The city hums below her like a restless animal, the cold metal edge of the rooftop biting into Anna’s thighs as she crouches in the shadows. The wind stirs her dark hair – strands twisting, tangling – and carries with it the low growl of engines, the stuttering breath of desperate men and women. From up here, the streets of Chicago bleed a dull orange glow, the streetlights casting fractured patterns on the rain-slick pavement. But it’s the vans that command her attention: sleek, unmarked, their headlights slicing through the dark like hungry, searching eyes.
They move with an almost predatory rhythm, gliding soundlessly through tight streets and well-worn routes. Some brake sharply near alleys, disgorging men in black uniforms who mercilessly grab at the shadows there, dragging homeless men and women off screaming and struggling. Others seem to be on the prowl, chasing vampires – fast, ageless figures darting through the gloom. The tranquilizer darts come quickly, glowing faintly as they pierce the night. She winces as one lands true, a pale figure crumpling like discarded paper beneath its weight.
Anna grips her phone tightly, her fingers white against its smooth screen. Her other hand presses the delicate Bluetooth earpiece into her ear as if she’s trying to drown herself in their voices—the only tether keeping her from diving down there, fists flaring with fury.
“This is…” her voice trails off, a soft exhale that’s scarcely a whisper, softened under the sound of tires screeching below. She swallows the rage bubbling in her throat, closes her eyes for half a second. When they open, they flash—the electric blue of her irises catching the glint of the moon. “Maybe I should help them now.” Her tone sharpens, frustration bleeding through. “This is hard to watch.”
Phara’s voice answers first, low, calm, and throat the rich and steady cadence of someone who can see the bigger picture far more clearly. “No. You’re not going down there yet,” she says in the earpiece. There’s steel in her words, a resistance that pulls at Anna’s conscience. “We need to follow them. If they lead us to where they’re taking them... we can shut it down at the source. This is the only way to get Anastasia back.”
“But how long?” Anna bites back, her sharp whisper barely audible over the storm brewing below. “People are vanishing. For all we know, they won’t make the night. What if Anastasia—”
Theodore’s voice breaks in, curt and pragmatic, a wired tension in each syllable that Anna knows is barely contained. “We have a better chance if we pinpoint the building,” he counters from wherever he is—likely holed up in that too-small apartment with his army of screens and maps taped to the dirty walls. “Focus, Anna. We track the pattern. We wait. That will help more than getting yourself killed trying to save one or two. We need to end this, not disrupt it.”
She exhales hard, a cloud of mist escaping her lips, and glances at the rows of moving vans below, their shapes melting into shadow as they speed deeper into the city. Her pulse beats in her ears louder than their engines—a toxic cocktail of fury and helplessness surging through her veins. She clenches her jaw and glances west toward the darkened skyline, grey clouds threatening to ignite a new torrent of rain.
The whispers from the city feel alive, more men drawn into those unmarked vans, victims drugged and broken like sacrifices to some unseen vampire god. She lets her gaze linger for a moment longer on the limp body of another vampire being dragged through the open door of a van.
Her fingers curl into a fist. "Fine," she breathes, though her voice quivers with restraint. Her next words bleed into the microphone. "But the second we figure this out, they're not going to know what hit them." Then, she shifts back into the shadows. Time to follow the trail, time to hunt the hunters.
Anna darts between rooftops, her form a fleeting shadow gliding over the endless sprawl of uneven brick and glass. Wind lashes against her as she flies, but it’s easy to ignore—her senses are sharper than the biting chill, keener than the distracting wail of sirens echoing far below. Her vampire speed makes her near invisible, a dark streak against the dim glow of the city skyline. The heartbeat of the city throbs in time with her own icy pulse, but something else snags her attention tonight. Something quieter. Something sinister.
The vans catch her eye first. There are three of them, matte black and moving with a purpose that makes the hair on Anna's arms stand on end. She clings to the lip of a building’s edge, crouched low like a predator, her piercing gaze fixed on the vehicles as they weave through the streets. Their windows are tinted, the red brake lights casting ominous glows in the mist. Whoever’s driving them doesn’t want to be followed, but Anna doesn’t need an invitation. She leaps higher, her movements fluid and soundless as she keeps pace overhead, shadowing them from above.
