There was a flurry of Disruptophazer fire, and the loud thunder of gunfire. Zoë winced, covering her ears at the deafening crack and boom of the sounds, tears streaming down her face. Then it was over. She chanced a look, and saw, to her horror, the dead SWAT team. God, so much death! This wasn’t what con was about goddamn it! It was supposed to be about fun, goddamn it! Not about death, violence, and and grief! Jesus, what had happened in such a short space of time? She had come here expecting to party, and revel, and get drunk and laugh! Fuck this noise! And fuck these assholes! How dare they ruin this! How dare they do any of what they were doing! Yes, fuck them! Fuck right in the ear, with a goddamn spiked Babel Fish! She screamed as she wrenched the Ram-Headed Biomechanoid’s head between her forearm and collar, crushing its woolen windpipe as she held onto its back, as it careened around and slammed her into the wall. She didn’t let go.
Misto, meanwhile, was busy fighting as well. He punched the rhino-headed one in the jaw just as the tiger-headed one swiped at him with its claws and opened a gash in his torso. He snarled and roared, and brought his fist around in a wide arc and slammed it into that one’s face, knocking two of its huge teeth out. He leapt at the rhino-headed one and pinned it down and tore into its thick hide with his teeth, ripping out one of its eyes, just as the tiger-headed one kicked him in the stomach and sent him rolling off of it . . . and right into the legs of the ram-headed Biomechanoid, sending it and Zoë toppling to the floor.
“Oof!” Zoë felt the sound escape her more than made it do so as she hit the tiles hard, her ribs smacking into the floor along with her hip, the Biomechanoid landing on top of her and then rolling off of her. Its putrefractious body odor crawled up her nose as it did so, and she nearly gagged at the stench. Her eyes and its met as it rolled onto its stomach, and dear God, the emptiness . . . the vacuous, soullessness sent an ice-spider skittering up her spine.
Across from her, Misto scrambled to his feet and ran at the tiger-headed Biomechanoid, tackling it. He raked his claws across its chest, opening a gash in its clothing and its body armor, then grabbed its body armor at the seams with both hands, ripped it open, and plunged his fist into its chest; its ribcage smashed and shattered with a loud crunching noise as he reached in and tore out its heart, covering him in blood spatter. He threw the heart, just as the rhino-headed one grabbed him with its two extra cybernetic arms as well as its two flesh-arms, and hauled him off of the tiger-headed one’s corpse, throwing all three hundred pounds of him aside, and sending him skidding across the floor. Misto recovered, rolled over, and ran at the rhino-headed one. The two got into a punching match. Misto delivered a roundhouse punch to its head, knocking it down for the count. He kicked it in the head, cracking it open, then reached down and snapped its neck.
She got to her feet just as the Biomech she’d been fighting got to its and aimed its arm-cannon at her, and she froze. Her heart climbed into her throat and the seconds ran like molasses for a brief instant as her whole life flashed in front of her mind’s eye; this was it, she was dead. It was going to kill her.
Then, Misto happened. He tackled the Biomech right as it fired and the shot went wild; Zoë nearly jumped out of her skin as the purple-white blast zoomed right past her head, missing it by mere centimeters. Her heart could’ve nearly exploded.
And just like that, the fight was over. The Biomechanoids were all dead. Ravenkroft and Dizzy still floated in the air just above and beyond where she stood, but . . . something was wrong. He had Dizzy ensnared in his tentacles, and . . . she wasn’t moving. She and her Evangeliojaeger were lying limp in his tentacles. And behind his Evangeliojaeger’s faceplate . . . Ravenkroft was smiling.
“Oh fuck,” Zoë whispered
Nothing could save Mystikite. She knew it. Maybe that was just morbid intuition talking, but she was fairly sure of it. He was going to die.
She ran over to where Gadget lay on the ground. She shook him. “Gadget! Wake up, wake up!”
Groggily, Gadget came to. “Wha . . . ?” he said. “What’d I miss? Did we win?” he said.
“No . . .” said Zoë. She helped him to his feet. “No, we didn’t . . . Mystikite. Mystikite has been shot . . .”
Gadget finished getting to his feet. “Holy shit. Oh no. Dizzy . . .” He looked, and saw the same thing she had, and screamed, “NO!”
Ravenkroft paid no attention. He turned, with Dizzy grasped in his tentacles, and floated in the direction of the front doors. Zoë took aim at his back with her Disruptophazer and fired. The bolt blasted off his force-field. Goddamn it. There was nothing that could stop him. Ravenkroft descended toward the ground, and fell into a march, and stalked out into the night.
And then, he was gone.
Just then, a voice — a voice she hadn’t heard in years — spoke her name. “Zoë?”
