(Year is 2019...2 years after the Personal Apocalypse)

 

'I’ve always imagined sewers would stink. It comes with the territory, I guess. But this…this is truly mind-blowing. I’ve had physical assaults that were less impactful than this stench.' Finn McCool had two fingers clamped firmly over his nostrils to emphasize both his point and his dissatisfaction. He, along with his four companions, was standing in knee deep water that was most certainly not of the drinking variety.

It was dim in the underground tunnel, so neither the color nor the consistency of the water could be seen, which was probably for the best. Overhead, the faint sound of passing traffic could be heard as the people of Cork went about their daily deeds. Little did they know that, only a matter of feet below, a party of hunters were fast on the trail of a monster.

‘Ah it’s not that bad, Finn! Breathe through the mouth, that’s the key,' replied Finn's nearest companion in a merry voice. He was a short man who wore casual clothes, and, unlike his companions, was not armed. Instead, he had a heavy-duty flashlight strapped to his belt. The man suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Then again, I was rendered mostly nose deaf at a young age. Bad experience sniffing a can of paint…multiple cans of paint…on multiple occasions, if I’m being honest.’ The look of contemplation was swiftly replaced by a broad, toothy smile. ‘Comes in lucky today, I guess! I’d wager you agree with Finn more than myself eh, Mr. Blood? Your kind’s senses are on another level, so being in a sewer must really...suck!!’ The short man chuckled. ‘Pun intended!’

These words were directed at the most eye-catching member of the hunting party. This being was also comfortably the tallest, a fact maximized by perfect posture. This height superiority tied in nicely with the overall air of arrogance that exuded from this being – he could look down at everyone both physically and metaphorically. Whenever he found himself in the presence of someone he actually had to look up at, then his eyes and facial expression would serve as the conduit for his arrogance. This palpable air of conceit came in two forms – boredom or disgust; the former being his resting facial expression, while the latter was utilized whenever someone dared address him, as was the case at that moment.

A steel gauntlet enclosed this being’s right hand all the way up to the elbow. His left arm was bare, the sleeve of his long, dark red coat rolled up. Thousands of small scars could be seen crisscrossed on the exposed pale skin. Oh, and there was also the small matter that this being was a Vampyre who possessed such colorful names as Baron Blood; the Bloody One; Lord of Blood; and the Crimson Terror. In fact, combining most words with either “blood” or “terror” would hit on a gruesome nickname that had been attributed to this being at one point in time. This was an inevitable byproduct of being impervious to old age as well as being a truly horrible creature.

The Vampyre of a million bloody names was now directing a look at the short man that would have caused most men to wet themselves. 'If you insist on addressing me, mongrel, then please do so with my appropriate title – Baron.' He spoke in a bored manner, devoid of almost any emotion. Yet, if close attention was paid, then an underlying ripple of the utmost contempt could just about be detected.

The short man laughed again. 'That's no problem at all, your Baroness. But since you insist on proper titles, I'd prefer to be called mutt rather than mongrel, if you wouldn't mind. Freak works as well.'

In way of response, Baron Blood unclipped a small, curved knife from his belt and deftly sliced his own forearm. He licked the trickle of blood, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the short man.

'Jack, please stop agitating the Drainer or he might decide to eat you,' said Finn absently. He was busy loading the spinlock chamber of his revolver, which was proving harder than usual because of the poor light in the sewer. In his experience, it tended to be important that bullets were entered into the chamber the correct way around.

The Baron reclipped his knife and strode down the tunnel without a further word. The water around him didn't stir, not even the faintest of ripples was evident as he moved away.

Jack waited until Baron Blood had disappeared around a nearby corner before shivering. 'That really freaks me out.'

‘Which bit?’ asked Finn. ‘The water thing or the cutting thing?’

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Water thing, I guess. I’m used to the cutting and licking. Still pretty nasty, though.’

Satisfied with his loading efforts, Finn spun the chamber of his revolver and snapped it shut. 'Agreed on both accounts. Thankfully the Dire doesn’t share the good Baron’s creepiness. We should hear it splashing around as we get closer. And if we don’t hear the splashing, we’ll definitely hear the screams of our friends here.'

Finn hiked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the two remaining members of the hunting party. These two wore matching military style clothing and carried semi-automatic weapons. They were Fianna Elites and, as is the case with elite soldiers, tended to be silent in the field unless answering a direct question from a superior or screaming in pain.

Finn always wondered if there was a phase in the Elites’ training where personality and sense of humor were surgically removed. It sure appeared that way to him as they were incredibly tedious to work with.

Ok, perhaps the screaming reference had been a bit morbid, but I’m getting desperate here, thought Finn. Being cursed at or told to shut up would even do. Any interaction at all.

But no, nothing. The soldiers stayed silent like good little soldiers are supposed to.

I suppose it beats being sent rookies again.

Sighing, Finn led the Fianna and Jack down the tunnel after the Vampyre Baron.

'You don't think I've offended him, do you?’ whispered Jack.

