Prologue
Blinding light, rough movements, the familiar sound of the metal door grinding open, a rough shove, I stumble. I bounce against the padded wall, the jolt through my body causing me to moan as my heart pounds in my ears. The slamming of the door as loud as a scream to my super sensitive ears, the locking mechanism settling into place as loud as thunder makes my head throb. A few seconds of deafening silence and then the music kicks on, barely audible to everyone else its the perfect level to drown out all the outside noise but not enough to cause me pain. My heart continues to pound in my head as I focus on the heavy beat of the techno music, my heart slowing to beat in time with the music. The cool darkness and pulse of the music is what keeps me sane. I mark each beat of the music and throb of my heart for nearly an hour before I slip into a trance that's as close to sleep as I can get. This is my new reality.
Caught somewhere between heaven and hell. That would be the best way to describe it. This four foot by four foot padded cell is my oasis. The world outside it my own living hell. I'm not here because I'm crazy. I'm here because they fear me. I am kept in a room void of everything but these four walls, ceiling and floor of rough white canvas stretched over padding because ever since I was bitten, I am the most dangerous, most sought after lab rat in the world. But let me start over... start at the beginning like most stories should...
Chapter One β Ceremony
The year was 2189 and most of the worlds population had migrated into massive city like hubs throughout the world founded around old world metropolises. New York, London, Tokyo, Sydney, and Buenos Aires were all now massive Meccas. If you were smart you lived well within the walls of these hubs, to live on the fringe was dangerous, to live outside, was suicidal. The wastelands were full of monsters. Or that's what the humans think. Children are taught at a very young age that in the wastelands if the vampires don't get you, the werewolves will. What the humans don't realize is that most of the 'monsters' actually live right next door. When in control we look just like any other boring human. Vampires aren't super pale, or sparkly. Werewolves aren't dictated by the moon, mostly anyway. Those who can't control their primal natures are the ones who are cast out of the hubs by the rest of us to protect our own identities. They form colonies in the slowly dying architecture of the once thriving cities.
Most of the stories that give children and adults nightmares are based off of a three day period once a year known as the blood moon. Even with all the technological advances we've made in the last hundred years science can't figure out why the full moon, tied to the autumnal solstice of the northern hemisphere causes both the vampires and the werewolves to go mad with blood lust. Some speculate that its tied to a Milena old blood feud between the vampires and the werewolves, others believe it is the curse of a scorned witch. Regardless of its beginnings the blood moon is the time the entire world comes to a screeching halt. Humans lock themselves away, the non humans... go crazy. Its three days of pure bestial insanity, breeding, feeding, and fighting are pretty much the only things on any non human creatures' mind.
Up until now I have discussed vampires and werewolves as a single entity under the category of "monsters." Let me make one thing clear right now. They are not one entity, they are like oil and water, they do not mix and when the two come in contact the result is violent, bloody chaos that usually results in one if not both parties mortally injured. Also, as keen as our senses are when in our primal forms, when we are walking around as humans you can't tell who is a ware, vamp, or human. We even all smell pretty much the same. Blame technology for that as well. Cleanliness was a problem when the hubs first began to centralize. Now everything is maintained via advanced technologies that process the environment and keep it in "perfect" condition. Should someone spill a drink on the bar, the bar simply absorbs the drink, instantly dries, and the nanotechnology of the bar breaks the drink down into its harmless base products and is either immediately re-sampled into something useful, or transported to a storage location to be used at a later date. The 'bots' in charge of maintaining the air quality are so efficient, they eliminate any particle or compound that does not directly make up "perfect air" immediately. It makes it nearly impossible to smell anything other than "clean." Because of this it has happened on occasions that a ware and a vampire have lived next door to each-other and not know it for years.
Wealth is relative inside the hubs. Everyone is issued a standard flat. A single one bedroom apartment complete with one basic amenity. RICU, Robotic Individual Care Unit, everyone just refers to them as RIC. RIC is responsible for just about everything that was managed by humans and appliances in the 20th century. RIC monitors the upkeep of your home, ensuring that air quality meets standard, that your clothes are never dirty, and provides you with your meals. Kind of an all in one kitchen, laundry room, and maid. You spend your money on all the luxuries. Like anything, you get what you pay for. The comfort of your bed directly relates to how much you paid for it. The sign of a wealthy person is a household full of possessions. Those in the "middle class" have living quarters that are far more sparse. Those in the bottom rung of society tend to have empty shells for a home with RICs that are poorly maintained.
So what am I? I used to be far more sure of that than I am now, but in the beginning, I was just a vampire. Now before you roll your eyes at me, I was no queen of the vampires or some leader's daughter. In the vampire world I was a breeder, a nobody. In the human world I was a marketing director for one of the largest technology companies in the world. Located in the center of New York Hub my flat boasted a view of the neighboring building, the balconies from their flats a whopping 10 feet from the edge of my own. This was considered a lot of space. At least I HAD a window. It was a sign that my position at work had afforded me a comfortable living along with the view. At least, that's how it appears... in the human world. But I'm not human.