Zoë looked up and saw a face she hadn’t seen in a long time. The face of someone who, the last time they’d spoken, had screamed at her and called her a bitch and a whore, and “the worst person currently alive.” But now her face held a kind of awe, almost a reverence. And standing next to her was a girl she didn’t recognize, wearing a black Viktorian tea dress and a witch’s hat, with green makeup covering her skin, with circuit-pathways etched into it. Behind her, there stood a short, lanky guy dressed like the anime character Naruto, and next to him, a big round guy decked out in Scottish regalia circa 1536 A.D., like an extra from the movie Highlander.
“Jetta?” said Zoë, instinctively wiping away her tears. “Jetta Arkenvalen? What’re you doing here?”
“Never mind that,” said Jetta, looking down at Mystikite. “I can save him, though. I know how. We just have to get him to one of the hotel rooms. Somewhere private, where I can work. If you ever haven’t before, Zoë . . . trust me now. I can save him.”
Zoë exchanged a worried look with Gadget. He nodded to her. The green-skinned girl said nothing.
“Okay,” she said. “But Misto’s hurt. If I can remove the bullets, he might be — ”
“That won’t be a problem,” said a voice from over her shoulder. She turned to look, and to her surprise, Misto was standing there, a grimace of pain on his wolfen features. He stood there behind her, despite there being a bullet in his leg, and blood running steadily down his already-bloodied fur. “I can walk, but just barely. Chalk it up to the hardiness of werewolves.”
“You don’t even know . . .” said Gadget, breathing heavily, his face now completely pale, as he wiped the blood from his nose — more ran down — his eyes completely bloodshot, “what you don’t know . . . I read his thoughts . . . I have to tell you guys. Have to . . .” His eyelids fluttered. He was going to pass out. Just great, that was all they needed. “I can mind-fuck . . . the cops . . . so they don’t see us leaving . . .”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and appeared to concentrate. Then, Zoë was nearly knocked off her feet — they all were — as a bright pulse of light flashed, and a glimmering wave of energy, accompanied by a throbbing shockwave, as though from an explosion, rippled out from his Helm. It washed over them, through them — Zoë felt it in her bones — and out, across the hotel’s Grand Hall, through the floor, the walls, the ceiling, out through the front doors. The cops, firefighters, and EMTs working there all stopped what they were doing and stumbled, staggered, and tripped over their own feet; some fell to their knees, or hands and knees, and a few vomited as they staggered backward and slammed into the walls or the doorframes. The shimmering wave of splashed across them all, then whisked across the street and crashed into and through the buildings on the other side . . . vanishing into the distance beyond them. Gadget slumped in Zoë’s embrace. What had he just done . . . ?
“There,” said Gadget. “Done. Let’s . . . go . . .”
“Mine and Dizzy’s suite,” said Misto. “It’s upstairs, on the second floor.”
“But how are we going to move Mystikite?” said Zoë.
“I’ll carry him,” said Jetta. She proceeded to defy the laws of physics, and actually lift Mystikite into her arms, despite the difference in their size. Zoë could only gawk at her. Jetta offered her a half smile. And then Zoë saw them. Her fangs. A cold chill shot up her spine. Jetta said, “There’s a lot that’s happened to me in the past few years, Zoë. A lot you don’t know.”
“So I see,” said Zoë, a creeping dread coming over her. Then all of a sudden, it hit her. Oh God. No. She knew. Knew what Jetta had in mind, how she planned to save Mystikite's life. If what she was proposing could be called life. God no . . . she couldn’t. But then again . . . he was going to die if they didn’t do something . . . Oh Christ, what else could she do? “Let’s get moving,” she said. “To Dizzy and Misto’s suite. Misto, lead the way.”
“Certainly,” he said, and limped on ahead.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto the second floor. Up here, it was as if nothing had just happened downstairs: Dwarves from Middle-Earth and Wizards from Hogwarts still hung out in the hotel hallway chatting and talking, holding hands and making out; X-Men and Wookies and Angels and Demons made a scene by acting goofy and raucously and zooming down the hall after one another with nerf guns and foam swords; Highlanders and Sith Lords flitted in and out of room parties. When the doors opened and Gadget emerged leading Jetta — carrying a bleeding, unconscious Mystikite in her arms — and a bleeding, seven-foot-tall, blue-furred wolfen Misto, and the Disruptophazer-armed Zoë out into the hallway, people gasped, screamed a little, and jumped at the sight of actual blood and started backing away, clearing a path for them. Gadget didn’t have the patience for their shock and dismay. Hell, he didn’t have the stamina for it. The world swam in front of his eyes. He was only getting by breath to breath, minute to minute. Had to rest. Had to get to a bed. He was going to collapse any second. He felt the slick of sweat on his skin, heard his own gasps for air. Felt the walls closing in on him; the hallway spun around him, and God . . . the lightheadedness . . . it was like somebody had attached jumper cables to his brain. (Which was sort of exactly what he’d done, so . . .)
And, Mystikite. Jesus but that wound in his chest looked like bloody fucking hell. Oh God, please, let him make it. Please let him survive. Because I can’t survive without him. I can’t lose my best friend. I just can’t.
