Big city

“Come to our rescue,” Xavier snorted. “What do you mean by that?”
Michael shivered by his side, his knees trembling along with his lower lip. The resources of a fourteen years old boy's courage were not unlimited.

The werewolf sighed and eyed Xavier the way one would look at an enormously stupid person.
“Do you honestly think you have time for all these questions? The security guards might be down here any minute, and then they'll put you someplace neither of us can break you out from. So cut the crap, really.”

“Very well,” Xavier grumbled. “But still – how do you intend to get us out of here?”
“Stand back and let me handle it,” the werewolf said and approached the cell. He took a hold of the bars in front of the cell, where it was the most vulnerable, since there was the door located, with hinges and lock. His body tensed, and metal creaked. It was slowly giving up under the supernatural – or actually – genetically mutated strength.

“Wanna give me a hand here, Xavier,” Haywood grinned. “Let me guess, you have no idea how strong you'd be.”

Xavier muttered something, but the truth was, he knew nothing, and saw a chance to get out of this hellhole.

“Okay.”
He took a firm hold of the bars, as well.
“On the count of three, try to pull them apart” Haywood commanded. “One. Two. Three.”
They both pulled. At first the heavy metal seemed to fight back, but then it surrendered to their mutual strength. Xavier didn't get a very clear idea just how much he had done of it, but there it was, the door with broken hinges, and a gap wide enough for him, and certainly Michael to slip through.

“So, where to now? This place is a bloody well guarded labyrinth.”
“Now you get the boy and follow me,” the werewolf answered. “And hurry, I can smell someone coming.”
Xavier tried to listen.
“I hear nothing.”
“Well, you're a vampire. I'm a werewolf. Notice the difference?”
Okay, best he shut up. This one here seemed to be as sharp from tongue as he was. So he did as he was told and went to pick up Mike. The boy was barely conscious, though – either from blood loss, emotional stress or perhaps the combination of both. He felt very light.

“Come,” Haywood urged him.
He slipped through the gap and stood outside the cell. He was naked and covered with blood. He also had a very naked boy in his arms. He was a vampire and just been rescued from the cell by a damn hippie. Just how much weirder could the situation get? He wasn't sure he'd like to know. He had loads of shit to deal with, but it had to hold on and wait until he was gone from here, in some safer place. And then he'd take Michael and go back to his camp.

“Come where,” he asked.
Haywood rolled his eyes. “Will you ever shut up? This way, follow me.”

They walked into the darkness of the chamber. There was a solid black wall facing them. Xavier couldn't understand how the hell they were supposed to escape – could werewolves walk through cement walls? By what he knew, vampires certainly couldn't, and it was the same with humans. So, he'd affront a problem here.

Haywood giggled and pushed something on the wall. A part of it dematerialized in front of them, leaving a narrow doorway into even deeper darkness.
“Cloak,” Haywood said. “They don't know it exists, so I can come and go as I please.”
Xavier laughed lowly. How amazingly useful this knowledge could prove to the pack... But Haywood didn't give him much time for bright attack ideas.
“Come,” he nagged, and pushed him forwards, through the doorway and into something that turned out to be a narrow hall. “Let's get going. They cannot track me from any distance, but they can track you, if you stay in the radius, trust me on that and move your ass.”
“You sound like my pa,” Xavier complained.
“Well, he must be a wise man, then, for sure,” Haywood replied and hurried them both onwards, down the corridor and upstairs.
Michael had fallen asleep. Xavier felt concerned.
“You think he'll be OK,” he asked the werewolf when they were a way past many stairs. “He offered I could feed from him and I did. I tried to be careful, but I know nothing of this shit, so I'm afraid I might have taken too much.”

Haywood shook his head.
“Naah. He's just exhausted. A good nap and a full meal, and he'll be up and running. Teenagers are very durable.”
“How do you know he's alright,” Xavier insisted.
“I can smell it,” Haywood replied. “You could say it's in my genes.”

**

Logan wasn't really prepared to what his eyes saw when the room lit up in blue lights.

“Our donors,” Emmanuel said simply.

