Nyx Tower – Floor 52

  Heavy steel doors fractured and exploded inwards under the intense exothermic reaction of a thermite charge. Burning metal and white smoke filled the area beyond. Armored figures stormed in with guns raised. One short fusillade of gunfire later and the single defender was felled under a hail of bullets. The figures nimbly stepped over the corpse and into a darkened room. No windows adorned this floor of the building. It was completely blacked out.

  It appeared to be a normal office floor. Long rows of segregated metal cubicles covered the entire expanse, creating a large grid on squares, but there was a distinct lack of office equipment. One of the figures tried the light switch only to find it nonfunctional.

  “Got heat sigs on the other side of this wall.” One reported.

  Carefully, a team of two approached the cubical.

  “Shit.” One of them exclaimed in a low voice once he saw what was inside.

  Taking shelter inside the cramped space, was a cluster of human beings. The people were packed in tightly with little room to move. In the pitch black they couldn’t see their rescuers.

  “Boss, got somethin’ over here. Might wanna take a look.”

  “Moving.” Perelli jogged over. When he reached his trooper’s position, he took in the appalling sight.

  “They look like they work here. Treat them as hostiles?”

  “No.” Perelli told them. “Look, they’re chained to eachother. These must be hostages.”

  The LT turned off his IR and lifted his ballistic faceplate. He cracked and shook a chemlight, bathing the scene in a neon green glow.

  Finally, the scared civvies noticed them. They recoiled when he tried to approach. They were shaking in fear. They were remarkably clean, but even in the dim light he could make out bruises and other telltale signs of abuse. These weren’t just hostages. They were food. This was a feeding ground.

  One man, seeming to still have some senses about him, asked them, “Are you here to save us?”

  “Terra Vanguard. We’re friendly.” Perelli tactfully dodged the question. There were a lot of people here, and more in the other cubicals. He wasn’t equipped for a rescue mission. He didn’t have the manpower or resources to exfiltrate them.

  More became aware of the Vanguard’s presence. They leaned out of their prisons or rattled their chains. There must have been a hundred.

  “We’re going to need you to stay put. We’ll get you out when we’ve secured the building.”

  It was the best Perelli could offer. It was a sorry situation. Who knew how long these people had been here? They were desperate. As one, the group before him surged forward. They cried out, “Save us!”, “Please help us!”, “You can’t leave us.”

  It was quickly turning into a riot. People reached out and tried to grab their uniforms, weapons, boots, anything they could get their hands on. Perelli and his troopers had to step back. Some were trying to break out of their cuffs in desperation, to the point of cutting themselves deeply. It was a madhouse.

  Perelli acted on impulse. He drew his sidearm and pointed upwards. He discharged into the ceiling. It was the only thing he could think to do.

  Everyone froze. The muzzle flash and loud bang grabbed their attention and held it. He held the pistol high, barrel smoking.

  He tried to ignore it, but he could feel his chest rising and falling in deep breaths. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. It was inhumane. Not a tactic he wanted to use, nor one he had ever conceived of using; to intimidate innocents like this. But he had to have order. Chaos only jeopardized the mission, his men’s lives and the lives of the hostages themselves.

  The ragged hostages went silent. They sat back down in their cells or watched the Vanguardsman quietly.

  Perelli waved over Weber. The NCO came bounding to his side.

  “You saw that?” Perelli asked him.

  Weber knew he wasn’t talking about the gunshot. “I did. There’s wolves in sheep’s clothing here.”

  “Novak, Tora!” Perelli called out.

  “Sir?” They both responded in unison.

  “I’m taking the rest of the element up to the next floor. Conduct a search here. I’m leaving you one trooper as rearguard.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  The rest of the element moved on. Tora looked at his rearguard. His HUD tagged the Rifle as R2C Pasha.

  “Pasha, watch our backs.” Novak ordered.

  The Rifle promptly took station.

  Novak held up a flashlight. “Sweep protocol.”

  Tora also held one up. “Sweep.”

  “Daleg!” "Let's move"

  They flicked on their lights.