“Far fucking out, man!” cried a cosplayer dressed as Anakin Skywalker, replete with the padawan’s hair-twist — obviously, this was Anakin before he turned evil — his arm around a girl dressed as Harley Quinn — not the movie version, but the one from Batman: The Animated Series — her jester’s outfit a little more revealing than her cartoon counterpart’s. He came walking up to them and looked up at Misto. “Dude, how did you do that!”
It occurred to Gadget that a seven-foot-tall, blue-furred werewolf covered in blood and gristle — and smelling like a crematorium — was going to attract some attention. Other people were crowding around them now, too.
“Er,” said Misto, “it’s an animatronic costume. I’m really only four feet tall! I promise! A real Tyrion Lannister!” He laughed nervously.
“Come on!” said Gadget. “Misto, come on!”
“Sorry folks, got to go,” said Misto. “Dead Vampire to dump in his coffin, and all. Y’know. The Underworld wars are never over.”
The crowd parted to let him through — they didn’t have much choice — and they continued on down the hall, trailing a crowd of curious and mystified people who all wanted to touch Misto’s fur.
“Here,” said Misto, limping forward. “Room 237.” He reached into the remains of his Thanos armor and pulled out a keycard, stuck it into the lock, and opened the door. Cool air hit Gadget in the face and he staggered into the room, Misto held the door open and Jetta entered, Mystikite in her arms, with Zoë marching in behind her. Jetta’s friends — the green-skinned girl in the black Viktorian tea dress, Naruto, and the Highlander — swaggered in behind her. Misto let the door close on its own behind them, leaving his adoring fan-club outside. The suite was like any other in the hotel — two beds, situated on either side of a fancy night table. A large lamp sat on the night table, with arms reaching over both beds. There was a large table over in the corner, with chairs situated around it, and a couch against one wall, opposite a large dresser and wardrobe. A flat screen TV was mounted on the wall, perfectly centered between the beds. And there, in the center of the room, stood a tall steamer trunk, mounted on rolling wheels, measuring about two meters tall, and three-quarters of a meter on either side. It looked like a portable metal sarcophagus. It had a fingerprint scanner attached to the locking mechanism, and large motorized hinges straddling the seams in the middle. Now what the hell could be inside there? Didn’t much matter — he had a best friend who was dying; that was all that mattered at the moment.
“Gadget,” said Misto, “are you sure about what you did to the cops?”
“What do you mean?” asked Gadget.
“Those people out there,” said Misto. “They didn’t seem the least bit . . . traumatized. Or upset. Or anything by what just happened not seven meters below them in the Grand Hall. And the cops. They’re not storming the building. They didn’t call for backup. The firefighters and EMTS didn’t charge into the building. I’m surprised the hotel hasn’t shut down the whole con. Hell, I just saw a room service tray go by out there. Are you sure you didn’t . . . what did you call it . . . ‘Mind-fuck’ everybody? The whole entire hotel? Hell, half the city, even? Because as we were leaving, I didn’t hear any additional sirens. Just . . . nothing. Total silence.”
Gadget thought about it a second. Maybe he had put a little too much english on that particular mental spitball. Oh well. If he had, he had. At the very least, it meant con would continue on uninterrupted. Some small comfort. The cops would clean up their mess — including the ten dead SWAT team members; Jesus, there were some horrific things you just couldn’t unsee — and the ambulances and firetrucks would depart one by one; they would report having fuzzy, jangled memories from the moment they got in their squad cars to answer the initial calls on their radios. As far as the unfortunate SWAT officers went, their deaths would be thoroughly investigated — how do ten fine officers just wind up dead from severe electrical plasma burns covering half their bodies? — but by that time, con would be over, and they would be long gone. And everyone would wonder — especially the hotel staff — what the hell had happened to the front doors of the hotel, and the registration desk, and the walls of the Grand Hall?
But Gadget didn’t really care about any of that. So long as his best friend did not die within the next ten minutes, he didn’t care about anything else at all.
Jetta laid Mystikite on the nearest of the two beds. Blood covered the front of his costume, a sea of crimson stains. He had gone extremely pale, his face contorted into what seemed a perpetual grimace of pain. His eyes were closed. His breathing ragged and shallow. Dear God. Whatever Jetta was going to do — and he had a pretty good idea of what it was, though he didn’t dare breathe it aloud — she had better do it fast. Zoë put down her Disruptophazer on the table and began pacing back and forth at the end of the bed, and then went to tend to Misto’s wounds. Probably looking for something to keep herself busy. Gadget lamented that he had no such distraction.
Misto sat down in one of the chairs, and said, “There’s a First Aid kit in that suitcase sitting on the other bed, over there. It should have what you need to remove the bullet.”
Zoë opened and began digging in the suitcase. Anything, Gadget figured, to take her mind off of what was about to take place.
