cities as fast as construction would allow. The old engine roared to life, and music featuring heavy guitar riffs blared from the speakers. Frank grimaced and quickly hit the mute button.

Looking out the windshield, it hit Matthias how different Dodge was from KC, or from most cities. He could see great swaths of sky only occasionally interrupted by steel towers. It was darker, too. Shorter buildings meant fewer lights, and even the street lamps seemed further apart. He couldn't remember the last time he spotted stars in the sky from ground level.

"Wyatt Earp," said Matthias, noticing a street sign. "That's a real street name."

"Yeah," affirmed Frank. "You ever come this way?"

"First time."

They stopped at a burger chain. Matthias choked down a laugh as he spotted an old-west style carriage sitting in the middle of the dining area. Once at the counter, he decided to order something despite a lack of appetite. It would beat sitting awkwardly across from Kerwin.

Once seated, Frank dug into his cheeseburger. Despite his thirst for blood, Matthias was otherwise a vegetarian. He looked at Frank for a moment, then began eating his fries.

Mouth still in the middle of chewing, Frank said, "So what all have they told you about the case?"

"Sheriff killed by a... one of us," Matthias said, glancing around. "That's it."

Frank sucked fizz through a straw and swallowed. "Sheriff," he scoffed. "What a load of shit."

"Not a sheriff then?"

"More of a nickname than a real job. I met Burton once, overweight blowhard."

"Any leads?"

"Like it matters," snarled Frank. "Council just wants someone to take the fall. You here to pick someone out?"

"What?" asked Matthias. "No. Jesus." He considered Blist's words. Was that the subtext? "My supervisor just wants to get to the bottom of it, simple as that."

"Blist, right?"

Matthias's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, that's right."

"I met him about a year ago when some guys from KC were sent down here for some sort of Southwest conference," Frank explained. "We talked shop. He seems like a real stiff."

"Had no idea he ever left the city," replied Matthias.

Frank nodded and took another bite out of his burger, attempting again to multitask. "I haven't seen the body, but Cargill has graciously given us clearance to carry out an investigation. I think that's our first stop."

"What for?"

"Hmm. You don't do much detective work, do you?"

"Just not sure what you think you'll find."

"Neither am I." Frank shrugged with his hands lifted to each side. "You'll get it when we get to the morgue."

* * *

Back in the car, the two agents sat quietly. Frank slurped the remainder of his drink. It was a short drive to the hospital. They took a service elevator to the basement and met up with the coroner, a short Hispanic man in a white lab coat.

"Victor," Frank greeted.

"Hey, Frank, good to see you."

"This is Matthias. He's here to help, all the way from KC."

"Oh ho ho, bringing in the big guns!" he reacted. Frank chuckled. Matthias wondered how the doctor might taste.

Victor led the agents into a large walk-in fridge. Its walls were lined with small square hatches. He yanked the handle on one, revealing a slab. Fog rolled out onto the floor. The slab slid out from the wall, exposing a man drained of life. His pallor almost matched that of Matthias. The sheriff had a large gut and looked to be in his late forties. He had a thick mustache and male-pattern baldness. There were already incision marks down his chest.

"Dose him with anti-coags?" asked Frank.

"Yes, he's still nice and mushy."

"Already autopsied?" asked Frank.

"Sí, but still waiting on toxicology," Victor answered.

"Find anything?"

"Well," he said, pointing at the neck. "There are clearly puncture wounds consistent with vampire fangs here. As far as I can tell, he went into shock due to blood loss, and this is the only wound."

"Anything under the nails?"

"Just the usual grime."

"Gotta give me something, Vic."

"Shit, man, there's not much going on here. There's some dried blood around the neck, even a little on the shoulder. A few light scratches on his back."

"Scratches?" asked Matthias.

"Pink, but no blood. Could be from a woman."

"Anything else?" prodded Frank.

"I opened his stomach," said Victor. Frank winced. "He ate not long before his demise. Taco Bell, more than likely."

"You can tell that?"

"Bits of onion are easy to spot, as is partially digested flour tortilla shells," he explained. "Could be real Mexican food, but there was a lot of cheese."

"That reminds me," said Frank. "Can I see his personal effects?"

"Are we done in here?" asked the coroner.

"I want a moment with the deceased. Can you get them for me?"

"What for?"

Matthias cocked his head, curious as to what Frank was playing at.

"Come on, get out of here. I'll lock it up." he winked at Victor.

Victor stared back at him for a moment, then shrugged and grumbled as he left the fridge.

"Ready to do this?" Frank asked Matthias.

"Do what?"

"You know, what you whiteys do."

"We whiteys?"

"You know how we can sometimes see things, about people, when we... you know."

"The fuck," stated Matthias.

"Give him a taste, let's go," clapped Frank.

"That's disgusting. Look at him," said Matthias. His face showed a rare display of emotion, his nasal muscles pushed upward, lifting his upper lip open. "The blood has got to be rotten, if there's even enough in him, and if it will even work this long after death."

"You want to find the killer, get your medal, and get out of Dodge, right?"

"Between the fascination with the worst time period in history and the ever-present smell of bullshit, this place is growing on me."

They stood next to the body for a few seconds.

"Not doing it," declared Matthias. "There are rules against this sort of thing."

"Come on, no one follows them. Tell you what, I will buy you a stiff drink after," Frank offered.

"Hey, why don't you do it? You're a vampire, too."

"We may only have one shot at this, and my senses just aren't as sharp as yours are."

"Because I'm white?"

"Really white."

"Okay, so you are going to do it first," decided Matthias. "I will lift his legs up, get some blood pressure to the wounds, you can suck some out."

"Oh, fuck no. No, no, no." Frank crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.

"Well, that's the deal, partner."

"We aren't partners," Frank grumbled. "Okay, you first though."

"Newp."

Frank shook his head. "Alright, fine. No fucking problem. I can do this. You better not puss out on me when it's your turn."

"We are in this together," said Matthias, moving to the end where the legs were still partially hidden inside the slab fridge. He reached around the calves and lifted them out so that the cadaver's feet rested against the next hatch up.

"You guys still aren't done?" called Victor from the door as Frank leaned toward the sheriff's neck. He stood up straight and shot his gaze at the coroner.

"Get the fuck out of here, Victor!"

Victor muttered and closed the door.

Frank and Matthias looked at each other, then down at the body. Frank leaned down again and pressed his lips around the puncture wound, then pulled away, shaking his head. He wiped his lips with his forearm then took his pinky and extended its nail to a sharp point. He poked inside one of the punctures, and blood began to seep out. It was thick, like a syrup.

Matthias's eyes widened slightly as Frank leaned down and sucked the blood out into his mouth. Seeing him swallow, he was immediately impressed.

"Oh god," gasped Frank. "No, god, no!" he said, sticking his tongue out and wiping it against the bottom of his shirt. He doubled over and started gagging and heaving. Matthias walked toward him, but Frank waved him away. He fell to his knees and stuck his fingers down his throat, gagging and drooling onto the tile, then stood up and ran for the door.

Matthias looked down at the open wound, blood syrup still slowly flowing out. How bad could it be, he thought. He leaned down and sucked out more of the viscous fluid. It tasted of foul meat and even stung his tongue. He forced himself to swallow, and it burned all the way down. The vampire remembered why he was putting himself through this test and concentrated on clearing his mind and letting thoughts and memories flow into him.

Brief glimpses into the sheriff's last day flashed in front of him, imparting only a limited comprehension of their meaning. It was interrupted by a kind of panic Matthias had never felt before. This is going to kill me, he thought with absolute certainty.

He started trying to vomit, mimicking Frank's earlier behavior, then ran after him to find something to soothe the fire that now raged in his throat and stomach. Outside of the fridge, he saw Frank with his mouth around the spout of a faucet. He shouldered him out of the way, and Frank stumbled and fell onto the floor. Matthias craned his neck to wrap his lips around the outlet and sucked the water down.

His senses returned and he pulled himself away. "Sorry," he coughed.

Frank stood and took another turn at the water while Matthias slid down the wall, holding his stomach.

Victor handed a small box of effects to Frank, extending his arm to keep maximum distance. He then stared at Matthias before noticing that the fridge door was ajar. He saw blood slowly oozing from the neck of a recently deceased sheriff with his feet propped up in the air. "Guys, what the fuck?"

Frank straightened up, water dripping from the stubble on his chin. "I think we are done here." He glanced at the box, then headed for the exit. Matthias stood and followed.

* * *

"Why couldn't I vomit?" asked Matthias. They were in the car again. He didn't know where Frank was taking them.

"Don't know. Makes no sense," replied Frank. "Thought I was a goner."

"Can we get some fizz or booze or something?" Matthias requested.

"Yeah, I'll stop somewhere."

"Did you learn anything?"

"I fucking learned not to drink dead blood!" he said, laughing.

Matthias grinned. "Yes."

Frank noted his muted response. "You ever wish you had more personality?"

"You ever wish you were funny?" Matthias quipped.

"Oooooh."

"That would be a sick burn," explained Matthias.

"A what? I'm pretty sure the sick burn happened back at the morgue."

"It's a thing. From before the collapse."

"Hm," reacted Frank. "How old are you, Matthias?" Such a question was considered impolite in vampire culture, but coming from Frank, it didn't seem rude.

"Well... I suppose I'm about sixty-something now. You?"

"Shit, not that much older than me. Fifty-six."

"So you were around before," Matthias extrapolated.

"Yeah," Frank nodded. He pulled to a stop outside of a run-down convenience store.

They went in and picked out a drink. Matthias a cola fizz, Frank an energy flat. The clerk had large chrome spikes protruding from his chubby cheeks. His shirt featured a group of men with various instruments and the word "Deathsmith" along the top. Matthias didn't know what a deathsmith was, but he held out hope that it was some remnant of metal still refusing to die. He shook his head and sighed.

"How long have you lived here?" asked Matthias once they were situated in the car.

"Forever," Frank smirked. "I have been here since I was just a regular guy."

"What about before? Your voice has a slight accent."

"I lived in a couple places," he said. "Parents were immigrants. They came here, had me, then we moved back to Dublin for a couple years. I don't even remember it anymore."

"This place is... different," said Matthias carefully.

"Should've seen it a few decades ago," he replied, pulling the car out of the lot. "I saw the good ole U S of A go up in flames, but not this town."

"No?"

"Christ, it was annoying. No looting, no fires. Couldn't even take a day off of work. Everyone just went about their business. Trucks stopped coming in to pick up meat, that was obviously a problem. Wal-Mart started running out of shit to sell. But local farmers started setting up permanent markets and the meat was just sold locally. Everyone passing dollars around like they still meant something while they blew like leaves in the wind everywhere else. Joke was on them."

"Smart people."

"Not really," he argued. "Most the people who lived here were first or second-generation Americans. They hadn't had time for paranoia and fear to turn their insides into kerosene. They didn't have generations of white privilege to bind them to an idea that was failing. They weren't invested. Just simple people who cared about their family more than a country, and whether they admit it or not, more than their god."

"Not even a little looting?"

"Maybe a little," said Frank. He pulled a vaper out of the center console and held it to his lips, flooding the cabin with a haze.

"I got something," said Matthias.

"You have something."

"From the blood," he expounded, watching the buildings pass by. "He was with a woman."

"Might have guessed that from the scratches."

"This woman was young. Young-looking at least. Something tells me she was paid."

"Just a feeling?" asked Frank.

"She was above his pay grade."

"Then you haven't seen our whores!" Frank declared.

"Hm," Matthias wondered. "There's got to be a few decent ones. She was Asian, maybe Chinese. Bright hair, like fuchsia or something. Thin."

"Matty, there ain't no Asians here, and what the hell is fuchsia?"

"It's like somewhere between pink and purple, I think."

Frank shook his head. "Jesus... okay, I know a couple guys we can ask."

"Are they Asians?"

Frank laughed and looked at Matthias, expecting to see a smile or otherwise indication of a joke. Instead, Matthias looked at him expectantly. "No, Matthias, they aren't Asians. They're pimps."

"I know, Frank."

* * *

Frank had turned the car around and headed back east along Wyatt Earp, then turned north onto Avenue P. The road was surrounded on both sides by what looked like large walls with doors every five meters. The exterior appeared to be large bricks or cinder blocks. Many of the doors had lights above them. Most were red, but some were blue, and one was green.

"What's with this housing?" asked Matthias.

"Great, isn't it? Goes on for a couple miles. They are using some new lightweight blocks that will probably blow away at the first hint of a tornado. Talkers claim the corp is going to stack another layer on top of it, then another, and so on."

"And it's all illicit peddlers?"

"Not illicit exactly, but I get what you mean." Frank stopped the car in front of a house with a yellow light. "Every once in a while Cargill will raid the place, but they only care about the guns. They are real progs. Whatever helps their wage slaves get through the day."

Frank opened the car door. "Let's go see a man about a whores."

"Awful," stated Matthias, planting his feet on the pavement.

Frank knocked a strange pattern on the faux wood door. Matthias tried to memorize it.

The door opened, revealing a tall Hispanic man in a polo shirt and khakis.

"Heya, Frank. Why the weird knock?"

"You mean the secret pattern?"

The big man sighed. "What is it this time?" He looked at Matthias.

Frank gestured. "This is Matthias. Matthias, meet Big Juan."

Matthias squinted slightly as Juan held out his hand, then reached forward and shook it.

"Why don't you come in?"

The agents followed Big Juan inside his segment of the housing wall. Matthias expected the interior to look similar to a prison cell or storage shed, but it appeared fairly typical with more room than indicated by the outward appearance.

Matthias and Frank sat on a leather couch, and Juan on an adjacent matching lounger.

As soon as he sat, Frank started. "Got anything to share?"

"Tch. Come on, I can't keep giving you freebies every time you drop in."

"Drop in a lot?" asked Matthias.

"More than enough," Juan replied.

"Aw, fuck off," said Frank. "How's business?"

"It's tough," he said, nodding. "Everyone is an accountant, marketer, entrepreneur. No one needs my services."

"Bullshit," denied Frank. "You are raking it in."

"I'm still rollin', but I see the bottom of the hill. Times are changing."

"What can ya do?"

"Maybe I should become a vampire," Juan mused.

"Maybe. It's not for everyone though," Frank asserted.

"Uh, Matthias, right? What brings you to lovely Dodge City?"

"A man was killed. We are trying to find who did it."

"The sheriff?"

Matthias nodded. "Yep."

"Well, it wasn't me," Juan said, holding his hands up.

Frank chuckled. "We know, but we think maybe he had a whore before biting it."

Juan grimaced slightly. "Sex worker, Frank, you old shit."

"Yeah, whatever," dismissed Frank. "Tell him, Matthias."

"This girl is young, Asian, thin, has short fuchsia-colored hair," Matthias retold.

Juan rubbed the side of his face. "Boro, there might be five Asians in this town, and none of them is hookin'."

"I tried to tell him," Frank said, gesturing. "What about the hair color?"

"So when you say fuchsia..."

"It's like between red and purple or something," explained Frank.

Juan leaned back into his chair, the legs shifting under his weight. He laughed briefly. "I think I know who that is."

"Well?"

"I don't have a name, but I've seen her south side. Probably one of Zippo's."

"Was afraid you might say that," Frank sighed. He stood and shook Juan's hand. "Good seeing ya. Come on, Matthias."

* * *

"Who's Zippo?" asked Matthias, back in the car.

Frank looked at the clock in the dash screen. "He's another pimp, but a bit of a throwback. Not a nice guy."

The car traveled south, retracing part of their journey. They took Wyatt Earp to fourteenth, then south again. Matthias had thought the rest of the town was dark, but as they entered a neighborhood made up of rotted wood and corrugated metal, he became concerned that the residents may not have working electricity.

Matthias pulled out his com and held it in front of him. He turned on injection mode. It immediately sensed the movement, then used its camera to scan for his face. Once located, it laser-projected an image onto each of his retinas, creating the illusion of a display in front of him. As his eyes moved, the interface panned over toward his messaging window.

He had new mail consisting of spam, spam, more spam, and a list of Dodge City contacts Blist had sent. It included Cargill executives, the sheriff's immediate family, and a list of registered vampires. Such lists were always out of date and incomplete. Most vampires stayed hidden, even from the council.

Matthias put his com away as the car rolled to a stop outside of what looked like an old school building. Made with red brick, it stretched about half a block in width, with a spotlight mounted on both the north and south edge of the roof. Concrete walkways led away from the front doors in three directions, broken and uneven. Tall grass sporadically decorated the front yard. A few beat-up cars were parked along the block.

"Here we are," said Frank.

Matthias detected a tinge of fear in his voice. "Want to stay here and keep the car ready?"

Frank's brow furrowed. He leaned forward to see past Matthias and gazed at the building. "No. Hey, this is my town, ya know. After all of this, I'm still going to be here. Let's stay cool, and make this quick."

As they approached the doors, the spotlights swung toward them, lighting them up and painting neat circles at their feet, as if they were about to deliver a dramatic monologue. A large Caucasian man opened the doors, stepped out, and closed them. The vampires approached him.

"What's your business?" he asked flatly.

Matthias looked at Frank.

"I'm Frank, this is Matthias. We'd like to talk to Zippo."

"What about?"

Frank groaned slightly. "We'd rather keep that between us and Zippo. We are here on behalf of Cargill and Noxcorp."

"Fuck corps," the man grunted. "Get lost."

"Zippo knows me, just ask him for a minute of his time, please," Frank said, clasping his hands together in front of his face.

The man said nothing, but turned and went back inside.

Matthias rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. Frank looked down at it.

"Hey, chill, man."

"I'm finding that difficult," said Matthias.

"This isn't worth killing over. We'll find out who she is, one way or another," he soothed.

"Maybe bleed out this door guy."

"Jesus, no! That is not what I meant."

The door swung back open, and another man stood there. He wore a sleeveless jean jacket open in the front. His muscular arms had completely incomprehensible tattoos from wrists to shoulders. His hairy torso was art-free, but Matthias detected a line of metal running down his chest. He also had on cutoff cargo pants and a pair of brown hiking boots. The man's face had several scars and had been clearly augmented. One eye was cyber, likely high-res with optical zoom and aim-assist. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

"Frank, you old bloodsucker. Long time, no see." He held his arms out as if expecting a hug. Frank declined.

"It's been a while," Frank nodded, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "You look good. Get some work done?"

"Shit, don't remind me. I had to get surgery to fix the surgery that was supposed to fix up my eye before the dumbass docs got it right."

He swung his head to Matthias. "Who's the corpse?"

Matthias's lips parted slightly.

"Zippo, this is Matthias. You've heard about the sheriff, right?"

"The fuckin' sheriff. Yeah, what a riot he was."

"He came down here, didn't he?" Matthias broke in.

Zippo looked at Matthias for a moment, sizing him up. "Hey, Frank, I'm not a, uh... what is it called? Person of interest. I'm not one of them, am I?"

"Nah. We are looking for someone, though," Frank said. "A girl. Maybe Asian. Young, thin. Short hair sort of between red and purple."

"What, like fuchsia?"

"Exactly!" Frank replied with a smile.

"There's no Asians here, Frank—"

"Maybe Asian—"

"But I have a girl that sounds similar. Well, Yola does technically."

"Just one?" asked Matthias.

"Only one I can think of. Name is Lucy. And yes, I know where you can find her."

"You want something in return?" asked Frank.

"You don't have anything I want... except," led Zippo.

"What?"

"Show me your teeth."

"My teeth?"

"Your fangs. Both of you. Whip 'em out," Zippo requested.

"You want to see our fangs," said Matthias.

"Yes, come on, don't embarrass me. Show! Show! Show!" he chanted, pumping his fists into the air.

"Fine," said Frank. He lifted his upper lip exposing the pointed tips of incisors. They lowered slightly, extending further out than the rest of his teeth. Matthias followed suit; his teeth were clearly much sharper, and as he pulled his lip up, they extended further as well.

Zippo laughed. "Freaky!" he said in a high-pitched voice. "I really should get that as a mod."

"Sounds like an excellent idea. Well, don't leave us hanging," said Frank.

"Lucy works out of the Rosewood on McArtor."

"What room?" asked Matthias.

"Not sure, but I think she's on the second floor," recalled Zippo.

"Good enough," Frank replied.

"Watch yourself over there. Seen lots of Wreckers hanging around that neighborhood."

"Wreckers?" questioned Matthias.

"Bikers," answered Frank. "When did this start?"

"Maybe a week ago? They moved into that old fort south of town a month ago, but I guess that wasn't enough."

Frank scratched his head while looking at the ground, then back at Zippo. "Strange. Welp, thanks, Zippo."

"Sure thing, and if you see Juan, tell him to stay the fuck north of Wyatt or I'll put his head on a pole," Zippo said with sudden seriousness, raising his voice slightly.

"Uh huh, I'll do that. See ya."

* * *

Matthias noticed the rhythmic chirping of crickets as they walked back to the car. The lack of background noise in the area allowed a hidden soundscape to emerge. Various different noises, presumably from insects he could not identify, along with a dog howling in the distance. Closing the car doors, the silence was amplified.

"He didn't seem that bad," observed Matthias.

"No, he didn't, did he." Frank sat with his hands on the steering wheel. "I don't like this."

"Let's get over to that motel and wrap this up," said Matthias.

"Yeah," said Frank.

The trip to the motel was quick. The town itself was relatively small, and the Rosewood was only a couple kilometers from Zippo's schoolhouse. Frank pulled against the curb two blocks down.

"I see him," said Matthias, referring to a man hunched over a longbike.

It was the type of motorcycle that used an onboard computer to monitor and manage shock absorption, torque, and efficiency. Its body was long and contoured for the rider to lay flat with their arms pushed through sleeves that ran parallel with the front wheel fork. Their forehead lay against a molded interface consisting of a breather, augreal goggles, and neural pad. The interface allowed the rider to have guided vision, manage oxygen intake, and control the bike mentally.

"See any others?" asked Frank.

Matthias scanned the area. "Could be hiding, but no."

"Why is he just sitting there?"

"Fancy bike. Some of those things have turrets," noted Matthias.

"The Wreckers are all augmented," said Frank. "He wants to get away from us, he gets away."

"And if he has a turret, he just kills us."

"Not if you act as bait."

"Maybe we should just ignore him," Matthias suggested.

"Shit... okay, I have a plan," Frank started. "I want you to sneak up on him. Not real close, but close enough to take a shot if things go badly."

"Alright, and you?"

"I'm going to waltz up to her door. Then we'll see how the biker reacts."

"Hmm," Matthias considered. "Let's do it. Give me at least a full minute."

Matthias ducked down as he skittered from shadow to shadow. Even at night, there were light sources everywhere, even if dim. But his vampirism gave him enhanced strength, speed, and finesse, allowing him to move quickly and quietly. He crouched behind a car twenty meters from the Wrecker, then slid onto his stomach and crawled along the ground. He made it behind a car across the street from the motel and squatted perfectly still.

He could hear Frank's footsteps, then the sound of the wrecker. It was subtle, but the man had turned his head to watch him. Frank went up the stairs on the side of the building to the second-floor balcony. The biker continued watching.

Frank, not knowing which door to go in, had to come up with a method of discerning. He pressed his face up to the front window of the first room and listened, then moved to the next. At the third one, he could hear sounds of movement. Good enough, he thought before knocking loudly on the metal door.

A man's muffled yell came from the other side. "What do ya want?"

"I'm looking for Lucy," Frank shouted back.

"Wrong room."

Frank moved to the next window. No sound. At the fifth room from the stairs, he heard noise, hushed voices, one of them a woman's. He banged on the door. No answer. He banged again harder and heard the sound of movement.

"Híjole!" A woman's voice cried. "What?" she then yelled through the door.

"Lucy?"

Frank heard the distinctive click of a revolver's hammer locking into place. "I'm busy, go away."

"Hey, uh, Zippo sent me," he fudged. "I just need a few minutes of your time."

"Not now, come back tomorrow."

"I can't. Let's just have a quick chat."

"Fuck you, go away!"

"I'm not going anywhere, Lucy," he announced. "It's too important. You've got that piece ready, but it isn't going to help. I'm going to hold my ID in front of the door."

Frank pulled out his com and pressed the light to the peephole. Lucy pushed her eye up to the hole, half expecting some sort of com-flash stun, but instead saw the projection of his identification. It claimed he had corporate authority to investigate and act as law enforcement. The projection showed various numbers; one was dynamically generated by connecting to Noxcorp-hosted servers. Lucy manually waved it into her own com to check its authenticity. It came back Verified.

"Okay, hold on. Okay?"

"Okay," replied Frank, sliding the thin rectangle back into his pocket.

A minute later, the door swung open, revealing a petite woman dressed in a silk robe. Her breasts pushed it forward while a thin belt drew it back against her slim waist. She appeared young, but her skin was drained of color. The woman's hair made up for it, a bright orb of straight hair that curved around her head. It was short in the front, then came down to her shoulders, gradually longer toward the back.

Frank forgot why he was there. He stared at her brown eyes, large and doe-like, then despite an attempt at self-control, slid his gaze down her robe.

"Hi," he breathed.

"Hmph," she uttered. She studied his face, admiring his jawline and stubble. Lucy slid to the side, revealing a middle-aged man sitting on the edge of a large bed covered with brown silk sheets. Frank's eyes followed her movement, then shot to the man. He looked like the typical wage slave, wearing a disheveled button-down shirt and slacks.

Outside, the longbike whined to life, its wheels chirping as the torque exceeded their traction. The wrecker was down the block in the blink of an eye, then turned the corner and zipped out of sight. Matthias sighed, standing to his feet and brushing himself off.

"Official corporate business," Frank announced, brushing past Lucy. "See yourself out."

The man glared at Frank, then stood and started tucking in his shirt. Frank cleared a path to the balcony and waited for him to leave.

"Matthias, vet this guy coming out," Frank said, touching his com.

Frank and Lucy stood opposite of each other silently for several seconds.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

Frank stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Frank."

Her look softened, and she exhaled, taking his hand and giving a courtesy smile. "Lucy Velez."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Velez. Can I ask you a professional question?"

"Pull," she responded, folding her arms together with her hands on her elbows.

"How much do you charge for your services?"

Lucy snorted. "Is that what you came for?"

Frank detected an accent he couldn't place. The 'you' came out as 'yo' and 'for' was closer to 'frah'. "I wish," he grinned. "You know how sometimes you pass by a mansion or see a supercar whiz by, and you just wonder to yourself, How much does something like that cost?"

Lucy looked at the ceiling, attempting a contemptuous eye-roll that was thwarted by a slightly blushing smile. She lowered her eyes back to the council enforcer.

"Depends on what you want?"

"On what I want? I hadn't thought of that."

"Maybe you should."

"Hmm," he hummed with a wry grin. "How about a whole day?"

"Just one?" she said, returning the grin.

"Just one."

Her grin faded. "By the hour, that would be about six hundred. But I'd take five hundred; you wouldn't last the whole day."

Frank laughed. "I wouldn't last three minutes! You ought to charge more and move uptown, hun."

"This works for now."

Matthias stepped into the room.

"The john is a nobody," stated Matthias, looking at Frank. Frank's gaze stayed locked onto Lucy. Matthias looked at her with recognition in his eyes.

"That's the girl I saw," he confirmed.

Frank doubled over laughing. Lucy wore a poker face, confused at his reaction but unwilling to express it. In contrast, Matthias's eyebrows shot up, insisting that everyone notice his confusion.

Frank straightened himself, sighing. He looked at Lucy then turned to Matthias. "She's Asian!" he mocked with an excited and dim-witted impersonation of his pale partner, proceeding to continue laughing uncontrollably.

Frank stopped long enough for Matthias to respond with, "What? Isn't she?" Frank resumed his laughter, and his response broke Lucy's stoney expression into a smile.

"You must not be from around here," she said.

"KC," he replied. She nodded.

"I'm not Asian, I'm Hispanic," she started. "But it really isn't that funny."

Frank coughed and cleared his throat.

"Shit, close the door and have a seat, guys. I will get some drinks."

"Now you're talkin'," said Frank.

##

## Episode 2: The Not Very Safe House

"So, you don't know why a Wrecker sits around watching your room?" Matthias questioned as the three sat around a small circular table.

"Maybe a coincidence?" she speculated.

"The rider saw Frank, and when he saw it was you we were visiting, he took off," Matthias countered. "He was watching you. Now he's probably reporting."

Frank rubbed his chin. "Let's get to it. Lance Burton was a client of yours, wasn't he?"

"Doesn't sound familiar," she shrugged. "But my clients don't always give their real name, if they even feel inclined to give me a name."

Matthias pulled out his com and pointed the lens at the table, projecting the victim's face for her to see.

"The sheriff," she said quietly.

Frank chortled. "He made you call him that?"

"I could call him whatever I wanted," she refuted. "But that's all he called himself around me."

"What a freak."

"When'd you see him last?" asked Matthias.

"I think maybe two days ago," she answered.

"Two days ago," began Matthias. "He was found dead."

"You killed him," accused Frank casually.

"No, I did not," she replied calmly. "Fuck," she muttered, looking down at her lap. "It's not like he was found here dead."

Matthias shifted in his seat. "Where were you late Saturday?"

"I was here, just like it says in my logbook."

"Thursday evening, one a.m.," Matthias announced, reading from a projected file. "Had a client who called himself Jimbo. Two a.m., had a client named Perla."

"Not very detailed," noted Frank.

"It goes on like this until at least three a.m. most days of the week," Matthias said, shepherding them toward implication. "Then on Saturday, a day when you are almost always busy until four, you see Burton at midnight and no one else until the next night."

Lucy took a drink from a shallow tumbler, her hand visibly shaking.

"No," she denied with a slight whimper. "No. No. No."

She looked at Frank, then to Matthias, then back to Frank.

"I was busy the rest of that night." She pulled out her com, thumbing through her entries. After a few moments, she set the com down.

"They're gone. My logs from the rest of that night are gone."

"Come on," Frank said with a quick wink. "He was a fucking asshole, good riddance. Just tell us so we can wrap this up."

Matthias glanced at Frank curiously.

"Later that night there were two men and a woman that came in," Lucy claimed.

"What do you mean?" asked Matthias. "Clients?"

"Ya."

"Walk-ins or what?"

"Everything is automated," she said. "I don't know when, but they signed up in advance. I don't always check my schedule until people knock."

"Alright," he said. "Got any names?"

"I don't remember. Hadn't seen any of them before," she said, shaking her head. "Wait. The woman was Ricki. I remember her."

"What's that mean?" asked Frank, his curiosity piqued.

"She was... rough. Really rough."

"Rough?"

"With the toys, and with her augment," she replied, staring into Frank's eyes. "If I weren't nocturnal, I'd still have the bruises."

Frank leaned back, swallowing. "Oh, you're good."

"Fuck you. Piece of shit," she hissed.

Matthias looked at his partner, then at Lucy as they glowered at each other.

"Do you remember anything else about them or anything strange that night?" asked Matthias.

"Yes. The first man talked to the second on the balcony. They knew each other. After Ricki... was done, I went to the shower, but I heard the sound of a bike leave." Lucy slammed her fist onto the table, her face contorting in anger. The drinks wobbled and booze sloshed out of the glasses. "I didn't kill him," she said with a high-pitched growl.

"Everything points at you," Matthias said. "I'm sorry—"

Frank plonked his .45 onto the table, the sound cutting Matthias off. The barrel pointed his direction.

"I'm sorry I'm a callous prick, Lucy," said Frank. "Matthias here comes from a big city where if there is a problem, they dispose of it quickly and cleanly." He glanced toward him then back at Lucy, resting the tips of his fingers gingerly on the pistol's grip. "I need to convince him that there's more to this than a vampire hooker turned murderer. It's too easy, and it's no fun."

"What—" Matthias tried to interject, but Frank spoke over him.

"We came here to close this case. Someone has to take the fall. The council wants to appease Cargill, try to maintain perception of order. I despise this shit, but my partner—"

"I'm not your partner."

"Matty here, probably just despises having to leave his cushy office chair." Frank could feel Matthias's gaze upon him. "I'm sure he understands now that things aren't always that simple." Frank sighed. "Let's say we figure out what is really going on."

"You motherfucker," muttered Matthias.

"You think you deserve to live more than her?"

Lucy had started chewing on a fingernail, her eyes starting to glisten.

"Get to the bottom?" said Matthias, incredulous. "The council is going to kill all of us if we start tossing accusations at corporate buddies, you idiot."

"So fucking arrogant." Frank shook his head. "Pay attention. We have suspects from that night. Probably biker scum. One of them can take the fall."

"What connects them to this?" asked Matthias. His voice was calm at first, but the volume rose with each statement. "The council is going to want a vampire."

"Unless a vampire didn't do it?"

"What if that's the only story they'll buy, the only story Cargill buys? What if this woman is simply marked for death?" Matthias fired back.

"Then one of those bikers will just have to be a vampire."

"Jesus," Matthias remarked. "You'll follow this no matter how convoluted it gets!"

Frank stood, pushing the chair out from underneath him. "This is my town! I'm not letting some shitbag corp use me to murder an inconvenient hooker," he yelled, then closed his eyes and inhaled.

The sink behind the table dripped, adding a tempo to the silence.

"Call Victor," demanded Matthias.

"What for?"

"He missed something. Tell him we know a vampire didn't do it. Either the punctures are fake, or manipulated, or he died of another cause. Convince him his reputation and his job are on the line."

"He'll be asleep," protested Frank.

Matthias glared.

"I'll wake him up."

"He has until tomorrow night." Matthias stood. "Let's go."

"Uh, where?"

"I want to see this Wrecker fort."

Lucy stood. "You can't leave me here alone. Please don't leave me alone. I'll come with you."

"Stay here with her," said Matthias. "I don't need someone like you watching my back."

"I wasn't going to kill you. Come on."

"Keys."

Frank thumbed his com, transferring permission to drive to Matthias.

* * *

Matthias followed directions to the fort, turning off his lights as soon as he left town, and continuing south down dirt roads until he was a kilometer out. From there he could see the lights of the historic structure. He pulled the car over to a side road and parked it out of the way.

Getting out, he looked around. While his vision was perfect in low light, he was not used to the darkness of the rural countryside. The stars above were innumerable and fantastically bright compared to the view buried within the city. The absence of background noises was unsettling, and the ringing in his ears seemed to grow louder the longer he stood in place.

He stepped forward, crunching gravel under his boots. The sound quieted his deprivation anxiety, though he knew he would soon have to be absolutely undetectable. It was after two a.m., and he could not afford to get stranded or captured a few hours before sunrise.

The vampire moved quickly through the dirt and grass toward the limestone campus. There were three buildings that formed a U-shape. Each one had lamps along the outside, but only the center building had visible light coming from the inside.

The silence allowed Matthias to hear the breathing and shifting of weight of two men standing outside. Matthias crouched low, keeping his distance from the lights. He stopped and considered what he wanted to accomplish. Firstly, he wanted to know their numbers. Next, he wanted an assessment of their gear and tech. He wanted to identify the leader among them. Finally, he hoped he could follow one of them to see what else they were up to.

Weaving in between beams of light, the nocturnal moved quickly in the shadows and pressed himself against the cold limestone exterior of the side of the building. He pushed his fingertips in between the bricks, grasping them with enhanced strength. He lifted himself up the wall with relative ease. At the top, he peeked over the edge. One man paced along the rampart, glancing down into the courtyard below. Matthias lowered himself out of sight, hugged the wall and climbed to the right, turning the corner. Every few meters he stopped and listened, counting the distinct voices.

Once near the next corner, he stopped. Eighteen men, he concluded. Matthias could feel his grip start to loosen. He would need a new place to eavesdrop soon. Before he found a suitable spot, he heard a distinctive metallic voice.

"What hapt?" it said in a monotone.

"Some guy showed," a man replied, his voice nasally and uneven. "Flashed his com and went inside."

"What else?"

"That's it, Leperd. Didn't look like johns. Thought that was what you were waiting for."

"He looked like a cop?"

"Maybe. Like undercover. He was carrying."

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

"Noose, fucking call next time," a third voice said.

"They could have survies at the place."

"Holy shit," the third voice sighed.

"Noose," started the metallic-sounding man called Leperd. "Go back. Stay unseen, and if the cop is still there, he is your new target. I want to know who he is, what he wants, where he goes. Stay in touch. Don't worry about any snoopers for now."

"Sure, man, got it," obeyed Noose.

Matthias heard doors open and shut and more conversation, but could no longer hold on to the wall. He dropped and landed gracefully, if not silently. He knew from the sound of footsteps above that he had been heard. The vampire quickly dashed around the far corner and pressed himself against the wall as the lone patrol shone its flashlight down onto the ground where Matthias had been a split second earlier. After waiting a few minutes patiently, he crept away from the fort and back to the car.

He listened as Noose's bike whisked him off to his renewed mission, then pushed his own vehicle down the road a half kilometer before hopping in and pressing the ignition. Matthias started for the hotel, then flipped on the heads-up map. It created a translucent layer over the windshield showing his position, that of nearby cars, landmarks, and of course a path to his destination.

The vampire didn't head directly back to the motel. He avoided it, driving north toward downtown. Thinking of Frank's macho bullshit infuriated him more than anything had for years. Matthias was one of the paler nocturnals. He was stronger, faster, aged slower, and felt less. But tonight he was feeling a lot, most of it anger. He gripped the wheel tightly, taking care not to yank it off the shaft, and found himself bewildered by his emotions. He knew Frank's display was all for show, and yet somehow that didn't matter. It was the implication of the act. The judgement, the betrayal, and the lack of respect.

"Fucking ass," he muttered. Matthias changed the destination of the HUD to his arranged safe house. He would sleep off the storm in his head. He shot a short text message to Frank.

* * *

Lucy's round cheeks slowly rose and fell in a wave-like motion. Frank lay underneath, his legs twitching slightly with each cycle. The rest of Lucy's body stayed motionless. Her chest pressed against his, and her head rested beside his, wearing a wry smile. Slowly and methodically she moved. Persistent and unyielding.

Frank punctuated humming sounds with short grunts. Having come twice, it was less pleasure than it was torture as she continued to stimulate the head. His hands took hold of her ass, limiting its range of motion.

"You gotta give me a break here."

"But I could do this all night." She lifted her head up to grin at him.

"Shit, I believe that, but I can't," he insisted.

"Then why are you still hard?" she asked, moving her hips faster despite his grip.

"Shit."

Lucy rolled off him and turned around. She swung her leg back over him to reverse the position, wrapping her arms around his legs. For another hour they played, with little said between them, then fell asleep before the sun started to rise. On cue, the room shuttered the window with metal paneling and safety-locked the door.

A few hours later, Frank's com rang. He waved it quiet and went back to sleep. Again at noon, it rang. This time Frank answered.

"Victor?"

"Yo, Frank. They've taken the body."

Frank sat up. "Taken it?"

"Cargill came in early this morning, and by the time I came in it was gone."

"Bastards."

"What do we do?" asked Victor.

"Get the tox yet?"

"No, and I won't now," he whined.

"Shit."

"What am I involved in?"

"Nothing, Vic. Don't worry, this will be history soon," assuaged Frank.

"I am going to take a personal day."

"Might not be a bad call."

"Bye, Frank."

Frank put the com on the nightstand and gazed at Lucy. Half of her body was sheathed with a sheer bedsheet. He admired her perfect curves, then rolled beside her and resumed his slumber.

He opened his eyes to the nudging of Lucy, who presented him with a plate of eggs and browns. Frank groaned and sat up, trying hard to appear pleased at being awake at dusk. They ate in bed quietly. She beamed at him as he ate, and he beamed back, feeling elated at first. Then his smile dissipated and he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. The chemistry between them was almost too perfect, and the realization that he felt something more than lust had triggered a sudden anxiety.

After a minute of staring at his plate, he heard her voice.

"What's wrong, babe?"

Frank's eyes were heavy, weighing his pupils down. He mustered the strength to lift them to her direction, bringing her face into view.

"Listen," he started, searching for the right phrasing. "I'm probably reading too much into breakfast in bed, but I'm not looking for anything too serious."

Lucy didn't respond, but instead forked browns into her mouth.

"I'm a jerk, but in case you didn't know that yet, I guess now is better than later. I don't want to hurt you."

She smiled in response. "Alright. I get it. This can be whatever you want." Her eyebrows rose and her smile faded. "It's just I don't think I've ever woke up next to someone on purpose. It was nice."

"Shit," Frank said, standing up with plate in hand.

He stood for a moment before speaking. "We need to get to the bottom of this sheriff business tonight."

"Where's your partner?"

Frank looked down at his com. "I am not sure whose side he's on."

"He seemed alright."

"Are you being serious?" Frank asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"I see a lot of men—" she started.

"Now I'm feeling jealous."

"I can size them up pretty quick. He's not bad," asserted Lucy.

"He's corporate." Frank shrugged. "Anyway, he says he wants to talk, so I will see what he has to say. Plus he has my car."

* * *

Matthias picked his spot carefully. He was an outsider and had to pore over  maps to find a location that was sure to work. An hour after dusk he watched a car drive down a one-way street that continued for a half kilometer without an intersection. It came to an end in front of a boarded-up house.

The car stopped at the dead end, leaving its engine running. The rear lights shone red, but otherwise the neighborhood was dark. If anyone lived in the buildings lining the road, they didn't want anyone else to know it, at least not at night.

A few seconds later, another noise agitated Matthias's eardrums. It was a quiet hum of an electric motor running at a low rotation per minute. In the darkness, it would be easy to miss for someone not looking for it with light-sensitive eyes. The hum came from a longbike whose pilot made the decision that he could not risk losing his quarry by staying at the entrance to the path, and instead decided to creep along slowly and cautiously after it.

For a few moments, the vampire crouched on the side of the road and considered how best to disable his prey. He had no EMP device to render the bike inert, and it was always possible that the circuitry was shielded. He wasn't carrying a firearm. He didn't even have a stick handy to insert between one of the five spokes comprising the wheels.

Matthias stood as the bike approached and decided to wing it. He walked casually into the road, intercepting the biker's path. Rather than panic, the biker pulled a small gun from a leather holster bolted onto the side of the bike. He lifted his head and faced the vampire with the headset still covering much of his face including his eyes.

The sounds of Matthias's footsteps were barely audible over the quiet hum. He continued to approach. Neither man spoke. The biker squeezed the trigger. Matthias saw it happen, and had to choose between a lateral attempt at avoiding the bullet and potentially allowing his prey to escape, or breaking into a sprint to mitigate the amount of lead that would enter his body. He chose the latter.

The first shot broke the tranquility of the night such that both men flinched slightly at the sound, even as Matthias had already pushed off with his back foot to rush the bike. Despite quick reflexes, the biker was only fast enough to fire a second time before the vampire reached him. Lacking inspiration on how best to deal with the man, Matthias settled for punching him in the head, hard.

Like the display of removing a tablecloth without disturbing the dinnerware resting upon it, the blow to the head sent the biker flying sideways while the bike stood motionless. The headset went with him, its thin connector snapping cleanly. His body hit the ground and rolled to a stop at the curb.

Matthias hopped over the bike and stalked toward the man. He looked down and examined his new wounds. As the adrenaline surge dissipated, he felt pain radiating from the bullet holes and groaned. He bent down and grabbed the man by his jacket collar. Unconcerned with the man's condition, Matthias lifted him up as Frank's car reversed toward him.

The trunk popped open, and Matthias threw him halfway in. The biker's legs hung over the back of the vehicle. Matthias leaned down and felt for a pulse. He nodded and tucked the man's legs inside, then closed the lid.

Inside the car, the agents turned to face each other.

"What now?" asked Frank.

"Let's take our friend someplace secluded," Matthias said with a smirk.

"Right," nodded Frank. "How far is your place?"

"Not far. Let's go."

The car briskly cruised through downtown as townies congregated in front of restaurants and clubs. Gone were the days when humans drank and competed for sex only on the weekends. Tuesdays were then just as lively as Saturdays.

"How long has it been since you were a part of any of this?" asked Frank.

"What's that?"

"People doing people shit," he explained.

"This sort of thing?" Matthias gestured. "Been a while."

"See," started Frank, pausing to consider his phrasing. "Some days I walk around and I see these people and I just don't feel like one of them."

Streetlamps reflected off the windshield creating a rhythmic pulsing on its surface and inside the cabin. Downtown was a short stretch, followed by a sparse residential.

"We aren't one of them," Matthias answered. "I get along with some of them. Even have a couple friends. I just got bored with inebriation and loud music."

"What about sex?"

"No thanks."

Frank let out a short laugh. "Got a girlfriend or a wife?"

Matthias shifted in his seat slightly, the only motion his body had made since entering the car.

"Why so interested?"

"I like sex."

"I'm happy for you."

"I hear that pale vampires don't have the drive anymore," Frank said with a blank expression.

"It's liberating, actually," Matthias replied.

Frank shook his head. "Shit."

"I still do it, and I doubt you have to worry for a long time."

"Sure hope not."

"You won't miss the need. It clouds your judgement. It leads people around on a leash."

"Fuck that. I'd rather get a suntan than go without."

"Right here," Matthias said, pointing to a small house.

Frank turned his head to scan the surrounding homes. After a moment, he nodded. "Okay, I think this will work."

He turned the car off and they stepped out onto a gravel driveway that with poor upkeep had started to blend into the compact yard. Frank pulled his gun and pointed it at the trunk. Matthias pulled the latch and swung the lid open. A scrawny man, almost gaunt, looked up at the pistol. No one moved.

"You're not dead," Matthias told the biker. "Do what we say or you will be."

The biker continued staring.

"Get out of the fucking trunk," ordered Frank.

The man stared for a second, then swung his leg over the rear bumper and placed his foot on the ground. Frank waved his piece toward the house.

"Let's go have a chat," Frank prodded.

The man swung his head around, puzzling at the surroundings.

"Now," commanded Matthias.

* * *

"Now what?" asked Matthias. The two vampires stood next to each other in front of the scrawny biker now duct-taped to a metal folding chair in the middle of a small living room.

"What's your name, kid?" Frank questioned.

The man sat there, staring at the floor.

"Come on, what's the big deal?" asked Frank.

No change.

"Okay, I won't hit you if you tell me just your name, right now," Frank bargained.

Nothing.

Frank reared back, opened his hand, and swung it across the man's face. The sound echoed off the walls. His face flew to the side and he emitted a sharp whine.

"Ouch," stated Matthias, folding his arms.

"You fucker!" yelled the man. "You slapped me!"

"No shit. I can only punch you a few times before there's nothing left of your face, but I can slap you all night long. Want another?"

Again the bound man stayed silent. As Frank wound up, the man clenched his entire body, flexing small muscles under tight skin, pulling the tendons along his shoulders tight. This time after the blow landed, on the same side of the face, he screamed for several seconds.

Frank wound up again.

"Noose!" he yelled. "My name is Noose."

"Oh good, nicknames," Matthias sneered.

"Got a real name?"

"Fuck real names. I'm Noose. That's what they call me."

"Fine, Noose," acknowledged Frank. "Why were you stalking the cathouse?"

Noose exhaled heavily from his nose, flaring his nostrils.

Frank used his left hand to slap Noose on the other side of the face, throwing his head to the opposite side. Noose cried out in pain.

"Hey," Matthias broke in. "When do I get a turn?"

"It's fucking addicting. Be my guest."

Frank shuffled to the side, allowing Matthias to step in front of the man's reddened face.

"Shafter," Noose uttered defiantly.

"Is that a word?"

"More like language vandalism," asserted Frank.

Without further warning, Matthias brought his hand from a resting position to the man's cheek with blazing speed. The sound was closer to a crack than a snap. Immediately, Noose screamed, then began to sob. Frank cleared his throat. The vampires let him cry for a minute.

"Why were you there?" asked Matthias.

"I was just hanging out there," Noose said between sobs.

"Come on, just—" started Frank.

"I'm going to save us some time," interrupted Matthias. "I've been to your little fort. I heard you and your boss talking. I know you were ordered there. Just save yourself some pain and embarrassment. Not like we are going to rat you out."

"I'll never tell you pigs shit."

"Pigs?" puzzled Frank.

"He thinks we are the police."

"Dumbass. You weren't alive to know what police were."

"That's not what it means," asserted Noose.

"Oh good, please explain it."

"Corporate security, obvs."

Matthias slapped him again.

The vampires moved into the adjoining bedroom and closed the door.

"What if you take some of his blood?" pondered Frank.

"Might give us something," Matthias considered. "I want to drink him about as much as the sheriff."

"I don't actually want to slap this guy all night long."

"Hang on, I have an idea," said Matthias. He left for the bathroom and returned two minutes later. He thumbed the switch on the device the size of his palm. Menacing-looking rollers on one end whirred to life, facing each other and both rotating in opposite directions toward each other.

"Okay," spoke Frank. "What the hell is that?"

"You want to feel the worst pain in the world?"

"Seriously, what is it? Looks ancient."

Matthias thumbed it off and unplugged it from the wall.

"Found it in the bathroom earlier. Brought back memories," explained Matthias.

Frank stared at the device. "What... kind of memories? Looks sort of like an old shaver."

Matthias moved back into the living room without answering, Frank following behind.

"Drag him over here," said Matthias.

Frank leaned the chair back and dragged it closer to a power outlet while Matthias plugged the antique-looking machine into the wall.

"Just let me go, I ain't saying shit!" the ganger yelled.

Matthias chuckled. "I don't want you to say a thing. This is going to be awesome."

The vampire held the machine to the man's face, caressing the metal cylinders on the end against his cheek. Noose flinched away. Frank folded his arms. Matthias flicked the switch and the cylinders started spinning.

"Hold his head," he requested.

Matthias held the rollers in front of Noose's face, then lightly touched them against his rough, stubbly cheek. The whine of the machine instantly lowered in pitch as it encountered resistance. Frank was not ready for Noose's reaction. He yelped and managed to pull his head backward out of the vampire's grip.

"What the mother fuck!" barked Noose.

Frank grabbed him and held tightly. "What is that thing?"

Matthias moved the machine toward him again.

"Please, I don't know shit. I don't."

Matthias pressed it against his cheek again. This time Frank held him firmly. The machine made quiet twang sounds almost imperceptible beneath the layer of screams emanating from Noose's mouth. He pulled it away a few seconds later, revealing a bald patch of skin, with a few small red blotches.

"Christ, are you pulling his face off?" Frank awed.

"Mostly just the hair," answered Matthias. "But his hair is so coarse and rooted that, well, sometimes his face is going to come with it. Gets real bad on the upper lip."

"Why is a torture device here?"

"Women used to use these things on purpose."

"On people they didn't like?"

"Their legs, mostly. Still hurts, but not like this."

"How did I not know about this?" wondered Frank.

Noose's whimpering quieted. "Please stop. Please. Please."

"Let's try your other cheek."

"No—!"

Matthias pressed it against the fresh cheek, and Noose released a guttural scream. His body convulsed against the duct tape holding him in place.

"I'll tell you anything! Stop! Please! Stop!" yelped Noose.

Frank laughed and nodded at Matthias. "Should really do the rest of the face for appearance sake."

Matthias sighed. "Alright, fine, let's hear it."

Noose's chest heaved several times. "I don't really know much."

Matthias waved the epilator in front of Noose's eyes, its cylinders still grinding.

"Leperd doesn't tell us shit!" he said hurriedly. "He just told me to sit outside the hotel and watch Lucy and tell him what happens."

"Why?" demanded Frank, moving in front of Noose.

"I don't know, I guess he thought something was gonna happen to her."

"I overheard them at the fort," said Matthias. "He asked if we looked like cops."

"More set up," said Frank. "Who is behind this?" Frank grabbed a handful of the man's hair and bent over to stare him in the face.

"I don't know. I just do—"

The sound of the window shattering interrupted Noose.

"Down!" Matthias shouted as a metallic orb clanked onto the floor.

Frank dove away onto his stomach. Matthias turned and fell to his knees. He bent over and rested his head against the floor, using half of his body as a shield for the other. Noose screamed wildly.

The globe exploded into eight sections flying at perfect trajectories away from the center. After traveling a meter, each section exploded into twenty-four more fragments, and each of those then exploded into three. The shrapnel tore through the walls and furniture and ceiling. The drywall was instantly shredded and all lights and glass were caught by a piece of metal or by flying debris.

Noose spun with his chair as several shards caught him at just the right angle, spraying blood around in a circle before he fell backward. Frank's body flinched as metal pierced his side. Matthias lay still as shrapnel tore through his left leg and right arm. All three men cried in pain, but the sound of the living room's destruction masked it, and the bang from the grenade left Frank and Matthias deafened.

A thick haze made of explosives smoke and pulverized drywall filled the now-dark house. Divider walls had become skeletons of thin wooden beams. The cascade of noise came to an abrupt end. Beams of light pierced the air and erratically swept from side to side. Frank rolled onto his back, grunting in pain. He coughed on the smoky air and felt for his pistol. He looked over and Matthias was gone. Noose lay motionless, still taped to the chair.

Frank squinted. His vampirism allowed him to see much clearer than when he was a human, but the haze still impeded it. To his right he saw what looked like his gun, but it was two meters out. He started to move toward it when a beam of light hit his eyes. Behind it, he could barely see an armed silhouette.

Shots rang out followed by screams. Frank mustered his strength and rolled to his gun, avoiding burst fire from the attacker. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure dart across the room. Two other men turned, their beams searching for the source of the screaming. Frank grabbed the gun and swung his arm outward, firing the first round without aiming. His target took aim, shifting slightly. Frank fired again, hitting the man in the chest. Then followed it with another shot, again in the chest.

The number of beams in the room started at four. With the first scream, it became three. Frank's attacker fell back, leaving two lights. As he landed, another man screamed. One beam remained, traveling erratically about the house.

"Need help!" the man called out. Frank spotted him by the back door. Matthias appeared behind him as if gliding on air. He put his pistol to the man's head and fired.

Breathing heavily, his lungs clogged with debris, Matthias doubled over coughing. He recovered and walked to Frank and extended his hand.

"The rest are out back. Can you walk?"

Frank took his hand and pulled himself up. "Let's get these fuckers."

Both ducked low as they took cover at the front doorway. Matthias peeked out and nodded to Frank. They moved outside and separated, moving along the walls in opposite directions toward the back of the house. As they approached the rear edge, one man crept through the back door. Another stood beside an SUV with an assault rifle pointed at the ground.

Frank looked at Matthias across the yard, who in turn pointed to Frank, then to the SUV. Frank nodded. Matthias stalked toward the back door while Frank walked casually to the vehicle. The man did a double take at him and started to raise his rifle. Frank moved faster, bringing up his handgun and firing a shot into the man's sternum. At the sound of the gun, Matthias grabbed the other man's hair and yanked his head backward onto his knee. The man's skull made a pop as it fractured from the impact.

Frank tackled the biker he had wounded, mounted him, and shoved the barrel of his gun against the man's forehead.

"Who's Leperd working for?" he yelled over the ringing in his ears.

The man's lips parted and blood seeped out. He coughed up more fluid and continued moving his mouth as if speaking, but no words came out. His eyes rolled back. Frank squeezed the trigger.

Frank sank lower onto his knees and doubled over in pain. Shrapnel was working its way out of his body, and it was a slow, painful process. He leaned over the dead man and bit into his neck, feeding feverishly. Matthias walked up behind him, holding his hand to his side where his clothes were soaked in blood.