  There were many ways to distinguish a vampire from a human when they weren’t trying to blend in. They tended to have quirks that they loved to flaunt. But what about when they actively trying to conceal themselves? That was much harder. There were only three ways, and only one of those was reliable.

  The first was a dental check. Look for the fangs. But any woodsman could tell you how bad of an idea it is to stick your hand into the jaws of a cottonmouth.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The second was a thermal sweep. Vampires ran much colder than humans. It was easy to tell them apart in infrared, the deep blue heat signature indicating a vampire. But this wasn’t always reliable. A recently fed vampire or one employing some bodywarming tricks might slip on by. For these reasons, they kept their thermal vision on, but consigned it to a small tab in the corner of their HUDs.

  The third and foolproof method was the eyes. Vampires had the eyes of a predator. Their retinas reflected light very brightly and there was no way to conceal it.

  With caution, the Rifles went down the walkway inbetween the cubicles. They shined their lights on the occupants in each one. One-by-one they checked them. They were diligent in their search, ensuring that every individual was verified. Silence ruled.

  There were a few obstinate holdouts who either turned away or cursed at them for shining a bright beam directly in their faces. But for the most part, they were subdued.

  Tora observed them with a cold analytical eye. He was not numb to their hardship. But he had a job to do.

  The quiet was eerie. He didn’t like it. It was good Milo was not here. The big man would have tried to set people free as he went. Taunting the vampires all the while with vulgar obscenities. He didn’t mind doing the job with Chief Novak. The Pole was of similar nature. Quiet. Professional.

  Finally, Tora came to the end of one row. He gazed into the last cubicle and found four individuals. Two men, a woman and a young girl. He couldn’t tell how old, but she couldn’t have been more than thirteen. That broke his heart. She sat with knees pressed to her chest, a thousand yard stare cast straight forward, not even acknowledging his presence. She was clearly in a state of extreme trauma.

  Tora crouched and directed his beam. She was human. Her pupils flicked to look at him after he took the beam off of her face.

  There was a pleading silence in them. The samurai stood up and prepared to move on, but something kept him there. The girl was continuing to look at him. He stared back for several long seconds, trying to discern any emotion on her blank face. She blinked and her eyes flicked sideways. Imperceptibly fast, but Tora caught it. He reexamined the cell.

  Behind the girl, one of the men was trying a little bit too hard to avoid the light. Tora shined it on him. His thermals registered as normal. He appeared normal. A simple brown suit and tie, no shoes, brown hair, glasses and youthful complexion.

  “Have you eaten recently?” He directed the question at the girl, but kept his light on the man.

  The girl nodded, “Yes.”

  Tora flicked off his safety and levied his HR-15 at the man. At that moment, the man sprang forward. Lightning fast, he reached out with his fingers elongating into sharp claws. Tora was faster. He back stepped just fast enough to avoid the swipe that would have torn into his helmet.

  He brought his muzzle up and discharged. The round impacted the vampires sternum, sending it falling backwards into the cubicle. It recovered before it even hit the ground. The vampire clawed the walls and climbed. Tora fired in burst mode, lighting up the room with muzzle flash. The vampire dodged his shots. It crawled beyond into another cubicle. Tora gave chase.

  When he rounded the corner and peered into the next cell, it was full of people. Roughly thirteen people in a 6x6 foot space, herded in like cattle. They were all screaming and trying to move, shoving each other, but their chains kept them in place.

  Tora tried to spot the vampire, but couldn’t in the tumult. His muzzle and light switched from face to face. He didn’t see it. But he did see a man lying unconscious against the wall. Tora pushed aside the crowd to get a good look at him. He was young, blonde, tanned skin, wearing shorts and no shirt. He was pale and physically drained. The signature holes of a vampire bite stood out on his neck, still dripping leftover blood.

  The brown haired man with glasses wasn’t present.

  “Kuso!” Tora cursed.

  He radioed Novak, “Contact! Shapeshifter! Currently blonde, young, tan.” he gave a brief descriptor but it probably wouldn’t help. If the bloodsucker was smart it had probably already shifted again.

  Tora received no reply. “Chief?”