“Okay,” said Jetta, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve only done this once before. To Elphion, here.” She motioned toward the green-skinned girl in the tea dress, who curtsied and smiled a fanged smile. “Elphion, guys; guys, Elphion. And this is Naruto, and Phineas.” She motioned to the other two, the short lanky guy in the Naruto costume and the large, bulky guy in the Scottish regalia. They both had skin the color of alabaster, and Gadget didn’t need to be told the truth — they were Vampires, all of them. Jetta had turned them all into what she was.
“Aye, pleased ter be meetin’ ye,” said Phineas. “Any friend o’ Jetta’s a friend o’ ours.” He grabbed Gadget’s hand and shook it profusely. He was cold to the touch. Gadget’s bowels threatened to turn to liquid, but he squeezed his cheeks together tightly and luckily, he didn’t drop any friends off at the men’s underwear modeling competition.
“Y — y — yeah,” said Naruto. “Pleased to m — m — meet you guys. Did — did you know that Vampires aren’t really d — dead? They’re alive, like Humans. They’re an evolutionary offshoot of Humankind. Jetta made me into a Vamp — Vampire because I don’t want to go home to my d — dad. He’s an a — a — asshole who drinks. And hits me. And my mom lets him. So I’m n — not going b — b — back this time. I’m running away forever. With Jetta, and Phineas, and Elphion.”
“Rock on, kiddo,” said Elphion, grinning. She extended a hand meant for kissing toward Gadget. “I’m Elphion. Glad to make your acquaintance, good sir knight. They call you Gadget, right bro?”
“Right,” said Gadget. He took her hand and kissed it. Her skin was cool on his lips.
“And that . . . thing on your head . . . it helps you . . . what . . . bend the rules of reality?” she asked, peering at it.
“Well, basically, yeah,” he said. “I call it the Dr. Manhatten Helmet.”
“Interesting,” she said, nodding. “Very interesting.”
“If nobody minds,” said Zoë, “can we get on with saving Mystikite's life?” She had pulled the bullet out of Misto’s leg and was busy stitching up the wound.
“Right,” said Jetta. “Okay. Here’s the deal. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you guys. Basically, I’ve been held prisoner for the past three years . . . in a cramped bedroom in my father’s house. By the guy who just attacked you. You probably know his name. Ravenkroft.”
“Yeah,” said Gadget. “We know his name.”
Jetta nodded. “Well, this,” she said, holding up her wrists — they had scars on them, and there were also scars on her arms, as well as countless needle marks, and the barest traces of . . . were those circuit pathways? Yes, they were. “This is what he did to me. Turned me into what I am now. A Vampire. He used Mutagenesis X-119 on me. The same serum that . . . that led to my mother’s death. He fed me small animals for the past year. Tested my abilities in small ways. When I broke out earlier tonight, I spent a few hours on the streets testing them out myself. I ran into some gangbangers earlier tonight as I was making my way here, and . . . well . . . they didn’t live through the encounter. I managed to hail a cab with the money I took from them.”
Stolen story; please report.
Jesus. Damn. Gadget’s heart plunged into his stomach for a minute and a cold shiver went up his spine as she spoke.
“I met these three when I got here. And I Turned them soon after. Don’t worry. None of us are going to feed on any of you, you have my word. And if I succeed in Turning Mystikite, he’ll be able to heal from that wound in a matter of minutes. If I fail . . . well . . . I’ll wind up killing him. It’s your call, Zoë, Gadget.”
Gadget looked over at Zoë; she paused her stitching, turned around, and looked into his eyes. God, what could they do but say “yes?” What were they supposed to do? There was no tactical precedent for this kind of thing. They were only in their early thirties, for crying out loud; none of them had ever discussed any “end of life” decisions or any shit like that. Why would they?
“Do it,” said Zoë, nodding. “Please, for the love of God, do it.”
Gadget tried to think, his mind a whirling mess of thoughts, but all that shouted through the void, screaming out in his head over all the other noise, was the singular thought — My best friend is going to die. He nodded as well, and turned back to face Jetta.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding as well. “Do it, Jetta. We have to try. He’ll die anyway if we don’t.”
“Alright,” said Jetta. “Stand back.”
She raised her right hand and one of her fingernails extended, growing longer and sharper than the others. She used it to cut open a gash in her left arm. Then she lowered her arm to Mystikite's lips and whispered in his ear: “Drink. Drink from me and live forever.”
Slowly, Mystikite's lips began to move, and then his tongue. He began sucking, very gently, on her arm, and then, with a little more force . . . and then he raised his head slightly, and then with even more force. Then he raised his arms weakly, and gently grasped her arm with his fingertips. Then with all of his fingers. Then he pressed his lips and tongue and face against her arm, and drank deeper, showing more movement and animation. And then, he let out a choked, muffled cry of pain and jerked his head away, his arms going to his sides, his fists and teeth clenched as his body began to quiver, and tremble . . . and then thrash and writhe on the bed, another cry of agony leaping out of his throat as he threw back his head and cried out, his body whipping back and forth on the bed, his back arched, fists so tight his fingernails drew blood from his palm. For a brief moment the color returned to his cheeks . . . and then drained from his skin entirely, leaving it a soft milky color. Eight of his teeth fell out, as fangs grew rapidly in their places, blood running from his mouth as his gums bled during the process.