Frank lifted himself off the corpse. "We need to get to Lucy," he said weakly.

"Frank, we have to get to Leperd."

"No, I'm going to the motel. His blood. I felt something. Something wrong."

Matthias sighed. "Okay, get your ass up and let's go. I got one of the bikes to work. Can you drive that thing?" He gestured at the SUV.

"Yes." Frank planted his hands underneath him and pushed up to his feet.

"I'll see you there," Matthias said, walking toward one of the bikes. Part of him wanted to head directly to the fort to confront Leperd, but he felt sorry for Frank. Not because his latest fling's life might be in danger, but because he was so chained by his emotional attachment. Matthias tried to think of a time when he was human and felt that way about someone, but he drew a blank and it made him feel an odd sense of shame.

He also realized that solving this case was just a game to him. Its outcome didn't matter except how it might improve his standing with the council. What Frank wanted, even if it did not align with Matthias's goals, was at least important to him. It was more than a game, and he respected that.

* * *

Matthias watched the SUV speed past him as he slowly moved the bike forward, getting used to its controls. He had no neural interface experience, but shoved the helmet over his head regardless. No auth prompt came up, but instead a new user calibration screen. He chose simple mode and went through a few practice commands. Once he started to get the hang of it, he sped up. A route back to the motel augmented his view of the road, warning him when a turn was coming up.

The longbike was fast and agile. The sides of the rear tire were slick, so when a sharp turn was made, the rear could swing around, then restore grip as the bike righted itself. Matthias soon caught up to Frank, who was barreling down residential areas at over a hundred kilometers per hour.

Frank screeched to a halt at the stairway of the motel. He exited with his gun drawn and leapt up the stairs. Matthias slid off the bike and followed, staying low and smoothly climbing the stairs behind him.

The door to Lucy's room was open a crack with the lights on inside. Frank took position on the far side of the door, Matthias on the other. Matthias nodded and pushed the door open with one hand. Frank leaned over, pointing his gun inside.

"Fuck!" Frank cried, running into the room. Matthias leaned into the doorway with his gun ready to cover him. The room was tossed, and Lucy lay on the floor, bruised and bloody. Her eyes were closed, and her skin had become wrinkled like fingertips after a long bath. She wore what was left of a badly torn robe.

Lucy lay silent and still as Frank dropped his gun and knelt beside her. He pressed his fingers into her neck, then grabbed her wrist. She was clearly dead. Frank leaned over and placed his head onto her chest and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm sorry," he repeated. "Poor girl. I'm so sorry."

Matthias felt a pain in his chest and started massaging it with the butt of his weapon. He entered the room and stalked toward the bathroom, checking every door for any remaining threats. Satisfied, he sat at the same seat where he had a day ago. Frank continued resting on Lucy's body, wishing he had never left her side.

##

## Episode 3: Leperd Hunting

Frank's keys jangle onto the table. He pulls his jacket off and throws it onto the loveseat. He is home. And a lovely home it is. Expensive furniture, a large entertainment center, a lot of space to cram with stuff. Almost all of it owned by the bank. But Frank Kerwin is young and has plenty of time to pay it off.

"I'm waiting, big boy," she calls.

Jane waits for him in the bedroom wearing a smile and nothing else. Her auburn hair drapes over a nearby pillow. She's thin but soft and her skin is light with only a freckle or a mole here and there for character. It is hard to segue from roofing to sex, but her dark blue eyes draw him in, and he manages it. In fact, he manages it almost every night. She is young and at least as far as Frank is concerned, beautiful, and she is ready to start a family.

Now another house. This one smaller. Walls plain white. Not a brilliant white, but aged. Furniture worn, a TV that works when it wants to. A different city, a different time, and perhaps a different life.

Frank sits at the table, forking apart a chicken breast. Jane sits across from him. She asks about work, but not with the same interest she used to.

"Hon?" she asks in an ostensibly gentle tone, but one which has become a warning signal to Frank's ears.

"What?" he responds with irritation.

"Please go to the doctor," she pleads. "It's been two years now."

"Aren't you happy with me?" he asks. "Aren't I enough?"

She stands and walks to the bedroom as the tears push their way from behind her eyelids.

"Why don't you go?" he yells, knowing he's in the wrong. The pain in his heart is unbearable, the fear in his gut unfathomable. She's going to leave me, he thinks. Either way, she's going to leave me.

A week passes, and his results come in, and his reaction is not the relief he was looking for, but that of dread. His sperm count is fine, and his boys know how to swim. The problem isn't him.

She goes in for her own tests. She's not ovulating, the doctor tells her. He wants more tests, and she wants to know if it can be fixed. He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," says Frank, sitting next to her on the bed. "Maybe we can adopt."

She shrugs between sobs. It's not a 'no' at least.

A year passes. They sit down to eat. Mister and Missus Kerwin.

"Can we please move closer to my parents soon?" she asks, broaching a familiar topic that never ends well.

"The work is here, hon," he replies.

At this, she boils. "We never have any money anyway."

"I'm doing my best."

"Just get me out of here, Frank. I don't want to live here, I never did."

"Hon—" he tries to speak.

"No, Frank, no more excuses. My parents can help us. I can find something there, and so can you."

"You don't know that," he says.

"We can try," she says. "We'd survive, we'd find a way." Then, without letting him respond, "We're stuck here because of your debt. I warned you and you didn't listen!"

Her words cut Frank like a knife. How could he have known his house would plummet in value, that construction work would dry up, that the country was marching into an economic crash? He made mistakes, for sure. It was the American way to buy now and pay later. That's why loans exist, after all. He saw it all in his head, the progression up the chain, the path from humble beginnings to a comfortable life with a loving family, living in the suburbs. How do I get back? he wonders.

"We're leaving, or I'm leaving!" She storms off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it.

And leave Jane does, but with Frank's blessing. She moves in with her parents. He sends her what money he can, but they grow apart. Absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder this time. Frank takes to drinking, and Jane starts a job as an editor at a small paper. Both of them cheat, but it isn't really cheating. Neither falls in love, and neither proposes divorce.

They are friends now, and as friends, they speak about once a week over the telephone. Their love was molded around a dream that is no longer possible, and so it is buried deep in their hearts so that they can move on.

Frank wakes every night in terror. People are invading his house. Aliens are coming to abduct him. He's having a heart attack, he's sure of it. What will the next night bring, and the next, and the next? There is no one lying beside him to assure him that everything will be all right.

He gets on job finder sites, scans the classifieds, determined to find a way back on the path, back to his wife.

He's finishing his microwave dinner when he gets a call.

"I'm sick," she says.

Frank's world, fractured as it already is, shatters entirely. The pain is compounded by the realization that he's been an idiot and an asshole for most of his adult life. He had ignored the warning signs. Didn't insist on sending her back to the doctor. Didn't give her what she wanted.

Shattered also are the layers of cement under which his love is buried. He moves to Manhattan to be with her in her final months. His company wastes no time finding a replacement, but he knew they would fire him before he left.

"I will never love anyone again," he says.

"Don't be silly," she replies. "I want you to be happy."

"You shouldn't." His words of self-loathing often taint their time together. "I can't be."

"Promise me."

"Promise what?"

"That you'll find someone and be happy," she says.

"You want me to promise to go fuck someone else?"

"Uh huh."

"Then what?" he asks. "Forget about you?"

"If that's what it takes," she says.

"I'd rather die," he says.

She frowns and is silent. They hold hands. She lies on the hospital bed, a cap over her bald head and wearing clothes that were once a bit snug but now hang loosely on her emaciated body.

"We had everything," she says, provoking a look of consternation from her husband.

"I wanted so much more," he replies.

"In my head," she says. "Just like you. It was beautiful. We were beautiful."

"Yeah," he agrees. "We were."

Jane is gone now, and Frank is alone back in Dodge. The anxiety has worsened, and his depression deepened. He wants to end it, but cannot find the courage. He fears death, he fears what is waiting, even if it's Jane. His only hobby is drinking until the barkeep cuts him off.

Eventually, he develops a routine and finds work again. Work, eat, drink, sleep, repeat. The drinking slowly lessens. He takes pills for the anxiety. He makes a few friends, one of them with four legs and a ferocious meow named Oscar.

Frank starts reading. Fiction, biographies, forensics textbooks. He enrolls in online criminal justice classes. Just a class per semester. Women do not approach often, but keeping to his word, he turns down the few that do.

Years pass and many things transpire, but Frank is still Frank. After a long companionship, his kitty leaves him. Maybe Oscar will end up with Jane, he ponders, and can keep her company. Frank gets his degree and a certification. He has moved up to foreman in one of the few construction companies snagging contracts consistently. He's not happy, but he's surviving.

One day, he shows up to work to find the boys staring at the TV. The president is giving an address. He recounts the many trials of the great nation. He casts blame at his predecessors and a do-nothing congress. He symbolically signs a paper signifying the end of the federal government, to which almost all power had been granted by its member states already. "Now," he tells the American people, "that power is yours."

Frank thinks about his failure and that of his nation, and wonders if they are merely similar or conjoined. He tells the boys to get back to work, then hides in his office to weep. He weeps for Jane, he weeps for Oscar, he weeps for his country. He weeps for himself.

* * *

"I cannot answer that due to an existing investigation," Matthias told the Cargill detective outside the Rosewood Motel.

"You can't tell me?"

"I guess I could, but I don't have to," shrugged Matthias. "And I think the council would prefer discretion even when relating to other law enforcement."

Paid directly by the regional corporation, the detective would not appreciate any implication that his employer was involved. If it were up to Matthias, he'd retire the case with Lucy as the prime suspect. It was obvious that someone at the corp wanted the sheriff out of the way, and there was little use trying to pin a crime on an executive.

Frank had moved to a side of the building out of view of corpsec, and was speaking into his com. Matthias could not make out the entire conversation, but noted that he sounded calm.

The officer speaking with Matthias shook his head as he walked away. Two other officers assisted by contaminating the crime scene and gawking at Lucy's corpse. Matthias walked over to Frank as he put his com in his pocket.

"A witness saw bikers come and go after I left," said Frank.

"You are going after them?"

"Why don't you head back to KC, Matty." Frank walked to his car. Matthias followed.

"I can help."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"You don't give two shits, it's not within your ability." Frank poked Matthias in the chest.

"My reasons are my own," Matthias countered. "This isn't over until this gang is no longer a tool of the elite, they need to be taken apart."

Frank's grim scowl broke into a scoff. "Had no idea you were a socialist."

"That's not even what that word means," Matthias sighed. "Do you even have a plan?"

"I move on them tonight. That's the plan. I have some gear on the way."

"Here?"

"The local office," Frank clarified. "It's hardly ever used since I'm the only agent here. I'll head over there and wait."

"Is this the best way? What if we drew them out, pick them off one by one," suggested Matthias.

"You want to live here?" asked Frank. "Otherwise, that idea doesn't have legs. They could hole up there for days, weeks, maybe even months."

Matthias had no response. It's true, he thought. They left the scene and met back up at an all-night pancake house, where they discussed in detail what Matthias had learned on his recon trip and the best strategy for taking the fort, sometimes loudly, with several patrons and a waitress in hearing range.

The restaurant was well-kept and clean. A haven from the dust, abandoned buildings, and poor lighting of the town. The interior used the latest hipster stylings, psychologically tested on focus groups to ensure maximum appetite and comfort for customers. Matthias and Frank had seen places like this go through so many changes that such a chameleon effort did not impress them.

For a place to have true character, men of their age knew it had to occur organically. It was the result of the location, the construction, the people. It was a style that followed function, not done for its own sake. The fickle contrivances of men in regards to cars, houses, business all made nocturnals uneasy.

After Matthias had finished his short stack, which he did in a few short minutes, he looked at Frank, barely halfway through a set of crepes.

"Want to do some more detective work before the assault?"

Frank lowered his fork, already loaded, onto his plate and swallowed a half-chewed mouthful. "What is there to detect?"

"We're overlooking the big mystery here," he replied. "You're mad at those dumb Wreckers, and I was admittedly just looking for a way to wrap this up. But let's say Cargill was behind the sheriff's death."

"That's real foily," said Frank. "Literally anyone could have done him in."

"And then make it look like a vampire. Hire bikers."

"Makes the mastermind resourceful, not necessarily corporate," Frank countered.

"Sure," said Matthias. "But pretending we're true detectives, how would we solve who was behind this?"

"Gotta get this Leperd asshole," Frank asserted. "He may be the only link." He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

"Okay, so we work forward, we get him, we get the next guy, etc. But what if we work backward. From Cargill."

Frank thought as he chewed. He hated thinking while he was trying to enjoy prepackaged fresh-frozen corporately processed food. "I don't think that's how it works," he said eventually. "Buuuuut, if it did, there must be some exec who made the proposal to Leperd or a middle man."

"This is their territory. No way we'll get com records without making waves," noted Matthias.

"Even then we won't get them," said Frank.

"If you want to meet a gang leader, you might have to go through some back channels, not just call him up," reasoned Matthias.

"Hm. True. But who? It's impossible to figure out." Frank shook his head and clunked his fork on his plate.

"We could try to get records for anything coming into that fort, but they'd probably just turn us down. However..."

"What?" prodded Frank.

"Your buddy Zippo—"

"Not my buddy."

"Acquaintance. He said they moved in a month ago."

"Ya?"

"Maybe someone made contact before then. I bet someone knows where they squatted last," said Matthias. "And if it's outside Cargill territory, we can get the records."

"Lot of ifs," said Frank. "Still, it's worth at least checking out."

Frank made some calls. Zippo had a connection, as he did to a variety of business partners large and small. Gangs were just another type of business, though sometimes their models were a little roundabout concerning profitable activities.

He learned that the Wreckers had their main base of operations in Wichita. The city was troublesome regarding access to records, as it was split down the middle between Cargill and Midwest Transports. Matthias contacted a surrogate in the area to request records based on corpsec intel on their former residence, hoping that authorization from MT would be enough.

While Wichita had two Noxcorp agents, Matthias chose to use a surrogate for two reasons. The first was that the surrogate was a human, and as a human, he could make requests during business hours. This was easier and faster. He also didn't want to annoy Blist by getting his hands dirty and making a real case out of the assignment, and odds were that the Wichita agents would let Blist know about the request as a courtesy. Surrogates, while working in the interests of Noxcorp, were independent contractors. They weren't going to question seemingly simple requests.

The duo waited inside the dusty, barren Noxcorp investigations satellite office for equipment to arrive, likely shipped out of Garden City. The office was part of a larger complex composed of real offices for real business. This office had a cramped restroom and a single computer. There were three old chairs with metal frames, worn upholstery, and little squeaky wheels on their legs.

Matthias put his com away. "So with some luck, we'll know something tomorrow."

"Right," said Frank, staring off into the distance.

"I thought of something else," said Matthias.

"Uh huh," responded Frank.

"This town has meetings, and Burton probably had friends. They might know who was gunning for him. If we know which execs had it out for him, that would narrow our focus, find evidence they left behind when dealing with the bikers."

Frank sighed. "I get that there might be leads, man. But the execs are off limits. I know who we can get, and we are going to get them."

"No one is untouchable," argued Matthias.

"How much are you willing to sacrifice?" asked Frank. "Because you start going after guys with power, real power, then make sure the answer is 'everything'."

"Corporations offer up sacrifices all the time," said Matthias. "We get a bunch of evidence to the council, all they have to do is ask, and the implicated officer gets what's coming."

"And if they don't like how you've treated a partner corp, kiss your career goodbye."

That ended their discourse for a few minutes. Matthias could see the agitation on Frank's face. He sat and thought. Somehow the idea of tracking a conspiracy to its roots kept pushing itself to the forefront of his consciousness.

Frank had pulled out his vaper to puff on, to calm his nerves. When he put it away, Matthias engaged him again.

"I know you want to go after these guys, but we can find out a lot tonight and tomorrow if we dig," he said.

"We need to do this tonight," replied Frank.

"As soon as we attack them, anyone involved is going to go into ass-covering mode. Maybe even disappear, making it even harder to get answers."

"You want out, it's fine," said Frank.

"I just think we could wait a day. Do some legwork, make calls."

"Some of what you say makes sense," said Frank, standing. "But these guys, if this is what they were here for, they may be packing their bags already. I can't risk that on some hunches or shaky leads. Whatever you think, whatever you choose to do, I am going there tonight, to make sure they don't escape."

"Yeah, alright," said Matthias. "Well, there's no way I'm sitting it out, just so you know."

"Fine," said Frank. "Tomorrow, you still want to investigate, then we will." He walked to a large picture window and stared out into the business district. A truck pulled up to the curb and stopped. It was a heavy-duty pickup with a tonneau cover over the bed.

"It's here," said Frank. "Now the fun begins."

* * *

Matthias lay flat on the roof of an abandoned farmhouse east of the fort. The night air was chilly but still. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, and even the crickets were hushed compared to his last rural venture. He took the rifle Frank had given him and extended the mount legs, resting them on a flattened part of a gable. The vampire peered through the scope toward the limestone structure. His unnatural sight combined with the scope's light enhancement made the view clear as day.

West of the fort, Frank took a drag from his vaper as he leaned against the side of the SUV. On the roof of the vehicle rested his own rifle. Beside him leaned a long metal tube in military green. A small LED on his vaper glowed red. He slid it into his pocket and pulled out his com to look at the time. A cloud of vapor swirled around his head as he bent down to lift up the launcher.

With it balanced on his shoulder, Frank took a knee and looked through a small LCD display at the building a kilometer away. A small laser dot traveled from the sight to the middle of a window on the fort.

"One, two, three, four," Frank counted, his finger on the firing trigger.

Matthias's com read three in the morning. He had marked each target along the rampart. There were more than during the previous night, meaning they were on alert. It also meant Matthias would have to be quick.

The large cylinder attached to the barrel of the rifle muffled the noise of the first shot, but the velocity of the projectile produced a cracking sound as it broke the speed of sound. Matthias would have little time to move from target to target. And each bullet would take approximately a third of a second to reach its target.

BANG! A high-pitched crack destroyed the tranquility of calm night. The first rampart guard flew backward. Matthias quickly switched targets and fired again. At the sound of the first shot, the natural reaction of the others was to hold still and listen. The second shot landed, dropping another guard. It wouldn't be humanly possible to get three shots off without time to find cover, but a human wasn't behind this gun. He fired a third time, within a split second of the first. It landed on a third guard right as the sound from the second shot reached them.

At the sound of the second shot, Frank pulled the trigger on the launcher's grip. A fat rocket roared out and toward the building. It drifted off its initial trajectory, then flaps sprang to life, steering the missile toward the red dot reflecting off the pane of glass.

Matthias moved to the fourth target. The man, while aware of the attack, was not aware of its source. He took cover against a ledge facing the wrong way. A bullet tore through his chest, painting the ledge red. The fifth target ran for a hatch. Matthias took aim as he climbed down, fired, and missed.

A split second later, the rocket crashed through the old single-pane window. For the next few seconds, a calm began to settle over the scene, then shouts erupted from inside the building and smoke started billowing out from the broken window.

Matthias peered through the scope as the first biker reluctantly fled through the front doors.

"How do I know who not to shoot?" he asked into his com.

"Should have drunk that twerp's blood," maintained Frank.

"Well, I didn't," Matthias growled. "How about I just cripple them?"

"Cold."

Frank reasoned that Leperd might be the last one out. Probably some macho douche, he thought. He may even have a breather. The nightstalker crept low amid the tall grass off the trail the bikers used. Matthias was making quick work as the men trickled out. They yelped and screamed as high-velocity rounds tore through their thighs. Some of the wounds would no doubt be fatal via damage to the femur or femoral artery, but it was the best Matthias could manage.

As a gaggle of gangers emerged from the doors, they made a run for their longbikes parked nearby. Matthias picked them off as they ran, but there were too many. Two managed to mount their bikes and tear out of the yard toward the dirt road. Matthias swung his rifle, matching its motion with that of one of the Wreckers. He aimed ahead, guessing at the bike's speed and then fired. It hit the bike on the side and a small flame erupted from the hole in the machine.

Frank fired his pistol at the second biker as he zoomed past him. A turret on the bike lifted slightly then rotated around to face Frank. The vampire dove behind the SUV as the turret peppered the car with bullets. Frank ran around to the other side of the vehicle and continued firing at the biker, hitting him three times in the back. The bike fell over and the turret powered down.

Matthias took a close look at the first biker, now trying to run on foot, decided it probably wasn't Leperd, and shot him through the back of the head.

Two of the men he had crippled had started firing in random directions while they lay on the ground. Other gangers hopelessly crawled along the ground, trying to reach their longbikes before Frank reached them.

There was little light to see by, and the air had become thick with the grande-size smoke bomb at work. The bikers were blind and at the mercy of a pair of vengeful vampires.

Frank approached one of the men firing blindly and put the barrel of his handgun against his head. The man stopped firing.

"You shouldn't have killed her," he said before executing him. He continued toward the door. One Wrecker after another came out shooting. Each one seemed to get closer to aiming in Matthias's direction, but one after another took a bullet and fell.

Matthias continued aiming near the front doors. He swung the scope to the back of the building to check for men climbing out of windows, then back to the door. The air was thick with rising smoke, and even his own vision had become obstructed with it. The yelling and gunfire were constant, and Matthias heard rounds start to pelt the side of the house underneath him.

Though his senses were overloaded, he caught movement at the top of his peripheral vision. Matthias turned his attention to the roof just in time to see a biker aiming a rocket-propelled grenade right at him. Light flashed behind it, like a starter at a track meet signaling the grenade that it was time to sprint. At first, the rocket seemed to hover in the air as Matthias faced it head on. It grew slowly in his vision, then faster and faster still. Before he kissed his ass goodbye, Matthias caught a gleam of metal on the face of the man holding the launcher.

"Leperd!" he yelled into his com as the grenade impacted the siding. The explosion tore apart that wall and a nearby support beam. Shrapnel decimated the drywall and fractured the old thin beams that had been compromised by years of termites and water damage. The roof promptly caved in, taking Matthias with it. Debris collapsed inward as it fell, burying him underneath.

Shit, Frank thought as he watched his partner explode. He stared at the smoke and rubble and bits of house that fell from the sky. He turned back to the fort and looked up toward the rampart. He was no climber, but he had to get to that roof. He took a deep breath and headed into the smoke. His eyes let him just barely make out the walls and doors within two meters.

The nightstalker quickly traversed the empty corridors, taking the first stairs he found. When they ended, he was still not on the roof. He peered around for where the smoke was escaping and started following it to a small unfinished room with a metal ladder leading to the hatch.

He set his foot on one of the rungs when he heard hurried footfalls behind him. Frank had no time to turn and look before his head slammed into the ladder, knocking him senseless. He felt his gun leave his holster as he fell, landing on his stomach.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Leperd fired the remaining rounds into Frank's back, then turned and headed down the corridor toward the stairs. Frank grunted as adrenaline took over, pushing himself up and sprinting after the cybernetic man.

Leperd beat him to the stairs, vaulting down them three at a time. Frank leapt over the guardwall, and grabbed Leperd's waist as he fell. Both men tumbled, with stairs and body parts all colliding with each other. Leperd kicked at him, freeing himself momentarily. Frank scrambled to his feet faster and dove again on top of him. The thick air clogged his lungs, and he began to cough uncontrollably. The gang leader had a mask covering his mouth, allowing him to breathe easy.

Leperd struck Frank with a metal-plated glove. It snapped Frank's head to the side, but he stayed on top, retaliating with a downward elbow to Leperd's forehead. Blood began to ooze from the cut. Frank reached down and tore the breather from Leperd's face.

Leperd tried to fight Frank off, but Frank blocked his blows and the Wrecker leader started to choke on the air. Frank came down with another elbow, then pulled his knees forward, straddling Leperd. He grabbed him around the neck tightly with his left hand and drove his right knuckles into the biker's mouth. Leperd smiled, showing chromed teeth covered with blood. The blow hurt Frank's fist, but he didn't let it show.

"Who hired you?" Frank screamed, his voice now raw from coughing.

Leperd forced a laugh through his tightened larynx. "What's it matter? Want me to testify?"

Frank lifted his head and slammed it against the hard tile floor. "Who!"

Leperd's laugh vanished. "Fucking leech."

"Leech? Is that what you want? Fine."

"No! Fuck you!" protested Leperd.

Frank slammed his head again, then lifted him up and sank his teeth into the biker's neck. He aggressively pulled blood out, swallowing what he could and letting the rest spill down his neck and onto his clothing and the floor. The vampire felt Leperd's life drain away, the heartbeat becoming slower and weaker, until the gang leader's body relaxed.

Images flooded into Frank's head. Fleeting memories of places Leperd had been, people he had interacted with. Then, he recognized one of them. The nocturnal pulled away, letting Leperd's head fall backward.

"Motherfucker!" Frank said with exasperation. He pulled a knife from his boot and stabbed it into the biker's skull. He lifted it out and wiped it against the biker's loose blue denim jacket. Leperd closed his eyes, and a soft whistle escaped his lips as the life left his body.

"Good riddance," Frank spat.

Matthias emerged from the rubble. He was bruised and battered and his body covered in lacerations. Not to mention the headache. He limped toward the fort, surveying the scene. Bodies littered the ground. Smoke still billowed out of the limestone building, highlighted by spotlights all aiming at nothing in particular. He turned his head back to the wreckage that used to be a house. A small fire had started that he knew would hungrily devour anything flammable in short order.

Matthias sent a message to the Cargill emergency response. With any luck, they'd arrive before the entire surrounding crop went up in smoke.

As he neared the fort, he watched a man walk clumsily out of the main doors. The man turned to face him. It was Frank. The two stopped and stared at each other across the haze. For a few moments, silence. Then a breeze picked up, and crickets began to chirp again, and Frank pointed behind Matthias as the fire began to crackle. Matthias waved him off and walked back to his new bike.

* * *

Blist smiled as he lifted the com to his ear. He had once been told, a lifetime ago, that if you wanted to sound friendly on the phone, you had to smile.

"Yes, councilman, how are you?" he greeted.

"I'm well, Terrence," Mr. Johnson of the vampire council replied. "I know you just sent your report, but we've been eagerly waiting for it, so I wanted to call and congratulate you."

"Thank you, sir," said Blist. "I'm glad it worked out."

"I really have to say that I am impressed. Our agents exposed a setup and took down a gang at the same time. They really went out of their way."

Blist, a veteran of nuance and council politics, sensed a hint of disapproval in Johnson's voice.

"Yes, sir. When the agents informed me of this biker gang all too conveniently watching the prime suspect, I felt that a convenient solution might later come under... unwanted scrutiny." Blist prided himself on his bullshitting ability, having never heard a peep from Matthias until after the fort's assault. But he knew that it was worse to appear impotent than to make a judgement call that not everyone liked.

"Well, you may be right," said Johnson. "In any case, it is a little concerning that someone tried to frame one of our own."

"I would agree, sir," Blist said, rolling his eyes while wondering if the same rule with smiling applied.

"Do you think someone is trying to smear us?"

"Might be worth looking into," answered Blist. "But Burton had enemies, and it might just be they decided to pin it on the wrong group of people this time."

"Poke around, just in case," said Johnson. "And let's hope no one else is foolish enough to make this mistake again. Alright, Terrence, it was good talking to you. Give your agents my regards."

"Will do, councilman."

* * *

"So this is how the other half lives?" asked Matthias.

"I like you better without a sense of humor," Frank replied. "But yes, this is it."

Matthias walked around Frank's apartment, pretending to be interested in his decor, which was spartan even for that of a bachelor.

"I imagine you are headed back to KC soon."

Matthias nodded. "That's right."

"You taking the bike all the way there?"

Matthias shook his head. "They are making me give it up. Corporate property now."

"Is that like alley property, bitch?" asked Frank.

"How old are we," Matthias said with a chuckle.

"Old," Frank replied. His shoulders slumped. "It's all gone now. Guys like us are all that's left of an era only we understand."

"There's plenty of old guys around."

"They don't remember, though. Or it just doesn't make sense anymore."

"Yeah," said Matthias.

"We thought it was so bad, all the time," said Frank. "Everyone had their eyes glued to the future... well, here it is!"

Matthias raised his brow sympathetically. "Feeling a little emo today?"

"A little," said Frank. "You know, I judged you harshly, but you are an alright guy."

"Thanks, but that's not really true," Matthias replied.

"How's that?"

"Sometimes I don't feel things like you do. It makes me feel confused, lost, almost foreign."

"Is that our fate?"

"I don't know. I think so. I've met others," Matthias recalled. "The older they are, the more detached, the more empty they seem."

Frank said nothing, but just looked at the floor.

"Hey," Matthias said to break the melancholy with a change in topic. "MT in Wichita told my surrogate no go on the com records without an intercorp request. If you want to dig, we can still talk to the sheriff's friends and family, see who his enemies were."

"Shit. I know I said we would," Frank sighed. "But I don't see the point."

"I have to admit, I have lost interest in this case as well," Matthias shrugged. "As far as Blist is concerned, the case is closed."

Frank frowned. "Figures. I guess that's that then."

"Yeah..." said Matthias. "I'm curious though. After all the planning, I'm surprised you just killed him."

Frank chuckled. "Leperd? Think I was going to spare that fuck?"

"No," said Matthias. "That I did not think. But I thought you were going to interrogate him and go on some sort of crusade."

"Maybe I did," Frank smirked. "Where would it lead? Put a bullet in some executive, likely spend my last days getting a tan?"

"Yeah," agreed Matthias. "I'm sorry about Lucy. I wish we could have saved her."

"Yeah."

"Maybe I'll come through Dodge again someday."

"I won't be here," declared Frank, looking into a viewscreen in the wall made to look like a window.

"Oh?"

"I'm sick of this town. Ever since I came here, it's done nothing but take from me. I was on a real career path with the council. I actually had a living relative too. Had friends. Had a wife for a short time, if you can believe that. All gone. I'm done giving to this shithole," Frank said. "It's time to move on. Maybe I'll come visit you up in KC. See how a real agency does things."

"Let's not be rash," said Matthias, grinning.

They waited until the sun was far below the horizon before leaving for the airfield. Frank stopped at the same place he had picked Matthias up two days prior.

"Be seeing you, Matty."

"Take care of yourself, Frank."

Frank nodded. Matthias got out and walked toward the helicopter. Frank watched him, studying his gait. He could swear it looked a little different this time. He pulled away, and as he exited the airfield, he muttered to himself, "I'm coming for you, asshole."

##

## Episode 4: The Myth of the Fiend

A shadowy figure danced around the nightclub. Its eyes bloodshot with pupils filling the irises, it turned its attention from one patron to the next. The creature's vision locked onto a target and the edges of its mouth turned sharply upward. It sank onto a barstool and waited.

The target looked to be in his late twenties. He stood at a high table with two other young men, drinking and shouting over the music. Occasionally he would wave over a member of the opposite sex. After an hour, two women had joined them. The man ordered shots of whatever drink would inebriate them the fastest.

After what seemed an eternity, the man stumbled off to the restroom. The stalker pried itself from the seat and slinked along behind him. One other patron stood at a urinal, and the man entered and stepped up to the porcelain near the far wall. The dark figure entered the light of the room, revealing itself to be a wiry, pale-skinned man wearing a black turtleneck shirt and denim pants. He waited near the door, next to a sink.

The other patron approached the sink and the vampire smiled at him, gleefully showing off his fangs. At this the patron decided his hands were actually clean enough, pivoting toward the door and walking briskly out of the restroom.

The vampire's prey audibly groaned, paying no heed to his stalker as his stream splashed against the cake. The nightstalker reached out his hand and swiped down the light switch. Darkness enveloped the pair.

"Oi brolio, what the hell?" the drunken man yelled, then chuckled. "Can't see my cock 'n' balls!"

"I need to see it," the vampire hissed.

"It doesn't fuckin' glow in the dark!"

"Your aura," he said with a lilt. "It's perfect."

"Ooooh 'kay, I'm out," the man replied. "Just turn on the light."

The man suddenly felt hands curl around his arms, fingertips pressing into the biceps.

"Hey, get the hell off me!"

He tried to turn, but the vampire's strength held him fast. Sharp teeth pushed against his neck. The man called for help, but no one could see him in the dark, and no one could hear him over the pounding music.

* * *

Matthias sat across the desk from Terrence Blist, his longtime handler and captain of the Noxcorp investigative division in Kansas City. Because KC was the home of the vampire council headquarters, that made Blist the most important captain in the most heavily scrutinized ID under council command.

While Noxcorp, the corporate front of the vampire council, technically had jurisdiction only over the Northeast region of the former state of Kansas, they still maintained offices throughout the midwest, along with a special few in major coastal cities. Each office had arrangements with the regional corporations to conduct investigations related to vampire affairs.

All this made Blist a fairly well-known, if not important, vampire. Many of his predecessors had gone on to cushy consultancies or were even appointed as a replacement to a departing council member. But because of scrutiny from other corporations and the council, he was also constantly under pressure to resolve cases in a way favorable to all parties. He had to preserve the image of vampires as benign recluses while protecting nocturnals from persecution by executives who would use them as props or patsies. It was not an easy job.

Matthias kept all of this in mind as he sat across from his boss. Blist thumbed through a few screens on his desk's display, then thumbed back.

"You do good work, Matthias, and it is appreciated," said Blist coldly.

"Thank you, sir."

"Most of your cases get closed out fairly quickly. You cover your bases. You cover your ass. Most of these look good."

"Most," noted Matthias.

"I've got a case here where we took a deposition of a young woman who claims to fraternize with a vampire named Leonard." Blist cleared his throat. "Leonard allegedly made wild claims of turning mages into vampires."

"Sir—"

"Your only notes say that Leonard was not found at his apartment, and that the woman no longer, quote, has time for his bullshit, unquote." Blist looked up from his desk.

"That's correct."

Blist folded his hands. "The case isn't closed and these notes are two weeks old. For some cases that's fine, but not for something like this."

Matthias couldn't help but scoff. "There's nothing to this. I've tried—"

Blist interrupted again. "Find Leonard. Figure it out. Close the case. No other casework until this is resolved. We don't fuck around on these types of allegations."

"I don't have any leads."

"Go back to the woman." Terrence looked back on his screen. "Emily something. You really didn't take this seriously." Blist shook his head. "Lucky for you, a new transfer came in and needs to get acclimated to our fine city. I've called him in to work with you on this."

Now the boss had gone too far. It was one thing to call him into his office, fake praise him, ambush him with criticism, and then make demands about a case that was nothing but wild allegations, but Matthias would not stand for getting stuck with a partner... again. Literally, he would not stand. He continued to sit.

"Blist. Come on."

"Don't want to hear it. Get out."

"Who is it?"

"Out."

Matthias remembered he didn't really care about his job or his life in particular and shrugged. He stood and left. He passed by his desk without stopping and went for the elevator. A repairman knelt in front of the panel and seemed to be in the process of disassembling the entire thing from the inside.

"Elevator still out?" asked Matthias.

"I should have it fixed today," the man replied.

"Seems like it has problems every few months."

"It's these damn cheap doors," he explained. "But that won't be a problem anymore."

"Replacing them?"

"Nah. Removing."

"Removing... then replacing," Matthias speculated.

"Just removing," corrected the repairman. "It's what all the corps are doing now. Saves money."

"You're shitting me."

"Nah."

"Won't that be unsafe?"

The repairman took a small cube out of his bag and stood, shoving it in front of Matthias's face. "This thing scans the entrance plane for any blockage—"

"Like a human head," Matthias suggested.

"Ya, like a head or foot or maybe a surfboard—"

"Right," Matthias nodded.

"And it sends a signal to stop," the man finished.

Matthias scratched his cheek. "Okay hold on."

"Ya?"

"How long does it take to stop?" the vampire quizzed.

"Depends," started the man. "If it's at full speed, it could be a few decimeters when traveling upward, maybe double that when heading down. You know, gravity."

Matthias folded his arms. "So if I push the wrong button and realize my floor is going to pass me by, and I try to dive out to catch it?"

"I must advise you that it is unsafe to put any part of your body outside the elevator at any time while it is in motion," the repairman recited.

"You know, back in my day, that would be a lawsuit machine," Matthias asserted.

The repairman considered this, kneeling back down to continue his work. "From what I've read, constant litigation didn't work out so well for your day."

Matthias took the stairs.

* * *

Frank parked his new used '43 Tata Brisk near the back of the lot outside the Noxcorp ID building. The car had small front doors connected to minuscule suicide doors for shoving the least appreciated family member into the back seat.

Gripping the wheel he pulled himself up and out. The lot was brightly lit compared to nearby office lots. He looked up at the building, modest at only fifteen stories tall. Frank wore a brown vest over a short-sleeved shirt. He reached inside the vest and pulled out a vaper. His hands almost shook it loose from his fingertips before he brought it to his mouth.

"Get it together," he mumbled between puffs. His hands settled and he marched toward the glass double doors. Halfway there he saw a familiar figure exit and head his way. He stopped and waited.

Matthias recognized Frank and stopped walking for a moment, as if catching himself tripping, then continued toward him.

"Frank."

"Heya, Matty."

"Just visiting?"

Frank grinned. "I tested the waters in other work, but you know how it is."

"Are you transferring here, then?"

"Not officially," he sighed. "They won't do it while there are no other agents in Dodge. But I get to work from here when there's no case waiting back there."

"No one wants that post," joked Matthias.

"Can't blame them."

"Are you my partner on this stupid goose chase?" Matthias sneered.

"Yup. You didn't know?"

"Blist chewed me out and just told me I would be working with someone."

"What an asshole," Frank growled.

"Eh, he's okay most the time."

"Right. So what's this about a goose chase?"

"We're headed for Overland Park. I'll explain on the way."

"Want me to drive?" Frank motioned toward his minicar.

"You can drive, but let's take a corp vehicle," suggested Matthias.

"We have those?"

"Welcome to the big leagues."

* * *

Matthias pulled onto the I-35 on-ramp and the drive assist took over. Modern vehicles used GPS near field sensors in the roads to verify interstate travel. Ten years after the collapse, traffic had become so congested on busy highways that corporations banned manual driving. Antiques were grandfathered in for another decade, then had to be retrofitted or stay off the highways without special permits.

"So you really got the hell out of Dodge."

"Wasn't as easy as I thought it would be," noted Frank.

"Big changes are hard, especially for us," Matthias remarked. He let go of the steering wheel, which did nothing now anyway, and sat back.

"My life had become so habitual."

"Every so often, I break a habit just to shake things up," said Matthias. "I used to think it meant something, now I'm not sure it's more than a meta-habit."

"No, that's a good idea. Don't think I could do it though."

Quiet settled in, with only the sound of the road permeating the air. Both vampires pulled out their coms and checked news, messages, and social media updates.

Frank looked up. "So what's the assignment?"

"Oh, right," began Matthias. "Some background first. Council has always had a hard-on for cases involving mages."

"Can't say I've ever had to deal with them."

"Doesn't happen often. Mages are kept confined in communes. The major corps have all signed a pact that prevents exploiting them without a lot of oversight. Sometimes they even obey it."

"Doesn't each corp get one for their security force or something?"

"It's a common practice," Matthias answered. "But it's not meant to be an exception to the pact or oversight."

All along the interstate, construction robots and skeleton crews were slowly, diligently reconstructing the road for the new energy efficient future. Spotlights shone down upon workers during all hours of the day and night.

All phases of construction were represented in seemingly random tracts. The first phase was tearing the concrete apart with large automated tractors with multiple jackhammers attached to arms such that it looked like robotic spiders.

The second phase smoothed the earth and inserted guide panels for the new road. For the rest of the phases, multiple layers of road were constructed. The bottom layers were relatively cheap concrete on top of recently vetted-by-engineers foamcrete. The top layer would be graphene with thin filaments made of nearly superconductive gold traveling in the middle of each lane. The lines would carry electricity to power vehicles and charge drivers accordingly. The project had been ongoing for years, with multiple setbacks and new cost estimates every month.

The SUV veered to the right, taking the exit to Overland Park. Matthias rested his hands on the wheel, waiting for autopilot to transition to assisted driving which would then transition to fully manual control.

"The council doesn't want the word 'mage' and the word 'vampire' to be in the same sentence," Matthias continued.

"Because of the myth?"

"Don't let Laudinour hear you call it that."

"Who?"

"Councilman Hank Laudinour," Matthias explained. "Supposedly involved in putting one of the monsters down a couple centuries ago."

"Sure."

"Yeah. So, every time there's a report of fraternizing, they expect us to investigate."

"And if there is?"

"One reason I don't like these cases, is because they are usually just bullshit coming from some drunk, or we never find the supposed mage."

"The other?" Frank asked.

"Noxcorp's unofficial policy is better safe than sorry. Vampires that try to turn mages, or seem to present a long-term risk, are punished harshly."

"How do you mean?"

"Varies from tracking anklets to removing their fangs to death."

"Jesus," sighed Frank. "You ever have to...?"

Matthias shook his head. "Not yet, but it's bound to happen. I have done a good job closing out these assignments without incident, but I have a bad feeling about this one, and Blist won't let off."

"So are we sabotaging our own efforts?"

"Wish it were that simple. The council won't hesitate to transfer me out of the KC office if I don't get results."

"Why would anyone defy the council just to turn a mage?" puzzled Frank.

"People talk, but I'm still not sure. A vampire can supposedly use magic much more effectively than a human," said Matthias.

"How so?"

"Beats me," shrugged Matthias. "Maybe it's worth finding that out. Thing is, the only guy at the office who has dealt with this told me mages can't be turned. They just die."

"Just like that?" questioned Frank.

"That's what he said."

"Okay, so they want to turn a mage into a vampire," said Frank, backtracking. "Step three is clearly profit, but what is step two?"

"Maybe they think they can use them," Matthias speculated. "Or maybe it's just for laughs."

The SUV headed south along Highway 69, then took smaller roads through downtown and into the eastern residential. Matthias pulled into a parking garage next to a tall apartment complex.

Once parked, he shone his com onto the windshield. "I don't expect us to be here that long, but here are the nearest safe houses." Red icons in the familiar shape of a house appeared on top of a map projected onto the glass.

"Where are we now?" asked Frank.

Matthias slid his thumb along the outside of the com, then touched a spot on the glass. The projector on the device responded by marking a green dot on the map. Information about the structure and neighborhood displayed next to the marker.

"The guy we are after is Leonard Pago. His ex lives here, or did when I last worked the case."

Matthias pressed the buzzer at the entrance to the complex.

"Is she one of us?" asked Frank.

"Newp."

"Interesting."

"Hello?" called the voice through the speaker embedded into the steel door frame.

"Taessa? This is Matthias. I spoke with you a few weeks ago."

"Okay."

"Can I ask a few more questions?"

"Shit," she sighed. "Alright, come up."

Frank yanked the door open as it buzzed. He followed Matthias past the elevator and up the stairs. The interior was a clean off-white color with little variance outside of generic commercial trim.

The post-collapse depression had resulted in cityscapes that aged poorly with almost no maintenance. Wallpaper peel had become a collective landmark. Seven years into the depression, corporations agreed to institute a cooperative stimulus effort, giving large cities a kind of makeover. The roads, building facades, interiors, and roofing materials were churned out in unprecedented quantities in a windfall to the few material manufacturers still above water.

City planners could choose color schemes that mixed dull and neutral colors. The unemployed found a way to keep their days occupied and their rent paid by becoming part of the largest single labor force in the history of the world. Infrastructure projects were still ongoing, but a large chunk of that workforce would spend a decade on corporate assistance after the projects were completed.

Frank glided his fingers along the wall. It made smaller areas like Dodge City seem decrepit and grungy, having never received funding for renovations. The uniformity of texture and color stirred up a feeling of anxiety in Frank's gut. It was too plain, too clean, too devoid of character, of life.

They stopped at the third floor and walked down another sterile hall. Frank noticed slight discoloration along the wall, and even a small bulge near the floor that resembled water damage swelling. It gave him a strange satisfaction.

Matthias knocked on the door to room 305. It cracked open, revealing a dark blue eye painted against a canvas of fair skin. Recognizing who it was, Taessa opened the door. She was a young girl with long brown hair, wearing loose-fitting pants and a white shirt. Her arms resembled toothpicks and her hair was disheveled at the top and tangled elsewhere.

She immediately turned away and walked back to her couch, flopping ungracefully onto it. Taessa grabbed a bowl of cereal on a nearby coffee table and resumed eating. A large com projector rested on the table, calibrated toward the couch. Its small OLED screen showed a paused movie.

Taessa looked up from her bowl at Frank. "Who's this guy?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled from a mouth full of puffed rice.

"This is my partner, Frank," Matthias answered. Frank gave a courtesy smile and sat down on a matching chair.

"I need to talk to Leonard," said Matthias.

The girl dropped her spoon into the bowl. "You said that last time! I don't know where he is."

"Come on, you haven't seen him since we last spoke?"

"No," she protested. "Not really."

"Not really?"

She shrugged, lifting the spoon out of the bowl and turning it over, pouring the milk out. "He maybe came by to shower and eat."

Matthias's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Can we take her back to KC?" asked Frank with a blank expression on his face.

"Take me? The hell is he talking about?"

"Clearly," started Matthias, "you aren't taking this seriously. Maybe if your day consisted of nothing but questions and bad coffee you might feel—"

"I didn't do—" she started talking over him.

"—more cooperative."

"—anything. This is bullshit."

"This is serious, Taessa. Stop screwing around."

"Describe his visit," Frank requested.

"His visit," she scoffed. "Leo showed up last week. Strung out as fuck, like usual. But actually more. Blabbed about doing important work. Ate some of my cereal, used my shower, took a nap. Tried to get me to get high with him."

"Did you?" asked Matthias.

"Nah, I stick to weed, booze, and sometimes 'x'."

"Anything else?"

"I told him to get his shit out of here, tired of it taking up space."

"Wait," said Frank, looking at Matthias. "Show us his stuff."

The three piled into a small six-by-four-foot room where a mattress lay on the ground with a sheet partially covering it. Trash covered the floor. Fizz cans, drug paraphernalia, and dirty socks were all in attendance.

"Why is there a mattress in here if you were a thing?" asked Matthias.

"Well, we aren't now." She motioned toward the mess.

"Is this a fucking laundry room?" asked Frank.

"You fucking liar!" Matthias said loudly.

"Hey, fuck you!"

"He's been living here this whole time!"

"Not really."

Frank squatted down and started rummaging through bits of paper, fast-food bags, and empty plastic packets. Matthias continued berating Taessa while Frank searched.

"He doesn't live here!"

"Why does he have his own room?"

"He comes sometimes. I can't stop him. You know."

"When was he last here? The truth this time."

"Haven't seen him since last Wednesday."

Frank stood up and waved a crinkled receipt in front of Taessa's face.

"Can't be too many convenience stores that still use paper. Know where this one is?"

The girl squinted at the ink. "There's a Big Stop not too far from here."

"Okay, so Leo confided in you that he wanted to turn a mage into a vampire?"

"Más o menos."

Frank sighed. "How was he going to find a mage?"

"Shit, I dunno. Ranted about finding the right orbs or some glow around them," she said, walking out of the makeshift bedroom. Frank followed.

"Hmm."

"Maybe she means auras," Matthias suggested.

"So he's got to see them. He's out looking for them."

Taessa shrugged.

"I bet he's stalking clubs," said Frank.

"How many of those receipts did you find?" asked Matthias.

"Just two, but still, it's something."

"Okay, let's go," said Matthias. He pointed at Taessa. "If he comes back, you call me that very minute."

Taessa shrugged and picked up her cereal bowl, walked over to the sink, and dumped it.

* * *

The nocturnal duo headed downtown. The sight of tall buildings packed tightly together, sometimes not much more than arm's length away from either side of the SUV, made Frank's heart thump such that he heard the swooshing sound of his blood pumping. Frank's bouts of anxiety were a holdover from his human days. The attacks were duller now and less frequent, but the city was amplifying his fear. At least he thought it was the city.

"Hey, uh, do we have a file on Pago?" Frank asked.

"Yep. I'll put his mug on the window so you'll recognize him."

"Why hasn't he been picked up on camera?"

"The cams are unreliable and for something like this, coverage is limited. Building owners and managers don't share cam data or searches unless there's an actual arrest warrant. Even then, while most have night vision, the way it washes colors out makes the algos flake out," explained Matthias. "He could also be covering his face. I rarely get hits for POIs."

"So what's the nearest club?"

Matthias thought for a moment, drawing a mental map from their position to the gathering spots he knew of. "The Flotilla isn't far away. There's also a movie theater in the area, a couple of small concert halls, and one other club."

Frank navigated the area with his com. "Ologies."

"That's the one," said Matthias. "But first, I want to check in at the quick shop. Maybe someone there knows him."

A teenage boy stood behind the glass at the Big Stop quick shop. His face was a mixture of freckles, zits, piercings, tattoos, and one small brand on the cheek. Strands of hair struggled to emerge from his upper lip, thin and spaced unevenly.

"Hey, kid," said Frank. "This your usual shift?"

The boy turned his head, eying him curiously. "Maybe."

"I'm just looking for someone. A guy named Leonard comes in here regularly, grabs a fizz early in the evening. Looks like this." Frank held his com up.

"Uhh. Well. Maybe. Hold on a sec." The clerk went to the back and emerged a minute later with an elderly woman with a hunch.

"Show her the pic."

Frank obliged.

"Are you boys officials of some sort?"

"We are with Noxcorp, ma'am," explained Matthias.

She eyed Frank's com again.

"Oh," the lady croaked. "That guy. He comes in a couple times a week. Seems a bit... off."

"Off?"

"Weird smile, a bit twitchy. Doesn't always make sense."

"He ever mention where he's going?" asked Matthias.

"Heck, if he did, I probably wouldn't know." She studied the counter for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "I think he said something about the iron dream a couple nights ago. That's a place, isn't it?"

"It is indeed," said Matthias. "It's a bit further out than I expected."

He turned toward the door, then stopped and turned his head. "Thank you."

"Sure, hon."

Frank grabbed a Snickers and waved his com at the register, then followed Matthias.

* * *

They traveled further into the pulsing heart of the city, where lasers painted the sides of tall towers with advertisements, memes, and news. Most of the buildings housed apartments. Cars lined the road and packed into parking garages. Bright streetlamps revealed a constant stream of pedestrians making their way along the sidewalks.

"Remember when there used to be all those handicap spots that would sit empty, yearning to be filled?" pined Frank.

"Dammit, we are never going to find a spot around here," said Matthias, scanning for any opening.

Frank pointed. "Try that."

"That's not a spot."

"Just take it," he insisted.

Matthias swerved and wedged the SUV in between a curb and another car, coming to rest on top of striped yellow lines, clearly meant to indicate that one should not park there. He put his Noxcorp permit on the dash, hoping it would fend off any parking officers.

"Perfect," Frank effused. "Only a couple blocks from the club."

At the door, the bouncer stopped them with an outstretched palm. He was a round man with wide cheeks.

"Evening, gentlemen. I think you might find another club a better fit."

"Ya, why the fuck is that?" asked Frank. Matthias had reached for his com, but Frank placed his hand on Matthias's arm.

"I mean no offense, sir," the bouncer stated with sincerity. "But the Iron Dream caters to a young clientele."

Matthias looked at Frank, bewildered. Frank chuckled.

"Well, shit!" he exclaimed. "So do I! Am I right, Matthias? Matthias, am I right? Amirite?" He obnoxiously nudged at Matthias's side with an elbow.

Matthias found himself immensely irritated and amused at the same time, and a grin crept onto his face as the bouncer stared blankly, unsure how to react.

"We aren't old, are we, Matthias?"

"I can only speak for myself. I'm young enough."

"Men, please."

"You want the guys to like the girls and the girls to like the guys," Frank expounded while making his hands finger-walk toward each other. "So they can, ya know." He then intertwined his index and middle fingers from each hand in a scissor motion. The bouncer sighed.

Matthias reluctantly chimed in. "Girls... like us."

"No, man, they love us!" Frank intertwined all four fingers and started slapping the bottom of his palms together. "Tell him, Matty."

"I am... a pussy... magnet," he uttered, glancing toward Frank, then back at the bouncer.

"Fuckin' A right you are!"

"Come on, guys, I'm just doing my job here," said the bouncer.

Frank held his com outward. "Fifty bucks says you sometimes let old fossils slip by in this dim lighting. Or I could just stand out here grinding my pelvis at the ladies that come and go."

The doorman rolled his eyes. "That's almost an insult. But you're funny, so I'll take it. Please don't come back after tonight." He moved to the side.

Inside the club, kids from ages something-teen to low twenties danced, drank, hookah'd the night away. The LCD floor moved with the pressure of footsteps, giving the illusion of walking on floating stones in the middle of an ocean of stars. The air was filled with vapor, either from machines or from patrons exhaling it, allowing lights to form holographic illusions of celestial bodies.

"You didn't have to pay that guy," Matthias yelled over the music, following behind Frank as they shuffled past ravers, zoners, and dancers.

Frank turned his head. "I know. I just didn't want us to get in because we're corp."

"What's it matter?"

"You flash a badge and sometimes they signal people inside. Our guy could get tipped off and run. But it isn't really that. I don't know."

Matthias knew. Inverse to logic was a superiority complex held by the young. A club where they wouldn't have to face an actual adult was a safe space. Matthias figured Frank wanted to shit on that, even if just a little.

"I'll check the can," said Matthias. Frank nodded. Matthias went in and came out a few seconds later. "Okay, let's split up. Meet up in a half hour."

"Got it," said Frank.

The agents canvassed the club, their eyes baited by bare curves moving in sweeping motions, small motions, jerking, twerking, flexing, jutting, and shaking like the lure on the end of a fishing hook. Frank went to the bar and ordered a drink. Matthias propped himself against a bare spot on a wall. A nu-goth girl with artificially pale skin eyed him.

"Hey, daddy," a girl said to Frank. He'd been sitting on the barstool keeping an eye out for Pago or a signal from Matthias for nearly a half hour. His back had gotten sore from resting against the edge of the bar.

The girl looked like she had had a hard day of social studies, and her mouth betrayed only the slightest grin. She wore more clothing than most of her peers, including a long-sleeve blouse that had to have been a little more than warm.

Frank looked her over. "I think I'd remember raising you, kid."

She looked put off at the comment. "I didn't know they were letting grandpas in."

He grinned in response. It was too easy. "Nah, that's your job."

It took her a moment, tracing back to her words, replaying them. "You cock!" she said. Her expression went from anger to amusement, then to a flirty grin. "Come dance with me, daddy," she pleaded with pouty eyes.

"Is the doorman putting you up to this?" he asked.

"What?" she asked.

"Go shake down a rest home," Frank yelled to her.

"You're funny," she said.

"Take a hike before my partner gets jealous," he said. "Seriously."

"Fuckin' geezer," he heard as she stormed off.

"Jesus Christ," Frank muttered, dismounting his stool and letting blood rush back to his ass cheeks. Time to make another sweep.

Matthias stood still as death as the minutes ticked by. Only his eyes moved. He had the only exits covered. If Pago came in, he'd surely see him. The pale girl continued to check him out. Her group noticed and also looked occasionally. The attention made him uncomfortable.

