Andy grimaced as his leather jacket peeled off his wounds, which had bled and dried against the fabric. He remained still against the hard floor, careful not to reopen the worst of the lacerations. Andy hadn’t begrudged being stabbed, slashed and scratched in the heat of combat, with adrenaline flowing and rage taking precedence over his mind. However, there was no passion to be had from germinating in his wounds in a dark cell. The pain wasn’t so much a challenge to bear so that he could dig his teeth in harder, but a nuisance–a faceless recurring inconvenience.

Putting his back to the cage door and observing his prison, Andy scanned the debris for any tools or potential weapons. The metal frame of a miniature table and chair stood bare against one wall. It reminded Andy of a ruin that had been set on fire–all the plastic and wood materials burned until only non-flammable objects remained, however there were discrepancies: the walls were not smoke-stained, contrary to that, they glimmered as though covered in a polished metal coating. Andy could tell by the raised door frame that the floor had sunk a couple inches since its construction. He sat on top of a shard of cracked metal, beneath it was a layer of dirt. Andy felt the edge of the shard, disappointed to find it smooth to touch. He had hoped it might make for a useful stabbing weapon.

Hours passed. Andy listened to the sounds outside his prison–men’s voices, talking in thick accents, further confused by the acoustics of the strange metal walls. Then the noises died down. His stomach growled and his lips were dry. Andy shifted in his restraints, no matter what position he rested in, after a few minutes, it became unbearable. He rested easiest lying down on his side facing the doorway, anticipating someone to come. After a time, boredom succeeded, and he hoped they would.

With the light of morning came the sounds of activity. Somewhere outside his prison, a motorbike’s engine revved. Voices entered the chamber ahead of footsteps, carrying a conversations towards his cell. They spoke in a language Andy did not understand. Sitting upright, he put his back to the wall and blinked the grit from his eyes. He wasn’t inside a normal brick prison, the walls sold sheet metal, bolted in place. Everything was smooth and golden, the walls, the table frame, the rubble floor, only the dirt underneath and the steel bars over the narrow doorway had some natural colour to them. Andy inspected his cage. The golden frame along the top half was jagged and scratched, as though someone had sawed through the wall to expand the doorway.

As he looked, a familiar face appeared in the doorway–the man who had knocked Andy unconscious the day before–the pool shark and gang leader. He wore a denim jacket and denim jeans, arms folded across his chest, chin raised aloft. Andy struggled to his knees not to be looked down on, but couldn’t make it to his feet.

A young boy opened the cell door and stepped inside. He had a strange, ungainly way of moving, as though he was being operated by marionette strings, the knots of which were tied out of sight beneath a woollen jumper with white fur cuffs and collar. He carried a fold-up chair in both arms, which he set down near the cell’s exit, placing atop it a bottle of water and a tupperware of steaming fish.

“You must be very thirsty.” The boy’s accent was smooth, each word uttered with a precise amount of emphasis. “I have brought you a drink, and a fresh catch, fried. Can you smell it?”

Andy certainly could. The fish invaded his senses, kicking his stomach into turmoil, causing his mouth to drip with saliva. He swallowed, leaning over to address the man in the doorway–his nemesis. “Where’s my sister?”

“There’s no need for you to be our prisoner,” the boy answered, intercepting his gaze. “If you agree not to be violent, I’ll take off your cuffs now, and you can eat.”

“If you’ve hurt her, you better keep these things on, kid.” Andy pressed his back against the wall and slid upright, standing above the child. He wore black gloves, outdoorsy trousers, boots and a black beanie hat. Only the skin of his face was visible, pale with faded blue eyes–the eyes of a junkie, with a thousand-mile stare.

“Your partner is unharmed,” the boy said. “Turn around, I’ll take those off.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s safe.”

Andy opened his mouth to speak, but the boy interrupted. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

And glared at him, considering the ways to kill him. There were many. A swift kick to the head would do it. But the boy wasn’t a threat, he was just a messenger. Time and again, Andy’s eyes fell on the banquet of fish and water, perched atop the fold-out chair. He was starving by no exaggeration. Grimacing, Andy swallowed his pride and turned his back to his captors. Moments later, his restraints slackened, and he freed his hands.

The impulse to kill swept over him in a dizzying wave. The kid must have sensed it, because when Andy spun back around, he had skipped over to the cell’s doorway, putting the succulent meal between him and Andy. Behind him, Double Denim watched on, silent like a sentry. Andy snatched up the fish, scoffing it where he stood, then necked the water. His stomach purred gratefully, although the water didn’t quite hit the spot. “Got anything stronger?” he asked.

“I might.”

Andy felt the scrutiny of the boy’s milky eyes, observing his every move. “Where’s Julie?”

“I told you, your companion-”

“No, my revolver.”

“Your revolver has a name? Of course, Gunslinger archetype, and…” the boy withdrew a wrist terminal from his jumper’s stomach pouch, similar to the one which Clara carried. In fact, it might well be hers. “This affinity delineation of yours... Marvellous. Not the first time I’ve seen it, but fascinating nonetheless.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A warm sensation hummed in Andy’s gut. He felt the life returning to his limbs, stiff muscles flexing and relaxing, blood pumping regularly. But he was not sated. The boy’s neck was hidden behind a high collar. If Andy yanked his chin back, he could claw open the top button and tear open his arteries. He wouldn’t feel bad about that, the kid wasn’t innocent, only, Double Denim might stop Andy before he got the chance. The man had magical powers–telekinesis.

“What do you want?” Andy said, restraining the impulse to attack.

“To chat,” the kid said. “To see how you’re doing.”

