Immortal Vindication

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Without any clouds to mask the stars that dotted the skies or to veil the near-full moon from the urban red desert below, the city of Phoenix was bright with evening light on that consistently warm mid-August night. A ray of moonlight seemed to softly illuminate an almost forgotten park in the South Mountain urban village district. The park itself was small, with a single jungle gym for children, a sandbox, and a perfectly square area of grass that encompassed it, which was more yellow and brown than green. In the center, sitting on the swings and slide, were four young men who looked to be no older than being of legal driving age. The night provided them with some degree of cover from the vivid city lights that filtered only slightly through the trees that lined the perimeter of the park, though still, at the same time, allowed them just enough light to carry on with their nightly activities and excursions.

The four boys were each holding onto a joint of marijuana and also had in their possession a bottle of cheap beer at their sides. They were talking in low, sluggish voices to one another, occasionally laughing or digging their bare feet into the sand surrounding them below. These boys weren't anyone particularly special. They weren't football or track or baseball stars at their high school. They weren't honor roll students or popular amongst their classmates. They weren’t contributing anything to their community. In fact, they went, for the most part, unnoticed by most of society in general, except perhaps when they were stealing booze from their parents or purchasing drugs on the street. They were nobodies that chose to cope with their isolation in ways that would take them out of their own minds and feel numb. The real problem though was that, despite being less social than some of their peers, they really weren't all that different. Everyone had problems. Everyone had issues. What made them so special that they needed to wallow more in their sorrow and misfortune? How could four boys so young and still so early on in their lives feel as if they need to contemplate suicide or ruin their bodies in order to ever be happy? Life never promised it would be fair. It only promised one thing to all those born of this world, one thing that so many took for granted, that these boys were throwing away naively - life.

In an instant though, life could be stolen away unexpectedly and before we are truly ready or prepared.

From out of the shadows of the darkness, almost seeming to materialize out of thin air, came two slender figures, practically floating as they walked more quickly than to be expected. They were male and female, and from a distance, they looked like just any other couple on a nightly stroll, but up close, it was clear that something was off about them. Naturally, the instincts of those that came within their vicinity triggered their fight-or-flight response (or, in some cases, freezing), though all too commonly people would dismiss this and suppress their instincts, as they regularly did, rationalizing them away. Such was the case this night as the couple approached the four boys sitting alone at the playground.

What initially appeared to be a friendly greeting, which turned into seemingly normal conversation, rapidly began to spiral out of control. The two adults inconspicuously blocked off the high school boys before they made their move. Lunging in what would appear to be the blink of an eye, they simultaneously knocked out two of the boys with ease by means of a hard kick to the head, and as they fell to the ground, unconscious, the two wasted no time in attacking the remaining boys before they could even comprehend what had just happened. The couples’ fangs, larger and sharper than the average human, pierced through the skin of the boys’ necks effortlessly, and they eagerly began drinking all the blood that they sucked out of them. It only took a couple of minutes to drain them both completely, and as the vampires dropped their helpless victims to the ground, their skin white and with much less pigmentation, it was apparent, that clear night, that their eyes had still been open in shock and horror as they died, young, vulnerable, and, in truth, not yet ready to give up their precious lives.

Victims just like this fell prey to these creature everyday (or, somewhat more accurately, every night). Vampires, werewolves, creatures that go ‘bump’ in the night… Such tales were no longer simply myths and stories. It had been exactly sixty five years since the governments around the world agreed to admit that these beings were real, and not only that, but to do something about them, something that would drastically alter the course of history forever, that would change mankind and the kind of every living creature on the planet. The age of advanced robotics was upon them. May the Powers That Be have mercy on their souls.

---

A single powerful lurch forward as the train car came to a stop at the next station was just enough to stir the slumbering man from his short-lived dream. He awoke so suddenly that the dream was stolen away from his memories, torn away just as the real world flooded into existence before him, and though he could not remember what he had been dreaming, somehow he imagined it had to be better than this reality.

A very plump white woman, who looked as if she had not seen a shower in years, stood by the doors to the metro, a shopping cart at her side with numerous trash bags in it. Immediately, that answered his question as to where the stench was coming from. He felt instantly irritated that she brought her cart onboard, as it surely couldn’t be allowed, but then a tinge of guilt replaced this when her eyes met his gaze, those cheerless, solemn eyes that seemed so lost and so far gone. Near this woman, sitting adjacent to him on one of the hard, plastic seats, were two young African American men. They were badly beaten and bruised, and one had dried blood spilling from his nose and mouth. One could only guess as to what had happened to them. Beyond these three others, the car they were in was vacant this time of night. It suited the man well.

He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, though his hair was (what one would assume to be) unnaturally white. It was somewhat long and straight and wind-brushed to one side. He had long sideburns and a bit of scruff all around his chin which was also white, either indicating he had quite a lot of time on his hands to continue dying all his facial hair as it grew and was shaved, or that somehow he simply was born with such light hair. It wasn’t just this aspect of his appearance though that was so striking, as intriguing as it may be. This man, who very well could have been the byproduct of some higher power merely experimenting with unusually rare colors, possessed one blue eye and one green eye. If one were to gaze upon just one of the eyes, they would find it had a very different feeling than the other. The blue one was cold and icy, shockingly cerulean, and memorizing to behold . It was harsh and wise, and almost intimidating. The green one though, in contrast, was rather playful, a very warm emerald, with hints of lime and the essence of vigor and lighthearted humor. To fix your eyes on them together at once was to see both these sides concurrently, and therefore to see the man behind those eyes as he truly is – two halves to one whole.

The lady that had her cart full of garbage bags, much to the white-haired man’s relief, quickly filed out of the train at the current stop, dragging her rusted, squeaking shopping cart with her, leaving the three men alone together. It was almost as if the atmosphere abruptly and drastically changed as soon as the car doors closed. The black men looked at one another and then turned to the white-haired man across from them. Despite their puffy and bruised faces and otherwise painful looking appearance, they appeared ever ready for another fight. Their bodies were curiously loose, rather than stiff and rigid from the pain they had suffered, leaving them able to respond more quickly and naturally to whatever threat they may happen to encounter. As unfortunate as it was to think that they had to adapt this way, it appeared as if they had learned to take care of themselves in order to survive.

“Yo, man,” called one of the kids unexpectedly, causing the white-haired man to lift his head to meet their gaze, “you got a light?”

“Don’t smoke,” he shortly responded with.

The two young men looked again at one another, frowning, and their aggression building. It was clear that, underneath their clothing, they had quite the toned bodies. Again the same guy addressed the white-haired man. “You holdin’ out on us, bro? ‘Fraid we gonna steal from you?”

Smirking, the man replied sarcastically, “Yes, I am afraid of having my precious, non-existent lighter being robbed from me by two half-dead punks on the train.”

Immediately, they both stood, obviously offended. “We can still take you, white boy,” one of them threatened, his dagger-like eyes piercing into the white-haired man’s, though the intensity somewhat dwindled when he saw the white-haired man’s eyes up close.

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” the white-haired man said shortly, turning his back on them to look out his window in a gestural mocking come-and-get-me sort of way.

Without another moment’s hesitation, one of the dark-skinned boys raised his hand and threw a mean punch in the direction of the white-haired man’s head. He ducked just at the right time, as if he had eyes in the back of his head. The other boy followed up his punch with one of his own, this time aimed for his gut, but the white-haired man threw a powerful kick, knocking the boy back into his seat. The other boy grabbed the white-haired man by the sleeve of his wife beater, pulling him up out of his seat and raised a fist threateningly into the air. This second strike by the boy was blocked with a muscular and strong arm before he too was thrown over to where his friend was recuperating.

As they both stood up to face the white-haired man for another round, they pulled out shiny switchblades from their pockets, a mean and twisted look spreading over their beaten and scarred faces. The one boy spit blood into the isle before aggressively approaching the white-haired man again. Before he could reach him though, he was thrown off-balance by the train coming to another stop. The intercom dinged and announced the location just as the doors opened. The white-haired man’s eyes flickered to the doorway, for the first time looking nervous. A few young women were laughing and about to file onto their train car, appearing somewhat intoxicated and dressed as if they had just come from a nearby club, but when they took in the scene before them, they stopped mid-stride. The white-haired man looked at them sternly, ordering them to leave with the power of his eyes. They didn’t say a word, but stopped talking and turned around, leaving the three men alone once again.