As Frank circled around a central dance floor that looked more like an orgy pit, Matthias noticed something on the edge of his vision. He turned to the right and saw Pago emerging from a restroom doorway, his mouth covered in blood. He wiped at it with a paper towel.

"Frank!" Matthias yelled. Frank turned and Matthias made for Leonard's direction rather than pointing. He quickly slid between patrons, watching Pago intently for any sign that he had been made. Leonard slowly moved toward the door, but Matthias moved in front of him.

"Leonard. I need you to—"

Leonard's eyes widened and he turned around to run. Frank stood in his path, but Pago regarded him as another club-goer. Frank quickly delivered a hook to Pago's chin, surprising him. His head moved with the blow, but it left him unfazed. He retaliated by punching Frank in the sternum.

Frank clutched his chest and stumbled back. Pago walked him down, but his right knee buckled as Matthias landed a downward kick to his calf. Pago swung his arm around, but while off-balance, it had little force as it hit Matthias's forearm. Matthias struck Pago on the back of the head, and the vampire fell forward onto his hands.

Frank rushed Pago as he started to stand, and grabbed him in a headlock under the armpit. He used his weight to pull him back down while Matthias stuck a short needle into his side, injecting a strong sedative and a small amount of liquid silver.

Patrons had started to panic, some running away, others stepping back to form a ring around the trio. The bouncers could be seen pushing their way toward the melee. Matthias pulled the auto-syringe out.

"Hold him!" he ordered. He bounded into the restroom and quickly saw blood streaked on the floor. It led to a man hunched over a toilet. He shoved his fingers into his bloody mouth, gagging on them.

Dammit, Matthias thought. How'd he get by us?

"Don't move," he said, placing one hand on the man's neck. Matthias pulled out the man's com and viewed his ID. He set it on the floor and jabbed the man in the neck with the same syringe. The man groaned, then slumped onto the ground. Matthias knelt to examine his neck. It had been covered with gauze and taped.

"Dammit," he sighed. He stood and walked back out, meeting the same bouncer from the door on the way.

The bouncer tried to grab Matthias's arm, but Matthias grabbed him around the neck tightly and shoved him against the wall.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you in."

"We're with Noxcorp," growled Matthias. "You didn't have a choice. Now get this man a wagon. We are leaving with our target."

Matthias released him and walked out to a crowd of angry denizens surrounding Frank as he held Pago upright. He waved his com around, displaying his corporate ID on its surface. The throng continued to shout and shake their fists, but gave Frank enough space to drag Pago out of the club. Matthias followed him, walking backward.

The night air was fresh and clear compared to the haze of the Iron Dream.

"Christ! They do not like corps," exclaimed Frank, dragging a sedated but still conscious Leonard Pago clear of the entrance.

"They don't like anything," said Matthias. "Anything that matters."

"I can't carry this lug all the way to the car."

"Here, throw one arm over your neck and I'll get the other."

"What if you run and get the car and I'll toss him in," suggested Frank.

"Shit, okay. Don't let your guard down. Guy is out of his mind."

"Yes, mother."

* * *

Leonard stood atop a sand dune in an infinite sapphire-colored desert. A blue sun shone in the sky. The dunes rose and subsided like waves. The vampire spun around, looking for any landmarks, but saw nothing but blue sand.

How did I get here? he thought, struggling to recall life before the desert. "I was in a home," he recalled. "A friend's. Some sort of party?" Pago pulled at his hair and looked up at the sun. Drugs, he thought. I took something.

Leonard was fairly average as far as vampires go. His skin tone didn't raise alarms, but to the knowing eye made his condition obvious. Blond hair fell below his shoulders, straight and fine. His wide eyes sometimes conveyed a sense of mania even while calm.

He began to walk along the peak of the dune. For what seemed like hours he walked, and saw nothing on the horizon but more sand. Sweat drenched his clothing consisting of a white tank top and patchwork sweatpants. He removed them both and continued walking. The part of his brain that understood the passage of time started to falter, and he lost all understanding of how long he had existed in this state. It could have been an hour. It could have been a year.

Pago stopped walking and began to cry. The sun turned black and the sand stirred in front of Pago, forming a head, then shoulders, then a body as it rose.

"Where am I? What is this?" Leonard pleaded. "Who are you?"

An arm reached out from the sand man, placing a palm on Pago's chest.

"You are chosen, Pago," a voice rumbled from the ground underneath them both. "Few possess the ability to commune."

"I'm hallucinating. This is some sort of drug effect," he told himself.

"This is your mind, but I am real, and I will grant you great power."

Pago felt his fear melt away. "H-how? What power?"

"I will give you what you need, and you will turn the awakened to the nocturnal." The rumbling voice went deeper for this command, shaking the ground.

"Yes," affirmed Pago, falling to his knees. "Yes. It all makes sense. I will not fail you."

The sand man crumbled and Pago fell onto his back, staring up at the black sun as it faded away and darkness consumed the world.

##

## Episode 5: The Bad Trip

Nearing midnight, Blist had left his desk to grab a bite in the food court located two floors down. As the elevator started moving without the doors closing, his heart leapt out of his chest and he grasped the handrail. At the end of the journey, he jumped out, feeling lucky to still be in one piece. He messaged the maintenance staff, threatening that heads would roll if the 'problem' were not fixed immediately.

Like most vampires, Blist found most human food unpalatable, but with the lack of regulation for the last thirty years, most humans did too. Almost all ingredients were genetically modified, sacrificing flavor for resiliency. They were then cut with cheaper sources, usually some sort of fiber like psyllium or the unfortunate chicory root.

He took whatever red meat was available, typically a heavily processed hamburger, then drank his ration of legitimate blood. Milking humans had become a small industry, with non-consensual siphoning seen as uncivilized, and more importantly, illegal.

Blist sat at one of the tables in an open cafeteria. No one would be sitting with him. Vampires were not particularly social. And being the boss at investigations meant the underlings were even less social toward him. He preferred it that way.

As Blist brought the burger to his mouth, he felt his com vibrate in his pocket. He pulled the sandwich away from his mouth, stared at it for a moment, then slapped it down onto the tray. He reluctantly answered the call.

"Matthias?" he asked his caller. "You did? Of course there was." Blist leaned back slightly. "No, I know," he continued. "I will smooth it over. What do we know about him?" Blist's free hand traveled along the table, bored or possibly anxious. "Shit. Find out who he's attacked. Use whatever means necessary to bring him in. Update me sometime before four. Goodbye."

Blist stared at his com, his brow now furrowed while gears turned behind his forehead. He placed his finger on its surface, making a new call. It rang a few times before the other end answered.

"They found him," he said. "He attacked at least one human. Well, he has no criminal record. Right. I will let you know. Bye."

Blist sighed. He looked down at his meal but had lost his appetite.

* * *

"Is this place, ya know, safe?" asked Frank, looking around the small hotel room.

"Council won't pay for actual houses in the city," answered Matthias. "Several hotels have rooms certified safe for nocturnals. Special windows, leaded walls, that sort of thing. See these weird doors?" He demonstrated the interlocking of an opaque storm door and the inner door. "It keeps direct light from coming in. This one has a timed lockdown so no one can enter during the day, even the manager."

"Fancy."

Frank secured Pago by the wrists to a bolted-down chair next to one of the motel room's beds. A small table sat in front of it with a second chair on the other side.

"Think this will hold him?" asked Frank, gesturing at the handcuffs.

"Leave him alone long enough, he might get free. But we won't leave him alone."

"He looks sort of awake," assessed Frank.

Matthias slapped Leonard in the face. The captive blinked but otherwise didn't move. His eyelids hung low, and his lips stayed slightly parted.

"He must be loaded," said Matthias.

"Or he's coming down," Frank considered.

"What kind of drug leaves you like this?"

"Nothing I've heard of," Frank admitted. "That girl, Taessa. She mentioned something about a new drug."

"Was it a new drug, or just a drug?"

"I thought she said new."

"How would she know what's new? There are dozens of popular ones."

"Well, it would explain this weirdo," Frank said, pointing at Leonard.

"Even if it were new," Matthias said with his hands adding air quotes, "it's probably just some shitty hybrid like every new thing that gets passed around."

"We need to talk to this guy," said Frank. "It's past midnight already."

"I'm going to order a pizza."

"Come on, let's wake this guy up."

"Can you wait until we eat?" said Matthias.

"Fine," said Frank. "Let's eat and watch hotel porn."

"Seriously? That's what your com is for."

"It's not the same."

* * *

Pizza delivery evolution had forked into two directions. Some pizza places were able to provide lower delivery fees by using drones to drop off the pie. It was fast, but the pizza had to be cooked first, and no manner of new technology allowed faster cooking without lowering quality. Most of the smaller pizza places went a different route, installing cookers in the vehicle so that delivery and cooking time overlapped.

Matthias was willing to wait a little longer in order to avoid human interaction. He finished a third slice while Frank waited patiently. To his disappointment, he noticed Pago approaching lucidity.

"Where am I?" he asked, blinking slowly.

"In deep shit, bucko," Frank taunted.

He slowly looked down at his hands. "Are these... handcuffs?" Pago laughed as he looked around the room.

Matthias disregarded them, still eating.

"Who are you toolbags?"

"The vampire council sent us."

"Riiiight."

"I don't get it," said Frank. "What are you trying to accomplish?"

"I haven't done anything," claimed Leonard.

Matthias coughed in mid-chew.

"Do you even remember tonight?" asked Frank.

"Um, no. But I'm pretty sure I was just minding my own business."

"Jesus, what did you take?"

"What didn't I take."

Frank sat on the chair opposite Pago. "Really though, what are you doing biting guys in nightclubs?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try us," said Matthias. He moved to the edge of the bed facing Frank and Leonard.

"I have seen the truth."

"Let's just say it," said Frank. "You are trying to make a vampire out of a mage."

Pago's eyes went wide. He giggled and his eyelids drooped. "There's so much more to it. So much more."

Frank folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"Let's start with cleaning up your current mess, then we can start to transcend reality," sneered Matthias.

"What mess, drone?"

"We have to find your victims—"

"Beneficiaries."

"Right," said Matthias. "Well, we need to find them. You know how scary it is to turn without knowing what is happening?"

"I do."

"Then do the right thing."

"I don't think so."

"The council will likely put you down for this," warned Matthias.

"I have done my part. I am at peace."

"But what—" started Matthias.

"Are you sure you're done?" interrupted Frank.

"Don't try to con me, man," said Pago.

"No, really, how do you know?"

"Because it's my destiny!"

"Oh, so no matter what, you will fulfill it," Frank chuckled.

"I am fated to."

"Even if you tried to fuck it up, you couldn't?"

Pago tried to lift an arm up, but the handcuffs caught him and he sighed. "If I were trying to fail, then yes I'd fail."

Matthias had started playing with his com, not interested in deterministic philosophy.

"Okay," said Frank. "What's the difference between trying to fail, and purposefully not trying to succeed?"

"What's the what? Man, let me out of these cuffs." Pago continued to shift in his seat.

"If you aren't trying to do what you are supposed to, isn't that the same as trying to fail?"

"Who fuckin' knows."

"I do," said Frank. "You are stuck here instead of out there with your destiny, and there's a good chance it ends here and you are just giving up."

"Nothing I can do, no use sweatin' it."

"Matthias?"

Matthias looked up from his com. "What?"

"He tells us who he attacked, what happens to him?"

"Assuming we actually find them, and if no one else has to die, the council will probably go easy on him."

"Has to die?" asked Pago.

"If you turned a mage, their life is ruined even if it is spared. Someone has to pay for that," explained Matthias. "If everyone is okay, then you pay a little less."

"That's a shitty deal."

"Well," said Matthias. "Let's assume you didn't fulfill your mission. No one is really harmed. You get off with a few lashes and maybe a tracking device. But you live. I'm not condoning your actions, but it would give you another shot."

"A shot you didn't take if you just sit here," added Frank.

Pago closed his eyes. "You're just trying to trip me up."

"Maybe," said Frank. "Doesn't mean we are lying."

"You're just going to kill me anyways." Pago's voice trembled slightly as his veneer started to crack under the weight of his situation.

"I promise that won't happen if you cooperate," Matthias pledged.

"Another lie."

"You don't want the responsibility," said Frank. "You want to pretend your choices don't matter, or maybe you just don't have any."

Pago just shook his head while staring down at the table.

"Does anything really matter?" Matthias questioned. "Even this destiny of yours. Time erases everything we do, big and small."

"No, not this," argued Pago. "You don't get it."

"How did you get it?" asked Matthias.

Pago sat silent for a moment. His mouth gradually formed an exaggerated smile.

"I will tell you the names, on one condition."

"Alright, shoot," said Frank.

Pago laughed a short, high-pitched laugh. "You must become enlightened."

Matthias looked at Frank. "How do we... achieve this?"

"Jester."

"And that is?"

"A mind-opening substance, drone."

"I knew it was a drug!" said Frank.

"You would call it that."

"You want us to take a drug?" Matthias scoffed.

"I see it now, thanks to you. This, this right here is our destiny, together."

"Oh fuck," groaned Frank, looking at Matthias. "Can we just epilate this guy?"

"It won't work," lilted Leonard. "I will give you lots of names. You will be chasing down leads forever."

"That sounds like a challenge," Frank retorted.

"You're scared. It's natural. The truth can be overwhelming."

"Fuck that, I'll take it right now. Give me double the dose," dared Frank.

"We aren't doing that," insisted Matthias.

"Bawk, bawk, bawk," Pago taunted. "That's the truth chicken mocking you. Bawk, bawk."

Matthias rolled his eyes.

"Bawk, bawk, bawk," Frank mimicked.

"Really?" Matthias said with raised eyebrows.

"I want to know what this stuff does. We take some, he gives us the names, and we get to the bottom of something that could be big for us."

"You just want to get high," said Matthias.

"Look at this guy," said Frank. "Don't you want to know?"

"Not really."

"Don't be a narc," teased Frank.

"How long will this take?" asked Matthias. He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm considering this."

"It will hit you about thirty minutes after taking it," said Pago. "You'll wake up after—"

"Wait," interrupted Matthias. "It will knock us out?"

"For about an hour, maybe less. Then you will see what I see. For a couple hours at least."

"Then we turn comatose like you."

"We'll be fine," said Frank.

Matthias sat quiet for a minute. He looked at Frank, who nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Pago, you will give me three doses. I will give one to you first. I will give one to Frank thirty minutes later, then take one myself thirty minutes after."

"Whatever you say, man."

"Wait," said Frank. "Give both of us the dose at the same time, so we wake up at the same time."

"Shit, I guess I have to."

Frank clapped his hands together. Matthias uncuffed one of Pago's arms. Pago reached inside his windbreaker and pulled out a small sheet of what looked like stamps.

Frank laughed. "Is that LSD?"

"What's that?" asked Leonard.

Matthias grabbed the sheet. "One of these stickers a piece?"

"Yup."

Matthias peeled one at random and stuck it on Pago's outstretched tongue. He then recuffed his loose hand.

"Here," said Matthias, handing a sticker to Frank.

After twenty minutes of silence, Pago slouched into his chair. "This is gonna be a great night, a historic night," he mumbled as his eyelids fell slowly.

Frank started mumbling and curled up into a fetal position on one of the beds. Pago looked to be sleeping in the chair, with his eyes moving underneath the lids. Matthias checked Frank's breathing and pulse, then reluctantly placed a sticker on his own tongue. He went to the door and made sure it was secure, then lay on the bed and waited.

* * *

Matthias opened his eyes, instantly confused at what he saw. In the sky was the planet Earth in all its picturesque glory. He sat up and felt soft silt under his fingertips. Looking down he scooped silver moondust into his hand and let it fall through his fingers.

He stood and looked around. The imagery in his mind shifted from one scene to the next. The soil turned red and he knew he had shifted to a Martian landscape. His eyes began to focus, and the dreamy haze lifted, becoming real. He began to walk along the red surface. He looked up at the sky, expecting to see the Earth again, but it had vanished.

Matthias walked without expectation and without a sense of time. The scenery never changed. His feet stopped and he turned around. The inside of a garage had appeared, without a house attached and without any exterior at all. Inside the garage was a red Mustang, a pre-collapse antique. It felt nostalgic to Matthias as it was a style of car he had lusted after as a boy.

He walked inside the garage to get a closer look at the car, then looked back and the red landscape was gone, replaced with a driveway and yard. He ran his fingers along the surface of the Mustang, walking slowly toward a door.

He stepped inside the house into what appeared to be a kitchen. The sink faucet had a stream of water frozen in time. Matthias continued into the dining room, then into a living room where two adults and a child sat on a couch watching a television screen. The image on the screen was distorted and Matthias couldn't make it out.

He came up from behind them and made his way around to the front of the couch. He turned to look at them and saw faces that seemed familiar for a moment; they then distorted the same way the screen had, stretching diagonally in several places, almost like viewing their reflection through rippling water.

A screeching noise filled Matthias's ears and increased in volume until it overwhelmed him and the room began to shake. He realized it wasn't the room shaking, but his eyes. He clenched them shut and the sound stopped. He opened them again and was back on the moon.

Dust swirled in front of him, forming a vaguely human figure.

"You are broken, Matthias," a voice rumbled under the vampire's feet.

"What is this?" Matthias cried out.

"I can fix you."

"You mean my past?"

"I can give it back."

"What are you?"

"I am God."

"I am not that high."

"I showed you a glimpse of my power," the voice rumbled loudly and the silver ground shook, sending dust into the air.

"The house?"

"I can give it back. I can give it all back."

"How?"

"Accept my gifts," the voice spoke.

The dust figure reached an arm toward Matthias, but Matthias stepped away so that it could not touch him.

"I'm going to have to decline," shouted Matthias.

"Fool!" the voice snapped. The dust figure dissipated.

Matthias looked down as his feet sank into the soil. He struggled to lift his legs, but he only sank further and further. It engulfed his body, and he felt it surround his neck, quickly reaching his mouth. It covered his nose, and as he suffocated, he stared up at the Earth. The view went dark as dirt covered his eyes.

* * *

Matthias gasped. His eyes opened and his arms flailed in front of him. He sat up and jerked his head around, confused. Frank had been resting his head on his forearms at the table. He lifted his head up to witness Matthias's spasms then groaned and put his head back onto his forearms. Pago sat across from him, a deck of cards in one hand. He was trying to reach his hands together to shuffle but couldn't manage it.

Matthias touched his forehead; it was clammy. He felt his shirt sticking to his body. He stood and flapped it away from his chest. He needed air. He walked to the door, unlocked it, and started to open it. He stopped and realized he didn't know what time it was. He looked at his watch. Only half past two. He opened the door slowly, and let cool air flow into the room. He stepped out and leaned against the brick facade.

Matthias looked up into the sky, half expecting to see a globe of the Earth hovering above him. Instead, he saw only a washed-out gray. He thought of Dodge City, and missed the vibrant night sky. He moved to the railing and looked down at the parking lot, staring at the cars and concrete. Having caught his breath, he stepped back into the room and closed the door. He looked at Pago then at Frank. Neither seemed to notice his behavior.

Matthias sat on the bed next to Pago's chair and noticed Pago appeared sour.

"What did you see?" asked Matthias.

"I saw Him," he answered. "But He was not pleased."

"Who or what is he?"

Frank lifted his head. "Who?"

"Jesus, what the fuck!" exclaimed Matthias.

"Whoa," Pago flinched.

"Huh?" asked Frank, his skin now noticeably lighter in tone than before he took Jester.

"Your face!" said Matthias. "It's paler than mine."

"Fuck off."

"Go look."

Frank slowly rose and walked to a vanity mounted outside the bathroom. "What the—my face is—my arms—what did you do to me, Pago?"

"It must be His gift to you," he replied with a laugh.

"Oh my god," moaned Frank, staring at his new visage. "This is not cool."

"Who is he, Leonard?" Matthias repeated.

"He's our vampire God."

"Right. Does he have a name?"

"He's above labels."

"What do you know about him?"

"He's our God, and we are His servants, what else is there to know?"

"Well," said Matthias. "For one, why only appear in a drug-induced dream?"

"I don't know," Leonard answered. "It's like it opens a door. Lets us commune with him."

"You mentioned gifts," started Matthias. "Has he given you any?"

"He gave me special powers," explained Pago. "I can see auras. I know someone's mood. I know if they are a vampire. I know if they are magically awakened."

"You see glowy colors around people?"

"Something like that. For a few hours."

"Okay, what did you and he talk about this time?" asked Matthias.

"I think I might be taking it too much," replied Pago. "I only saw him for a brief moment. He said I had not done His bidding." Pago frowned and looked at the table.

Frank returned to the room. "Is this going to clear up?" He pointed at his face.

Pago shrugged.

"What did you see?" Matthias asked Frank.

"Weird little celestial flashes of imagery. Like a broken astrology video. Nothing coherent. It reminded me of what an older vamp told me he dreamed sometimes." Frank sat down. "You saw some guy?"

"A God," corrected Pago.

"It was like yours, at first," recounted Matthias. "Then it just... became real."

"I'm pretty sure it didn't," replied Frank.

"It wasn't like a dream then, and it still isn't now. I've never experienced anything like it."

"What did He tell you?" asked Pago excitedly.

"He said he could give me something."

"What?" asked Frank.

"Doesn't really matter. I agreed. We will let Leonard go once we check out his victims."

"I know you are on drugs now," said Frank. "But that's ridiculous."

"That's the deal," said Matthias.

Pago smiled. Frank stood.

"You can't just make the decision for us," Frank argued.

"I'm in charge. I can."

"What if I call up Blist?"

"You could, but you won't," Matthias wagered.

Frank walked over to the door.

"God dammit. You've lost your mind, Matty. Fine. We'll revisit this later."

He turned to face Pago. "You better start talking."

"Kelly Rogers. Lucas Alder."

"What?" puzzled Matthias.

"Those are the names."

"Who else?" demanded Frank.

"Just those two, and the guy from the club."

"I don't believe him," Frank said.

Pago yanked his cuffs taut. "How many people do you think I can turn a week? I have to find a mage that somehow isn't in custody. I have to drink their blood, but not too much. Then I have to feed them mine. A lot, just to be sure. It's very taxing, and takes patience."

Frank shook his head. "I'm just not sure how I can believe you. Do you even know where you are when you go on these drug-induced adventures?"

"It's all I've got. If there's anyone else, I don't even know myself." He giggled through closed lips, trying to contain his amusement.

Matthias straightened up in his seat. "I'll get a kit out of the car. We can hook him up and ask him a few questions."

"We can fool that thing," countered Frank.

"It doesn't need to be admissible," Matthias expounded. "We can slap him around, prevent him from being able to concentrate, look for any cracks. Come on, it will cheer you up."

"What the hell," gasped Pago. "We're on the same team now!"

"Trust and verify," said Matthias with a grin.

"That doesn't even make sense!" yelled Pago.

Matthias walked out and came back a minute later with the 'kit'. It contained several electrode patches and connected to an instrument monitor that interfaced wirelessly with a com. The com itself took snapshots of eye movement to aid in deception analysis.

Vampires are capable, with concentration, of steadying their heart rate and keeping calm. They are excellent liars. But Matthias and Frank did not let Pago meditate. They insisted on fast responses to their questions, slapping him right before asking. They applied random shocks through the electrodes. Just enough for it to feel like an unexpected pinch at random intervals. After an hour of repeated questioning, they had only two names, and Pago had passed each test.

Matthias searched the Noxcorp registries for information on the two names Pago gave, and plugged their home and work addresses into the com's map software. Frank leaned back in his chair with his hands cradling the back of his head.

"I'm going after the stripper," Matthias announced.

"Wait, what?" Frank sat up.

"Kelly. She dances at a bar called Feels."

"Hey, if one of them is a stripper, I should be going."

"Exotic dancer, you neanderthals," interjected Leonard.

"Besides, it's kinda late ain't it?" asked Frank. "You have two, two and a half hours maybe?"

"It will be plenty of time. The SUV has some shielding, so even if I get caught out there, I can take shelter."

"Just wait until tomorrow."

"We'll get Lucas at dusk then head back to KC. I'll take care of this tonight when I know where she'll be."

"If I can't talk you out of it, then safe travels."

* * *

A fog followed Matthias through downtown. The image of the house and the family continued to replay in his mind. The voice was unsettling, but he attributed that to Jester. It was all just a trip, but he couldn't expunge it from his thoughts.

Years ago he had given up trying to remember his human life. Matthias had memories of his childhood. He remembered his high school graduation. He remembered his first year in college. Somehow he had grown up in rural Kansas then found himself in Kansas City in his early thirties suddenly a vampire.

For weeks he wandered the streets at night and squatted in a foreclosed home during the day. He had no com or ID, but he knew who he was. He knew he was a vampire named Matthias Trent. He just didn't know where he had been or what he had done for the previous ten years.

Matthias spent years sleuthing his own past, but only learned that his online footprint and legal records had been destroyed through a request via the data freedom act. According to the limited paper trail the state kept, it was a request made by Matthias Trent himself.

While web servers that archived internet pages had to comply with personal data requests and were useless, Matthias knew that somewhere on some tape drive that was part of a long-term backup, some sort of information about him had to exist.

His memory of life before the gap was vague. He didn't think he had siblings, but he couldn't be sure. He remembered his parents, he remembered family gatherings, he remembered events. But what Matthias couldn't recall were specifics. He couldn't remember his family home address, he couldn't remember the name of the town where it was located, he couldn't remember his parent's names.

He began to doubt that he knew his own real birth name after a while. Making assumptions gave him a starting point so that he could investigate small towns and colleges within driving distance of those towns, but the result was always disappointment.

In the middle of his search, another vampire found him and introduced him to the existence of nocturnals as a people and the rules imposed by the council. He helped initiate Matthias into the vampire way of life and showed him where safe houses and blood banks existed.

A few months later, the great collapse happened. The concept of government died and was reborn as corporate jurisdictions and pacts. Massive amounts of paper trails and data audits that went back decades were destroyed or mysteriously lost. KC burned and Noxcorp rose out of its ashes.

It was there within the corp that he found a place where he belonged, working part time at first while he rediscovered his love for mixed martial arts. He made a decision to move forward and gave up his search for answers, and within a year was recruited by the investigations division.

* * *

Matthias parked outside The Feels, a place aptly described as a low-quality titty bar. There was room for only about twelve vehicles in the lot. With so few patrons, it stood to reason that Pago had attacked Kelly somewhere else.

He opened the center console between the seats and pulled out a device the size of a brick. It had a needle-driven gauge on the front. It had two probe antennas that extended from the top and a knob that activated the device and allowed adjusting for electromagnetic interference. He placed it inside a small carrying case.

The bar was thick with vapor of varying flavors. Music consisting of growling, saxophones, and synthesized string instruments played from a gleaming vibro-pole speaker that stood between the bar and a set of booths. The establishment catered to the older countercultural crowd. All eight of them.

A Caucasian woman wearing a black bikini sat at the bar, sandwiched between two overweight forty-something men. A small rounded stage elevated a meter from the floor sat at the far end of the room. Two women lay upon it, one in a pink bikini and the other in a t-shirt, with their legs entwined, slowly kissing and moving their hands along the other's body. A pair of jeans and shoes presumably belonging to the latter sat crumpled in a pile beside them. A small group of men and one woman sat in front of the stage ogling.

Matthias stepped up to the bar and the bartender immediately moved to meet him. He was tall and thin, a contrast to the other patrons.

"What can I get you?"

Matthias showed his com screen. "I need to talk to Kelly."

As if it were slow motion, Matthias could see the man's eyes dart to the side then back to his. "She ain't here. Shift ended earlier."

"Where's your office at?"

"Why?"

"I'm going to search it."

The barkeep shook his head. "I won't allow that."

"You don't have a choice."

The bartender's eyes moved again and Matthias looked over to the woman in the black bikini. She looked at the bartender, then at Matthias, then away.

"Is that her?"

"Did you say Kelly? Yeah, that's Kelly," the bartender said as he shrugged and walked away.

"Thanks, Tom!" Kelly yelled across the bar, clearly not grateful.

She looked over at Matthias and smirked. Matthias walked over to her and she spun around on her stool to face him.

"I'm Matthias."

Kelly fidgeted with her bikini strap below the shoulder. "Are you like a detective or something?"

"Sometimes," he replied. "I'm not investigating you, though."

His eyes moved lower involuntarily for a moment.

"Then what?"

"Someone else. Can we talk outside?"

"Fiiiine," she sighed, then hopped off the stool, leading Matthias outside.

Kelly waited with her arms crossed.

"You are Kelly Rogers, correct?"

"Yeah, I suppose," she said. "Separated from Mr. Rogers, so maybe not for much longer." She held her hand up to show the ring, a plain silver band.

"Do you know Leonard Pago?"

"Sure don't."

"Two weeks ago, did a man attack you and bite you?"

"I... how would you know about that?" she stuttered.

"As strange as it may sound, a man confessed to as much."

"Jeeps," she frowned. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't have to, but can I have a quick look at you, test for any infections?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I just want to put this behind me."

"It won't take long. We aren't going anywhere. Just a quick look," Matthias assured.

"Okies," she nodded.

Matthias moved to her side to look at her neck. As expected, he saw bite marks consistent with vampire fangs. However, there was no necrosis common to the onset of vampirism around the wounds.

"Have you been getting any headaches, sensitivity to light, lack of appetite?"

She shook her head. "Nothing out of the usual. I'm not gonna become some bloodsucker am I?"

Matthias examined her iris with the camera on his com. He would expect to see some degeneration in the melanin inside the eye, but there was none.

"I don't think so." He opened the carrying case and pulled out the gauge.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Just another tool, it's hard to explain."

He pressed the probes against her chest above the bikini line. Her eyebrows lifted, but she stayed silent. He turned the knob and it made a click and the needle began to move erratically. He continued to turn it slowly until the needle stabilized. It steadied itself near the left edge, far outside the section on the right, ominously colored red.

"You said you wanted to put this behind you," stated Matthias, putting the device back in the case. "Does that mean you would not press charges?"

"What did your tests say?"

"I think you are going to be fine. I'm not a doctor, so get checked out just in case."

"Oh, great, thanks," she said sarcastically. "I don't think I will, but I don't know. What was his name?"

"Leonard Pago," he answered. "If it is any comfort, he will face punishment of some kind either way."

"Good," Kelly barked out. "What is his flippin' problem anyway?"

"He's crazy."

"That much I figured. No offense, but are we done?"

"We're done. Thank you for your time, Kelly. Here is my card."

She took it. "What for?"

"If you start to feel weird, call the number there," he said.

She nodded. "See ya." She pulled the door open and went back into the bar.

Matthias looked down at the small case in his hand and breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

Back at the hotel, the trio sat around quietly playing games or watching video streams. Matthias rested his eyes, but as consciousness slipped away, he felt a presence creep into his mind and jerked himself awake.

"Hey, how am I supposed to sleep like this?" Leonard demanded.

"Uncomfortably," responded Frank.

"Come on, guys."

"Just cuff his hands around the bottom of the chair and he can sleep on the floor," offered Matthias.

"A'ight." Frank moved to Pago and pointed a finger at him as a warning.

The cuffs were the dumb kind, still requiring a small key. The locks had gotten a bit more complex but could still be picked. The greater danger was the ability for strong vampires to break them. While dumb, the handcuffs that council enforcers carried were designed to hold even the strongest nocturnals.

"Night, boys," said Pago, resting his head on the thin hotel carpet.

Matthias tossed for hours, embracing sleep then fighting it off at the last moment. Eventually, he succumbed to the fatigue of the sun he could feel through the walls of the hotel. He slept peacefully for much of the day, but as dusk neared he began to dream.

He felt the dark presence with him and found himself again on the surface of the moon, or at least what appeared to be lunar land. Why here? he wondered. Is this his home? His prison?

Using his mind, he was able to move instantly from point to point this time, almost as if he were unshackled from his previous dream. He focused on the big blue planet above him and involuntarily began to zoom toward it. He went through the atmosphere, then dove through the air until he landed in the middle of a field.

He traveled to various places he was familiar with or had seen in pictures. The color of grass, trees, the clouds, and the sky were wrong and washed out. The sun always gave off a strange hue, and never did he see any people.

He willed himself to the house he saw in his first dream. He walked around through each room. This time no one was home and the house appeared abandoned. Paint peeled from the walls and the ceiling was stained from water as if aged and abandoned for decades. Windows were broken and patches of carpet missing. Matthias walked to the front door to look out and saw a run-down neighborhood of similar houses. He walked to the end of a street corner and tried to read a street sign, but the letters engraved upon it seemed to shift and jumble as he tried to focus.

"Matthias!" He heard an unfamiliar woman's voice.

"Damn it, Matty!" This time the voice was more masculine.

"Wake the fuck up, Matthias. Matthias!"

His vision shifted to the ceiling of the hotel room. Confused and tired, he stared upward, unmoving.

"Matt, wake up, please." He recognized Frank's voice as the fog cleared from his brain. He turned his head and saw Frank on the adjacent bed. His chest was covered in red and one of his arms was handcuffed to the headboard.

"What?" Matthias rolled off the side of the bed and crawled next to Frank. "What happened?"

"He just left," groaned Frank. "Stabbed me with an ice pick or something, not sure."

"How did he get out of the cuffs?"

"I don't know, I woke up to him shanking the shit out of me."

Matthias called emergency response on his com. Being corporate, the dispatch didn't haggle with him over price.

"I will go get the blood packs."

Matthias ran to the bathroom. He walked back out.

"What?" asked Frank.

"He took them," said Matthias, anger showing on his face. "There's no blood here. No first aid at all."

Matthias uncuffed Frank and started wrapping his sheets around his chest.

"I don't think this is going to help. I'm screwed."

Matthias paced around the room. A blot of red caught his eye. He looked at the carpet and saw a blood trail leading to the door.

"Did you wound him?" Matthias asked.

"I clawed at him. I think so. Is he bleeding?"

Matthias looked at the time. "It's still light out, how was he going to make it?"

"Fucker put sheets... over his head," Frank said in between labored breaths. "Looked like a damn Klansman."

Matthias opened a closet door. "He took the UV sheets."

"Those things work?"

"I've heard different things, but mostly no," Matthias said. "UV hurts us, but that's not the main threat from sunlight. I don't think he's going to get far, but if he can hide somewhere until dusk, we'll lose him."

"Shit."

Matthias put on his clothes and jacket, then tore the comforter from his bed.

"What are you doing?"

Matthias walked to the side of Frank's bed and slid his arms underneath his knees and back. He lifted his partner and lowered him behind the bed. He placed the other comforter over him.

"I am going after him. The blankets are heavy and thick and the com can spot his blood trail for me."

"That's insane," coughed Frank. "How will you see? How will the com find anything under the covers?"

"I'm going to make a run for the SUV, where I can cut and tape something together, have the com be my eyes," explained Matthias.

"No," Frank pleaded. "Don't. You can't just... you can't just leave me here."

Matthias stopped and looked at Frank. "The EMT is on its way. Just stay behind the bed."

"Please."

"There's nothing I can do here. I can't just let him get away." Matthias covered himself with the blanket and turned for the door.

"I don't want to die, Matthias."

"I'm sorry." Matthias opened the door.

"Fuck you!" Frank screamed as Matthias shut the door behind him. 

##

## Episode 6: A Vampire in the Sun

Immediately upon opening the door, Matthias felt a searing pain bury itself into his skin and sap his strength. He was reminded of an awful childhood memory of falling asleep on the beach and spending the next three days in agony. In the time it took to recall the memory, the pain had already surpassed it, and continued to grow in intensity.

Why am I doing this? he questioned. He couldn't come up with a good reason, not in clear language or logic, for why he had abandoned his wounded partner. The dreams had created in him a sense of unease and a feeling that Leonard Pago was not just some junkie, but a real danger to the world.

He felt his way down steps and used his memory of the night before to guide him to the car. After shuffling along in agonizing pain, he hit the rear fender with his knee. Matthias realized in horror he had almost missed the car. A groan escaped his lips as he fumbled the door open. He stepped onto the side runner and fell onto the driver's side seat. He pulled the door shut, and his groaning turned to muffled screams through gritted teeth.

After a few moments, the pain dulled, and he didn't notice the draining effect of daylight, even though he knew that the car's exterior could not block it completely. He had simply gone numb to it.

Matthias pulled the front of the blanket up and over his forehead and could see again. The windows on the SUV had reacted to the sunlight and a layer of light-blocking lead filaments embedded inside the glass had turned ninety degrees, creating an interlocking barrier. The only sources of light were the ceiling bulb and Matthias's com screen.

He turned the car on and started a sweep of the area using the high-resolution cameras mounted on the front and rear bumpers. He grabbed a utility knife and tape, and cut a small rectangle in the front of the blanket, then taped his com over the hole creating the world's worst virtual reality setup. He checked his gun and holstered it. He checked that his boot knife was still at his ankle.

"I can't survive out here," he said, feeling the life draining from his body. Fear clawed at his mind, but he pushed it away. He swiped the front camera video feed from the small dash monitor onto the windshield. He thumbed through some options, applying a filter that highlighted fresh blood in a purple tone with a white outline. The camera software could easily recognize blood and almost anything else put in front of it, even when an observant vampire might not.

Matthias opened the center console and pulled out a pack of blood. He hurriedly twisted the cap off and squeezed, extending a tube to his lips. He siphoned it empty in two seconds flat, then studied the camera feed.

There, he thought as he spotted a highlighted blood signature. He cranked the engine and steered the SUV in its direction. He could see to his left, right, or rear by swiveling the rear camera, but it was cumbersome and slow. His forward camera was fish-eyed to give him just enough perspective to keep on the trail and maneuver around pedestrians and parked cars.

He followed the trail out of the motel lot and into a plaza. Then down a thin alley. The spots were appearing further and further apart. Halfway through the alley, he heard a loud screech as his vehicle scraped against the handle of a trash dumpster. Matthias pushed forward. Company car, he thought.

At the end of the alley, he saw no further blood highlights to follow. It opened into a half-abandoned strip mall. Matthias rested his head on the steering wheel. Streams of sweat had started making their way down his forehead and temples. His arms felt heavy with muscle soreness, held up only by gripping the steering wheel. He pulled his head up and scanned the area again. Still no trace of fresh blood.

He's here, Matthias concluded, nodding slightly. He turned the rear camera to the side and drove the SUV from one end of the mall to the other, inspecting the closed shops. There were five in all, but none showed obvious signs of forced entry.

Three of the shops were part of the same building, so he decided to play the odds that Pago was inside one of them. He pulled the car alongside with the driver's side door lined up beside the first shop door. Matthias took a deep breath and opened the SUV. A wave of heat blasted through him. He fought his way out and tried pulling the door handle. It wouldn't budge.

Movement on the com screen caught his eye. He turned his head and saw a couple walking out of a nearby shop. They stopped and stared at Matthias. He could think only of the heat engulfing his body. The walking blanket drew his gun, held the comforter against the glass and shattered it with one hard swing.

He stepped into what was once a clothing retailer. Many of the racks were still standing, along with a few signs hung high on the walls. He crept inside slowly and continued to scan the floor with his com. The heat tapered off, but the store was flooded with ambient light from uncovered windows. He still needed the protection of the blankets.

Where would a vampire hide? He looked toward the rear of the store where he spotted fitting rooms. He crept toward them, then peeked around the entryway. No Pago. He searched the back rooms. He checked inside what was once a restroom but now just a mess of shattered porcelain and exposed pipes.

After searching every dark pocket of the store, he found nothing but a few forgotten clothes hangers. Matthias moved to the wall shared with the second closed shop. He placed an ear flat against it and listened. It was muffled and quiet, but every few seconds he thought he heard a sound. Could be breathing, he thought.

He looked for a way to bypass going back outside. He thought there might be a door joining the two shops, but found nothing. Matthias considered trying to beat a hole into the wall, but even if successful, it would surely scare Leonard away long before he made it through.

He looked up the wall and wondered how high it went. The ceiling was lowered, with rectangular tiles resting on metal rails. Matthias dragged a tall counter to the wall and vaulted on top. He moved one of the tiles up and to the side and saw that there was practically an attic hidden above. Even better, the drywall didn't extend above the tiles. Wooden beams separated the two stores, spaced apart evenly with just enough room for Matthias to squeeze through.

This left him with a couple logistical problems. He had to get his blanket of protection into the next shop. Wearing it while climbing through ceilings would go badly. He could trip, or it could snag. He also had no place to stand as he moved from the attic of one shop to the other. The drywall might hold him. It might not.

The vampire did not want to remove the blanket but knew it was impractical to wear it as he ascended. He balled it up and tossed it up into the attic, then quickly followed to escape the heat. It was much darker and much cooler above the ceiling, and while he knew he was not in immediate danger, he still twitched with anxiety. Matthias carefully stepped on the top edge of parallel layers of drywall. He slowly shifted his weight onto it and it held. He crouched down and carefully pried up the closest ceiling tile above the other shop.

Matthias grabbed the blanket and dropped it down below. He then stepped off the drywall and slipped quietly into the hole he created. He landed with near cat's grace, letting his legs bend into a crouched position. It was dark enough in this shop that the heat did not bother him much more than in the hotel room. Many of the windows had been blocked with cardboard, something he had not noticed from the outside due to sun glare.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the interior of what appeared to be an abandoned bookstore. Unlike the previous shop, this one was almost fully stocked. A thick layer of dust covered the books, shelves, and racks. It was difficult to discern how long the shop had been in its current state, but Matthias presumed that there was no circulating air, making the accumulation of dust impressive.

The vampire had to think hard to remember the last time he had seen a physical book, let alone been inside a store that sold them. He estimated he had been in a library about six years ago, but that didn't count. There weren't actual book stores in North America. Some specialty stores, antique shops, and discount stores carried the odd book here and there. If anyone wanted a specific book in print they could simply order it from a print-on-demand service. Tomes served as decoration more than utility, but then again, they had been treated as such for decades.

Now with advanced paper screens almost as cheap as the cost to produce a single book, bulky devices that only held one manuscript were obsolete. If someone didn't have a reader, they could get one for free with the purchase of a few titles and some ads on their screen. Reading had not died off completely.

When this store closed, there clearly wasn't an attempt to liquidate. Instead, Matthias imagined, the lights simply turned off one evening and never turned back on. The doors closed and were locked, and that is how they stayed. If someone ever leased the property, the books wouldn't be an asset, they'd be a problem to deal with.

Matthias glanced at the titles, his curiosity distracting him temporarily. He kept his blanket wadded under his left arm, and drew his pistol with his right hand. He crouched low and moved slowly from the wall toward a back room entryway on the other side. His head panned one way, then the other.

As he neared the entryway, he spotted a small red smudge on its wooden moulding. He rounded the edge, bringing the interior of the room into view. The walls were lined with small square shelves four units high. Below them were plain counters with more dust, and cabinets underneath those.

The floor was dusty tile littered with footprints, and in the center of that floor was a small form lying motionless, covered by an eggshell-colored UV sheet. Matthias raised his gun and crept into the room.

He felt a sting in his lower back and instinctively swung around with his arm extended. Behind him was standing Leonard Pago, who leaned back to avoid the blow. He reached forward and Matthias caught a gleam in his hand that became lost in his abdomen.

Matthias jerked back and pointed his gun at Pago, but the wild-eyed maniac was ready for it. He stabbed his blade sideways into Matthias's wrist and knocked his arm away. The pain shooting through his wrist caused his hand to spasm and the gun to fly out of his hand.

Pago swung the blade at Matthias's neck, but the agent jerked back to avoid, causing him to lose his balance and fall on his ass. Crippled by pain, he screeched and clutched at his side, then looked down at his own blood flowing over his fingers. Matthias had been stabbed before, but it had never been so painful, nor had he bled as much.

Leonard stood at his feet, twirling the blade in his fingers. His arms were dark red with burn marks. The skin on his face had not only burned, but had cracked and peeled in several places. Matthias wondered if he himself looked similar.

Pago feinted a threatening lunge, then leaned down and swiped at Matthias's ankles. Matthias shifted his weight to his back and kicked upward, catching Pago on the face with the heel of his boot. Pago righted himself with a grunt, and Matthias took the opportunity to scoot further away and pull his feet under him. He stood and heaved a massive breath.

Pago laughed, shuffling toward Matthias cautiously with a low, wide stance. He faked several thrusts. Matthias stood still with one hand on his wound. His back was only a few feet from the wall. He had nowhere to retreat. He moved one foot forward and bent his knee slightly, staying otherwise still.

* * *

The music blared throughout the small stadium on the south side of Wichita. A pentagram-shaped cage with tall sides made of metal rods sat in the center, surrounded by bleachers and seats, almost all of them filled.

The first contender walked into the arena and toward the cage. The crowd of half-drunken spectators roared, drowning out the entrance music. It was only the third bout of the evening, and the main card had not yet started, but this was considered a historic contest.

From its inception, The UFC had spent years mocking nocturnal league fights as fake freak shows that dishonored the sport of mixed martial arts. At that time, the term vampire was used jokingly to describe what the public believed was a small group of people afflicted with pallor and an allergy to sunlight. The world was still very much in a state of recovery, and the public consciousness had too much to worry about to pay them much heed.

Though Noxcorp portrayed itself as an advocate for those with the condition, they opposed nocturnal participation in any public activities and warned sports promoters that the condition came with physical advantages unfair to other participants.

While most sports shunned them, fight promoters had other ideas. Out of a desire for ratings more than seriousness, the fighters were labeled vampires, and the Vampire Fighting Championship became the premier nocturnal exploitation engine, pitting one nocturnal against another for sport and profit. The founders considered themselves pioneers in nightstalker combat sport.

Few outside of the organization saw it that way, including the chief executive officer of the UFC, who said that the 'pale freaks' would never have a place in any serious MMA organization. As ratings for the VFC's webcasts reached new highs every week, the criticisms turned to silence. After two years of building a brand, the UFC bought out the VFC and quickly marginalized it.

Knowing that demand for the spectacle would eventually fuel the rise of another organization to take its place, the UFC decided to sate the public's desire for vampire fights by creating a limited sub-league and allowing a few fights on the preliminary cards.

The nocturnal then walking to the cage was the number one contender of the former VFC. The talent pool was not particularly deep, and so he had risen through the ranks quickly. By contrast, the former VFC champ was the one vampire combatant known within the greater martial arts fan base. He was very pale and had been turned at the height of his physical form. Like all vampires, he gave up strength training after turning as he found it ineffective, but for the rest of his life he would remain muscular, increasing his supernatural strength beyond that of the average nightstalker.

The challenger was also pale, but much thinner. He had three inches advantage in height and five in reach. His name was Matthias Trent, and this was his big historic day. Near the end of his search for identity, he had seen a live stream of traditional fights, and decided to start training. He found it came naturally to him, and it was clear he must have had training during his lost years.

Matthias paced inside the cage, waiting for the champ in his first defense since the promotion changed hands. He looked down at the canvas, where a menacing pentagram had been designed specifically for the 'unholy' vampire fights. The music and roar of the crowd filled his ears.

* * *

Pago had grown impatient waiting for Matthias to react and decided to make his move. He dashed at Matthias with his blade hand held back and his other arm forward, hoping to bait any parry attempt toward the lead arm so as to sneak the blade in behind it.

Matthias countered with a quick jab and shuffled to the side, keeping his distance. Pago flinched from the blow. He swung wildly, but Matthias was already out of reach. He straightened up and put his hands in front of his face, one still gripping the blade. Pago again jerked forward, feinting. Matthias stepped forward, jabbed twice, then stepped back.

Pago was visibly irritated, and blood began to drip from one of his nostrils. He thrust forward with the knife. Matthias leaned back and grabbed Pago's wrist and slapped the knife out of his hand. Pago swung with his other hand, catching Matthias on the side of his head. Matthias kicked the inside of Pago's calf causing him to stumble. With his wrist still held, he yanked Pago toward him, then bent his own arm as he came in, delivering an elbow to Pago's cheek.

Pago flailed at Matthias while stumbling back. Blood began pouring from a resulting cut. Matthias gripped his stomach again, wincing. Pago regained his balance and charged. Matthias lifted his lead leg and kicked downward onto Pago's knee as he came in. It buckled backward and Pago screamed. Matthias moved to the side and watched him face-plant. He kicked Pago in the side several times as he writhed on the floor.

Leonard grasped at his thigh, just above the knee. He screamed, and cried, and was able at moments to muffle it to a high-pitched whine or groan. Matthias grabbed the knife, then the gun, then a nearby wooden chair and set it in front of the tortured scene.

The chair's upholstery had been torn off, making it uncomfortable, but Matthias needed to sit. His clothing was soaked with his own blood. Combined with the sun and his waning adrenaline, he could feel his body starting to shut down. After a few minutes, Pago quieted himself. Whether his knee had started to heal, or the pain had merely dulled, Matthias could not tell.

"What is your fucking problem, man?" demanded Matthias.

"You're the one with the problem."

"Jesus. Were you normal before you went crazy?"

"I'm not crazy. Crazy is only believing what you see." Pago stopped grasping at his leg and leaned back against the wall. "People believe what is comfortable even when the contrary stares them in the face. You saw Him, you felt Him. But you ignore His call."

"I saw a dream."

"You said it last night, it became real."

"But it wasn't real. I know. I woke up, and he wasn't there. Where did he go, Pago?" Matthias leaned forward with his eyebrows furrowed. "Not everything you see in a dream while high on drugs is real, and not every god is worth worshipping."

"I know what I know, and soon so will the entire world."

Matthias groaned. He looked down and was still bleeding. "What the hell?"

"You might live, you might not," Pago said with a laugh. "I got you good. I got you both."

"I'll survive. Frank will be fine."

"He's already dead. It was daytime, he had no blood, and my blade is silver."

"You piece of shit." Matthias leveled his gun at Pago. "Why? Why do this?"

"Frank is an abomination. Unable to feel His presence, he was barely even a vampire."

"I don't get it," said Matthias, standing. He kept the gun pointed at Leonard. "We had a deal. You would have been free."

Pago shook his head. He looked down at his leg, then back up at Matthias. "You were never going to let me go."

"No," replied Matthias, shaking his head. "I wasn't." He fired two shots into Pago's heart and a third into his head.

* * *

The referee, also a vampire, swung his arm downward, signifying the start of the contest's first round. The champ, nicknamed 'The Impaler', surprised Matthias with his tact in the ring. Unlike most of the nocturnals he had beaten to reach the top of the VFC, The Impaler could actually fight.

The Impaler landed several heavy shots, leaving Matthias rocked. Matthias clenched to avoid punishment, but the stocky champion threw him to the ground and straddled him. He rained down more punches, but Matthias pushed him off and managed to keep his opponent on his back for the remainder of the round.

The next round saw both vampires trade shots for the entire duration. Both had open cuts by the time the bell rang. As the fight wore on, they became fatigued and the vampiric healing slowed. The strength of the champion became less of a threat, and Matthias started to outwork him. He used superior technique to score points while not actually doing any damage.

In the final round, Matthias was too exhausted to mount an offense. The Impaler pushed Matthias against the cage for half of the round. The unruly crowd began to boo as they appeared to rest on each other more than fight. With a minute left in the contest, the champ locked his hands around Matthias, lifted him into the air, and slammed him onto the canvas. As he landed, Matthias knew that he would lose that round. Before the final bell rang, he was already starting to do the math in his head. Did I win rounds two, three, and four?

It turned out he did not, at least according to two of the three judges. He smiled as the announcer called out the results; a split decision. It was a victory in his own mind even if a loss on paper. He had proven that he was near the top, and would likely be in a good position to earn larger purses down the road.

However, unknown to both fighters, the vampire council had passed a rule forbidding exhibitions of combat between nocturnals on the very eve of the contest. The UFC didn't have to comply, but because the protections Noxcorp offered to nocturnals came with strings, the promotion knew that most of the combatants would. They had found an excuse to pull the plug on the remnants of the VFC faster than expected and even complied with the council's request to pull that night's prelims from the live stream. Matthias's final fight never made it online.

That night's crowd of hardcore fans were the only ones to witness the only UFC vampire class title bout. His manager informed him of the news in the locker room. Matthias's life had come to an abrupt halt as he realized his career as a fighter had been cut short, and that he'd never see the inside of a cage again. With only part-time employment to pay the bills, he once again had to start over.

* * *

Matthias arranged both the UV sheet and his own blanket over himself, lining up screens from both so that he was looking at an image twice removed. He navigated out of the front of the former clothing retailer and back inside the SUV and gunned it, despite his limited vision, back to the motel.

The medical response team beat him there. Two men wheeled out a large white coffin and slid it into the back of the ambulance. If they deemed it necessary, they would transfer Frank to surgery, but the most common treatment for any wound a vampire sustained was a blood transfusion. That they would do from inside the wagon, without the possibility of extra exposure to people as well as daylight.

Matthias felt a sense of dread, not knowing whether the coffin contained a live Frank or a dead one, and if alive, what Frank would think of him for leaving. In his current state, he had no choice but to get back into the motel room and sleep.

Only when he got up the stairs and to his room did he realize there was no door. Shit, he thought, they had to destroy it to get inside. Matthias quickly went back to the car and shut himself in. He felt his clothing sticking to his body, and as he shifted around it felt as if his flesh were being torn apart.

Matthias drove slowly for a few blocks until he saw a parking garage. He took shelter inside where no direct sunlight would reach the vehicle. He reclined the seat and drank from a blood pack. He closed his eyes and promptly passed out.

* * *

Blist did not enjoy being woken from his slumber. He put the com in speaker mode.

"What... is it?" he said sternly.

"Blist, your agents fucked us," a silvery voice slipped through the air. "Pago is dead."

"Do you know what time it is?" asked Blist.

"Yes."

"It couldn't wait until tonight?"

"Blist, we trusted you on this," said the voice, ignoring his question. "We won't make that mistake again."

"You can bitch all you want," replied Blist. "I don't know the details, but my men aren't trigger-happy."

"We need Pago's body. Make a call," snapped the voice.

"Fine," said Blist. "Anything else?"

"No." The line went silent.

* * *

Matthias's eyes slowly creaked open to the same view he saw when he had closed them. His com was complaining of low battery. He looked at the time and saw that it was nearly nine at night. He tore the blankets off and extended a charger cord from the dash and plugged it into the com.

He breathed heavily, turning his attention to the driver side window. He rolled it down and sucked in the cool night air. Quick shallow breaths turned to slow deep ones. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to let in air, but the cloth stuck to his skin. He pulled harder, stretching the fabric until it hurt. Matthias looked down and saw his chest skin stretching as he pulled the shirt away.

"I fucking melted," he concluded.

Matthias called Frank's com. It rang several times, then Frank's voice boomed through the SUV's speakers.

"You son of a bitch," he answered. "What do you want?"

Matthias tried to judge the tone of Frank's voice.

"See, I told you you'd be fine."

"Motherfucker, do you know what a boot tastes like after it's traveled up your ass?"

"Like ass?" Matthias reasoned.

"Oh, so you are familiar."

"I taste Blist's at least once a month."

"Blist..." replied Frank, trailing off.

"I'm sorry," offered Matthias. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "You get him?"

"Yeah," said Matthias. "I got him."

"Good. What a psycho."

Matthias sighed.

"We'll talk more later," Frank added.

"Where you at?"

