Gotham City, 12:20, August 1st, 1987
"You know, here's something I never expected to say about hunting vampires..." I grumble as further inspection of what looked like a humanoid shape huddled in the dark corner of the basement turned out to be a pile of filthy rags. I nudge against the pile with a boot, revealing nothing but a stray cockroach and what is almost certainly at least a decade of dust and filth "It's fucking BORING, that's what! It's like trying to find a murderous needle in a very dirty haystack!"
"Welcome to the world of crimefighting, Flagg!" Ted grunts as he knocks aside a pile of cardboard boxes piled up against the wall to make sure that there's nothing hiding beneath them. Unless the vampires have the ability to transform into old newspapers or rusty cans, I think we're in the clear. "It's 90% tedious waiting and searching, and 10% terror and adrenaline!"
"Ugh, if I wanted that as a career, I'd have joined the military..."
We're currently in a basement, our third of the day, this one belonging to a crumbling, old builing in East End, a former restaurant judging by the fading sign outside, as well as the shattered remains of the large panoramic window showing what had once been a seating area inside. The number of windows upstairs, some of them not even broken yet by some miracle, means that most of the restaurant provides little protection from the noon sun outside, making it a poor choice for vampire hideaways, but restaurants have cellars. Dank, dark, windowless cellars. Perfect if you're an undead abomination wishing to avoid a very fatal sunburn.
Unfortunately, Gotham City is the kind of urban hellscape that leaves a vampire spoiled for choice when it comes to dark spots to crawl into, which I'm guessing is why the head one came here in the first place, so despite the seeming perfection of this space, the only danger down here is from dust allergies, and probably asbestos, considering how old it looks. Aside from some old pots and pans, a three-legged table, and some canned food that passed the expiration date sometime during Watergate, the cellar is empty.
For the past few days, me and Ted have been spending our days trying to catch the vampires sleeping, which has had limited success. Our search so far has yielded one actual vampire, two dead bodies that would have become new vampires if we hadn't staked them and cut their heads off before burning them, and one very confused homeless guy who just happened to be kind of pale. Luckily the smell of cheap whisky and B.O tipped us off before the misunderstanding turned fatal. Even limiting our search to the most likely types of hiding spots, this is going to take forever...
"You sure you can't track the head bloodsucker with that crystal ball thing you do? Because I hadn't planned on spending my golden years taking a scenic tour of Gothams picturesque basements!"
I sigh "I told you, it doesn't work like that. I can't scry from nothing, I don't even have a NAME to go by, much less any personal effects. That first vampire we killed in the Lazarus Pit only called him "master", and the only results I'm going to get from that is a first-hand experience of a bunch of sleazy BDSM clubs! I mean, no judgement, consenting adults and all that, but that's really not my scene."
I shudder at the memory of my one and only attempt at a blind search. Some body parts really shouldn't be pierced. And some people do NOT belong in leather corsets.
Ted clears his throat at my remark "Well, be that as it may, this place looks clean, from vampires anyway. Let's hit one more spot before we break for lunch. There's an old bar down the block that looks like it might have a storage cellar."
"Bah, bet Buffy Summers never had to deal with this. All her vampires hung out in the cemetary for some damn reason..." I mutter to myself. Ted pauses, halfway up the stairs to the ground floor.
"Did you say something, Flagg?"
"I SAID, I hope the night shift is having more luck than we are! I mean, no offense to the GCPD, but back when Loeb ran things, they couldn't even catch one guy in bat-themed pajamas! I'm kinda worried they're out of their depth with this..."
"Oh, I'm sure they'll figure things out. Nothing like learning on the job!"
....
Gotham City, Little Oddessa, 23:20, August 1st, 1987
He could smell their blood.
The life Vlad Dzerchenko had once lived as a mortal now seemed like a hazy, half-forgotten dream, the memories pale and colorless like an old movie reel. Ever since he'd woken to this new life, ever since The Master had embraced him, brought him into the growing flock, everything had seemed so much sharper, more alive! He could smell the blood flowing through the sheep around him, hear the beating of their hearts, see the sweat form on their skin. What had come before his second birth was a shadow compared to this new life! He wanted his wife to join him in this new world, to serve the Master alongside him! Dear, sweet Natalie, the love of the Vlad who had been.
She'd refused his touch. She'd fled from him. Ran to the arms of one of the fetid pigs that patrolled the streets, thinking they were the once who controlled Gotham. They had no idea what was coming. But they'd see. And so would Natalie. Vlad was sure of it. She just needed... convincing. The Master could handle that, once Vlad had dealt with the intruders.
Drool began to drip from his lips as the scent of blood grew stronger, the steps coming up the stairs, closer to the door, still open from when Natalie had fled screaming from the sight of him. Shadows crept along the wall as the two officers, there were two of them, he could tell now from the voices drifting in from the hallway, a man and a woman, moved in front of the hall light. Vlad grinned, his tongue darting across his fangs as he stepped backwards, into the shadowed corner of the kitchen, waiting for his prey to reveal themselves...
"-doors open up ahead, I think that's it..." The male voice spoke, heavy breathing from the walk up. "Stay on yer toes, Montoya. Don't want this creep to get th' jump on us..."
"Don't have to tell me twice, Bullock." A female voice this time. Vlad readied himself, just in time for a large figure to block out the light from the hallway.
