Wake smiled. “Oh, but I am. When you came on board, I promised that you would see applications of your research faster than you ever dreamed possible. Well, here it is-instant gratification.”
Pakow put up a hand. “You can’t. That virus is totally untested. It would take months of work to make sure I had all the bugs out.”
Wake shrugged. “Then think of this as the first phase of testing. The process has already begun. Look.”
Pakow turned back to the window, and looked at the man in the fluid. It was hard to tell from this distance, but he looked strong, virile, his pale skin ghosting through the fluid. As Pakow watched, a familiar trail of amber began to cloud the blue and turn it green.
Pakow couldn’t tear his eyes away from what was happening, even though Wake had started talking again. “The solution in the tank is actually a fairly simple DMSO-based liquid with a few other things thrown into the mix. Things not of a strictly scientific nature.”
What was going on before his eyes was the antithesis of everything Raul Pakow believed in. Products were to be tested first, extensively. Still, he felt a small thrill run through him. Every other product whose development he’d been part of had been beaten to death before it could ever be actually tested on people. And by the time that happened, all the thrill had gone out of it. Right here, right now, Pakow’s skill and knowledge were being put on the line, the ultimate high-wire act without a net.
Filled with apprehension and anticipation, he watched as the tank turned fully green. For the longest moment, nothing happened, then Pakow’s worst nightmares came to life.
The figure in the tank convulsed, in an undulating, rippling movement that no normal human should have been able to accomplish. Even through the green of the liquid, Pakow could tell that the man’s skin was darkening, as if he were being slowly roasted alive.
“What’s happening to him?”
Wake sounded almost disconnected as he answered. “The pigmentation of his skin is changing. That’s to be expected. After all, the virus you tailor-made for him is designed to allow a vampire to survive in the sunlight. One of the basest defenses against ultraviolet burns is darker skin.”
Suddenly, the form convulsed again, and this time it didn’t stop. The thrashing seemed to roll through the body at such a fast rate that for a moment, Pakow couldn’t believe what he was Seeing.
“Well,” said Wake lightly, “that certainly wasn’t part of the game plan.”
The form in the tank twisted, its spine shrinking and corkscrewing until the man’s right hip bone jutted forward at a ninety-degree angle.
As the shuddering stopped, Pakow finally managed to tear his eyes away from the utterly deformed thing that had been a perfectly formed man just moments before. “I told you,” he said. “I told you it needed further testing, that it wasn’t ready.”
Wake smiled, and put two skeletal hands on Pakow’s shoulders. “Relax, Doctor. Nobody is blaming you for anything.”
Pakow felt a rage building in his gut. “Blaming me? Are you out of your mind? We’ve just killed a man!”
Wake shook his head softly. “No, my friend. We haven’t killed anyone. Mr. D’imato is still very much alive. The anger you feel right now is completely misdirected.” Turning Pakow’s head back to the tank, back to the blackened, twisted form floating there, Wake said, “That thing down there is a vampire. I know that’s hard for you to understand at this moment, but you’ve got to trust me, because I can prove it to you. Even if were true that Mr. D’imato had died, we’d merely have rid the world of one more bloodsucking leech.”
Pakow turned back and looked Wake in the eye. The man was completely serious, and the tic in his cheek had become much more pronounced.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Pakow said, the words coming like a kind of moan.
Wake laughed, and drew Pakow away from the window, back toward the elevator. “What you’re involved in is a plan to save the world. Come back upstairs, Dr. Pakow, and I’ll explain everything to you.”
1
Vampires are stronger and faster than metahumans. and driven to kill by a combination of hunger and homicidal rage. Yet, most exist as solitary monsters or small bands of outcasts. Be warned, my friends. One faction of vampires, hiding behind an innocent facade, is even now working to release all vampires from their dark hiding places and let them walk free as masters of metahumanity. This group extends its web of treachery and deceit through many nations and countless organizations, but its roots lie in England’s Ordo Maximus.
–
Martin de Vries, Shadows at Noon, posted to Shadowland BBS, 24 May 2057
I don’t know if you’ll get this, but I have nowhere else to turn. Some people say you’re not even real, yet you may be the only person in the world who can help. I’ve read the Shadows at Noon posting from hack in ‘57. That’s why I’m trying to contact you. There something going on here in Seattle, something you should know about.
–
Dr. Raul Pakow, message posted to “Stalker,” Shadowland BBS, 02 May 2060
Hot July sweat, cool bay breezes, and the sounds of far-off laughter. Twilight, a dangerous time, second only to the wee hours. A time when joy girls are made to swallow industrial solvents, when gogangers beat the homeless to death for sport.
With the coming of night, the humid smell of the Seattle sprawl grew overpowering, and down by the dockside the sick essence took on a dangerous feel. In the deepening gloom, the scent of industrial garbage was like the rot of an open, malignant tumor, the sour brine odor… gangrenous.
Shadows congealed in the alleyways, feeding off, growing from the stench. It was always this way, because something gets loose in those fleeting moments between day and night. Something travels on the foul breeze. Like nerve gas on the wind.
The dim alley faded to darkness. Even the bright bulbs from the loading docks-the ones designed to burn during the long night hours-were black. Smashed into thousands of twinkling crystals that reflected the aching red skyline.
Hookers and homeless had been avoiding this stretch of alleyway ever since the first hint of night. Mostly it was instinct, that, and a knowledge of the twilight rules. They knew Death was on the wind and the best way to avoid meeting it prematurely was to stay out of the way.
Tonight, Death’s angels rested in the alcove of a warehouse’s loading dock. Two forms, their shadows bloated by the sharp angles of automatic weaponry.
The younger man wore no shirt, only dark trousers, combat hoots, a black headband to hold back his long blond hair, and a single diamond stud in his left ear. He sat with legs folded, his bare back to the cool concrete wall beside the heavy corrugated doorway. Not a muscle moving, his breathing deep, steadied with the aid of his magic. He had been seated in exactly the same position for almost two hours.
The older man moved about from time to time, rough camos hissing quietly with each step of his cybernetic limbs as he paced in the dark silence. His artificial joints were stifler than the younger man’s natural ones. His required stretching every once in a while, but he didn’t complain. The time was near, and everything was ready.
Ready and waiting.
These men’s existence had become a process of patient immobility, then quick action, then stillness again. They had become masters of the waiting game. Head-trick kings. They used various mental exercises to make the time pass quickly while still remaining alert.
Because it was patience that assured no mistakes were made, and these men could afford no slips when the time came to move. To strike. Not tonight.