"I'm at a safe house for one more day, then I'll meet you back at KC."

"Okay. Get some rest."

"Outies."

Matthias dialed Blist.

"About fucking time, Trent. Where have you been?"

"I chased down Pago in broad daylight and my clothes melded with my skin," explained Matthias. "What have you been up to?"

"Corpsec found his body," said Blist. "I suppose you did what you had to. It's actually good work, Matthias. Impressive even."

"I'm just a humble servant of the council," replied Matthias.

"Something like that," said Blist.

"This guy was a real nutcase, and there's some drug involved in his delusions."

"Write it up," said Blist. "Then we'll talk. Frank checked in a couple hours ago in case you were wondering."

"I spoke with him," said Matthias. "Sir, he was stabbed with silver. Pago took the blood packs and left him to die in the middle of the day."

"Kerwin's lucky."

"Yeah, real lucky."

"You heading back to the office?"

"I have one more of Pago's victims to check on," Matthias answered.

"Right. Get it done. Don't want any loose ends."

"I'll be in touch."

"Bye."

Matthias turned off the lead shield in the windows. "Lucas Alder," he muttered, pulling up the man's address on the dash screen. He pulled out of the garage and headed straight there. A little late to make a house call, he thought. But it's time to end this.

Matthias took 95th East out of Overland Park, transitioning from middle-income business districts to low-income housing complexes where small living boxes were stacked as tight as engineering could manage, then through a farming cooperative. Matthias turned on assisted driving and stared up at the layered crop planes still under construction.

A few minutes later he was on the west edge of Lee's Summit in a small affluent neighborhood. He parked outside Lucas Alder's house and sat for a moment in silence. Matthias grabbed the mage gauge and checked his gun. A weariness had settled over his mind and his body. He felt calm but tired. Despite the warm evening, he donned a jacket to hide his bloodstained shirt.

Matthias approached the front door of a large house. It was new construction, rare in that most new housing was compact and interconnected, and this house was the older ranch style with a large garage and a yard with grass rather than panels. To Matthias's keen eyes, it appeared to be real grass at that.

He pressed his thumb to the panel recessed into the doorframe. It alerted the residents that Matthias Trent of Noxcorp waited at their door. It opened, revealing a woman in her thirties. She wore raven hair and pink lips.

"Good evening, officer," she greeted with the false warmth people utilized as a matter of courtesy.

"Evening, ma'am," he replied. "Might I speak with Lucas?"

"What's this about?"

Matthias stared into her light brown eyes. He forgot for a moment why he was there. There was something familiar about the woman.

"Uh, he may have information about an investigation," he formed, haphazardly putting one word after another.

"Why would he—"

"Just a second," a voice cut in from out of view. Matthias could hear clothes rustling.

Then a short man with brown hair and a face full of stubble appeared in the doorway next to the woman.

"I'm sure it's just something routine," he said. "You can go back to your show."

"Alright, hon. Don't be long." She eyed Matthias, then disappeared through a door.

"What's going on, officer?"

"Lucas Alder?"

"That's me."

"My name is Matthias," he started. "I'm investigating some attacks made by a... disturbed individual."

The man shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

Matthias continued. "I know that you were one of his victims. I know the assault may seem trivial now, but it's actually a serious matter."

The man pursed his lips, then spoke. "I have to admit, I'm not sure what happened. I have these marks." He pulled his collar to the side and flashed Matthias his bite wound. "But I don't know how I got them. I was pretty drunk that night."

Matthias leaned forward. "Can I take a closer look?"

Lucas leaned toward him with the marks exposed. Matthias studied them. Necrosis around the wounds. Matthias lifted his com to the man's face.

"May I do a quick exam?"

"For what?"

"The skin looks infected."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, but I know how to check for certain things."

"Okay, whatever you say."

Matthias scanned the man's eye. Telltale discoloration. He pulled out the gauge and flipped it on. He stared down at it and took a deep breath. He lifted it to Alder's chest, bracing himself. The needle remained lifeless. Matthias exhaled.

Matthias lowered the device then looked up to see a small boy standing behind Lucas. A shock traversed his body, and the image of the living room from his dream flashed in front of his eyes. He blinked it away. The boy stared at him.

"Shawn..." Matthias muttered as his heart kicked into overdrive.

"Are you alright?" asked Lucas. He looked back and saw his son. "My son, Evan."

The man smiled with pride at the Noxcorp officer, then turned back again. "Go to bed, son."

A bead of sweat appeared on Matthias's forehead, and dark spots clouded his vision. He tried to focus. What was I saying?

"I'm fine," Matthias lied. "Been a little under the weather lately."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"That I need?" Matthias mimicked. "Your... wound is a cause for concern." Matthias felt his heart pound harder as he followed the words forward. "You may start to experience symptoms such as sensitivity to light. Please, take this card, and call it for help if you get this or other strange symptoms."

"Should I go to a doctor now?"

"No," Matthias said, closing his eyes. "I mean, I don't know. You can. Or you can wait and see."

"Uh, okay. Is it bad?"

"I'm sure it will be fine." Matthias opened his eyes so he could look Lucas in the eye while lying. He handed the card over. "Thanks for your time. Have a good evening."

"Not a thing. You do the same."

The man closed the door, and Matthias sank into a pile on the porch. He buried his face between his knees. Images he didn't understand, people he had never seen, crowded themselves inside his mind.

He opened his eyes and found himself lying on his side, still on the porch. Matthias sat up, then stood. How long have I been out? He checked the time on his com; only a few minutes had passed. He felt a mental numbness, and while he remembered having a strange episode, he recalled nothing else. He rose and turned toward the front windows, embarrassed. The lights were off, and the family likely retired to bed.

Matthias hurried to the SUV and pulled out the remaining tabs of Jester, staring intently. He plugged his com into the car's docking station, then pulled a pair of gloves from a nearby slot and slid them over his fingers. An outline of his hands rendered on the screen. He used them to navigate a rudimentary computer interface, bringing up a clearnet browser.

He searched for Jester in the typical search engines, then pored through more detailed results on recreational substance boards. He found nothing by that name anywhere and decided to call on a contact that specialized in information gathering and had an interest in pharmaceuticals.

"Surely you jest," said the woman on the other end of the line.

"I'm serious and stop calling me Shirley," responded Matthias.

"Jester, eh?" Her voice was jagged. "That's a new one to me."

"Not what I wanted to hear, Jaxi."

"I might have something interesting, though."

"Hit me."

"First things first," she said. "What's this drug do?"

"Knocks you out, gives you nightmares. Real crazy shit."

"Interesting."

"Uh huh."

"Wait, did you try some?" she asked.

"Of course not."

"Must be nice to sit around getting high on the job."

"It's great," he snarked. "Now what do you know?"

"Well, the pharma game is a weird place right now. Outfits pop up, get bought out, pop up again under a different name, rinse repeat. The buyers get the drugs, but when they try to get the scientists, they end up with dummy employees."

"Big pharma doesn't have good lawyers."

"Lawyers?"

"You know what I mean, contract advisors or whatever they are."

"It's not that," she corrected. "The scientists have no identities. They are faceless, nameless, anonymous."

"So they can do the work, then move to another company without fear of retribution," he reasoned.

"That's what they do, and it's become something of a shell game with big pharma trying to chase talent," said Jaxi.

"Why not just work for them?" Matthias asked.

"The big corps are the law, and once you join them under contract they own you," she replied.

"That's a good point."

"But I think the chemists and engineers and scripters just want to progress their fields, and that's not why the big boys hire them. They hire them to eliminate competition."

"Are you trying to say that one of these dark scientists created Jester?"

"Shrug. Through chatter, we can't tell anything that specific."

"Did you just say 'shrug'?" Matthias asked incredulously.

Jaxi sighed. "Sigh. You can blame my daughter for that. Every statement has to be prefaced with some sort of emote."

"Excited breathing. That sounds like fun," mocked Matthias.

Jaxi giggled loudly. "Oh shit, I'm going to try that one on her."

"So," he started, "what does this have to do with Jester?"

"Right, the thing is, we know something or someone interesting is in play when corps start making acquisitions," explained Jaxi. "And a few weeks ago, Novaware began making several."

"Novaware," repeated Matthias. "They aren't in the recreational drug scene."

"Correct. They do have several branches though. Skin care, anti-aging, stims."

"I don't get it," said Matthias. "Okay, so when a corp makes a lot of acquisitions looking for something, that means they found it when they stop?"

"Maybe."

"And maybe they found it in their most recent acq."

"Well," she said. "Another maybe, but not always. They might not know they've got what they want. Deals might execute out of order. Or they might purposefully buy a couple more cheap startups to mask what they were looking for."

"Dammit," muttered Matthias.

"Yepper."

"I want to know where this stuff came from."

"I'm sorry, Matt. I'm sending you a list of acquisitions, dates, drug rumors, and speculative buyout prices. I know a guy that is good at sniffing around. Give him a call. It won't be cheap though."

"Thanks, Jaxi, but I can't spend money on this wild hair," lamented Matthias.

"Talk to him anyways. I can pay you for anything juicy he gives you, but I'm not willing to front the risk."

"Makes two of us."

"If you do go sniffing around, be careful and sanitize my convo with you."

"I will."

"Be well," she bade.

"You too." Matthias closed the line and stared at the number of the sniffer Jaxi referred to.

##

## Episode 7: The Imposter

Midnight. Tuesday. Blist's eyes were affixed to hard copy in his hands. Matthias sighed approximately once every four and a half seconds. He glanced around his handler's office, looking for any new motivational posters, plaques, or decorations. Nothing was new. He watched as Blist slowly rubbed the paper between his thumb and fingertips. Matthias sighed.

"I suppose you'd like to know why you're here," said Blist, his eyes still on the paper.

"Am I that transparent?"

"You ever read from a sheet of paper?"

"I'm sixty-one years old," Matthias replied. "I think."

"Mhm. I bet it's been a while."

"I'm surprised you have a working printer."

"They still make them," said Blist.

"So what am I doing here?"

"I love the feel," he explained. "And it looks better than e-ink. It's like my eyeballs curl up in bed under the covers."

"That's very interesting, sir."

"Matthias?"

"Boss."

"Why didn't you bring Pago in?"

"I felt it was too dangerous. Is that my report you're reading?"

"Would I waste paper on one of your reports?" Blist glanced up from the paper.

"Then what are you reading?" pestered Matthias.

"Doesn't matter," Blist dismissed. "The medics reported his knee was broken. Forensics says he was prone when shot."

"That's right," Matthias fired back.

"So, you incapacitated him, then executed him."

"I neutralized a threat."

"I understand you were angry. Vengeful. Pago had it coming, and you were cleared to use whatever means necessary to stop him," explained Blist. "But I have to stress that the council is not happy about this. They wanted him in a dungeon telling them everything he knew and everything he didn't about Jester."

"Pago didn't know shit, he—"

"I know," said Blist. "But that's not your call."

"I made a call I was comfortable with." Matthias's voice increased slightly in volume. "I barely got to him before passing out from sunsick. I couldn't leave him breathing."

"I think that will do." Blist uncapped a pen and started scribbling on the bottom of the paper.

"A pen too? Jesus, what year is this?"

Blist looked up in annoyance, then his eyebrows rose, and he sat up in his chair. The office door opened behind Matthias, who jerked his head around to see Frank walk in.

Frank Kerwin sat in the chair next to Matthias Trent. Terrence Blist released his grip on the paper, letting it fall to the desk.

"Frank."

"Hey, Frank."

"Matthias," Frank addressed. "Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Blist."

"Just Blist, Frank."

"You're why I am here?" asked Matthias with surprise.

"That's right," said Blist. "I read your report, Frank, so go ahead and say what you need to."

Frank shifted in his seat. Matthias turned to watch him, and Frank continued looking toward the captain. "Well... there's not much to say, really. I don't want to be Matthias's partner. I don't... feel like we can work together. Matthias and me just aren't a good fit."

Matthias's lips parted slightly.

"Why is that, exactly?" prompted Blist.

"You know, my—" Frank started gesturing toward the paper.

"This is something I need to hear, as does Matthias."

"I... don't trust him."

Matthias's mouth opened wider.

"Matthias, Frank's report says you left him gravely wounded to pursue Pago."

Matthias continued to stare agape for a moment. Without turning his head toward Blist, "That's what my fucking report says too!"

"I can't really blame him, can you?" asked Blist.

"Fuck?"

"Was that a question?"

"I thought you were over this shit," stated Matthias tensely.

Blist started to speak but was cut off by Frank.

"There's nothing to get over," Frank countered. "I just can't trust you. You have no concern for my well-being."

"Fuck you, and fuck this," said Matthias, standing.

"Sit down!" Blist yelled.

Matthias stopped and looked at the ceiling. He turned toward his boss and obeyed, slumping back into the chair.

Blist pressed his fingers onto the paper and slid it forward and back along the desk.

"Now that we have cleared the air," he said with a sly grin. "Request for reassignment denied."

Matthias scoffed.

Frank leaned forward. "Denied? Why did you make me tell him?"

"Settle down." Blist motioned with his palm downward. "You are right, but Matthias is a good agent. He just needs a little course correction, and now he's gotten it. Right, Matthias?"

Matthias shook his head.

"Right?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

"You are partners. This job is pretty cozy most nights, but sometimes it's not, and that's when you need to have each other's backs."

"Fine."

Frank leaned back into his chair with his arms folded.

"Alright now. You two are going to get a kick out of this—"

Both men across the desk sat morosely.

"The council somehow came to the conclusion that you are the top guns of this department," Blist followed with quick laughter, its authenticity questionable. "Which means we can't break up the band yet."

Blist motioned toward the sheet of paper. "These are orders. The council has ordered that we assist the university with the return of an AWOL mage."

"They've got their own security," stated Matthias.

"They do, but this is the assignment." Blist slid his fingertips along his desk, conjuring floating images of a Caucasian woman with blonde hair extending past her shoulders. She looked mid- to late-twenties. Her eyes shone an almost glowing blue. Blist explained some of the particulars of the case.

"No, I don't think so," said Matthias, unable to take his eyes off the image. It had been a while since the sight of a woman had impressed him so.

"What's the problem?" demanded Blist.

"The last time we went to apprehend someone, Matthias shot him in the face," said Frank.

"And?"

"Do I have to spell it out? Are we supposed to shoot her in the face if we corner her and she pulls some magic shit on us? 'Cause our job isn't to murder the university's special prisoners for them."

"Damn right," said Matthias.

"Why, because she's a woman?"

"No," answered Matthias.

"Yes," answered Frank in unison.

"You two are really something," said Blist, looking through the images at the two agents. "This job isn't always pretty. Sometimes it's ugly, but without us, criminals beyond the reach of corpsec would be free to hurt or kill others. You both need a little backbone. In my day, vampires were tough, feared."

"In my day they sparkled," replied Matthias, evoking a chuckle from Frank.

"Let's get real, boys, you aren't going against the council."

"I'm not putting myself in an encounter with some woman who's done nothing," said Frank.

"Kerwin," said Blist. "Mages are dangerous by nature. They are always a threat. Left alone, they will always use their power for their own interests. That usually means against someone else."

"I'm just saying I can't do it."

Blist sighed. "The university is sending one of their wardens over. You will help him track her down. As far as I'm concerned, that's where our cooperation ends."

"Now we have to babysit?" asked Matthias. "That's even worse."

Blist threw his fists onto the desk. "You will do this and do it right! Get out of my office, dammit."

* * *

Both nocturnals sat at their desks quietly brooding. Matthias continued to tell himself that he didn't give a shit what Frank thought. Frank stared at his desk, shaking his head at random intervals.

Frank knew he had miscalculated. He was sure Blist would see things his way. He was wrong. Blist, he realized, was a dick. Frank spent the next hour shuffling files around, unable to concentrate. He stared at a clock on the wall, and then just the wall. The whole of the interior had seemed so pristine when he first arrived. His eyes had slowly adjusted to his surroundings, and now he could spot dinginess that had set in.

At half past nine, a young Asian man with black parted hair, sharp features, and skin like a baby's bottom stepped out of the elevator and walked into Blist's office. Then the two of them walked out, parking in front of Matthias's desk.

"Matthias, this is Charles Wu," Blist introduced. "He is the warden I told you about."

"Which warden was that?" asked Matthias.

"The only one," said Blist, straightening his body and clenching his right fist next to his thigh.

Frank swung his chair toward the conversation and smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Charles," said Matthias. Blist's spring-loaded body unwound slightly. "How old are you?" Blist tensed again and shook his head in a slow subtle motion, staring into Matthias's eyes.

"How—" Wu began to repeat.

"I am going to guess at least eighteen," snarked Frank.

"Gentlemen, act professionally," said Blist with a forced calm.

"Up a bit late, eh, lad?" teased Frank, allowing a bit more Irish into his accent.

"Guys."

"I'm twenty-four," Wu said to Matthias.

"Wow," remarked Frank.

"Jesus," sighed Matthias.

"Don't mind them," said Blist. "A bitter senility has taken hold of them, but they will do whatever they can to assist you." He stressed 'whatever', and walked away before losing his temper.

Charles Wu took a seat on the other side of Matthias's desk.

"The university is grateful for the help, and believe it or not, they don't ask for help from outside sources lightly," explained Wu.

"I don't get it," said Frank.

"Don't—" Wu puzzled. "How much have you been told?"

"Not enough," said Matthias.

"I mean, the university has this problem," started Frank. "It's a serious problem. They can't solve it themselves, so they ask for help from two Noxcorp agents and send their newest recruit with them?"

"I'm not the newest... Mr. Kerwin—"

"Frank."

"Frank, do you drink beer?"

"Uh, yeah!"

"Let me treat you both to a few pints and give you a real briefing."

* * *

Matthias lagged behind, climbing into the back seat of the SUV.

"Where's a good pub in this town?" asked Wu.

"This town?" asked Frank. "Judging by the accent, you are new here."

"Transferred in a year ago," the warden replied. "I still don't know where I'm going without GPS."

"They don't let you out of the university much?" asked Matthias.

"Not since I landed."

"Landed," repeated Matthias.

"I always pass a small brewery down Main Street, but never go," said Frank. "Let's check it out."

Frank turned out of the parking lot onto an empty road that was once a state highway. Now as he drove he saw only the occasional opposing headlights.

"Where'd you transfer from?" Matthias asked.

"Um. Austin."

"Texas?" asked Frank.

"Sorry?" he replied. "Oh, yes. You still use the old regions."

"Cause we're so old," said Matthias.

"From the old world," added Frank.

"No, it's great," said Charles. "I'm sure you're both very wise."

Wu glanced over to Frank, who turned to look at him devoid of expression.

"I meant like what country are you from," said Matthias.

"England." Charles smiled.

"Well sure," said Matthias. "But where?"

"Norfolk," he answered. "You know it?"

"I was kidding."

Charle's smile faded.

"I know Norfolk," said Matthias.

"Right above Suffolk," chimed Frank.

"Right," said Wu.

"So, what'd you do to get kicked out of the Austin university?"

Wu laughed. "It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?"

"Just didn't like the scenery."

"Well that's a bullshit answer," Frank remarked.

Wu shrugged.

"You been stateside a while?" asked Matthias.

"Coming up on six years," he said. "Either of you spend time across the pond?"

"Not since I was a wee lad," said Frank, exaggerating his accent. "Spent the last fifty or so years in America. Just moved to KC, though."

"How about you?" Charles asked, turning back toward Matthias.

"I've been here and there," he replied. "Even spent a year in Japan. Never the UK though." Wu nodded in response.

Frank stopped outside a small bar nestled tightly between two offices along Main Street. A wooden sign hung above the door, subtly swaying with the breeze. It had the word 'the' in small letters above the word 'Drift' in larger font. The window had an old fluorescent 'Open' sign stuck on with suction cups. It went from bright to dim, then flickered, then back to bright.

Frank swung the door open and looked around. An old couple sat at a booth while a middle-aged man at the bar rested his fingers on the handle of a clear mug. He strode eagerly to a small table between the entrance and bar.

The table had a small tablet sitting on it that came to life when he sat, with a generic advertisement of the day's specials and beer on tap. Frank pinched his fingers to his thumb, instructing it to mute. He pulled out a chair and sat.

Wu followed, and Matthias shuffled in unenthusiastically. He sat across the table from Frank and stared at his eyes. Frank glanced at him, then down to the tablet. He flipped through menu pages, pretending to be interested in the food.

The warden looked at Matthias, then Frank, then back at Matthias.

"Pick your poison, gentleman. Whatever you want."

"Doubtful anything here will break the bank," said Matthias.

"Well, what it lacks in quality we'll make up for in quantity," Wu responded.

"Why are you so intent on getting us drunk?" Matthias questioned.

"Pretty much impossible at less than three hundred proof," added Frank.

"Perhaps I wish to drown my sorrows," Wu contemplated.

A waitress in denim jeans and a white folded V-neck blouse had come up behind Charles during their banter.

"I think we can help with that, sugar," she chimed in.

Wu looked up at her and swiveled the tablet to face him. "Give me a shot of rum and a bock."

"Just a pilsner," said Matthias when she glanced at him.

"Got a favorite brand?"

"You pick it for me."

She smiled. "Sure thing, hon."

"How scary is your rauchbier?" asked Frank.

"It's a little different."

"Sure, why not."

"You boys want anything to eat with this?"

Wu looked at the vampires, both of them shaking their heads.

"That will do."

"Sure thing. Have it out in a jiffy." The woman headed back to the bar. And the three sat solemnly while the silence wore on them, testing to see who would break first.

"Why does the university need us?" asked Matthias.

"Can we wait for drinks?" requested Frank.

"Fine. You want to talk about Pago instead?"

"Not really."

"What's Pago?" asked Wu.

"Just some junkie," said Frank.

"Who got a little stabby," added Matthias.

"Stabby? Was this recent?"

"Our last assignment," Matthias explained. "I made a tough decision and Frank wants to dump me."

"Oh," said Wu.

"Why take it so personal?" Frank responded, leaning forward. "You thought you had to go, and I would rather not die. Simple disagreement."

"There was nothing I could do, dammit."

"Maybe."

"You're right," started Matthias. "Not sure why I give a shit what you think."

Wu looked down at the table, then back up at Matthias. He opened his mouth but was interrupted by the waitress.

"Here you go, boys."

"Cheers," said Wu.

The nocturnals stared at their drinks. Wu sipped his beer, then downed the shot. He clanked the glass onto the wood table.

"I'm sorry to hear about the strife, mates," he said, clearing his throat. "Drink up and I'll run this mission down."

At this, both men picked up their mugs and drank.

"Let's hear it," said Frank.

Wu took another drink and set his glass down. He placed his hands on his thighs.

"The universities... don't know what the fuck they are doing," he opened. "Through propaganda, we've created an image of this agency of protection against awakened threats." His eyes shifted from Matthias to Frank. "But it's all a facade. Our tools are limited, and our means of control are illusory."

"You have guns don't you?" Frank quipped.

"Indeed we do. But the guns we have are easy to sabotage."

"Sabotage how?" asked Matthias.

"Well, okay, see, this is why we are here," said Wu, looking around the bar. "I'm not cleared to share this kind of information."

"But you are going to anyhow."

"You need to know what we are up against," warned Wu. "The spells manipulate matter-energy relationships on a basic level. Almost any such manipulation directed at an electronically controlled firearm will disable it at the very least, and sometimes cause an uncontrolled discharge as well."

"So if the prisoners decide to revolt..." Frank said, leaning back into his chair.

"You mustn't think of them as victims," urged Wu. "The power they have is dangerous."

"I've done my homework on mages," countered Matthias. "They are fun at parties, but few have real power. They are kept at the universities so that corps can study them, experiment on them."

"I would concede that and more," Wu nodded. "But things are changing. We've measured a steady increase in the efficacy of magic over the past five years. And the mage we are hunting is very dangerous."

"Does Blist know this?" asked Frank.

"He knows some details have been omitted."

"He knows that you didn't tell him everything?"

"Not me," said Wu. "To Blist I'm just the warden. The captain of security is tasked with handling any breaches. He made the request to the council. Likely not the entire council either, but one member."

"Which member?" prodded Matthias. "And why?"

"It's all a game of limiting exposure. The upper twats don't want to get caught lying during an inquisition."

"As if those ever happen," scoffed Matthias.

"True enough." Wu tipped his glass back.

"Figures," Frank said, shaking his head.

"As to which member of the council," continued Wu, "I haven't the foggiest. I could only name two or three off the top of my head."

"Let's see," said Frank. "There's Guero. There's the woman."

"Koch," specified Matthias.

"The old guy. Literally the oldest-looking vampire ever."

"Hank something," said Matthias. "He was old when he was turned. And I think I've heard the name Green a couple times."

The conversation trailed off and the men worked on their drinks for a few minutes, digesting Wu's words.

"You said this mage is dangerous," said Matthias. "How so?"

"Magic," said Wu with a smirk.

"We were getting along so well," said Frank.

"You said it like most mages aren't," Matthias clarified.

"That is what you seem to believe."

"This woman is different," assumed Matthias.

"She is."

"Who is she? What's her name?" asked Frank.

"Her name is Sandra Haulstein, or Sandy as she prefers it."

"How old is she?" asked Matthias.

"Twenty-four," answered Wu.

"Were you buddies?" asked Frank. "Lovers?"

Wu shifted in his seat. "No. The university is quite strict when it comes to that sort of thing."

"I'm sure you guys are perfect gentlemen," Frank sneered.

"I keep my hands to myself," Wu defended. "But I knew her as well as any of the wardens, maybe better. That doesn't mean I knew her well, though."

"Why escape?" asked Matthias.

"That's an easy one," shot Wu.

"Is it?" Matthias questioned. "Why don't they all escape? Why not overrun security and take over the asylum? Why now?"

"Most of them are scared: of us, of the world, of themselves. Maybe she had been planning it for a while."

Frank broke in. "Did she act strangely before the escape?"

"Actually, she dropped out of half her activities about ten days ago. Other than that, she seemed normal."

"How long has she been off the leash?"

"Three days now," Wu answered.

"What about her tracking anklet?" asked Matthias.

"Anklet?" echoed Frank.

Wu turned to Frank. "We use a sophisticated anklet designed to incapacitate the mage if it is tampered with. It allows us to track their movements. We found hers in a bathroom trash can covered in blood. We think Sandra cut off her foot."

"Jesus," said Frank.

"You think?" Matthias responded.

"She didn't leave the foot," Wu explained. "Plus, while there was blood all over the anklet, it was really a small amount for that sort of injury. She should have died or at least passed out from pain and or blood loss."

"Sandy had tools," Frank said with a grin.

"Well, she didn't do it with her bare hands."

"What about with a spell?" asked Matthias.

Wu shook his head. "In the right conditions, magic can result in a severed limb, but if you want to slice off a foot without dying, I haven't seen any spells that come close."

"Still."

"Still nothing, I wouldn't believe it if I saw it."

"I'll check with Victor, he might have something to say about amputations," said Frank.

"Right," said Matthias. "So where do we start looking?"

"I'm not a tracker or detective," said Wu. "We put out an alert for her facial signature through the city's cam network. It picked up a hit earlier today outside of a convenience store in the north end. She might be holed up nearby."

"Maybe," Matthias nodded. "What about friends or family? She got any in the area?"

"Her mum lives a half hour south of here. No other family in town. I am gathering intel on the location of siblings. She wouldn't have made any friends on the outside."

"What did she have to say?"

"I haven't spoken with her," Wu replied. Matthias's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I'm the only one assigned, and I've been too busy checking leads and interviewing university associates. However, I was able to pull one of the guards off active duty to stake the place out in case she fled for her old home."

Matthias sighed. "Frank, will you call Victor?"

"Yep."

"Charles, call a cab and take Frank to the university," said Matthias. "Walk him through the escape, let him talk with her friends, the staff, everyone. I'm going to go have a talk with mummy and call up a data specialist."

"I'll send you her details. Data specialist?"

"I think he means hacker," said Frank.

"What for?"

"I want access to the rest of the cameras around the place she was spotted last," Matthias explained. "Independent businesses will jerk you around for days before giving access to anything."

"I see," Wu said with a nod. "Let me send you the file on her mum. Say hi to Kyle so he doesn't freak out when you walk up to the door."

Matthias stood. Frank and Charles remained seated, drinking their brew. With a slight bow, he turned and left.

"He's very, uh... vampirish, isn't he?" asked Wu, smirking for a moment, unsure if he was trying to be funny or serious.

"That's accurate," replied Frank.

"You have different levels of... it?"

"Something like that," Frank said. "But the council doesn't want us handing out brochures."

"I get it," said Wu.

Silence crept in as they finished their beers.

"Tell me something, Chuck."

"Ya?"

"What are you going to do with the mage once we find her?"

"It's tough," he replied. "We almost never put them down unless it's for a crime other than escaping. The only thing we can do is remove the little freedom they have and maybe keep them medicated to make casting difficult."

"So her life is over."

Wu folded his arms. "She never had a life, not really. Not like us. But she'll be comfortable, fed, entertained. There are people who have it much worse."

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself."

"It's not well known," started Wu. "But all the major corps are part of a pact that sets rules on the exploitation and handling of mages. Within the confines of a university, they are imprisoned, sure. They are also protected."

"No walls, or guards, or system can protect them from this world," Frank countered. Wu sat silently in response, staring at his empty glass.

"Shit," said Frank. "Guess we should get on with it." He thumbed through his com, signaling for a taxi.

* * *

Just as Wu had said, his man Kyle sat in a small vehicle outside the large apartment building where Sandra Haulstein's mother resided. Matthias walked up to the driver's side casually. The man looked wide-eyed back at him.

Matthias saw Kyle's hand disappear behind the cover of the car door. He shook his head, then slowly pulled out his com and showed him his Noxcorp credentials. The man rolled down his window halfway.

"Sir, I'm on a stakeout for the university at KC," he said in a quick, hushed tone.

"I know," said Matthias, mimicking his whisper. "I'm with Wu. I'm heading in to talk to the mother."

"Wait, what? You can't do that. You'll blow it. I've been here a week!"

"You've been here a day. Call Wu if you want, I'm going in."

Matthias walked away, leaving the man fumbling with his com. At the door, Matthias pressed the call panel and waited until a clerk appeared on the screen. He held his thumb on the pad.

"Official business," he announced.

The clerk, an older lady, frowned. "We report all corporate visitors to headquarters. Please treat our residents with respect."

A buzz filled the air. Matthias nodded and pushed open the door. Martha Haulstein's room was on the third floor. He took the stairs. He stood in front of the door, composing questions in his head. He knocked.

A woman's voice from the other side: "Yes, what is it?"

"My name is Matthias Trent," he said. "I need a few minutes of your time."

"What about?"

Matthias's brow furrowed. "Is this Mrs. Haulstein?"

"Yes."

"I need to ask you a few questions about your daughter, Sandra. May I come in?" He wasn't asking.

"Fine," she sighed. The deadbolt clanked and the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman. She had blonde hair like Sandra's, but longer still. She had aged gracefully, and Matthias was surprised at her attractiveness.

Inside, the apartment was modest. Unsurprisingly he saw a picture of a young Sandra hung on one wall alongside a picture of a young boy. The walls were covered in a pattern Matthias had not seen since his youth, and he wondered if he was possibly in the last building in the world that used wallpaper.

She ushered him inside toward a small gray upholstered couch. He waited for Martha then sat down. She sat on a matching chair, a small black coffee table separating them.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"I haven't seen her in over a month," she said without any prompting.

"Why not?" asked Matthias.

"What?"

"Don't you visit her at the university?"

The woman tilted her head and pressed her lips together. "We often argue during our visits. The last few weeks during her scheduled call she said not to come. So I didn't. Besides, that place is awful."

"It must be hard."

"Yes. I gave her up when I was young and scared of her. I was foolish."

"You didn't have much of a choice," he assured.

"I understand she has escaped." Her mouth turned up in the corners.

"Quite incredibly," he replied. "This is really not a good thing for her, though."

"The ID you showed the desk said Noxcorp, not university. Why are you involved?"

"They asked for the corporation's help, and ultimately the security of this region is entrusted to the corp," he explained.

"If you want to help, investigate the university and let my daughter go."

"Mrs. Haulstein, do you know what prompted Sandra's escape?"

"No."

Matthias waited for more, but she sat stone-faced.

"Does she have any contacts, friends, or other family in the area?"

"Sandra has lived behind prison walls for most of her life," Haulstein said with a scowl. "How would she know anything else?"

"Look, ma'am, I can't vouch for the university officers after her, but I want her safely returned. If there's anything you know that could help me find her, you need to tell me."

"With all due respect, officer, your words mean nothing to me. Sandra has a brother in Denver, but you probably knew that already," she offered. "Coming here would be too obvious."

Matthias stood and scanned the room. "I would like to take a look around. I won't leave a mess. Just a quick look." He stared at her for a reaction.

She shrugged. "She's not here. Knock yourself out."

The room was quiet, the neighborhood was quiet. He could hear mother Haulstein's heartbeat when it picked up, which had happened multiple times already. If someone so much as shifted weight, he would have heard it. If someone hiding had exhaled heavily, he would have heard it. Still, he realized, magic could fool his senses.

He walked into Martha's bedroom, stepping lightly, listening for the slightest of sounds. He checked the closet and under the bed. He did the same with a second room and looked behind the shower curtain in the bathroom. He declined to open every cabinet in the kitchen, but instead crouched and listened.

Matthias pulled out his com and turned on the IR camera and made a quick sweep for heat signatures, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He stood up and walked back to the sitting room. Martha had not moved.

He stopped between her seat and the door. "Please contact us if you hear from her. I really do want her returned safely."

"Yeah."

The vampire closed the door behind him and started down the hall. His footsteps slowed, then stopped. He stepped forward, stopped, then brought his back foot forward, then stopped again. He held his com out, sliding his fingers along the screen, subtle eye motions navigating the menus of the assignment dossier. The university had collected all the information on Sandra and provided it to Noxcorp.

"Where is it?" he muttered. He found Sandra's family file and started thumbing through its pages. He stopped when he found what he was looking for. "Fuck me." He looked at the door to an adjacent apartment. It was painted white, like most of the interior hall. More importantly, it was steel.

He went to the end of the hall and called the receptionist on the embedded com screen. The same woman as before appeared before him.

"I need you to unlock Haulstein's door," he stated.

"Did she not let you in?"

"I need back in immediately."

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, that doesn't make any sense. Have your supervisor contact us for full authentication."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Matthias. "Do you have Martha's photo ID record?"

"I can't give out—"

"Just look at it, please."

"Fine," the woman sighed. "Okay, have it in front of me."

"Call Haulstein on the com."

"My lord," she exclaimed in an annoyed whisper. "Calling her now."

Matthias watched as her expression changed to surprise and then to fear.

"I... just called to let you know the water will be shut off tomorrow afternoon, for uh, about an hour, maybe two. Yes. My pleasure. Have a wonderful day."

The woman turned back to Matthias. "It's not her!"

"You noticed!" said Matthias. "Nice cover by the way."

"I'll unlock the door."

"Hold on," Matthias ordered. "Count to thirty, then unlock. Okay?"

The woman nodded. Matthias marched back to Martha's door and pulled his pistol. He pressed his left shoulder to the door and turned the door handle.

CLICK. The deadbolt retracted. Matthias swung the door open, moving into the room barrel first. The imposter stood in the kitchenette holding a glass of water. At the sight of Matthias, the glass fell from her hand. Her eyes lowered, not to the glass, but something else.

"Wait!" Matthias shouted, but it was too late. Not-Martha dove behind the cabinets, out of view. The glass shattered against the floor. Matthias stepped back and took cover in the hallway just as she slid into view with a small pistol and opened fire with two quick shots, then a third that went through the wall right next to his head.

Matthias crouched down. "The game is over!" he shouted. "Just give yourself up and let's talk about this."

Another shot pierced the wall under his bent elbow. He stuck his fingers into his ears to calm his senses, then removed them and waited. He could hear her slight movements, blurred by the ringing in his ears and the jumble of noise bouncing off the walls. He aimed his gun around the corner and heard her move behind the counter.

Matthias fired a single shot into the side of the cabinets where she hid, then rolled to the other side of the doorway to get a slightly better angle on her position. He stayed out of sight and listened again. He heard her shift and waited still. She fired through the wall where he had been crouching a moment earlier, unaware he had moved. Matthias leaned into view and fired before the imposter could react, hitting her where the shoulder meets the neck.

She cried out and scooted back out of view. "God dammit," he heard her curse. Matthias stepped carefully toward the kitchenette. Keeping the gun pointed in front of him, he peeked over the countertop. Blood was streaked across the floor leading to the woman. She lay on her back, with one hand pressed to her wound and holding a pistol with the other.

Her gun resting by her side, she began to lift it toward Matthias.

"Put it down!" he yelled.

She lined up the barrel with his head, but he fired first, hitting her in the chest. Her body went flat and her head bounced off the tile floor before coming to rest.

Matthias darted to her, kicking the gun away. He knelt down and leaned over her. "Where is Martha?"

The woman was unresponsive. Her eyelids were open a crack as her eyes twitched underneath. Blood had started to seep from her body, traveling outward, filling the grout lines in between the tiles before engulfing them fully.

"Dammit! What was the point of this?" he yelled at her. The woman's eyes steadied.

"You don't want to know," she exhaled. "Walk away." She closed her eyes tightly and her breathing slowed.

"If only I could," he lamented. Matthias leaned down and pressed his fangs into her neck and siphoned her blood into his mouth. He concentrated, thinking of Martha Haulstein's face. Scant imagery revealed itself, but he saw Martha and a large banner that said WM Recycling. When the vampire pulled away, Martha's imposter was dead.

"What the hell is—oh god!"

Matthias looked up to see Wu's stakeout man, Kyle, looking down at the scene. He must have heard the gunfire. Matthias wiped the blood from his chin.

"You killed her, you fucking monster!" Kyle's shit was officially lost.

He began reaching for his pistol. The vampire leapt at him, delivering a right hook. Kyle's head swung around and his body fell. Matthias caught him, lowering him gently to the floor.

He returned to the woman and searched her pockets. All empty. She didn't even have a com. He searched the room. No purse either. Matthias went through the apartment again. He flipped over the mattress in the bedroom and found pictures of Martha with Sandra and others.

He went through the closets and cabinets looking for even the smallest clue. He found the real Martha's com buried at the back of one of the drawers. He pocketed it and contacted emergency services, then carried Kyle back to his vehicle.

Matthias kept his gun in the seat next to him as he pulled away. He started to call Blist, then canceled. He instead selected Jaxi.

"Matthias?"

"Ford sure is taking his time," he said.

"I'm fine, how are you?" she replied.

"I just killed someone."

"I'm sorry I asked." Silence filled the line. "Ford will get back to you when he's got something. What's hap?"

"I have a phone from someone who's been taken, and I need access," he explained.

"A phone?" she questioned.

"A com, dammit. I'm old, leave me alone."

"Well, you could put a request into the ISP."

"Uh, I'm allergic to paperwork," he replied.

"What have you gotten into, Matt?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Can't make sense of it."

"And this com holds the key?" she asked.

"Not likely," he said. "But I still need to check."

"The other thing you can do is try to crack the firmware. What kind is it?" asked Jaxi.

"It's a Sony," he said, looking at the com. He thumbed through some menus. "ZL dash one forty."

"Okay," said Jaxi. "Connect it to this line and message me the serial. I will work on it, and let you know."

"Thanks, Jaxi. Tell Ford to hurry up."

"Nope."

"Talk to you later," he said.

"See ya."

"Com directory search, Belton KC corpsec," he announced.

The com picked up on the voice search and prompted him to confirm a call to the central security office in the district.

"Confirm."

"Automated security assistance, how may I assist you?" said the voice on the other end.

"Noxcorp agent Matthias Trent."

"Confirmed. How may I assist you?"

"Connect information services."

"One moment please."

A simulated ring came through the SUV's speakers as Matthias waited for an officer to answer the call.

"Officer Fischer, information," a husky voice greeted.

"Evening, officer," said Matthias. "I'd like to put a hold on a dissemination."

"Alright," the officer replied. "What's the incident?"

"Encounter at the Greenfield apartments in Belton."

"One second."

Matthias waited as the officer retrieved the report.

"EMS hasn't detailed the incident yet," said the officer. "You called this in?"

"Yes."

"You the shooter?"

"Yes."

"Let me check a couple things... alright, hold placed. It will be lifted in twenty-four hours. Call us back within that time frame if you need it extended."

"Thanks, officer."

"Have a good one," the officer said, disconnecting the line.

Matthias sighed. The hold might be difficult to justify to Blist, but the imposter had blindsided him, and this case was no longer a simple matter of an escaped mage. He wanted time to figure out what was going on before his boss started questioning his decisions again.

"Didn't even want this case," he hissed. He expanded a map onto his windshield, checking the distance to his destination, the WM Recycling facility.

##

## Episode 8: To Control Them

The young woman planted her hands onto the floor of her small room. She cleared her mind, then shifted her weight onto her arms, bending at the waist, sliding her feet along the linoleum flooring. Her eyes stared downward at the pattern. To anyone standing, it appeared as hardwood panels. But with her eyes centimeters away, the true nature of the material revealed itself. It was a fake, a fraud.

She closed her eyes and focused. Her face became flush with warmth. Her feet lifted from the ground, and her waist straightened until she stood on her hands with just a slight arch in her back. Though she owned compression clothing that wouldn't fall into her face or distract her, she preferred to practice in the nude.

At first, muscles rippled under tight skin as she used her strength to stabilize her body. She took slow deep breaths, honing in on her power until she no longer had to exert herself physically. Magic alone kept her perfectly still. Sweat began to bead on her forehead from the heat that builds when using magic. The more powerful a mage, the more likely they are to fry their own brain.

This was her morning training. It was her secret method. The university teachers would take her through sanctioned activities throughout the day. She would perform adequately, perhaps even better, despite this exhaustion.

The trainers would monitor her biometrics, keep a log of every step she took, measure her spell efficacy to chart her progress. They would watch whatever streams she watched, and listen to the music she listened to. If she accessed the network, they'd review it. They knew her age, weight, intelligence quotient, and menstrual cycle. They knew everything, and that knowledge gave them the power to control her, to predict her moves, to know what she was capable of.

She sought freedom in the form of privacy. One small detail they didn't know, then another, slowly building a portfolio of secrets. When confined to her room in the evenings, they found no need to watch her on camera. Their time was too important, and throughout a long day, the staff would be watching her. While they slept, she woke. When they woke, she was on her hands and toes. While they ate breakfast and got dressed, she stood on her hands using the power of the Ether.

They could review footage and biometrics, if they had cause to, if they were genuinely curious about the subjects, if it wasn't just a job for a corporation. But they wouldn't. The woman wondered how long she could get away with it. Deep down, she believed, the cogs in the machine must all feel a guilt about how the mages were treated. They would bring themselves to do what's required, but not much more.

Deep down, perhaps. But closer to the surface, the staff and teachers had conditioned themselves to think of mages as a dehumanized threat to mankind.

While suspended, she closed her eyes and forced the world away. She peered into the Ethereal plane and expanded her mind, engulfing the small glowing figures in the darkness with her presence. The mage tried to feel them, to understand them, to tap into a hidden knowledge. She honed in on a specific figure and it began to grow in size.

Freddy, she thought. Freddy, can you hear me? Freddy! She pushed hard and felt her legs tremble.

One of the oldest mages of the university at the ripe age of thirty-four, Freddy found the routine of university life easier than the others, and he benefited psychologically from his position as a mentor. The others often looked up to him and treated him as a father figure. He had just slipped on a long-sleeved shirt when he heard it. Freddy!

Jesus, Sandy.

What?

"I said Jesus, Sandy!" Realizing he said it aloud, his eyes started to move toward a camera in the corner of his room before he caught himself and looked down at the floor.

You gotta get used to this, old man.

He sighed. She didn't used to think of him as old. Freddy placed his hands at his sides and closed his eyes. You need ta stop befo' they catch ya.

I'm getting better every day.

An yo reward'll be uni's undivided attention.

I'm the only body. I'm getting as much as they can give, she countered.

All tha mo' reason ta keep low. Now get out ma head.

Later gater.

Sandra continued to hold herself upside down. At first, sweat ran down her forehead and into her hair. The liquid traveled down strands of hair like a tube ride. At their destination they waited for other drops to join them, slowly creating small puddles. After ten minutes, her body was glistening as the heat had traveled to her extremities. She used her skin as a radiator by altering its heat conductivity instead of trying to magically cool her cranium.

Eventually, the heat and fatigue overcame her, and she carefully lowered her legs. If she were to flop onto her stomach before managing a proper dismount, it wouldn't be the first time. However, today she completed the maneuver without incident, coming to rest where she started, as if about to perform a push-up. She rolled over into a sitting position and grabbed a towel sitting on the floor beside her and began to pat herself down.

Sandy Haulstein went to her regular activities. General education, meditative practices, and magical science were attended by almost all mages, regardless of ability or age. She then had a few special electives: close-quarters combat, body magic, and corpsec specialization. They were preparing her to become a commodity.

Despite being in her mid-twenties, she enjoyed sports like basketball and volleyball with the other mages, most of them younger. But as a body mage, she was not allowed to play in tournaments. As her life was confined to campus grounds, she joined several clubs as social outlets.

After a busy day, she returned to her dorm room where she saw the notification light flash on the wall panel next to the door. She pressed her finger to it and text appeared. It read: Scheduled video visit - 19:30 today - Martha Haulstein.

Strange, she thought. Mom just called two days ago. The visit was just thirty minutes away. Even stranger to get a call on such short notice. She hurried to the shower and then to the main building. All visits, virtual or otherwise, were strictly supervised.

Sandy sat at one of the booths with a screen facing her and waited. The screen came to life, and for a split second, she saw her mother. That image was then replaced with one of a different woman. Behind her was the familiar setting of her mom's apartment.

"Hello? Who—?" started Sandra.

"Hi, dear," said the woman. "I know you are confused, seeing your mother like this, but I just needed to tell you something, so please just listen, for my sake."

Sandra's mouth opened slightly, but she stayed silent. She knew that if a warden or other staffer figured out some deception had taken place, they might throw her in a hole until investigations had drawn a conclusion and doled out punishment.

"I'm dying," the woman continued. "It's worse than the doctors originally thought. I only have a week, maybe two, then I'm gone. I just wish you could come see me. It would make me feel better, I think. I know you can't, but if you could, I know you would. You would do anything for your mother. I know this all comes as a shock. I will hold on as long as I can, to give you time. I love you, Sandra."

The screen went black, but Sandra continued to stare at it, waiting for something, anything to appear and make sense of what she had seen. To provide an answer that would not destroy her world. But the screen stayed blank. Her heart started racing. She magically forced it to slow.

Her mother was her entire world outside the confines of the university. She kept in touch with no other family members and knew no one else. Only her mother visited her. Only her mother cared.

The message was ridiculous and yet perfectly clear: escape and come get further instructions or your mom is dead. Sandy glanced down at her ankle. Escape was impossible.

Oh god, she thought. What if this is some sick test? She realized it didn't matter. Anyone who wouldn't try to escape to save their family wasn't someone she wanted to be. She had to make a decision. Contact the authorities or escape. Get her mother killed or escape. Escape.

For the next two days, Sandra paid more attention to every nook and cranny in the campus buildings than she had her entire life. She carefully planned a route through each of the buildings that could lead her outside, but she wasn't yet sure when she could make her move.

At the edge of the campus, she would face the fence. It was three meters high, made of closely spaced rods woven together. It surrounded the entire campus, but it and the security detail assigned to it was created to specifically keep evocation mages in. Bods were rare, could jump higher, run faster, hit harder than any evocation mage. She decided she would use her strengths, their weakness, and their ignorance to create a plan.

A normal mage would have to phase past the fence, a feat not possible by any but the most skilled. Their other course would be to dig a tunnel. That would take too long. The only other option would be to destroy it outright. Even a mediocre mage could brute-force a hole, but the guards would have plenty of time to take them out. The top of the fence curved inward with razor wire spun around it, but it wasn't electrified. Sandra would climb it.

Then there was the anklet. Leaving the grounds with it attached was not an option. There was no way to remove it without alerting wardens and getting injected with deadly toxins. Except one. That was something she couldn't do, and so she wracked her brain for alternatives and came up empty.

Like any prison, the university had its share of corruption. Items ranging from candy bars to drugs were smuggled in and out. Secret messages were not unheard of. On day three of her ordeal she found a slip of paper had been slid under her door. Crude, but hard to detect and easy to destroy. She unfolded it to reveal a rudimentary map of the campus from an overhead view. There was a red 'X' on top of the largest building. Next to it was written, roof - 19:00.

Curfew that night would start at eight, as was the norm for a weekday. Cameras covered too much of the campus for her to make it to the roof. At least not by herself. She sent a message to Freddy: we need to talk.

* * *

"Sup, Sandy? What's goin' on wit you?" he asked, sipping on a tea she prepared.

"I need to practice some telepathy," she said. "How about it?"

Freddy stood and paced to the door, then back toward the chair. He looked at her. "What am I here fo'?" He glanced up at the camera and shook his head.

"Please, Freddy," she said. "Let's meditate together... it's important." She nodded slowly.

"Right," he said, sitting on the floor and folding his legs. "Fine, let's meditate fo' one minute. Hurry up."

She sat beside him and folded her legs. They both closed their eyes and their consciousness faded into the Ether. The plane mimicked the physical world in geometry and landscape, so their closeness made it easier to communicate. As did her relaxed position as opposed to a headstand.

"Well, you done it," he said inside her mind. "You 'ave put us at risk."

"I didn't know that you were so worried about being a good prisoner," she said scornfully.

"What's gotten into ya?" he demanded.

"You aren't going to like this, and now I'm sure you won't help."

"Sandra, I just tryin' ta look out fo' ya. Now let's hear it."

"My mom has been kidnapped," she revealed.

"What? How? How ya know?"

"Some woman set up a video visit from my mom's home, pretending to be her. She made it clear what she wanted, but in a way that was covert enough for the staff here," she said, including the last part after sensing Freddy's anxiety.

"Good god," he replied. "How much they want?"

"Freddy," she started. "They don't want money. They want me to escape."

"Girl, what 'ave ya got me inta?"

"You're the only one I trust," she said. "I'm sorry, but I have to do it. I can't let her die."

"It's not possible. It foolish. Mage cops would take somethin' like this ver-ser," Freddy insisted. "Don't destroy yo' life."

"It's my mom, Freddy. Corpsec pokes around and they'll kill her. I can save her, but I can't do it from here."

"I can't let ya do this," Freddy said.

"Listen, Freddy, I have to. Nothing will stop me. Not you, not anyone. I can get out without hurting anyone, I just need a little help."

"They will kill us!"

"They will not. Especially if we explain why. But that won't happen, because they will never know you helped, and I will return when I'm done," she explained.

"Dammit, Sandy, I can't risk it."

"I need you. I need to be invisible. Just for a few minutes."

"What?" he said in disbelief. "Yo' escaping tonight?"

"No. Just need on the roof. I can't explain more. Just need to get on the roof and back down without getting caught."

Freddy was quiet for a moment. "Okay, fine, I'll help. We need a spot wit no cameras. There's a blind spot in tha laundry. Where tha students go for a little privacy."

"What? They do?"

"Shit, you don't rememba, girl?"

"Huh?" she puzzled. "Oh god, that's right. That was forever ago."

"It wadn't that long ago."

"Not for you, I guess," she teased.

"Ey nah," he cautioned. "When are we doin' this?"

"Seven sharp," she replied.

"Right, Sandy, I'll be there."

He opened his eyes and stood. "See you lata."

* * *

Hank Laudinour was an old vampire. Old in years, old in body, and to a lesser extent, old in mental faculties. He was turned at the age of fifty-five, which was a lot older for one to be in the eighteenth century. Cholera had taken his wife a decade earlier, and his children had moved on to their own lives.

He was just a boy when Louis annexed his home city of Strasbourg. The war that followed sent his father to an early grave. Hank's grandfather taught him how to read and write, and at a young age, he secured appointment as a records clerk.

Later, as a matter of luck over all else, he found himself advisor to a large estate, traveling throughout France, though never to Paris, as well as to Munich and smaller cities in both Germany and Switzerland. He often found temporary companionship on the long trips, getting to know the people whom he shared a carriage with.

One evening a young woman entered his car halfway to Stuttgart. Unbeknownst to him, she was a nocturnal, a mythical creature that could not survive in daylight. At the time, no one believed in such things. At the end of their journey, she showed him to her residence, a humble but sturdy home. A large cellar is perhaps an odd place to put one's bed, but Hank was too lustful to give it a second thought.

He knew something was wrong the next day, and his new mistress was forthright about the change coming over him. Hank was more ambivalent than anything, and the next evening he set out to find his place in the dark side of the world. He continued on to Mannheim, the vampire capital of Western Europe. There he became familiar with the council and adapted quickly to his new life.

Previously ravaged by aches and pains typical of older men, Laudinour regained his vitality over time and even became an enforcer for the vampire council. It was at this post that the incident occurred. A monster was attacking humans in a small town called Fulda. He traveled there with two cohorts.

During that period, routes had to be planned very carefully. Few risked traveling trapped inside a coffin. Maps contained locations of secret safe houses that any traveling vampire would have to know if he wanted to survive. All three arrived two days after the reports came in.

To their horror, bodies littered the streets of the small town, with its surviving population holed up in homes and other buildings. Everything was locked down. The team tracked blood to a nearby cave system, and deep inside they confronted a deranged, deformed vampire that, according to Hank Laudinour, was capable of using magic.

The fiend used its spells to confuse, maim, bludgeon, and burn the vampire enforcers. The three battled it fiercely, but only Hank survived, eventually overpowering the creature and removing its head. He brought it back to the council along with his wild tale. What he described fit with ancient vampire lore, but the council was still hesitant to believe.

For a century, he continued to recount his bold story of monster slaying. His colleagues humored him for a time, and then it became a kind of running joke, as no one believed the truth of the situation matched the tale he told, no matter how adamant he was of its veracity. Despite this, he was popular with the vampires on the council and was eventually asked to join them at the table.

Hank carefully read the text report in front of him on a large screen. It was typed by Agent Matthias Trent, and the claims it made about a new drug gave him pause. It was not his custom to pore over the reports of Noxcorp investigations, but he had received an anonymous tip suggesting he might be interested. It wasn't the only time he had gotten sanitized messages popping up in his inbox. Such was the only safe way to contact a council member.

He pushed the report to the back and waved forward a com interface. "Call Lena," he commanded. The thirty-something woman who appeared on the other end of the call had light brown hair straight down to her chin, cropped around her ears. Lena was not an official employee of Noxcorp, but instead more of an advisor.

"Mr. Laudinour, you are up late," she said, referring to what was actually early in the morning for her.

"Lena, I'm sending you a—scratch that," he said. "I'm calling you because nocturnal pharma is your wheelhouse. I understand your firm has done some research and development."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, with a slight pause in the middle of the motion. "You know, I can't reveal trade secrets though. What's going on?"

"It's probably nothing, but I've... heard there is a new drug making the rounds. Recreational. Street name of Jester. Know anything?"

"I may have heard that name, but I can't say I know its mechanisms."