Block after block, the vans remain in formation, their procession leading her to a forsaken edge of the city where forgotten buildings sag like haunted corpses. The weight of decay is palpable—walls stripped bare, windows hollowed out, alleyways choking on refuse. It’s the kind of place that criminals and ghosts prefer, where the darkness feels alive and nothing good dares linger. Anna lands with practiced ease on the roof of a crumbling factory, and from her perch, she watches with narrowed eyes as the vans pick up speed. The asphalt stretches out in dizzying dips and cracks beneath her, but her attention stays razor-sharp on her targets.
The lead van rounds a corner, skidding slightly as it disappears behind the skeleton of a looming warehouse. The others follow suit, their engines grumbling like sleeping beasts about to wake. Anna pulls her cell phone from her jacket pocket, snapping photos and recording video with quick efficiency. The grainy glow of her screen casts a pale light against the dark canvas of her skin. She zooms in, focuses on the back of one van, and catches the white streak of its license plate before it vanishes.
Her lips part in a frown as the vans suddenly disappear from view into the murky maze of the warehouse compound. She swears under her breath—too fast. The moment she shifts to dive after them, her phone vibrates in her hand. Right. Backup. She presses the phone to her ear, her voice low and urgent.
“Did you get them?”
Phara’s voice purrs through the other end of the line, composed and brimming with an almost feline confidence. “Yeah, crystal clear.”
Theodore’s deeper, rougher voice cuts in, sharp and impatient. “Where did they go?”
Anna exhales slowly, her breath curling in the night air like smoke. Her eyes flicker to the warehouse, its silhouette jagged and foreboding, like a scar against the starlit sky. She scans the building, searching for movement, for clues, but the vans have vanished too seamlessly. The shadows seem to devour them whole.
“I don’t know yet,” Anna says, her voice barely above a whisper as she slips closer to the edge of the rooftop for a better angle. Her shoulders tense like an animal on the verge of striking. “But they’re in there. I’ll figure it out.” She ends the call and slides the phone back into her pocket.
***
The city lights streak by in a chaotic blur as Phara grips the steering wheel with trembling hands, her heart pounding in sync with the growl of the engine. The streets are a disorienting labyrinth, sharp turns and glowing signs flashing like the shards of a broken memory. On the car's dashboard, her phone screen illuminates in soft blue light, the "Anna" contact glowing like a lifeline. She keeps stabbing at the button. Ring. Silence. Ring again. And silence once more. The tension coils tighter in her chest like barbed wire.
“Answer,” she mutters harshly, almost pleading under her breath as she leans forward, her voice breaking against the oppressive quiet of the car. Another sharp turn. The tires screech against the asphalt, the sound slicing through the night.
Beside her, Theodore balances his cracked laptop on his knees, the dim green glow of a tracking map casting eerie shadows across his focused face. His skilled fingers dance over the keys like a puppeteer pulling strings. A red dot blinks on the screen.
“Make two rights,” he says, his voice steady, like lightning in the eye of a storm. “Just a few blocks away.”
Phara doesn’t hesitate. She yanks the wheel to the right, narrowly missing an old lamppost. The night bends and warps around her – the furious hum of the engine, the soft murmurs of Theodore’s map readings, the rhythmic pounding of her pulse hammering in her ears.
And then she sees her.
Anna.
The world narrows. Phara slams the brakes, the car lurching to a squealing halt. She throws the door open and bolts into the night, boots striking the cracked pavement in hurried strides. There, under the flickering orange glow of a streetlight, Anna stalks the perimeter of an abandoned building, her silhouette sharp and restless. Her hair billows behind her like a black flag, her pacing feral and desperate. She turns sharply, her face pale and marked by frustration. As Phara approaches, she can see the cut of pain etched into her features—the haunted edges of her wild emerald eyes.
Phara’s voice cuts through the still night. “What are you doing?”
Anna stops, her body snapping to attention like prey caught in a predator's gaze. She doesn’t respond at first, but then her head tilts the slightest bit, her nose wrinkling as she sniffs the air. Again and again. Something about it is primal, predatory, as if the boundary between her and the long shadow of something other is dissolving.