There were dozens of transparent cocoons on the walls, and there were.... there were people inside those cocoons. At first Logan thought they were dead, since they were completely inanimate, but then he figured they must have been asleep. Something like that. There were tubes coming from these cocoons, tubes going in, and lots of wires, along with complicated machinery in the room, all attached to these cocoons.

But the people, the people... He couldn't grasp what was going on, and yet he felt something was terribly wrong.

“What... who are they,” he stuttered. “What is going on in here? Are they... I don't understand. Are they asleep? Why are they here?”

Emmanuel grinned.

“You asked me where the blood came from. Now, where do you think it came from, Logan?”

Logan's mouth fell open. “Here? No... This cannot be. This is...”

“This is our blood bank,” Emmanuel replied smoothly. “Allow me to explain you. I will try to say it simply. These humans here have been lulled into coma-like sleep while their body is kept alive with several chemical and organic nourishments. There are tubes that feed them and support their organism. Now, in comes nanotechnology, which I think was mentioned beforehand, if not by myself, then Enoch must have bragged about it. He dreams he knows what it is about.

With the aid of medical nano robots – tiny robots entering cells and fulfilling different commands – these people here produce three or even four times more blood cells than a normal human being would – it is perfectly natural that the body tries to provide more of what it loses, to maintain a state of good health. With nanotechnology I merely aid them.”

Logan stared at him, unable to say anything. He swallowed and his throat was sour.

“Ah yes, the morality of this. I can tell by your looks. Of course, it isn't nice. I would never say it was. But, listen to me some more, and consider this – there are over five hundred vampires living in the Old House, and all these five hundred vampires need their dosage of living blood if not daily, then at least two-three times a weak. Now, consider this – all these hungry vampires would go out to seek food, as we used to do in past. Each of them would most likely drain a person of blood, because though one might take less and find another victim, most don't bother and end up with one. So – we would have five hundred vampires killing five hundred people two-three times in a week. That is about 1500 people a week. Of course, for a week, considering the population of M106, it isn't so very much, but a week follows week. There are four, sometimes five weeks in a month. There are twelve months in a year. That would make approximately 81 000 dead people within a year, just to keep us here alive.

Keep that number in mind, Logan.
Now, here I have 700 such cocoons. They last at least five years each, some even more. Considering that I have managed to add stem cell therapy to the nanotechnology, then I can fully repair their bodies and keep their cells from aging, as well, instead creating new, healthy cells.
Seven hundred for five years, though the limit will rise, soon.
Divide it with the years and we get 140 dead people a year, instead of 81 000 dead people.

Now, do you still call me a monster, as so many of humans would? Or perhaps you are able to grasp the meaning of what I am trying to do here...”

Emmanuel looked tired, but his eyes had a strange glint to them.

**

“Woland. The Old Devil. Woland.”

He wasn't supposed to be here.
He wasn't supposed to be naught but a legend.
He shouldn't even been alive.

The greatest gladiator, the greatest arena warrior there had ever been, but he'd been long before Paige was born. He was supposed to be dead, and not facing her on the arena. She grasped for air. She was terrified. She had heard enough of the man, and they all said he was supernatural. Some rumors even spoke he could fly and there was one video of him where he jumped on the edge of a barrier two floors high and from there fell upon his opponent.

But... he was supposed to be dead, though they said he was immortal. Paige didn't believe into such nonsense, of course. Yet here he was, and he was approaching her, sniffing the air, his big nostrils moving, eyes void of attention. He appeared almost asleep, and yet he wasn't. He was awake and alive, more than she was and she could physically feel all that dormant power.

And then the bell tolled.

"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated...As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness...”

She halted. What was going on? Where did this come from? She wasn't... No. She gathered herself. The worse was yet to come, when they turned the speakers on and music filled the arena. Dark music, some kind of ancient symphony, with bells and voices chanting, drums and flutes and violins...

“No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

She lost her concentration and he came upon her, striking her over the arena, so that the back of her head crashed against the barrier. Enough to kill a human, quite enough to really hurt a werewolf. She was hurt and expected him to land upon her instantly, but instead had to watch how he stood and waited for her to get up. So she did and attacked, her movements swift and graceful. The crowd cheered.

