The aggressive neon lighting of the nighttime Neo Babylon slums flooded the apartment as Dracula slid the curtains aside. The vibrant street lamps bathed the chamber in a finely variegated rainbow. A scrambled, convoluted display of flashing pink and radiant green danced along the surface of the couch behind him, which was positioned for a panoramic view over the red light district through the window.
"Almost brighter than the sunlight, master," Balthazar chimed in. He was sitting right behind the sofa. "Have you heard the news?"
"I have not. Enlighten me, Balthazar," the vampire replied as he overlooked the miserable streets of the city from his seventh floor flat.
Echoes of machinery and screams polluted the air, interrupted only by the occasional barking of an OWG officer. The concrete jungle that Dracula's apartment complex was situated in took the vampire some getting used to. Having to trudge through the miserable roads of the city after an eternity of living in private mansions and penthouse suites was an entirely new experience.
"An important diplomatic meeting will be organised in the VIP lounge of club Tranquility," Dracula's faithful servant continued.
"Why tell me this? I care little for the banter that occurs in such seedy establishments."
"Because the Antichrist will be there," the statue said, matter-of-factly.
The elder vampire clenched his teeth upon hearing the name. His ears perked up in surprise. "Ah, yes. Vanity, his favourite sin and all that." Dracula sighed. "That is indeed *news*. May I inquire as to why you thought that would interest me, though? I'm not the vampire I once was. All these new demons... they make my stomach churn. So flawed. And this technology.." he ranted, horribly upset about all the hellspawn which emerged with the instauration of the One World Government. "But, I digress. Answer me."
"You still hold great power, yet you are a mere remnant of your former glory, which lies just around the corner, awaiting reclamation. In but a single night, you may regain your rightful dominion over the world." Balthazar attempted to persuade his lord, whispering poison into his ears, as if having something to benefit from manipulating him. "Kill the Antichrist. Drink his infernal blood."
"You are coming across a tad too strong, like the low-budget villain you are," Dracula joked.
"I am indeed low budget: a lump of granite, given shape and purpose by a two florin chisel," the statue continued the banter.
"You underestimate yourself; inflation would have it that you are likely the most expensive sculpture around today," the elder vampire snarked back. "Regardless, enough idle talk. Where is Carmilla?"
"She recently took a job at the local conduit. She should be back in a few hours," the gargoyle informed, and from the way Dracula turned around to stare at him, it was evident that the vampire disliked the gargoyle’s answer.
"How recently? Why was I not informed of this? Did she not already have a job?" he asked, irritated. As wise as he was, excessive perseverance bordering on stubbornness was one of his flaws. Indeed, Dracula was finding it difficult to adapt to the notions of "poverty" and "laying low".
"About a month ago, master," Balthazar concisely replied.
"I will discuss this with her." The vampire made towards the door to another room. "I shall be in my coffin. Awaken me when she returns." Dracula had not slept in a coffin for almost two millennia, but adapting to the vortex of energy and faith that was the 23rd century was proving to be grievously draining.
"Will do."
Dracula could not rest, even inside his luxurious bed. Ever since moving to Neo Babylon, he frequently found himself retreating to his coffin, much like a normal human would retreat to a mattress for his or her nightly sustenance. It was never very fruitful, as his thoughts - which grew ever more turbulent - tugged at his mind in many different directions, and denied him his desired rest. The instauration of a global theocracy had taken its toll on the former dark lord, and he found himself unwillingly passing that mantle to the Antichrist.
Failing to meditate, Dracula was awoken by the sound of the lock keypad buzzing and high heels clicking on the floor. Pushing his coffin open, he left the plain dormitory, which merely consisted of two sarcophagi layed next to each other in an otherwise empty room.
"Carmilla!" he beckoned as he sat down on the couch, staring into the brightly colored landscape and awaiting the vampiress.
"Yes?" she called over from the kitchen. Her voice was slightly hushed by the sound of paper shuffling; was she counting money? Regardless, she made for her master in the living room, afraid to keep him waiting. She propped herself against the narrow window sill opposite of Dracula, sitting face to face with him. Carmilla was wearing a tight black pencil skirt, accompanied by a contrasting white dress shirt.
"Quite the secretary," Dracula commented.
"Uh-huh," she faintly mumbled and crossed her legs, rubbing her shoes against each other and nervously tapping the ground with one of her stiletto heels. "What did you need me for, master?"
"Since when have us vampires needed to do such menial labors in order to stay alive? Why have you not told me about your job?" he scolded. Carmilla froze like a deer in headlights, disarmed by the question. She felt like a child getting caught by her parents, trying to negotiate not getting grounded. Nervously, she fiddled with her hair, twirling her finger around the short locks of her fiery red bob cut.
