An April Song (PG-13)(Misc. Occult)

[lloyd]

Appendix A: Characters

Li Tziling: First major protagonist of the story. Medical student who was almost killed in a Werewolf attack on board a plane en route to America. Bitten by April and thus survived due to transfused blood. Currently a “Contractor”, a human with an immunity to the Vampirism pathogen who can thus transmit blood to a vampire without being infected, a condition that only 2% of those bitten obtain. As such, he is blackmailed to work under the US Health Department alongside April.

April Song (Song Meiyun): Vampire working under the United States Center of Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Born in 1932 in Canton, but bitten on a ship of Nationalist Sympathizers fleeing Communist China from Hong Kong in 1949. Also one of the last of the Kaledin strain of Vampires. Somewhat aloof, even to other Vampires. Originally only bit Tziling to obtain enough blood to heal, and originally resented being saddled with a Contractor with no combat skill.

Alan Leither: Once a member of Great Britain’s M-16, he and a group of American soldiers and Médecins Sans Frontières doctors (Médecins Sans Frontières/Doctors without Borders: a French NGO that seeks to provide medical care to those who cannot afford it) were sent secretly to Cambodia to investigate a spread of a contagious Vampirism Pathogen strain. However, he and much of the group were infected with Vampirism. The United States Government promised that they would send help, but instead used a prototype Neutron Bomb on the site, killing all except those who had already turned (prematurely) into Vampires. Works with his girlfriend, Ann Harrow (who, not having been there or infected, has grown old over the years).

Colin “Sweaters” Louis: former member of the US Special Forces whose wounds during the first Gulf War left him incapable of continuing as a Covert Ops officer. Now works with the CDC as a mentor to Li and also as a coordinator.

Appendix B: Vampirism and Lycanism as a Pathogen

Once considered demon possession, Vampirism is now registered by the United States Health Department, alongside Werewolves, as a disease. Transmitted only through blood transfusion, Vampirism is essentially a virus. There is a short incubation period characterized by unnaturally fast recovery from wounds, enhanced sight at night and an aversion to sunlight. After this incubation period (which can last anywhere from 24 hours to years), the user will enter the primary stage, in which signs similar to Rabies are produced—a tendency to attack those around them and an urge to draw and consume blood. If any blood save for that of the infected is consumed, survivability drops to 3%., due to the fact that the body has yet to stabilize. If none is consumed, though, mortality drops to around 82%. The other 18% become permanent carriers, what we call Vampires. A Vampire’s infected body cannot produce Protein and many blood cells, and thus it is forced to absorb this through the blood of others. A Vampire’s body then condenses the blood into a superconcentrated form, leading to Vampire blood becoming distinctly dark colored, almost black. A Vampire who consumes human blood will be endlessly capable of dividing and recovering his already-existent cells, though the loss of transmittable genetic code means that he/she will never grow. Animal blood, because its composition and genetic codes are distinctly different from that of a human, will yield a far lower energy intake and will cause the vampire to “age,” in fact slowly wasting away. The Vampire’s body must maintain the protein it has, and thus it will dispense of unneeded functions when it is not used. For this reason, evolution has wired the Average Vampire’s mind to stay away from sunlight, since this forces the Vampire body to produce melanin, something that is extremely draining for the Vampire in question. A vampire can consume food, but the need to activate his digestive system is also very tiring. Vampiric Cells tend to react badly to metals, particularly silver. While they can touch it, dissolution into the body is extremely damaging. Because, unlike demon possession, Vampirism is more an organic condition than a curse, normally effective exorcism methods such as Holy Water, Prayer Chants and Purification salt have very little effect.

In that 18% window of infected Vampires, about one in nine infected vampires enters an intermediate stage. In a small fraction of these cases, the body is strong enough to completely reject the Vampirism Virus and revert the body to human (though there are lingering symptoms, such as a fast recovery rate and/or a fear of light). In some cases, while vampiric, the victim retains some human traits. In the majority of cases, though, the body’s regular immune system and the Vampiric blood injected enters a stalemate in which the body gains an immunity to vampirism, but no normal symptoms or abilities of Vampirism. Sometimes, though, when the body senses it is in danger or is badly weakened, the vampire blood temporarily activates, allowing the individual to escape the given situation and temporarily gain the abilities the individual needs to survive.