Chance watched them keenly, his hands in fists, knuckles white from the pressure. No, she was no match for him, and yet she would put up a fight. His only wish was that she wouldn't be too severely injured. He did not want her dead, oh no. He wanted her very much alive and shuddering around his cock while he would suck and pinch those beautiful tits.

Paige aimed low, but she was blocked with ease, she went for a high strike and was hurled backwards into the sand with a bloody shoulder.
What was he? Untouchable? No, you cannot lose, you cannot. It is over when you do. It is all over and you will be whore to Chance, yes, you will be his whore, no longer a princess. The crowd will hate you and all you ever had will be taken from you, because the world is made for winners. Lose and you might as well go back to daddy.

Never!
Toying with me, that's what he's doing. But I am not a human, and although I have learned to fight as one, I am not. I am more. Faster, stronger, all my senses keener, smarter, oh yes I am, I am.
So let us fight then, fight as wild beasts do. Let us fight.
And thus they were engaged into a fight which sort none of the audience had ever witnessed. They could hardly even see them properly, so fast were their movements. And they sat in silence, they didn't even dare to breath, and there was nothing but the music and their breathing, sand and dust in the air, with more water pouring down the walls of the barrier to cool down the sand.

She had never yet fought for her life, all these nights she had fooled herself by believing she was giving her best. Now she was, and she found new limits and crossed them, only to find more. Further, deeper, and it wasn't about winning or losing, it was about living, about dying.

The music turned louder and fiercer, she couldn't feel her own heart beat, perhaps she was already dead, maybe she had turned into a warring spirit. She loved him, she hated him, she sought to be close, skin to skin, blood to blood, and all the while when their bodies locked she could see his eyes and he was smiling – no, not grinning, there was nothing malicious about him, oh gods what was he?

She woke in the sand, a heavy, hot body atop of her, skin moist with blood and she was past any pain. The music had turned into a hymn and his teeth were deep inside the tender flesh of her neck. Almost like a vampire...
So this was what death would be like, she thought. She found it beautiful. So quiet. No pain, nothing. Soon she would fall into a dreamless sleep and never wake up. It didn't seem all that bad.

He was her kind, she would die thus, united with him, united with the world, in the sand, wrapped into that beautiful music.

And then he let her go. Blood dribbled down his mouth and body, coming from many wounds, small and big she had managed to leave on him.

“Remember my name,” she whispered to him. “I have died with honor. Remember my name.”
“What's your name, then?”
She heard his voice for the first time. It was so alike him – and yet it was younger than he was. Or maybe older. She had never, ever met such a man.

“Paige. Paige... Blake.”
He grunted.
“Paige... Blake. I don't kill my own kind, Paige Blake. I kill only humans. Get up. The fight is over.”

He rose and didn't even look back as he walked off the arena, ignorant to the shy cheering which broke.
She lie there and found herself weeping.
She hurt all over, but it wasn't the wounds. What had she just been given a taste of, she wondered. She had the feeling, but no name for it. How bloody poor was their language that it had no name for such power...

“Woland?”
But it wasn't Woland that replied.
“It's over, Paige. You've lost, little princess,” Chance crooned, towering above her. “You've lost the match. And I have won the bet.”

**

“He'll be back, Emory. He's too damn smart to get killed by any vampires.”
The man nodded and grinned. “That's right, Goldie. That's the attitude.”
“Oh, I've got plenty of attitude,” she chuckled. She had greenblue eyes and a mane of golden red hair, along with tanned skin and a graceful, strong body – not very feminine, but it was a damn good body, like Goldie used to say. And nobody better argue. When some men or women had to shoot at people to make them listen, Goldie only had to look at them. She was loved and feared, even by those that loved her, but such fear was entwined with much respect. Goldie could likely be worshiped.

“I know you do,” Emory replied. “You're taking it all very well.”
“Yeah? Well, I have to, don't I? Can't possibly go around running amok, can I? So tell me, Emory, how are things on your end? How's Shawn? I hear he's pretty much walking on the edge, is that so? Some have been complaining, you know. That he can't get a hold of himself.”

