• My father was a cop, just like me. And one day, he told me something that I would never forget. He told me that everyone on this earth is guilty of a crime, be it big or small, and that there were three kinds of criminals in the world, the zombies, the vampires, and the werewolves. That was how we classified them – those papers don’t mean jack. While that was a bit silly for a rookie who just signed his life up for the life of justice and rectification, you mention either of those three to an experienced cop, and the message was clear. Zombies, vampires, and werewolves. That was what we called them.

    Zombies were slow, stupid, and easily bendable to the wishes of someone who holds more power. Sucked in with addiction and ravished by the promise of a mainly chemical escape, they wander around with no minds, seeking that needle, that joint, that blow, that inhalation of the liberating air. And if someone gets in their way from their fix, they are even mostly willing to kill for it. Drug addicts they were mainly, sometimes dealers, and sometimes just plain people with no purpose.

    Werewolves were always a little more difficult to catch, mainly because they were so damned crazy. This was what we gave the usual psycho. Empty, rabid, vicious, extremely violent and aggressive, and although anyone can be all of those things, what sets them apart is that most of the time they do not understand why they are doing it. Some of them are stupid, some of them are more crafty, but all of them are usually dangerous. No one likes taking a crowbar to the face. No one. It isn’t their violence simply that makes them so dangerous; it is that they are wild in the purest sense of the word. They eat, kill, steal, and screw anything that they can find like primitive beasts. In that respect, a lot of times we give that title to rapists as opposed to zombies.

    But nothing was, and nothing ever is, more dangerous than a vampire. Vampires can be converged with either a zombie or a werewolf just like the other two, but vampires are incredibly threatening to society. They kill, feed, lust, and get their fix as the others, but have the amazing cognitive ability to understand it. It isn’t that they are dangerous, but it is the fact that they know and enjoy that fact that makes them vampires. They tend to have a lot of power, and usually are dons, gang-leaders, even government officials. They hold all of the power, get all of the money, pull all of the strings, and in the end, only they are satisfied. Their crazy, lust and drug filled lunacy surpasses that of any other criminal. Where zombies and werewolves can make a big mess of things, a vampire makes a work of art.

    I came to this city, New Haven City, twenty years ago, shortly after I graduated college. I too had dreams of becoming big and famous, but those dreams got in the way of what I really wanted to do. And if I had anyone to thank for that, it was my parents, who made me understand that this world needs something. Trouble is, I never quite understood that lesson. But what I did understand was that I cared more about people than money. But at a young age, I realized that I was separate from this world in that there were people who only cared for themselves and hurt others. So, like the spawn of my father that I was, I became a cop. Nothing interesting about that, really. But the tragedy that was reality came crashing down on me when I found out that cops were just like the people they fought to protect the people from. There is one major function in the legal system we work for, and that major function was destroyed with the human ambition that spawned it. So now, I had a different vision in my eyes: to fix this system from the inside.

    For twenty years, I had fought for this city and her people, and where there was virtue, there was fire, and where there was fire, there was blood. That was all that I could see anymore. Everything was so simple that you could sum it up in one sentence, my father told me. And he was right. He told me how he summed it up too: “There will be blood and tears”. And you know what? He was right about that too. So many nights ended with me either killing something, something dying anyway, or me simply sitting in the same bar every night with my whiskey, and trying to forget it all. Sex, gratitude, and even the check at the end of the week meant nothing anymore. To me, that was all dead. And as I would suck down the pain-killer that was alcohol, I became less attuned to that as well, finding myself in a vicious circle that told me that no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, everything would be the same as it had always been.

    The kids. Every night I went to my bar, I would see more and more youthful people spending their time in merry, gaily taking down drinks, and then their pants. And they did this because they had nothing else to do – everything was sunshine and rainbows for them. It was like watching children playing in the yard back home. And at first, I reveled in the pure innocence of it all, but now, I am sick of it. So sick of it because it makes me sad. Nothing else could depress me more than to see the future before me, only to realize that they too, will suffer the same infernal wrath that I, and everyone else have.