  He received a reply. The Chief’s voice was strained and he was clearly hurt. “I’m hit! I’m around the corner!”

  Tora went back the way he came and found Novak leaning against the wall. His armor was punctured on the left side, right below the rib cage. Blood flowed down and pooled on the ground. His ballistic mask was open and he was coughing up blood. He still clutched his weapon in his hand.

  “Bastard got a lucky swipe in.” He said.

  Tora didn’t let his guard down, but he moved to the Chief’s side. He removed a canister of biofoam from the Chief’s pack and placed it on the wound. He ripped off the safety tape and upon contact with open air the substance rapidly expanded into a gauze-like dressing that sealed the wound. He took Novak’s arm over his shoulder and took his weight. Together, they limped back to the stairs being guarded by Pasha.

  “Friendly incoming!” Tora announced himself as he emerged from the darkness. He stopped suddenly when he saw Pasha.

  They found the R2C in the middle of wiring anti-personnel mines around his position.

  Pasha stared blankly back at them. “What?”

  “You are one of Olsen’s aren’t you?” Novak joked, coughing a little blood as he spoke.

  “You left me alone in the dark.” He said with sass. “Forgive me for trying to make this position defensible.”

  “Take care of the Chief.” Tora told him.

  Pasha helped him lean Novak against the wall. He retrieved his trauma kit and began to administer what aid he could. He wasn’t a medic, but when Tora had sealed the wound it was a quick job and Novak likely had internal bleeding.

  “Is your mask sealed?” Tora asked the both of them while unclipping his rifle from its strap and leaving it with them. “Filter’s good?”

  “Yeah?” Pasha answered, slightly confused. “Wait, why are you leaving your weapon?”

  “Too crowded. Over-penetration.”

  Tora ripped a grenade a from Novak’s chest rig. It’s white and yellow label denoted it as CS gas.

  Pasha immediately went rigid. “Woah, woah! What are you Spetsnaz? We’re supposed to be helping these people.”

  “Temporary pain.”

  Tora checked the seal on his own mask.

  He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade into the middle of the floor. The grenade began to spin wildly while ejecting the volatile solvent into the air.

  Tora reached over his shoulder and grasped the hilt of his katana. The single-edged blade sung as it he removed it from its scabbard. The long daito, made from depleted uranium composite, shined despite the minimal light. It’s freshly oiled edge was virgin. Tora held it low with the point facing away, but the blade facing in, ready to strike.

  The samurai disappeared into the toxic darkness.

  The prison was once again a tumult. People were doubled over, coughing, crying, gagging. Some puked. They did not scream or wail. The CS gas caused extremely painful irritation in the throat. Rather than screams, the room was filled with coughing and gagging.

  What Tora was looking for was someone with an exceptionally volatile reaction. The heightened senses of a vampire made them exceptionally adverse to the chemical. It stung them worse than being set aflame.

  In a backrow, in the darkest shadow, Tora found his target. Writhing and convulsing on the ground, the vampire foamed at the mouth. It had had nowhere to run to. Nowhere to escape the gas. It had been trapped in this makeshift gas chamber.

  It’s form shifted as it choked, hair changing colors, skin wriggling like that of a worm as it changed textures and hues. Its eyes also changed, but they still shined with the deadly reflection of a predator.

  Tora readied his blade. He had to choose carefully where and when he struck. The vampire was convulsing wildly, flailing its claws and bearing its fangs. These creatures could shrug off rounds from a rifle. A strike from a sword had to be precise, deliberate and quick.

  The figure of the samurai loomed over the creature as he emerged from the poison dark with sword raised.

  He held the blade high in a reverse grip, ready to bring down an executioners blow; a stab from on high using the very tip. He aimed for the vampires open mouth.

  “Omai wa, mo shindeiru.” “You are already dead.”

  He struck. The blade pierced the back of the vampire’s throat and penetrated into the deep recesses of its skull. Tora pressed hard to force the blade through. It took all his strength, but eventually the skull was fully impaled. He watched as the shapeshifter gurgled while the life drained from its eyes.

  No, not life. There was no soul extinguished here. Just a corpse. Freed from its undeath.