“You totally wrecked that viking-guy. And with relative ease too.” Willem said enthusiastically.

We were walking down the streets, along the waters of an Amsterdam canal. A few boats were floating down the water, some tourist boats and some recreational boat owners. On the other side was a long line of buildings. The ones The Netherlands was so famous for; The old school architecture with either really pointy, or really flat roofs.

On the other side of the canal I saw a church. I remember a time when churches were pleasant places to go, but ever since the government stopped funding religious events and buildings, they had become mostly pretty sights. The Christians who are left, are hardcore, modeled after the Americans.

“Hah, ease,” I sighed. “I guess a human wouldn’t know how it feels to regrow lost and broken teeth.”

“It isn’t that bad, Nazril. You won a good amount of money-”

“Still split between the three of us.”

“That is still one thousand for each of us.”

I chuckled. “Yeah I know, I am just kidding.” I patted his back and grinned.

I was there when Willem was born, sixty-two years ago. Seems like twenty in my mind. He still acted young, and I never got physically older. I met his father, Jan in Indonesia. He was a young soldier, a couple years younger than me. We were both put in a Japanese-controlled labor camp. That was also when the vampire mess started. I was turned by an American vampire, with whom I escaped. After several years of training with him in Thailand in a Muay Thai temple, I left for the Netherlands. I wanted Jan to still live, and oh boy was I glad he still was.

A duo of soldiers walked past us and tipped their caps. They were clad in blue combat gear – the colors of the WEF – with a black compact machine gun strapped around their waist.

“Gentlemen.” One said. I just said hello back in a mellow tone, trying to not be suspicious.

We walked further and got to a house that looked the same as the others. Light brown bricks with a balcony held up by white wooden bars. There was a sign next to the door saying “Tronar residence.” Whoever came up with that last name had a weird imagination. I looked through the window and past the curtains. There was an old man watching TV.

His white hair was thin and his hairline faded. I remember his full head of curly hair so well. Jan saw me and stood up. He smiled at me. I waved at him and smiled back. He clicked a button on a remote and the door opened for us.

“Willem, Nazril, come in!” He said from the living room. He had stood up and embraced his son in a fatherly hug. Then he hugged me. “How did the fight go?”

“He won, obviously.” He scoffed and put the bag of money on the table. Jan turned around and walked forward, his steps small and slow. He got old, that is just the reality. I had offered to turn him into a vampire, but he had said that he’d rather die of old age than ever spend hundreds of years alive with the vampire bullshit I had to deal with. His wife had died last year, it often wasn’t long until the significant other died a short time after. It would be hard to deal with a long time friend dying, but that is why I always cherish the moments we had together.

I took my cut of the cash. It was a stack wrapped in rubber bands. I put it in the backpack Willem gave to me. “Thanks for the cash, Willem.”

“Don’t thank me, you won it.”

“Stop complaining, Nazril is just thanking you for not backstabbing.” Jan said with an assertive tone.

“Right.” I said.

I went to sit down on the soft couch and looked at the television. Jan was watching the news. The blond female reporter was talking about how Joseph Bridger had called for financial sanctions against Russia. They showed a clip of the man sitting in his signature wheelchair, wearing his dark blue regal uniform. He talked about how theRussian officials were evil warmongers who kill their own people. He even asked The USA to participate.

“What did Yuglov do now?”

“So allegedly, he let the army open fire on protesters in the streets. Like one hundred people died, but the details are hazy.”

I did not know a lot about politics, but I knew that the leader of the Western European Federation, Joseph Bridger and the leader of Russia, Boris Yuglov, did not like each other at all. They were always fighting over something. Bridger had come to power in 1999, but East and West had been bickering for longer. It all escalated when the Americans pulled back their forces out of Germany and Japan in 1954. This was when the president, Tom Riann was elected, I remember seeing him on the TV in black and white before he started running for president.

He was an evangelical preacher on TV. He rewrote the constitution with his warped perception of the Bible in mind. He stayed in office until his death in 1983. After that, all Presidents have declared themselves as prophets, who spoke the word of God to lead the nation to prosperity.

Even the Pope himself calls them insane, but they don’t seem to mind. News out of America is scarce. Maybe it is better for my mental health of the world to not see news out of America on a daily basis, because every time I do see it, it's about ‘heretics’ and gays being lynched and executed.

“Enough people get killed by the government here too.” I replied stoically. “Maybe he should address how the soldiers who patrol the streets here have rotten brains.”

Jan chuckled.“You’re going to tell him?” Willem asked.

I wouldn’t. Vampires were strong, but Bridger’s security would probably rip me to shreds within seconds. And if not them, Bridger would trade his wheelchair for his exoskeleton and rip my head clean off, the easiest way to permanently kill a vampire.

I didn’t know if he had an exoskeleton. He just seemed like the type to own one.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I exhaled through my nose. “Change the subject. You dogs.” I exclaimed

“Dad, your meds.” Willem announced. He grabbed a folded piece of paper from the inside from his jacket. When he folded it out it was an A4 paper. On it was a schedule filled with dates and times, and what medicine Jan would have to take by then.

“Here you go.” He handed the list to his elderly father, who put on his reading glasses and checked it out. He had asked for this himself due his mind and body regressing. I could still hold great conversations with him, but he was getting forgetful. Somewhere it was a blessing he’d die before suffering the horrors of dementia. The fact that it was in its early stages, even though Jan was generously gifted ninety-nine years, was a miracle in itself.

I thought so much about his death, why? He has expressed multiple times that he could die in his sleep happily at this point in his life. It was probably because he was the only friend I still have left from my mortal days. I never fit into the vampire society, and my attempts at finding a vampiric lover had failed. I was unfaithful, and was caught in bed with a human girl.