And then, he passed out suddenly, his body exhausted from the transformation. His breathing was slow and steady, and deep. The wound in his chest, beneath his burnt clothing, had closed completely, and had scarred over, in just a matter of a minute or two. The wound in Jetta’s arm likewise closed up.
Thirty seconds later, Mystikite sat bolt upright on the bed, as though awakened from a nightmare. Perhaps he had been. He breathed heavily, as though frightened. He looked around, eyes wide and terrified. He looked over and saw Jetta, and the three other Vampires. Jetta smiled and waved to him.
“Hi honey,” she said. “Miss me?”
“Jetta?” said Mystikite, blinking in surprise. “Jetta Arkenvalen?”
He felt . . . well, weird. That was the only way he could put it. Something had . . . changed. Not about the world around him or his friends, but about him. He was different. Stronger, more . . . alive than he had been in . . . well, in years. He felt young again. Like a horny teenager, all revved up on caffeine, adrenaline, and hormones on a hot summer night and out cruising for a piece of ass in a hot rod. He could’ve leapt off the bed and run a marathon with all the pent-up energy struggling to burst loose inside of him. And a hunger gnawed in his gut. A nameless hunger; a kind of need, but for what, he didn’t know. He tried imagining food, but nothing sounded good. In fact, thinking of food made him a little nauseated, but the hunger persisted nonetheless. It felt deep, too, a deep hunger, like it was embedded in his bones. In his flesh. In his . . . blood. Hey. Wait a second . . . where had that thought come from?
“Yup,” said Jetta. “It’s me, dearest. Bet you never thought you’d see me again, did you. Not after the way we broke up.”
“Uh . . . no . . .” he said absently. He whipped his head around toward Gadget and Zoë. “Guys? What the fuck is going on? Did I . . . did I get shot, or was that just a bad dream?”
“Uh,” said Gadget, looking over at Zoë, who shot him a look back. “Well dude, it’s . . . kinda hard to explain.”
Now just what the hell did that mean? Yeah, the hunger was in his . . . in his blood. Exactly. And had those been fangs in that smile Jetta had just flashed at him? He turned around and took another look at her. She smiled at him again, and yes — those were fangs in her mouth. And he had a feeling they weren’t part of any cosplay. So. Zoë’s story had been perfectly true. (It wasn’t that he had doubted her, or anything, but “actual, real-life Vampires” were a thing you sort of had to see to really believe.) But — wait. Wait, wait, wait. If he had been shot by one of those Disruptophazers — which were deadly — his hit points reduced to zero, and he had been dragged up here into a hotel room — and Jetta — a Vampire — was here — and he had just “magically” regained consciousness —
He looked down at his chest. There was a burnt, cinder-edged hole in his costume where the front of his shirt should have been, and on his chest, the barest suggestion of scar-tissue. Even as he looked at it, the scars were disappearing as if by some force of mystic sorcery. He gasped. And hey, wait — his skin. It was pale. And not just “I haven’t been outside in a few days” pale. No; it was the same creamy, milk-white color as Jetta’s skin was . . . and apparently all over his body, too.
“Oh shit,” be breathed. And in that instant, it clicked. Oh fuck. They had done it. His friends had really fucking done it. They had dragged him up here after one of those creepy Cyberfurries had shot him, and in order to save his life, they’d had Jetta — and how the fuck had she gotten involved in all this, anyway? — turn him into a goddamn, motherfucking, actual, real-life Vampire. Holy dog-buggering, motherfucking, son-of-a-bitching shit.
Okay, okay, calm down . . . you’re hyperventilating. Stop. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re hyperventilating. It’s not like you can have a heart attack now, is it? No . . . your new-and-improved Vampire body will just keep on ticking. Jesus Hopped-Up-On-Goofers Christ. A Vampire. A real, actual, fucking Vampire. Now what do I do?
“Uh, Zoë? I think he’s figured it out,” said Gadget.
Mystikite sat up on the bed.
“Mystikite,” said Zoë, coming over to him and kneeling next to the bed, putting her hands over his, “it’s okay. Calm down honey. It’s alright. We did this to . . . to save you. You were gonna die. We had to have a way of saving you. And we ran into Jetta, and she . . . She offered to help.”
“By turning . . .” Words failed him. He licked his lips and started over. He got up, and started pacing back and forth. The words tumbled out of him, flowing like water spilling from a faucet. “Look Zoë, babe, I like pretending to be a Vampire as much as the next guy! I do! It’s cool! The whole gothic thing! The blood thing! The freaky sex! The music! The clothes! But! You know the great thing about pretending? At some point, you get to stop pretending! You get to go back to being yourself when it’s over! You get to put away the fantasy! You get to be you again! Now, I can’t do that! I’m this now! I’m this! And now I’m this forever! Goddammit! Son of a bitch, motherfucker! Cocksucking asshole, bitch! YOU SHOULD’VE JUST LET ME DIE!”