“Lucky for you, those girls left,” the white-haired man warned gruffly.

“Just who the Hell do you think you are?” demanded one of the boys.

As soon as the train started moving again, the other young African American let out a hostile cry, charging toward the white-haired man with his blade pointed towards his stomach. It was at this point, that things seemed to both slow down and speed up tremendously. In a matter of mere fractions of seconds, the white-haired man’s appearance started to change. His body appeared to be growing, both in height and in mass. His white hair seemed to be multiplying, sprouting up all over his body like fur as his head grew longer and a snout replaced his human nose. Claws began to grow from his fingernails and toes, and his ears grew long and pointy, they too covered in fur. His clothes were being ripped and torn off of him, falling in shreds to the ground. All the while, the sound of twisting and growing bones and muscles made the process all the more shocking. By the time the transformation was complete, the two boys had paused, nearly dropping their weapons, to witness the unbelievable absurdity that they were sure had to be the result to some sort of drug they had ingested. Standing before them was no longer a man, but a large wolf that stood on two legs. A long, deep gash of a scar was now clearly evident across his chest, and even while transformed, his blue and green eyes shined brightly and terrifyingly.

“D-Dude’s a werewolf, man,” one of the boys said, without taking his eyes off the massive white wolf.

“Lycans ride the train?” the other asked.

It was no secret that these creatures existed, but just because the world had become aware of them didn’t mean that many people had seen them, especially seen them and lived to tell the tale. (Being that most lycans were young ones, freshly transformed, they did not had it within their ability to control themselves when under the influence of the wolf, and so it was very common for innocent civilians to become victims of a mauling.)

A low, deep, guttural growl escaped the white wolf as he stood in all his eight feet, seven inches before them. It wasn’t enough for them to move though, as they had been paralyzed with fear and horror. Breaking this trance, the white wolf barked, snapping his razor-sharp teeth at them, which immediately caused them to flee, running towards the emergency exit at the end of the train to enter into the next car over. When they had left, their scent lingering like the aftertaste to spoiled food, the wolf breathed a deep sigh and gradually returned to his human appearance, now very naked.

Turning around to the car that the boys had run into, the man said under his breath, “I’m Velganos. Nice to meet you.”

The streets were clear at this time of night, nothing but the dredges of the lower east side surviving once the sun went down. This was when those who ruled the night prowled indiscriminately for prey and the populace had learned the unspoken restrictions of moonlight, but a few still braved the city in the darkness, whether they had a reason to be brave or a death wish or both. One such walked alone and with purpose, crossing through intersections and dead alleys, not even the homeless left to sleep out in the open where they might be made into a meal or worse. His leather jacket shined with a dull sleekness in the streetlights he passed under, his boots crushing the crumbling asphalt underfoot with heavy steps, his short, spiked mohawk barely moving in the breeze of his saunter. Walking down a straight block, his gait was relaxed yet confident, alert and threatening and yet at ease, blending with his surroundings and becoming one with the urban decay.

On the corner under a streetlight there stood another man, unsuspecting and apparently loitering, his broad shoulders tight and flexed under a somewhat nice suit jacket. Approaching, the thinner, shorter man gave a small quirked smile to the guard and he opened the doorway flushed against the wall behind himself, giving a wary glance around as he let the newcomer in. Walking through a dark corridor Locke made his way suredly in the dark, a low pulsating thumping growing louder as he descended some stairs and approached a door at the bottom. Opening it the darkness was broken by multicolored strobe lights that shot their randomly flashing beams from the ceiling and somewhere in the middle of the room. And as soon as the door opened, the thumping grew in volume and gathered tune, a throbbing beat and grating faux guitar that sent a shiver up his spine as it moved through him. Sliding into the large and spacious room he was filled with a sense of snug closeness as wall-to-wall bodies surrounded him, his slender form slithering through the crowd with ease.

As he moved through the club, occasionally jostled by a swaying form, Locke felt alive. Looking around, watching the people familiar with the scene, some in their extreme get-up, everyone was filled with writhing life, as if the dance floor had turned into one fleshy mass. More than the music coming from the speakers, their blood and hearts sang to him, his teeth aching to fill each and every one of them with his disease, smells of sweat and heated breath tempting him at every turn. Unlike some of his kind, Locke had more control than that and did not give in to his baser needs when there were more important things to tend to at this moment.

Nearing the bar along one side of the room, he didn't even get close enough to speak before the man behind the counter saw him, recognition blooming in his dark eyes. Nodding off to the right behind him, the barman then turned his attention elsewhere as Locke followed his lead, further into the building of flesh.


"That...was...amazing..." he said with a breathless smile, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips in a long drawn out gush. The young man couldn't have been more than 20 years old and the way he relaxed in the plush chair in the secluded room made it seem like his tall, lanky form was seeping into the fabric and becoming one with it. Osono sat beside him, licking her lips free of excess liquid, her elongated canines peeking above darkly red lips, her hand playing idly with the button of his trousers which she'd just reclosed.

Lounging on the chair, practically sitting in his lap, her icy blue eyes flashed with a sudden predatory look before it was gone , replaced with a more seductive gaze. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, lover," she drawled out in a sharply feminine and softly rasping voice. "As I promised, it's not the only gifts that I offer..." Taking up his hand in hers, her slender fingers grasped his gently and singled out an appendage as she lowered her lips to it, her mouth enveloping the middle one in a sensual embrace.

Visibly, Jason was set on edge by this, his whole body going rigid beneath her petite form and his mouth hanging open as he watched her suckle and tongue the finger. Playfully as she brought it from between her lips, as the last inch of flesh was leaving the cave of her mouth, she scraped at his skin with a tooth, letting him feel the point dramatically. He shivered in response and his eyes glistened with worship as she sat back with a smug grin, releasing him only to caress his bare chest through his open and still unbuttoned shirt.

Jason knew she was a vampire and had known before he'd entered this back room with her, following her willingly into this relaxed lounge where they could find some privacy together. The muffled sounds of the thumping beat seemed so distant...so far away as he looked into her pale and smoothly angular features, absolutely entranced with her ethereal beauty. Breaking his gaze away from hers seemed the most difficult thing in the world, but when he finally managed it, he looked down at his hands and swallowed thickly.

"These gifts..." he started slowly, going back over everything she'd told him this glorious evening. "I will become immortal." He knew the answer already, but the decision was a hard one and he wanted to make sure. "And the blood?"

"A small price to pay for life eternal is that we need to take it from others on a nightly basis," she said in that same seductive voice. He nodded in a wobbly fashion finally bringing his eyes back up to hers, a small gasp leaving him as he was struck by her beauty anew.

"When you take me...will it hurt?" this was the part that made him nervous. "And I will die?"

"Only for tonight," she lied smoothly, her hand coming to caress the hair at the nape of his neck, cut short and straight like her own. "But I promise you, when the moon rises again, you will be remade in my image. And we will be together forever."

He took in a deep breath and let it out shakily but finally, lost within the pools of her eyes he nodded his assent. "Okay... I'm ready."

Osono smiled placidly at him, pleased to hear those words come from his lips. They were not necessary for her to do what she was going to do, but she loved to hear them, loved feeling the adoration, dedication and lust for power in his voice. It was part of her ritual and there had been countless others before him and would be more still.

Smoothly, she straddled his hips, her skin-tight leather pants glistening wetly in the dull light and her porcelain shoulders marred on the right side by a swirling tattoo, exposed above her tube top, flexing gracefully as she adjusted her position. Her arms caressed him slowly, soothing him with her touch as her lips captured his for another earth-shattering kiss, not the first that they'd shared this evening. Leaving him breathless once again, she broke it off and left a trail of sensual kisses and licks down his chin to his neck, his feverishly beating pulse throbbing beneath her pursed flesh. She let it's haunting melody tease her as it increased in tempo with his own tension created by the delayed moment, his anticipation ringing in her skull and intoxicating her.