Werewolves are also a pathogen of a similar build, produced by a virus called the Acquired Pathological Lycanthropic Virus (APL Virus). Transmitted through saliva, werewolves, unlike vampires, has a relatively high survivability (89%). Normally dormant, it only activates to a natural stimulus, a full moon. During the night, the APL Virus activates, stimulating the body’s many hormones. Due to the Hormone overdrive, the victim will rapidly grow hair, forming the “fur” of the werewolf as his nails also grow abruptly. During the period of infection, the werewolf generally enters an altered state of mind. Generally, those with high mental strength form the minority, the Type-A Werewolves, who have neurological control of their minds and bodies and, while still strongly desirous of flesh and blood, can restrain themselves. Type B, though, is most common, in which the werewolf enters a stage in which he is mentally conscious but cannot control himself. Type C, another minority (though larger than Type A), is the other extreme, in which the user goes berserk in this stage. Once conscious, he has no recollection of what happened in an obvious Jekyll-and-Hyde Complex. Werewolves, while their abilities and transformations are mostly of brute strength, are in fact more inclined to the supernatural than the organic, and thus are slightly weaker against traditional exorcism methods. Nevertheless, they also react slightly better when hit by Silver. The APL Virus is of a simpler nature than the Vampirism Virus, and so some countermeasures can be used to delay the activation of a virus, though it cannot do so indefinitely.

Due to the fact that both APL and Vampirism are mostly resistant to traditional exorcism, government agencies and religious groups are forced to adopt a completely different approach to treatment. In the United States, these two pathogens and those infected are under the jurisdiction of the Center of Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), in collaboration with the CIA. Vampires are actively sought after and offered a position as a Registered Vampire. In exchange from government-stored human blood (siphoned from various blood drives), Registered Vampires may be used by the United States Government when needed. This corollary is not very popular with the Vampire Community within the United States, and so most Vampires prefer to drink Animal Blood and stay away from the US Government. For more powerful Vampires, the government policy usually involves putting an addictive stimulant into the blood to prevent these Vampires from escaping to another country.

Werewolves, on the other hand, are generally less widely controlled, instead using Suppressants, drugs fed through an IV needle a little at a time. Suppressants can forcibly prevent the APL virus from activating for up to 2 months. However, this gradually leads to a hormone imbalance in the body, and eventually a werewolf will have to transform. Usually, during this time Werewolves either shut themselves or shut up for the period of 48 hours until their transformation is complete. If the APL Suppressant is removed while it is suppressing a APL Virus Activation, the werewolf will automatically transform, regardless of time or place.

Appendix C: Tribes/Clans

Vampires naturally align themselves into groups, called “Clans.” Usually, the basis for the formation of these Clans is around one specific individual. Because Vampire blood weakens with each generation that it is spread down (With the exception of a Transmission, when a Vampire transmits all its blood to another individual as a successor.), this specific Individual is usually the founder. Even so, the current Vampires are far weaker both magically and in a flesh-and-blood sense in comparison to their ancestors. While most Vampire Clans are First Generation, some are passed down through successors. In respect to the progress of the Vampirism Virus, the strongest Clans are Eastern European (the Jiang Shi and Oni clans of Asia are completely different). Of the four founding clans of the Vampires, only the Wallachian house remains intact, and greatly weakened. In the United States, Clans are mainly concentrated in the Southeastern States. The various Vampire Tribes are not always on friendly terms—Clans that are allied with the United States Government, for example, are frowned upon by the overall American Community. In Italy, the Philippines and some heavily catholic areas, the only surviving Vampires are considered turncoats, working with the Holy Roman Church. Moreover, many clans work for anything from Crime Syndicates to Mafias to Terrorist groups. While all Vampires share some abilities, major clans may have abilities/magic trained for generations in their clan. Major Clans include:

House of Wallachia: A Clan of vampires that has lasted for at least 400 years. The original vampires to spread into Europe, the House of Wallachia was a dominant power (and probably the only power) for around 100 years until the 1700’s, when infighting led them to split with a subordinate group, the Transylvanian Vampires. In the Cold War, the Wallachians moved to the Black Forest in Germany, where they remained independent of ourside influences. The Wallachian Vampires’ bloodline has thinned over the years, and its current leader, Alexei von Gottsched, while holding all the mystique of the Archetypical Wallachian Vampire, is a rather weak leader in comparison to his ancestors. The Wallachians, while given their due respect, are considered bygones by April.

House of Transylvania (Extinct): A clan of vampires that had split from the House of Wallachia in the 1700’s. Made up of many of the strongest of the House of Wallachia, the Transylvanians set up their own clan. The Transylvanians had taken with them many of the Wallachian Vampires’ abilities. When the Wallachians proved incapable of taking down the Transylvanians alone, they solicited the help of the Eastern Orthodox Church and, on the promise of a Peace Conference, lured the Transylvanians out of hiding in the backdrop of the Seven Year’s War. There, the vast majority of the Transylvanian Vampires were wiped out. Over the next century, the remnants were hunted down. In the 19th century, the last great Transylvanian Vampire, the Count Von Dracula, was killed by a Roman Catholic Exorcist.

House of Kaledin (Extinct): Considered to be one of the oldest powers, the House of Kaledin consisted of Russian Vampires during the days of the Russian Empire, led by Alyaksandr Ilyavich Kaledin, a powerful Boyar (Noble). The house of Kaledin worked with the Eastern Orthodox Church during the days of the Empire and, seeking to protect the Royal family of the Romanovs, fought as a member of the Russian Imperial White Army during the Russian Civil War. However, this war proved extraordinarily draining, and, on a Pardon from Commissar of War Leon Trotsky, surrendered. The house of Kaledin was suspected of supporting Leon Trotsky due to this after Josef Stalin took over, and most of the House of Kaledin were killed in the Soviet Era. Alyaksandr escaped south into Nationalist China. However, he disappeared after the Nationalists were destroyed in 1949…only a few scattered Vampires of the house of Kaledin remain.

The Papal Guard: Not a clan, but simply a diverse group of Vampires from all over Italy (and indeed from most of the world), united under the Roman Catholic Church. The Papal Guard have traditionally served the Pope and recruits members from Italy—all other Vampire Clans in Italy have either been defeated of driven out until the 20th Century, when the Cavalli family of Vampires began to work for the Mafia. Since then, the Papal Guard have been fighting a constant war attempting to suppress the various Mafia Clans. Led by Jean Gabriel Guicciardini

The Cavalli Family: A group of Vampires organized as a Mafia Family and the first Vampire clan to truly challenge the supremacy of the Papal Guard. However, in the last decade it has fallen behind the Drug Cartels of South America. Recently, leadership was taken over by a new leader, Iris Cavalli.

[lloyd]

Prologue

The Bearded man put a hand to his eyelid as it twitched insistently. Downing a cup of water with one gulp, the man knew that his inhibitor would not be able to hold back his hormones for very long. An average-looking man, he was tall and muscular, though his passport said that his profession was that of a businessman. All around him, other passengers on board the plane sat, either sleeping or distracted by the scratchy movie that was playing on an old projector. The movie itself was fairly old, but the aged projector didn’t help much. Economy Seat on China Airlines was never going to be especially good, the man conceded. Abruptly, his hand suddenly twitched as his cup fell out of his hand. Thankfully, it was empty, but the fact didn’t deter the old woman next to him (who had never seemed too happy that he took up so much space at any rate) from giving him a sharp glance. The bearded man got up—it was almost time, at any rate. He checked the photo in his wallet as he glanced at his target. Larry Summers, real name Syoma Valentin, apparently. The Bearded man studied the young, clean-shaven man. Valentin was, like the bearded man’s employer, Russian. Some kind of turncoat, perhaps? Traitor or not, he was the target, and so the Bearded man walked towards him quickly. “I hate fur,” he muttered to himself as he put his fingers into his sleeves and yanked out the needle that had been stuck into his arteries as immediately, an unearthly howl rose in his throat. If any of the distracted passengers of China Airlines flight 512 had looked outside, they would have seen the beautiful and yet ominous luminous yellow orb of the full moon.