“NO!” shouted Gadget, clenching his fists. Mystikite recoiled as if struck. In all their years of friendship, Gadget had never — dared — raise his voice to him like that. Whether he’d just never been in the mood, or he just didn’t have the balls, he didn’t really know, but goddamn, it was startling as fuck to hear him do it now. Gadget went on: “We couldn’t do that, okay? No! No fucking way! We weren’t going to just stand here and watch you expire like . . . like bad cheese, dude! Fuck that shit!” Gadget breathed heavily, angrily. “So show some fucking appreciation why don’t you! We saved your life with the only means we had at our disposal! So lay off, asshole! Shut up, show some fucking respect for your girlfriend — and me — and appreciate the fact that you’re not fucking DEAD! ”
Well. That had been . . . unexpected. Mystikite simmered for a moment, trying to calm himself. He and Gadget locked eyes. Wow. Fuck. Okay, then. Poor Misto had fallen asleep in the chair from the painkillers Zoë had given him; he hadn’t heard or witnessed any of this. Too bad; this was a historical occasion.
“Look,” he said, finally, his hand trembling as he gestured with it, “I’m just . . . a little . . . fucking disoriented. I got fucking shot, and then I wake up, and the next thing I know, I’m a goddamn Vampire. Okay? That’s . . . going to take a little period of adjustment. For me to get used to the idea. Okay? Just . . . gimme a fucking minute here.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands. It was spinning. The room around him wouldn’t hold still. “Goddamn it. A fucking Vampire. Moth-er-fuck. Jesus. What do I do now. What. Do. I. do.”
“Well first of all,” said Zoë, “you can speak to me civilly, or not at all! How dare you curse and rail at me, and hurl abuse at me, you prick!”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, his hands trembling as he held his head. “I apologize. Okay? I apologize. To both of you. I’m sorry, I’m just a little bit . . . little bit fucked up right now. This is . . . going to take some getting used to. A Vampire. A fucking Vampire. A real one. The irony is so thick you could cut it with a lightsaber.”
“Dude,” said Gadget, softly, “it’s gonna be okay.”
“Oh yeah?” said Mystikite. “In what universe is this gonna be okay? Huh? In what world is this okay?”
“Well, I mean, it’s not okay right now,” said Gadget, “but we’ll deal with it. We’ll make it okay.”
“Being a Vampire isn’t all that different from being a regular person,” said Jetta. She shrugged. “Not that I’ve noticed. There’s just the only-living-at-night, and killing-people-for-food thing to contend with.”
“Not helping, Jetta,” said Mystikite.
“Do you need a Xanax?” asked Zoë. “I have some Xanax back in our room.”
“No,” said Mystikite. “I don’t need a Xanax. What I need is for this not to have happened. But we can’t go back and change it.” He raised his hand in a warding gesture. “And Gadget, I swear, if you say, ‘actually, according to Einsteinian Relativity, closed time-like loops are possible,’ I’ll feed on your ass right now.”
“Busted,” said Gadget.
Zoë sat down next to him and put her arm around him. Gadget sat down on the other side of him. He almost protested the lack of personal space, but then thought better of it. He decided liked having them both near him. It was comforting. But — wait — oh shit. That was right. If he was a Vampire now, that meant he had to feed. He had to kill to stay alive. Had to murder people. Had to become a killer. Jesus H. Christ. How could they do this to him? How? Had they not thought of that? And what about them . . . this put them right in the line of fire . . .
“Oh Christ,” he said. “Zoë, I can’t . . . If I’m . . . one of . . . one of them . . .” He turned and looked at Jetta, who raised an eyebrow. “If I’m . . . that . . . then I can’t . . .” He felt a lump rising in his throat, and tears threatening to bleed from his eyes. “I can’t be with you because at some point I’ll . . . fucking eat you!”
That did it. Just saying it out loud. Those words. Fuck. Goddamn it. Yep, here came the tears. So oh, fuck it; why not let them come. A sharp pain went through his chest and made him shudder. He couldn’t hold them back — the tears, that was. He felt them stream down his cheeks and drip from his chin. Goddamn it, he felt like a wreck now. This was all happening too fast. All of it, too fast. Things had to slow down for a minute or so, just a minute, to let him catch his breath. Somehow. But he didn’t know where the brakes were, and he wasn’t sure how — or if — they even worked. Maybe his tears would lubricate them.
“Wayne,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “I love you. I will always love you, no matter what.”
“Zoë . . .” he began. Maybe he could try this again. “I can’t . . . endanger you. I can’t. Put you. At risk. From me. If I’m . . . one of them . . . then I can’t be around you. I can’t be near you. Because the risk is too great. I’ll . . . I’ll ‘frenzy’ or something. Go out of my gourd with the thirst for blood, and kill you while we’re having sex, or something.”
