Date: January 5, 2021
Location: Austin, Texas – East Riverside & Urban Undercity
The morning sun filtered through the foggy windows of Blaze's apartment, cutting weak streaks of light across a room saturated with purpose. Charts, maps, digital screens, and magnetic whiteboards lined the walls like a war room of logic and cruelty. Blaze stood barefoot on the cold tiled floor, one hand twirling a scalpel, the other adjusting the lens of his microscope.
"Regenerative platelet count: triple the human baseline," he murmured. "Hemoglobin refracts at 42 degrees... synthetic parasitic adaptation. That girl wasn't human."
The girl in the red hoodie—the one who had entered the game facility with hesitation but no fear—had left behind more than blood. Blaze had scraped her blood from the wall she scratched when leaving the hidden chamber. Under analysis, it practically resisted decay.
Blaze's eyes glowed with the thrill of data. "Not human. Definitely not. But young. Inexperienced. Reckless."
He replayed the alley security feed again. At exactly 11:38 PM on December 31st, her figure moved past the lamplight. Blaze slowed the playback by 300%. The girl's shadow lagged behind her movement—fractional, yet noticeable.
"Shadow latency," he whispered. "Body moves faster than her illusion. Supernatural speed suppressed."
He opened a secondary screen. A biomechanical model mapped her limb movements. "Shoulders don't rotate like that unless you're dislocating them deliberately. High flexibility. Likely subdermal muscle shift."
Then he found it—concrete near the wall where she scratched herself. A faint, silvery trace—oxidized silver. His voice was a whisper now.
"Silver corrosion. Only two kinds of creatures leave that behind: werewolves in heat... or vampires suppressing instinct."
He stared at the empty coffee mug on the table, then shattered it with one squeeze.
"Vampire it is."
11:30 AM – Club Nyx, Downtown Austin
Club Nyx wasn't on the map. It didn't need to be. You either knew someone or didn't exist. Blaze had donned a gentleman's outfit—black waistcoat, crimson tie, a matching watch that ticked only when he spoke. His hair was slicked, his eyes hidden behind sapphire-tinted glasses.
To any observer, he looked like a young aristocrat trying to hide in the chaos. To predators, he looked like prey.
The bouncer at the unmarked door raised an eyebrow. "This ain't your place, kid."
Blaze smiled, tilting his head. "It is if I'm carrying this." He handed the man a black chip with a fang insignia.
The bouncer paused. Blaze added, "And if you stop me, the syndicate will be… displeased."
The bouncer let him in. The beat of synthetic bass pulsed through the dim club, the air thick with incense, sweat, and pheromones.
12:05 PM
That's when he appeared. Lucien. Mid-20s, cold elegance, lean frame. Platinum hair, gray eyes—too smooth, too flawless.
"Alone?" Lucien asked, voice silky.
Blaze faked a nervous laugh. "Looking for something… unforgettable."
Lucien smirked. "Lucky you found me."
They sat in a dark booth. Blaze accepted a drink, but pocketed it when Lucien blinked. Instead, he drank from a substitute flask of his own creation—water laced with powdered garlic extract and painkillers. Just to see.
Lucien's eyes twitched.
"So," Blaze began, "what's it like?"
"What is?"
"Being above humans."
Lucien's pupils dilated—threat detection. "What makes you say that?"
Blaze smirked. "Your body temperature is four degrees colder than mine. You haven't blinked since we sat down. And you haven't taken a breath."
Lucien stood. "You're observant. Dangerous."
Blaze whispered, "You have no idea."
12:45 PM – Abandoned Warehouse, East 7th Street
They walked through the alley. Blaze's route was planned—UV lamps, pressure plates, silver dust along the walls.
"I know a place," Blaze said.
"I bet you do," Lucien answered.
As Lucien stepped through the entrance, a UV flash erupted. He hissed and collapsed into a silver-lined cage Blaze had installed days ago.
"Welcome to Hell," Blaze whispered.
1:00 PM – Interrogation Begins
Lucien writhed. Blaze sat cross-legged, notebook in hand.
"Name. Age. Bloodline."
Lucien snarled. Blaze activated a pitch frequency—mimicking sunrise.
Lucien screamed.
"Name. Age. Bloodline."
"Lucien Vale. Turned in 1989. House of Nythera."
Blaze jotted it down. "Now we're getting somewhere."
2:00 PM – Sample Extraction
Lucien, sedated, had blood drawn and cells swabbed. Blaze tested rapid healing on samples: they closed gashes under two seconds.
"Perfection," he whispered. "This is the edge."
He packaged vials, labeled them, and sterilized the scene.
3:00 PM – Disposal
Lucien woke with memory gaps. Blaze whispered to him as he injected a mind-wiping serum.
"You'll remember pain. Nothing else. Go back and tell them: a ghost is watching."
Lucien stumbled into the alley, bleeding, confused.
Blaze sprayed blood on the wall with a message:
"To those who watch: this is only the prologue."
4:00 PM – Blaze's Apartment
The samples glowed beneath microscope light. Blaze muttered, "Red cells… dense. That means potential."
He labeled the new project: Crimson Protocol.
And then, as the wind howled outside, he whispered:
"Their perfection will become my blueprint. And I will be a god of logic in a world of monsters."