‘Huh?’

‘Blood. He kind of didn’t break eye contact that last time he was cutting himself. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’

‘It’s not. At all. Didn’t help that you called him a female Baron.’

‘Wait…what?’

Finn gave Jack his best “you’re an idiot” look. ‘Baron and Baroness. Two versions of the same title, one for each sex.’

Jack groaned and slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Awh, man. I didn’t know that. I thought adding “ess” was a sign of respect! You know, like saying your highness to a king. Well, shoot, I feel silly now. The fact he replied to me this time had me thinking he was warming to me. Before that, I was beginning to worry the Baron is deaf, or worse, ignoring me.'

Finn smirked. 'He was ignoring you, and him responding is a sign that you’ve finally irritated him, not that he’s warming to you. Irritating a Drainer is bad for the health of the one being the irritant. But peeing off a Drainer such as Blood is practically a suicide attempt in itself. I’ll give you props though, it’s impressive you actually managed to get to him.'

A dubious look crossed Jack’s face. 'Are you one hundred per cent sure? He didn't look irritated.'

'Drainers never look like anything other than cold, arrogant killers. 24/7. 365 days a year.'

'It must make Christmas a pretty drab affair,' replied Jack with a grin, despite having just been told that a homicidal monster was annoyed with him.

Finn grunted at this. 'My guess is they sleep through such things. Christmas becomes a bit pointless when you’ve systematically eliminated your emotions. Saves money on the presents though.’

Jack looked aghast. ‘What? Why would anyone voluntarily do such a thing?!’

Finn rolled his eyes. He knew Jacks were utterly clueless when it came to, well, everything, but it was still annoying. ‘To keep control. That and licking their own blood every now and again seems to work. Downside is that they’re left with the emotional range of a teaspoon. A freakishly terrifying teaspoon that could methodically kill a room full of people with an actual teaspoon.’

Jack shuddered again. ‘What happens if they lose control?'

Finn shrugged. 'Your guess is as good as mine. The Family probably kill them themselves. Or maybe that’s how Dires are created. Who knows, the Family don’t appreciate people nosing into their business. Which is a bit rich when they then look for the Architects’ help in cleaning up one of their internal messes. Like this one.’

'But if they didn’t then we wouldn’t get the chance to spend the day in a sewer,' chirped Jack, once again smiling broadly despite his surroundings. And the content of the conversation. And the fact his life was now in mortal danger from both a Vampyre and a Dire.

Finn grunted again and said no more. As always, the Joe who was now Jacked was starting to annoy him with his seemingly incessant chatter – ninety percent of which was super positive and jovial. His irritation was being further stoked by the absence of conversation from the other three members of the hunting party. The Fianna Elites, to date, had registered nothing vocally other than “yes, sir”, “no, sir”, while Baron Blood’s utterings consisted of short, clipped, contempt-soaked insults. Though, in saying this, being described as the “Architects’ idiotic thrall” had caused Finn to openly laugh. He always appreciated a good burn, even if directed his way. The rest of the Baron’s insults had been less inspired, and also unnecessarily mean in Finn’s opinion.

At the other end of the spectrum, Jack’s unlimited positivity and stream of questions was plain depressing. It made Finn feel like a tour guide, answering the queries of an annoying kid who was too young to understand that he was driving the adults bonkers.

Finn sighed again. He was trying to be understanding. He was trying to be nice. He was trying to resist the urge to hit the man. But it was difficult, mainly because Finn McCool didn’t consider himself an understanding or a nice man, but rather a man who thoroughly enjoyed hitting people. Especially annoying people. Thus, the dilemma.

There were two reasons why he had yet to physically shut Jack up – one being practical, the other being rather morbid. The practical reason was that he needed Jack’s help, and so breaking his jaw would be counterproductive. Also, Finn seriously doubted whether broken bones would dent Jack’s insane optimism. Jacks, when they were Joes, were timid individuals by nature, who normally lacked anything resembling confidence or a wish to socialize. However, this sedate, terrified nature was flipped 180 when they underwent a change known as “Jacked”. The result was that a Joe became a Jack, a person flooded with character traits that their usual personality shunned – traits such as self-belief, optimism, and curiosity. It was like a drug of pure positivity had been injected directly into their veins and they couldn’t help but spew it everywhere and on everyone in their vicinity.

The problem with becoming Jacked, as is the case with most drugs, is that the individual often becomes detached from reality. Finn had once known a Jack who had taken a full shotgun blast to his stomach only for the man to be genuinely fascinated by the stuff falling out of his abdomen. He had then proceeded to bombard the medical team with question after question as they’d desperately tried to put the aforementioned stuff back into his body. The despairing medic had complained they might have been able to save the man if he’d just shut up for a few minutes. Finn had chuckled at this – Jack’s don’t shut up, and people don’t survive pothole sized holes in their stomach.