“Yeah, that almost happened with us, earlier,” said Elphion, raising her hand, and pointing at Jetta. “Just so you know.”
“Now you’re not helping,” said Jetta, pinching her nostrils and shaking her head.
“Mystikite, honey,” said Zoë, “you’re talking crazy talk. You can’t . . . split up the act. Me, you, and Gadget . . . we’re a team. We’re on Dizzy’s team, too, remember?”
“Heh,” he said, and sighed. “Dizzy’s been involuntarily recruited to Team Ravenkroft, last I checked.”
“We’ll get her back,” said Zoë. “We’ll make a plan, and we’ll follow through.” She smiled at him and sang: “’Cause that’s what Brian Boitano’d do!’”
He gave her a half smile. “Yeah. We’ll make a plan, follow through, and get our asses killed. Well, your asses killed. My ass, I guess, will just go on living. And living, and living, and living . . . until the sun burns out and goes nova, and the Earth is burnt to cinders in its fiery embrace.”
“Well you’re gonna be big a hit at parties, I can already tell,” said Zoë. “C’mon, Mystikite. Stay with us. Don’t run out on us.”
“Yeah dude,” said Gadget, walking over to him. “We need you. You and your hacking skills. Plus, you’re my best friend. You’re my Mr. Frodo and I’m your Sam. And sometimes, it’s the other way around. You can’t leave. Like I said, we need you, dude. I need you.”
“But what if we get into one of our arguments, and I turn hostile? And I’m hungry at the time? What if, dude? What if? And what about when you’re sleeping, and I’m awake — because Vampires can’t live in the daylight — and I get hungry? What happens if the thirst overpowers me?”
Gadget seemed at a loss for words. Then he smiled and laughed — very nervously, Mystikite noted — and said, “Well, I’ll just have to wear a chastity belt around my neck, I guess.”
“You don’t get it, either of you,” said Mystikite, shaking his head. “I am a clear and present danger to both of you. To your safety and continued existence. I am an existential threat. I need to go away from you. To keep you out of harm’s way.”
“But Wayne,” said Zoë, “what’ll we do without you? We can afford the apartment on our own, yeah, but . . . Jesus, we both care about you so much. I can’t sleep knowing you’re out there, somewhere, alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” he said. He turned toward Jetta and the other Vampires. “Will I?”
“Aye laddy,” said Phineas. “Ye won’t be alone. We’ll back ye up. Us Vampires have ta stick tagether. It’s dangerous out there, y’see.”
“Ye — yeah,” said Naruto. “We’ll — we’ll look after him.”
“He won’t want for cool and infamous companionship,” said Elphion. “That’s for sure. We’re a sorry lot of pirates, but we sail a fierce ship.”
“Indeed,” said Jetta. She smiled. “He’ll have my protection, and watchful eye. I won’t let anything happen to him. At least, not anything too bad.” She winked at him. Oh God, that must’ve infuriated Zoë.
“Oh, I see,” said Zoë. She narrowed her eyes at Jetta. “I’m sure you won’t.” She turned back to face Mystikite. “Listen to me. You don’t have to do this, hon. You can stay with us. We’ll work out the logistics of your . . . your new lifestyle later on. The important thing is that you stay.”
Mystikite shook his head. They just didn’t understand. And the more they protested, the more he was convinced that he was right. His leaving was the only way they would be safe.
“No. I’m sorry. But I can’t. Don’t you guys get it?” He got up off the bed and stood before them. “If I really love you guys — and I mean really love you — then I have no business being around either of you.” He sighed. “Look, it’s not like I want this. I don’t. But it’s the only way I can ensure that the two of you don’t get hurt.” He paused, sucked in a breath, and the next words caused him actual physical pain. A dagger shoved a deeper and deeper, right into his chest with each word, as he said them: “I have no place here anymore.”
“You will always have a place with me,” said Zoë, quietly, standing before him, and grasping his hands in hers. “Never anywhere else. I don’t care that you’re a Vampire now. I don’t care about the risks. I only care about you. I love you. Gadget loves you. You can’t solve the problem by just . . . removing yourself from the picture. All you’ll do is tear my heart out, and take it with you. Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t cry every day for the rest of my life if you just . . . disappeared. Please don’t do this. Please.”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, and the words sounded as hollow as he felt inside. Maybe that’s all he was now; an immortal shell of what he had been only a half-hour before this. “But I can’t. I have to go. Right now.”
He turned away from Zoë — she was crying, tears leaking down her cheeks as she frowned at him, and he couldn’t bear the weight of her gaze — to face Jetta and the other Vampires. He was vaguely aware of Gadget sitting on the other bed, clutching a pillow to his chest and staring straight ahead, a kind of catatonia almost.
“Let’s go,” he said to them.
“Where?” asked Jetta.