“She’s close,” Anna murmurs, her words barely human, threaded with something deeper. Her gaze flicks toward the foreboding structure behind her, narrowed and sharp like a hunter’s. “I know Anastasia is here. My sister is somewhere... in there. I can feel it. Smell it.”
Phara falters. The weight of those words settles on her like lead, their promise too terrible and raw to dismiss. She takes a cautious step forward, studying everything about Anna – the quiver in her jaw, the pain concealed behind anger, the shadow clinging to her posture.
“Anna,” Phara says gently but firmly, stepping closer. Her voice is an anchor, soft but unyielding, as she reaches out and pulls Anna into her arms. The hug is sharp, almost desperate, but it draws Anna out of the strange frenzy as her grounding, her solace. “We’ll figure this out together. You’re not alone. Theo?”
Anna’s breathing softens, but her fists remain clenched, her muscles tense, as though prepared to fight the air itself if it resists her search.
Theodore approaches them from the car, the soft shuffle of his shoes almost too light against the crushing weight of the moment. He carries the laptop against his chest, the blinking dot on the screen still pulsing like a heartbeat. He looks between the women, then to the decaying building that seems to loom over the street like a monstrous shadow, its cracked windows like eyes daring them to step closer.
“She’s in there… I..." Theo hesitates before continuing. "...I think. But the signal’s strange. Something’s interfering.”
Phara’s arms remain around Anna for a moment longer before she pulls back and grips her shoulders tightly. She stares deeply into Anna’s eyes, seeking strength beneath their fractured shimmer. “We do this together,” she says, her tone a promise sealed against the unknown.
Anna nods, but her gaze lingers on the building. It stands so still, yet Phara could swear it’s breathing. Waiting.
Theodore shuts the laptop with a decisive snap, sliding it onto the dashboard of the car before stepping out. There's a weight to the air, a charged stillness that clings to his skin as he walks toward Anna and Phara. Both women stand side by side, their gazes fixed on the imposing building before them.
The structure looms tall and lifeless, a monolith of cracked concrete and shattered windows. It is the sort of place that feels abandoned, and yet something about it stirs anxiety just beneath the surface. No entrances, no exits—its sheer walls deny them, holding its secrets with eerie determination.
Theodore adjusts the collar of his jacket as his breath escapes in a faint cloud. "Anna," he starts, his voice just loud enough to rattle the stillness. "How are we going to get in?"
Anna turns her head slightly, her face shadowed by the dark curls falling over her shoulders. Her lips press into a faint line as she exhales slowly. "I don’t know," she admits, her voice carrying a reluctant edge. "You and Phara got here before I did."
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Phara, shorter but sharper in disposition, steps forward. Her boots barely make a sound against the cracked pavement, but there’s a certain intensity about her presence. Her dark almond-shaped eyes scan the upper levels of the building with unnerving precision before she speaks. "I see something that looks like a door," she murmurs, pointing toward the roof. "Maybe we could get up there. Could be a way in from the top."
Anna shakes her head almost immediately. "I already tried that," she says with quiet frustration, crossing her arms over her chest. "I climbed up there the moment I arrived. There's nothing. No roof hatch, no panels, no breaks big enough to squeeze through. It’s sealed tight, just like the rest."
Theodore sighs, his brows furrowing as he studies the building’s face again. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his temple despite the cold; this place unsettles him, more than he’d like to let on. He briefly glances toward a cluster of graffiti staining one of the nearby walls—crude symbols and jagged art. But among the mess of vandalism, something catches his attention: strange markings, almost runelike, scratched deep into the surface. They make his breath hitch. Familiar, but unplaceable.
“Alright,” he murmurs at last, dragging his gaze away. “Let’s take more photos of the area, of everything. The walls, pavement, even that junked freight dock back there. Maybe we’re missing something. We’ll look closer when we’re back at the apartment.”
The trio begins to move again, their figures shadows against the streetlights as they circle the forsaken structure. The click of the camera shutter becomes their constant companion, the flash momentarily illuminating brick and rust, glass shards and blackened weeds sprouting from the cracks. Above them, the building looms silent, a tomb of secrets, an unyielding vault.