"You may have?" Hank said, clearing his throat.

"I get a lot of reports of new drugs," she explained. "Most of the time it's a name and nothing else."

"I want you to get some," he instructed. "And I want a couple doses sent to my office."

"You want some?"

"Don't nag me," he grumbled. "Please get me some ASAP."

"Sure, Hank, I will send someone out tonight and see what they can dig up. Got a lead to make this quicker?"

"I would start in OP," he replied.

"Understood," she said. "Anything else?"

"That's it. Have a good evening." He closed the connection and the screen went black.

* * *

"Fuck," Lena hissed quietly. She looked around the open office, then turned back to her computer screen. She initiated a voice call, the screen remaining blank, with her earpiece in place.

"We may have a problem," she said in a hushed tone. "A councilman just asked me about it. You know, J. Yes. Hank. If he starts digging—I don't know. I'm supposed to get some for him. To use, I think. Ya, I can get there. How will I know her? Okay. I'll be there."

She disconnected the call and placed her elbows onto her desk, slowly lowering her forehead into her hands.

"Rough night, Leen?" a voice asked.

Lena lifted her head to see Drot staring with a goofy smile, as if he had told a clever joke. He worked as an assistant throughout the building, often visiting Lena in pharma. His clothing was baggy, his exterior soft and plump in all the wrong spots.

"Not as rough as it might get."

"Ooh, what's that mean?"

"Nothing. Think you could fetch Nat and start up some coffee?"

"We have a machine right down the hall!"

"That machine is shit. Can you at least get Nat, please?"

"Sure, Leen."

A wiry, overdressed man jogged over with a grin. Lena was tiring of everyone's exuberance.

"What's up, Lena?"

Drot stood next to them, still looking goofy.

"Coffee."

Drot rolled his eyes and marched toward the break room.

"I need some J thirty-five dash T," she said.

"What for?"

"Come on, Nat. A friend."

"You don't have any friends," said Nat with a smirk.

"Not around here," she replied.

"Ouch. Is your friend a vampy?" he inquired.

"Can you just get me some, please?"

"I hate going up to the lab," he whined. "Maybe you should just get some off the street."

"Geez, you want me out there giving hand jobs? I retract the question," she shot out before he could reply. "I'll owe you. Not that. But something."

"Fine, I'll go," sighed Nat. "But you didn't get it from me."

"Thanks, Nat," she said as he walked off.

Lena stood and pulled her jacket off the back of her chair and flung it over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" asked Drot, walking toward her with a carafe.

"Sorry, no time for coffee. Thanks anyway," she said. Drot stared as the door to the stairwell shut behind her.

* * *

"Normally, I could give ya about tree o' fo' minutes," explained Freddy. "But seein' as yo' will be so far away, it's ver' unlikely I can hold it that long."

"How long?"

"I don't know, may' two minutes."

"Shit," she sighed.

"How much ya need?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know what I will find up there. It will have to be enough."

"Count it out," he suggested, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You get to sixty or seventy, ya turn back. There will be anotha' day."

"Ya," she nodded. "What about IR?"

"Move fast, stay low," Freddy advised. "Look fo' exhaust vents, you will be hard to spot even through IR, plus there's a bit of dusk left that will mask ya signa'."

Sandra's chest heaved. "Okay, I'm ready."

Freddy's eyelids dropped halfway and his eyes rolled back. He put his hands in front of his chest toward Sandy, palms forward. His eyes rolled forward, the irises now glowing blue. The air around Sandra began to swallow her. Light refracted around her, distorting her body inward until it had vanished completely.

"Go."

Sandra put her hand up in front of her face. It was confusing and disorienting to see only air where her arm felt it should be. She shook off the feeling and darted out of the laundry and down the hall, following her pre-planned route. Once outside she made a beeline for the administration building.

Her mind focused, channeling the power of the Ether through her body. She shot forward as if propelled by a gust of wind and dragged by a tether at the same time. Her legs struggled to stay under her and keep her upright. Small droplets of sweat blew off her forehead.

Sandy's body slowed as it approached the wall of the building. Time for a different spell. She put her arms out. As she reached the wall she kicked forward, catching a groove in between bricks with her foot. Forward inertia was redirected as she extended her leg, exploding up the wall. Her fingertips grasped the edges of the bricks. Sandra climbed, one hand after another, up the side of the building.

Her count hit sixty as she swung her leg over the roof's crown. She ducked down and scanned for anything out of the ordinary. As someone who had never been on a rooftop before, none of it seemed ordinary. However, all of it was attached to the building, which she assumed was a disqualifier.

Haulstein quickly moved from one end of the roof to the other and saw nothing. Her count was already at eighty-five. She started to panic. Shit, it's not here. Was this a trap? She took a slow breath and concentrated on lowering her body temperature and made one more lap around the top of the building.

CLUNK. She heard an object hit the roof. Her eyes spotted a small box. She searched the sky for some sort of drone but spotted nothing. She ran to the box, picked it up without stopping, and veered for the edge of the roof closest to the dorm. She counted off one hundred. No time to climb down. Sandy tried to cast even as she ran, but the edge of the roof came too quick and she stepped off without slowing.

Shit! She closed her eyes and stopped moving her limbs. Her body began to turn over as she fell, her legs no longer under her. Then her mind took control. Her skin hardened, her muscles tensed, and her body turned upright just as she landed. The mage's legs bent and her ass impacted the grass-covered ground.

"Ow," she winced. "Hundred and twenty," she whispered, rising to her feet. Sandy sprinted for the dorm, holding her hand up. Slowly it materialized in front of her right before hitting the dorm wall. She pressed herself flat against the smooth stone, gasping for air. She spun around and leaned back, looking around for the warden that would imminently take her down. When one never arrived, she closed her mouth and walked back to her room.

* * *

"Was this planned out ahead of time?"

The question caught the mysterious woman off guard. "Uh, Ms. Brunwick, I'm not sure we should be asking that sort of thing."

Lena scoffed. She quickly scanned the few patrons the outdoor cafe entertained that evening. Her mouth turned into a smile. She tried to straighten it, but the annoyance of feeling like a pawn caused her to express some sort of opposite emotion beyond her control.

"Really?" she asked. "I shouldn't wonder if... he isn't behind all of this. Maybe he slipped the intel to L himself."

"That's tinfoil," the woman said, forcing a laugh.

"Well, he's on the short list isn't he?"

The woman shrugged. Her blonde hair lifted by her shoulders.

"Yeah," said Lena. "He is. So you are really okay with this?"

"Okay with it?" she asked. "I love it. Listen, just make sure you get the package on the roof. I will make contact. Taint the Jester and deliver it on my signal. It's simple."

Lena stared at her fingernails. One was ragged, two were partially painted. The pinky was trimmed short after a breakage. She realized she was now in a much more dangerous game than the one she had signed up for. Lena had intended to make a little extra cash. Now she had to choose whether to conspire to murder a Noxcorp councilman, or merely pretend to.

She made the blonde wait to hear her words of compliance. It was an act meant to convince her of the authenticity of her answer.

"I'll get it done."

"I know you will, sweetie," replied the blonde, standing and patting Lena on the head before leaving the cafe.

* * *

Sandra speed-walked to her dorm room, a small rectangular box tucked into the back of her beltline. Entertaining the possibility that security was somehow alerted to her odd movements and break in location continuity, she closed the door, immediately went to the shower alcove, and closed the curtain behind her.

She ran the water and started opening the box, taking care not to splash water on it. Inside were bits and pieces. A sharp-looking metallic wheel. Some gears, a metal bracelet with a hinge and lock, a roll of what looked like gaffer tape, a small box with gear teeth jutting out from a slit on one side, and a tube resembling toothpaste.

Sandra removed a small paper with instructions in four steps. She skipped to the last box and let out a small cry. It showed the finished device attached to a sketch of an ankle. It was over, she thought, as she set the box on the shower floor carelessly and began to cry.

She thought somehow they'd give her a device to disable the anklet, dampen it, remove it safely. Sandra turned the page over, still sobbing. More instructions, this time in a different style, possibly a medical textbook. It showed a foot reattached at a specific point, the use of a layer of gel, a strap used to cut off circulation, and a medical tape used to secure the limb. Twelve hours, it said in small handwritten text. Underneath it said: Think of your mother.

"Oh god." Sandy buried her face between her knees. She did the math in her head. No point in trying to use the device tonight. Her hands shook as she plucked the pieces out of the plastic packaging. She looked around the alcove. It was barely large enough to stand in, let alone sit and do whatever this thing instructed.

Then she did as the paper said. She thought of her mother. She turned the water down lower. Her tears dried, and with renewed determination, Sandra carefully put the pieces in place. Several times the diagrams were confounding, and with uncertainty she plodded forward until every piece was in place, creating some sort of draconian torture device that clamped around a small limb.

Examining it closely, she felt a cold chill of fear. If this isn't right, I will probably die, she realized. If this is right, I may still. Tomorrow.

That night she tossed and turned, sleeping only in short bursts. The next day she canceled her extracurriculars and optional programs. The registrar was concerned and ordered her to see the counselor, but Sandy was ready. She explained that she was writing poetry, and wanted to try to publish a book. It was really something she always wanted to do, she claimed, but had never committed to it due to her active schedule. The counselor ordered her to complete progress reports on a weekly basis, and Sandra agreed.

She headed to martial arts class, held in the campus gym. The building was run-down. Faded and broken lines made semicircles and rectangles along the floor. The cement walls had long-running cracks and the fold-out bleachers had been mostly disassembled.

"Haulstein," called her instructor. "Take the three neophytes to the other side, and start teaching them the basics. Get some drills going."

This was often her duty. The teacher had little more to show Sandra, though he enjoyed their daily sparring sessions. Sandra gathered them together. She pondered how to start, as she didn't like running the same playbook every time.

"Range," she said, holding her arm extended with her hand clenched into a fist. "Range is the difference between hitting and missing. Many contests are a matter of a single strike. Whether with a sword in your hand, or a gun, or only your knuckles, you must know your range."

Two of the newbies nodded, the other stared intently. "Every strike has a motion," she continued, swinging her arm around with the elbow bent. "Obviously you can be too far, but you can also be too close. Your blow may land, but if it has nothing behind it, it will be ineffective."

Sandra stood a meter from one of the students. "From here, we can reach each other with a kick." She moved closer. "From here, kicks become risky, and punching is optimal." Sandra moved close to the student, her face mere inches from his. She marveled at his youth. Every day she got older and the new mages, the new prisoners, got younger.

"This, too, is a range," she instructed. "The instinct, when faced with an opponent this close, might be to grapple or shove, but many opportunities lie right here." Sandy brought a knee up near the boy's pelvis. The other two students laughed. "These techniques are no joke," she said. "You will use them, and they may be used against you. We too often rely solely on these," she said, pointing at her knuckles. "But you must learn to use all of your body to fight."

After classes, she stopped at the dorm room next to her own, to visit a friend. An olive-skinned girl with stout features and wearing colorful garb with tribal patterns opened the door.

"Sandy!" she squealed. The girl stepped back and held her hands out, twirling around. "What do you think?"

"Oh my god, Feli," said Sandy, "that's awesome! Why do I never find stuff like that?"

"I had to beg reqs to let me browse the site," said Feli, beckoning Sandra inside. "Such a pain."

"Do I want to know how much?"

"Probs not, but my parents," she said. "At least they're good for something." Feli laughed, but they both knew the common tongue of abandonment. Feli, at least, had both parents and they had enough money to ensure she remained comfortable in her prison. That comfort gave her a sunny disposition that few others shared.

"Ya," replied Sandra.

Feli sat on her bed. "You seem gloomsy, what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she replied, forcing a smile.

"If someone is making my Sandy sad, I will wreck 'em," Feli punched the air.

Sandy laughed, knowing a wet paper bag would give Feli a run for her money.

"I am getting so good at TK," boasted Feli, referring to telekinesis. "I lifted a dude off the ground. He was way freakin'."

"All the way, huh?"

"Yups," she nodded. "Pretty much. Not for long. But still, you just point 'em out and I will destroy."

They watched some videos on Feli's big screen, then started an old board game. Such games were necessary to keep their sanity. Completely obsolete outside the walls of universities, the physical parts and pieces were still enjoyed within, with many boxes dated well before the collapse.

Sandy moved her last piece into the safe zone, the winner of that round. "You know," she said. "I'm starting to feel old. There was a new student in my martial arts class. He was so young."

"That's okay," said Feli. "You will be like everyone's mom or aunt!"

"Oh, Feli, don't say that."

"Wow," Feli awed. "What's it going to be like when all of us are old? Are we still going to be stuck here? Like a retirement home?"

"I don't know. I hope not. I'm not thinking about it, I can't."

"Okay, then. How about best two out of three?"

* * *

Every day, Sandra ran into Freddy. She passed him in the hall, or in the dorm, or saw him in the lunchroom. Every day, she tried to ask him for one last favor, but couldn't. Every day she went back to her room and cried, vowing that she would find the strength tomorrow. Five days later, she came home from her final training session that day and lay on the bed. She covered her eyes with the crook of her arm.

KNOCK, KNOCK. The pity party was in its early stages, and the waterworks had yet to begin flowing. Sandy rolled off the bed morosely, slowly shambling toward the door. Opening it a crack, her eyes widened.

"Heya, Freddy."

"Meditate wit' me."

The duo faced each other in the Ethereal plane, surrounded distantly by all the lives contained in the university. Sandra waited indifferently for Freddy's thoughts.

"Why ya still here?" he asked.

"What?"

"Did I risk my neck fo' nothin'?" he prodded.

"I thought you didn't even want me to go."

"If you could'na tell, that was selfishness talkin'," he admitted.

"Selfishness," she repeated. "Things didn't end, in your mind, did they?"

"Things?"

"Between us," she elaborated.

"You were good," he said. "Not that good."

There was no laughter in the Ethereal plane, but her aura shifted in such a way as to display amusement.

"We don't know," he began, "that when we give our heart to someone, we won't get all of it back."

"Holy shit, Freddy."

"I don' regret it. I don't walk 'round feelin' sorry fo' ma'self."

"No, I mean, did you steal that from a movie?"

"Sandy..."

"This is why I'm still here," she said. "When I go, I'm not coming back. You'll never see me again."

"That's not what—"

"I lied, to you and to myself."

Freddy said nothing.

"And I still need help. I know you would do it, but maybe for the wrong reason. I can't do that to you."

"Well, you can't stay here," he said. "You have a duty to yo' mother, and a bird like you was mean ta fly, not be caged by these assholes."

"Same as you, same as any of us."

"Not the same," he argued. "Someday they will make us do things, horrible things. It won' be long nah. We both know yo' will be drafted first, and I shudda' ta think what you could do."

"You fear me."

"I... I don't fear you, I fear the world out there. You have a chance ta use yo' power fo' yo'wn interests. Even if it's the only time, that's something most of us will neva' have."

"I need the bathroom cams disabled right now," she said.

"Fuck you."

"Freddy!"

"I'm kidding. Which one?"

"This floor. But I don't want them to snoop the room after," she explained.

"Why not?"

"Can you take out a group of them, make it look like a problem with the server or network or something?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"I know where they keep tha signal plates in the walls," he answered. "But when they come check, it will be in the hall outside the bathroom. You need ta be gone by then."

"Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," he assured. "They will ask me about it, but they'll assume you did it."

"But they know I can't," she insisted.

"These people don' know half what they pretend ta."

"Thank you, Freddy. There's no more time to waste."

"Are you leaving now?" he asked.

"No, you don't want to know what I'm doing now."

"I do," he said. "But I won' pry. I will have the cams down in five minutes."

"Got it," she said, her aura bobbing.

"Good luck, girly."

Freddy opened his eyes and stared at Sandra's face. Her eyes were still closed. He felt a jolt when they opened, staring back at him more deeply than inside the Ether. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, pushing inside her with a desperate passion. She pulled away, and he straightened up.

Sandy blushed and gazed toward the fraudulent wood plank pattern on the floor. Neither had anything more to say. Freddy stood, took one more look at her, and left.

* * *

The body mage sat on the toilet, using the clock on her anklet to keep time. No going back, now, she thought. Inside the bathroom stall, a cam could see a blurred image of her body. Any guard watching the feed would know if she screamed in terror, if blood splattered against the stall door, and if she had simply been loitering in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time.

She leaned down and pushed her anklet as far down as it would go, then applied some of the gel on her skin and clamped the device on top. Her skin started to numb immediately. She then took a strip of cloth from her bedsheet and tied it as tight as she could a little higher up.

When the anklet told her it was time, she looked up at the nearest camera. A red LED light was now flashing on the side of its casing. Sandra tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't move. They weren't paralyzed, and it wasn't from the gel, but from abject terror. She thought of her mother, tried to recall her face, but it wouldn't come, as if she had already lost her. In a panic, she stood. Come on, Sandy. You can do this.

She felt disconnected from her own body; the situation had become surreal. Sandra felt her body mechanically step out of the stall. She pulled the liner out of the waste basket and laid it on the floor with the edge curled back. Only a few pieces of random litter were in the bag and due to how little these baskets were used, they could have been there for months.

Sandy sat and placed her foot on the far edge of the rolled-up liner, with the device centered above it. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and commanded her metabolism and heart rate to slow. She held the gel with one hand and pressed the only button found on the device with the other.

Immediately she had to stifle a scream as the circular blade attached to the shackle whirred to life. It plunged into her skin, its motor changing tune based on the level of resistance. With her hand clutched over her mouth she cried out in pain. The saw moved quickly but still took twenty seconds to finish its rotation, following the path of the slit that ran the length of the shackle.

No visible blood splattered off the saw. The blade somehow wicked most of it away as the teeth exited the flesh, while the gel absorbed the rest. However, blood began to stream down the underside of her ankle as the wound grew. The trash liner caught it, and Sandra's artificially low heart rate helped control the flow.

When the device finished, Sandy unclasped the band and stared for a moment at what looked just like a cut around her upper ankle. She took hold of her foot, but couldn't feel the grasp. Thinking of her next move, bile rose into her throat and mouth. It burned on the way back down.

She pulled her foot and lower ankle away from the rest of her leg, and a large glob of blood spilled out onto the liner. What was a small amount of plasma was turning into a puddle. Sandy slid the anklet off her stump and hurriedly slid it onto her forearm where she hoped it would continue to detect her biometrics. She placed her now-loose foot upright on a cleanish part of the liner. She then squeezed the rest of the gel on top.

Blood coming from her leg had slowed to a trickle. She grabbed her foot again and slowly pushed her stump to her lower ankle until gel seeped out around the entire severance. Before she could start the final task of taping herself back together, her eyes started veering to the left. She pushed them forward and they moved back, making the room spin.

Sandy shut her lids and pulled the tape open. She pressed one end down above her wound and began wrapping blindly. She peeked once every few seconds to make sure she stayed on track. She kept the tape overlapping, switching directions once, and kept moving until it ran out.

Once finished, she felt consciousness start to fade. She forced her eyes wide. She couldn't crawl, she couldn't walk on both feet, but she had to clean up and get back to her room. Using what magic she could muster, Sandy lifted herself up using a nearby sink to balance. She pulled up the liner and placed it back in the can. She grabbed the ankle-cutter, tape cardboard, and gel tube, and hopped out to the hall.

Hearing voices, she decided to make a hop for her door, only ten meters out, and made it without being spotted. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. Sandra stared at her dismembered-then-reattached foot. To her shock, her big toe moved. She decided to not try any other feats, instead hopping to bed.

She lay on her back, then lifted her head to stare at her foot. The pain had dulled already, and she let her head fall back onto her pillow. As soon as she closed her eyes, the lights went out. In twelve hours, she would drop the anklet in the trash, climb the fence, and save her mom. Or she'd step out of bed and her foot would snap off.

##

## Episode 9: To Exploit Them

Frank Kerwin glanced around as Charles Wu led him through the university administration building. Wu had managed to convince the president to hold a special meeting where Frank could ask questions and meet the staff who regularly interacted with the fugitive mage. They sat down beside each other at a long oval table in the administration conference room.

Six staff members were present when they arrived. A platter of cookies sat at each end of the table. Frank helped himself to one, nodding at Wu in approval. A few minutes passed and when the table had eleven people sitting, the president called the meeting to order. President Gaeve was a round, balding man of about fifty. His cheeks were covered with small pockmarks and he wore a wide goatee on his chin. He spent time introducing the staff one by one. Frank noted that none of them were with the Mage Enforcement branch, save of course for Wu, but instead were teachers, trainers, and support personnel.

"Thank you all for coming," President Gaeve began. "As you are all aware, Sandra Haulstein has left the confines of the university without permission, and Noxcorp investigations division is assisting Mr. Wu in recovering her safely. It's my pleasure in welcoming Mr. Kerwin to our facilities. Please give him whatever cooperation you can."

Gaeve gestured to Frank. "It's all yours, sir."

"Please, call me Frank," he introduced. "Well, let's see. We'll go around the table, and you can tell me your name, what you do, what you know about Haulstein, and I will try to think up some questions."

A few at the table nodded. He began with the president, sitting to his left, and worked the table clockwise.

"Sandra was a body mage," explained Gaeve. "The only one currently at this university. Her spells are limited to affecting her physical presence in the world, though there are some abilities that are universal to all mages."

"So her spells only change her body somehow?" asked Frank.

"That's correct," said Gaeve. "There's a little theoretical debate regarding whether or not the magic is actually affecting the outer world or only the body. But her spells must always center on herself."

"Sounds limiting," said Frank.

"I suppose," the president began. "Her teachers might be able to explain her capabilities better. I will say that sometimes limitations can give us focus we wouldn't have otherwise."

Frank continued around the table.

"Her grades were always satisfactory," summed up a teacher.

"Sandra's performance was above average," said one of the trainers.

"She made friends easily, and many of the students looked up to her," answered the counselor.

Frank became bored.

"Did she ever use her power outside the rules?" he asked the activities director.

"I never heard of it happening myself, but I think the dean of students might know more." He gestured toward one of the women at the table.

"She did have a couple minor infractions," she added. "Nothing serious, though."

"What do you mean by minor?" asked Frank.

"Well, you see, magic came easy to her. Maybe easy is the wrong word. More like, natural," she explained. "For a body mage, a jog across campus can turn into a spell-fueled sprint. But such uses outside of supervised activities is not allowed."

"Did Sandra have love interests or sex partners?" Frank asked the counselor.

"She had no partnerships registered with us, but sometimes they stay off book," she answered.

"Registered?" asked Frank. "There's paperwork involved in getting laid?"

"Indeed there is, Frank," the president interjected. "It's a coed environment for cost reasons, not because we want them constantly fraternizing. However, we allow it so long as it isn't taking a psychological toll and we are made aware."

"Do you keep records on friendships or suspected partners?"

"Sometimes."

"I will need a list, no matter how rough, of her closest associates," Frank requested. He looked around the table. "Can anyone tell me why she escaped?"

The room was silent.

"I have to ask," he began. "The way the mages are treated here, you know, apart from being imprisoned; is it bad? Like, bad enough to want to risk death to flee?"

A few of the attendees seemed frozen by the question. The counselor looked down at the table. The dean was the only voice. "I personally don't think so."

"Frank, we do our best here," said Gaeve.

"Okay thanks, guys," Frank said, turning to the president. "I'd like to visit the dorm where the anklet was found, as well as the mage's room."

"Certainly," Gaeve replied. "We will consider this meeting adjourned then?"

Frank nodded, and the others rose and filed out the door.

Wu leaned close to Frank. "You didn't ask them much, mate," he said quietly.

"That's 'cause they don't know a fuckin' thing," Frank replied a little too loudly, causing the dean to turn back wide-eyed before resuming her exit. Wu turned away from her and sighed.

"Well, let's go to the scene of the crime then, eh?" suggested Wu.

Frank motioned forward with his hand. "Lead on."

Charles took him first to Sandra's room. It consisted of a bedroom and a small stand-up shower. There was not much to investigate. The mattress lay half on the frame, bare. Clothing was strewn across the floor.

"Well, your people did a number on the place," observed Frank.

"And of course found nothing," added Wu. "Anything in particular you are looking for?"

"Fingerprints of other students, for one. I will scan and see if I can pick up anything, but might miss it with all this mess."

Frank pointed his com toward the door and began waving it up and down slowly, moving counter-clockwise, canvassing the room.

"You think she had inside help?" asked Wu.

"She had help," said Frank. "Inside, outside, or both."

Frank finished scanning and a progress bar appeared on his screen that said: Analyzing.

"Tell me something, Chuck."

"Aye?"

"How would an inmate get access to expensive surgical instruments?"

"A mage wouldn't," answered Wu.

"Victor tells me that if there's no foot and less than a liter of blood there are a couple possibilities. I see cameras everywhere. Can you coordinate the feed with Sandra's movements?"

"I'll call the surveillance desk and have them supply it for you," he replied, putting his com to his ear. He spoke with personnel on the other end, then turned to Frank. "What timeframe?"

"Oh, let's go a full week," he decided.

Wu pocketed his com. "They say to check back in fifteen. So what are the possibilities you mentioned?"

"The interesting one is the surgical tool," answered Frank. "You have an infirmary, right?"

"We do."

"Show me where the anklet was found," he ordered.

* * *

"This is it," announced Wu.

"And this is where the blood was found, too?"

"Aye, in the same trash can."

"I don't get it, why make them go to the bathroom here, and shower in their rooms?" asked Frank.

Wu shrugged. "It's not like this at all universities."

"This the can?" asked Frank, pointing.

Wu nodded. "It's been cleaned."

Frank peered inside the lid, then paced around the room. "So whatever she did to remove the anklet without damaging it, she decided to do here instead of her room. She then took off from here, maybe wearing a cast or something?"

"Whatever it was, she left no trail of blood."

Frank looked up at the camera in the corner. He pointed. "Are these not monitored?"

"They are, actually. At all times," Wu answered.

"Do your men sleep on the job?"

"They're people," said Wu. "Still, motion detection makes monitoring a fairly easy task. Someone should have seen something."

"Let's go see the infirmary," said Frank.

As they walked down the hall, Frank noted how quiet it was.

"Is the place on lockdown?" he asked.

"It's past curfew," answered Wu.

"Right," said Frank, nodding. He thumbed through pages of documents relating to the fugitive mage that the university had provided. He raised his eyebrows as he looked up.

"Chuck, does the university allow outside access to your information?"

"As in, information on our residents?" asked Wu.

"Yeah, like what they look like, their abilities, that sort of thing," Frank clarified.

"I'll have to double check with Miller," the warden replied. "I know Noxcorp has some form of access, and the university might grant some limited information to support vendors or contracted individuals."

"Okay," said Frank. "I need access logs for that database, highlighting requests for Haulstein's files and any that have come from Noxcorp."

"I'll get them," said Wu. "Alright, here we are."

The infirmary was a room not much larger than two dorm rooms smooshed together. It had two small beds, an examination table, a surgery table, and a row of cabinets and sinks. Every surface was stainless steel, painted blinding white, or a pale blue pleather in the case of the exam bed. A man and a woman sat on small metal chairs staring at tablets when Frank and Charles entered. Both stood, and the man walked up to Wu.

"Charles," the man said. "How are things?"

"Greets, Vel," said Wu. "Things could be better. I'm sure you've heard about our missing student." Wu gestured to Frank. "This is Frank Kerwin. He's helping me investigate."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kerwin," said Vel. Frank grimaced and shook his hand.

"You're a full-fledged doctor?" asked Frank.

"I am," he replied. "Name is Velpat Singh. This is my assistant, Ms. Wain."

Singh turned to Wu. "I read your report. It all sounds incredible, so I am glad you are here."

"It was his idea," said Wu. "What do you make of the blood?"

"Come, have a seat." Velpat ushered them to a pair of steel chairs, while he sat in a third. "Just to be sure, I tested the blood to make sure it was Ms. Haulstein's, and it was." Velpat handed a tablet to Wu. "I then wanted to see if any foreign bodies or cell types had intermingled. Unfortunately, there was some contamination, but despite that, I found trace skin cells within the blood."

"Why would that matter?" asked Frank.

"Well, I was considering a few different methods for removing the anklet," Singh replied. "Perhaps she had to remove part of her foot, for example. The tests indicate that she did not leave any real flesh behind."

"So she cut her foot off," Frank reasoned.

Singh's expression strained. "It seems most likely, but I just don't know how she managed it. The skin cells were not burned, but they did show evidence of shearing. Skin was cut using a blade of some sort."

Frank glanced at the screen on his com. "Have you heard of a v-band?"

Velpat nodded. "Yes, but that technology is very new."

"You don't have one?"

The doctor chuckled. "No, not on our budget. I don't think anyone has one."

"Why is that?"

"Like I said, it's expensive," Singh repeated. "Plus there's really no advantage over traditional surgery."

Frank's brow furrowed. "Then why does it even exist?"

"Oh, well maybe I oversimplify," said Velpat, smiling. "There are advantages, just none practical to a hospital environment. It's fast. I think I read under a minute. It requires little skill to use. I believe it's marketed in some specific environs where these things are important."

"What kind of environ?" asked Wu.

"War zones, for one."

Humming in thought, Frank rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked at Wu, who was content to listen, then back at Velpat. "Are you missing any of your tools? You know, like a saw or even a scalpel?"

The doctor's smile faded. "No, I'm sure of it. We do not have a large inventory. As soon as I read Charles's report, I checked."

"What was Haulstein's state of health?" Frank asked.

"Physically, she was always in good form. Her... activities are more strenuous than most students endure."

"What kind of activities?"

"She trains, Frank," answered Wu before Velpat could.

"What does that mean?" asked Frank, irritated.

"Finish up here," said Wu, rising from his chair. "I will be outside, and we can talk more. There are certain things Dr. Singh is obliged not to discuss."

"The hell?" said Frank, watching him leave. He turned back to the doctor. "Uh, right. Did she have any sort of medical conditions? Like abnormalities, illnesses, that sort of thing?"

Velpat looked at his tablet. "She has pollen allergies, mild. She is pre-diabetic. Also mild, but will likely suffer an episode if her diet is disrupted."

"What kind of episode?" questioned Frank.

"Nothing too serious. Light-headedness, fatigue, cold sweat. She had a minor concussion three years ago with no after-effects documented. Nothing else noteworthy."

"Thanks for your time." Frank stood, put his com to his ear, and stepped outside the infirmary where Wu waited leaning against the far wall.

"Hey, Vic," said Frank into the com. "I need you to look into the band. They don't make many right? How many corps? So really, just one. I'll pay you this time. Really. That's a bit high. I do not. All I need is to know who bought this one. That makes sense, but there shouldn't be many here. Alright, I'll give you cover for it, but don't shout my name at everyone you ask. Come on!" Frank sighed while noise came out of the small speaker. "Fine, Victor, I will do it, but consider it an advance on the next favor. Hey, never say never. Thanks, buddy."

Frank pocketed his com, then looked at Wu. They stared at each other for a few seconds in silence while the gears turned in Frank's head.

"Damn, it's just too obvious," he said. "Despite the mage pact."

"You didn't hear it from me, but—"

"There's apparently a lot we didn't hear from you. Mages are getting combat training, right?" Frank stepped close to Wu. "You didn't think that info was important?"

"The—"

"Matthias is out there checking a lead. Has no idea what he's facing. Ooooh, fucking secrets," Frank said, waving his arms in the air spastically. "You dipshit. You know I could take this back to Blist, and our little joint operation is over."

"I deserve some of that," said Wu. "But people higher than Blist know all about this. And your job was never to engage Haulstein. You are trackers. I can deal with her when the time comes."

"You sure will, but now let's talk about her capabilities and training."

* * *

"Sandra, there's no point in theatrics," urged the blonde woman who had taken up residence in her mother's apartment. "Please, sit so we can talk about Martha's release."

"Everything is going to be fine," she continued after Sandy had complied. They sat across from each other at her mother's small dinner table. "You are in a tough situation, Ms. Haulstein, but I think you'll agree that there's a simple way forward."

"I'm only here to give you a chance to release her before I kill you and turn myself in to Noxcorp," Sandy threatened.

The imposter pushed away a smile. "I'm sorry, dear. The corp doesn't care about your mother, and even if they did, she'd be fish food long before they pieced together where the bad men took her. You'd be in prison, a real one, or dead."

Sandra clenched her fist resting on the table. The imposter glanced down, pretending to be unconcerned.

"That's one possibility," the woman continued. "Another is that you do something for us, we release your mother, and you decide what to do with yourself. You get more of a choice now than you've ever had."

"I do it, then you kill her anyway. At least in the first choice, someone pays."

"N-now, now," the woman stuttered. "You have to admit to yourself, even if you won't to me, that your mom is what is important, and there's only one way she has a chance. Besides, murders are messy, result in investigations. We need you to keep our hands clean, and they won't stay clean if we hurt your mother. It's just easier to let her go."

If Sandra was going to make a move, it was now or never. As she considered the choice, she saw the fear in the woman's eyes staring back at her. She made a decision, and her fist relaxed slightly. "You need me to keep your hands clean? What is it you want me to do?"

The imposter pointed her com at the table, displaying a picture of an aged man, pale in skin tone.

"You will find him at this address," she said, pointing to a note on the projection. "You will need a silver injection, and you will need to watch him bleed out."

"You want me to kill someone," she said quietly. "Why?"

"Because we don't want to ourselves. Surely you knew it would be something like this."

"Yes," she admitted after a pause.

"Okay then—"

"Why bleed out?" asked Sandra. "Can't I just punch his skull in?"

The woman swallowed in reaction to the imagery. "He's a vampire. You need to make sure he's dead, and with enough blood, they can be very resilient."

"But he's so... old."

"Uh huh," she nodded.

"I'm no match for a vampire," said Sandra, her voice still quiet. "They are fast, strong, perceptive, all without even thinking about it."

"He won't be a problem for you," said the woman confidently. "We picked you because your file showed us that you are more than capable. Also, he will be drugged. Get the drop on him with a quick hit to the back of the head, inject him, cut him open, then call this number."

"Jesus."

The woman sat patiently, letting Sandra work the idea through her brain.

"What time do I go?"

"In two days our people will make sure everything is in place. He will be working from home, but he won't be drugged or vulnerable until early Wednesday evening. Be there at eight," she instructed.

"Shouldn't I get him while he's sleeping?" she asked, beginning to fret.

"He locks himself in a safe room during the day," she said, shaking her head. "You'd never get to him."

"Won't there be cameras, some sort of security?"

"Yes," she said, at which point Sandra buried her face in her hands.

"Sandra. Sandy. Calm down. We will be helping you. There are only two guards."

"Guards?" Sandy whined. "Why would he have guards, too?"

"Vampires live a long time if protected, and this one can afford the protection. One of them will be outside the rear entrance and the other stays inside on the main floor where the entry hall meets a sitting room. They are more like servants. They clean the place, fetch things during the day, greet people at night."

"Also vampires?" asked Sandy.

"No, just people."

"I don't want to hurt anyone."

"How you handle them is up to you, but this is what we require. Nothing less will set Martha free."

The woman slid a small com across the table. "This is how you contact us. It has the location of a motel that's been rented for you already, the target's house, and even a live stream of your mother. As you'll see, she's sleeping. When we've confirmed you completed the job, she will be brought here. When she wakes, she will have no memory of being taken."

Sandra slowly rested her fingers on the com, then plucked it off the table. She stared at the video of her mom. She could see subtle eye movements and the narrowing and expanding of her nostrils. Tears welled up in her eyes.

* * *

Matthias sat outside the WM Recycling plant for over two hours, casing it from the relative safety of the Noxcorp SUV. He saw no men come or go, but then again it was the dead of night. In the small industrial area, the night lights were sparse. One bright spotlight mounted on the building shone down on the large metal door at the front of the plant. Short windows at the top of the building were dimly lit. One car sat outside the far end of the lot in a patch of grass.

The nightstalker called his partner through the vehicle's com.

"How'd it go at the university?"

Frank groaned. "Wu's been holding out."

"Not a shock," Matthias replied.

"The girl is some special type of mage capable of physical feats rather than regular spells. Well, I guess they still call what she does spells. You know what I mean."

"Well, he did say she was special."

"Ya, well, he didn't say that the universities were prepping them for combat," Frank quipped.

"Combat, with who?" asked Matthias.

"Corporations are going to start drafting them, trading them like ball players, using them for security and who knows what else," Frank revealed.

"Corporate disputes," mused Matthias. "Is this all the universities, or just—"

"Only a few mages are being trained right now, but just so they can create a blueprint first," said Frank. "But soon there'll be a world of combat-trained mages ready to 'pwn' the other team."

"Idiots," Matthias remarked scornfully.

"Should have seen it coming. They all must fear what their competitors might do without a big brother to step in. Let the arms race commence."

"I'm sure it will work out," Matthias replied glibly. "Where are you now?"

"Grabbed a bite, made some calls. Headed back to the office."

"Can you and Wu get to this location—hold on I will send it. Be careful on approach."

"Okay, plugging it in... what's going on?" asked Frank.

"The mage's mom was kidnapped. The whole thing is a blackmail job. I have a lead, but I get the feeling we won't be welcome," explained Matthias.

"What? How did you find all this out?" quizzed Frank.

"I will explain later."

"We are on our way," assured Frank. "Hmph. You know, I assumed right from the start she had help, but I just thought it was a breakout. Victor says it almost has to be an exotic tool she used to slip the cuff, one they don't have at the university. Someone managed to get it to her from the outside. He's tracking its origin down for me."

"You know where it came from?" asked Matthias.

"Not yet, but there's only a few in circulation around here."

"Find out anything else?"

"Well, maybe," said Frank. "I think she had inside help, like from some other mages. I didn't press too hard because where would it lead us? Just make their lives harder."

"Just a big ole softy," teased Matthias. "If someone was blackmailing her, then they want something from her. Which means they likely knew her abilities."

"Maybe," said Frank. "Could be they got info about her from the mom."

"Just by chance?" questioned Matthias. "Because if they knew her daughter was a mage already, then there's still another source of info. It might be worth looking into how it can leak out of their systems," he suggested.

"I will see what I can find," replied Frank. "See you soon. Stay out of sight. Don't go in solo, we'll get there."

"I'll be waiting."

Frank closed the line.

"You didn't tell him about the Noxcorp requests," said Wu.

"Nope."

"Don't trust him?"

"Me and Matthias got off to a rocky start," said Frank. "He's alright, but I can't risk him taking this to our supervisor."

"You think..."

"Everybody's got a hustle, Chuck. Someone at the corp is dirty; hell, maybe all of 'em. As long as they don't know we know, then we aren't targets."

Wu nodded hesitantly.

* * *

The dash screen in the SUV lit up with an incoming call from an unlisted number. Matthias answered. "Hello?"

"Hail, Mr. Trent," said the voice.

"Ford," Matthias recognized. "Glad to hear from you."

"I will be brief," said Ford. "I was able to spot our target in a few locations near the point of origin. As we move outward from there, the number of cameras grows exponentially, so I only made it a kilometer out or so. Perhaps more substantial is I've pinpointed the pharma corp where Jester likely originated."

"Novaware?" asked Matthias.

"As you know, I must charge for this information," replied Ford. "But as it will likely increase the value to you, I will at least tell you that it is not Novaware."

"Interesting, so you have a new name. What about the staff involved? Know anything about them that wouldn't be public?" asked Matthias.

"Not yet. I know you wanted this cheap and that would have cost a lot more."

"Jaxi might be more interested in trading personnel info," mused Matthias. "And not at all interested in where the girl has been."

"I've sent you the price for each. I think they are reasonable," said Ford matter-of-factly.

Matthias looked at the screen and blinked. "Yes, well, my wages are perhaps a little lower than your normal clientele. Still, I would like something else."

"Okay."

"I want to know of any high value targets close to the places where the girl was identified," proposed Matthias. "Is that possible?"

"High value," repeated Ford. "What does that mean?"

"Hmm." He considered a reasonable criteria. "Let's say outliers in net worth or income, corporate execs, or celebrities. Things like that."

"Okay, I can work with that. About the bill..."

"I will pay you double what you ask for the camera work, but I need it fast."

"That's asking a lot, and the fee would have been approximately double anyway," said Ford.

"I will buy the pharma name if you can put a rush on the HVT search," Matthias bargained.

The line went quiet for a moment. "Very well, complete the transaction."

"Thank you," Matthias said, accepting the bill on the screen.

"The corp is Malloy Inc, LLC. It is approximately seven months old. It has two drugs on the market using expired patents. Off the books, they've modified several street drugs without commercial success. Jester appears to be an original project. It's hard to gauge demand and sales in these products, but there seems to be little interest as far as network algos reveal."

"Interesting," replied Matthias.

"I've sent you the location of their only known office."

"What about money flow?" asked Matthias. "Who's funding them?"

"That would be extra, at almost the same price as this information. Are you interested?"

Matthias sighed. "I will consider it and let you know."

"All files have been sent," declared Ford. "I will contact you again when I have something on HVTs. Goodbye."

"Well now I'm in debt," Matthias muttered. He messaged Jaxi with an offer for the corp information, hoping she would take pity on him.

While waiting on Frank, he searched Noxcorp records for Malloy and found nothing. He found a nondescript website on the public net with very generic information about their two drug offerings and no staff listings or contact information.

Empty-handed and bored, he reclined his seat and turned on the radio.

* * *

Hank Laudinour's man handed him an envelope. He took it and looked at the front where the word 'Lena' was scribbled.

"Thank you, Max," he told the servant and bodyguard. It was clear looking at him that Max was less interested in the finer points of housekeeping and gardening, and more interested in turning himself into a balloon animal and punching people.

"I will need some time alone," said Hank. The man nodded and removed himself from his master's sight.

Blood thralls were forbidden by the vampire law as decreed by the council. Considered a coerced servitude by all the major corporations, it was thereby considered illegal as well. But on Noxcorp territory, the council decided what was legal and what was not, and they had decided to allow it as a privilege of the office.

Any member of the council had enough wealth to easily pay for good help, but help was not always for sale, and rarely as devoted as a thrall addicted to a nocturnal's blood. Hank wanted loyalty that would leave no doubts in his mind while he slept at day.

The elder councilman pulled small paper squares out of the envelope. They were thick like cardstock, plain, deceptive. He lifted them to his nose. It had a scent, but he couldn't identify it. He placed one under his tongue, then lay down on a white leather sofa pressed against the wall. It had a painting hung above it depicting a man on a horse pointing his sword toward the viewer.

Hank closed his eyes and waited.

* * *

How can I do this? she wondered, desperately searching for an alternative to the demands of the blackmailers. But she came up empty. Most of her life had been spent isolated from the real world. She was lost in the city, and may as well have been from a different planet. Clasping her hands together, Sandra felt the layer of sweat on her palms. She thought about finding her mother and rescuing her before time was up, but how would she find her? The university runaway had no idea where to even start.

Her breathing became heavy and fast, then broke into gentle sobs. At the end of her wits, her mind began to shift its efforts toward acceptance. He is a vampire, she thought. He's probably lived several lifetimes already. Probably killed plenty of people. Ruined lives with his corporate greed.

"I have no choice," she said quietly. "I have no choice." Her rationalization was complete. Sandy dried her eyes and made her decision.

The body mage had been in this neighborhood several times since accepting the demands of her blackmailers. She took the time to memorize the location of every house, had noted the number of cars per driveway, had studied online maps of the area. Haulstein didn't have enough time to memorize it all, but she knew enough to stay oriented and find her way to her target.

However, this was only her second visit in the dead of night. The house sat in the middle of a gated community that rested inside a posh neighborhood. The attendants would never let her in the gate, but she didn't need their permission. She forced her skin to turn black and brown. The mage stuck to the shadows, leaping over the fence in a poorly lit section. Relying on memory, she moved from house to house, navigating alleys and swingsets and avoiding dogs.

It was very likely she'd been detected by several camera systems, but she moved swiftly, powered by Ethereal energy. The only thing they would see would be a silhouette appearing in the frame for a fleeting moment. She would be discounted as a glitch or illusion before anyone considered the shadow that darted through the night a person.

Just as the imposter had told her, a man sat on a finely molded chair made of brushed metal rods with a canvas strung across them. He puffed on a vaper and stared at a dimly lit tablet screen. Small recessed LEDs gave the yard of astroturf a dim glow, and she would not be nearly as stealthy if she had to cross it to reach him.

She reasoned that he must regularly check in with the second man inside, and so she waited. Sure enough, after five minutes, the guard lifted his com to his lips and said, "Jorn checking in." Sandy heard a voice come out of the com in response. "Max checking in."

After waiting another fifteen minutes, the men checked in with each other again. She now knew how much time she had. A wooden fence separated her from her prey, but it also had kept her hidden. She ran at the side of the house where the fence ended. She leaped, then pushed off with her foot. The siding creaked. Sandra grabbed the ledge of the roof and pulled herself up without any further noise. She lay flat on the shingles listening for signs she had been detected.

Hearing no commotion, Sandra carefully crept along the roof toward the back of the house. As she peered over the edge, the outside man remained undisturbed. His chair rested on a small wooden deck. Sandra dropped down behind him, landing with a quiet thud. The man bolted upward, spinning his head behind him with the rest of his body lagging in its rotation.

As his mouth opened, the assassin's knuckles collided with his jaw. His body ceased to function. The man's legs folded and his face slapped the wooden planks. Sandra carefully moved his body to the soft grass and flattened him out. She now had less than ten minutes before the next check-in.

* * *

Hank slid into the darkness. He felt intense despair as the blackness engulfed him, smothered him. The elder councilman calmed himself and waited. He was determined not to let fear control his mind.

The silence was absolute. In the darkness, he could make no sound. He had no body to move, and had no sense of direction. After a few minutes he heard the slightest of noises, so faint that he did not know what it was, only which sense it belonged to. He waited longer and it developed into the sound of trickling water. Then he felt the weight of his body grow and he again felt right-side up.

Hank touched his face with his hands and breathed a sigh of relief. He took a step forward and heard the sound of his foot splashing into shallow water. He felt polished rocks under his feet, occasionally stepping on one that was jagged. He felt outward with his hands and discovered a rocky wall surrounded him. I'm in a cave, he realized.

As he slowly progressed forward, the color in front of him shifted from pitch to slightly off-pitch. He kicked a large rock as he stepped forward, nearly tripping. Hank was moving faster now, and as he rounded a corner, he saw light in the distance.

For the first time, he could see his hands and the gleam of the stream of water that ran under his feet. He noticed that he had no clothes, but he had no care for modesty given his situation. Hank continued to the end of the cave where it opened into a rocky mountainside devoid of vegetation. The stars above were bright and the moon large.

A campfire burned twenty meters out. The flames were shades of gray, their color drained. A shadow stood beside it, bits of its clothing whipping about like the flames beside it. As Hank approached, it turned toward him. It remained a shadow, without definition or depth, but its eyes glowed red.

The naked Hank Laudinour moved toward the shadow, and the shadow moved toward him. They both stopped at striking distance.

"Are you the god I've been hearing so much about?" shot Hank.

The shadow flickered around the nocturnal man, appearing on one side of him, then on the other, taunting him. "Yes."

Hank nodded. "What kind of god only appears in dreams?"

"Your God." The entity's voice resembled a low growl or a congested baritone. A sharp hiss accompanied his words.

"Of course," said Hank.

"You will help me," the thing demanded.

"I'm going to be straight with you, there's really no way that's going to happen."

"I will show you," it said, reaching a hand out toward the vampire.

Laudinour reached out with his own hand, grabbing the arm of the shadow. In an instant, he saw a lifetime's worth of imagery. It all blurred into an unrecognizable stream. For a split second, he slowed the blur down just long enough to see a different image of the creature, one he had seen before.

The shadow recoiled. "You," it gurgled.

Hank coughed and sputtered, doubled over in pain. "I suspected as much," he choked out.

"You must die," it proclaimed with a loud hiss.

Hank grinned, still resting his hands on his bent knees. "Still have the intellect of a third-grader. What are you, really?"

"I am forever."

Hank stood. "Whatever you are, I am going to use this drug to expose you and destroy you."

"No, Laudinour, you will not survive this night," it rumbled.

The ground cracked underneath their feet. The cracks grew into rifts. The vampire moved to solid ground, but a rift followed him, opening under his feet. Hank fell into a chasm and again his world turned black.

* * *

The metal door was fashioned with a thin layer of wood on the outside to give it a more homey feel. As the steel interior crumpled inward, that outside layer separated like a shattered mirror frozen in time. Splinters flew through the entryway and were strewn across the Victorian-styled sitting room.

Bent and broken, the door swung open with a loud squeal. Sandra stepped inside and found herself standing opposite a burly man with her target beside him. She expected Hank to be incapacitated and had hoped to even get a jump on the remaining guard. They both stared at her, ready, as if expecting her company. She felt a sense of betrayal, and behind that, sheer terror as her plan fell apart. She pushed the doubts out of her mind.

The thrall pointed his gun, a large Desert Eagle, at the assassin's heart. The councilman placed his hand on Max's tensed forearm.

"Whatever you thought you were accomplishing, you have failed," he shouted. "Corpsec is on its way." His voice trembled slightly at the end.

"I'm sorry," she said, then turned to Max. "If you leave, you won't be harmed. I come only for him." She nodded at Laudinour.

"Do you even know what game you are playing, girl?" Hank questioned.

"No," she said flatly.

Hank shook his head. "I thought not. Sit down and let's talk."

Sandra Haulstein clenched her fists. "I'm sorry."

"So am—"

Before he could finish, the mage had reached her hand forward with a grabbing motion. As she pulled her fist back, the world moved past her in a blur. While evocation mages would scribe runes and patterns in their mind, even drawing them in the air to help visualize, Sandy cast by envisioning the movements of the layer of Ether that rested under the physical plane. She grabbed hold of it, like someone pulling a lever or tugging a rope.

Hank moved his hand away from Max, who in turn fired a high-powered round from his hand cannon. His aim was perfect, but the mage was no longer in the same spot as when he began pulling the trigger. Still, the bullet impacted her left shoulder, turning her body counter-clockwise. The lead compressed against her skin, its point smooshing flat against the hardened surface.

Sandra let out a short groan and recovered her balance as she landed in between her two adversaries. She grabbed the barrel of the gun and ripped it from Max's hand, then swung the butt behind her. The old vampire moved like a ballerina, leaning back out of the way.

His claws extended several centimeters, and he took a swipe at her while her back was to him. The nails grazed her back, ripping open her shirt, but gliding along her skin without the slightest nick.

Sandra Haulstein had been training every day for the last three years for this moment or one like it. As the only body mage at the university, she sparred without the aid of casting, and her mentor was an expert at Muay Thai, karate, jiu-jitsu, and American wrestling. He had spent time four days a week molding her into an expert fighter.

Like any fighter, she developed a style that was comfortable for her, and pushed herself into good habits and out of bad. Rather than a brawler, Sandy developed into one part counter-striker and one part berserker. Her movements were graceful and had a certain rhythm and flow. She preferred to duck and dodge and pick shots of opportunity, and she became ruthless when she sensed weakness. Even without the power of the Ether, she was formidable. With it enhancing her abilities, she was unmatched.

Now, for the first time, her skills would be put to the test as she fought for her life and that of her mother. She kicked forward, knocking Max back against the wall, then turned and parried Hank's next swipe. Sandy turned again, throwing the gun at Max. It ricocheted off his forehead and his charge became a stumble. Sandy kicked behind her, but again the vampire moved out of the way and clawed at her leg, shredding her pants at the calf. With each resisted attack, the mage's temperature increased. She felt sweat begin to soak her hair.

Max recovered and threw a right hook, but Sandy's body was living in a world that moved slower than his, and halfway through his motion her fist collided with his solar plexus. A wave exploded from the impact spot, traveling outward across his chest and stomach. He clutched at his chest and opened his mouth, but had no breath to speak with.

Hank grabbed a fistful of Sandra's hair and yanked her backward with vampiric strength. She leaned backward and held on to his arm with both hands, then lifted her legs up, threw her knees above her head, and smashed them into his face. He stumbled back, relinquishing his grasp. Sandy landed on her hands and rolled to her feet.

Max's face had turned a dull red from lack of oxygen, but he managed another assault, this time in the form of a body kick. Sandra allowed the blow to land, but he hit harder than she expected and sharp pain shot through her side. She wrapped her arm around his leg, holding it in the air, and landed three quick punches to his face. The bodyguard crumpled to the floor.

Hank struck the assassin in the back of the head, knocking her forward. He quickly moved after her, punching the same side Max had earlier softened. She whined in response. To finish, he stabbed his claws straight at her back.

The mage's hardened skin relented under the pressure, allowing the claws to sink into her muscle fibers. Sandy cried out in pain and threw her fist behind her. The vampire dodged again. She spun to face him. Her hair twirled with her, acting as a radiator for her Ethereal engine, releasing steam and sweat droplets in a spiral around her. Laudinour's expression had turned to maniacal fervor. A single droplet of her blood slowly gathered on the tip of one of his claws.

Sandy took a deep breath and subtly lifted the liquid silver syringe out of her pocket. She stood still as the vampire rushed in for an attack. He swiped but caught only air as she ducked down and punched his kneecap. Hank swung with his other hand, but Sandy had moved close to him and landed her elbow on the bridge of his nose, crushing the bone.

Tears blurred his vision and in a panic, the vampire flailed his arms uselessly at his assailant. Sandra stuck him in the chest with the syringe. Hank howled. She kicked out his leg, forcing him to plant a hand on the ground. Sandy stomped it, and as he feebly lunged with his free hand, she caught it by the knuckles and bent it at a right angle, forcing his fingers straight. Cradling his head with her other hand, Sandra plunged his own claws into his neck.

Blood exploded from Laudinour's jugular as he pulled his hand away, splattering the walls, furniture, and Sandy with flecks of red. The councilman groaned as blood rhythmically gushed out of the wound and down his neck. He fell onto his back and began taking short, labored breaths.

"He's won," Laudinour gasped.

Sandra knelt beside him. "Who's won?"

The vampire closed his eyes and stopped breathing. Sandra exhaled as she slumped in exhaustion. "What have I done?" she contemplated quietly.

After a few breaths, she lifted herself up off the wet floor. Her pants were coated in blood up to her knees. Her shoes left crimson footprints around Hank's body as she pointed her com at it. In keeping with her agreement, she sent a video of his lifeless body to her blackmailers then fled the scene of the murder.

##

## Episode 10: To Destroy Them

"I need a reason, Matt, there's a lot of pharma guys out there," said Jaxi, her voice tense.

Matthias spotted Frank's car in his rearview, and he thought about the mission at hand. Jaxi's voice trailed off. Suddenly he didn't want any part of any of this, he just wanted out. He wanted to be back at his desk shit-posting and playing old computer games. What the hell am I doing, he thought.

"Matthias?"

"Yeah, Jaxi," he said, emerging from his cloud of doubt. He had proposed to Jaxi that she might get some good info on Malloy personnel if she footed the bill. She wasn't having it. "Obviously I don't know what Ford will find ahead of time."

"Well—"

"You track them, don't you?" interrupted Matthias. He was putting the pieces together in his head, trying to understand how her business worked and how to best motivate her. "Like, you don't know who they are, but you see the hallmarks of their work and watch how it moves from project to project," he speculated. "I bet you are looking for specific ones, like a headhunter. There's more money up the chain, isn't there?"