A deep lick at his left carotid preceded her strike, not waiting a moment beyond insanity before piercing his flesh through with both sharpened fangs, a gasp leaving him and his body jerking in brief discomfort. Bliss filled her mouth in short, rapid bursts, flowing with boiling heat against her tongue and making her grow weak in the knees. The taste, filled with that sweet, metallic bitterness electrified her and her breathing deepened as she began to apply pressure and suckle at the wounds in his flesh, the liquid flowing from him freely and her throat welcoming it, swallowing each mouthful hungrily.

Nothing else around her existed but the blood pouring from him and she lost herself to it, the flood taking her away and drowning her in ecstasy. She could almost imagine she felt the life draining from him through each cell she consumed, could feel him inside her, warming her throat and the rest of her body. He was hers now, owned from the depths of his beating heart that betrayed him with every throbbing pulse, willingly giving her every drop. It was nasty and dirty, dribbling down her chin and flowing in small rivers down his neck from the holes she'd made, heated and dripping, sticky and thickening now that the air touched it. But it was also pure and innocent, filling her with his innocence, cleansing her and making her whole.

And she did not stop, could not stop, her mouth latched upon him tightly and pulling everything she could from him in a dizzying rush. She did not acknowledge his struggles, pain filling his limbs and insides as organs and appendages were drained of fluid and he gripped her shoulder and shook her weakly, choking out a protest as he felt death draw near. His vision started to darken in the edges as he lost the ability to operate his arms, his lower body losing feeling and his brain growing light and euphoric with it's lack of blood. He no longer blinked, laying limp beneath her as she continued on, moans leaving her throat in a muffled erotic song growing in volume until she finally released him with a shuddering gasp.

She lay upon him with her face on his chest listening to the empty hollowness within for several moments longer, letting the pleasure and taste fade before finally rising from the corpse's lap. Wiping her chin free of the excess blood with the back of her hand, her tongue licked her own skin clean of it feeling her own beating heart through her flesh. Because unlike Jason now was, Osono was not dead and had never been...and never would. Just as his soul had left his body, Jason was cast from her thoughts apathetically, having already gotten everything she'd wanted from him and no longer caring about the seduction and the promises she'd made.

Grabbing up her jacket, she slipped it over her shoulders, the sleeves heavy and wide around her slender arms and her belly button peeking from between the unzipped opening. Without even a second glance back she strolled from the room, feeling higher than she ever had on any of the drugs her brother used to peddle for a living, Jason's blood becoming one with her own as her body absorbed it into it's system.

Leaving the room, she entered a long hallway with other doors leading off to private rooms, soft murmuring sounds of delight coming through the walls, even as the music of the dance floor was louder in here, growing in volume the further she moved down the hall. When a man appeared at the end however, she immediately stopped in her tracks, smirking playfully as he approached her.

"Come to check up on me, big brother?" she asked in a mockingly sweet voice. There was a threat burning in his cerulean blue eyes as he gazed down at her, seeming to tower over her even though he was no more than a few inches taller, but she did not let her fear show through the facade of bravado.

"No, I've come to retrieve you," he said in a low voice, smoothly rasping a lot like her own. Locke could read it in every fiber of her being and see it in her slightly glazed eyes - she'd fed recently and knowing Osono, she'd no doubt killed as well. With a minuscule sneer he grabbed her arm and pulled her close to whisper heatedly into her ear, anger filling the gesture while his voice remained cool. "And I'm also here to knock some sense into you but I can clearly see I'm too late for that. I hope it was a good meal, little sister, because you're not leaving my sight from now on--"

With a sharp jerk, she wrenched her arm out of his grasp and walked a few steps away from him, turning to glare at him. "Oh, please! How dare you!" she spat at him with venom and hate dripping from her voice. "You think I don't know about your little playthings? You have some cleaning up to do of your own Locke, so don't you dare try and lecture me!"

His eyes flashed with a dangerous look and his chin clenched with held in rage, but suddenly his expression cleared and he smiled at her, flashing a set of straight, clean teeth at her, canines dipping below his lip. Shaking his head in silent laughter, she folded her arms obstinately waiting for him to fire back but not expecting the surge that came. She merely blinked and he was there, slamming her against the wall of the hallway, his solid frame pressing into her and his hand grasping her chin tightly. Locke's face was mere inches from hers, his eyes lighted with inner fire threatening to consume her with it and his hackles almost visibly raised. She did feel fear of him now and stood silently in his grasp, her eyes wide like a deer watching a cougar ready to pounce.

Locke glared at her deeply idly making note of her the piercing on her left nostril, mirroring the one on his right. They mirrored each other in a lot of ways, but this was not one of them. How could she be so stupid? How could he explain to her the absolute folly of her nightly hunts? There were those who hunted them, and they were smart, knowing the vampires habits and able to follow a trail of bodies if one left them like she routinely did. While out enjoying herself, Osono made no secret about what she was, and for the more logical and sane machines, finding her and following her to an alley for elimination was a great possibility. He had no doubts about her prowess in dealing with such situations but he'd rather she not take the risk of encountering THEM at all. In a city as large and populated as New York, the threat of the Night Soldiers was very real and ever present.

But of course, this wasn't about thinking rationally for her. Her own jab at him had revealed more than she probably was aware, because he was more than careful when disposing of the meat and flesh he left behind from kills. This was about jealousy and she'd been making a fool of herself in order to catch his attention. When he spoke, his voice was low, anger still filling every tensed muscle as he held her tightly against the wall. "There's a reason I put these rules in place, Ozzie," he said in an almost husky whisper, her expression warming at his use of the nickname. "The Elders might not care about reigning in the troops with soldiers out and about looking to kill us all off, but I care and I'll not have you making yourself a victim like the rest of them."

As he spoke, the anger subsided from him, slowly replaced with something else and it transferred to her as well. By the time he was finished speaking Osono was looking up at him with adoration clearly in her eyes, responding in more ways than one to his silky tone. It was always the same between them even before the change had taken them more than 50 years ago, his methods of control and her rebellions to spite him only to be brought to her knees by her own desire to be contained. Watching her now, he could see it in her eyes and knew what that expression meant, could feel her body begging for him to kiss her.

Leaning in he brushed his lips against her in a feather-light touch, the smell of fresh blood assaulting him as she panted excitedly. Gracefully he moved further so his mouth perched at her ear, the stubble on his cheek prickling the velvet skin of her neck and jaw. "Now to clean up the mess you made," he whispered with a finality that made her shiver, stepping away from her with a small grin and walking back to the room she'd vacated, leaving her slumping against the wall a few moments longer before following him loyally.

Eyes open. Such a head ache. It always started with the headaches, that’s one thing they don’t mention when you turn. You still get headaches, he could do without all the rest of it for a chance to get rid of the headaches. Perhaps it was from the noise, the murmuring which turned into shouts which turned in to scheming which turned into screaming which turned into nothing. Nothing was ever done, but he had to keep coming. Keep trying. He waited for a moment before slowly rising to his feet, the black boots he wore making his steps loud and purposeful. He made the slow walk to the middle of the room, it’s center slightly darkened for the simply fact that the torches bouncing light could not reach this deep into the room.

Unlimited technology of this day and age, and yet they still met in a place like this. The figure thought as he looks around slowly to the various shapes and sizes of those in the seating around him. Faces half covered in shadow and fully covered in intent. No floor of any other political establishment could possibly be as intimidating. It was a far cry from what the figure in the middle ever thought he would be doing. Then again for the last several decades, he has been doing things he’d never thought he be doing…when he was alive.

“Get on with it Victor!” Came a voice nearly behind him. Victor turned to it’s source, and slowly began to move over to the cold stone seating. The figure, visibly coward for a moment before Victor turned back around to the middle of room.