Andy held his arms out. His ribs creaked, one of them felt broken. His shirt peeled away from the dry blood of his stomach, tugging at the wounds there where the shadow demon had pierced him. “Fantastic. Anything else?”

“You are a powerful man, Andy,” the boy went on, taking a tentative step inside his cell. Behind him, the bars hung open on their hinges. “You understand the laws of this new world. No… understand isn’t the correct word. You embody them. In a way, you are the beauty we aspire to be.”

“Uh-huh,” Andy said. “Bit weird that you’re a kid and all, but I’ll accept the compliment. Can I leave now?”

The boy smiled. “Listen Andy, you’re not taking me seriously. I may appear as a child, but all is not as it seems. Please, converse with me. Speak your mind, but listen to what I have to say.”

“You got any more fish?”

The boy looked back towards Double Denim, who relayed the request to someone else down the corridor, out of sight. Andy wondered how many more were out there? “And booze,” he added to the order.

“Booze, meat, servants, guns.” The boy strode forward, opening his arms, palms up, as though he was holding the objects. “Power and territory. Women.” He raised an eyebrow. “Men?”

“Just booze,” Andy said.

“You could have it all,” the boy continued, taking on a theatrical tone. “Anything you want. You shouldn’t be a mercenary, not with the power you possess. You should be a leader. A saint, or a tyrant. Your choice.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t need to be chained to your partner’s fear. She is hesitant to join us, even though she knows it is the right decision. Take that burden from her, make the right decision for the both of you. Join our ranks. Study with us, the ways of the New Patricians. We are the law, and the purity, and the power of this new world.”

“Cool,” Andy said. “Good for you.”

Behind the cell’s bars, Double Denim grumbled, but the boy’s expression remained unflinching. “We are coming to this little patch of your world. You cannot oppose us. Alister and his group are just the vanguard. Our strength is many times that which you’ve witnessed, and I'm offering you to be a part of it.”

“Sure, I’ll join. Let me see my sister and we’ll hash out the details.”

The boy regarded him, then all at once, his neutral expression snapped, delving into a sneer. “I don’t think you’re being genuine with me. Are you stupid? Is that it?”

“Genuine question?”

“Belligerent. You are not the most powerful saint amongst us, far from it. You are not the most powerful Augmentus in this room.” The boy chuckled. “It would be a shame to bleed your serum on this prison floor. A tragic waste.”

“What, you?” Andy said. “You’re magical too?”

“Magical? No, I’m Augmented, imbecile. My purpose is to elevate mankind.”

“Sick one. Let me see my sister, she calls the shots.”

The boy paused, puzzled. He shook his head. “You’re a fool.”

“Me, I’m a fool?” Andy pointed at the boy’s chest. “You’ve got something on your jumper.”

“What?”

“Food, there.” Andy stood closer, pointing beneath the boy’s chin. The kid looked down without thinking, it was the oldest trick in the book. Andy flicked him in the nose then punched him in the face. Leaping over the kid’s sprawling body, Andy darted for the exit.

“Stay.” The command struck Andy like a wall. Double Denim held his hand outstretched, eyes bulging with fury. Andy’s heartbeat thumbled. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dunked on his head, staggering his rush of adrenaline. Before he could react, Double Denim dipped into a low stance and hooked Andy in the ribs–his broken ribs. The force flung him back with a sickening crunch. Andy gritted his teeth not to scream in agony. White splotches danced across his vision. He hissed, the breath like fire in his chest.

When he looked up, the cell door was closed and the boy was standing outside, clutching his broken nose. “When you’re willing to talk, I’ll tell you about your sister,” he said. “Until then.”

They departed. Andy shivered, sensing the residue of Double Denim’s command inside his veins like a toxic hangover. It hadn’t felt like intimidation, the command had been something else. Probably one of his special Augmented abilities. As soon as the spell lifted, he knelt and sniffed the air, sensing the spot of blood that had spurted from the boy’s nose spattering the ground. Lowering his head, he licked the blood tentatively. It tingled his tongue with a warmth much like the nettle tea Clara often made for them on the road. His stomach rumbled as he lapped up what blood he could. Salivating, Andy swallowed, and the life force trickled down his throat. Immediately, he felt a fraction of his strength return. His senses sharpened. His vampire mutation was working. He was no longer on the retreat. He was in recovery.

Crawling across the cell, Andy gripped the bars, testing their strength. They were bolted onto the metal walls by three thick hinges, locked in place by a padlock. If Julie were here… But no, he was alone, and sober, with only his thoughts to keep him company.

Sitting on the ground away from the light of the corridor, Andy waited patiently, conserving his strength and building his resolve. He had to believe that Clara was okay. If these paediatricians–or whatever they were called–weren’t willing to kill Andy after he’d smacked one of their kids in the face, then it was likely she was alive too. They wanted her to join them, or something, so they wouldn’t have killed her yet. She was smarter than that. She’d figure out a way to get to him. Then they’d escape together, just like they always did.

Andy imagined ripping the Double Denime’s throat out, tasting his blood, letting it flow down his chin and neck, the squirt of his heartbeat pumping down his gulping throat. It excited him, energised him. Andy focussed on the pleasure, grinding his jaw, sharpening his canines. Over the last week, his nails had grown into claws, his senses had sharpened. Beneath his exhaustive malaise, he felt stronger, quicker, he only needed to rest and heal. Although he missed her presence, he didn’t need Julie anymore. He was becoming something else, a demon, or whatever. There was a tonic in his blood which desired the taste of death. His captors thought that he was defeated, weakened and unarmed. He’d play the role, skulk in the shadows until the time was right, and Clara gave him the signal. Then he’d unchain the predator desire.