"W-well, the casino job was just not cutting it anymore. Besides, working at the local conduit allows me to network easily and brings in a nice sum of money. We need that money, master. Whether you like it or not, the golden age of vampires has long since disappeared," she justified herself; yet, evidenced by Dracula's irritation, he clearly disliked her answer.
"It hasn't disappeared. Not if I can help it. In fact, I have been considering it ever since Balthazar told me that Lucifer will be making a public appearance. That is mainly why I wished to discuss with you."
"I'm listening," she spoke, relieved.
"As you might have heard, the Antichrist will be present at the Tranquility club in two weeks on a business meeting. I have been meditating on this occurance, and I require your council. Tell me, Carmilla; what do you know about BEAST?" he asked, more relaxed now.
"It's the embodiment of Hell's will on Earth. A global network, offering surveillance and even distorting the nature of reality if the situation calls for it. BEAST is a semi-sentient system which gathers information from a variety of spiritual and physical assets, which it uses in order to maintain global stability. Although, as you can see from what's left of the Balkan Union, that hasn't been working out so well." She continued to ramble, but her description of the current geopolitical climate as well as the marvels of modern engineering fell on deaf ears.
"Hmm." Dracula was impartial to Carmilla’s exposition and absorbed the information quite easily. "How would that work? What fuels BEAST?"
"No, you can't cut the power and kill him with the lights out, if that's what you were thinking," Carmilla teased. "You're about two centuries too late to try that Ocean's Eleven trick. Regardless, BEAST runs on conduits, like the one I work at."
"And how would an upstanding secretary of the infernal bureaucracy lack a barcode?" Dracula asked. The vampiress rolled up her sleeve, revealing a discreet barcode stamped upon her inner wrist.
"Appeal to aesthetic. I managed to convince them not to brand it on my forehead. I haven't had it for that long." Most facilities were accessible only by means of barcodes; the seemingly meaningless calligraphy held deep meaning to BEAST and worked as multifunctional identification. "No, we're not being bugged." She quickly mumbled her excuse upon seeing Dracula's brows furrowing in response to her. "This is a low surveillance area, and I don't think BEAST cares much about us."
"You are right. I have refused the mark, and you are a simple white collar worker." The vampire brought his fingers to his face, dramatically stroking his chin as he schemed. "You said you worked at the casino, correct?"
"Yup," Carmilla answered.
"Start networking. Get into the underground gambling rings; I am certain those still exist. Find a man who is marked, neck-deep in debt and handy with computers. It is imperative that he fits my description to the letter. Have I made myself clear?"
"Very clear, master." She nodded, not daring to question his motives or the difficulty of his very specific request. "Is there anything else, or.."
"You are dismissed. The sun will be rising; best not to linger." With that being said, he rose from his seat and made for the bedroom, crawling inside his coffin and making sure to not crease his stylish crimson shirt. Carmilla stood in silence for a few moments, before letting loose a sigh of relief. The slightest hint of Dracula's anger being aimed at her never failed to make her tense. After briefly pondering her master's ambitious plans, she walked towards her coffin, unceremoniously jumping into it on her back and sliding it shut.
Over the next couple of nights, Dracula spent his time in his coffin, awaiting news from either of his servants. Balthazar did exactly what an inanimate statue was expected to do in normal circumstances, and Carmilla was hard at work, juggling two jobs. After finishing her shift as a dealer at the Diamond Flush casino, she always made sure to talk with the players, making small talk and inquiring about the underground gambling landscape. Thanks to her charm, it didn't take long until she was directed to the basement of the Pika Kokidon.
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Places as bright as the barren parking lot behind the chicken joint were never a good sign in Neo Babylon. Lights were mounted atop the roof of the restaurant for no good reason, illuminating a completely unexceptional area. To unknowing eyes, there was nothing important to be found in this place, but Carmilla saw the flimsy metal door which was cleverly painted to blend in with the walls of the Pika Kokidon. She knocked once, then thrice, then twice, awaiting a response from the other side.
"The fuck you want?" The harsh voice of an obviously inhuman bouncer resounded through the rusted steel.
"I wish to partake." Carmilla spoke the password.
"Hmm. What do you think, boss?" One of the pink lanterns dancing on the wall next to her turned to face her. From the four red dots she noticed when staring into the light source, she figured that it was a camera and smiled towards it.
"Looks cute, knows the code, has no mark."
"Bring her in," another voice spoke, and with that, the door creaked open.
The overpowering stench of cigarette smoke assaulted her lungs when she stepped in. Remaining vigilant, her curious eyes scanned her surroundings, acknowledging the miniscule size of the frontmost room, whose walls were bare and tightly compressed, akin to a large, empty closet.
Her gaze naturally found its way towards the bouncer, whose skin was colored a sickly dark green. Veins bulged on his bald head, struggling to pump blood through his massive body. He towered at least two feet above her, despite her high heels. He wore a ripped plain business suit with a skinny black tie, and its white shirt was decorated by dried blood stains.