Chapter 1

China Air Flight 512 was bathed with the light of sirens. The plane’s underbelly almost reminded Aaron Thomas of a disco ball as he walked up to the soldiers with his fellow doctors, all of them in shiny white biosuits. The officer in charge, a burly sergeant, glanced at the doctor. “Your identifications, please.” Aaron was fairly tall for an Indian, but still he felt dwarfed by the gigantic hulk of the man. The other soldiers formed a line as the sergeant checked and scanned each of the badges that the doctors produced individually. “Boys, you are now under the jurisdiction of the United States Department of Homeland Security, and you are, by Executive Order 13202, bound to secrecy pertaining to all facets of this matter—” “Yes, yes,” Aaron said impatiently, “now can we get to it?” “As you wish,” the sergeant said as he stepped aside. A tent had been built right outside the loading tunnel to disinfect the doctors, and Aaron impatiently walked through the shower. Every SEI case had a kind of macabre appeal to him. Two soldiers in biosuits were also waiting at the top of the ramp. “Sirs, are you ready?” Aaron looked at the others through his biosuit and then nodded. “Yes.” One soldier muttered, “I don’t know how you can bear this.” They opened the door—as Aaron stopped for a moment. “Whoa,” he breathed. The inside of the plane seemed to have been finger-painted red by a child with only a vague idea of how to do so. Unconsciously, Aaron crossed himself as he put a hand on where, underneath his biosuit, a cross necklace hung. Aaron had seen things like this before—but not to this extent.Blood was everywhere, along with pieces of flesh battered beyond any trace of recognition—along with, most shockingly, claw marks on the seats. Behind Aaron, a doctor stopped retching for long enough to ask, “What was the cause of this again?” Aaron checked his board. “Werewolf, Class B.” Another doctor, a woman, spoke with a tiny voice that was dwarfed even more by the suits. “H-how are we going to explain this to the media?” Aaron shrugged. “Explosive Depressurization. Swelling of the lungs, eyeballs, sinuses and body as a whole in addition to impact leads to severe body trauma and body explosion.” “Skin’s stronger than that…people don’t explode,” a doctor suggested. “Well, do YOU have a better suggestion? Get to work.” Aaron turned to the soldier who had been jotting down the media story. “Any last questions?” “Sir, were there any survivors?” “No,” Aaron said as he looked at the soldier’s expression. “…were there actually any survivors?” The soldier nodded. “Yes, sir…two, in fact.”