    I was disturbed of it all. I set my glass down, looking around at all the drab, empty souls that sat around me. But that was not what was disturbing at all; it was finding myself to be just as empty and hollow as the rest of them. Life had no purpose here, it had no meaning, or at least mine did. All those happy memories, all the sad ones, were nothing here; not in this town. They call it visionary, a city for the old to live, and young to thrive – a city of freedom…more like a city of sin. Crime, drugs, sex, money, it’s all that mattered here, and that is all that will matter here. People just want more and more, as if it is a child’s game. Them and their fancy suits and five dollar-words clinging to them like static disgusted me. No individuality, no spirit, no decency. “You do what you can,” turned to “you do what you can to win”. Charity, decency, and modesty had no place here.

    Any kid from the farm could look at this place and see what the news tells them, a utopia of dreams and achievements. It was a living fairy tale to them all. Any newcomer can see a new home, a way out, a chance to be reborn. They said this place is miles apart from the rural world of restriction and sanctity - that much is true. Too bad that those miles lead to a perpetual Hell I learned about. Sure, the country did not have the charms for the growing youth, but it sure as hell was safe. Look at those kids…they are young, and they are having a marvelous time, happily speaking to one another as if the worries are absent. They didn’t care about the world. They were here. They did not care about anything other than this city, and what it represents: money. Everything was competition for them. Maybe I am just paranoid. But I think more on what they miss more than have. They have the money, the clothes, the everything…but they do not have love, I bet. A vision, a dream, a change of pace for this world, a reason. A purpose. They have all that life and nothing to spend it on. They will tell you they have it, and it comes in money, or cars, or a blonde girl named Sparkle that dances on poles with a visible infection on her spinal column. They tell you that they have dreams; they tell you that they have visions for a new world. They tell you that the entire world is presented to them from their television screens and newspapers that they encounter in their high-rises. But they have an even more disgusting speculation, that cocky attitude that sets them apart from a person like myself:

    They tell you that they know.

    They don’t know. And each day I see something like a murder, or some guy going insane, or that one man at the bar at night, pulling out his hair, I wonder if they feel the need like I do, that need to understand. Still, they don’t know nor have it. Time does not stop for moments, rarely do they, and for only about six minutes in your eighty-year life. Time moves on, powered by the moving cars, and people. One thing this city does do is move. That is what youth does, and this is a city of youth. And what makes it a city of youth? Well, not seeing it at all is the best way I can describe it. And the sad fact is, that that is what the best thing to do is. Once you are in, you are in forever. The blood and grime that splash on you never washes away.

    This had no point. My badge, my authority, my sense of righteousness and justice I once had as a kid, is no more, and now I am just another speck of grey in this grayscale world being turned by the angry malicious grip of the ones who actually have control of destiny. Just another man with a gun, told to silence the evil that the government tells me to. No one mattered, not even me. That was, until I saw her.

    She came out of nowhere, and there she was, standing at the bar, alone. Long red dress, clear white skin, and long, crimson hair, she looked nothing like the average girls around here. I don’t even care about women…but something made my eyes stick to her, as if there was a big light around her. I could sense some raw power in and around her. She was different. And before I had a chance to even think on acting, she turned and her deep green eyes lodged a gaze into mine. The sea of people opened up and we ended up with nothing but an invisible string, pulling myself to her. What I remember most was that sickeningly seductive grin that she exhaled from her lush, supple lips.

    She told me she had no name, not since she left for this place. She was a country girl with a dream to be an actress – just another makeshift fairy tale-esque montage of fantasies shat out by social awkwardness and insecurity. She told me that so far, her dreams have not been fully realized, but every waking moment of her existence here in this little circle was quite a wonderful one. She was not like any of the other broads that dreamt of becoming a star here. Where most of them would succumb to the temptations of the vampire, lavishing in the escape of sexual gratification and narcotic-infused-ascendance, she felt proud of who she was. She knew that the climb was difficult, and that to make it there, you had to be the mountain-goat that her father told her about, who would just keep climbing until he reached the peak with a proud stance. She told me though, that I needed company. She could see that I was someone who saw something different, and that she wanted me to feel special to her.

    We went down to the park on our way to her place, and down the road stood a circle of pavement with a fountain, a vigil of the founder, Markus Haven, standing proud, as if basking in a ray of God’s pleasurable light. Rain slapped her umbrella as we traveled precariously underneath it to save us from the teardrops from the empty, blackened carapace that was the darkness above us. All the while, that silvery disk that graced the skies blessed us with its company, acting as a composer for the streetlights that littered our path. We got that far.