“You all know why I am here. It is the same reason I have come to you all for the last several weeks.” Victor halted his speaking right there looking around the audiences and to his disappointment he heard the familiar sounds of murmuring and sighs of disinterest . “We must stop this war with the dogs. It has become much too loud, much too public, and far too dangerous. The humans for centuries has deemed our people and theirs to nothing more than a fairy tale, and have even tried to find other explanations for our more public occurrences for us.”

Victor turned around to the other side of the seating, trying best to remember to remember the lessons of a public speaking class he took ages ago. “Our ancestors survived millennias off the simple practice of discretion and control. And you all, my brothers and sisters have forgotten that. Getting into a fight with dogs over table scrapes! Fights out in public streets with humans caught in the cross fire, with their mini cameras and instant internet recording it all.” Victor stopped a moment and shook his head.

Who does he think he is?…Serve him to the dogs…..

Victor looked around a moment, trying to understand. Trying to pinpoint the location of the sound, but it seemed to be bouncing around in his own head.

DIEEE….

Victor rubbed his eyes a moment, trying to massage the headache away. As though his fingers could push the pain from his brain. He tried his best to make it look like he was thinking before he looked up.

“We…we must stop this war before the humans turn their complete attention to us. We are the undead surely. However we can still die. We have powers….they have numbers. We must abandon this war and make our way to quieter lands. Let this all fade from their memories! Make them believe it was all some clever new viral campaign for a new movie-”

A voice boomed up from the middle of the U shaped stone stands. “You would have us cower and run into the outlands like scared animals!” It’s finger, if one could call it that, came from Anon, one of the most ancient of vampires.

“I would have us survive! There is something coming! I can FEEL it.” Victor implored though even he could not even explain this feeling. “The humans are many and they have ingenuity, they build for themselves. They have imagination and when that is let loose on protecting themselves or war, it is frightening what they can achieve. This war with the dogs will be pointless if we are all destorye-”

The same figure raised it very clear and very pale claw up, “Enough! We have heard this all from you before Victor.”

“Si and as before you refuse to listen. And this time it’s different. My clan and I have come to an agreement. We will not fight this war, not any longer. We will be leaving our coven and make our way to…”Victor stopped for a moment as his head pounded.

Tell us…..

“Somewhere.”

Victor quickly turned from the audience and made his way out.

Contact…..

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Screaming now. Gun fire and flames. His people, running, fighting, dying. A precious face coming to him, and then in an instant it burns. “Aamira!”

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Victor’s own scream shook the dark room. The sweat coated his chest as he slowly sat up, and looked at the clock. He would have plenty of night to do…whatever he is he’s suppose to do. Slowly his hand came up to his ear, disappointed as it’s continuing point. The draw back of immortality, the slow degradation of what made you human. Then again perhaps humanity is not defined by the appearance. A great inquiry that should be more thoroughly examined later.

Outside….

Victor’s eyes fell upon the door as he dressed, a rather ratty attire. But then again he had no clan, no one truly to impress. Flinging the hoodie on to his head Victor walked out to the night air, to be alone with his thoughts.

Die….

Kathy had never been an athlete. It was true that her two children kept her from being completely out of shape, but Kathy was no marathon runner. This fact, however, did not stop her from sprinting the four blocks between her office and the Red Line station. Kathy took deep, labored breaths, her heart raced, beating like a bass drum in her chest. Blood rushed in her ears making it hard for her to think straight as she stumbled through the station and boarded the tram just as the doors began to close. She fell into one of the red plastic seats and gripped the handrail for support. Fearful tears threatened to begin streaming down her face and Kathy had to remind herself to take long, deep breathes. The slight sensation of weightlessness let Kathy know that the hover rail was about to depart, and she allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

They hadn’t noticed her amidst the roars and howls, the gnashing and clawing, and if they had then none of them had seemed to care much for her. They had; after all, more pressing matters to focus on at the moment. Until now she had only heard rumors, whispers from fellow coworkers, stories about entire towns being razed to the ground over night, but she was in the city. A city protected by the military no less. It wasn’t like she was in Detroit or Las Vegas, or even Dallas. There was no quarantine and the curfew was more of an annoyance than a safety precaution. It had never occurred to her that those monsters could be so close to home. Not until now.

The train slowed, a synthesized chime was heard over the intercom, and the doors slid open. A group of drunken, adolescent club hopers piled into the car, hanging all over one another, laughing and giggling without a care in the world. Were Kathy not still in a state of shock this would have irritated her; instead, the added noise only compounded her confusion and eagerness to get home.

Eight more stops, Kathy thought to herself. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Her heart rate was beginning to return to normal, and though she was a bit crowded by the inflation of people that continued to fill up the car with every stop, Kathy found comfort in numbers. Apparently there was some important party going on that demanded the presence of the city’s delinquent nightlife because the car became all but vacant once it hit Sheridan, and by the time Kathy arrived at Berwyn only three or four people remained. As Kathy stepped onto the lonely platform she couldn’t help but feel vulnerable, and the inescapable feeling that she was being watched sent goose bumps crawling across her skin and a shiver down her spine. The walk to her neighborhood had never felt so ominous. Kathy clutched her purse close and kept a firm grip on the small can of mace inside. She passed a couple walking their dog, a few teenagers lightboarding. She watched as a man dressed in a business suit docked his luxury sedan in the small driveway of his home, got out, and quickly walked inside to greet his family. Nothing out of the ordinary, and for a minute Kathy wondered if it had all been a hallucination. Nevertheless, she quickly closed the distance to her apartment building and entered her six-digit code to unlock the front door. She took the stairs two at a time up to the second landing, careful not to make too much noise for fear of angering her irritable landlord. She gripped the door handle, pressing her thumb against the built-in I.D. pad and was rewarded with two metallic clicks. Kathy was glad she had spent the extra money to install the second security lock on her door, and once she was inside she quickly made use of it.

With her kids staying at their father’s, the apartment provide little in terms of a welcome, but it did manage to instill a sense of security. Kathy made herself a cup of hot tea to help calm her nerves and turned on the news to see if there had been any reporting of what she had witnessed, but after surfing through three different news channels she knew that the event had gone unnoticed by the rest of the world. A warm night breeze caused her curtains to flutter and from her chair near the window Kathy could hear the passing of the air traffic, the occasional blare of a siren, and somewhere high up above the engine of one of the class-three transport ships. The rest of the city was blissfully unaware that a pack of lycans and vampires were brutally slaughtering one another in the docking bay of Kathy’s office building.

Kathy took a drink from the warm mug and tried to collect her thoughts. This was all Howard Johnson’s fault. He had intentionally left the Reddiger case files until the last minute so that Kathy would be caught picking up the slack. That was the reason she was so late in leaving the office, and consequently stumbling upon the miniature warzone. They were so fast she could barely keep up with some of their movements, and their bestial screams reverberating off the concrete acoustics were deafening. Kathy was more in awe than terror, that is, until It showed up.

It tore through both vampire and lycan alike, sending bits and pieces of gore splattering across the walls. Kathy had scrambled behind a currier van just as half of a vampire went hurtling through the car she was previously hiding behind. The remaining vampires and lycans had momentarily turned all of their attention on their new enemy, but Kathy hadn’t stayed to see the outcome. Still, just before rounding the corner onto the street she had given one final glance back toward the scene, and in that split second it had made eye contact with her.

Kathy took another drink of tea and gave an involuntary shutter. Those solid, crimson eyes were burned into her memory, and she knew she would never forget their gaze for as long as she lived. Taking another sip, Kathy turned her head to look out the window at the neighboring apartments. Her mug shattered as it connected with the hardwood floor sending African Red Bush spattering in all directions. The discharge of an ionic weapon makes a very distinct humming sound as it burns the air around it. Had Kathy had the chance, her scream would have been muffled by it.

---

The dropship thundered across Arizona airspace with an altitude of 40,000 feet at speeds over mach 4. The small, night black aircraft had one purpose: get in, deploy its cargo, and get out before the military had time to blast it out of the sky. Thirty miles out from the city limits of Phoenix, the carrier released its cargo with perfect precision before banking off to return to base to refuel and retrieve more cargo. The siege pod dropped like a meteor from the heavens leaving a sizable crater in the earth upon impact. The military swarmed the site within twenty minutes. All that was recovered was an empty pod casing and the knowledge that another automaton was somewhere in Phoenix. The lack of tracks leading away from the site indicated that it was one of the Six-thirty series, but that information only aided in increasing their paranoia. The General in charge of Sector 48 would be damned before he let another incident like Miami happen.

