It was a testament to how interesting Brent was that after all he had done to me, I didn't hate him. I watched him from my camera-free perch in the lookout room. The Ghosts drifted around him, walking with a distinct sense of purpose to nowhere at all, gazes fixed forward. That was typical in their resting state, during the 12 hours a day when they weren't in a virtual coma. Brent only made me spend eight hours a day in a coma now, for which I had to be moderately grateful.
He looked pretty nervous now, but that's typical when he gives a tour. It didn't help that the second-generation Vamp he was showing around kept staring at him with the direct, bemused gaze of a sociopath. His hair is all pushed up from his neurotic habit of pushing his hand back through it, and he keeps blinking too much. I think he doesn't like talking about what he does, and how the Center works, because when he relates it in plain terms to someone else there's no denying how terrible it is. I mean...creating a hundred zombie sex slaves tailored for-literally-bloodthirsty clients is...admittedly, quite an accomplishment. But it's not something to be proud of. He was a mad scientist of sorts, but he had some pangs of conscience. I was proof enough of that.
The Vamp was groping the girls, his hands roving under the generic black top of a pretty blond, who stared passively ahead. He kneaded her breasts aggressively, but seemed only half interested in the girl. His eyes kept flicking to Brent, who was looking at the floor and fidgeting, distinctly uncomfortable. The Vamp was toying with him. That was interesting.
Suddenly, the Vamp's head snapped up, and for a moment I couldn't process what was happening. I was staring straight into his black, soulless eyes. What the fuck. This was one-way glass. He should be seeing his own reflection...but clearly he had detected something. I had a moment of disorientation and looked away. No way. Surely he couldn't glamour me from here. Slowly, I stood up, and his head raised slightly, tracking me. Goosebumps pricked my skin, and I acted without thinking. I bolted out of the room.
I had nearly reached the roof by the time they caught up with me, on the last stair within reach of the door. I heard footsteps slowing on the platform below and stopped. It was pointless to go outside unless I was planning on jumping, and I wasn't planning on jumping.
"That one's not a Ghost."
I turned around slowly. Brent leaned on wall a few feet behind the camp. He looked even more nervous than before, which was understandable.