Beep…beep…beep…beep…Li Tziling rolled over. That beeping was so annoying. He put his hands over his ears—and then gasped as a bolt of pain shot through his skull, jolting him into wakefulness as instantly, white light flooded through his eyelids—not the soft light that one would expect in Heaven, but a white, acidic and sterile light. For a moment, that was all he could see until shapes discerned themselves, first blurry masses and then the outlines of lamps, drapes and hospital equipment. He tried to speak, but his tongue had dried inside his mouth, and it only loosened itself from the roof of his mouth with a painful sting and a bitter taste. Why am I in a hospital? The last he remembered, he had been flying back from a visit to his parents in Hong Kong. He put his hand (blurred by its proximity to his face) towards his head again (more lightly this time) and felt a light throb and the texture of cloth. Bandages. He tried to get up, and immediately felt a pain in his Chest. That wasn’t a good sign either. He moved his hand there and felt cloth again. More bandages. At that moment, a nurse walked in. Without a word, she checked his bandages. Satisfied that no more bleeding had occurred, she wrote something down. “Errr…miss?” The nurse turned around. “Well…what happened?” “Excuse me?” “What happened that got me hospitalized? What happened to the plane…?” The nurse gave him an odd look. “What plane?” Ling blinked. “The plane that I was on before I ended up here…?” The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Li, are you alright?” “Yes, why?” “…You were admitted, according to this form, for a car accident with the young lady in the other room.” “Car accident…?” The nurse nodded. “Perhaps you need a bit more sleep, Mr. Li.” “No, no, it’s fine,” Ling interjected quickly as he took the time to look at a mirror across the room—his farsightedness prevented him from using the mirror from next to him. Everything seemed fairly alright, though the bandages across his forehead further disarrayed his already-messy hair. He froze, though, for a moment as he suddenly noted two indents in his skin. They were already on their way to healing, simply two dark pink indents in the skin of his arm. For a moment, he felt the flash of something—but then, as he tried to grasp onto its substance, it faded away as he put it out of his mind. The nurse had left—and Ling noticed that he was inside a room instead of in a ward along with the other patients, and that the nurse had locked the door behind her, as if he were some mass murderer who had to be contained. Without warning, he felt a drowsiness claim him as he sunk back into sleep.

Ling crawled doggedly down the aisles. The plane was now completely quiet, save for the soft drip of blood. The noise seemed to have died down now. Abstractly, he could feel the cold emptiness at his side and the covering of blood that was lubricating his half-ooze, half-scrabble. He didn’t know what he was trying so hard to reach, but he felt for some reason that he absolutely had to reach it…whatever it was. Everywhere around him, the other passengers of flight 512 lay in various stages of Rigor Mortis, some of them with expressions of shock and horror that Ling barely registered, or with expressions so mangled that they were hardly recognizable as human. He winced slightly. Somewhere near him, somebody was moving, and the noise caused the nails of pain in his skull to throb even more. Nevertheless, he felt the need to find the source. Crawling over, he reached the source. Had he been more lucid, Ling would have thought he was dreaming as he looked at the large, bloody, mangled furry shape now motionless in the aisle. Next to it, though, trailing a thin trickle of dark-red, almost black blood was a young woman. In the state that he was in, Ling could be credited in being able to squeeze out a “hello” stupidly through the haze of delirium. The woman looked at him. Ling could not clearly make out her features, but she was obviously in pain. “Do you want to live?” she asked. The sentence sounded kind of funny inside Ling’s head, and he giggled slightly. “Yes,” he managed to say. “Extend your hand…please…” Ling immediately extended his hand—and immediately, without warning, the woman bit straight into his hand.