"I'm a broker, Matthias. I buy, I sell."

"Shouldn't you just take the chance?" he said. "I bet there's some big targets that have slipped off the radar."

"I learned a long time ago not to gamble," she said.

Matthias thought about what he knew of the pharma engineers. Only one thing came to mind. "At least one of these guys knows more about vampire neurology than anyone else."

"This is a drug for vampires? As in specific for vampires?" she asked, clearly showing her hand.

"It looks that way," said Matthias, ignoring the fact that he'd never seen a human try it.

"Okay," she said. "You want reimbursement for the cost?"

Matthias grinned. "The personnel info really does me no good, but I want to know of any money trails leading to other corps, and I need to recoup my bill for the original lead and for some cam data he's digging up."

"What?" Her voice boomed through the car speakers.

"I'm drowning right now," he said. "I'll owe you if you pull me out."

"Fine," she said. "This is the only time. If this is a big score, I'm not sharing."

"Thanks, Jaxi. I will let Ford know. Later."

Matthias closed the call as Frank walked up to the passenger side window. He closed his eyes one last time, just in case when he opened them again he would be in bed. Frank knocked on the window; no such luck.

He turned the car off and rolled down the window.

"Is this real?" asked Frank, poking his head halfway into the car.

"Well," said Matthias. "Either that, or I just killed the mage's mother."

"Knew you had it in ya," joked Frank.

Matthias stepped out of the vehicle to get a look at Charles Wu.

"You sure we don't want backup?" asked Frank.

"You tell me."

"Not if you want her breathing," he replied.

"If you need to walk away from this, I will understand," Matthias told the warden.

"The Mage Enforcement council doesn't like being kept in the dark," stated Wu. "But if someone has compromised our security and blackmailed one of our mages, then I have to see it through."

"Everyone packing?"

Wu drew and holstered his gun. Frank moved his jacket to show Matthias.

"Vests on?"

Both nodded.

"Be ready," said Matthias. "I will take point and see if we can disarm whoever we find without resistance."

"And what if they decide to engage?" asked Frank.

"You follow behind me," ordered Matthias. "Wu, you take position at the rear door. You'll be backup in case things go south. They'll find it hard to put up a fight without cover. Anyone who points a gun at us is dead. Let's go."

Wu took off in a jog toward the far side of the building. Matthias took a direct path for the front loading doors. Frank snorted to clear his sinuses and followed behind. All three drew their guns, pointing them at the ground as they moved.

As Matthias approached, the large metal door slid open just wide enough for a man to step through. He wore a vest and had an AZ-120 assault rifle resting at his hip with the strap around the back of his neck. He slipped through the door and turned to Matthias.

"Private property, leave—"

"Noxcorp security!" Matthias said, taking aim. "Do not touch that rifle."

The man looked around, saw Frank, then looked back at Matthias, unsure what to do.

"Step toward me," Matthias commanded. The man didn't move.

"You b-both need to leave," he stuttered.

"Step toward me, now."

The man's fingers inched toward his gun, and he took a step back.

"Don't!" yelled Matthias.

The merc planted his foot and grabbed his rifle by the grip and handguard and started to scream. Before his fingers had curled around the grip, a bullet pierced his forehead. He fell backward and moved his hand outward as if to catch himself, but his body went limp as he landed.

Matthias and Frank rushed the building, taking position on each side of the door opening. Both crouched down. They looked at each other. Matthias wore a grim expression. Frank looked relaxed. He shrugged at Matthias. "You tried," he mouthed. Both listened intently. Matthias could hear shuffling feet and whispers he couldn't make out.

"Listen to me," Matthias yelled. "We are here for Martha. You want to live, then you drop your gun and you run or you send her out this door. If she dies, all of you will die."

The air became still for several seconds, then one word pierced the air: "Fire!"

Gunshots rang out in quick succession and overlaps. Bullets tore through the thin corrugated metal of the building's exterior. Matthias and Frank darted away from the door and rounded opposing corners, narrowly avoiding both the bullets and the shrapnel they created out of the walls. The men peeked around the corner at each other. Frank put his hand up, signaling to wait.

Meanwhile, Wu had taken cover behind a car parked in the back near the rear door. The small metal door swung open on rusty hinges, its noise hidden by the sound of gunfire. Two men crept through, heading for each side of the building, where Matthias and Frank would be exposed.

Wu took careful aim on the first man, firing from only ten meters, hitting him in the back of the neck. The man fell onto his stomach and writhed on the ground, confused and in pain. His partner, heading the opposite way, heard the shot and turned toward Wu, who had already pivoted to him. The merc swung his weapon up, and Wu shot him in the chest, knocking him back despite his body armor. Wu fired several more shots as he fell, causing his body to turn so that he landed on his stomach, his rifle pinned underneath him. The warden ran out from behind the car and fired two shots into the man's head before he could recover.

He then ran past the open door to the first man, who had started slithering along the ground away from the building at a snail's pace, and finished him off in similar fashion. Shouting pierced the air, and the metal wall behind Wu exploded with a synchronized assault. He dove to the ground and crawled under the car.

Matthias balled his hand into a fist and brought it down. The vampires peered through holes in the front of the building, noting the position of each merc as they had turned on Wu. Two men were on a higher balcony, still aiming toward the front door. One spotted Frank and opened fire.

Frank retreated around the corner again, and Matthias moved in front of the doorway, aiming and firing with inhuman accuracy. He shot both mezzanine men once before they could react, then slipped through the door. Frank hustled behind him.

One by one the remaining mercs, distracted by Wu, turned at the sound of gunfire behind them, and one by one Frank or Matthias or both gunned them down as they walked slowly forward into the facility. After they ran out of standing targets, and the din subsided, Matthias listened carefully for signs of life.

"Hey, Chuck!" called Frank. "You alright?"

"All good!" Wu called back.

"Nice work, kid," yelled Frank.

Matthias held up his hand and walked toward one of the downed men. He stepped on the man's rifle, then kicked him, forcing out a grunt.

"Check the rest," whispered Matthias. Frank nodded and went from body to body, grabbing around the neck for a pulse. He made his way up metallic stairs to the mezzanine.

"Shit," he said, kneeling next to one of the mercs. The man continued to blink and made small movements with his mouth while blood trickled out of his temple where a bullet had pierced. Frank rolled the man over, put his gun to the back of the man's head, and fired. "Sorry."

Matthias had propped the man on the ground floor against a metal support beam when he heard a single shot ring out. He shook his head. He looked at the remaining live merc, who had taken a bullet right above the groin, barely missing his vest. The bullet had not exited. Though his pants were blood-soaked, the man remained awake and alert.

"What was the plan here?" Matthias asked him.

"Martha's up here!" Frank called.

"Is she okay?" Matthias looked up toward the mez.

"Think so."

He turned back to the breathing merc. "What outfit are you with?"

"Fucking biters," the man responded.

"That's not a bad idea," said Matthias. "Would you like to be turned?"

"You're a fucking abomination."

"Sounds a lot like a maybe."

"These were my friends," the man choked out. "You'll get yours."

"You and your inbred buddies could have gone out and harassed some underage girls or played billiards," began Matthias. "And right now you'd be laughing, arguing, who knows. You wouldn't have seen us, that's what I'm getting at."

"It's a job," he said. "We do what we are paid to."

"What were you paid to do, exactly?"

The man sat silent.

"Very well," said Matthias, showing his fangs. He grabbed the man by the hair and leaned toward his neck.

"You already know, god dammit," the merc yelled.

Matthias whispered in the man's ear. "Just tell me who ordered this. That's it."

"I don't know," he said. "The company isn't so stupid as to tell us grunts who the clients are."

"What company?"

"Caliber," he said. "Would have figured it out eventually."

Matthias pulled back and looked into the man's blue eyes. "What was the plan? Did you guys snatch her from her apartment?"

"I thought you just wanted to know who ordered it."

"Come on," said Matthias. "Stop arguing. Tell me and we're done."

"And you let me go?"

"You have my word."

"We did the pickup. Not me, but a couple of the guys. We were told to watch her, keep a video going. The job was supposed to just take a few days, maybe a week. Then we were supposed to dispose of the bodies."

"Bodies, plural?" questioned Matthias.

"Ya, the older one up there and some girl."

"Sandra?"

"No names, just pictures."

"The plan was to off them?" Matthias asked.

"Ya, but it kept getting delayed," he affirmed. "Each night an office guy comes by and drops off some food if we are going another day."

"Did he come tonight?"

"Not yet. Never comes this late, but it's always possible," the merc replied.

Frank stood behind them, listening. He held his gun to his side.

Matthias pulled his com out. He had missed Ford's call. A sinking feeling gripped him.

"Fine, we're done," said Matthias, standing. He walked away and dialed Ford. When he turned, Frank was aiming the gun at the merc.

"Hold on!" said Matthias, hanging up.

"Matty," said Frank. "We can't let him go."

Wu walked up to the scene, brushing himself off. "What's going on?"

"Frank, I told him he could go."

"He's just going to tell his buddies," said Frank. "These guys aren't cops. They aren't even security guards. They're a fuckin' gang."

"Fuck you, vampire," shouted the merc.

"Come on, Frank. We're Noxcorp. They aren't going to come after us."

"Shit, Matthias, this isn't the old world and we aren't cops, either. The fear of reprisal just isn't there anymore. Look at him," he said, stabbing the barrel of his gun toward the man. "He can't wait to get his posse together and go after some vamps."

"I'm not worried."

"It's not just you," said Frank. "It's not just your life here. There's me and Charlie, too. How about it, Wu? You feel safe with this guy alive?"

"Not now that he knows my full birth name, no."

"He would have—"

"Fine," interrupted Matthias, no longer able to look at the merc. "Get it over with."

"No, hold on!" the man cried.

BANG!

Matthias walked out of the building, shoving the sliding door all the way open on his way out. He dialed Ford again.

"I have your order ready," said Ford.

"I'm not sure I want it," said Matthias.

"Mr. Trent, I made this a top priority, neglecting other work," said Ford tensely.

"You see, Ford," said Matthias in a grim tone. "I get the feeling I'm just two steps behind, walking the wrong direction, and whatever you got probably won't help."

Ford sighed. "Sometimes the truth doesn't have an immediate payout."

"Is there a 'but' in there somewhere?"

"But you still have to pay me," he concluded.

"Right," Matthias surrendered. "Sending now."

The line went quiet for a half minute.

"Alright, Matthias," said Ford. "I've compiled a list of high value targets, as well as found some new camera footage of your target that I will include at no cost. There are several that I think fit the criteria, and four that are of particular interest. Of those, one is a recent CEO of Sunflower, and the other is a member of the Noxcorp board."

"Who?"

"Hank Laudinour."

"Any other active executives or board members?"

"Yes. Readicode corp has an accounts VP in one of the neighborhoods, but..." Ford trailed off.

"Small fish," said Matthias.

"I've sent the complete file in spreadsheet form so you can sort by estimated net worth, proximity to sighting, that sort of thing," explained Ford.

"Got it," said Matthias. "Thank you, Ford."

"Good luck, Matthias. I will call you later when I have more on Malloy money flow and personnel."

He closed the call and rested his face on the roof of the SUV, then straightened up and walked back inside the crime scene. It seemed more colorful than when he left, the adrenaline now expended from his body and blood emptied from his victims. The vampire didn't immediately see his colleague or the warden. He looked up and spotted Wu's head, the angle of the mezzanine floor obscuring the rest.

He vaulted up the steps to where Frank and Wu stared at a small cot. An IV bag led down to a small woman. A tripod with a camera stood at the foot of the bed. Matthias recognized her. This time, it was the real Martha Haulstein.

"It's her," said Wu.

"Gracias, Vic," Frank said, then slipped his com into his pocket and faced Matthias. "Victor says that this solution is relatively safe. If we pull out the needle carefully, she won't need more than some fluids and a band-aid."

Matthias examined the camera. It had no power cord and was likely, Matthias thought, activated by a passive motion detector. Either that or the mercs charged it every day. He grabbed it off the tripod.

"Okay," he said, rubbing his temple. "We have a problem, Frank."

"What now?"

"The mage was spotted near a board member's home last night," he replied.

"Who?"

"The old guy," he said. "And that merc down there said their nightly resupply never came. I have to get there now."

"What do we do about her?" asked Frank, nodding at Martha.

"You and Wu take her home in the SUV," he said. "I will take your car."

"Alone?"

"I will go, too," said Wu. "I need to be there."

"Not this time, Wu. This changes things," said Matthias.

"Just take him," said Frank. "Iron out the wrinkles later. I will call in the grunts to doc all this and help with mom here."

"Fine, let's go," said Matthias.

* * *

Half an hour after the deed, Sandra Haulstein's muscles continued to tremble. She saw the old man's face, the terror in his eyes when he realized it was over, that his life was over. The killer had held her dinner inside until halfway back to the safe house, but no further. She collapsed into a ball behind a charging station dumpster, panting, crying, and vomiting. Wiping her face, she continued to sob.

"What am I?" she wailed. "A murderer! I'm a fucking murderer." She yanked at her hair and fell back onto her rear. She shut her eyes tightly and rocked back and forth. "Why was it so easy for me? Is this who I am?"

A few minutes later, emotionally spent, she opened her eyes. She remembered why she had become a monster, but she didn't trust the woman or whomever it was that had taken her mother. After sending video to the address in the com, she received a reply in the form of an address. She cleaned herself up at the safe house, then took a cab to an address a kilometer away. She circled the building from afar and saw a black SUV parked outside. Someone else was already there.

Sandy checked her com and looked at her mother through the live feed. If it was to be believed, she was still alive. Despite a reprieve, the mage was severely weakened. She was tired, hungry, and dehydrated. She decided to wait, at least until the SUV moved or the man in it did something besides sit and stare.

To her chagrin, a second car pulled up behind the first. Two men stepped out, and she adjusted her eyes to see their Ethereal auras. She saw the auras of two vampires, as described to her by Freddy. The other aura was the hue for a normal person, but with a streak of white around one of the arms that matched nothing she had seen or heard of.

She watched the third man run around the back of the building, the first two approach from the front, and a man with an assault rifle exit the building. Sandra had started to creep closer when the shooting started. Her first instinct to rush the building was halted by her fatigue. She hid instead and waited nervously while watching the feed. It had no audio, and only small flickers of light changed the picture. It was proof that the feed was in real time, if nothing else.

When the shooting had ceased, she continued watching until the lower halves of a man entered the frame. Sandy leapt to action, exhausting herself to run to the building. She overheard them talking. It was clear the new men had come for her mother, and as they spoke she felt fear, then relief, then outrage. The kidnappers had planned to kill not only Sandra's mother, but Sandra herself. Her blood boiled, and she wondered if she could make it to her mother's apartment in time to properly interrogate the imposter. Relief over her mother soothed her rage, and after two of the men left, she decided her smartest move would be to go into hiding.

Perhaps it's over, she thought.

* * *

Lights flashed blue and red from both sedans and SUVs parked outside the house of the councilman Hank Laudinour. Matthias gripped the wheel of his car tightly as it slowed to a stop down the block.

"Fuck," he snarled.

He walked slowly to the tape barricade, flashing corpsec his identification. Some of the officers looked familiar, but he saw no investigators at the scene. Matthias approached a man with an official-looking Noxcorp badge on his uniform as he stood outside the front door.

"What's inside?" he asked.

The officer shook his head. "It's a mess in there. He's dead."

"Dammit," Matthias cursed.

"You knew him?"

"No." Matthias stepped past him into the house. He followed bloody footprints to Hank's body. He leaned down to examine a small syringe lying on the floor. There was a pungent odor in the air, like rotting cabbage. The undead spoiled quickly after death, especially those of advanced age.

Matthias had seen everything he needed to. Homicide investigators would be on scene within the hour, and there was little point in contaminating the crime scene further. He returned to the monitoring officer.

"Name's Matthias," he said, shaking the man's hand.

"Bernie," he introduced.

"Bernie, were there any witnesses?"

"Uh huh. The councilman had two bodyguards. We took them down to the office for a statement. One said he saw it all."

"And," prodded Matthias.

"He said it was a lone woman, said she moved too fast for a regular person. Maybe a vampire?" Bernie speculated.

"Maybe he was drinking on the job," said Matthias.

Bernie guffawed. "Maybe so. Either way, we'll see if he can provide a description."

"Thanks, Bernie."

Matthias walked back to his car and dialed Frank.

"Frank, you get Martha tucked away? Well, I have some bad news."

##

## Episode 11: The Night Off

"Is Koch coming?"

"Everyone is coming."

"Not everyone."

"You know what I meant."

Angela Koch's face appeared on the screens of her four colleagues. Her appointment as chairwoman was relatively recent. She was older in years than Hank was, but younger in physical age. His pallor gave the former away, but unlike many elder nightstalkers, she had not grown stronger over time. This was a fact that no one else needed to know.

She was also the only woman on the council. While she knew inside she could not treat her duties as carelessly as her male colleagues, she also knew that moving up the ranks of the corporation was a matter of ambition more than privilege. The voting shareholders and board members had no problem moving up those who wanted the responsibility and showed competence. But old prejudices still resulted in an unequal amount of criticism when mistakes were made.

Koch was the last to arrive on the video teleconference. Whether out of the need to immediately communicate, or a fear that gathering in person would make them vulnerable, Councilman Joseph Green had sent out the request for a remote session when the emergency notification lit up his com.

With Angela's appearance, all five were connected. Green, a middle-aged Caucasian. Koch, now the elder board member and chair. Guero, a vampire a bit older than Green, originally from Mexico City. Johnson, a blond man and newest ascendant to the board. Nuwama, a charcoal-colored man with no hair, a little younger than Koch. All tried to speak at once.

"How did this happen?"

"Is this confirmed? Hank is dead?"

"We have to do something."

"Who would attack us?"

"Please, gentlemen, one at a time," urged Koch.

The men quieted to disdainful muttering.

"I'll share what I know," she continued. "And then anyone with more information to contribute can speak. After that, we'll talk action."

The rest of the council remained quiet, outside of one heavy breather, likely Green, thought Koch. "Like the rest of you, I received the encrypted message from the security department just after midnight. I've seen the pictures, in case anyone feels this might be some strange deception. It is not. I just got off the com with the lead investigator assigned. She found a syringe with some liquid silver inside."

"There you have it!" yelled Nuwama.

"My god," breathed Johnson.

Green and Guero muttered quietly. Koch leaned back into her chair and waited. The councilmen decided they were curious for more details and quieted again.

"Hank had two bodyguards," said Angela. "Both were relatively unharmed, and so they've been placed into custody for questioning. Home surveillance confirmed their story that a woman broke into the home and killed the councilman."

"Who—"

"The attacker," said Koch, speaking over Johnson, "was a mage that recently escaped the confines of the KC university."

"The same one we—"

"Yes," said Koch. "The same one. Agents Trent and Kerwin were tracking her down when she struck.

"Now," she said loudly. "Does anyone have any facts to contribute?"

"My man inside the university says she had outside help," said Nuwama. "A tool that allowed her to cut off her own foot and reattach it, letting her ditch their tracking device."

"She cut off her foot?" asked Green. "Just to find and kill a member of the vampire council?"

"Apparently so," said Nuwama.

"Anyone else?" asked Koch.

"I spoke with Captain Blist," said Johnson. "The agents assigned have not reported any details of their investigation."

"What?"

"We need to apprehend them."

"Quiet, please."

"Nuwama," addressed Koch. "What has their warden reported?"

"Sorry, madam chairwoman; he's not privy to such information."

No one spoke for several seconds.

"There's clearly a powerful hand at work here," said Green. "We have to find it quickly."

"We need all the players brought in," said Johnson. "The mage, our agents, the warden. Pull everything out of them."

"Let's calm down," said Guero.

"Do you want to be next, Guero?" asked Johnson.

"Oh, come on, Johnson," chided Guero.

"We really shouldn't take any chances," said Nuwama.

"I know Kerwin," said Guero. "Both these men have been in investigations for well over a decade."

"We aren't saying they had anything to do with it," argued Koch. "But they need to hand over whatever they have."

The others echoed similar sentiments.

"Please!" yelled Guero. "I agree," he said to quiet the others. "I will personally contact him about the graveness of his circumstance. For all we know, they are still out there working. If his answers don't satisfy me, then we'll sic the dogs on them."

"For now," said Koch, speaking over others who attempted to object, "we will interrogate the bodyguards and request a full report from the university."

"Madam, I understand our security concerns, but we can't hide like this for long," said Green. "It simply makes us look too weak."

"Agreed," said Koch. "We will give security two days to bolster our detail and patch any possible weak points, and then we will convene a session. Guero, I want both agents in front of us that day. We cannot tolerate this type of failure."

"Understood," Guero nodded.

* * *

"Congratulations," Terrence Blist boomed jovially. "You fucked up the first joint task between the university and Noxcorp. Do you know how many members of the vampire council have been assassinated now?"

Matthias and Frank sat across from Blist in his office. He kept the blinds open, and each person that passed by the windows would stop and stare for a minute, unashamed. They both looked at him with a weary and confused expression.

"One!" he yelled. "Ever! You made history, boys."

"We get it, sir," said Matthias.

"I don't care if you get it," said Blist. "The time for getting it is over. Truth is, you guys did good, solid work. Now you fucked it up. Why?"

"We were doing our jobs," argued Matthias. "She had three days head start on us. This is stupid."

"Shut it," Blist spat. "What were you doing that night, and where are your damn reports?"

"We had a false hit on her location, twice," said Frank. "It's not Wu's fault, but one of them took us far off course."

"You're bullshitting me," Blist accused, pointing his finger at Frank's nose. "It's clogging my goddamn nostrils." The captain stood. "I want a timeline, hour by hour, of where you were, on my desk by the end of the day. Then you're suspended."

"Fuck this," uttered Frank.

"Like permanently or what?" asked Matthias.

"The council has demanded a hearing to take place on Friday," he revealed. "I think you'd better hope the only thing they do is terminate your employment. Now, get out. We're done."

Blist turned to face the wall while the two agents slowly stood, looking at each other. Matthias led the way out, with Frank closing the door gently behind him. They walked back to Frank's desk, saying nothing. Matthias pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

"The fucking council," said Matthias.

"Yup," responded Frank. "Not good. Let's get this timeline ironed out."

"Why don't we just tell him?"

"Because fuck him," said Frank, glancing nervously around. "The council wants to talk to us, so we'll tell them. This whole thing is already fishy as fuck."

The agents messaged Wu, carefully collaborating on a false narrative that would sound least suspicious to their captain, while showing that they were dutiful investigators, arriving just a moment too late to save the councilman. This required accessing camera footage, contacting various storefronts and checking with the security department to ensure no reports that were filed contradicted their own account. The research and correspondence took hours.

They knew that Blist knew that they would be crafting a story. That was the corporate culture. Everyone protects themselves, even when it means they have to turn a blind eye to corruption and fraud. Blist would, of course, scrutinize the timeline, and nail them for even the slightest detected forgery of the facts, but the better they looked, the more protected he was from council wrath flowing from the bottom up.

Matthias could sometimes make out whispers as the rest of the office talked about the two agents. He ignored it, shutting it out while he waited for his shift to end. Frank grabbed his jacket and walked over to his partner.

"Come over to my place tomorrow," he said.

"What for?" gloomed Matthias.

"We have the day off. We can get shit-faced or do whatever we want," Frank said, hoping to entice.

"You're the one that didn't want anything to do with me."

"And yet, here we are," said Frank. "Maybe now you'd see I was right."

"You're always right, Frank," said Matthias, standing.

"Forget all the crap that comes out of my mouth, and just come over. Either my place or yours," he threatened.

"Christ, fine," Matthias relented, brushing past Frank, who grinned for a moment then went sour.

* * *

Blocks away from the apartment, Sandy could see the SUVs parked curbside. Corporate security and university security, both hoping to ensnare her. Thus far, she had resisted the temptation to sneak into the apartment, despite her worry. On the other hand, she was also putting herself in danger by not leaving the city.

Maybe tomorrow night, she thought. It would be dawn soon, and her movements would become harder to hide from eye-drones and cameras. She started walking back to the cabbie she had left waiting when she saw them; huge electronic billboards that flashed to life with her image. They emitted a loud ringing sound before a synthesized voice began the emergency announcement.

"Sandra Haulstein, wanted for murder. Armed and dangerous. Please report immediately to number nine-one-one. Sandra Haulstein..." the voice continued repeating.

After three repeats, the message stopped, and the billboards blinked back to their regular advertisements.

Crap, she thought. Can't take the cab back to the safe house. Can't go back to the safe house at all. Just wouldn't be smart. They will find it. Whoever blackmailed me will want me caught or dead. Her brain churned looking for a solution.

Sandy concentrated, invoking the energy of the Ether. She guided it over her facial features, shifting them about slightly. The mage was no sculptor, and the effect didn't make her look like anyone in particular, it just made her look different, hideous in fact. She tucked her hair under the back of her shirt and started walking. She held the com in her hand, the one given to her by the imposter. It was powered off. She decided to power it on, despite the possibility that it might allow the woman or her co-conspirators to track her down. Once on, she disabled its GPS antenna, hoping that was enough.

Looking at the camera monitoring app on the home screen, she had a curious thought. She clicked it open, but it was simply black. She looked at the contacts list, and only one number appeared. Sandra decided calling that number was a bad idea. She pulled up a mapper and projected it on the ground to show a large map of the city and where she currently was. After getting her bearings she searched for any outlet that provided support for com units.

The map plotted a path for her to follow. She now had a plan. And although the fugitive mage did not know if her plan was the right one, she knew she couldn't sit around and wait to be caught.

* * *

Matthias slumped deep into his couch. Once thick and firm, the seats had given under years of ass. Relaxing now required constant effort to avoid a crick in the back. He held the remote at the perfect angle above his head to begin his channel-surfing routine. His arm tired and he gave up when he reached a halfway decent flick.

The sound of hurried footsteps was followed by a young boy hopping up onto the sofa. Matthias had run out of energy to scold, and at this point anything that hurried the destruction of this particular piece of furniture was a good thing.

Words came out of Matthias's mouth, blurred and unintelligible, followed by the voice of the child, similarly distorted. Matthias stood, escaping the couch crater's gravity field with some effort. He moved from the small living room to the kitchen and swung open the door of a refrigerator. Inside was not only a plastic carton of milk, but strangely also the cereal to go with it. He pulled them both out and poured them both into a white bowl with a thin blue line of flower print around the outside.

While listening to the odd crackling sounds of cereal submerged in liquid, another door swung open, the one leading to the garage. The color of the kitchen faded away, and a woman appeared in the doorway. Her face was a smoothed-over gray ball without features. He could hear her voice, like a whisper in a breeze. For one quick moment, her face took form, and he saw a smile that he knew he had seen countless times before, and then it and her face were gone.

He reached for the bowl when he heard the sound of strange music. It was like someone wanted to make a song, but only had a drill and a dying cat as instruments. The volume increased and the kitchen began to shake violently. Like shards from broken glass, the scene tore apart and blackness engulfed him. But the awful music continued to grow louder, and somehow, much more enjoyable.

Matthias shook himself awake, his face jerking from side to side, slowly remembering who and where he was.

"Dammit," he muttered. The glorious tune was the ringtone from a com. He picked it up off the nightstand and looked at the number. A hexadecimal string gave the originating ID, but where a name would normally go, it just said 'Unknown.'

"Hello?" he asked in a scratchy, dry voice.

"Is this Matthias?" a woman asked.

"Is this an ad?" Matthias became agitated. "Do you know what time it is? Shit, what time is it?"

"No," she urged. "This is... someone you've been looking for."

"Oh, good, one of these calls," he replied. "I'm not paying for this."

"God dammit, I'm the fucking mage."

Still groggy, he wondered if such an aggressive tactic usually worked. Then he remembered. He pulled the com away from his ear, realizing it was not his own, but the one he had taken off the tripod at the recycling facility.

"Shit, couldn't you have been more vague? They might be listening!" he said in a harsh whisper.

"I tried to be!" she whispered back.

"I am not looking for you," he said. "My ass is a kebab thanks to you."

"I need help."

"You murdered a member of the Noxcorp board!"

"I had to," she said, no longer whispering. "Wait, the board?"

"Yes, and now heads have to roll. Turn yourself in, and maybe if you cooperate, you will be okay." Matthias shook his head as he spoke, knowing that was a fantasy.

"Oh my god," she said. "They will kill me. No matter what, they are going to kill me."

"I'm sorry," said Matthias. "I know about your mother."

"I know. You rescued her."

A feeling of pride tugged at the far reaches of Matthias's conscience. He moved the com away from his face and sighed. Putting it back, he said, "I recovered her, yes. And now I want to know who's behind this and why Hank was targeted."

"Hank," she repeated, having heard the name of her victim for the first time. "I don't know. They wouldn't tell me anything."

"I want the com you are speaking on," he stated.

"And you'll help me get leniency?"

"I can help you get out of the corp's jurisdiction," he offered.

"I won't last," she said, her voice breaking. "The cameras are everywhere. Everyone is looking now. It's only a matter of time."

Matthias could hear a muffled sob on the other end. Getting played like a fiddle, he thought. "There might be a way," he said. "But you have to help make this right."

"What do I have to do?"

* * *

Frank Kerwin woke up late, real late. Despite the plan to begin drinking heavily with Matthias, he had gotten the party started early, as in right after work. He peeled his parched lips apart as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Frank flung an arm off the bed in the general direction of a small end table. His fingers walked over used tissues and bumped into a beer bottle before finding their target. They pressed down onto the small, flat bag, testing the viscosity of the plasma contained inside. Satisfied, he pulled it off the table and squeezed the blood of questionable age into his mouth. He groaned. The taste had never appealed to him, and this blood was particularly foul.

If nothing else, the disgust woke him up. The human grogginess wore off quickly, and the vampiric strength took over. Frank went quickly to the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water, chugged half of it, then swished some around in his mouth and spat it into the sink.

Frank's apartment in the city was about half the size of his apartment in Dodge at twice the price, but it at least looked like it had been renovated within the last thirty years. He wasn't sure if the new minimalist sterile look was an improvement over warm tones and fixtures that weren't recessed everywhere.

He turned on the lights and started throwing trash into a pile and clothing inside the bedroom. He messaged Matthias: Got some drinks left, come on over whenever.

"TV on, TV on, TV on," he repeated, knowing that eventually, it would respond. "Sports, sports, sports," he continued. Sure, he thought, I could have paid a hundred more for one that worked, but this was a steal. He looked at the lineup of sporting events and picked the most popular one, the mixed martial arts channel.

He put out some v-liquids with various effects, mostly hallucinogens and genuine THC, and set them upright as a centerpiece on his small dining table. I'll bake some cookies, he thought. That will blow his fucking noggin.

He spent a few minutes wiping grime off his bathroom toilet and started wondering to himself how he had gotten the place so filthy so quickly.

Matthias messaged him back: Sure, be there in an hour. Frank opened a bag of chips and some dip, and threw a six-pack of beer into a cooler. His com beeped again. He sat down on a small leather sofa that came with the place and looked at the com. The message read: Logfile Analysis.

Frank felt around for his vaper, but it wasn't in his pockets. He stood and traced his steps back to the dining room where he left it. He puffed for a minute while his fingers shook slightly and gazed toward his blacked-out window before slowly walking back to the couch.

The Noxcorp agent, or former agent depending on your level of optimism, had sweet-talked a network admin into handing over log files of outbound traffic. He sent off the file to an IT nerd from Dodge, and that nerd had sent back an analysis.

Frank didn't want to open the file, but he needed to. His fingers clutched the com while his thumb clumsily swiped it open. He flicked on video sync and the heavily commented spreadsheet displayed on his large-screen. He filtered for the university databases address, then for Malloy. Both lists of requests came from the same Noxcorp intranet address.

"Gotcha, bitch."

* * *

Matthias spent the first half of his night off switching between relaxing and chores and beating a punching bag. In the middle of grocery shopping, Jaxi sent him a message with an attachment labeled 'blueprints.' Matthias put his com away and continued strolling the aisles. He knew eventually Frank would bug him, so he grabbed some steaks before leaving. The camera on the cart recorded each item and had already scanned the vampire's fingerprint, allowing him to skip the lone checkout line.

Once at Frank's, he felt a little sorry for him, having a flat half the size of his condo. He wondered if their pay differed that greatly or if the housing market had gotten rougher. They gave each other a tentative handshake upon greeting.

"Have a seat, man," said Frank, slapping Matthias on the shoulder. "Let's see, I got lots of goodies. You feel like anything, just grab it. Want a beer?"

"Got any fizz?"

"Oh come on," said Frank. "Don't call it that. I got some Coke cans around here somewhere though." He reached into the back of the fridge and brought back a can for his only guest.

"Do these still expire?" asked Frank.

"Yes."

"Cheers anyhow."

Matthias noticed the fights on the TV. He watched for a moment, catching himself overanalyzing the moves and countermoves of what appeared to be low-ranking combatants.

"You know, I did this for a little while," he revealed.

"What, cage fighting? No shit?"

"Yup," Matthias nodded.

"When you were human?" asked Frank.

"Nah. For a while, there was a nocturnal league."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay, I remember hearing something about that. I was never that big into the sport," said Frank.

"It didn't last long. Council outlawed it."

"You any good?"

"I coulda been a contenda'," Matthias said, imitating Marlon Brando. "I was good, as far as vampires went. Never a champ, though."

Frank laughed.

"So what did you get up to before going corporate?" asked Matthias.

"Just before I turned, I didn't do much. This was after the collapse. But before that, I had been in construction for a long time, and when everything went to shit, all construction halted. Even after the corp conferences," he said. "After I turned, I knew I couldn't go back to that job anyway. I joined Noxcorp real quick."

Matthias avoided the next question, and instead watched the fight in progress.

"Want a vape?" Frank offered, hoping he wouldn't be getting high alone.

"Sure," said Matthias. "Got one with weed?"

"Hell yes I do," he replied.

Matthias took long, slow puffs of the THC-infused vapor until he felt weightless. Perhaps not completely, but close. He knew it wouldn't last long with their metabolism, but it was nice while it did.

Frank followed suit. He took a puff of the psilocybin liquid, then followed it with the weed, then chugged his beer. He wasn't sure what he wanted to feel like, but he knew it wasn't his current state.

They continued watching the fights. Frank even pretended to be interested in the action. Matthias recognized a couple of the fighters while fairly confident he could take them.

The two began to bitch about work. Namely about the raw deal they got with the mage case. Both danced around their own suspicions, and the complaints became more nebulous and spiraled out to include past cases and annoying coworkers.

"We shoulda done this way back," said Frank.

"I'm just not a people person," Matthias replied.

"Sure you are," argued Frank. "You're alright."

"Thanks."

"I had you pegged all wrong," gushed Frank.

"How's that?"

"I thought you were just another walking corpse. Thought you cared about blood, sleep, and little else."

"Well, what else is there?" Matthias joked.

"To some of us, not much."

"You're a self-hating nocturnal?" asked Matthias.

"No, not myself, just most the others."

"Hmm," said Matthias, his curiosity piqued. "Tell me."

"What?"

"What's the story? You must have a good reason."

"For one, it's just obvious," said Frank.

"I hear it in your voice," said Matthias. "There's a specific reason."

"It has to do with my turning," said Frank. Vampires didn't often talk about how they came to be. It was semi-taboo, as it marked a time when they were weak-willed, greedy, or were taken advantage of.

"I'll tell you something about me," said Matthias. "And I already told you about my failed fighting career."

"Alright, it better be good," said Frank.

"It's not good," replied Matthias. "But it is embarrassing."

"Good enough," began Frank. "So I sought out vampires after the restructure. Pretty much as soon as Noxcorp published that paper about nocturnals. At the time things were a little weird, and it was a weird thing for a guy to want, given the state of things. But I really wanted it, or thought I did. I was told some guys would help me out."

Frank sighed, taking a drink of his fourth beer of the night. "Sure enough, they gave me what I wanted. But then they tortured me... because to them, the change hadn't quite taken. I still looked human. They wanted to play with me, see if I'd heal or not. Cuts and bruises became a game, and they played it for a long time."

"Jesus," remarked Matthias. "They didn't kill you at least."

"No," said Frank. "They didn't kill me. I killed them. All four of the sadistic bastards."

"Shit," said Matthias.

"Yeah."

"Fuck those guys," said Matthias. He felt his head start to clear. "You feel guilty about it?"

"Nah," he said. "They had it coming."

"Don't we all." Matthias closed his eyes, relaxing as his body began to sink back into the couch.

Frank nudged him on the shoulder. "Your turn," he said. "Tell me something interesting. Like how'd you end up so damn pale?"

"You know, there's got to be a reason, right?" pondered Matthias. "Why do some of us seem more or less... removed."

"Removed," Frank echoed. "That's not a bad way to put it."

Frank readjusted his position, putting one leg on the couch to turn toward Matthias.

"But really, what's your story?"

"Frank, I never tell people certain things."

"First time's a charm for everything," said Frank. "It was some woman wasn't it?"

"No," said Matthias, hesitating. "What I mean is, I don't know. I don't actually know how it happened."

"Psh, you're just bullshitting me now," Frank remarked, turning away and puffing on a vaper.

"Have no memory of it whatsoever."

Frank put his fist to his mouth and coughed. "So like you woke up and you were a vampire, or had bite marks? How fucked up were you?"

"I can't believe I'm telling you this," said Matthias. "The answer to every question is going to be: I don't know."

"Well didn't you have some friends to tell you what happened?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

"I don't—"

"Stop," ordered Frank. "I get it. What do you know? And don't say: I don't know."

"There's a gap in my memory," Matthias explained. "I'm not sure how big it is, but based on dates I can remember from before and shortly after, it's about ten years."

"Just gone?"

"Completely blank."

"Holy shit," said Frank. "You searched... records and things right?"

"Oh yeah," he answered. "Some of my records had been deleted by either myself or someone pretending to be me. The collapse complicated things. The trail went cold, and after a while, I gave up."

"You try hypnosis?"

"I tried everything."

Frank leaned back, looking toward the TV. "Shit, that beats my story."

"Well don't fucking spread it around," said Matthias.

"No worries, mate."

"Mate?" asked Matthias.

"Fucking Wu," said Frank. "Love the way that bloke talks." He stood and leaned backward to stretch. "I gotta piss."

"When you get back," said Matthias. "We need to talk about the case."

* * *

"This failure reflects poorly on us all," said James Miller, a gaunt figure in a business suit and the chair of the Mage Enforcement security council. "Noxcorp funds us, and despite the mage pact, they can make our lives very difficult."

"Yes, sir," said Charles.

The other members of the council remained silent as Miller continued. "They've asked us to turn over everything. Most of it they could have accessed any time they wanted, but such a request makes us vulnerable. We have not complied yet, but it's clear we will have to eventually."

"Yes, sir."

"They will likely come for you, and who knows. They may decide they want their own people on our council," Miller said, gesturing toward the other councilmen. "Who are we to deny such a request? One of their own, slain by one of ours."

Wu nodded.

"I convened this hearing so that you could explain why you have not submitted a report, and to detail fully how you allowed this heinous act to transpire," accused Miller.

"Sir," said Wu. "I know why I have been called before you, but I don't think this is productive." This evoked indignation and eye rolls from council members. "While we are held accountable," he continued, "we are vulnerable. You want to preserve our autonomy, and there's only one way to do that."

"Just give us your damn report," yelled Councilwoman Lewis.

Miller placed his hand flat on the table, silencing her. He looked at Wu. "We are the council, you the warden," he replied. "Your belligerence and insubordination are marks against you. That being said, what are you proposing?"

* * *

Sandra slept until the housekeeper banged on the door. She ignored it and immediately rolled off the bed onto her hands. The mage straightened her body into a handstand and closed her eyes. She strained to focus, moving her weight slowly forward. She curled her fingers in, then her thumbs, and then pushed herself up off her palms and onto her fingertips. Again, Sandy shifted her weight slightly and her thumbs lifted off the shallow carpet. Her fingertips were bent backward now at the final joint. Slowly they straightened until she rested on the tips of her middle fingers.

The strain had caused her vision to blot out in spots, but she felt motivated to push herself today. She had gotten too comfortable with her daily routine, and needed to prove that she could be what she aspired to.

When her vision started to falter, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Then she felt it. The pain of sustaining the move, on her body, on her fingers, on her mind, eased. One more push, she thought. Held up mostly by the power of the Ether, Sandra pushed upward, as if gripping the air around her. Her tips lifted from the floor, and she closed her hands into fists. Joy overtook her, and adrenaline coursed through her veins. She lifted higher until she floated a half meter in the air.

Exhausted, she lowered quickly, catching herself on her fists and folding her body and landing on her feet. Sandra relaxed onto the floor, a tear from her eye joining the sweat under her face. She lay on her stomach, soaking in her accomplishment and resting.

Fifteen minutes later, she shook the fog away, dressed in the same clothes she'd been wearing since the escape, washed once but still stained and torn, and left the motel without checking out. After all, she was not the one who checked in. She altered her face again as she left. Her hair was now cut and dyed, and she wore sunglasses to hide her eyes. It would be enough, for now, to prevent camera identification. She hailed a cab and directed it to a small shopping center.

Being outside the confines of the university was a stressful, frightening experience for Sandra at first. The cars and buildings and people were all a blur as she tried desperately to focus only on getting from point A to B. But today, things were almost tranquil. Sandy's spirit proved to be irrepressible, buoyed by Matthias's words.

The stress over the previous night's events and the fear of the future abated, at least temporarily, as the wonders of the bustling city filled her mind. Of course, she'd seen plenty of it on TV and through pictures, but being out in the middle of it, hearing it, smelling it, was a unique experience that TV streams couldn't capture.

The dread that had weighed her down lifted, and she felt free of her prison. And even though she knew it would be fleeting, she felt truly happy. I could get used to this, she thought whimsically. Where others saw smog, she felt a breeze, and where others saw overcrowding, she saw life. Where the people hurried to their jobs feeling oppressed, she saw the opportunity to both succeed or fail.

Sandy decided she needed new clothes. Having not been in an actual clothing store since childhood, it felt odd. She didn't know how to find what she wanted, or what end of the store to start at. Her eyes scanned racks near and far before she relented and started pacing methodically through the women's section.

Her current attire, besides being a wreck, was also bulkier than she wanted. The weather was warm, and she wanted maximum mobility. She looked through the swimwear, examining the bikinis. Tempting, she thought. She continued looking, eventually settling on a white tank top, sports bra, and short yellow shorts.

Sandy looked at her feet and the casual sneakers she wore. They were beat up horribly, and one had a large tear. She needed replacements, but as she browsed the women's footwear, it was clear that the options were impractical. There were sneakers, but she wanted something more rugged.

Moving to the men's section, she still didn't see much more than sneakers and dress shoes. She considered a form-fitting gel. It would break apart, but at least then the force of her feet would be free to strike accurately.

She glanced around and noticed the men's work footwear in an adjacent section. Large black boots of various sizes and designs. Steel toe and steel sole, she noted, were relatively cheap and would hold up adequately. Sandy continued browsing, eventually discovering boots tenfold more expensive than the rest. What the hell? she wondered.

She read the label. "Graphene web lining, compressed graphene sole and toe, kevlar upper." It had a fancy chart showing the amount of pressure per square centimeter required to collapse various work boots. This one made the outlandish claim that it could hold up under two hundred times the weight that a steel-toed boot would. Not to mention the lifetime guarantee that the sole would never break.

Once she determined that it would only barely exhaust the remaining funds bequeathed by Matthias, she looked for her size. The numbers didn't match up at all with women's sizes, but she found one close enough and it fit well, so she grabbed them and some socks, and immediately tied them on tightly. She put on the rest of her clothes and left her old threads in the changing room.

Her outfit was now complete, almost. Sandra marched a block down to the Walmarzon pickup center. This last item was not something found on a rack. It might be found down the aisle of a sporting goods shop, but even that was doubtful. Instead, it would have to be droned in from a distribution center after ordering the night before.

When she arrived at the pickup, a lone customer attendant stood on watch behind a counter in an otherwise lifeless building filled with crates, pallets, and boxes. Her com shook hands with the fulfillment system, alerting the attendant of the box to hand over. The attendant visibly grimaced at the sight of the mage's unfortunately asymmetrical face.

Sandy opened the box on the spot to make sure it was there. That it was all there. She checked her com to review the timetable. Still time to kill, she thought.

Famished, she hailed another cab and consulted with the cabbie on the absolute best place to try if you were, say, a tourist to the area. She turned down the first three ideas due to price exceeding her remaining money.

"Ever had barbecue?" he asked. "Like, real barbecue?"

"Never even had fake barbecue," she remarked.

"I know just the place," he said. "I'm hungry, too. You don't like it, I will pay for it. But you will. Everybody does."

* * *

Nat, Lena, and Drot huddled near the water cooler, slacking off as much as possible at the end of the day. Lena would be one of the last out the door to ensure the security guards arrived on schedule.

"The Jayhawks played like ass last night," complained Nat.

"I didn't watch," said Drot. "Twerking With The Stars was on."

"Oh Jesus," said Lena.

"Don't cross out," said Drot. "They tried one with men."

"Well ya, no one wants to see that," said Lena.

"Been doin' that a lot," said Nat.

"What?" asked Drot.

"Doing opposite gender shows when they know they'll fail."

"Oh here we go," sighed Drot.

"Check your privilege, twerky perv," said Nat, causing Lena to guffaw.

"Hey now," warned Drot. "You're a guy!"

"Not a twerky perv overprivileged one," Nat retorted.

Lena started to speak when she heard a commotion coming from the main office. It sounded like men arguing.

"What's going on out there?" she said, walking out of the break room. In the office, she saw a squad of armed men shutting all the window blinds. One of them dragged a night watchman with him by his shirt collar. His face was streaked with sweat and had a deathly pallor. Lena knew he had to be a vampire. It was barely dusk, she realized. He must have taken a shielded vehicle to one of the garages. He pointed a handgun at the guard's head.

"Check with whoever you need to, then evacuate with the civvies. Do you understand? I'm not paid to fuck around with you rent-a-cops."

"Y-yes," the guard answered. "I understand."

"Good," replied the squad leader. He raised his gun above his head and fired. The sound echoed off the walls, sending a shock through Lena's skull.

"Listen up!" the man yelled. "Malloy has hired the fine gentlemen of Caliber to handle your security this evening. In order to facilitate this request," he eloquently announced, "everyone must leave now.

"Because we fear for your safety," he continued, "until the situation is resolved, senior staff including project managers and researchers will be temporarily relocated to one of our fortified buildings," he explained among murmurs from the crowd of employees gathering in the room. "Because you contain in your heads sensitive information protected by nondisclosure agreements, Caliber employees have been authorized to use force in order to ensure compliance. Let's not let it come to that."

Lena swallowed. Somehow she felt this was her doing. Members of the mercenary squad spread out and started corralling staff to the elevators and stairs, checking their badges to properly sort them into keep and discard groups. Lena, Drot, and Nat quietly followed orders and moved into line.

Lena had tried to have it both ways, but as her mind raced to get a handle on the events unfolding, she realized she had to pick a side. That meant sending out a quick message and hoping the recipient, who had never met Lena, would understand it.

##

## Episode 12: Perspective

At the tail end of dusk, around the condo she circled thrice, as instructed by the only person Sandra had trusted since escaping the confines of the university. When she was sure that no one was watching his place, she quickly vaulted the steps and entered a small waiting room with nine doors on three sides. Each wall had a door to stairs up, to stairs down, and to a hallway. A camera stared at her and a man's face appeared on a screen hanging from the ceiling.

She gave him the fake name that Matthias had told her to use, and he buzzed her into one of the doors that led down a flight of stairs. At the end was a wooden door. Sandy relaxed, letting her face settle into its natural shape. She knocked and the door flew open. A hand reached out, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her inside.

As Matthias shut the door, Sandra got her first look at the vampire. Pale, she thought, but handsome. His strength and speed intimidated her. Without any enchantments upon her body, she was frail, human.

The plan was to pull her inside quickly, but when Matthias saw the girl standing outside of his door, the cogs in his brain ground to a halt for a moment while he processed what he was looking at. She stood a few inches shorter than Matthias, with red hair trimmed shorter than her picture. Her face was somehow brighter than the image Blist had shown. She wore a tank top and a skimpy pair of shorts. In one hand she held a plastic bag with a round bulge.

As he pulled her inside, her muscles reacted. Matthias saw the full length of her arms and most of her legs. She was idyllically lean, with no space wasted on fat. Her skin pulled tight against toned muscles, and he could see their movement perfectly as she flexed. Waves rose out of her shoulders and forearms as they moved, then just as quickly they receded. When she came to a rest inside the doorway, her body became deceptively smooth.

The door whooshed past her body, rustling her clothes before slamming against the stop and latching shut. For an awkward moment, they stood and stared at each other, his hand still on her wrist.

His senses returned. "Was anyone watching? Were you followed?"

"No," she answered. "I was careful."

"Okay," said Matthias. "First rule. No magicky shit in here."

"Right," she nodded. Sandy tugged her arm, and Matthias looked down and realized he still had ahold of her. He let go, leaving a rosy mark.

"Shit, sorry," he said.

"It's okay."

He reached past her and closed the deadbolt. Sandy smelled cologne as he moved close, and felt disappointed as he moved back.

Matthias pinched between his eyes and paced away from the rogue mage. He lowered his hand, looked at her again, then away, muttering incomprehensibly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, stepping toward him. "You are Matthias, right?" Sandy felt a tinge of paranoia.

"No, I mean yes," he corrected. "I'm Matthias, but I'm not okay with this. Any of this."

"Why, what—?"

Matthias folded his arms and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Was just supposed to be a simple case. Just gets more fucked every day," he whispered to himself in a near panic.

Sandra slowly moved toward him.

"Do you know what would happen if corpsec broke the door down right now?" he said.

"You are the one I overheard at the place," she said softly.

"The Waste Management building? How much did you hear?"

"Enough," she said, placing her left foot partially between his shoes.

Part of him wanted to step back, but the other part wouldn't let him. Her eyes held him captive, and her slow approach was almost hypnotic.

"You saved my mother," she said with a gentle grin. Her heels left the floor so that she was eye level with the vampire. She leaned into him, placing her lips gently on his, and waited for his response.

Her lips were warm butter melding into his. He opened his mouth to let her in. She slid her tongue against his. It tasted faintly of cola and barbecue. Sandy pulled him closer with a handful of his shirt in one hand. Matthias let out a short moan as her other hand slid behind his neck and under his hair. He shuddered in ecstasy, feeling a little embarrassed at the same time.

This is wrong, he thought. Why is this wrong? A wave of calm enveloped Matthias, and he opened his eyes. He felt something. Lust, yes. Admiration, perhaps. Guilt? There it was, he realized. He knew not where it came from, but he felt a sense of guilt. Not from taking advantage of her advances or situation, but somewhere deeper.

His hands that had been sneaking toward the bottom hem of her tank top rerouted to her shoulders, gently pushing her back. She relinquished control of his mouth and relaxed onto her heels. He looked into her eyes; neither knew what to say. She looked down, blushing.

"Thank you," he said. "I think I needed that."

She grinned without looking up.

"But now I need to focus on the plan. We both do." He backed away as if facing a live explosive poised to go off at the slightest vibration. Matthias moved to the dining room table and took a seat. His furnishings were minimalist but elegant. The table was a rounded rectangle of glass with no markings, and the chairs were brushed metal supports with wooden seats and backs painted black. He motioned to another chair, and Sandy obeyed, sitting beside him, still flush.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her timidness waning.

"In a few hours, I'm due over at Frank's. I've got to convince him to go along with all this."

"What is all this?"

Matthias's fingers tapped the glass tabletop. "We have to get evidence that Malloy or even Noxcorp was part of a conspiracy. Hard evidence. We have to take enough people down so that you look like small fish," he explained. "Even better, Frank, Wu, and me all give you a glowing report card on helping us unravel the conspiracy. You look like a victim who risked her life to atone. Between me and Frank, we can convince them if we pull this off."

Sandra nodded along with what he said until she heard the name Wu, then her head froze in place, waiting for Matthias to finish.

"Don't bring Wu into this," she said. "He'll never go along with it. He might even sabotage me."

"We need all the help we can get, but I can't just go out recruiting people," he argued. "Wu knows what we've been dealing with. If he doesn't want to come, that's fine, but he has to know that crossing us just to get to you would end very badly for him."

Sandy shook her head. "They are trained, conditioned, to think of us as less than human, so that when the time comes they can kill a rogue like me."

"I won't let that happen," said Matthias. "Now," he exhaled. "You need to wait here until I message you. Rest, help yourself to whatever you need, do whatever you have to do to prepare."

"What am I preparing for?"

Matthias stood, then leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. "The people that have what we need won't give it up easily, and possibly not without a fight."

"I don't want to hurt anyone."

Matthias frowned. He found it difficult to imagine her killing the councilman. "Nor do I," he said. "I didn't want to kill the men that kidnapped your mother. Sometimes that's the only choice we have out in the world."

"There's always another choice," she countered.

Matthias nodded. "Yes. Well, now you know what they are. I'm going to try to give us a third option, and see if interested parties would be willing to hand over or trade the information we need."

He walked to the door, then looked back at her, still sitting in the chair. She turned to him.

"Lock this after I've gone," he advised. "And don't open it for anyone."

She nodded, stood, and watched him leave.

* * *

Matthias parked two full kilometers from the Malloy Inc, LLC building. He slipped from shadow to shadow, staying out of view of its cameras. They wouldn't be quick enough to identify him from this distance. His com became a telescope by utilizing a lens on the front and back, allowing him to examine windows, doors, the grounds, and the rooftops. He didn't just surveil their building, but the ones nearby as well.

He hid on the far side of a building several blocks away and projected the blueprints that Jaxi had provided. Thus far he had spotted no movement inside or outside of the building. A few lights were on, probably to accommodate the late shift. No men on roofs, and only two plain-looking sedans in the small lot. He could not see inside the lower garage detailed on the blueprints.

Those sketches provided the layouts of the floors but little else. No watchmen movements, no electronic information, and no labels to help find the important offices. Matthias decided it was time to get a look from a higher building, one that would let him see any hidden snipers. The only building in range that would be accessible was the Hotel Jasmine.

The Jasmine was an older upscale hotel with gold-plating on everything and a gaudy chandelier hanging in the lobby. Matthias decided to enter legitimately rather than sneak around, and so he flashed his ID at the night attendant.

"Hi there," he said. "Mind if I use your roof to check out another building?"

"Sure, I guess," said the lady. "I'll call down Gus. He can take you."

"Thanks."

Several minutes later, an older man with brown skin, gray hair, and a big potbelly stepped out of the elevator. The attendant explained Matthias's request, evoking a confused look but a nod of compliance as well.

The view from the top was breathtakingly beautiful. There were few buildings in the city taller, and from this vantage, Matthias could look out over the entire city. Lights filled his vision like a giant Christmas tree. Hundreds of small rectangular billboards animated almost in concert, as if talking to one another. Cars whirred along the roads, their electronic hums inaudible. Only the half who still had combustion engines could be discerned. A breeze that didn't exist at ground level whooshed past Matthias's delicate ears. On the horizon, a dim orange glow still escaped. The sun's final farewell for the evening. Its sight made Matthias nervous, but he felt not its ill effects.