"Get in," he grunted as he locked the door behind her. His rough hand shoved her inside by the small of her back. "Watch the head. Down the stairs and to your right. Keep it down. You can fight about debts outside, but you don't look the type. Shut down's at sunrise, which is in about three hours," he informed as she descended down a flight of uneven stairs.
Holding onto the railings, her stilettos carefully clicked on what she assumed to be stone. Carmilla couldn't see much, but her vampiric senses aided her as she climbed down through the darkness. With every step she took, the sounds of music and noisy chatter gradually grew louder and louder, until she reached the literal light at the end of the tunnel. A red light bulb dangled from the dirty ceiling, and she could make out a door to the right.
Opening it, the source of the noise became apparent: this was more a bar than a casino. Immediately to her left, a deformed bartender wished her a good time while he leaned over the counter, wiping a pristine yellow glass with a rag. The room was bathed in an eerie red light by various lanterns, similar in hue to the light bulb hanging outside.
Closing the door behind her, she stepped on the dirty floorboards of the saloon. Rattling of dice and shuffling of cards added to the grimy atmosphere. As a vampire, she savored unkempt, damp places like this. Raising a hand to her chest and taking a deep breath, her lungs expanded with stale cigarette smoke. Lost in her thoughts, Carmilla was oblivious to the voice of the man next to her, whose words were drowned out in the noisy atmosphere.
"I said hey, beautiful. Are you one of those types?" One of the few normal humans in this place attempted to say hello to her a second time. Staring at him from the corner of his eyes, his wrinkled face did not inspire much trust; neither did the stench of alcohol on his breath. "Fucking deaf-mutes." The vampiress pretended not to hear him, playing along. "It's like all you <
Walking slowly while staring at all the tables, Carmilla looked for a man to fit Dracula's description of someone who would be good with computers. Finding her mark, she sat down on a wooden chair, in between two poker players. A pudgy man of Asian descent was currently hunched over, staring at his cards through greasy glasses. His barcode was branded directly on his forehead into the layer of acne covering his face, making it almost illegible. Safe and snug inside of the black hoodie which covered his hair, Derick considered his options, looking into the eyes of the queen of hearts as if expecting the card to tell him what to do.
"I'm pulling the timer soon. Do you call or fold?" his opponent barked. The player he was up against was more machine than man, every inch of his skin covered in tattoos, hellware and cybernetic enhancements. Blue robotic irises zoomed towards Derick's quivering hands, and his opponent's metallic jaw seemed to threaten to eat him whole if he would make the wrong decision.
"Do you mind if I deal the cards next round?" Carmilla innocently asked, looking towards Derick's opponent.
"There won't be a next round," he informed with an arrogant tone. "This pussy's dead. He owes me thirty thousand already. He can win it all back, or double up, and I won't play afterwards. Hurry the fuck up, Derick," he said as he tapped the clock embedded into his wrist. It started counting down from sixty in a distracting, high pitched synthetic voice.
"Oh. Okay." Carmilla nodded and directed her gaze towards Derick, anxiously awaiting for him to declare his action.
"Stop that fucking buzzer!" Derick slammed his fist on the table, annoyed by the countdown. "I call. Pair of queens." He rolled his cards over, hopeful. Drops of cold sweat were racing down his face. He could win it all back and walk out of here, breaking even on all of his debts. Or he could continue to live the rest of his life in misery until his gambling failures finally caught up to him.
"Tough luck, kid." The man revealed his cards. "Aces full." He rose from his seat, sweeping the cards off the table into his backpack. Derick's jaw dropped to the floor. He was now approximately seventy thousand dollars in the red. "Why call on that board?" his opponent asked.
"N-no..." he muttered through his fat lips. He pressed his head into his hands, defeated, staring through his fingers at his rival who was smirking in victory.
"In a month, I'm expecting my seventy thousand dollars with interest. That's about a hundred and fifty thousand. You know where to find me. See you, loser." The man made his way out of the tavern with a shit eating grin on his face.
"A hundred and fifty grand, huh?" Carmilla asked the grieving man. “That’s a lot of money, and that’s a man you don’t want to owe even the smallest sum to.”
“I know. I’m fucked. Why do you even care?” Derick inquired, wishing to hear her say that she wants to play poker, despite circumstances. He was going to lose even more, no doubt; but part of him still believed that he could win money back if he kept playing.
“I have a proposition for you.” She leaned in closer and gently pulled his arms down on the table. His teary eyes were now visible, as well as his bleeding forehead; Derick’s nails had tore at his acne in frustration.
“I don’t want to--” Derick slid behind on his chair as if to stand up. Carmilla softly tugged at his wrist with her gentle touch.
