Foul Play. Fixing the Board.
November 2, 2009
4:56 A. M.
Dark Abyss, Portland, Oregon
When I was a young man, my father Gary had tried to make me a sort of cultural savant. I was made to indulge in every form of art, play, and musical; I tried every sport at least three times, watching a few famous matches on TV just so I could sound like I understood these games should they come up in conversation. I was even sent to visit pretty much every key land mark in all fifty states, just another connection I could use to wiggle my way through a business deal.
Want to know what was the worst place to visit? Arizona. Pretty nice, even if I do hate the heat… but I had to spend three days in Phoenix during a scorching summer that spiked up to over a hundred degrees. At least when I went to Vegas it was during spring time; hell is simply walking outside for more than ten minutes as the sun sets your hair on fire in freaking Arizona.
The thirst was memorable. I remember taking two steps and thinking that I wanted water. Twenty steps later and my cognitive functions could barely articulate the word water by itself. In ever a push to help me understand what mankind was like, my father had the brilliant idea that I should run in this blasted environment at part of a charity run. I couldn’t even pronounce wa by the time I was done.
Why mention this? Because you need to multiple that feeling by a hundred to understand the thirst a new FTM has for blood. It’s not like we need it to get on by, or just because our throat hurts; the first few days, if not weeks if we’re so depraved, are devoted entirely to the consumption and absorption of blood. It’s no wonder Vampires get a bad rap; they’d be mark for death by the simple massacre they cause in trying to satisfy this soul wrenching thirst.
So imagine what I tried to do when I heard footsteps in the dark, my captor deciding to pay his new pet a visit. Even if it was pitch black, my attuned eyes and enhanced vision clearly made out the details of the visitor; here was Alucard, holding a thermos in a gloved hand and whistling a tune as if he was happy to see me, still wearing his usual bandages and silver trench coat. No hat today, meaning his flowing silver hair fell about his head like a mop.
I don’t know nor care if he was truly happy. It seemed as if some demon pressed me against my cell’s bars, trying to break them as my mouth tried to beg
“Blo.. bl… bl…”
“Cute. It’s like a little gremlin. I have your dinner right here, Seth… or at this time, I guess it’s breakfast.”
Throwing the thermos, I caught it with better dexterity than a receiver who was in his senior year of college ball. Nearly breaking the container in half as I ripped the lid off, I wasted no time in draining it of its contents as the red liquid stained me once more, my dirty white coat becoming even more crimson as the human liquid ran down my face. It was diluted, mixed in with something that kept me from learning and acquiring the memories of its original host, but it satisfied me nonetheless as the itching feeling at my throat went away, the monster satisfied and the intelligence within returning just for a moment.
A human side that was horrified as Alucard lit a nearby lamp, my twenty by twenty-foot cell lighting up and giving me a glimpse of just how dirty I was. Dried blood and dirt covered me from head to toe, clothing ruined and filled with holes and scratches from where I had hurt myself. The biggest gaping hole was near my chest; even if my skin was normal, a few dark memories came to me that made me believe that I had tried to go for my own heart. How deep I made it with nothing other than my fingers was a matter I didn’t need to clarify.
Alucard simply looked on with a mixture of… pride and delight? It seems his eyes were almost happy with what they could see now. Had I become exactly what he had wanted? Was this his plan all along.
“I’m such a fool sometimes. I know Sherry wanted me to put you down in case this would happen, but sometimes it’s just so much fun to listen to the devil on your shoulder. I’m so changeable like that.”
“You… where… am… I?”
“Coherent statements now! I’m impressed. Longer than most of my subjects, but with no military training you do lead the so called civilian list. Of course, you’re an arms dealer as well; where do I put you?”
“Alucard… please… tell…”
“Oh, fine.” The playful man replied, folding his arms as he knelt on his knees, just outside my cell. I continued clutching the bars, but no longer to break out; I was tired, suddenly drowsy after drinking so much blood. It took holding myself up just to keep myself awake.
“I couldn’t have you running around and killing everyone off now, could I? You’re beneath the Products for Patriots headquarters, in a vault your father Gary designed to contain any genetically modified monster that he didn’t have the heart to put down. For people like you, exactly.”
“Will I… be here… forever?”
“Only until the first level passes. FTMs tend to stabilize once their eyes turn Orange; probably should have mentioned that on the airplane last week. Oops.” The mercenary chuckled, strangely in a good mood. Just what was up with him today? I’ve never seen him this happy before.
“How… long… is… that…”
“Naturally? A few years. With blood? Anything between a few months to a few days. I’ve carefully scheduled your feeding plan to have you out of here by the last day of the month. Need you to adjust and live with what you’ve done.”
“What… I’ve done?” I asked, a painful memory beginning to surface. The name was on my lips before he said it, but it took hearing his words for me to finally accept it as truth.
“Molly Sears is dead, and it’s all your fault.”
Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation Page 45