His eyes centered on the Malloy building, and he again utilized his com's powerful video magnification at ninety-six megapixels of resolution and sixteen times optical zoom. The low-light enhancement was perhaps the weak point, only helping brighten the image slightly while creating substantial noise on the image.

Even so, he could see clearly all nearby rooftops and their very boring contents. Unless someone was hiding behind the small stairwell egress that protruded on its roof, then everything appeared normal at Malloy.

He thanked Gus and left the hotel. The air at the bottom somehow felt stagnant and Matthias felt slightly claustrophobic with the buildings surrounding him again. He pulled up the number for Malloy's corporate relations contact. They wouldn't like being bothered at night, but it had to be done.

Before he could send the call, another one came in. It said 'Unknown.' Matthias answered.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Matthias," spoke a woman's voice. "I don't get to be a part of cloak-and-dagger games very often, so this is kind of exciting."

"Who is this?"

"That's no fun," she said, her voice vaguely familiar. "But I think you'll figure it out on your own."

"What do you want?"

"Eventually, what I want to know is everything, but right now I think it's better if I don't," she mused. "You must be deep in the shit to be attempting a corporate raid without telling anyone."

"Whoa, now, let's not throw crazy words around," said Matthias.

The woman on the other end laughed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was drinking a bit before a little bird told me about all this. A very scared little bird."

Matthias sighed. "Are you going to blow this for me? Is that what this is?"

"I'm afraid it's already blown, dear," she said in a grave tone. "Caliber is waiting for you."

"How do you know?"

"For what it's worth, my money's on you. See you soon."

The call ended.

"What... the fuck." Matthias strained to place the voice. Familiar as it was, it eluded him.

Matthias called the corporate relations office and was placed on hold. Twenty minutes later, the senior relations officer joined the call.

"Hello, Matthias, this is Randall Leeds, the SRO. What can I do for you?"

"Hey, Randall. Noxcorp is doing an internal investigation, and we believe you might have some records at your office that would be pertinent."

"Uh huh."

"And I was hoping I could visit your offices tonight, copy some files, and get out of your hair," pitched Matthias.

"Sure, Matthias," said Randall. "Maybe we could schedule something for next week."

"Sorry, Randall, it's got to be tonight."

"Uh huh. Yeah. What's the rush, Matthias?"

"Well, you see, Randall, I don't want to get fired because I neglected to collect some files for a week and they suddenly went missing. That would be really unfortunate."

"Mmm. I see. Well, you have nothing to worry about," he replied. "We take information security very seriously, including daily audits of file changes."

"Randall?"

"Uh huh."

"Work with me here. Let's do this tonight."

"I'm really sorry, Matthias. Thing is, this is short notice. Maybe I could bump you up to a couple days from now and—"

"Randall!"

"Uh huh?"

"Under corporate hierarchy agreements, the top-level corp has access to subordinate data whenever it wants. On demand."

"Mm Hmm." Randall continued to keep his cool. "Matthias, no judiciary committee has ever upheld that quite so strictly. Also, one little wrinkle is that I'm not actually talking to Noxcorp. As far as I can tell you aren't in a position to invoke that article. Maybe you could get an official order?"

"Come on, Randall," Matthias scoffed. "What's the problem? Hey, what are you doing right now that you can't be bothered to come help me sort this out for thirty minutes? Eh?"

"I just think we should follow protocol," he said.

"No one else does," said Matthias. "Let me put it to you this way. You help me out here, and when something turns up that is mayyyyybe questionable, you can be considered immune from obstruction or accessory. That's a pretty generous deal for a few minutes of your time."

"Mr. Trent, are you threatening me?"

"Not yet, Randall."

Randall sighed. "Well, I don't know what could be so important. Maybe you can send me a list of file names?"

"Randall, I need you to focus," said Matthias. "Noxcorp will get the files, one way or another. When we do, things won't be so easy anymore. If the files are missing or tampered with, things won't be easy at all."

Randall was quiet for a moment. "Fine, Matthias. Where do you want to meet up?"

"You're the man, Randall!" Matthias said exuberantly. "I will wait for you at your main office. I'm in a silver truck parked along the street."

"Okay, Matthias. I will be there in a few." The pep in Randall's voice had drained. He disconnected the call.

"What a dick," Matthias exclaimed. There was in fact a silver truck parked nearby, but it didn't belong to Matthias, and he certainly wasn't going to be inside of it. He moved behind an adjacent building and waited, keeping the truck in view. Less than a minute later, Matthias saw a shadowy figure move into view from behind the Malloy building. A second man peeked out from a rear service door.

He watched as the first man walked up to the truck and pointed a flashlight into one of the windows. Matthias could see the bulge of a vest under his dress shirt and the butt of a pistol at his side. The man walked around the lot, checking the other cars, then swung the light around the area before giving up and walking back out of view.

"That son of a bitch," remarked Matthias. He thought of the call warning him, and it finally occurred to him who it sounded like.

"Nah," he said, dismissing the thought that the chairwoman of Noxcorp herself had called him half-sloshed to deliver an anonymous warning. Time to go, he thought. Could use a drink myself.

* * *

"Com, music," Sandra Haulstein demanded of the panel recessed into the wall next to Matthias's love seat. "Music, list. List, sort by recent." She browsed songs, artists, and dates. "List down, list down, list down." The screen responded by scrolling downward through the nocturnal's recent playlist.

The hip-hop era, she thought, nodding sagely as she noticed many of the dates ranging from the turn of the century to the twenties. She puzzled at the names, having not heard of any of them, despite a familiarity with the big acts from those decades.

"Music, play 'In the Dark'," she ordered.

What came out of Matthias's archaic-looking box-woofers was not what she expected. A guitar played dissonant notes that came to a compromise on where to take a simple melody and was quickly joined by percussion. Deep thumping created a strange pattern rather than the regular low beats used in most other music she had heard. Loud cymbals punctuated every repetition of the song's patterns.

"Volume down, down down!" she hastily commanded. A man's voice began the first verse, and Sandra tittered. What a strange way to rap, she thought, as the singing continued. The words came slowly as if oozing from the speakers. Sandra shrugged and started rummaging through her host's things. Having lived a life where nothing was truly hers, and cogs in the system were free to violate her privacy at will, she had learned little respect for personal property.

The vampire had a few old books and disc media as conversation pieces. Sandra pulled out drawers from a small desk opposite the couch and looked through touch-drives, nondescript pieces of plastic of various shapes with small metal contacts on one end. She found a few photos, some documents, but nothing grabbed her attention.

Haulstein wanted to know more about him, her mother's savior, her hero. Judging by the music, he had been alive since before the collapse, yet he seemed to have no memoirs or documents from that time. Frustrated, she closed the drawers.

She went back to the console, the music still playing. The pattern changed as the song began its chorus. "Volume up," she said, beginning to nod along with the beat. Strange, she thought. Sort of like noisy doomsynth. "Up," she repeated.

Sandra stepped cautiously into Matthias's bedroom, and it finally dawned on her that maybe he wouldn't want someone learning things about him he wanted to keep secret. She thought of her morning practices. Overwhelmed with curiosity, she crept toward his closet while eyeing his bed, pushing erotic fantasy from her mind.

The room was dark and windowless, and the closet moreso. Sandra felt around inside the closet, pressing her finger against a light switch. Her hands slid down his shirt sleeves and felt his pant legs. She leaned in, smelling the same cologne as before, remnants clinging to the fabrics. "Who are you?" she wondered. The mage stepped back and shook her head. "Enough of this," she whispered. "I have things to do."

* * *

"The case," said Frank, flopping onto the couch. "Listen, Matthias, don't worry about the fucking case tonight, alright?"

"I know you probably don't give a shit about your career with Noxcorp, but I'm not going out without a fight," said Matthias. "We can expose this thing, whatever it is. Malloy made Jester, right?"

"Matthias, come on, man."

"Malloy ordered the v-band that Haulstein used to escape."

"Yes."

"Corpsec found a silver syringe and an unused tab of Jester at the scene of Laudinour's murder," continued Matthias.

"I get it," said Frank. "Malloy had the old man killed to protect themselves."

"Exactly."

"But Malloy isn't the real culprit," said Frank. "So just let me handle things tomorrow."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Matthias demanded.

"Why would Malloy go to such lengths just to protect some street drug?"

Matthias shook his head.

"I didn't think so," said Frank. "Dammit, Matthias. Do you know how hard it is for me to even be here?"

"What are we talking about, now?" said Matthias, shifting in his seat.

"You think I just packed up my things from a cozy job I barely had to do, in a small town I'd known for most of my life, to move up here with a bunch of pretentious jackasses and a council breathing down my neck?"

Matthias tilted his head to the side. "When you frame it like that..."

"The answer is no."

"What are you holding on to?" said Matthias. "Just level with me."

"Remember that asshole, Leperd?" asked Frank.

Matthias nodded. "Uh huh."

"Well, I bit him," said Frank. "I drank his blood. I focused, and I swam around in his head. It was quick, but I know what I saw. Terrence Blist."

"You think you saw Blist in the biker's memory when you have never seen shit from drinking blood before?" scoffed Matthias.

"I concentrated and I saw him. They were talking shop, making a deal."

"You blame him for Lucy."

"He's got a lot to account for, I'd wager," said Frank. "But Lucy is enough for me. You can't understand. Every day I think about her alive, then I think about her body lying on the floor lifeless. Every day."

"Let's say I don't think you've lost your mind," said Matthias. "How does this help us tomorrow?"

"I came here to take him down," said Frank. "I knew he was dirty. I waited and I watched and I waited some more. I said goodbye to everything I knew to get my revenge, and nothing is going to stop me." Frank's voice had steadily increased in volume as he spoke. He stopped and exhaled, then puffed on a THC vaper while Matthias coldly stared.

"Everyone makes mistakes," he continued. "It's the first thing they tell you in those cheesy training videos. Blist is no exception. If you are going to blackmail a mage, you've got to find a mage. I got ahold of the network logs, and Blist's terminal was used to access the university servers before the escape."

"Really?" asked Matthias, scratching his chin.

"Tomorrow, I'll hand over the logs. Guero trusts me. He'll dig into Blist's com records, vehicle GPS, everything."

"You kept me in the dark," said Matthias. "How many times did you lie to me, mislead me?"

"You've been here a while," explained Frank. "Been under his thumb. I couldn't risk it. I lied when I had to, but I didn't come here to toy with you. And I respect you, a hell of a lot more than when we first met in Dodge. It's why I wanted us separated. I could see my noose tightening around his flabby neck, and didn't want to get you involved."

Matthias stood and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Frank took a swig of his beer. After a minute, Matthias reappeared. He stood next to the table, staring at the vaper liquid bottles. He should be angry, maybe throw some things, bang on the table. It wouldn't be the first time getting angry lately. In particular, Frank had been good at pushing his buttons despite the vampiric calm. But he felt nothing, just emptiness. Like a sailor on a lifeboat with nothing but water on the horizon. Instead, his brain chugged away calculating responses, events, chains of custody for the evidence Frank intended to present. He thought of Sandra, and how a quick fix like this would not help her.

"It's not enough," he said.

"Sure it is."

"Just think about it," said Matthias. "He's going to be working as hard to cover his ass as you are to expose it. You come to the council with this, it's just too loose. Where's the connection to Malloy? So what if Blist looked at some mage records?"

"He has no fucking reason to be snooping around in their database," said Frank, standing.

"It's not proof!" Matthias said loudly. "Maybe you set it all up. Ever think about that? You just happen to come aboard after the weirdness in Dodge, all the sudden we get involved with a strange new drug. You then miraculously survive a brutal stabbing with a silver blade. Maybe you weren't actually stabbed and it was a ruse to let Pago go. Maybe you've been on Malloy's payroll the whole time. Did you have access to Blist's computer? These are the accusations we are going to face when we start pointing fingers!"

"So what?" Frank yelled, throwing his arms outward. "Are we supposed to throw everything at Malloy to save ourselves and let Blist walk? If I'm right, how long do you think we'll last as loose ends?"

"That's what I wanted to talk about. What if I told you I had a plan?" asked Matthias.

"Bullshit. Since when?"

"Haulstein," he replied. "She contacted me today."

"I hope you told her to fuck off."

"Not exactly," said Matthias. He pulled a dining chair out from the table and sat.

"I don't want to hear any more," said Frank.

"If you really want your revenge, you'll listen."

"How about you piss off instead?" Frank pointed at the door.

"If I go, then I'll do it without you," said Matthias. "I'll probably fail, though."

"What are you going to do?" Frank's voice rose. "It's over tomorrow!"

"It's not over tonight," said Matthias. "You don't want to admit it, but I'm right."

Frank shook his head. He looked Matthias in the eyes and saw something burning behind the cold exterior. "We should turn the mage in." Frank looked at the carpet. "That wouldn't help either. Dammit. What did she want? Why contact you?"

"She was at that plant after we killed those mercs and rescued her mom," Matthias explained. "It's clear to her that eventually the council will catch up to her, and that her life is over when that happens."

"Even if we prove she was blackmailed?"

"I doubt they will sympathize," said Matthias.

"And you do?" asked Frank.

"Apparently so."

Frank sat at the table with Matthias. "She got to you, eh? Cry a little to soften you up?"

"A little."

"I'm going to regret this, but what is your plan?"

"So," began Matthias, "we need some sort of link between Malloy and Noxcorp. Something that leads directly to the captain would be even better. We have to expose something big."

"Impossible," said Frank. "Only Malloy will have the data we need, if they would even keep anything incriminating around."

"They'd keep it," reasoned Matthias. "It's not as incriminating for them as it is for Noxcorp. It's a kind of insurance or leverage. Plus, each subordinate corporation has to take summaries of travel, transactions, and network traffic, run it through encryption, and create a hash key that is then added to the block chain."

"I don't follow," said Frank. "Do we have to get the data from the chain?"

"The hash wouldn't do us any good, but what it does is create an accounting system that protects the confidentiality of their data from Noxcorp, but verifies that it hasn't been tampered with. There are other databases that overlap so discrepancies are seen fairly quickly with automated algos."

"So... this means they have untampered records?"

"I had Jaxi check it before I came over," confirmed Matthias. "Their evening audit checks out. If we get access to their servers tonight, then there may be something that leads back to Blist."

"Seems like a lot of 'ifs' and 'maybes'," said Frank.

"The coms all use local network traffic. Mileage on vehicles is logged. There's so much," said Matthias. "Something has got to reinforce the link."

"They aren't going to just hand things over," said Frank. "Are we using a hacker?"

"Afraid that has its own problems, and we don't have the time."

"Matthias, there's no fucking way you are suggesting what I think."

"The term we want to become familiar with is corporate remediation," said Matthias.

"Oh, get the fuck out," laughed Frank, the final stages of his high wearing off.

"We have to seize control of the servers as part of an investigation into a conspiracy resulting in the murder of a board member," said Matthias.

"A corporate fucking raid," summarized Frank. "You know how many laws we'd be breaking? It's insane."

"Frank, I know exactly what I'm proposing. Did you think you'd waltz into KC and take down an investigations captain on his own turf? This town eats the righteous for breakfast and asks for seconds. It was never going to be easy, but there is still a chance this way, which is more than what most people get."

"Calm down, Braveheart," said Frank. "A small operation like Malloy probably only has a few guards. Alright. We get in, get the servers, get out."

"Let me reiterate; if you want Blist, this is the only way," stressed Matthias. "But the thing is, the same mercs that were holding the mage's mom have taken over the Malloy building."

"I think inviting you over was a mistake," said Frank.

"This means we are on to something. Otherwise, what are they protecting? And who tipped them off?"

"God dammit, Matty, we can't take down a building full of armed mercenaries."

"I've got the blueprints," said Matthias. "It's a small building. I doubt there are more than eight or ten guys in there. Guys. We're vampires."

"It's just too much for us."

"Maybe for just us, but the mage will be coming too."

"You really planned this all out. What makes you think she'll be useful?" asked Frank.

"She killed a guarded vampire without killing the guards."

"And she's okay with this?" asked Frank.

"I told her this is the only way to redeem herself to the council."

"You lay that shit on everyone, I guess."

"Now it's your turn," said Matthias.

"How's that?"

"I brought a plus one, now you need to call the warden."

"Chuck?" asked Frank. "Why would he agree to this?"

"You can do the math on that," said Matthias.

Frank sat quietly for a minute. "You know when I said I didn't want to die? I meant it."

"I understand that better than I do this whole revenge plot of yours," replied Matthias. "Is the city really that bad?"

"Hated it at first," said Frank. "Hated. Not an exaggeration. Almost shit myself with some combination of anger and anxiety several times a week. Then I got stabbed and left to bleed out in a dirty motel room. But it's growing on me."

"I don't get what set you off. She was only—"

"Watch it, man."

"—someone you just met," finished Matthias.

"Yeah," said Frank. "I can't really explain it. I never hit it off with anyone. Hell, I was practically a hermit. Then I met her and the words came easy, and she was so inviting. Sweet girl. I just can't live with it."

"She would have gotten tired of your shit after a week, tops."

"Probs," returned Frank with a slight shrug.

"Call up Wu," directed Matthias.

* * *

James Miller's quarters were located in the small warden housing dorm in the middle of the university campus. It consisted of two normal rooms with a door cut out in the middle. A modest living, but essential for the man responsible for securing compulsory pupils capable of weaving spells.

Though he found it curious, he did not hesitate to answer the door when the chime sounded in the middle of the night. A man of caution, he grabbed his sidearm off the wall and checked the hallway cameras. He furrowed his brow and opened the door a crack.

"Charles? What's going on?"

"I apologize for the hour," replied Wu. "But it appears I'm needed somewhere tonight."

"I don't understand."

"It has to do with our conversation earlier. Noxcorp agents have fingered a small corporation as the origin of the help Sandra Haulstein received."

"My god," exclaimed Miller. "Who?"

"I'd rather not say just yet. I'm here because they are moving in to secure evidence, and require my assistance," explained Wu.

"You should leave it to them," said Miller. "We don't need any further liability."

"Sir, it's our duty to assist," Wu insisted. "I need to ensure we get what we need. Our future is at stake."

"You aren't asking," Miller recognized, pursing his lips. "Very well. If something goes wrong, you may leave us in a worse position than we are in."

"We will not fail," said Wu.

"Make sure you don't. Is there anything I can do?"

"I need full access to the armory," said Wu. "And I need you to draft an order invoking our right of corporate seizure."

"Charles, the right exists on paper, but its use would be unprecedented."

"I believe it was created for times like this," said Wu. "When a corp has tried to manipulate the university for its own ends."

"Yes, I think that is probably true," said Miller. "Alright. This isn't sanctioned by Noxcorp, is it?"

"No, sir. It would appear there are conflicting interests involved."

Miller nodded. "Are you sure about this?"

"I trust these men," said Wu.

"I will call down to the armory. Godspeed."

* * *

Terrence Blist had a family once. From humble beginnings, he and his wife Monica clawed their way up during the recession in the 1980s, then again during the great recession of the 2000s. For almost all endeavors they were of one mind, and as a team, they conquered every obstacle. They built a large house in the middle of an empty tract of land on the outskirts of the city. Monica was in love with it, and content in her achievements.

But as they aged, they disagreed in one major area; that being how long one should continue to walk the earth. Monica was content to live out her natural life. Terrence was not. For him, vampirism was the fountain of youth he had long sought after. He loved his wife dearly, but as time wore her down and drained him of color, they grew apart. Their children moved out and started their own lives, and when they were gone so was the couple's last major bond.

Blist became involved in vampire politics. He was fascinated with their power structure, almost medieval in nature. Despite his best efforts, his progress was slow. When he had finally reached the rank of captain of investigations, the rest of his life had passed him by. His children now had children he'd only seen a handful of times, and his wife had grown frail and spent most of her time bedridden under the watch of a caretaker.

After twenty years of service, plans had to be made to rectify his stagnant position in life. He had given up too much. He wined and dined the right people, greased the palms of others. Used the force at his disposal to perform favors for both council members and their friends. He made it look like a vampire had killed a human on Cargill's turf, then quickly used his agents to solve the crime and ease tensions. As far as the council was aware, Terrence Blist was Noxcorp's most integral protector.

Of course, the council was not made up of fools, and so they had their suspicions and skepticism. But even if the captain was not on the up-and-up, he was clearly devious, and that itself was worthy of praise, so long as such machinations were for the greater good of the nocturnal order.

It was time, he figured, to make his move. His standing would never be higher. The only problem was that all board positions were filled. One of its members would have to die. Hank had always been a kind of weak link. Grouchy, paranoid, and elderly. Murdering him would not be easy, and someone else would have to deflect any suspicions off Blist. The councilman's interest in a new drug (thanks to an all too convenient anonymous tip) made the narrative easy to fabricate, with no direction on his part, outside of a call or two.

Malloy Inc, LLC had Hank Laudinour killed to hide their illegal distribution of a vampire drug. Blist had done all he could, providing help in capturing the rogue mage, albeit a few days too late to save the councilman. An unfortunate tragedy. Once Malloy was exposed and the mage terminated, the council would relax and make the only decision that made sense. Terrence Blist would take his seat as a leader of his people.

However, early Thursday morning, with his agents on suspension pending an almost assured dismissal by the council, paranoia took hold and Blist began analyzing every word he spoke, every word spoken to him, every word he read in the agents' timeline report. He watched their movements over sped-up recordings.

Terrence then reviewed daily reports from other agents and employees, some of which were not under his supervision, when a note at the bottom of the network administrator's report caught his eye. It read: Provided network logs to Frank Kerwin for review.

"Yes, hello, Hugo," said Terrence, standing next to his desk with his com to his ear. "Just have a quick question for you. Sure. I see that some logs were taken off the premises. I understand. Yes. Like I said, I understand. Was this for all network traffic? Uh huh. No filters? Oh, okay. What date range then? I see. No, I just wanted clarification. Thanks, Hugo. Bye."

The range was too specific to be a coincidence. Blist lowered the com, clenching it tightly. I have time to correct this, he thought. He installed a backdoor onto his computer, then carefully deleted the install logs and cleared the cache.

SkyOS, the industry standard business platform, almost never required a full shutdown. Blist's machine had been up for approximately two years since a storm shorted out the backup generators and cut power for over twelve hours. But if he wanted the memory to fully clear, it had to be turned off. The backdoor, as long as nothing contradicted it, would provide him with an easy alibi. He would simply say he'd been hacked. His breathing slowed as the screen went blank and the noise that had been so subtle he had never noticed it, ceased. It created an uneasy quiet.

The timeline implicated Malloy already. It was only a matter of time before Noxcorp would seize control of it in retaliation. But the records of network access in their servers needed to be scrubbed without destroying lab work. It would take time. He placed the com to his ear again.

"Caliber," he instructed. "Main office." 

##

## Episode 13: The Siege

Matthias and Frank arrived outside the Jasmine Hotel just after one in the morning. The city was deathly still here. The hotel sat on a divide between an industrial section and a commercial one. They could hear the noise of cars in the distance, but almost none traveled the roads between the hotel and the Malloy building.

They looked around for Sandra or Wu and saw neither. The vampire duo stepped out of the vehicle and stood outside the front doors on the concrete walkway. A minute later, the warden Charles Wu parked his compact car behind the Noxcorp SUV.

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ," Frank muttered as Wu stepped onto the pavement. He wore a bulletproof vest conspicuously adorned with two columns of grenades of various colors.

"Oh shit," joined in Matthias. To go with the explosives, he had not one but two handguns holstered at his sides and brandished a shotgun in open view of the hotel patrons occupying the lobby. He swung it behind him, fastening a strap to keep it on his back.

Wu paid no heed to the gawking of the Noxcorp agents. Instead, he opened the rear hatch of the vehicle and pulled out what looked like a comically large six-shooter, but Matthias knew to be a grenade launcher.

"Wu! Dude!" said Matthias, strolling up to him. "We don't want to destroy the servers in there, and you're scaring the children."

"This is for smoke," Wu replied, nodding at the launcher. "What floor are the servers on?"

"I don't know," said Matthias. "Most likely the second floor if the engineers followed recent conventions, but the plans I have aren't that detailed."

"The data center is going to be some sort of side closet or room," said Wu. "And we won't get anything if we go in there less than prepared for war."

"I'm trusting you, just watch where you are throwing those things." Matthias pointed at the vest.

"I—" the hotel doors swung open and Wu's eyebrows rose. "Blimey..."

Matthias and Frank turned to see Sandra step outside to join them in her new costume. She stopped and stood, allowing them to admire for a moment.

"Nice getup," said Frank.

She pulled a red helmet out of her bag not unlike those used for sparring or wrestling practice, except that around the crown was a series of small zippered pockets that had been stuffed with something and bulged slightly. Sandy placed it on her head and fastened the chin strap. She posed with her hands at her hips, leaning to one side.

"And you ruined it." Frank's head tilted back.

"Is this some sort of cosplay?" Charles teased.

"You look like a superhero," said Matthias.

"A short bus hero more like," Frank mumbled.

Matthias laughed while Wu stood confused at the phrase. Sandra frowned. She walked up to Frank.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

"Name's Frank. You've been a giant pain in the ass, I just want to get that off my chest."

"Nice to meet you, too." She then turned to Wu, whom she already recognized.

"Charles," she nodded. "They dragged you into this?"

Wu stared at her for a moment, then closed the hatch of the car. "Do you even realize how much trouble you've caused? The chaos? The death?"

"I suppose you'd just let your mother get tossed in the river," said Matthias.

Wu took a moment to force the word out. "Yes."

Matthias barked out a laugh.

"We're the kings of bullshit, kid," said Frank. "This is just a shit sandwich, that's all."

"Gross," declared Sandy.

"Aren't you chilly?" Matthias asked, staring at her bare legs. She shrugged in response.

"For the record," said Wu. "They didn't drag me in. This is our responsibility to fix. The corps will never respect the sanctity of the university if an example isn't made."

"Seriously though," said Frank. "What's with the helmet?"

"Awesome isn't it? It has ten pockets for cooling packs with superconductive strands. I hit one and it chills me almost instantly. I hit another and it gets even colder."

"Why?" asked Matthias.

"That's brilliant actually," admitted Wu. "Counter the heat created from casting."

"Right. Should we be keeping our distance?" asked Frank.

"You two will be fine," said Wu. "But I will need to keep some distance."

"Why's that?" asked Matthias.

"It's complicated."

"So what's the plan, Matty?" Frank took a puff from a vaper then pocketed it. The four huddled up next to the SUV.

"First things first," said Matthias. "A mercenary group has taken over the building. I don't know how many there are. There's going to be a server room or data closet inside somewhere that has data we need to extract."

"Why don't the mercs just destroy it?" asked Wu.

"I surmise that Malloy won't let them," said Matthias.

"Maybe they already did," said Sandra.

"If that were the case, they'd have left the building by the time I cased it."

"They know we're out here, don't they?" said Frank.

"Probably."

"Maybe we should call them up and try to bargain," Sandy suggested.

"These guys are employed to use force," said Matthias.

"So, what then? We have to kill a bunch of people?"

"The men in there choose to fight. They choose to kill. They know the stakes. Rarely are their services desired for justice," assured Matthias.

"They are still people."

"I know, Sandra. We all do. I did try to talk to someone from Malloy, to get the data peacefully."

"Then they definitely expect us," Wu reasoned.

"That's why I have a plan."

"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face," Sandy retorted.

The other three looked at her.

"Did you just quote Mike Tyson?" asked Frank.

"Who?" asked Wu.

"It's something an instructor said once," she said. "Stuck with me."

"We're going to hit them in the face first," said Matthias.

"Is that the plan?"

"Not all of it. Here," said Matthias, handing out earpieces to his comrades in arms. "This will let us talk. It adjusts volume automatically, so you can whisper and it will pick it up as long as there's not too much noise in the area."

"Such as gunfire," said Frank.

"Sandra, you and I will take the elevator," Matthias continued. "Wu, I will signal when to fire."

"Right," said Wu. "What am I firing?"

* * *

Matthias and Sandy pulled open the entrance doors, bending the frames out of shape and damaging the hinges such that they squealed in agony as the bottom edges ground against the cement patio. Matthias scanned the lobby from behind one of the doors and saw nothing.

Sandy had altered her vision to see the broad spectrum of light including UV and infrared. Her pupils dilated to take advantage of what little ambient light survived inside the walls. She too saw no one.

Inside the silent lobby sat several white sofas that had never been used, all facing a large glass coffee table with several viewscreens built in and a vase with fake flowers as a centerpiece. Next to it was a large front desk in the shape of a blocky 'U.'

There were two ways up. The stairs, that Matthias figured were booby-trapped and a good place to get ambushed, and the elevator, a barrel for fish. Neither was safe. Men on each floor would be prepared for a breach from either entrance.

This elevator thankfully still had its doors, and when they closed, the darkness became absolute. It retained power, but the light had been removed. The car hastened to the second floor, then opened with a ding.

Crouched behind temporary cover consisting of riot shields and filing cabinets shoved into place, men waited for invaders. They wore night vision goggles. The LED lights used to illuminate targets were turned off to avoid any possible detection, and instead, an infrared lamp had been hung from a rail of the lowered ceiling. It glowed a faint red.

Two watched the elevator and another two watched the door to the stairwell. When the ding sounded, one of the two watching the stairwell turned to join the other two in facing the elevator. However, when it opened, no one was inside.

"Now," said Matthias.

Wu took aim with the grenade launcher and used the assisted targeting to plot a projectile path then fired. The launcher made a low-pitched thud as the canister popped out of the stubby barrel. It streaked through the sky with a slight whine, soaring exactly where expected and crashing through the third-floor window. Within moments smoke billowed out of the window. Wu dropped the launcher and drew one of his pistols.

Frank took point and the two men ran inside the building and opened the door to the stairs. Wu donned EM-sensing goggles and spotted a proximity mine hidden at the halfway turn of the flight. He took aim and shot it from cover, forcing it to detonate.

As men from the third floor had begun to yell instructions to each other through a thick layer of smoke, the explosion from the mine sent a shock wave through the entire building. All four men on floor two broke protocol and turned to the stairwell door as it blasted open.

Matthias slipped through the trapdoor at the top of the car. With the building still rumbling he was effectively deaf, and unable to see infrared, he was also blind in the blacked-out room. "Shit," he uttered, thinking of Sandy's quote. He pushed himself against the side of the elevator, taking cover behind the control panel. He felt vulnerable and drew his gun with nothing to aim at.

"Sandra, I can't see," he whispered, unsure if she'd hear through the noise.

Two of the mercs, remembering their roles, turned back toward the elevator. Sandra dropped through the hole into the car with Matthias, landing with the grace of a cat. Her eyes saw everything. The mercs spotted them and raised their assault rifles.

For a moment Matthias felt the heat of the sun behind him. In front of him, the entire room became bright as day. He twisted to look behind him as the flash dimmed. Sandra's whole body glowed bright yellow like an angel... wearing shorts and a tank top.

He tore his eyes away from the sight and charged into the room. The two men facing the elevator were hopelessly blinded. They tore off their goggles and palmed their eyes. One of them dropped to the floor, while the other began screaming and firing his gun. Matthias shot him twice, then moved to the prone man and stomped him unconscious.

The two remaining mercs turned, their flare compensation and orientation having saved their eyeballs. As they did, two more men charged in through the stairwell door. Matthias took cover behind a row of filing cabinets as Sandra's glow subsided.

Haulstein hit her helmet with both fists, setting off the chemical reaction in two of the gel packs. One kneeling merc shot at Matthias, leaving a row of punctures in the metal. Another standing behind the first kept his aim toward Matthias, waiting for a shot.

As the room went dark, one of the men took aim at Sandy, but as soon as he did, the barrel of his gun sprang upward. The body mage moved faster than the firing pin, causing the rifle to shoot a round into the ceiling tile.

He then swung at her, but halfway through the motion, he felt a searing pain in his knee that radiated through his leg. He looked down to see a black boot colliding with his knee. The speed and force of her downward kick bent his leg the wrong way, shattering his kneecap and destroying the underlying joint.

The merc next to him swung his gun in her direction before she could stop it. She turned away and he burst-fired three rounds into her back. Her skin did not break.

Sandy swung her arm back behind her, grabbing the handguard of the rifle and pointing it away from her just as he fired another burst. Another merc fired again at Matthias, who was blind again. Matthias pulled out his com and turned on the camera.

The merc with a backward leg hit the ground screaming. The third upright man stepped away from Sandra and turned his gun on her. She kicked a nearby office chair at him, knocking him back, then punched another gel pack.

She concentrated, casting a spell that spun her body around as she moved in close to her current adversary. Sandy lifted her arm and bent it sharply as she turned in to him, smashing her elbow into his cheek. The bone made a loud crack as it broke apart. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

Matthias slid the com along the floor toward the melee. The merc didn't figure it out in time, and the camera's flash began to strobe, flooding his goggles with blinding light. Matthias rolled onto the floor in front of the mercenary, firing three quick shots into him.

Sandra leapt at the last man, her body turning fully horizontal. She grabbed his vest and headbutted him, activating another gel pack. He stumbled back as her feet found the floor again and she pushed forward after him, twisting her body with a leg outstretched and catching the merc's face with the graphene-reinforced toe of her boot. Blood shot out of his mouth like a yard sprinkler as his head spun around.

She turned to the stairwell door as she heard more rushed footfalls escaping the smoke of the third story. Another merc appeared, gun at the ready. Then a spray of blood escaped his temple and his head jerked to the side to follow it.

* * *

"There are six floors," said Matthias. "All have to be secured. I believe that four of us is just too chaotic in cramped areas. So we'll stay split into teams of two. We'll flood the third floor with smoke, and sow some confusion in the ranks. Sandy and I will take care of the first two floors via elevator. We'll try to take a lot of the heat.

"Frank," Matthias continued. "You and Charles head up the stairs and take care of anyone coming down from the higher floors."

"What if they use the elevator?" asked Wu.

"We'll keep the elevator with us, assuming it stays functional," Matthias replied. "Your job will be to clear floor four. Sandra and I will try to get to the top floor after clearing the first two, and once that's done, we can flank anyone left on five."

* * *

Frank and Wu headed up the stairs. The blast had sent smoke and debris through the entire stairwell, causing them to cover and wait for the dust to settle before continuing. By the time they reached the second floor, two refugees from the third floor had already engaged Sandra in melee.

Frank's ears perked up as he heard more men coming. He nudged Wu, and the two took aim. The mercs overlooked them amid the haze, instead focusing on entering a firefight they could hear inside the second-floor offices. Frank took the shot at the first man, piercing him through the temple. Wu shot the second man several times before he fell. Frank passed the stairwell door, turned and nodded at Matthias, and followed Wu up to the third floor.

"Frank, Wu," said Matthias. "They are using night vision and infrared globes. Don't go in blind."

"Got it," said Frank.

"I've got just the thing," said Wu.

They stopped at the door to the third floor. Smoke was still too thick to see and Frank heard no movement. He shook his head, and Wu proceeded to the next floor, careful of more traps.

The thin rectangle of a window on the door to the fourth floor had been covered, preventing Wu from looking inside. Warden and vampire crouched on each side of the door. Wu pulled out what looked like marbles and shook them between both hands. He nodded to Frank. Frank pulled open the door and Wu tossed the marbles inside. They rolled and scattered and bounced off the legs of chairs and desks.

At the same time as they clattered about, they began to glow, lighting up the entire room. The men in their positions, especially those standing in the open, were now exposed by the light, as was a grenade careening through the doorway.

The explosive bounced on the hard tile then skipped down the stairs.

"Down!" Frank yelled, grabbing Wu and diving onto the stairs going up. The grenade blew, sending shrapnel flying through the air. Metal shards bounced off the underside of the metal staircase while others buried themselves into drywall. The blast was deafening. One shard stabbed Frank in the back of his thigh.

He rolled over, allowing Wu to stand. The warden immediately grabbed two cylinder-shaped grenades off his vest. Holding both in one hand he pulled the pins with the other. Frank ran to the door and pulled it open again. The fourth floor was a large flat room with a cubicle section on one half and isolated desks on the other, with offices creating a border around it.

Wu tossed the grenades inside in opposite directions and Frank slammed the door shut. The concussions happened almost synchronously, and even on the other side of the thick steel door, Frank felt the concussive blast through his body, imparting a sickening wooziness.

The warden pulled the semi-auto combat shotgun off his back and pointed it forward. Frank yanked out the shard of shrapnel, wincing as blood trickled down his pants. He readied his handgun and pulled the door open.

A small viewscreen on the sight of the shotgun highlighted targets both illuminated and identified by the glowing marbles. Mercenaries in the room were doubled over, some vomiting up the evening's pizza delivery. Others held their heads with both hands, afraid if they let go it would explode.

Wu went from man to man, firing a single shell at each. Those it didn't kill it incapacitated through injury and pain. Frank covered his six as they moved through the floor. Two mercenaries emerged from the cover of an office wall at the other side of the room and opened fire. Frank got one before the merc could land a shot, but the second one fired a round in the center of Frank's chest as he stepped in front of Wu.

As Frank fell, Wu aimed and fired, but the shot spread too wide at that distance, peppering the wall but missing the merc. Frank lifted his gun and fired off several rounds, forcing the man to take cover while Wu dragged him behind a divider wall. He pushed his hand against the wound. Blood gushed past it, out onto his chest, soaking his shirt.

"I'll live," said Frank in response to Wu's gawking.

Wu pulled out what looked like a tube of toothpaste. "Just in case," he said, popping the top and squeezing it into a pile in his hand. He swapped hands, pushing the glob onto Frank's entry wound, and held it.

"We can't stay here," said Frank. "They might toss another grenade."

Wu took hold of another cylinder, this one with a green stripe. "That's a good idea," he said, tossing it across the room. It landed next to the office, where the final merc waited, and exploded, tearing away the office wall and creating a cloud of powderized debris. Wu charged toward the merc hidden somewhere behind the cloud and slid behind a desk. Kneeling, he fired rapidly into the cloud, then ducked behind cover, waiting for any sound or movement.

Slowly the dust settled and revealed the merc propped against the wall, his clothes bloody and his eyes closed. Charles returned to Frank and helped him up.

"Got enough left in the tank for one more round?" asked Charles.

Frank released the clip from his pistol and swapped it out for a full one. He chambered a round and caressed the hardened mound on his chest. "Matthias, what's your status?"

"About to breach the sixth," he replied. "You still good?"

"We're heading up to five. You think there are many of these goons left?"

"Hardly seems possible," said Matthias.

"Roger. Let's go, Chuck."

Wu moved toward the door, and Frank grabbed his shoulder. He cut in front of him and stepped slowly up the stairs. No traps this time. The window to the fifth wasn't covered, so Frank had a peek. The lights were on and there were no mercs in sight. No gear sitting out, and no improvised defensive placements.

He nodded to Wu and pulled the door open, staying behind the wall as he did so. He heard nothing. He peeked around the corner to get a longer look inside the room. It was some sort of logistics and shipping center. The walls were lined with workstations composed of a keyboard attached to a mounting arm and a NanoLED screen, paper thin.

A maze of steel and fiberboard shelving sat at each end of the large rectangular area. Two long conference rooms with large windows ran longways opposite the stairwell door. In the middle of the room two long, standing-height desks sat perpendicular to the door and conference rooms and parallel to the shelves on each side, presumably to finalize shipping or returns.

The men slowly entered the room, guns pointed to each side. They moved between the desks. Wu crouched, examining the undersides for booby traps.

The stairwell door slammed shut and compact flames from discreet pyrite packets sent a shower of sparks out of the crack between the door and frame, welding it fast in two points. Then another explosion, this one muffled. It sounded like it came from above.

"Game's up," yelled a husky voice. The duo looked around and still saw no one. "Vampire, right? I almost couldn't tell," it continued.

A pale man stepped out from behind one of the mazes of boxes and shelves. At the same time, another man stepped out with him, two more stepped out from behind the opposite maze, and two more showed themselves behind the glass in each conference room for a total of eight mercenaries surrounding Charles and Frank.

"Kind of strange," the vampire said. "You're fighting your own corp, really."

"That's what you think?" asked Frank.

"Well, I was never big on internal politics," he said. "It really doesn't matter. You boys put the toys away and we'll see what our client wants to do with you."

"Got a silver grenade, Chuck?" Frank said with a grin.

"If that's the way you want it," said the vampire merc. "Negotiation failed. Light 'em up!"

Wu and Frank ducked behind the desks. Charles immediately threw a grenade with a silver strip on the side in the direction of the vampire and then continued hurling the rest of his grenades. He tossed a frag toward the conference rooms and then a smoke grenade on each side of the desks, flooding the room.

"Matthias," yelled Frank. "We are fucked on five! I repeat, dead man talking. Got a vampire dickhole with about seven guys."

"I heard that," yelled the merc leader.

The frag detonated, but the mercs had seen it coming and dove to the ground. The silver grenade exploded, eliciting a scream from one of the mercs, but to Frank, it didn't sound like the vampire's voice. The mercs responded by opening fire with automatic weapons, tearing the desks apart bit by bit. Genuine wood splinters and particles imploded inward from all directions.

* * *

Matthias flattened himself against the side of the elevator. He had a pair of the night vision goggles resting on his forehead and wielded one of the merc's assault rifles. Sandy popped another gel pack. The first few were wearing off now but had done their job admirably.

"You ready?" he asked.

Sandra moved to the other side of the elevator and nodded. Matthias pushed the button and they traveled up to the top floor. Sandy put her hand out, reaching into the Ethereal plane, ready to fly forward.

The doors parted and a grenade flew inside. Matthias caught it and quickly threw it out. Both took cover as it blew. The floor rumbled and glass beakers and vials on lab tables shattered and spread their contents on the walls, floor, and tables.

Sandy rushed out into the middle of the cloud of smoke it created. She crouched low, looking for targets, but saw none. She stood in the middle of a large laboratory.

More than anything else, the room was decorated with refrigerator units of various sizes from personal to industrial. The tables were equipped with various mixers, separators, heaters, burners, coolers, and faucets, all shiny save for a few dings caused by the recent explosion.

A spring-loaded throwing arm rested ten meters from the elevator door. A small tripwire had set it off, tossing the grenade. As his hearing returned in full, Matthias tried to listen for any movement. He heard speaking but it sounded like it came from below.

"Matthias, we are fucked on five!" Frank shouted through the team's com channel. Then explosions and gunfire and shouting.

Sandra and Matthias looked at each other. Matthias bolted for the elevator. Sandra went the other way.

"I'm going through," she said, pointing down.

"Be careful," he said, slamming his fist onto the button marked five.

Sandra punched her last two gel packs and cleared her mind. Beads of sweat resting on her temple crystallized.

She expanded her aura outward, devouring the space around her and increasing the mass of her physical body. She stood erect, with her feet together and hands flat against her waist. The tiles cracked under her feet, and the floor began to sag slightly.

Now, just one big push, she thought. The mage moved her aura upward, pulling against her body now weighing over a ton, then threw it downward, multiplying the pressure she placed on the floor. The concrete layer under the tile exploded downward through plywood. Beams that held them in place snapped like twigs. She broke a pipe in half on her way down and cut through the lowered ceiling without resistance. Her clothing ripped in several places, not affected by the same hardening as her body. Gel burst from tears in her helmet as she descended.

Before landing she released her spell, returning to physics-bound mass. The cloud of debris that followed her blended in with the smoke from Wu's grenades. An unnatural breeze from the west had been pushing the smoke away. They must have a blower, she thought. Sandy looked down at her feet. Her awesome boots were torn in several places, but the soles had somehow held up and overall were still wearable.

She crouched as she landed, still obscured by concrete dust, and immediately refocused her eyes, adjusting their ability to filter shades of gray and detect heat signatures until she could just faintly see all the bodies in the room. She quickly flipped into aura viewing to identify her comrades, still pinned down between two shredded desks.

West of her were shelves and three bodies, one of them showing the aura of a vampire. Her eyes couldn't pick up his heat, or lack thereof, making him effectively invisible as she switched back to the less taxing physical eyesight.

Behind her were three men, one hiding behind what was left of a wall, and two together in an adjacent room with a shattered window but otherwise intact. East of those rooms were the elevator doors where Matthias had yet to emerge. Near the elevator, but spaced throughout the eastern row of shelves, four men used crates and boxes as cover.

The body mage caught sight of one of them winding up a throw. Priorities, she thought, magically dashing past the desks toward that merc, who held the grenade to let the timer reach near expiry, then threw it toward the center desks. Halfway to its destination, Sandy jumped and batted it back to him. It whizzed by his face, then exploded, throwing his torn body forward and knocking one of the other mercs down. The other two ducked down in reaction.

Sandra moved like a bullet, ignoring the fact that her cooling solution was quickly leaking gel. As the flattened merc sat up, she flew at him with a knee outstretched. It collided with his face and knocked his head backward, snapping his neck.

The last two men turned their attention to her, but she moved close to the nearest before he could aim, putting his body between hers and the far mercenary. She grabbed him by the vest and pushed him to his ally, pinning them both against one of the shelves.

The meat of the sandwich pulled a blade out of his belt sheath. Sandra hit him with an uppercut with her left fist, then followed it with a punch to his throat with her right fist. She kicked the inside of his left calf, causing his legs to spread.

As his body lowered, the other merc raised his sidearm at her chest. In the time that his finger began to squeeze to the time where the gun went off, she grabbed both his hand and the crook of his elbow, and bent his arm, pointing the barrel back at his face. The bullet punctured his forehead at a steep angle. Shattered bone and blood splattered against her face. The first man clawed at his throat, incapable of breathing.

Sandra doubled over wheezing. Gel and sweat trickled off her chin and bits of hair that hung loose. She slowed her breathing and imagined an igloo on her head. To a limited extent, she could counter the heat by slowing the molecules of her own body, if not distracted.

DING! The elevator doors opened. Matthias emerged with the assault rifle leveled in front of him, immediately firing in full auto at the men on the west side from the cover of the elevator alcove. He stood behind the wall adjoining the eastern conference room, and couldn't see the man on the other side. Matthias's gunfire alerted the merc to his position, who then pointed his rifle at the wall.

"Matthias!" Sandy yelled. She picked up a sidearm and fired at the merc. Fatigue made her aim sloppy, but it let Matthias know he was there. The agent stepped back and unloaded on the wall. The merc returned fire. The drywall tore apart from both sides. She saw blood spray from Matthias's arm, and then the merc's leg. He fell with a loud yelp in front of the hole created by one of the warden's fragmentation grenades.

Frank and Wu retreated to the far side of the desks closest to the elevator, giving them an extra layer of cover as Matthias and Sandy had eliminated threats from that side. Wu saw the merc that Matthias had wounded lying prone on the floor. He drew both pistols and fired them in sequence. The man's body jerked at the first two hits, then went limp and lay still as a third round tore into his vest. Frank fired on the two men in the adjacent conference room, who ducked behind the wall out of view.

Matthias gripped his arm where he had been shot. Sandy lifted herself upright and shot Matthias a thumbs-up. He replied with a 'so-so' hand wave.

"Frank, Wu," said Matthias over the wire. "You alright?"

"Fuck you," said Frank.

"Good to go," said Wu.

"I'm good, too," Sandy informed.

"Sandra, can you get into melee with the mercs on the other side?" asked Matthias. "Without their fire, Frank and Wu can flush out the guys in the side room and I can follow behind you and take out anyone that separates from the rest."

"Gel's gone," she said, removing her helmet and letting it fall to the floor. "There's a vampire over there, too."

"Alright, we'll move together."

"No, I can do it," she insisted. "Just back me up."

"Alright, let's do this," said Matthias.

Rather than magically fly all the way across the room, Sandra sprinted. Frank fired a shot each second at the men in the conference room, keeping them from taking any shots of opportunity. She went through a small cloud of smoke and emerged on the other side to see two mercs and their vampire leader waiting with guns ready.

Sandy shot forward before they could react. At full speed, she dropped and slid feet first along the ground as the two humans opened fire. The vampire moved to the side. She angled her body upward, creating a small, very fast moving target, then pushed her hands down as she reached one of the mercs. Her legs angled up and as she glided, she parted her feet and wrapped her legs around the man's neck. Her crotch hit his face and bent him backward.

She pushed her body downward, landing on her feet in between the other merc and the vampire with the man's neck still caught in between her thighs. Both of the other men stared at their trapped comrade as Sandy flexed, separating his vertebrae. His eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

The other merc made a noise like a sob trying to escape from a dry throat. He raised his pistol and Sandy batted it away effortlessly. He turned and chased after it.

The body mage released her grip on the dead merc, and his head flopped to the ground. She turned to the vampire.

"What a way to go," he said, his eyes motioning to the merc on the ground. "Allow me to introduce myself. Name's Wes. Sandra, right?"

"You should have just left," she said.

"And miss out on a prize like you? You're famous, kid."

"It's over."

"Not yet, bitch. Bring it," he said, dropping his shotgun and assuming a fighting stance. With her speed, he knew trying to shoot her would simply make him vulnerable, as it had the others. He could tell she was tired while his strength and speed had yet to be tested this evening.

Matthias stalked toward the melee. A pistol slid toward him, followed by a merc making a run for the door. The man yanked frantically on the handle, but it wouldn't budge. Matthias took him down and continued stalking.

Frank and Wu rushed the divider between the main and conference rooms. Frank leaned over the divider and shot the closer merc, and when the other man turned to fire, Wu stood and shot him point-blank. They looked at each other. Frank grinned and Wu nodded.

"Come on," taunted the vampire. He took a swing and Sandy moved out of the way. Steam wafted off her hair. She moved back and threw her helmet to the ground. Blazing hot and mentally drained, she reserved her magic to keeping her skin hardened and decided to let him wear himself out.

He came at her, swung, then bobbed his head down and kicked the outside of her leg. The vampire was both strong and fast. His movement was erratic, a technique used by trained fighters. She ducked under his first blow but the leg kick caught her and it stung. The leg bent, but she straightened it, pretending to shrug it off.

Wes caught sight of Matthias in the corner of his eye. He shuffled his feet, moving on the other side of Sandra, ensuring Matthias couldn't snipe at him while they fought. He lunged at Sandra, expecting her to move back, but she moved forward at the same time, ramming her knee into his crotch. A high-pitched whine escaped his mouth like a boiling teakettle.

He tried to resist the impulse, but could not prevent his hands from moving down to his crotch. He doubled over in pain as Sandy straightened her legs, jumping. On the descent, she swung her right fist downward. The strike was one of perfect skill, strength, and timing. And despite using no magic, she felt his jaw dislocate from the impact. Blood sprayed onto the ground. Wes lowered to his hands and knees, facing away from Matthias.

For a moment he was still and Sandra waited for him to make another mistake. He feebly swiped at her with claws extended. She caught his hand, noticing a crooked grin on his abused face. Sandy heard the sound of metal clanking and saw a grenade skip toward Matthias. Wes had tossed it between his legs at the same time that he swung. She knew he'd been cooking it, and that there was no time for Matthias to get out of the way.

She grunted, summoning the strength to cast. She lifted onto her toes and spread her arms, pulling the fabric of space behind her and zooming toward Matthias like a bolt of lightning, leaving a trail of sweat and steam behind her. She collided with him, with her chest pressed against his, and wrapped her arms around his body to shield him from the blast. They stared into each other's eyes in a moment outside of time.

The grenade made a loud anticlimactic pop a meter from Sandy's feet. Bits of metal much smaller than normal grenade shrapnel flew out in all directions. Dozens of little shards stuck into the floor, into the walls, and as they hit her hardened skin, they stuck despite failing to pierce. Each piece on her body glowed brightly blue, then emitted small electrical arcs all over her skin.

Sandra groaned in pain. Her eyes rolled back, and Matthias felt her skin soften. Behind her, he saw that Wes had rolled to a knee, shotgun in hand. His eyes widened in terror.

"NO!" he screamed, trying to pull her around, but it was too late. Pellets from the shell tore into her back and knocked both of them to the ground. Matthias ignored Wes and rolled Sandra onto the floor. He cupped his hands on her cheeks, shaking her.

"Sandy! No. Sandy. Please, no!" She lay silent as a layer of blood expanded around her body.

Wes took aim at Matthias but was met with a barrage of gunfire from Wu and Frank. He took two shots, one to his vest and the other to a shoulder. The vampire retreated behind shelving and ran around to the other side. He sprinted to the hole Sandra had made, and leaped up, grabbing the edge of a pipe and a wood beam and quickly pulled himself through to the sixth floor.

Matthias rose and gave chase. He jumped up through the hole in time to see Wes open the door to the roof. He sprinted after him, his eyes darting to the side as he went through the door, in case the merc leader lay in wait. But Wes was not waiting. He was in a race for his life, and he knew it.

When he reached the roof, he wasn't sure what to do. He backed away from the access door and aimed his pistol. Matthias kicked the door open, darted his head out then back in, dodging a bullet, then sprinted out while zigzagging. Wes fired several times, nicking Matthias on the same arm wounded earlier.

Unfazed, Matthias ducked down and tackled Wes to the ground. The merc's face was already covered in blood, his jaw broken, his ballsack crushed. Matthias grabbed his gun with one hand and the top of his vest with the other, tucked his chin, and began ramming the crown of his head into Wes's face. He audibly growled with each headbutt. The merc leader tried to kick free or hit Matthias with his free hand, but his strength was gone. Several blows later, Wes stopped fighting back.

Tears streamed down Matthias's cheeks. He pointed the gun at Wes's face. "Open your mouth." He pushed the barrel against his teeth. "Open your fucking mouth," he screamed.

"Fuck you," Wes mumbled.

Matthias gripped the barrel of the handgun and held Wes by the neck. He swung down, hammering the merc in the mouth, tearing his lips. He swung again, hitting the teeth. Some turned inward, one broke, several cracked. Wes screamed. Matthias swung again, then again, then again, until his teeth were uprooted or broken into stumps, then grabbed the gun by the grip and shoved the barrel inside Wes's mouth.

His eyes bloodshot and crazed, Matthias leaned down and screamed in Wes's face while drool fell from his mouth. He pulled the trigger, shooting through the back of the merc's neck. He fired six more times and the gun clicked empty. The cervical column in Wes's neck now shattered, the maddened vampire grabbed a handful of hair and pulled the merc's head off his neck. Strands of skin and tendons stretched before snapping and tearing. Blood streamed out of arteries and veins ripped open and dripped from the decapitated head.

Matthias held it for just a moment before his rage subsided. He dropped it next to the body and lifted himself from kneeling to standing. A strange calm washed over him. He shuffled back down to the sixth floor, where Frank and Wu had been running to catch up to him.

"He's dead," uttered Matthias. He walked past them to the hole in the floor, and without stopping he dropped through. Frank lowered Wu back down, then climbed down after him.

They gathered around the body of Sandra Haulstein. Charles was beside himself in disbelief that he had witnessed such valor from a mage, that she'd been killed, and that somehow a polonium grenade had been smuggled out of Mage Enforcement custody.

"We did this to her," said Matthias.

"No, Matty, that fucking merc did it," said Frank.

"That's too easy," he said quietly. "I told her she had to make it right. The blackmailers coerced her, the system made her a target."