The second reason, the morbid one, that restrained Finn from hitting Jack, or shooting him, was that Finn was curious to see if Jack could bring Baron Blood to the point of genuine anger. It was exceedingly rare that a Vampyre would exhibit a strong emotional response. In fact, Finn could count on the fingers of one hand the occasions that he’d been present for such an occurrence. Despite this, against all odds, there were definite signs that Baron Blood was irritated. If this irritation increased, Finn knew a Vampyre could go from zero to homicidal in the blink of an eye. This was especially true in the case of Baron Blood. While the “baron” part was a title he’d been born into, the “blood” part was a self-given addition that had been thoroughly earned.

The good Baron would end Jack in a messy and abrupt fashion. And then I could put a bullet through one of Blood’s haughty eyes. Win-win for me. Finn openly smiled at this thought. The Law of the Architects was crystal clear when it came to Vampyres – if one appeared to be emotionally unstable, even slightly, then it was a Hero’s duty to use lethal force at once. The alternative was to potentially allow a Dire to be created and loosened upon the world of man.

‘Whatcha smiling at, Finn?’ whispered Jack as they reached the corner where Baron Blood had disappeared around.

‘Happy thoughts, my chipper friend. Just happy thoughts,’ replied Finn with a wink.

Finn, Jack, and the Elites found Blood standing still in the middle of an adjacent tunnel. The Vampyre raised a hand without turning around. ‘Tell me, Hero, is it possible for you to make any more noise?’ enquired the Baron in a whisper. ‘Perhaps if you sporadically opened fire with that hideous revolver of yours? You do realize we are hunting a beast with supernatural senses, yes?’

Finn rolled his eyes.

‘Children roll their eyes.’

Finn scowled.

‘Whoa,’ said Jack in hushed tones. ‘Do you think he actually heard your eyes roll?!’

Squeezing his fists so hard that his knuckles cracked, and making as much noise as possible, Finn waded through the knee-deep water to join the waiting Baron.

‘Child,’ repeated Blood.

Finn bit back a “takes one to know one” retort, and instead asked, ‘Ok then, genius, how do we draw this monster out? Least I remind you, it was your idea to drive it into the sewers. Something about it being easier to hunt down here due to the smell masking our scent?’

‘As always, Hero, your brain does not seem capable of correctly translating the sounds your ears pick up. I said that driving the Dire into the sewers would limit the casualties, not make it easier to hunt. Keeping it on the surface, in the open, would have been a far better tactic.’

‘Where it would carve its way through Cork City. Though I’m sure that wouldn’t bother a good-natured fellow like you.’

‘Screams are an undoubtedly excellent way of tracking a Dire,’ responded the Baron in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘So is copious amounts of spilt blood. Footprints galore.’

Finn frowned at the Baron and shook his head. ‘Mate, even for a Drainer you’re grim.’

Blood ignored this. ‘Though accidentally, your assumption is correct – our scent has indeed been masked by the sewer’s foulness. This advantage is being nullified by your splashing around though, which is ensuring the Dire stays a step ahead of us. I doubt an erupting volcano would mask such a disturbance.’

Finn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Careful now, your Bloodiness. That sounded awfully like sarcasm. You know what’ll happen if you sound too much like the human that you once were. I’ll give you a clue – it begins with a click, click, and ends in a boom. Well, it really ends with me laughing hysterically and kicking your bullet ridden corpse, but you’ll be far too dead to hear any of that.’

The Baron did not reply to the threat and no hint of emotion crossed his features. He, as a leading member of the Family, understood full well what the Law stated. After all, the Family had been key in drafting the particular section that concerned Vampyres.

Finn allowed the silence to reign for a few more seconds. ‘Fine. Well, we can’t move all Casper like you, so there’s no chance of us creeping up on this thing. What other ideas have you got up your sleeve? Or, rather, up your gauntlet.’

‘Get your pet to do his party trick,’ replied Blood. ‘We need to locate a choke-point.’

Finn snorted. ‘If only. If he were my pet then I’d have trained him to be less annoying. Or left him in a field somewhere.’ He turned and gestured for Jack to move up. Ignoring the incoming wink and smile, Finn asked, ‘What’s the lay of the land in this section of the tunnel? Any places we can trap the Dire?’

Jack nodded eagerly, obviously delighted at being included in the conversation as well as having the opportunity to fulfill his role in the Hunt. He closed his eyes and remained that way for several minutes, his eyes fluttering behind the lids. What made a Jack special was that they could download any given knowledge or skill for an extended period of time when Jacked. Knowledge such as the complete layout of a city’s sewage system.

Jack’s eyes flashed open. ‘There’s a dead end two hundred meters ahead, on the left. Seems as good a place as any.’

‘Good man. Ok, what’s next?’ Finn asked the Baron.

Blood turned his head and locked cold eyes onto Finn’s. They were grey and dead. ‘You. Bleeding.’

—————

“When the company stinks worse than the sewer he’s wading through, Finn knows he’s in for a despresso espresso kind of day. Can he and the Baron Vampyre co-exist long enough to hunt the Dire monster down?? Odds are slim!! Click below to find out!”

- Aj