The Sonoran Desert offered little by way of cover, and though Nine’s matte paint coat reduced the luminous glare of the waxing gibbous moon, it still stood out in stark contrast against the shrub brush and cacti that populated the region. Only recently had the machines begun to manufacture their own ranks. Nine was one of the first of the Six-thirty series to be built with the new upgrades, and without the oversight of humans. Nine had better weapons, stronger armor, faster reflexes, and an experimental power core that should last centuries, but the new models had yet to perfect the art of subtlety.

In the distance Nine could see the lights of Phoenix. With that as a point of reference it quickly calculated its proximity to its two targets and moved out. Though flight would maximize efficiency, Nine’s directive was clear. Detection by potential viral hosts before its task was complete would lower the success rating of the primary objective by point-zero-zero-zero-zero-four-three. An intolerable reduction. So instead, Nine sprinted across the arid desert earth towards the first of its two targets, the Deer Valley Airhub.

Humanity as a whole was on the verge of extinction. No one wanted to admit it; many others refused to believe it. That was the way the human mind worked. Denial was the first stage to acceptance, but it always took the longest to get over. Many people tried to get on with their own lives, knowing that nightmarish creatures now crept through the streets on a daily basis. The only reason humans hadn’t been killed off yet, was simply due to the fact that they were needed in order for the Lycans and Vampires to continue their existence. When the war broke out, it wasn’t the supernatural that started it, per say, but humanity relying on panic driven fervor rather than clear headed logic. They left their fate in the hands of machines, and now those machines posted the biggest threat to life on Earth as everyone knew it. The war was the human’s fault.

This was the mindset of Jarrod Brink as his squad marched down the street somewhere in the Rio Vista area of the city. Jarrod had been transferred to Phoenix pending his conscription to the army. He didn’t like the fact that he now had to take orders, but it was all temporary. As soon as this war was over, he was out of here. They would most likely try to put him behind bars once more, but he would be long gone before they could try. As Jarrod looked around him, he still couldn’t get over the fact that he was part of this sad race. The buildings, once prosperous and beautiful, now stood in ruin from constant firefights and explosions. The entire area of Rio Vista had been quarantined, but many people saw this as a dare, and often times sneaked into the community anyways. Stupidity, considering that all of them were either shot, bitten, stabbed, blown up, dismembered, eviscerated, or even decapitated. Survival of the fittest at it’s best. Those people wouldn’t be missed.

Jarrod’s squad consisted of five soldiers, including himself. The soldiers all wore urban camo armor, upgraded to withstand glancing blows from a full adult Lycan. On their heads rested a helmet that covered the entirety of their face and neck. A green visor played where their faces should have been, and a small laser off to the left constantly showed where their aim was facing. Heads-up display produced any information that the soldier needed to know at the current moment from ammo count to battlefield data from HQ. HV Rifles were held tightly in their hands; HV standing for Hyper Velocity. They looked like ancient M-16 assault rifles, with a couple of noticeable differences. A green line on either side of the weapon shone an unearthly green as energy produced within the weapon itself propelled the armor piercing rounds faster than the speed of sound. A thermal scope was attached to the top of the weapon, along with a connection to the laser attached to the side of the soldier’s helmet to provide incredible accuracy from even the most basic of a grunt. Exceptionally loud, and incredibly durable, they were the standard issue weapons for the entire military, save for the specialists of the squads.

Jarrod was such a specialist. He was the heavy weapon expert of the squad, sporting an M-12 anti-armor heavy machine gun, more commonly referred to as ‘Pirate’ for the constant ‘yar’ sound it would make as it fired. The weapon was basically a box with a clip and handle. Holding a good 200 rounds in its clip, this weapon was meant to take on the heavier Night Soldiers specifically. The bullets were tipped off with an explosive head that would detonate on impact; incredibly useful when a Hulk was coming at you. Other than that, it had the other specs as the HV Rifle save for the thermal scope. It was not a gun meant for accuracy, but more for relentless punishment. On his back sat his pride and joy; the TS-23 ‘Gut-Buster’ rocket launcher. A green tube sporting a handle at the front with the trigger attached to it. A panel on the side would bring up targeting data to the user looking at it. Lock on capabilities, multiple firing modes, and an infra-red scanning system. This was a weapon meant to handle a variety of situations. Standard firing mode let the rocket impact solidly at a locked on target, or another firing mode nicknamed ‘Rain’ by the techies, let the rocket split up into smaller ones, and pocket mark an area with smaller explosions. Other firing modes such as free-fire, pinpoint accuracy, and blind fire were among the list.

These soldiers had been given everything they could possibly need to battle something as nightmarish as the Lycans and Vampires, and something as destructive as the Night soldiers. However, there was always room for human mistakes. Just because the weapon and helmet gave the accuracy, didn’t mean 100% hit rate all the time. It still required the user to point the weapon and fire. Just because they had armor piercing and anti-armor rounds, didn’t mean they would immediately be effective against the Night Soldiers. There were way too many variables for anything to be as clean as it sounded, and as the squad moved forward, every single one of them knew this.

“This is bullshit Sergeant! Why are we the only squad moving through this block? Do they really think that we can take on a squad of Night Soldiers by ourselves?” One of the soldiers complained over the open frequency between their helmets. On the outside, it seemed as if the soldiers were moving along with speaking a single word.

“MacKenzie, if I have to turn around and shoot your ass for cowardice, I will do so without a moment’s hesitation.” The Sergeant, a hard man by the name of Gary Kindle, yelled back. “We have our orders, so we follow them. Besides, we have an ace in the hole.”

“You mean Tiny? Sarge, I haven’t seen him since we entered Rio Vista. How do we not know he just went and did his own thing?”

“Do you hear explosions?” Jarrod’s voice cut through the frequency, and MacKenzie immediately stammered.

“n..n…no, but what if…”

“If he was off ‘doing his own thing’ there would be something exploding in the distance. It’s called common sense dumbshit.” Jarrod’s voice was calm and low, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it. Basically, this was his way of telling the private to shut the fuck up. Immediately the private went quiet, and continued on. This wasn’t because he had heard of Jarrod’s reputation, but more because he had felt his fists when they impacted on his face.

The sergeant held up a fist, and everyone stopped. “Alright, last contact was from this area; guns up and covering your sectors. Let’s go find us some machines.” HV rifles immediately went into the air, searching the high buildings and alleys for anything that might suggest an ambush. Five men against the nearly unstoppable machines were not good odds, but they didn’t have a choice. They had their orders, and they were forced to follow. Jarrod’s gun swept the buildings on the left side of the squad, and for a second he thought he saw something. A moment of looking later, and nothing appeared. He couldn’t get over the feeling of being watched, and he had learned to trust his instincts long before this point in his life.

“They’re here…” Jarrod whispered into the com. A groan from another private, Liger, conveyed his irritation at the matter.

“You are probably the most depressing guy I have ever met Brink. Have you ever thought of saying something nice like ‘we’re all clear’ or something?”

“No.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Liger, shut the fuck up.” Kindle whispered over the com. Instantly things were quiet again, and the men slowly made progress through the street. Suddenly, Kindle yelled across the com.

“There!” followed by several shots forward. Everyone rushed forward to meet the threat, but they were met with nothing but a crater caused by an explosion and silence. “He rushed over to those buildings there.” Kindle pointed towards an alley on the right of the crater, and Jarrod shifted in his position.

“Ambush.”

“Without a doubt. Liger, Vera, watch our backs. Brink, MacKenzie, you’re with me. Anything moves without our IFF tags, you two shoot it.”

“Oh sure, the boys get all the action.” Vera sarcastically jabbed at the guys. Being the only woman on the squad, she often felt the need to put down the others in order to prove she was as tough as they were; although, simply showing the scars on her face would have shown the others just how tough she really was. Jarrod checked his weapon once more before nodding his head in readiness and setting forward with Kindle and MacKenzie.