And as Phara lifts her phone to take a shot of the facade, Anna catches Theodore glancing at a distant alley with narrowed eyes. Something about the alleyway coils within him, sharp and insistent, like a tug behind his ribcage. For the briefest of moments, he swears he sees something move there—something slow, deliberate, watching. He looks harder, but the darkness lays unbroken, still as death.
"Let's not linger here," Phara warns softly as if she can feel the weight too. Her voice breaks the tension, but it doesn’t lift it. The night presses closer around them, and the building stands unyielding, its secrets silently mocking their effort.
***
Dr. Specker stood in the elevator, his heart pounding with anticipation. Melissa, clad in a tailored suit, “Well done,” she had said. “I will set up the meeting. Make sure you have your part ready.”
Dr. Specker's response was simple yet resolute: “I will.”
As the elevator doors slid open, revealing the garage, Dr. Specker's eyes scanned the area. Men stood around, their presence exuding an aura of protection. Melissa wasted no time, swiftly making her way to her car and speeding away, leaving Dr. Specker alone in the midst of the guarded men.
Approaching the group, Dr. Specker was met with a questioning gaze from one of the men. “How can I help you?” the man asked.
Dr. Specker's mind was focused and determined as he replied, “I require a subject with a that suffers from cancer type of illnesses.”
The air became tense as another man spoke up, his tone cautious. “Does Ms. Whitefield know about this request?” he inquired.
Dr. Specker's eyes met his, unwavering. “Yes,” he answered firmly. "Now go find a subject.”
The man nodded to his companion, and the two of them swiftly piled into a dark van parked nearby. Dr. Specker watched as the vehicle pulled out of the garage, disappearing into the night. With a sense of urgency, he turned his attention back to the elevator and made his way to the floor housing his laboratory. Rushing down the hall, the sound of his own footsteps echoing in his ears, Dr. Specker reached his lab. He wasted no time, immediately powering on all of his medical equipment.
The room came alive with a symphony of beeping monitors, flashing lights, and the hum of machinery. It was a place of both scientific precision and clandestine experimentation. As he prepared his workspace, Dr. Specker's mind raced with anticipation. In the flickering fluorescent light, Dr. Specker's gloved hands moved with practiced precision, his focus unwavering. He was a man driven by a twisted genius, a mind consumed by the boundaries of science and morality.
As the room filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, Dr. Specker stood back, surveying his creation. The stage was set, and soon the subject would arrive.
As the nurse timidly entered the dimly lit laboratory, her voice trembled with concern. “I thought you were leaving for the night, Dr. Specker. Do you want me to call her back?”
Dr. Specker, his gaze fixed on a shelf cluttered with vials and syringes, responded with a chilling calmness. “No.”
The nurse reached into the pocket of her crisp white coat, her hand trembling as she retrieved her phone. Before she could even dial a number, she felt a sudden and sharp pain shoot through her neck. A gasp escaped her lips as her body crumpled to the cold floor, the sound echoing ominously in the sterile room.
Dr. Specker loomed over the lifeless body of the nurse. His dark eyes flickered with an unsettling intensity, reflecting a twisted pleasure in the macabre scene before him. In his gloved hand, he tightly gripped an injection device, its needle glinting ominously under the cold, sterile lights of the operating room.
Casting a wary glance around the laboratory, Dr. Specker's mind filled with the haunting specter of his secret. Assured that no one witnessed his malevolent act, he hoisted the nurse's limp frame into his arms. He strode towards the elevator, each step resonating with a sinister purpose. Descending into the basement, he opened the heavy door of the crematory, its metallic hinges groaning in protest. The flickering flames within cast eerie shadows on the cold concrete walls.
Without a moment's hesitation, Dr. Specker tossed the nurse's lifeless body into the fiery abyss. The smell of burning flesh mingled with the acrid scent of chemicals, as the flames hungrily consumed all traces of the nurse's existence. The crackling of the fire reverberated through the basement, a grotesque symphony of destruction.