“Away from here,” he replied. “Anywhere but here.”
“Gadget,” said Zoë, going to where he sat. He didn’t move or acknowledge her; just kept staring straight ahead. “Gadget, change his mind! Use your Helm’s telepathic powers. Reach into his head, and make him change his mind!”
Gadget slowly turned his head toward her, and now tears spilled down his face, as well. His face contorted into a grimace. Goddamn it, were they both going to torture him with their tears? Didn’t they realize that each one of them was like a knife through his chest? Another sharp pain went through him. Goddamn it, his stomach hurt, now.
“I can’t — I really can’t do that,” said Gadget softly, his voice trembling. He shook his head slightly. “I can’t . . . can’t use the Helm that way, Zoë. It’s . . . it’s wrong.” Mystikite could tell it took all of Gadget’s effort — all of his strength and willpower — to say this to her. He turned and looked at Mystikite accusingly, and said, “Why don’t you just go already. Go and get it over with, if that’s what you want to do.”
Mystikite nodded, mostly to himself. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat, and turned back to Jetta and her cadre of Vampires, who stood behind her.
“Again — let’s go,” he said. “Anywhere but here.”
“Oh yeah?” said Zoë, walking up to Jetta. “And what about you. Don’t you want revenge on Ravenkroft? After what he did to you? After what he made you into?”
“Of course I want revenge,” said Jetta, anger darkening her features. “How can you even ask me that?”
“Because you won’t get it by running away!” said Zoë, poking her in the chest. “But if you stay here and fight with us, you just might!”
“Ha!” said Jetta. “Right! Stay here and fight? With you? Sorry, I’ve got better things to do than watch all of you get killed. And that’s exactly what will happen. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. Up close and in person. And none of you are capable of that. Trust me. When you’re in a war, you have to be willing to do the same things your enemy is willing to in order to win. And believe me, Zoë . . . None of you have the stomach to do the kinds of things he’s capable of. None of you.”
“Pardon me,” said Elphion, who had been quiet this whole time, “but if we’re going to be going, we really ought o . . . get going. I’m getting hungry. I think — my God, Jetta, I think I need to feed. Oh my God, Jetta, what are we going to do? I’ve — I’ve never hurt anyone before, and I don’t think I can — ”
“We’ll sort it out, Elphie,” said Jetta, turning to her. “I promise.”
“Settle down, Elphie,” said Phineas. “It’s gonna be alrigh’.”
“Y — yeah, Elphie,” said Naruto. “It’s — it’s gonna be okay. I’m — I’m hungry too, and I don’t — don’t think I can d — d — do it either.”
“We’ll survive, somehow,” said Jetta calmly, smiling at him. “And we’ll survive together. I promised you that, and I meant it, Naruto.”
“Sounds like your friends don’t have the stomach for what you’ve gotten them into, either,” said Zoë.
“That’s none of your concern,” said Jetta. “All I know is that out there, on the streets, my survival is at least probable. But going up against Ravenkroft? That’s suicide. I’m certain of it. Now if Mystikite wants to come with us, that’s up to him. Not you, him.” She turned to Mystikite. “What do you want to do.”
Mystikite sighed. “I don’t want to be here right now. My friends — ” He cast a forlorn look at Zoë, and at Gadget, “don’t understand this. But I’m a danger to them now. I can hurt them. Chances are I will hurt them if I stay here with them. So I can’t. I don’t belong here, anymore. I’m no longer a part of the human world.”
“Gadget!” cried Zoë, clearly panicking, “make him change his mind!”
Gadget simply shook his head. Then, finally, he turned around and looked at both her and Mystikite. He had tears streaming down his face.
“No,” he said. “I won’t do that. It’s wrong, Zoë. You know that as well as I do. We made an agreement when I designed this Helm. You remember what it was. We swore an oath, you and me and Mystikite. Remember? The Doctor’s oath? ‘Never be cruel, never be cowardly; never give up, never give in.’ And that means a lot to me. And doing that would be giving in. To the temptation to use the Helm for selfish reasons. To the temptation to abuse the power. To the temptation to alter another person’s free will. It would be cruel, and cowardly. So no. I won’t do that. Ever.”
“Well if you won’t do it,” said Zoë, yelling at him, “then I will!” She grabbed the Dr. Manhatten Helmet by its sides, and before Gadget could protest, she had yanked it off of his head and put it on.
“Hey!” yelled Gadget. “Zoë, no — !”
She reached up and flicked the switch on the side, and powered it on.
“Zoë, no! What are you doing? You know it has to be calibrated first!” Gadget reached for the Helm on her head, but she reared away from him.
“No!” she said. “I’m stopping him!”
The vacuum tubes lit up, as did the status lights on the circuit boards. There was a bright flash of light. A bright halo of electric arcs lit up around Zoë, briefly illuminating her skeleton, and she was blown backward across the room.
“ZOE!” cried Gadget and Mystikite both at once.