"And she decided to protect you," added Wu. "The road here was long and winding."

Frank groaned.

"How many men were here?" Wu asked. "Fifteen, twenty? Most dead by her hand."

"Somehow that grenade," said Matthias, bending down to pick up a small piece of the silvery metal. "It made her vulnerable. She looked stunned."

"Chuck, I know what you're gonna say, but you need to say something else before..." said Frank, deciding not to finish that statement. "You said you could handle her. You alluded to special tools. You provide us with a mage detector doohickey. What the fuck was that?"

Wu held his hand over his mouth, only briefly glancing up at Frank, then back down to the bloody floor, decorated with gleaming metal. "Aye," he said. "That grenade is one of ours. I didn't bring it. Somehow he nicked one."

"What is it, damn it?" demanded Matthias, moving toward him.

Wu stepped back. "It's a metal. A special metal. It... reacts somehow, to what the university calls the Ether. It's the source of their power. If they cast near it, or at it, it reacts. It nullifies the effect, absorbs the energy somehow."

"How did he get one?"

"I don't know," said Wu. "But I will find out."

"Yes, you will." Matthias turned back to Sandy's body. "Frank, you know how to extract the data."

"I have the card," replied Frank, revealing a small memory card and reaching over to Matthias.

Matthias put his hand up. "Just stick it in one of the slots of each server and run the program inside the drive it creates. It will do the rest." He knelt on the bloody floor next to the mage's body. "I want a moment alone. Can you take care of it?"

"Come on, Matthias, don't—"

"Please, Frank."

Frank shook his head. "Come on, Chuck, let's get what we came here for." Wu followed him to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Matthias leaned onto Sandra's chest. She already felt cold. He kissed her on the neck, then sank his fangs into her jugular vein. With low pressure and no heartbeat, the blood only slowly trickled. But he needed her, even if it was a small piece, and even if he had to steal it. He placed his lips around the holes and siphoned mouthfuls, swallowing over and over until it made him sick.

He saw himself through her eyes. His unprofessionally long hair, his frightful skin, his cold eyes. The heroic nightstalker. What a silly fool, he thought in response. Show me more, he pleaded. He saw the mysterious woman that had impersonated Sandy's mother. The same one he later shot to death.

Matthias's stomach churned, but he needed more of her and wrenched it out with as much suction as he could manage. Much of her blood had already spilled. There just wasn't a lot left inside her skin. He wrapped an arm around her knees and pulled them forward and up to force more blood toward her head. Show me something different, he demanded, continuing to gorge himself.

Sick with blood in the same way one can overdose on a drug, Matthias's vision left him and he fell beside Sandy. Another memory began to play itself out inside his mind, this time more like a long dream than flashes. It was a soft memory. Tender and sweet. More vivid and clear than any he had experienced before. For a moment he was inside her head, understanding her on a level not possible from the outside. Matthias smiled and tears ran down the sides of his face. It soon faded out and the Malloy building interior faded back in.

Rolling to his side, Matthias vomited. It wasn't exactly blood, but it was a light red, much more watery than the liquid he had drunk. It got on his face and hair, but he didn't care. He did, however, care about the data and seeing Blist and anyone else involved face the wrath of the council.

After hitting the washroom for some cleanup and rubbing the thin oily liquid, a kind of sudsless soap, through his hair to suppress the stench, Matthias went back to the second floor, where the server closet had expectantly been. Frank gave him a quick look, then turned back to the monitor to watch the output from the program. Frank had no idea what it did, only what the console screen claimed it was doing.

"Noxcorp security will be here soon," said Matthias. "Got an alert on my com. Is it almost done?"

"I'm on the last one," said Frank. "Listen, Chuck, it's been real. But it's time for you to go."

"Maybe I should grab one of the servers and take it with me for insurance," said Wu.

"They have to stay," said Matthias. "Frank's right though. You getting caught here might be harder to explain to Noxcorp guys."

Wu nodded. "Gentlemen, it's been an honor." He put a hand on Matthias's shoulder. "I am sorry about Haulstein. I've got a lot to think about after all this."

As he reached the stairwell door, Matthias called to him, "Clean house, Wu."

"It says it's done," said Frank. "I hope this worked."

"I'll check with Jaxi when I get home and let you know."

"Right," said Frank. "Make sure she knows to pass on what she finds to the board."

"She knows what to do," said Matthias. "Let's get out of here."

They took the memory card and vacated the building. Back at Frank's apartment, Matthias shook his hand.

"I hope all this, you coming here, risking your life, was worth it," he said.

"It will be," replied Frank. "It was. Good night."

After Frank stepped out, Matthias drove down the road slowly, then stopped at the end of the block and rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment. His face contorted in pain, then relaxed again, and he pressed the accelerator and headed home.

##

## Episode 14: Payback

Eight in the morning had rarely felt so early as it did the morning after the siege. With approximately four hours of sleep under his belt, the university warden Charles Wu pried his eyes open. He needed more rest, but he needed more to report to the Mage Enforcement chairman.

Before he could do that, he had to account for the grenade that made its way into the hands of a Caliber mercenary. He knew he had to move fast. Word of the raid would spread quickly. In two hours, the bulk of the university security would start their shifts. Wu hurried to the armory, where all ordinance was kept under lock and key.

"Morning, Gary," Wu said to the quartermaster on duty. Gary was a balding man, thin with a bulging gut typical of men in their forties. The hair that left the top of his head appeared to have manifested elsewhere; between the eyebrows, on the ears, and in his nostrils.

"Hey, Charles, you're here early. I see you took a lot of gear last night. Everything go alright?"

"Can't divulge anything yet," said Wu. "But I'm still kicking as you can see."

"Damn right."

"Here's the shotgun and pistols I took. Grenades are gone," he said, placing the weapons on the counter. "Do you mind if I take a look at our remaining grenades?"

Gary scratched his scalp. "That's an interesting request."

"I know it is, but I need to check them."

"Charles, I don't have any orders for releasing any supplies into your custody."

"Course not, mate," said Wu cheerfully. "Come with me, let's see how many of the polonium ones we have."

Gary tilted his head. "I see. Just to count, eh. I don't know about this. We should probably consult with the sergeant if you think there's a problem."

He referred to Sergeant Rocito, the head of security at the university and senior warden.

"I'm doubtful he wants to be bothered over a simple inventory check," said Wu.

"Fine, but this better not put me in hot water."

Wu considered telling it to Gary straight, but he frankly didn't trust him. Gary was a bureaucrat with little interest in anything but procedure and paychecks. He begrudgingly unlocked the metal gate and they walked together to the grenade cage. It had several columns of vertical racks that could slide in and out like drawers, one for each type of grenade, except that flash-bangs got two.

Charles didn't go for the polonium rack first. He went in order from left to right. Frag, incendiary, smoke, flash, flash, silver. He counted them and relayed the numbers to Gary, who nodded, looking at a tablet with an inventory list. He came to polonium and counted.

"Five," he said.

Gary stood silent, then moved next to Wu and counted himself.

"You didn't take any last night?" he asked.

"I took a fair amount of gear, but no pols," said Wu. "Believe me or not, I can produce reasonable proof, but right now I'm more interested in how it left this room."

"How what left?"

"At least one of these grenades found its way into the hands of a mercenary outfit, Gary."

"Wasn't on my watch!" the quartermaster insisted.

"Gary, I'm not accusing you of anything," stated Wu. "But you know how serious this is. If somehow you let one slip out and let me know now, we can keep this between us. We can fix it... However, if you lie to me now, there's no one that can protect you later."

"I'm not listening to this," said Gary, walking away. "I'm calling the sergeant. We'll see what's what then."

Wu followed him back to the desk. "Pull up the camera feed of the last forty-eight hours," he ordered. Gary turned around and stared into the barrel of Wu's handgun.

"Do it now."

"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up defensively. "Jesus, please don't."

"Shut up and do it. I don't know why you are being so fucking uncooperative, and I don't care. I had a long night, little sleep, and I've got a lot of people's deaths to make sense of."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Gary fumbled with the built-in com screen at the desk. His fingers shook while pulling the segmented time frames into view.

"Play only motion detection in section two C," said Wu, pointing to the area of the feed's grid that contained the main armory gate. The screen blinked with the word 'seeking' for twenty seconds before stopping and playing at normal speed. A figure came into view, swiped his key card at the gate, walked in, and walked out.

"That's... Rocito," said Gary.

"Check for anyone else," said Wu.

"I am," he said, swiping past the event log. The screen blinked again. "That's it," he said.

"You don't seem surprised."

"Sure I am."

"He's done this before," said Wu.

"I don't know!" said Gary. "Sure, he takes a grenade or two on occasion. Usually signs for them, tells me it's for training use. Exploded on the grounds. It's in the logs."

"Show me."

Gary pulled up the logs, searched for Rocito by name, and brought up two dozen results of removing equipment, not all of it explosives. Wu scrolled through them slowly as sweat began to bead on Gary's forehead.

"Bloody hell!" said Wu.

"I thought it was legit," whined Gary. "Never thought to question it. No one ever made a fuss."

"Gary, you lousy tosser, did he pay you to keep quiet?"

"Of course not!" he proclaimed.

Wu looked at him with obvious skepticism. "Better not have. Go back to the cams. Can you follow him?"

"Follow him?"

"With the cameras," said Wu. "I want to know where he went after this."

"He might not have even taken anything," argued Gary. "How would you ever know?"

"I think this is enough right here," said Wu. "Neutralized polonium is still faintly radioactive. It may have been picked up by one of the sensors. Follow him."

"I can't," he replied. "Only the sergeant or higher can. Same with the sensor logs."

Wu put the gun away and rested his hand on Gary's shoulder, looking at the com screen. "I think you see now the delicate situation we are in. Keep this to yourself, we don't know who to trust." Gary stared at the warden, the fear of God now inside him.

"Let's see," said Wu. "This was captured yesterday afternoon. He would have had to move quickly to get it into the right hands," he thought out loud, removing his hand from Gary and pacing around to the front of the counter. He looked up at Gary. "That will do, quartermaster. Cheers," he said, walking out.

Wu called up Miller as he hurried down the hall toward the elevator.

"Charles?"

"Aye, sir, I believe we've had a breach of protocol in our armory."

"What are you doing? What happened last night? Where are you now?" he peppered.

"I'm on the grounds, sir," said Wu. "I don't wish to discuss last night yet, with one exception. It looks like a pol grenade was taken from the armory, and the only one who accessed the cage was Sergeant Rocito."

"Hold on," said Miller. "Let's not be hasty."

"He's innocent until I find proof, sir."

"Not exactly what I meant. Maybe you should hand this off to someone."

"Actually, that's why I called," said Wu. "I could use your help figuring this out."

"Also not what I mean, but let's hear it, warden."

"If he left with one of those grenades, our sensor logs should show a radiation spike at the door outside the building, and then possibly at the main gate, with some time-stamped video footage to go with it," Wu explained.

"That could take a while," said Miller.

"I will give you a very short time range, and if you skim the sensor logs, it should pop right out," Charles oversimplified, knowing if he made it sound easy, then there was no way Miller was going to admit it wasn't.

"I will have a look," he replied. "Can I ask that you at least steer clear of the sergeant?"

"He's at the central office right now. If you open his room for me, I can take a quick look without ringing any bells," said Wu.

"Jesus, Wu," exclaimed Miller. "You want to invade the privacy of your superior officer? You will never have a good day here again if he finds out."

Wu rode the elevator up to the sergeant's floor before being given permission. If there was one thing he didn't do, it was procrastinate. "These are strange times, chairman. And we are in the strangest of positions. With how we treat the mages, we ourselves can't expect to keep secrets. I would expect no less if I were suspected of something."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Wu," Miller said sternly. "You have ten minutes. Leave things how you found them."

"Aye, sir, thank you."

Inside the sergeant's quarters, Wu moved quickly, taking a video of every corner so that he could analyze later. There was no paperwork, and the computer was locked. Living single, Rocito had a minimal amount of possessions. Everything looked very ordinary, almost meek. His small closet even had room for a few more shirts.

Wu went through the kitchenette cabinets and desk drawers. Almost overlooked, he noticed an interesting timepiece on the desktop. The wristwatch gleamed gold, and from a brand Wu knew to be very expensive. In the middle of the watchband sat a small stack of casino chips. Perhaps he was a gambler, thought Wu. He examined the chips for a name. Harrah's, it read.

Wu was tempted to call up Frank and see if he could flex his corporate security muscle to get records on Rocito's gambling expenses, but decided he had better let him rest. Yet another job for Miller.

He headed out of the building and to the training center. He skipped the offices and went out the other door to the shooting range, showing his ID along the way. Rangemaster Pomre, a stout woman with her hair wound into a bun, supervised as officers were led through training exercises by another officer Wu didn't immediately recognize. He patiently waited for them to finish and clear out. Pomre noticed him, looked over to him several times, and greeted him as he walked up to the danger line.

"Warden Wu," she acknowledged. "How are you, this morning?"

"Have a lot on my mind," he said.

"Oh? Well, what about?"

"I was wondering," he started, "when the last time an officer detonated a grenade out here."

"Oh," she said. "Well, let me think." She crossed her arms. "I'd say one of the trainers demoed one about two weeks ago for a few of the noobs."

"Two weeks?" Wu repeated. "So it's not something that's done often?"

"Not really," she said. "We could do it every day if needed, but what's the point in wasting a live grenade? Also, we have to get out the BBs each time."

"BBs?" asked Wu, his training having taken place across the pond.

"Blast barricades," she said. "Suckers are dangerous. Can you imagine actually fighting with these things?"

Wu sighed. "Imagine? Not so much."

"Exactly," she said. "Next time we are doing a demo, I could let you know."

"Sure," he said. "Ever see Rocito out here?"

"The sarge? Not for a while. I'm not here on the weekends though."

"How long is a while?"

"Couple years, maybe? Is something wrong, Wu?"

Wu chuckled. "A whole list of things, Pomre. It's good to see you. I know I don't come around enough."

"Hey, no problem."

"See you around."

Wu walked back inside the training center, through security checkpoints and out the door to the campus grounds. Despite reservations on relying so heavily on Miller, he called up the chairman again.

"Miller?"

"You were right, at least partially," said Miller. "Sensor logs show he took the grenade out of the armory, but as far as the main gate goes, only a small blip showed. Not enough to be conclusive. You're out of his room, right?"

"Aye, sir. Didn't take long, he didn't have much," Wu began. "He did have some casino chips. You may want to see how much time and money he was spending there."

"I don't know," hesitated Miller. "Maybe."

"Something else you should know," Wu continued. "Quartermaster Gary told me that Rocito has been taking grenades often, even signed for them, for purposes of training exercises. However, the rangemaster claims grenades are rarely detonated. Takes too much prep and serves little purpose."

"How often is often?"

"From the records he showed me, roughly one a week."

"I think it's clear we have a problem here," said Miller. "Hang on while I call the security office."

"Wait," said Wu.

"What for?" said Miller.

"I have no doubt he's the culprit, but I'm afraid at this point he'll only lose his job," said Wu.

"As opposed to his life? A bit extreme isn't it?"

"Sir, you don't know the harm he's caused. He's weakened us and sullied our reputation. The things he smuggled out kill people."

Miller sighed. "I can't take the action you want, Wu."

"The council can," he said. "They should know about this in any case. I will prepare my report of last night's raid and present it."

"What if he gets wind you are poking around and makes a run for it?"

"He's not going anywhere if we don't allow it," said Wu. "Please, sir."

"Sometimes I don't know what's gotten into you," said Miller. "She's dead isn't she?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, I will schedule a meeting and message you the time."

* * *

Frank had never had visions of sugarplums dance in his head the night before Christmas, but he imagined it must feel a little like he felt that night. He closed his eyes, fantasizing about seeing Blist in cuffs, Blist in jail, Blist hanging at the end of a rope (even though such methods had not been used in decades). When his mind's eye watched the investigations captain being dragged by horses, he knew he was getting carried away.

He switched gears and instead thought of Lucy on the other side of the door to her motel room, and his happiness waned. He wondered what lay in his future. What did he have to live for? Why did he continue to exist? The anxiety dredged up painful memories that had lain buried at the bottom of Frank's consciousness for decades.

He thought of his wife, Jane, which brought on a mild panic attack, and so he thought again of Blist's demise. It was grim, he knew, but it was the only comfort he could bring himself, so jacked up was he from the violence of the raid. He tossed until he felt the sun peek up from behind the horizon. The warmth that penetrated the walls, while uncomfortable when trying to stay awake and alert, was gentle and soothing while trying to sleep. He closed his eyes and faded away...

And woke with hands all over him. His eyes darted around, counting three men in masks. He felt a cloth placed over his mouth. Frank instinctively tried to yell and felt fingers push the cloth inside his mouth. He bit down and the man cried out, managing to pull his fingers out before losing them.

The taste on the cloth was sweet, and he didn't know what chloroform smelled like, but as his vision blurred, he suspected he was being gassed with something. Frank was at least moderately vampiric, and his metabolism quickly worked the fumes out of his system, keeping him from going completely under. But he could offer little resistance in his state, further weakened by daylight seeping through the space between molecules.

The men dragged him out of his apartment. Two men on the arms, one on the legs. They went down the hall with him, then up the stairs to the first floor, then out the front door into broad daylight. Clouds obscured the sky, but as soon as the diffused light touched Frank's eyes, they began to burn. The intraocular fluid bubbled and boiled, tearing his corneas apart, blinding him. Even through the chloroform haze he screamed. He wore only a plain white t-shirt and boxers. His exposed skin began to smolder, and the hair on his arms and legs and head all caught fire.

"Jesus!" exclaimed one of the men.

"Throw him!" ordered another.

And throw him they did, out onto the sidewalk. It was midday, and the neighborhood was empty, save for one witness who stopped a block away and stared at the scene.

"Fucked with the wrong company, asshole!" he heard one shout. The men fled, and the sound of tires squealing was the last thing Frank heard before pain took over his senses.

The pain pulsated from formless torment to that of mimicking another sensation and back. When it imitated anything in particular, it felt like a thousand fishhooks trying to pull the vampire's skin off in all directions, in addition to the burning sensation. Frank screamed, but he couldn't hear the screaming. All he could hear was a tinnitus ring getting progressively louder. His body jerked uncontrollably from the onslaught. The skin quickly turned bright red, then began to darken. He had no orientation. His sense of touch was overwhelmed by the pain. This is it, he thought.

When the ringing reached its apex, some part of Frank's brain shut off and he stopped squirming. His vision went from black to white. He saw a face that he hadn't seen in so long he almost didn't recognize it. Jane. She stood in front of him, looking at him with her wry smile. Her body materialized on top of the blank canvas of his blinded eyes.

"You're a real piece of work, Frank Kerwin," she said.

Frank felt the cement under his forearms again. The pain was still there, but somehow the rough, porous surface had been amplified, cutting through the sensory noise.

"You're too stubborn to die," she said. "You live because you aren't done with this world yet. Pick yourself up, and finish this." Jane beckoned with one arm then faded into darkness.

Frank felt the edge of the curb with his left arm and pointed his right arm to where Jane had appeared. He began to scream again as he turned his body. But this time, he chose the scream. It wasn't one of helplessness or fear, but of anger and determination. Still an egg on the sidewalk on a hot summer day, Frank began dragging his body forward with his elbows.

He left behind a streak of red as his weakened skin ground off. Left arm forward, pull, scream, pull. Right arm forward, pull, scream, pull some more. Repeat. Repeat. Three stairs to climb. More screaming, more burning. His skin was dark red covered with pustules that began to bubble and burst out mucus.

Frank's vampiric healing, slow as it was, fought against the death that would have taken any other vampire twice over after so much sun exposure. The melanin in his skin acted as a natural barrier, and this wasn't the first time he had been burned. He refused to let the sun imprison him, dominate him, or destroy him.

Still blind, he now knew where he was. He climbed the steps slowly, taking short rests. He hit his bald head on the door, leaving a red splotch behind. The attackers had left the door unlatched, and it gave way. Frank continued to pull himself inside. Halfway in, the pain reinvented itself like the pins and needles felt by a limb deprived of oxygen when the blood rushes back in, and his body began to jerk again. He fought against the spasms and crawled the rest of the way. He kicked at the door, slamming it shut.

His body continued to spasm for several minutes before calming. He faded in and out of consciousness. A shriek woke him, and he heard footsteps approach. Frank tried to open his eyes to no avail, now unsure if he even had eyes in his sockets.

His nose picked up a smell over the stench of his burning skin. Perfume. A woman leaned over him. Her wispy scarf hung down, brushing against Frank's chin. Frank's hand shot up and grabbed the cloth, pulling it tight around the woman's neck. His grip was iron, and as he yanked down, her weight shifted forward and she fell to her knees.

Frank ignored her hitting and clawing. He pulled her close and found the strength to sit up slightly. The nightstalker grabbed her hair with his other hand and forced her flat against the entryway floor. Her screams came out as small squeaks as the scarf choked her. He climbed onto her and lunged for her neck, then pushed his fangs in. A small part of his sanity remained, and he resisted the urge to simply tear out a chunk of flesh.

Blood had always been a necessary evil for Frank. He tolerated the metallic taste only out of necessity. The blood that gushed into his mouth was now the sweetest of nectars. The woman passed out. From asphyxiation or shock or blood loss, he didn't know. He pulled the scarf off her neck and continued to drink. He stopped himself while still thirsty, a feat typically easy for him, but not so easy now. Either from the feel of her soft body under him, from her delicate neck vulnerable next to his teeth, or from her sensuous perfume, Frank felt himself start to harden.

Of course, he thought. That would still work.

He kept pressure on the fang wounds with his mouth. It took several minutes, but the bleeding slowed, and Frank wrapped the scarf around like a bandage. He rolled onto his back next to the woman, the euphoria of the blood masking the pain of his burn wounds. His body began to reconstruct itself, and the darkness began to lighten and form shapes.

He felt the woman's neck for a pulse and to check the bleeding. Satisfied that she would live, it occurred to him that these same men would be coming for Matthias too. He crawled on his hands and knees to the stairs down to his apartment, where he needed to reach his com and warn his partner, if it wasn't already too late.

* * *

The Mage Enforcement Council sat in disbelief as they watched the video procured by Chairman Miller. Before presenting the revelation that one of their most trusted had betrayed them by supplying a polonium grenade to a mercenary company, Charles Wu walked the council through the events of the previous evening. He described Sandra Haulstein's actions in great detail, as well as how she died, all while some of the members fidgeted in their seats.

"This is all a little... fantastic," said Councilwoman Lewis.

"I exaggerate nothing," said Wu. "And let me be clear. I believe if even a handful of mages are capable of half what she was, then we must tread carefully, and act quickly. They are dangerous, discontented, and now one of their own has been killed."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Miller.

"Obviously, we cannot train them anymore," he replied. "It has to stop. If a corporation wants them trained, they will have to do it themselves."

"And they will," said a councilman.

"Perhaps, but the corps can fight with each other over pacts regarding how it's handled, and we stay out of it," he suggested. "More importantly, we need the mages' trust. They see us as adversaries, as captors, as jailors."

"Isn't that more or less what we are?" asked another member.

"It has been," said Wu. "But it's a matter of perception. Our mission has been to protect the world from magic. What if it was instead to protect mages from the world?"

Two of the members nodded.

"We change our mission and problem solved?" asked Miller.

"It's a start," said Wu. "And since we call ourselves a university, we should style ourselves as one, and create scholars out of our wards. The mages need to feel like this is their school, their home, not just a place they've been stuck in."

"That's going to take a lot of work, and I think we all know it can't happen overnight," said the councilwoman. Miller nodded with her.

"You said act fast, Wu. What did you mean?" asked Miller.

Wu cleared his throat. "I ask that you refer to the encrypted document I sent you. It's a brief proposal based on my discussions with some of the mages and my assessment of long-term repercussions."

Miller skimmed the document. "We can't have this," he said sternly. "It's barbaric."

"News will spread," said Wu. "These folks find out everything. Information control has proven impossible. They'll learn about Rocito. I know what I'm proposing sounds awful, but we are granted a kind of sovereignty that I believe allows this, that I believe we must exercise."

"How would they know what happened at Malloy? They might connect Rocito, but all they'd know is the timing was suspicious," said Miller. "In any case our security should handle this, not... one of them."

"We have a chance here," said Wu. "We don't have to take it, obviously. But it won't come around often. We can prove ourselves an ally of the mage body, and avert possible disaster."

Muttering filled the room. Council members looked at each other as if lost or confused or maybe scared. No one denounced the idea loudly, and the muttering stopped.

"How did it come to this?" said the councilwoman.

"I'll tell you how," said Wu. "The corruption of money is persistent and this won't be the last time corporations threaten our mission. Someday all this may come crumbling down. They might decide to annex us all and dictate our policies. In a way, it's surprising that enough people in power had the foresight to give us breathing room. Until that changes, we have to fight against outside influence and keep some level of inner harmony, and right now that calls for blood."

She sighed. "Okay, I'm on board. I don't think any of us know where this path leads, where any path leads. But this is a bold move, and I think the warden's reasons are sound."

"You aren't serious," said one councilman.

"Who else?" asked another.

"Now, hold on," said Miller.

"Aye," two others said. Only one more was needed for a majority.

Two councilmen sat quietly; they continued to read the document, or at least pretend to.

Miller tapped his finger on the table and stared at Wu. "Fine," he said. "Make sure it's done right."

Charles Wu nodded, stood, then left. Miller and Lewis looked at each other then down at the desk.

"Whatever this is," said Miller, "whatever we had, it's gone now. I hope what comes next isn't worse."

* * *

Getting past the desk attendant was easy for the Caliber mercs. They flashed the attendant the Noxcorp authorization Blist had provided. It might lead back to him, but who's going to check when the agents are dead?

However, getting past his secure door quietly was another matter. It took the men several minutes brute-forcing the door's combination. Noxcorp security had likely been alerted already to the attempted intrusion, but the locking software only sent packets, and couldn't receive them in order to prevent hacking. Because of this, it had no brute force protection outside of a one-second delay between attempts.

Too many times had people decided to prank others by locking them out of their own apartments with multiple attempts. Still others simply had to guess several times while drunk or high before getting it right. Either way, the security of a progressive lockout timer was thwarted by human nature.

One of the three men crouched down and used a high-resolution scanner on the buttons to determine their wear. Only four of the numbers had been used. The rest had flawless digits. Oil residue showed that one of the numbers had been regularly pressed more than the other three. The combination in such a circumstance would have to be between five and seven digits in length. The man started punching every five-digit combination that used one of the numbers twice and the other three once.

When none of those worked, he started on six-digit combos, of which there were double that of five. His com screen read out to him each combination to try. The two men standing behind him were becoming impatient. They had decided they could spend no more than fifteen minutes before they would be forced to physically breach the door. As time ran out, one of the mercs pointed his gun at the latch. The keypad blinked green, and the crouching mercenary breathed a sigh of relief and shook his hand around to uncramp it.

One of the mercs held up three fingers, then two, then one, then opened the door and the three flooded inside. BANG! The face of the last one in exploded. Matthias swiveled and shot a second merc in the head. The third one swung his gun toward him, but Matthias moved forward and caught it before he could complete the motion. He aimed his pistol from the hip and fired into the merc's gut twice, then extended his arm as the merc stumbled back, and shot him in the face.

Matthias checked the bodies. All were dead. He raised his com to his face.

"Ya, I'm alright. Thanks."

"Good," said Frank, his ragged voice resembling that of a death metal front man.

"We don't have much time now," said Matthias. "If Blist put out this hit, he'll be waiting for confirmation."

"Shit, what do we do?"

"He lost," said Matthias. "We just need to lay low until tonight."

"The servers," said Frank. "Can you call Jaxi and see if she's found anything?"

"She'll call us tonight," said Matthias.

"We're dead without it," said Frank. "What if he knows where we sent it somehow?"

"Well, now I'm paranoid. Hold on, I'll conference her in."

A ringtone sounded on both men's coms. Then it stopped.

"Matthias? What's going on?" Jaxi asked, sounding surprised.

"Hey, Jaxi. Frank and me had some unexpected guests interrupt our sleep," explained Matthias. "I wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine," she said. "I routed the data through a couple other corps that are unlikely to just hand over logs to Noxcorp. I'm being safe."

"Good."

"But we have a problem," she added.

"Oh shit," said Frank.

"Uh, who's that?"

"That's Frank, he's on the line with us."

"Hi, Jaxi," Frank said.

"Greets," she replied. "So here's the deal. My script was designed to pull up the files through the application layer on the servers and read the data after it's been decrypted. Having a bunch of encrypted files wouldn't do us any good. Well, somehow the data is still encrypted."

"What's that mean?" asked Frank.

"I'm trying some top-of-the-line decryption software on some beefy machines, but it could be days, maybe longer, before any of it's readable."

"Fuck me," said Frank.

"Why didn't it work?" asked Matthias.

"Not a hundred percent sure," she admitted. "There may have been an extra layer of abstraction used for a secondary encryption. Maybe specifically for network transmission, maybe just because they were overly cautious. I'm sorry, Matt."

"So what you're saying is Cuba came up to the servers—"

"Come on, Frank."

"—and was like, 'Yo dawg, I heard you like encryption, so I put some encryption on your encryption'."

Matthias sighed.

"So you know their server admin?" Jaxi asked.

"Please don't listen to him," Matthias interjected.

"This is so great," said Frank sarcastically.

"What can we do to fix this?" asked Matthias.

"Well, you could bring me a server."

"I said we should grab one!" said Frank.

"That ship has sailed," said Matthias. "Blist will have his men alongside corpsec swarming the building."

"I've already contacted Ford. He's a businessman, but he secretly gets off on this adventure shit, so he's working on tracking down an encryption key," said Jaxi. "But again, this could take time."

"We are out of time," said Matthias. "Make sure the council gets this, no matter what happens to us."

"You guys could hide out somewhere until I've cracked it."

"Don't worry about us," he said casually. "We'll check in with you later."

Matthias disconnected Jaxi.

"I don't want to run, I can't," said Frank.

"This isn't just about us," said Matthias. "Jaxi thinks she's invincible, but Noxcorp will find her, and it won't take weeks. Probably Ford too now that he's in on it. Their lives are in danger now."

Frank groaned. "I didn't think," he said. "Didn't consider the lives I'd be risking outside of my own when I hatched this scheme. No one else should have to pay for this."

"The raid was my idea, remember?" said Matthias. "We can save them, and we'll probably get Blist too. We turn ourselves in."

"Blist will kill us," asserted Frank. "And he probably will still try to trace the data."

"If we turn ourselves in with no cards to play, he'll think we never got the data. He ends us, and the game is over as far as he knows."

"Maybe," said Frank, collapsing onto his couch. "Spent so much of my life in fear. Maybe it's time."

"He might keep us alive to take the fall for all this, who knows. But we have to face the music, and hope the council is smart enough to see through Blist's bullshit."

"I can't believe this," said Frank.

"You said Guero trusts you," said Matthias. "Make sure he knows what really went down."

"Guero," echoed Frank quietly. He sat up. "Feel like one last gambit, Matty?"

"I don't feel like anything right now."

"Well, what if we didn't need the data?" proposed Frank.

"How's that?" asked Matthias.

"Blist sent these goons because he believes we have it already," reasoned Frank.

"Or he's just really tired of our meddling."

"Or that. But if he thinks we have it, then he will do whatever he can to get it back, or at least to get himself out of the crosshairs. This is his life, man. He can't walk away."

"So we pretend we want to bargain," followed Matthias. "Ask for some reasonable cash to walk away. Implicate ourselves by taking money from him," Matthias said, working the details out aloud.

"Not we," corrected Frank. "Those assholes killed me. It's just you now. That will be easier for him to accept. You've worked for him for years."

"Right," said Matthias. "You're dead. I'm wounded. Meet him somewhere?"

"Your garage, as you are in no shape to travel," said Frank.

* * *

Sergeant Rocito was the nearest in the vicinity when one of the restroom cameras went out in dormitory building C. Custodians had been assigned to installing new appliances in the cafeteria kitchen. He grabbed a footstool from a side closet and headed into the room to jiggle some wires around.

He looked under the stall doors to see if anyone else was inside, then looked up in the corner above the sinks and saw the offending camera. Rocito got on the footstool and reached for the power cord.

An invisible lasso grabbed the sergeant around the waist and pulled him off the stool and across the room. He landed and hit the back of his head, then continued to slide on the floor. He rolled to a stop at the far wall.

Rocito, dizzy and disoriented, sat up and drew his service weapon. He pointed it at the man now standing five meters in front of him and pulled the trigger. It only clicked in response.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rocito yelled. "Get to your room and close the door!" he ordered.

In front of him stood Freddy, a dark-skinned mage who specialized in conjuration magic.

"Yo' got 'er killed," he accused, his eyes burning with a cold rage.

"And what about you?" growled Rocito. "You helped her escape. She was safe here."

"I know what I done, an' I'll 'ave ta live wit it tha rest of ma life." Freddy's hands glowed bright green as he channeled Ethereal power. He stalked toward the sargeant as he spoke, "You... will not."

Rocito screamed for help. The camera continued blinking red.

* * *

"Uh huh," Terrence Blist said into the com. "You think I'm pretty stupid, don't you, Matthias."

"I don't know how smart you are," said Matthias. "But you've gone to a lot of trouble to take care of a certain problem. There's got to be some money somewhere."

"This is some sort of trick," said Blist. "Trying to get back at me for Frank."

"Fuck Frank," said Matthias. "I never liked him, he never liked me."

"True enough. So I send you a little bonus, and you destroy the data?"

"Easy peasy," said Matthias.

"And then a couple weeks, maybe a couple months later, you come back asking for more."

"No, that's not it at all. You send me money, and we are in the same boat. This is a one-time deal," stated Matthias.

"Oh, Matthias," said Blist. "If this were some sort of sting, then it wouldn't matter if you took one dollar or a million."

"I don't need a sting," he retorted. "Check with Malloy. I have everything."

"You aren't this greedy though."

Blist kept asking the hard questions, pointing out the flaws. It was mentally taxing for Matthias, but he started to see it come together.

"No, but I will need money because I'm not sticking around," replied Matthias. "More than that, I want us to have an understanding so that I don't have to spend my life looking over my shoulder."

"You might have the data stored somewhere," said Blist. "Besides, I have other ways of dealing with this."

"Shit, captain," Matthias scoffed. "You know the council better than me, but that data shows you researching which mage to break out. Then you communicated with Malloy, who assisted in her escape. Then that mage, under threat of blackmail, kills Hank? I don't think you'll get invited to any more parties." Matthias didn't know what the data showed, only what it needed to, and he needed Blist to believe he had it.

"You know what, Matthias. I actually like your plan, but just taking money isn't enough. You confess to killing Frank, in writing, and we have a deal."

Matthias sensed this was a trap. If he answered too eagerly, Blist would see right through him. "There's got to be some other way," he said. "I can't live my life as a criminal. I want to walk, like I said."

"That's the deal," said Blist smugly. "It's not a bad one either. You leave Noxcorp territory and I drop any extradition requests. If I go back on my word, then you'll have no reason to protect our little secret."

"Hmm," pondered Matthias. "Fine. Meet me at my place's garage within the hour. Just you. I see anyone else and I send the dump to the council directly."

"Hold on, Trent. You don't get to dictate terms."

"I've got silver lodged in my stomach thanks to you," he lied. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not dealing with anyone else. I want cash or physical crypto. Then I'll hand you the data I stole from Malloy and sign the confession, dated two days from now, of course."

"I'm not going out there," he said. "I'll send someone."

"If I don't see you, I don't trust you. I'm not going to sit down there waiting for some thug to turn his gun on me as soon as I sign. You and only you."

"Fine. But if you cross me, there will be no place you can hide."

"I just want a way out," said Matthias. "Don't be late." He disconnected the com before waiting for Blist to respond, and exhaled sharply.

* * *

"This will be our last meeting regarding the incident," said Miller. "I've read your report, and then deleted it. We have to doctor a lot of this."

"I understand, sir," said Wu.

"I see Rocito has retired," said Lewis.

"I still don't know..." said Miller.

"It was the right move," said Wu.

"The official account," said Miller, "is that you killed the escaped mage, Charles."

"What?"

"Not Sandra," he clarified. "Like I said, this will require some doctoring. But you are a hero, Mr. Wu. You tracked down the mage and killed it before it could wreak untold havoc. In other news, Noxcorp informed us that they've lost one of their own to an unfortunate suicide.

"As for Sandra Haulstein," continued Miller. "The talented and rare body mage died from a clot in the brain that had gone undetected until it was too late. She was always a good resident and student, and an example of what all mages strive to become. There was even one time when she assisted in a joint operation between Noxcorp and Mage Enforcement, where she was commended for her bravery."

Wu thought himself a decent narrator, but this was unexpected.

"What about Freddy and the other students?" asked a councilman. "Won't they know?"

"Freddy will understand," assured Miller. "Stories will circulate, but we're telling the only one that matters outside this campus."

"We will tell a fiction that is more welcome than the truth," added Wu.

The man nodded in acceptance. Councilwoman Lewis looked up at Wu.

"It's never been done, because we never really treated the mages as an asset," she said. "But I believe a plaque in her honor should adorn the hallway of her dorm. What do you think?"

Charles Wu coughed the frog away and nodded. "Yes, I think that would be appropriate."

* * *

Terrence Blist endured an eternally long car ride across town to Matthias's apartment. The sun was high in the sky, and his SUV provided more protection than any other vehicle in the district, but the sun's energy still flooded the cabin. Sweat dripped from his forehead, but given the stakes, he couldn't be sure it was the sun's doing.

Blist breathed a sigh of relief when the vehicle entered the parking garage, putting multiple thick barriers between himself and the day. He stepped out of the back seat of the SUV and instructed his driver to kill everyone if he didn't come back. He didn't say everyone involved in the transaction, or everyone in the garage, but just everyone.

Far in the back of the underground garage, he saw Matthias's car. He slowly walked toward it, carrying a shotgun at the ready, carefully looking side to side as he passed each car.

He approached the front of the car, shuffling one foot to the left, then the other. Matthias came into view, his body propped up against the front bumper. He was in worse shape than he had let on over the com. His shirt and jeans were soaked with blood, and his head rested on his chest. At Blist's approach, it lifted.

Again Blist looked around cautiously. He stepped within a few meters of Matthias.

"Jesus," he said. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"I'm fine," said Matthias.

"Right," said Blist. "If you die, some dead man switch will release the data I assume?"

"No," said Matthias.

Blist furrowed his brow and crouched down. "That's not smart. But I don't see any reason to go back on my word. I brought the crypto and secure document for you to sign."

Blist lowered a messenger bag onto the ground and fished out a tablet, keeping the shotgun aimed at Matthias.

"The mage is dead," said Matthias. "In case you hadn't heard."

"I hadn't," he replied. He studied Matthias's face.

"She was a good kid," said Matthias. "I suppose to you she was nothing. I thought I was cold, but you really don't care who you have to crush."

"We're vampires, Matthias. Emotions are a weak human response. They live in the realm of right and wrong. We live in the realm of win or lose. They wring their hands over a little blood. We drink it."

"Don't bother handing me that," Matthias said. "I'm not signing shit."

"Matthias, what is this? I knew I shouldn't have come here, and I told you not to fuck with me." Blist dropped the tablet and aimed the shotgun at Matthias's face.

"Like I said, no dead man's switch. Don't need it," Matthias said with a grin. "I already sent the data to the council. In other words, fuck you, Blist."

Blist shook his head in denial that built to a boil. "No! No. You insignificant shit. I will win. The council will listen to me, and you will have died for nothing."

"At least I got to see your stupid face while you shit your pants, you fucking traitor."

"See you in hell, Matthias." Blist fired a shell into Matthias's face, but instead of splattering blood all over the car's grill, powder and bits of plaster exploded and Matthias's face continued to haunt the front of the vehicle as a misshapen and translucent ghost.

Click. Blist heard the sound of a hammer being cocked behind him. He continued to stare at what was now clearly a headless mannequin.

"Get all that, Guero?" It was Frank's voice, scratchy and broken, but definitely Frank's.

Blist turned. Frank pointed at the shotgun and waved his finger. Blist lowered it and faced him. The agent was bald outside of a couple short patches of hair. His eyes were white and his skin had large runs of strange lines, almost like exaggerated stretch marks.

"Impossible," uttered Blist.

"Yes, Frank," said the voice from his com. "Blist, I'm very disappointed in you. You really thought you could kill one of us and get away with it?"

Blist snarled. "You are all weak. I am strong. Without me, the humans would put you in a cage. Guero, you know I'm right. You need me."

"Frank."

"Yeah?"

"Put him out of his misery."

"You got it," said Frank. He shook his head. "Want to know what really brought you here, Blist?"

"No."

"Remember Lucy Velez?"

Blist shook his head, searching. He stopped and lifted his chin slightly. "You mean that whore from Dodge City?"

"That's right," he replied.

"You're pathetic," spat Blist.

"You got me there," said Frank. "But Lucy wasn't."

"If you don't kill me, I'll do it myself," said Blist. "Better that than to listen to you rave about some bitch who sat around giving blow jobs all day."

"See, this is what I want you to understand," said Frank. "She beat you. She brought you down. It wasn't me or Matthias. She did it. Because she's the opposite of you. You walk around thinking you own the world and control everyone. You are the part of the world no one wants around. Lucy sat around all day giving blow jobs, which by the way is a gross oversimplification. She kept to herself. She wanted power only over herself. She made people happy. Her death was a knife to my gut. She beat you by being someone whose death couldn't be overlooked. Not by everyone, at least. And how much did you gain from it? Did Cargill reward you handsomely? Did the council throw you a parade? No?"

Frank saw the expression on Blist's face change from indignation to defeat. "Now you know how you fucked up," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "You know, my eyesight ain't the greatest today," he taunted his former boss. "You swing that shotgun up fast enough, maybe you walk away."

As soon as Blist's body so much as twitched, Frank fired, planting a bullet squarely between the captain's eyes. The inertia of Blist's move continued lifting the shotgun higher, while his head flung back violently. His legs collapsed and his body crumpled backward to the ground. Frank limped over and put another bullet in the head and two in the chest. All were silver. The captain was going to stay dead.

"Good work, Frank," said Guero. "I've informed his driver that if he values his life that he should immediately vacate the premises. See you boys at the meeting tonight."

"Till then, boss." Frank disconnected.

Matthias stepped out from a nearby car. He walked up to Blist, then looked at the hologram of his own face, distorted as it was projected against the grill of the car.

"Think it must be his eyes that aren't so great," he said.

"It looks convincing with the dummy placed just right," said Frank.

"God," said Matthias, looking at Frank's face. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"You look like a brain eater."

"Yup."

"Like a Shady Sands shuffler."

"A what?"

"A ghoul."

"I get it."

"I've seen guys come back from some serious injuries," said Matthias. "But I think you're fucked."

"I know you're joking—"

"I'm not."

"—but you are starting to piss me off."

They sat down on the hood of the car opposite the SUV. Frank pulled out his vaper. Matthias held his hand out and Frank reluctantly relinquished it. Matthias took a few puffs and handed it back. They sat quietly, each with a head full of thoughts and brains that insisted on churning them until they made sense. Matthias replayed Sandy's memories in his mind, wondering if he'd ever feel what she felt and if he could ever be worthy of her opinion of him.

## Epilogue

Matthias and Frank met up outside the Noxcorp council chambers around ten o'clock. By that time, Councilman Peter Guero had already sprung into action, securing the private key needed to decrypt the secondary layer protecting Malloy's data. He kept a copy for himself and let Jaxi organize the rest. She was sent a lump sum for her efforts and her silence.

He kept the presentation brief, and connected the dots for Koch and the rest of the council, showing Blist to be a mastermind of investigative corruption, culminating in a garage showdown with his agent, Frank Kerwin. This, of course, proved Guero's initial judgement on bringing Frank into the fold to be a sound one.

The council then took up the matter of ancillary conspirators. They all agreed that a full investigation had to be done into whoever provided aid to Blist and Malloy Inc. They also agreed to absorb Malloy into Noxcorp. Legality being a fuzzy thing given corporate jurisdictions, they believed it to be something they could 'get away with' by selling off the corporation's assets and remaining focused on Noxcorp's bread and butter, investments and finance.

Finally, they briefly discussed the drug, Jester. They chuckled at Matthias's report and claims that Hank had partaken in the recreational drug before his death.

"I heard he liked to get lit," said Green.

"Oh, come on," said Koch.

"I think maybe we should do a little research on this," said Guero.

"Right," said Johnson, "let's all do a little research together when this is over."

Guero did not join the others in laughter.

"Are we ready to discuss investigations?" asked Nuwama.

"Yes, I think so," said Koch. "Bring them in," she commanded.

Despite feeling relatively assured that their necks were safe, and that they might even have employment after the session was over, being brought before the council was always a nerve-wracking experience.

Doors approximately six meters high and over a meter wide unsealed and slowly swung outward. The two men walked timidly through them, approaching the crescent-shaped table, surrounding themselves with the most powerful vampires in North America, if not the world.

Matthias glanced at Koch, who blinked one eye very quickly as he did. He looked away nervously, wondering if the chairwoman had just winked at him. Something in her eye, surely, he thought. Then he recalled the com call warning him about Caliber and made his best effort to keep a straight face.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen," convened Koch. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that you have our gratitude for the work you did and the risks you took to expunge corruption from our system. That being said, we do have some questions, but have all agreed to keep them friendly and as brief as possible."

The two agents nodded.

"The first thing I just have to know," started Johnson, "is why you, either of you, suspected Terrence Blist of anything at all? It says here you wanted his network logs, Mr. Kerwin. Why?"

Frank took a moment to collect his thoughts. He did not want to mention blood memories. "That's a good question," said Frank. "I actually wanted all the network logs, not just his. After visiting the university, it became clear that it was someone on the outside that helped Haulstein escape. I had a hunch, I guess you'd say, that whoever did it might have left tracks by accessing their mage database. The address used belonged to the Noxcorp investigations office. But they still used the old scheme, so I couldn't see any more than that without the network logs for the whole building. When analyzed, they showed Blist's workstation."

"So you never thought," said Nuwama, "that maybe his workstation had been compromised?"

"Yes, I considered it," answered Frank.

"But you didn't look into it," said Koch.

Matthias interjected. "I would like to address this," he said.

Koch nodded. "Go ahead."

"Frank originally wanted to hand the information over to you directly, tonight," he explained. "There was no way for us to audit his computer ourselves. He felt you would be able to subpoena his machine and Malloy records to determine what happened."

"So why didn't he?" asked Guero.

"I convinced him that Blist was too clever to be caught like that."

"You didn't think we could figure it out?"

"I think it's plain now just how devious he was, and how careful. I wanted proof in our hands before tossing accusations at him."

Koch smiled at Matthias's ability to dance around Guero's accusation. "You thought it would be better to kill a dozen men and illegally seize corporate intellectual property, then hand it over to an unaffiliated analyst." She wanted him to squirm.

"Yes," he replied.

Koch coughed away her grin.

"Ma'am," said Frank. "I don't believe we were acting illegally, as such as it were."

Guero sighed.

"Because, uh," continued Frank, "Malloy was already... implicated, sort of. And pretty much all those guys had it coming."

"We understand," said Green. "It's in Guero's presentation, though worded a little... differently. If there are no other questions, I have one I wanted to ask last, as it doesn't pertain to the investigation itself."

The other members were silent. "Tell me, either of you, what was it like to fight alongside a mage? I've read she was some sort of rare type."

Frank looked toward Matthias, who stared at the floor for a moment. It was impossibly reflective, composed of perfect tiles with a razor-thin grout line. He saw his reflection. He didn't think about it, but he knew he'd remember this moment every time he looked at this floor.

He looked up at Koch. "She was a well-meaning kid. But worthless on the battlefield, like all mages from what the warden told us."

Koch looked confused, and Matthias snuck a wink in at her while the other councilmen looked at each other.

"But she killed Hank, and then you took her with you on the raid," said Nuwama.

"If you look at the video," he explained, "she stuck an old man with silver. Haulstein had some martial arts skills, sure, but couldn't hit anything with a gun, and I made a mistake taking her, as her death illustrates." As long as they didn't look carefully, Matthias thought this interpretation might stick.

"Then why put her at risk?" asked Koch.

"The poor girl wanted to go back to the university. She wanted your forgiveness for her crime." Matthias gritted his teeth. "I told her it was the only way. I didn't..."

The Noxcorp agent did not finish, and the rest of the council sat quietly.

"Magic is parlor tricks," said Frank, picking up on Matthias's intent. "They are better off staying inside their walls."

"I agree," said Koch. "Last thing we need is more intercorporate conflict over it."

"Are we ready to move on to restructuring?" asked Guero. Koch and the others nodded.

* * *

Over the next hour, the council discussed the dismantling of the investigations division of Noxcorp. The security offices that did beat work and minor crimes would be expanded to incorporate a major investigations division. They already had their own detectives, and it was decided that pooling resources and manpower might help keep corruption in check.

The old division was renamed Special Investigations, where special agents would investigate special crimes. Seen as integral to Blist's demise, and at the behest of Guero, Frank was named the Kansas City Special Investigations handler, filling his departed boss's job. He would not be called a captain, and he would only have two or three agents assigned to him, but a promotion was a promotion, and Frank reluctantly accepted.

The university and Noxcorp worked together to reform the system of mage treatment across the continent. They initiated talks to strengthen agreements on corporate exploitation. Pacts were signed that would, at least for the time being, protect them from being used as a weapon.

The amount of funding that each controlling corp agreed to pay was doubled, and slowly what looked like prisons started looking like schools and campuses. The foamcrete corporation was more than happy to provide bulk discounts of roughly seven percent.

Matthias was given his pick of becoming a senior detective under the security umbrella or remaining a special investigator. He chose the latter. Mundane crimes were boring, after all. Unfortunately, that made Frank his boss, and sometimes Frank was kind of a boor.

* * *

Frank walked up the stairs and down the hallway of his apartment. Coming in from outside was a tall, conservatively-dressed woman in her late thirties. He didn't recognize her at first until he noticed the bandage around her neck.

Oh, god, he thought, continuing to walk toward her on the way to his car.

As she passed, he looked at her right as she looked at him, and her eyes widened before turning downward. Just let it go, he thought. Then, dammit.

Frank grabbed her arm after she had passed, but before she could get out of reach. She spun and her expression turned to panic.

"I am so sorry about yesterday," he said. "So, so, soooo sorry." Her face calmed and he continued. "I was literally dying and you saved me. I know you didn't have a choice in it, but you were the only one who found me and came to help. I just want you to know, that was totally not like me. Normally my skin looks relatively normal and I have more hair and I don't grab people."

"I understand," she said. "It's... alright, I guess."

"You want to hit me or knee me in the balls or want me to find another place, I will get it," he said.

She shook her head. "No, of course not." She hesitated, then grinned. "Maybe you can get me dinner sometime."

"Uh," said Frank, confused. "Yeah, of course... you pick the place. Whatever you want."

"Okay," she nodded.

"Name's Frank," he said, holding out his hand.

"Charlotte," she replied, placing her fingers in his palm.

"Nice to meet you, formally," she said.

"Likewise."

"Have a pleasant evening," she said, withdrawing her hand and continuing down the hall. Frank stared after, his hand floating in the air. Why not, he thought as his hand descended. He spun on his heels and headed outside to enjoy the first night of his new promotion.

"Hey, Matty," he said into his com.

"Yeah, Frank."

"I'll be at the office in a few. Let's get to work."

* * *

Matthias put his com away, then greeted the woman on the other side of the screen. She looked at him with some surprise, then nodded and buzzed the door open. He knocked on Martha's door, and a caretaker let him in.

He sat across from the woman while they drank tea. She had the aid bring her a large photo album, and together they looked at pictures of Sandra and talked about how adorable she was as a kid, and how bright she was, of course.

"Martha, thank you for this," he said. "I came here because you were the most important thing in her life, and I think Sandra would want you to know what really happened to her."

* * *

The young woman moaned in ecstasy. She may have added a little extra volume to it, but for the most part, it was genuine pleasure. She sat slouched on a wide shelf, her head propped against the wall. Curiously, the cramped laundry room had no cameras. As such it was a popular make-out spot and occasionally a bit more.

Her partner, a dark-skinned man named Freddy, panted heavily as he thrusted toward climax. She watched his face contort and placed her legs tightly around his waist. She knew it was a dumb thing to do, but it was as if nothing else mattered in that moment except to feel him release inside her.

The man looked at her in surprise. His eyes widened and he moaned as he came. His arms rested underneath hers, and he used his forearms pressed against the top of her ribcage to push her away, then pull her back to him as he pushed forward, pounding against her. Her pussy clamped around his uncircumcised cock as she came. Her fingers wrapped around his curly hair and tugged his head toward her chest.

For a few seconds they were lost in the moment. Finding time and opportunity to fuck without eyes on them and without filling out a form was difficult. And the times when she had managed to drag or be dragged to that room, it was over too quickly or never went anywhere.

As their bodies slowed and their breathing deepened, she continued to hold his body pressed against hers. She released her grip on his hair, and his face rose into view, then moved close to kiss her gently on the lips and then on her forehead. Freddy smiled like she'd never seen him smile. It was infectious, and she blushed as she smiled sheepishly.

He stepped back, causing his cock to slip out. He grabbed his t-shirt and wiped her off while she laughed and covered her mouth, then himself, then the floor under the shelf. "It's everywhere," he chuckled.

The girl scooted her ass back, then turned and lay flat as if to take a nap right there on the laundry shelf. Her right leg fell over the side and her hands folded behind her head. She looked like a nude sunbather. Freddy pulled a bright red plastic chair from decades past next to her, sat down, and exhaled.

"Tha' was nice," said Freddy, leaning back against the chair.

"Yeah," she replied. "It was alright." She swung her leg around playfully.

"Might be tha bess I evah had." Freddy beamed up at her. He was her elder by several years, but she had made him feel as awkward and nervous as a young boy. "Was that tha body magic?"

The girl smiled, staring up at the ceiling. She giggled at the thought. "That was all natural, Freddy."

"If ya say so."

They continued to rest, knowing it was a risk to ever dally outside of their dorm room without clothes on, and that soon their life would have to return to a normal that was nothing resembling normal.

"Wasn't sure about this place at first," she said. "Thought I might go crazy, or worse."

"An' now?"

"Doesn't seem so bad," she replied. "Might just make it after all."

"Ya 'ave ta miss tha outside," he said.

"Ain't so fanto out there," she said with her eyes half shut. "I miss my mom, though. She gave everything up for me, then had to give me up, too."

"Tha's rough."

"We get to visit. It's better this way."

Sandra Haulstein suppressed the urge to rise and retreat to her room, choosing instead to bask in a warm euphoria of contentment for a bit longer. Such simple moments are not to be trifled, for there may come a time when things are not so simple, and life's story comes to an...

End.

Thank you for coming all this way. I appreciate the opportunity to tell a story to anyone that wants to read one. If you've not already, I recommend checking out Visceral, which takes place about twenty years after these events. If you have, then I will see you next time... in Pivotal. (Find them at the big A store!)