Taking one final glance at the charred remains, Dr. Specker made his way back to the laboratory, his steps quick and purposeful. His hands trembled as he watched the two men enter the room, their footsteps echoing ominously in the dimly lit space. The man they escorted was a pitiful sight, his frail frame racked with violent coughs and his eyes barely able to stay open. A thin sheen of sweat coated his pale, gaunt face, reflecting the sterile, cold light that hung overhead.
“We found him near Northwestern,” one of the men said, his voice filled with a mixture of pity and indifference. “He's been diagnosed with some kind of lung cancer.”
Dr. Specker's eyes gleamed with a sinister anticipation. “That will work perfectly,” he replied, his voice laced with an unnerving excitement. He motioned for the two men to place the man in the chair that stood ominously in the center of the room.
With a cold efficiency, the men obeyed, guiding the weakened man to the chair and securing him with restraints. As they pressed a button, the chair whirred to life, its ominous mechanical sounds drowning out the man's feeble protests. The camp's straps tightened around his fragile form, ensuring he would not escape.
With a wave of his hand, Dr. Specker dismissed the two men, their presence no longer required. As they exited the room, their footsteps fading into the distance, the doctor remained alone with his captive, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
Dr. Specker's hands trembled as he carefully extracted the vial from the glass cooler, its contents shimmering ominously in the muted light of the lab. A faint smile danced across his lips, anticipation mingling with a sense of audacious purpose. The man strapped to the chair, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity, mustered the strength to speak through labored breaths, “What are you doing, doctor?”
With an air of authority, Dr. Specker held up the injection device, its cold, metallic exterior glinting menacingly. “I am making my mark in medical history,” he declared, his voice tinged with a hint of madness. “Don't move.”
As the needle pierced the man's neck, a surge of tension filled the room. Time seemed to stand still as Dr. Specker watched intently, his pulse quickening with every passing moment. And then, as if by some strange alchemy, the man's coughing subsided, replaced by a newfound ease of breath.
“I can breathe,” the man whispered in disbelief, his voice filled with wonder. “What was that?”
Dr. Specker, his eyes gleaming with a blend of triumph and fascination, began to check the man's vitals. But a sudden, thunderous sound shattered the fragile peace. The man's body jerked violently as a bullet tore through his chest, crimson liquid spraying across the sterile white room. Dr. Specker's gaze darted towards Melissa, her hand still clutching the smoking gun.
“I created a breakthrough,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Before he could fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, Melissa moved with a swiftness that betrayed her true nature. She lunged towards him, pinning him against the wall with a strength that belied her petite frame. Dr. Specker's heart raced, his mind racing to make sense of the chaos unfolding around him.
‘Do as I tell you,” Ms. Whitfield hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes burning with a cold intensity. “We have no time for your other experiments.”
As if on cue, two imposing figures emerged from the shadows, their imposing presence a stark reminder of the power wielded by Melissa. They grabbed hold of Dr. Specker, their grip firm and unyielding, and escorted him out of the lab into the dimly lit hallway.
Melissa's voice carried a chilling finality as she delivered her parting words, her tone laced with a dangerous mix of authority and veiled threat. “We will see you tomorrow, doctor.” As she strolls away.
***
Anastasia's heart raced in her chest as Norika awoke from her sedated state. The dimly lit cell seemed to brighten as a glimmer of hope flickered in Anastasia's eyes. She couldn't help but embrace Norika in a tight and desperate hug. But as Norika words cut through the air, Anastasia released her grip and took a step back, her emotions mingling with caution.
Tears welled up in Norika eyes as she spoke, her voice laced with uncertainty. “I thought you didn't want me to touch you,” she whispered, vulnerability seeping into her words.
Anastasia's own eyes filled with sorrow, regret washing over her. “I am glad you are well,” she replied softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and guilt.
Norika gaze shifted, her concern turning towards Roy, who had disappeared. “What did they do with Roy?” she asked, her voice trembling with anxiety.
Anastasia gestured towards a pool of blood just outside the cell. “That woman shot him,” she explained, her voice laced with sorrow and anger. “When they brought me back from seeing the doctor, Roy's body was gone.” Relief washed over her as she added, “Thankfully, they only shot you with a sedative.”
Norika gaze wandered, taking in the eerily empty cells surrounding them. “It's a lot quieter,” she observed.