They walked slowly, their weapons at the ready the entire time, and dropped casually into the crater. As they continued through the landscape, the feeling in Jarrod’s gut simply got worse, and when he looked down, he found what was bothering him. In the ground, two tiny red orbs stared back at him. Instantly, Jarrod grabbed Kindle and MacKenzie by throwing a massive arm around both, and threw them backwards. As he dived, the Night Soldier came bursting through the ground, a massive drill attached to his right arm.

“Spiker!” MacKenzie yelled as he desperately tried to right himself and fire at the same time. Jarrod was already standing and running to the edge of the crater for a better position. The Pirate’s bullets were causing an impact as the Spiker flinched with every impact. There was a groan of metal as he brought up his left arm. The hand flipped backwards, and revealed a cannon, pointed squarely at Kindle. At the last possible moment, Kindle threw himself over the lip of the crater, and he was showered with debris from the resulting explosion.

In perfect unison, the other Night Soldiers opened fire. Several of them appeared in the building right off to their right, and started raining fire down on them. Liger was shot four times in the chest, and went down without a further word. Kindle’s voice broke through the com.

“Get to some fucking cover!”

Everyone broke from their position, and entered the building on the left in hopes that the Night Soldiers in the opposing building wouldn’t be able to hit them as easily. Bullets ricocheted off of the concrete, and the groaning of the DES unit climbing out of the crater was heard above the constant chatter of automatic weapons. Jarrod charged through the door of the building, feeling the weakened wood simply collapse beneath his weight. Everyone else followed soon after, MacKenzie limping from a bullet wound to the leg. Panicked yells filled the com as they returned fire on an obviously superior enemy. The DES unit was out of the crater, and aimed his cannon at the building.

The resulting explosion left half the wall in ruin, and half their cover obliterated. Their once dull grey and black urban camo suits were covered in so much grime in dust that you could no longer tell the original color. MacKenzie’s screams could be heard over the com, and Jarrod looked over at the man. His leg had been severed at the knee from a piece of the cannon shell, and he tried desperately to keep firing. As much as he didn’t like the kid, he knew he had the spirit of a fighter in him. It was the only reason he had saved him in the first place. The Sergeant’s voice broke through the com.

“Tiny, get your ass in gear! We have positive contact of Night Soldiers along with a Spiker…I mean, DES unit. Night Soldier Grunts firing from the building opposite of us. One man KIA, another wounded.”

A text message flashed across the screens of the soldiers.

“Acknowledged, En Route.”

“Keep it up; we only have to hold until he gets here!” Kindle Yelled as Jarrod fired once more upon the Spiker, his rounds forcing the unit to bring up his drill arm for cover as the explosive tipped rounds hit home. A couple of Night Grunts went down in the building, but there was a lot more where they came from. The air had become a light show of death as bullets criss-crossed between the two buildings with the DES unit trying to close the distance between itself and the soldiers. Jarrod dropped his weapon, letting it hang by his chest holster, and pulled his Gut Buster up to aim at the DES unit. A panel came out, and provided details such as distance to target, estimated time until detonation, and locking capabilities. There was a slow beeping as the weapon started to lock on the Spiker, and suddenly, a long droning beep coursed through his ears. He pulled the trigger, and watched as the rocket spiraled through the chaos, and landed squarely on the Spiker’s chest.

Smoke obscured their vision of the DES unit, and for a second, they thought he was down. The sound of groaning metal followed by the Spiker walking through the smoke destroyed their hopes. A small fire was starting in his chest, and sparks flew randomly from his body. His cannon was nothing but slag now, a piece of metal being lodged into the firing chamber, but his drill worked just fine. Jarrod tried desperately to reload his launcher, but could tell he wouldn’t in time. With a small burst of speed, the Spiker brought his drill up, and prepared to bash the soldiers into submission.

A crash from the Spiker’s right caused their attention to shift. An HSU appeared, bursting forth from behind a wall, and catching the DES unit completely off guard. The Siege Unit punched the Spiker back from the wall, followed by a shotgun round to the face. The DES staggered backwards, but was caught within the HSU’s hydraulic claw. As it clamped down, it almost seemed like the Spiker was yelling out in pain. The HSU brought his shotgun up to the Spiker’s face once more, and fired off four more rounds.

The DES dropped without its head, and all the life from the machine fled from its host. The HSU walked forward, and spread his legs slightly. Spikes from his legs shot into the ground and stabilized him. His cannon from his shoulder sprouted up, and started to glow an eerie blue. Suddenly, an energy pulse fired from the weapon, and the Night Grunt’s building was now missing a wall. Another charge, and another shot killed the already weakened structure. The building collapsed with all of the Night Grunts inside, sending a plume of dust and grime into the faces of the remaining soldiers.

An unnerving silence filled the air, and it wasn’t until MacKenzie started yelling did the soldiers even move. Vera picked up MacKenzie, with much crying from the man, and helped him hobble over to Kindle and Jarrod, who were standing next to the HSU. Standing at a dominating thirteen feet tall and sprouting weapons from head to toe, the Heavy Siege Unit was definitely a sign to behold. However, one thing kept him apart from all the other HSU units out there. On his left leg, spray painted in bright red letters, was one word. ‘Tiny’.

“It’s about time you got here Tiny! Another minute and we would have been plastered against the ground with your ex-boyfriends playing with our remains.” Kindle was never one to show appreciation, but that was as close as he ever got.

“But we’re not, and they aren’t.” Jarrod said. Kindle looked at the huge man, and Jarrod could tell he was holding back a sneer behind his facemask.

“Man, you need to lighten up a bit.”

“A few years in Alcatraz kind of takes the humour out of you.”

“A few minutes of talking to you takes the humour out of you.”

Jarrod stared the man down through his mask, but said nothing. A shrug from Kindle indicated he had had enough of the current conversation. “Alright Tiny, let’s get our wounded man back to HQ. Jarrod, gather Liger’s dog tags. I hate writing the damn letters.” Kindle had been a soldier far too long to show any further emotion for a fallen squad mate. Jarrod nodded, and walked over to where Liger’s body was on the ground. He had been on the very extent of the collapsing building, and concrete had crushed a couple of his limbs beyond recognition. His dog tags were underneath his armor, so Jarrod had to rip his chest plate open in order to grab at them. Despite all the technological advancements in today’s world, they still used pieces of metal to identify dead soldiers. Jarrod guessed it was more from tradition than practicality.

As his fingers grasped at the small pieces of metal, he ripped them off and returned to his squad. Kindle was talking to HQ on a private channel while Vera was trying to administer first aid to the screaming private. Jarrod sighed, and stood beside Tiny. Jarrod’s faceplate flipped up, revealing his scarred face and no-nonsense attitude.

“Seems kind of like a lopsided battle, don’t you think?”

Mortenai ‘Morty’ Denary walked the broken, silent, ruined streets of Phoenix. Oh how this place had crumbled fast and hard. There wasn’t much surprise in it, though. This city had been long been labelled as decadent by the Elder Vampire. It was only a matter of time before it got its long overdue makeover to justly reflect its true nature. Morty walked over broken shards of glass, the deaf crack resonating under his polished, black leather shoes. He walked and walked seemingly without reason or idea in mind. He simply strolled along, admiring the desolate landscape. He was presently among the worst, most completely destroyed part of all of Phoenix. He liked to see the amount of destruction his race and their battles created. It made a sort of perverse pride emerge in this vampire’s coal heart.

The Elder was wearing a dark brown trench coat that covered his entire body and stopped about 5 inches below his knees. It was tightly fastened with a sash and proved vital to keep his suit from the filth that simply oozed from the streets of this city. He walked with a black cane in hand, decorated with a silver bat’s head acting as grip. The cane doubled as a silver sword, invaluable to his defence against less co-operative lycans. Indeed, Mortenai was a firm advocate that his race and the lycans should permanently set aside their defences and be able to share their territory and food to more effectively combat the threat that these machines posed and other possible threats in the future. He was certain that now that this attempt to ‘cleanse’ the world of the Night Creatures had failed and backfired on the humans that they would try again some other time. Only next time it may be in form of religion or solely human- intelligent soldiers. Only time will tell. If they all survive the present crisis, that is.