"This is the GCPD, scumbag! We got reports of a disturbance in this building, and yer wife turned ya in! Don't make us come in there after you!"
There was a sigh "Good work, Bullock, I'm sure that'll really-"
Taking the chance, Vlad took one step forward, eyes piercing the darkness, focusing on the man in the doorway. "Why, I don't know what you're talking about, officers. I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding. Why don't the two of you step inside, and we can talk this over..."
There was movement, a glint of glass, and Vlad realised something was wrong just in time for the small object to fly through the air, and shatter against his forehead. After that, his world erupted in the worst pain he'd ever felt, in this life or his former one.
Vlad screamed as the liquid dripped down across his face, and into his eyes, blinding him. His eyeballs felt like they were boiling in their sockets, his skin beginning to smoke like slabs of bacon in a frying pan. He stumbled back, trying to make it to the open window behind him, but as he turned, there was a sound like a thundercrack, and new agony blossomed up his leg, as his kneecap exploded, sending a burst of blood and boneshards across the floor. Vlad collapsed, clutching his burning face and howling like a wounded animal, clawing at the smouldering shreds of his skin, writhing in the bloody remains of his knee. He heard someone speak, the last thing he would ever hear, before the stake pierced his heart, and darkness fell.
"Huh, what'dya know, guess holy water really DOES work on these freaks!"
"What was your plan if it didn't?"
"Got 7 more bullets, don't I?"
........
Sherwood Florist, Gotham City, 0:05, August 2nd, 1987
Dinah Lance tugged on the second leather boot, closing the straps tightly around her ankle, before standing up, running a gloved hand along the fishnet stocking now covering her right leg, doublechecking for any runs or tears in the material. Satisfied, she walked over to the chair in front of the mirror, where her jacket was hanging, and turned on the small light right above the wood panel, illuminating her reflection in the polished glass. It wasn't a new sight, she'd been trying the costume on for weeks now, doing minor tweaks to the design, knowing it was procrastination more than anything else. She wanted to do this, had been training for it since her teens, building on dreams she'd had since she was a girl, and listened in fascination to the stories her mother had told her from her own days in the costume, fighting the bad guys with the rest of the Justice Society. Uncle Ted, Uncle Scott, Unce Al... Really, she'd had more honorary relatives than blood related ones. All of them with their own exciting tales of the glory days.
She tried imagining them, 50 years in the past, doing the same thing she was right now. Staring into the mirror, readying themselves to take that final step and begin their work. It was difficult; she couldn't imagine Ted hesitating like this. She couldn't imagine ANY of them hesitating at all. She gritted her teeth, pushing the lingering hesitation to the back of her mind.
Things were changing in Gotham. And it was about time she did her part.
Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, Dinah pulled out a small, gold charm, letting it sit in the palm of her hand as she studied it. It was a crucifix, plain and unadorned, something she had bought on a whim after Uncle Ted had told her what had been happening in the city beneath everyone's noses. She'd stashed several vials of the holy water he'd given her in her jacket, but left the larger crucifix behind. The charm would serve just as good. With a snap, she attached the cross to the metal loop on the leather choker around her neck, letting the metal rest against her collar bone. She felt a absurd flash of satisfaction that the protective symbol matched her hair.
"Well, this wasn't how I expected my debut to happen..." Dinah said to herself as she slid the jacket on "But I suppose Black Canary, Vampire Slayer has a certain ring to it!"
.....
The Narrows, Gotham City, 4:50, August 2nd, 1987
Dawn was just beginning to crest the horizon, golden rays of light glittering across the higest tops of the Gotham skyline. But here, in the rotting drains of the city, daybreak would not come for some time yet. Shadows lingered here, among the crumbling brickwork and rusting pillars of former glory, where the scraps of society were forced to survive on whatever scraps they could find. It was a perfect hunting ground.
They had feasted well tonight, and soon, they would be joined by a new brother. He had been an aging tramp, just like them in that former life, and they had simply left the body to cool among the trash where he'd spent his pitiful final years. It wouldn't matter if the body was found or not, once he rose again, he'd know where to go. He'd know to come and join his new brethren.
But for now, it was time to rest, to hide from the deadly rays of the sun. An old service tunnel leading to the sewers served well enough for their purposes. No windows, away from prying eyes, yet close enough to their new hunting grounds that finding prey after nightfall was a cakewalk. Really, the only real annoyance was the abundance of rats that also made a home down here. But a handful of vermin was of no concern.
As the two vampires nestled down in their makeshift bedding, neither of them noticed one rat in particular who seemed to pause in the middle of the floor, staring at the two figures on the ground, before quickly darting out through a gap in the barricade of rusty metal barrels and rotting boxes that blocked the entrance to the tunnel.
Before they could fully drift off into their unnatural slumber, a loud crash drew both vampires back to their senses, in time to see their barricade fall aside, torn down by dozens of hands, and a furious mob flooded through the entrance to their sanctuary, hands clutched around stakes and crosses fashoned from broken pipes and wooden branches tied with rope and tape. At the head of the mob stood a man, just as filthy and unkempt as the rest, yet there was something different about him. Something that made him stand out.
Around his neck hung a pair of metal dogtags, clean and polished, contrasting against his grimy coat.
"You freaks have taken one of ours for the last time. The Narrows aren't going to be your fucking buffet!" Arnold Sutton said, clutching the sharpened metal pole in his hands.Last edited: Jun 13, 2022