Stepping beside Anastasia, Norika eyes scanned the vacant cells. Anastasia's voice held a somber tone as she spoke, “I think they've stopped collecting our kind.” Her words hung in the air, a glimmer of hope mingling with the darkness of their imprisonment.
Norika eyes focused at Roy's blood on the floor. “Why is a doctor working with them?” Her words hung in the air, a shroud of mystery enveloping the question.
Anastasia's eyes widened as she recalled her time in the doctor's lab, the mysterious experiments she had witnessed. “They are using vampire blood for something," she revealed, her voice laced with both fear and determination. "But I can't figure it out. It's as if they are trying to harness our power, our essence.”
Norika curiosity turned to concern as she pondered the doctor's interest in Anastasia. “Why did the doctor want to see you?” she questioned, her voice trembling with worry.
Anastasia's expression grew grave as she spoke, her words laced with a sense of urgency. “I don't know,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and determination. “But I fear I hold the key to unlocking their twisted plans.”
Anastasia paced back and forth, her thoughts swirling with a mixture of anxiety and determination. Norika sat silently on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on Anastasia, waiting for an explanation.
“Is there something else?” Norika asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Anastasia paused, her gaze distant as she searched for the right words. “Earlier, I could sense Anna nearby,” she finally confessed.
Norika eyes widened in alarm. “She's out there, looking for us,” she said, her voice filled with both worry and hope.
Anastasia nodded, her face set with determination. “We have to find a way to stop them,” she declared, her voice tinged with urgency.
Norika reached out and grabbed Anastasia's hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “I understand your concern, but our main goal should be to find a way out of here,” she said, her voice calm yet resolute. “We can't afford to lose sight of that.”
Anastasia sighed. “You're right,” she admitted begrudgingly. “These men working here… they're not swayed by money or bribes. There's something else driving them.”
Norika nodded in agreement. “It must be fear,” she surmised, her voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and speculation. “They must be afraid of that woman.”
Anastasia's voice trembled with fear as she uttered the words, “She is scary, she killed Roy without a second thought.”
Norika eyes widened, her heart aching with worry. “I wish there was a way to get word to Anna,” she whispered, her voice filled with longing.
Anastasia's gaze shifted to the distance, lost in her thoughts. “Her team... they are good,”” she said, her voice laced with a mix of admiration and trepidation. “Phara, she's in charge. Some kind of magical being, I swear. And Theodore, he's a genius with technology. He has all sorts of devices to aid them in their investigations.”
Norika nodded, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Anna always had a curious mind,” she murmured affectionately. The weight of their confinement settled heavily upon them, both unknowing the dangers that lay ahead. As Anastasia stood, a flicker of determination crossed her face. She reached out and gently brushed her hand against as she rises from the bed.
“I hope we can stop them,” Anastasia whispered, her voice filled with a mix of hope and sadness. “But we must remember that they have done this to others as well.”
Norika eyes glistened with unshed tears as she spoke, her voice filled with both determination and despair. “How many do you think are involved in this experiment?”
Anastasia's gaze dropped to her feet, her brows furrowing in deep thought. Slowly, she met Norika eyes again, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation. “Some with a lot of money, I assume,” she replied, her words weighed down by the harsh reality they faced.
Norika delicate fingers gently tugged at Anastasia's hand, her voice filled with determination. “Maybe, just maybe, we should try to piece together what exactly is going on here. If we can gather some information, it might give Anna and her partners something substantial to use against the Woman and the Doctor when they come to break us out.”
Anastasia hesitated, her vampire instincts warning her against such actions. “But Norika, humans will never believe us. We would be dismissed as delusional.”
Norika gaze drifted to the floor outside of the cell, where the crimson stain of Roy's blood lingered, a somber reminder of the horror they were trapped in. “It's not just vampires they're taking, Anastasia. They're taking humans too. Innocent lives are being snuffed out, and we can't let that go unnoticed.”
With a gentle pull, Norika guided Anastasia back to the cold, unforgiving bed. Anastasia's voice wavered with resignation. “I suppose you're right. We have nothing else to do but wait and hope that Anna is forced to rescue us, even if it means putting herself in danger. I hope Anna doesn’t let her anger get the best of her this time.”