Anyway, not every member of his race agreed with his more peaceful views and told him that such excursions were extremely dangerous. Mortenai then answered that they should not focus on the big groups, but on the small ones instead. This would give them the chance to not only be more secure in their diplomatic approach, but the sheer bulk of all of the smaller groups of lycans harassing the bigger ones would provide a false sense of overwhelming pressure and tip the scales in Morty’s favour. Unfortunately, many vampires still weren’t happy with his propositions. They still said it was too dangerous. Morty accused them of being cowards, the vampires then told him to ‘do it yourself if you think it’s so damn safe.’ So Morty did.

Morty was just exiting the destroyed part of the city when he saw, or rather smelled, a group of 5, probably armed soldiers, humans enter the very part of the city he had just departed. When sensing or seeing human military, Morty always had to remind and reconcile himself on the thought that they were after the same thing as his vampires and the lycans were. It took some getting used to that is for sure. Morty still smelt their scent as he walked into a park. He half-hoped that the human soldiers would find his ‘mess’ and half hoped they wouldn’t. His mess was very unfortunate, really. His ‘mess’ went contrary to everything Morty believed in, but it had been necessary.

Indeed, the sole reason why Morty was out here was not to ‘admire’ the landscape. No, he had more interesting things to do than bathe in destroyed human filth. He was in fact on one of his famous ‘diplomatic’ missions to a small group of 3 lycans. He had learnt of their presence but a day ago when he found large tracks left by the grotesquely uncareful beasts. He estimated that, with that small a number of lycans, it would prove easy to convert them to his ideals. Evidently, he was proved wrong. Once on site, he found the lycans in their transformed state and they were obviously one of the younger ones because they appeared to have absolutely no control over their actions whatsoever.

They then, in their frenzied state, attacked him. Mortenai easily dealt with the young werewolves before getting out of the immediate area as soon as possible. He wasn’t sure why they were transformed when he got on site, and he did not want to know why. He most certainly did not want to fall face to face with whatever it was alone. Especially if it was one of those damned robots.
If the bunch of humans did find the 3 lycan bodies, they would probably connect it with one of those robots killing them which would probably make them more alert and possibly give them the edge to take one out on their own. That would be very much appreciated. On the other hand, they might discover, upon closer inspection, the burns of silver caused by his cane-sword. That might give the vampire away. Or it might just cement their theory on the robot. Either way, it would hopefully put them on their toes and give them an edge in battle.

Morty took his Black meerschaum pipe and lit it, then placing it in his mouth. He was sucking the tobacco when he noticed the corpse of four ne’er-do-wells, by their lifeless look, lying on the park’s grass. It seems as if some vampires had quenched their thirst not too long ago with the potentially filthy blood of these adolescents. He would have to find those responsible and direct them to better tasting, quality feed than those four disgusting men. He chuckled lowly at the thought that humans actually decided to ally themselves with things that used them as food... and continued to do so in this time of struggle! This precisely why Mortenai took the position he did on lycans and the future of his race with them. He was certain that the humans would eventually bite them in the face if the Creatures of the Night weren’t prepared.

Morty continued walking, his cane in his right hand with the other half-way down his pocket all while smoking his pipe, down the park. He was heading for a place that he knew many of his people were holding a meeting. A faint trail of smoke trailed behind the vampire. Mortenai continued walking under the stars and the moon. This was something he admired, unlike the ruins of the slums of Phoenix. If there was one constant in his life, it is his love of watching a starry sky and the moon, be it full or not. It calmed him deeply and gave him way to think peacefully and clearly. It is also pure irony, Mortenai once told himself, that his favourite part of the night is the source of his traditional rival’s power. In response to his own comment, Mortenai added that ‘just because one is your enemy, it doesn’t mean they possess no beauty or cannot teach you anything. On the contrary, your enemies are the most beautiful thing in the world: they allow you self-improvement.’

Morty, snapping out of his deep thoughts, noticed a man walking in the streets with a hoodie covering his face. Mortenai kept walking. Someone, presumably a human by its drunken looks and scent, bumped into the hooded man, excusing himself, then continuing on his way. Mortenai kept walking. The hooded man kept on going. Mortenai ketp walking. He decided to sit on a bench on the side of the park and wait for the hooded man to pass him. Morty couldn’t smell him which meant it wasn’t a human or a lycan. This means he is a vampire.

Mortenai thought long and hard on the identity of the hooded vampire, but he could not grasp it. His ever ageing mind was starting to play tricks on him. Then again, his face was covered by a hood. If he could hear his voice, maybe he would be able to pin who this vampire was. Morty, after all, had been in this southern city long enough to at least know every vampire who lives here in name and that is if he hasn't met them in person already. In light of talking with the hooded vampire, Morty took a shortcut and bypassed the hooded man without him hopefully seeing anything. The Elder vampire then, pipe still smoking, sat on a four person bench on one of the far sides. He placed both of his hands on top of the cane that was positioned between of his legs and waited. Eventually the hooded vampire should pass him. He was in his way anyway.

The wind de soirée made the leaves of the surrounding trees bristle. The wind glided over Mortenai’s hair. He closed his eyes and relished the moment. As his eyes were closed, the hooded vampire approached him. “Please my friend... take a seat,” said Mortenai in his slightly accented, rich voice. “I have a word to discuss with you if it is not too much of an inconvenience to your person. I would not like to make myself an annoyance.” Mortenai kept his eyes closed, waiting for the man’s answer.

‘He’ stood quietly in an alleyway, lifeless, glowing red eyes staring out at the ruined skyline of Rio Vista. With every turn of its head, diagnostics for every building would filter through its mind, highlighting their status, predicting how long they would remain standing, pin-pointing weak points, constantly running even as it monitored the comms between his squad.

The humans were moving quietly, rarely speaking to each other, except for the occasional all-clear. Rio Vista had become a hot spot for these conflicts, and everyday squads like this were sent to their graves against a foe that didn’t need to sleep, eat, or even breath. 207 had run the numbers thousands of times, and it never really changed. The odds were astronomical, and stacked in a way that promised only swift, and total defeat to those who defied the Night Soldiers, and yet humanity marched on, determined to survive and once again prosper.

207 never moved, its titanic frame remaining unearthly still; several small birds had even perched upon the machine, blissfully unaware of (or simply not caring about) the Night Soldier, only to scatter away at the sound of distant gunfire. The urban camo hid it well enough, granting the Night Soldier a few precious seconds to act before being detected . The glowing was difficult to notice during the day, but even then it was quite obvious that the HSU was not meant for stealth operations.

Pausing it’s constant sweep, the machine looked in the direction the comms single was coming from. It was difficult to keep watch on the squad without an uplink, but every time 207 requested access, it was immediately denied, and it would immediately have to run diagnostics. The humans were paranoid, worried that 207 would reconnect with the other Night Soldiers and give away their vital information. An understandable precaution, but it was difficult to operate efficiently when it was forced to rely only on communication.

“This is bullshit Sergeant! Why are we the only squad moving through this block? Do they really think that we can take on a squad of Night Soldiers by ourselves?” Private Mackenzie’s voice broke the silence that had reigned over the comms, and it was evident that he was worried by the tone of his voice. 207 remained silent, knowing the soldiers were more content to banter amongst themselves than have it interject into their conversations.

“MacKenzie, if I have to turn around and shoot your ass for cowardice, I will do so without a moment’s hesitation. We have our orders, so we follow them. Besides, we have an ace in the hole.” Sergeant Kindle was swift, as always, in his…reassurance? It was difficult to classify the human’s rough tone and threats as reassuring, but 207 understood that a strong front would ensure morale stayed at acceptable levels.