With a start, Ling’s eyes snapped open. There was sweat all over his face, and he felt a loud roar in his head. Something seemed wrong with the lights, for the whole room appeared to be bathed in some eerie glow. Though he was farsighted, even the clock on the other wall swam in front of him. He glanced at the mirror—but he could only see dim black shapes, shadowy forms that seemed to want to drag him with them into the mirror’s abyss, accented by two gimlet pricks of lights that could be eyes. What the hell’s happening? The buzz in his head intensified as he stumbled towards the mirror—and then he realized that those two glimmers belonged to him as he barely made out the slightly-darker outline of a person. And yet the room, though dim, was perfectly well lit. Ling moved closer, and now he could discern himself vaguely—and yet something seemed wrong about him. He seemed to glow slightly with his own white light, his skin drawn and white. Without warning, another blast of static burned through his skull and he stumbled, putting his hands onto the light switch. He stared at it intently for a moment. Something was wrong, he realized through the haze of pain—the light switch. It was off. And yet the lights were on. Ling started to walk back towards his bed—and then, once again, he stumbled as his legs gave way and he tumbled onto the floor. And then, as soon he looked at his hand, it started. His blood, almost-black, was slowly dripping out of a small cut in his hand. Instinctively, he licked it as immediately, the pain in his head subsided a little. Ling licked the blood that was swelling at the cut again, and the pain died away, instead filled with an urge to bite something, anything alive. Ling lurched towards the door—but, as he feared it was locked. “Open, damn you,” he yelled to nobody in particular as he yanked at the doorknob. Without any real plan, he struck at the door with his fist. There was a resounding thud, but little else as the door held. Now hammering madly on the door, Ling kicked at the door, gaining nothing save for a throbbing toe. Hopping back, he fell to the floor as he desperately reached around for something he could bite. For a moment, he cast around madly—and then he caught sight of his own arm. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? With no hesitation, he bit it as he felt with a mix of pain and wild joy the gush of black blood as it began to seep from between his teeth. From some last crack of humanity, something told him that this was not a good idea. But that last yell of sense could not have been heard above the roar of a thousand other emotions. And then the door opened. For a moment, Ling looked up, dazzled by the light of the outside as a figure, his or her figure obscured by the shockingly painful brightness of the outside, stepped inside. Frankly, Ling at this point did not care much for the actual identity of the person save for the fact that he or she was filled with fresh blood. Immediately standing up and crouching, he charged forwards—just as a firm hand lifted him by the neck. The shock managed to arouse some vestige of sanity, and Ling blinked for a moment. With his farsightedness, he could not make out the woman’s features—save for her eyes. Somewhere inside, he realized that this was how a deer caught in the headlights felt—aware of the danger and yet incapable of escaping. For a moment, he felt like a mouse staring at a cat—and then he leaned too far forwards and fell into the murky abyss.

Shrga Military Base
Maf’at Research Wing
Israel

“3…2…1…disengagement complete.” Sabino Arista winced as he was jerked back into consciousness by the thin prick of an IV needle into his neck and the electronic voice of the inhibitor. “Did I overdo it?” he asked as he looked around at the bodies around him. “As always,” the sardonic voice of Alan Leither responded. Tall, blonde and immaculately dressed, the white-skinned Britishman looked distastefully at what remained of the Israeli Shabak counterintelligence forces that had guarded the research wing. Leither silently holstered the old dueling pistol in his hands as he took a quick swig from an ivory flask, wiping a bit of the dark red liquid inside from the corner of his mouth. From the corridor behind them, a woman walked out. She didn’t seem exceptionally interested in the bodies around her. Everything about Ann Harrow physically was that of an old woman—but the upright stance and the aura of pride with which she carried herself gave off an aura of youth. “I’ve got it,” she said even before Sabino could even let out the syllable of the question. “…oh.” Meanwhile, the formidable Englishwoman put down what looked like a fire extinguisher onto the ground as she switched on a timer attached to it. Alan looked a little annoyed as he looked at it. “How long, Love?” Ann shrugged. “Two minutes?” Alan sighed. “Looks like we’ll be running after all.”

[lloyd]

Chapter 2

Ling tapped his foot impatiently at the old woman in front of him at the bus stop. Despite Ling’s efforts to constantly wake earlier, she always seemed to be on line right in front of him, trying to gather the coins necessary to pay the bus fare. Ling suspected that she probably lived at the bus station. Finally, she finished paying the bus fare to a cheerful-looking bus driver (who wore the scruffy ponytail and barely-shaven face of Ling’s uncle Yun) and stepped into the bus. However, far from the usual blue of the MTA, the seats were a bright green. Ling nodded to the bus driver as he slid the multicolored Octopus Card he had bought for himself in Hong Kong. “Excuse me, why’s the bus Green?” The driver looked a bit surprised but grinned in his offhanded way. “It’s environmentally friendly for the orphans in Darfur.” Something in Ling’s mind told him it didn’t quite add up, but he shrugged and sat down on one of the seats. The bus began to move—and then it was no longer a bus, but a plane. Immediately, Ling stood up and ran over to the pilot’s cabin (the door was conspicuously open) as he put a hand onto the driver/pilot, who now sported a long brown mullet. “Sir, I don’t think this is my stop—”and then, when the pilot turned around, Ling froze. He was transfixed by the wolf’s head, still vaguely human, that stared back at him