Laugh at me, I was stupid.

That was in 1956, I have been single ever since. Time sure flies.

Jan used to be a light in vast darkness, despite being captured by the Japanese as a prisoner of war, he was always happy. I remember being able to see his ribs through his skin. Both of us were horribly starved, yet he made me laugh. On the day he started joking with me, I found out true friendship transcends every social boundary. My Indonesian mates started hating me for befriending a Dutch person, and before meeting Jan I would’ve done the same.

Since the Dutch colonized the Indonesian islands, they had exploited workers and left bloodbaths in their wake. They made it very clear they were our superiors. They traded spices growing on our islands around the world, causing their small motherland to become one of the most rich and powerful countries on the planet, while the colony remained poor and weak.

Jan proved to me that not all Dutch people were monsters. It probably was the same for him as well, but with Indonesian people. When I met him again in 1945, he smiled like a child whose parents just told him they’re going to a theme park.

I had broken down in tears while hugging him.

The horrible truth of how I escaped, and what I had become, came later.

“Mmmh, thank you, Willem. You’re an angel, truly.” Jan’s old crackled voice said.

Heartwarming.

“You’re welcome, next week I’ll have another one ready.”

“Great.”

I looked at the news and saw the WEF leader, Joseph Bridger in a debate. The news must have ended already and turned to live footage recorded in some office. He was sitting at a table, being filmed by multiple cameras from all sides. He sat in his wheelchair and was sitting in front of…

The Japanese prime minister. That sack of shit.

Hoshi Yarasaki was the current prime minister of the Japanese empire. They had taken over Indonesia in 1942 and still owned it today, together with the Philippines. Foreign nations tried to vouch for independence for the Indonesian people, but Japan had grown too powerful and refused to comply.

“That motherfucker.” Jan muttered. Willem’s eyes widened at the rare cursing.

The beam with text read: Bridger and Yarasaki discuss forming a union against China and Russa.

Jan’s wrinkled eyes widened. “Don’t tell me he is actually working together with that asshole.”

“Dad, think about your heart.”

Jan smiled at Willem. “Sorry, son. This is just a touchy subject for me, for Nazril as well.”

“I know you have horrible experiences with the Japanese, but they can’t still be that bad, can they?” Willem tried to reason.

I was entranced by the television. Bridger and Yarasaki, never imagined to see that. They were speaking in English and the screen said they were in Tokyo. Bridger was wearing a blue WEF army suit and sported his signature grey mustache.

On a chair next to him was the Western European minister of defense, Jacob Julians. This man turned a large part of the army on Dutch protesters, causing it to be absorbed into the WEF. The blood of hundreds was on his hands. If there was one thing respectable about him, it would be him keeping his kid out of the picture. It was common knowledge he had a son, but he had kept his identity concealed from the public.

Bridger talked with the booming voice of a leader. “We have decided, the glorious Japanese empire has joined our fight against the communist tyrants from China and Russia.”

Yarasaki stood up and went to stand next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. “We are stronger, together.” The Prime minister said in his limited English vocabulary.

Jacob Julians nodded, putting his hands onto the handles of the leader’s wheelchair. What a lapdog, pushing his master around.

Then one of the reporters dropped their camera to the table and grabbed a knife. He didn’t look Japanese like the other reporters. He ran up, pushed Julians away from the wheelchair and grabbed Bridger’s forehead. He pulled it back and put the knife at the old man’s throat. He pressed down, and quickly slit his entire throat open. Blood squirted out and Bridger fell out of his wheelchair. Blood sprayed onto his expensive looking suit. His eyes were full of horror and he jumped back. A few beefy guys worked the man with the knife to the ground. Julians put his hands on Bridger’s throat, trying to stop the bleeding. Then the screen cut to a technical difficulties message.

“Oh what in the...” Willem muttered, then made a gagging sound.

I stood there, less concerned with Bridger, fuck him, but more with the future of the economy and the country. He could die, but then he’d still get replaced. I had started to trust Bridger’s stability.

Jan sat back in his chair. “Holy moly.”

Willem was seeing green and ran to the kitchen. He threw up in the sink, I couldn’t blame him. A guy like that wasn’t used to true murder.

While the retching noises from the kitchen continued for a while, I looked at the window and saw it was getting dark. I looked at my watch and noticed it was almost eight PM.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to leave. The curfew is almost starting.” I said hastily.

“Don’t bother.” Willem said, cleaning his mouth with a towel. “You will never make it, sleep here. It’ll be a sleepover, like old times.”

“Ha-ha.” I mocked. “Sure. I will sleep on the couch.”

A loud “HOLY SHIT!” Came from somewhere outside. It was probably someone who saw the assassination. Something told me the suicide numbers would increase dramatically if Bridger was really dead. He had some fanatical fans.

“Sorry for clogging the sink.” Willem said.

“Happens to the best.” Jan sighed. “Nazril-”

“I am not cleaning that, let him do it himself.”

“Let me finish. Make sure he cleans the mess he made.”

“Sure, come on, Willie.”

He looked down in shame. “Sixty-two and you still don’t use the toilet like a normal person.”

“I couldn’t make it to the toilet.”

I bursted out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you.”

We spent all night unclogging the sink, taking out chunks of puke. Willem cleaned it up with a disgusted grimace on his face at all times.

I decided to not sleep. I looked outside to see a caravan of grey army trucks slowly making their way across the road.

I checked my phone and saw that Bridger suffered from blood loss and was being kept in a coma. The assassin had gotten killed by the Japanese bodyguards after resisting. Bridger still lived.

What a messy world.