“You mean Tiny? Sarge, I haven’t seen him since we entered Rio Vista. How do we not know he just went and did his own thing?” Tiny. The humans had grown to calling it that in the time they had been operating together. Private Mackenzie had even gone so far as to spray-paint it onto 207’s leg. His superiors had been rather displeased, but nothing had been done or even said about the tag since.

Somewhere in its ‘mind’, the machine knew that a human would take offence to what had been said about it. Perhaps it was supposed to. The personality programming hadn’t gone that far, though, although most of the humans were adamant in their knowledge that it would eventually take hold in ‘Tiny’.

“Do you hear explosions?”

“n..n…no, but what if…”

“If he was off ‘doing his own thing’ there would be something exploding in the distance. It’s called common sense dumbshit.”
Jarrod, the weapons specialist’s rough voice was the last thing heard over the comms, before the silence returned for a few brief minutes. Tiny shifted it’s stance ever so slightly, knowing they were rapidly approaching the target of their recon mission. Night Soldiers had been spotted in the area, and the squad had been deployed to do some light recon, to ensure the NS weren’t setting up a base of operations or anything of the sort.

Everything happened in seconds; the sound of gunfire filling the comms, the flat line from Private Liger’s vitals, and the cry to get cover. With unexpected speed, Tiny’s systems flared to life, and the HSU erupted from the small alleyway like a freight train. Car screeched and shudder, smashed aside or simply crushed as the titan barrelled down the street. Their alarms howled, a deafening screech that would have deafened any humans nearby, but they barely even registered with Tiny, the machine mapping the fastest possible route to its besieged squad.

“Tiny, get your ass in gear! We have positive contact of Night Soldiers along with a Spiker…I mean, DES unit. Night Soldier Grunts firing from the building opposite of us. One man KIA, another wounded.”

A DES Unit. Game Changer. In seconds, its route was remapped, and 207 sent confirmation to the squad. It didn‘t slow as it drew closer to fire fight, knowing the only chance of taking down a DES it had was to catch the other Night Soldier off guard. Deploy Shotgun. The command was instantly received, and with a soft hiss, the barrels of the shotgun extended from their housing on its arm.

Press the assault. Do not relent. Chances of success…66%.

With all the stealth of a stampede, 207 burst through the wall, aiming systems immediately locking onto the DES unit. Chunks of rubble rolled off its frame, the dust settling deep into the joints and scratches of its armour, as the machine rapidly closed the distance between itself and the DES. Tiny’s hydraulic claw slammed against the DES’s frame, sending it staggering away before a burst erupted from the shotgun tore across its head.

Three blasts to shatter the casing, one to destroy the CPU. The claw clamped down on its head, pressing the metal, causing it to screech in protest as the force began to crush down. Firing the rounds in rapid succession, Tiny discarded the DES as soon as ‘he’ was certain it was down for the count.

Rounds peppered 207’s frame, denting and tearing against its chassis. Damage minimal. With a powerful step forward, the HSU’s diagnostics quickly identified the already weakened building’s supports, before the targeting system calculated the necessary number of shots.

2 rounds. Stabilizing. Spreading its legs, the HSU locked onto it’s target as the drills deployed and locked it into place. As the drills finished their work, the cannon on 207’s shoulder adjusted to the target; it’s barrel quickly extending to deliver it’s deadly payload.

Entrenched. Cannon prepped. A soft, bluish glow slowly built up inside the barrel, the distinct hum of ion weaponry rising above the sound of gunfire. The blast erupted violently, tearing the entire wall off the side of the building, before the second blast crashed through and turned the support beams into rubble.

The building shuddered once, before collapsing in on it’s self, burying everything within it under the mound of rubble. Lifeless eyes watched the mound for a moment.

No survivors. Hostiles terminated. Retracting drills. Shotgun disengaged.

The drills detached from the ground, sliding back into place before disappearing from sight. The machine watched the approach of it’s squad, as Sergeant Kindle’s voice called it to attention.

“It’s about time you got here Tiny! Another minute and we would have been plastered against the ground with your ex-boyfriends playing with our remains.”

It was an odd sight to behold, and they had often told ‘him’ it wasn’t necessary, but Tiny nevertheless snapped it’s monstrous claw up to it’s head in a form of salute. “Sorry, Sir. Won’t happen again, Sir.” The voice was flawlessly neutral, a feat only a machine could accomplish. It was cold and lifeless, much like a blizzard racing unchallenged across the tundra, and if it was you first time hearing it, it mostly defiantly would have sent more than just a chill racing down your spine.

“But we’re not, and they aren’t.”

“Man, you need to lighten up a bit.”

“A few years in Alcatraz kind of takes the humour out of you.”

“A few minutes of talking to you takes the humour out of you.”

It was not uncommon for Jarrod and Kindle to have these showdowns; some sort of dominance issue that frequently reared it’s head amongst the humans. As per usual, Kindle broke the stare with orders. “Alright Tiny, let’s get our wounded man back to HQ. Jarrod, gather Liger’s dog tags. I hate writing the damn letters.”

With another salute, Tiny watched the Sergeant move off to relay their results back to Command, before Jarrod spoke to him.

“Seems kind of like a lopsided battle, don’t you think?”

There was a brief pause, before Tiny’s eyes looked down to the man. “Extremely, Sir. Chances of success are slim, even more so when human error is factored in.” Without another word to Jarrod, 207 looked over to the battered frame of the DES Unit, and knelt next to it. Carefully moving the inner workings of the machine aside Tiny then placed a small, spherical device inside the DES, before covering it up.

Beacon planted. DES Unit marked and ready for salvage. A quick affirmative echoed through its comms, as Tiny rejoined the rest of his squad.

“Let’s move. HQ wants us back at base. Vera, you’re on point. Tiny, get MacKenzie and take Rear Guard. Jarrod, eyes on those buildings. I’d rather not have to write any more letters tonight.”

The squad fell quickly into step with the Sergeants orders, all of them eager to get the hell out of Rio Vista. The trip back would be a quiet one, save for the soft whimpers of MacKenzie, and the heavy thuds of 207’s footsteps. No hostiles were spotted on the way out, although they did see the salvage heli heading towards the DES. It would be one small victory, but on days like today, you took what you could get.

Clearing the quarantine, the squad was greeted by the sight of a heavy duty APC, before immediately being ushered aboard by the waiting medical crew. MacKenzie’s cries were soon drowned by the roar of the APC’s engine, as it rose quickly into the skyline of Phoenix. The craft around them parted to allow the APC to move unhindered through the crowded airspace, a silent testament to the silent paranoia that held Phoenix in it’s claws. The people knew full well of the horrors that threatened their doorstep every single day.

As the APC entered Paradise Valley, the civilians around them slowly trickled away, replaced instead with a tide of military vehicles, aircraft and checkpoints. An seemingly endless sea of tents and mobile barracks filled the streets, with huge depots of tanks, APCs, and Mobile AA. Patrols swept the area relentlessly, and the entire valley seemed ready to mobilize on a moments notice. Apartment buildings now housed MGs nests and ammo dumps, the subway had been cannibalized into a massive supply train, constantly moving supplies and personal deeper into the mobile fortress.

An attack wing of Heli came up on the flanks, and the squad could hear the rapid communications between their driver and the command. It carried on for a minute, before the Heli peeled off, and the APC began it’s descent towards the hospital, which had been taken like the rest of Paradise Valley to aide in the war with the Night Soldiers. The medical team immediately rushed Private MacKenzie out, followed by Kindle, Vera, Jarrod, and finally Tiny.

The Sergeant let out a low sigh, before rounding on the three. “I’m heading to HQ. They need a full report, and that letter isn’t going to write itself. You three are dismissed.” He left without another word, as Vera let out a cold chuckle.

“How come we always end up walking back to the tents, boys?” 207 glanced to her, before examining the busy sky above them.

“APCs are always needed. We have legs. We can walk. I estimate a half hour travel time.” The HSU didn’t notice the look it received as it started to lumber off down the road, as Vera rolled her eyes at Jarrod, and trotted after the Night Soldier.

“I was being sarcastic, Tiny.”

Glancing back, the machine stared at her for a moment, before it straightened out and continued on it’s way, only to call back with an “Understood.”