“—my god,” Ling gasped as he sat bolt upright. Immediately, he blinked from the glare of the bright hospital lights. Blindly, he searched around for his glasses. Finding them, he quickly put them on as his panic faded away. What a disturbing dream. Ling relaxed on his pillow for a moment and tried to get up. However, some kind of leaden weight was holding his legs down. Now what? He propped himself up—at the figure asleep on top of his legs. “Wait, what—” she was fully clothed, though, and Ling was torn between feeling lucky that nothing had happened or feeling disappointed that something hadn’t happened. “Errm…miss?” “Rrrgh.” Ling blinked. “Excuse me?” “Rrrgh…leave me be. The door’s unlocked already.” With that, the girl buried her head in the blankets again. Hm. Grouchy. Ling extricated himself from the bed. He felt refreshed in comparison to the day before—odd especially compared to the night in between—the night between? Ling stopped for a moment. The Airplane crash. The dream and the wolf-guy…and yet he had been incarcerated in the hospital for a car accident. Discrepancy, hm hm hm? Ling looked once more at the sleeping girl, who was now making weird noises into her pillow. Odd. Ling walked towards the door—but it opened before he could put a hand onto the handle. Ling suddenly found himself face-to-face with a wall. A kind of furry wall—and then, as Ling stepped back, he realized he was looking into what was probably the largest woolen sweater he had ever seen, worn by the largest man he had ever seen. Behind him, a rather seedy-looking doctor consulted a clipboard. “Li Tziling? Blood Type AB, born in Hong Kong on October 13, 1996?” Ling nodded mutely as he opened his mouth to respond. Before he could, Sweaters (as Ling had already taken to deeming him) had already pulled Ling’s arm out and was sticking a needle with a tube attached into it. “What—” “Don’t panic,” Sweaters said coolly in his low, calming voice. Easy for you to say, you don’t have a needle stuck in your veins. For what was probably a moment but seemed an eternity (time slows down when you can see your own blood going up a tube), Sweaters withdrew the needle, quickly slapping on a band-aid. Ling looked at it. “Hello Kitty. Cute.” Sweaters ignored him as the doctor examined the blood, a thick, reddish-brown color. He pocketed the vial soon after, though, and regarded Ling. “I’m Doctor Marion Ross from the Center for Disease Control and Prevention.” The man’s voice had a slightly drawling quality to it that suggested that he had done this speech several times before. “Errm…It’s not AIDS, is it?” Simultaneously, Ling tried to squeeze through the gap out the door into the beckoning sterile white freedom of the Hospital corridors, but Sweaters was already in that crack, a warm wall of woolen cloth that stood between him and the door. Ling tried a joke. “How many balls of yarn died for that sweater?” Sweaters didn’t smile as the doctor shook his head. “You know, you’re not altogether taking this seriously enough, especially considering you might spend the rest of your life nocturnally attacking small animals and humans.” The sentence took a few seconds to make an impact. “Alright, now can I…what?” The doctor shook his head again in exasperation as he took out the vial of blood. It was now divided into two areas—a thick, blackish blood at the bottom of the vial, and regular reddish-brown blood taking up the rest, reminiscent of knockoff coolaid mix after it is left out for a day or so. The doctor murmured as he began writing into a clipboard. “Hm. Blood doesn’t seemed to have mixed. The body has made a complete distinction between transfused blood and original blood, but no signs of rejection are visible.” Completing with a (probably pointless) flourish of his pen, he looked up. “Mr. Li, come with me.” Ling already felt the sweat on the back of his hand. “Am I going to die?” the doctor turned around with a touch of impatience. “You have more than enough time to come with me to the office.”