“No. Listen. It will take seven days at most, and you will make enough to pay all of your debts and still have some. Interested?”
“Maybe. Yeah. Definitely. What do I have to do?” The fish had taken the bait, but she did not reveal the exact nature of his job in fear of scaring him away.
“A variety of things. Just know that you are the right man for the job. If you’re interested, I can leave you my number, and you can ring me when you’ve decided.” Carmilla smiled reassuringly, convincing him that he was not about to fall victim to some con trick.
“No need. I mean, I’d like your number, but uhh…” Derick blushed, eliciting a girlish chuckle from her. “Uhh, yeah, I’ve already decided. When do we start?”
“You’ll have to talk to my employer. I can take you to him. By the way, what’s your name?” She extended her arm, and the presumed hacker nervously shook it. “ I’m Carmilla, pleased to meet you.”
“It’s, uhh, Derick.”
Making their way through the city slums, Carmilla had to reassure her new acquisition that this was indeed a serious job. Briefly interviewing him, she confirmed that he was indeed what they needed. A bored security worker for a mega-corporation, who turned away from the stability the One World Government provided in order to seek some thrill in his life in the form of crime. He had a brief history with drugs, but unregulated gambling was his favourite vice. His career naturally lended itself to technological aptitudes; furthermore, Derick had a background in the hacking community and allegedly had a hand to play in the recent healthcare crisis, which was even more impressive considering that he was marked.
Arriving at the unremarkable flat complex in which Dracula resided, the two took the stairs. Derick was becoming skeptical, but when the vampire answered the door in his signature crimson suit, he was convinced that Carmilla’s proposition was serious.
“Greetings.” Dracula greeted the hacker. “Please, come in.” Entering the kitchen, Derick noticed something brewing in the multipurpose furnace. “Your caf, or tea, will be ready soon. It would be my pleasure if you joined me in the living.” The vampire directed them to the familiar room with the panoramic view. Carmilla and Derick sat on the sofa while Dracula stared the new recruit up and down, dissecting him with his gaze.
“He’s perfect, master.” She crossed her legs, and she could swear that Derick jumped when her knee briefly brushed against him through his jeans, but she paid it no mind.
“Your name is Derick,” Dracula inferred through his telepathic abilities. “Do you know why you are here, Derick?”
“Not at all.” He nervously rubbed his hands, uneasy due to the vampire’s unnerving voice.
“You are here because you have about two hundred thousand in debt. I can help you repay that, Derick. But first, you have to do us a favor. Tell me, have you heard of Club Tranquility?”
The hacker’s eyes rolled upwards, trying to recall. “Uh, that super exclusive thing? Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
“Good. Well, it just so happens that I need an invitation to the party on the 18th. Would you be able to forge a ticket of authorization which is of sufficient quality to fool BEAST?”
“Hehe,” Derick forced a giggle. “Child’s play. Barcode modification is--”
“I do not think I have explained enough; please excuse my ambiguity. I am looking for an invitation to the Antichrist’s table, at the VIP lounge. Would you be able to do that?”
The hacker froze. He looked over at Carmilla, shocked that such a “nice” girl could work for an insane man. Noticing his gaze, she smiled and bared her vampiric fangs. With a girlish yelp, he moved away from Carmilla.
“What the hell are you people?” he asked, frightened.
"Vampires. And I am a man who wants Lucifer dead. And you," Dracula grabbed at his shoulder and pushed him against the sofa's back, causing him to shriek in fear, "You are a man neck deep in debt, who can help me. Will you join my cause, Derick?"
"A-ah!" he screamed. "Help!"
Dracula chuckled. "Scream all you want. It will not help you here, even if you have accepted the brand of BEAST. Now, despite my bloodthirst, it would be a shame to kill a talented man such as you. Have we reached an accord, Derrick?"
Carmilla was sitting against him again; he barely registered her movement in his fear. "Come on." she said, putting one hand on his leg and gently shaking it. "Do the right thing here, Derick. The alternative is death."
"Y-you're both crazy! I'll do it, damn it!" The fat man unsuccessfully attempted to push Dracula's hand off him, finding himself paralyzed by the magnitude of his oppressor’s unrivaled strength. He desperately tugged at it, trying to free himself from the vampire's grasp, but failed to do anything other than cause Carmilla to giggle.
"Are you done now?" Dracula asked. "I need to feel it in you, Derick. Look into my eyes. You will be making a run at BEAST itself. I need you to be ready."
"I'm ready! I'm fucking ready!" Derick stared directly into Dracula's emotionless eyes, having gained some confidence.
"Not good enough." Dracula backhanded his face, threatening to snap his neck with his vampiric strength, if not for the arm locking his shoulder in place. One of Derick's fake bronze teeth fell on the floor with a clang, knocked out of his mouth from the force of the elder vampire’s blow.
"I'm ready."