    In a flash, she stopped me, took me by the arms, and pressed her lips to mine with a moan. I quickly threw my arms around her hips and bent her back as we engaged in this random act of affection. Her hot breath coated my wet skin, and I began to peel her open like wrapping paper. Everything about her was perfect. Her body was the goddess that I could lavish myself in. Nameless…the divine.

    My lips would grace her pale skin as my hands would explore her, our carnal desires running rampant underneath the heavenly spectator. The rain only got harder as some of the city lights began to turn out, shadowing us as we bathed in our desire. Our lust. Our escape. She gave a smile and a moan every now and then, letting me suckle on that sweet voice of hers as she would whisper things to me that I could not remember. But I noticed the flash when she reached into her stocking to grab a small knife. That was all I needed. But it was too late to evade that feeling of cold steel as it rammed into the back of my shoulder, my coat becoming saturated in blood. She began to laugh as I tried to pry myself from this devil. And when I did, I sprawled back, clutching the hole and torn flesh. She stood up, her clothes ripped by my hand, clutching that blade like the fang of death. Her eyes stared into mine, and once more did I see that beautifully sick grin on her face.

    She lunged at me, her eyes intent on me as a piece of meat, and as fast as my bones could allow me, I snatched her arm and bent it over my knee, hearing her bones crack with little resistance. I drew the knife from her, and with every vibe of my being did I lodge it into her chest. Over and over again, did I cram that steel into her breasts as the lights were dim enough to make us but theatrical silhouettes on a stage. Through the pain and misery of her kiss did I continue; and when the light of thunder’s brother shined on us, I could see those eyes grow paler, and that smile fading from her face. Her own red fluid of life began to drip from those soft, supple lips. She had realized her illness, and leaning on the fountain, she reached a hand out to me, begging for mercy. Another flash, and I could see her wonderful blood coat the side of Haven’s statue as her head dipped into the water, dying it with the stains of her remaining figure. The hole in her forehead began to open, her eyes began to cross, and darkness set in for her.

    And the only sound I could remember was that earthly, damning clash that was a gunshot. Shortly after that though, I took my seat on a bench beside the fountain, hiding my pistol in my coat, watching the corpse of the nameless one. It hung limp over the mouth of the fountain, her blood running down the statue, her pale skin, and that lovely torn red dress. Silence took hold, the only thing comforting my ears now, the sound of rain as it carried on. Putting my face in my hands, I could slowly feel myself coming back to reality, even though I did not want to. Then suddenly, cell phone gave off a ring, muting everything else out.

    Ring ring. Ring ring. With tenacious hands, I slid my phone out of my pocket, slid it open, and set it over my ear.

    “We need you,” said a familiar voice. My partner, Michael.

    “My shift is over,” I replied, my voice low.

    “I know, John. But something has come up. That drug gang’s hideout? We found it. Chief wants us to make our move.”

    “So, why can’t he send in the Reavers?”

    “He is, but he wants men he can trust. He wants us, but more importantly, you.”

    I drew a sigh. I had been following these pricks for a year, and now was the opportunity to strike. Michael knew exactly how to interpret the silence.

    “Everything you will need will be there when you get there to meet me. I am sending the coordinates to you right now.”

    I said nothing. More silence.

    “John.”

    “Yes, Mike?”

    “You killed someone, didn’t you? I heard the shot.”

    I gave another sigh and rubbed the back of my head. “Just another vampire, I think. She attacked me. I couldn’t think.”

    “…We’ll get you treated and have you speak with the chief when we get this done, but we have to move, now. Get over here. And John, you need to stop going to that bar.”

    That made me chuckle a little, even if it was too silent to be heard over the phone. Mike always could make me laugh. He was like a brother to me – we had been partners for five years. If there was anyone that knew me more than myself, it was Mike. The line hung up and I closed my phone. For a moment, I just sat there, collecting myself as time just passed over me. I stood up and glanced at the body of the nameless, wordless, and then pulled my hood over my head. Her hand was still extended, her pale palm upwards to the sky, as if calling the stars for mercy. She asked for it from me, and I gave her the only mercy that was real in this realm, a real escape from her prison. With a sigh, I continued down the road, to my car, through the darkness.