Sweaters came in behind Ling and immediately closed the door as the odd-looking trio entered the office. Locking it, he then stood in front of the door, blocking the window completely with his huge sweater. Not a good sign. Doctor Ross took his seat behind an extraordinarily neat desk as he motioned to a mouldy-looking sofa in front of the the desk. “It’s not rabies, is it?” Doctor Ross laughed, a sound that could be equated to the sound of weeds in a desert. “The US Government wouldn’t need you to sign the National Secrets Act for something that minor.” “National Secrets Act?” Ling gulped. The doctor handed a sheet of paper filled with small text. “Hurry up and sign.” Ling immediately complied. He slid it back immediately. “Alright, Doctor, what the hell’s wrong?” The doctor looked at the sheet. “Alright, you are now bound to silence by the Law of the United States. Let’s start with a little history..” Doctor Ross looked out the window. “In 1251, reports came to the Khanate of Batu Khan, Grandson of Genghis Khan in Sarai of a plague in one of the many principalities of the Vladimir-Suzdal region. Reports from the commanders sent there noted that many members of the town seemed to be a near-death state during the day and would not venture out. However, during the night, these villagers went wild, attacking anything out after dark, biting humans and animals indiscriminately. Nine out of ten people died after being bitten, but the other one also became one of these ‘walkers’. In response, Mongol Forces sacked and burned the village and all villagers to prevent the plague from spreading.” Doctor Ross looked at Ling. “In the 1860’s, members of the Orthodox Church were sent to the newly-independent nation of Romania, to the region of Wallachia, where reports of demon possession were becoming widespread. The Orthodox Church termed those afflicted as Vampires. Despite the best attempts of the Church and Romanian Army at containing this, this demon possession first spread to the more prosperous region of Transylvania, and then through there into Europe. Eventually, those afflicted reached the United States.” Ling tried to cut into this tale. “You can’t possibly mean—” “In the late 19th century, the Pinkerton Detectives and then the department that was named the Burea of Investigation in 1909 were tasked with controlling this possession. Nevertheless, very little research could be conducted on vampires, since generally their bodies decompose quickly, and live specimens are hard to come by. In 1952, though, extensive research by the Department of Health had changed the Government’s view of Vampirism, from supernatural possession to a biological illness. By 1970, care of Vampirism, among other diseases once considered supernatural activity, was completely relegated to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention.” “Wait, wait wait—you’re joking, right?” The doctor looked at Ling. “do I look like I’m joking?” “Then are you on drugs?!” The doctor looked merely bored. “Typical Adolescent reaction. I take Prozac, is that’s what you mean” Ling turned around. “I am not going to pretend that I believe this delusional Vampire crap you just made up—” he turned towards the door—and saw Sweaters, already in a crouch. “Please Calm down, Mr. Li.” Sweater’s voice was unsurprisingly low, but also slightly calming in its steady way. Nevertheless, Ling had no interest in listening. “Please get out of the way, Sweaters.” Sweaters simply stood there. “Hear the doctor out. I didn’t believe it at first either.” “You believe it now?” “Yes.” “Well, then you must be stoned too,” Ling muttered as he tried to find a chance to dodge around Sweaters. Hoping to draw the large man aside, Ling feinted to one side—but Sweaters, anticipating the maneuver, simply put his back completely to the door. “Mr. Louis has served as a part of the Special Forces in Iraq during the first Gulf War and in Afghanistan, I’ll let you know.” “Almost made running back for the Detroit Lions too, Doctor Ross.” “That too,” the doctor conceded. Mr. Louis, AKA Sweaters, looked at Ling. “Do you need something to calm yourself, Mr. Li?” “No. I’ll listen to this crackheaded rant to the finish, I guess,” Ling responded angrily as he sat down onto the sofa again, gripping the sides with a viciousness the pitiable sofa certainly didn’t deserve. The doctor coughed empathetically. “Can I continue?” Ling merely grunted. “Well, before you interrupted me with your typically teenage rant,” the Doctor began. Ling restrained himself with difficulty. This old man was irritating. “Before you interrupted me, Mr. Li, I was about to say that (errmmm…turns out I’m not done with this chapter yet. Oh well.)