Very few but Goldie would have dared to speak of Shawn's behavior problems so openly. But Goldie was... Goldie. And since Michael was her kid and with her temper, then he was more certain he could somehow come out it than anybody else. Just that most likely the vampires had given him no chance to show his character and he'd fallen prey to some lurking and hungry aristocrat. Then again, they hadn't found his body – or that of Xavier's anywhere. And he was certain that they'd hear some cheering from the Old House the moment they managed to put off Xavier Ford, their enemy number one.

Emory sighed.
“He's been better. I've kept close to him these past few days. He has been very upset, I'm sure you understand. The kind of relationship Xavier and he had. Have. It's only natural. So he's raving mad half of the time, and dead silent the other half. Nobody dares to go near him, because he's vowed to shoot off the heads of a dozen folks, already. I've been talking to him, of course. I don't know. I've got this gut feeling, that something's bound to happen. Good or bad, I don't know, though.”

“Do you believe he'll come back?”

Emory couldn't lie to her.
“Not much. The point is... the chances of his return are dropping with each passing minute. If he could break out, he'd already be here. But... I don't know, seriously. The Old House has been awfully quiet about this. Not as if I truly believe that they would throw a party at his departure, but knowing their behavior patterns and cockiness – some would have come bragging, or sent us a note. Send us a part of... him, for example. I don't know what is going on. I am very confused, Goldie. Shawn is even more, so I have to hold him back from a suicide raid to the Old House.

Everyone's on the edge. Give it a day or two, and the camp will fall apart. If we can no longer defend ourselves, we fall to prey to the vampires. We need a leader, Goldie, and Xavier is not here. Shawn has to take over, even if it be temporary. It's a mate's duty. He's got to do it. He's got to unite us again, else we're doomed.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Goldie smirked. “Hello Shawn. Come sit and join us?”
A tall shadow loomed over Emory and their little fire.

“Goldie. Emory. I was looking for you.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. I figured I would find you here. I have a plan.”
“Shawn... I need to speak with you, too. Goldie and I were just discussing it and... Let me put it straight – you'll have to take over leadership of the camp.”

Goldie nodded. “Else we fall apart and prey to the aristocrats.”
“He's not dead,” Shawn bit. “What the hell's got into all of you, burying him when we don't know if he's even dead. Have you had a word from the bloodsuckers? They'd be partying all over the place. I can bet they don't have the guts to put him down. No. We need to know the truth, and listen – I have a plan for that.”

“Wow,” Goldie grinned. “OK. Will you tell us?”
“Yeah, sure,” Shawn nodded while fiddling with his scabbard. “It's a very simple and effective plan, actually. I really don't know why I didn't come up with it earlier. Anyways – we put patrols up, send some teams in, catch a vampire – the older and infamous the better – and then we make him tell all about Xavier – his location, his... state of health. And when we've found that out, we make further plans according to the information received.

That's the plan.”

Emory sighed. “And just how do you plan to make a vampire tell you all that? You know how these aristocrats are – they might brag about some things, but no way they are going to give out such valuable information, especially since it might lead to the release of their arch enemy.”

Shawn laughed, and it sure wasn't a nice happy laughter. For a young man he could look very evil, and Emory knew that Shawn had it in him to be cruel and merciless as well.

“With this,” he said and patted his gun. “And every other measure it takes. No. Don't even give me that face. They caught Xavier, and we all know they have most likely tortured him, if not killed him. So trust me, considering that I would love to kill all of them, I really don't care if I have to torture one or dozen of the bloodsuckers. I feel no remorse, none whatsoever.”

Emory looked aside. Goldie fiddled with her belt.
“Are you sure about this,” she asked.
“Yes! Bloody hell, are you all dumb and ignorant?! We're talking about the leader of Blood Brothers here! We're talking about my mate! Yes, I'm damn fuckin' sure!”

Goldie nodded. “Alright. Just checking.”
Emory sighed. “Very well then. Let's do it. I'm with you.”
He had to be, or else... He really didn't trust Shawn alone in this.

Shawn smiled. It was a very rare thing these days. He patted Emory on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man. Knew I could count on you.”