Bite (In Which An Unfortunate Vampire Has An Unfortunate Time)

"I'm heading out tonight to find food for the group. I know how you eat, so we'll probably have to restock quickly. Speaking of which, there's stale bread and cold porridge on the bedside table."

James sits up and nods, taking the opportunity to grin. "I feel like I haven't eaten in a month."

Without even another word, he shifts position, letting his legs hang off the side of his bed. He picks up the plate of food that Marie left there and sniffed it once before immediately digging in. It took him no more than 30 seconds to successfully wolf down several slices of bread and the entire bowl of porridge, and it seems he'd have preferred to have much more. He glances up, becoming aware of you watching his ravenous appetite. You could swear he blushed before awkwardly chuckling. "Sorry. I really do hate to lose control of myself like that, but damn I'm used to eating more than I have recently. I hate to be selfish, but I really would appreciate if you left as soon as you could. You know I would myself, but this sickness running through me is... well, it ain't pleasant is what it is."

You nod, before silently rolling up your sleeve and showing him the scarring where you were bitten before. His eyes go wide.

"When did that happen?"

"Over a week ago now."

"And it hasn't healed? Zel, that's not good. You know as well as I do that any kind of injury you don't regenerate from is a damn dangerous one."

You scowl. "Of course I know that. But how could it be dangerous? My heart doesn't pump blood through my body. Even if this were somehow dangerous to me, it couldn't possibly spread through my body."

"You're acting tough now, but you and I both know you wouldn't have bothered to tell me if you weren't worried about it."

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. "You're right. Of course it worries me. But there's little doubt in my mind that all I need to do is feed."

He remains silent at first, before nodding. "Yeah. Definitely. But if I were you, I wouldn't try getting it from anyone you want to stay alive. This whole thing travels through bites. The coincidence is a bit too thick to test the waters."

"Ah, about that. You noticed that these things don't bleed red, right?"

"Obviously. It's... thick. Dark... purpleish."

"Like the blood of a resurrected vampire. And for that matter, these things also die and are then resurrected by what one might consider a contamination of the blood."

"Are you saying you think these things are... some kind of vampire?"

"Some sort of... quasi-vampire. Perhaps a failed attempt at artificially creating such. The idea that this disease could be somehow related to my physiology absolutely sickens me, but it was my first suspicion upon seeing these things. They hunt down pure-blooded humans to bite them, they're extremely difficult to kill, their blood is thick and dark. According to Jackson, they're also flammable."

"And humans aren't?"

"Well, yes, but not in the way vampires are. You have a very high water content in your body. Simply striking a match and holding it to your hand would cause your skin to melt, to smoke, but most likely not to actually ignite. In the case of vampires, it's very different. We have extremely low water levels in our body. We ignite at the drop of a hat. Evidently, these "zombies" might actually be the same."

"Ah, you decided to stick with that name?"

"No one else seemed to like it. I think they just don't have any imagination."

He lets out a single laugh, probably just to be polite, before he makes an agonized attempt to get to his feet. You don't move to help him. You know he wouldn't accept it if you did. Eventually, he manages to make his way to a shaky standing position. "Hell... I..."

He stops trying to speak for a few moments, instead just getting a metaphorical handle on his footing. Once he manages that, he lets out a sigh of relief. "I know I've probably already said this, but it feels awful not to be able to take care of myself. Just being bedridden makes me want to... I dunno, it makes me feel terrible."

You nod, sympathizing. You don't consider yourself "insecure," but you would definitely despise being put into a similar position. "You'll bounce back. I tore you in half once, remember? After that, this should be nothing."

He gives you an odd look. "Did you? I actually don't recall."

"... yes. I very definitely did. One of the first times we fought."

"Oh. Um, strange that I wouldn't remember that."

You know it's not the time, but you can't help but chuckle. "You are in your sixties, James. Your memory is bound to slip eventually."

He laughs in turn, and it seems that your joke, despite its bad taste, did something to lighten the mood. "You know, sometimes I forget that. I've barely aged since I got turned. Have I ever told you how that happened?"

"No, actually. I'd be happy to hear sometime-" You're interrupted by a knocking at the door, and you turn toward it.

"But evidently not now. One moment, please."

You stroll over to the door and open it, once again coming face-to-face with Marie. She seems distressed. She opens her mouth to say something to you, before noting James standing and turning to him instead.

"James! I'm glad to see that you're awake! How're you feeling?"

"Like someone dropped a building on my head, but otherwise fantastic. And you?"

"A bit tired, but I think we all are. I hope the food I prepared wasn't awful? The oatmeal was about all we had."

"It was delicious. Thank you very much."

She blushes, before nodding. "Any time, James. Do you mind if I borrow Zelemir for a moment? I'd like to talk to him."

He grins. "Not at all. We'd hang something on the door if we wanted privacy."

You thumb your nose at James before closing the door behind you and walking off with Marie.

"What is it you wanted to speak with me about?"

"I lied to you earlier. I know you know. I know, and it absolutely terrified me. After I delivered that food to James, I tried to get to sleep- I had nightmares about you, Zelemir. It was awful. So basically, this is an apology and a confession. I can't help but be scared of you, but knowing that you know I'm keeping a secret from you does not help me one bit."

You frown. "Well, spit it out. I appreciate you confessing, but it would be best if we didn't waste our time."

It seems that just this simple gesture of impoliteness has gone quite some distance to make her uncomfortable. "I... when I came up to deliver the food, I overheard you speaking with Alice before I came in. I... stopped and the door and listened in. I heard... a lot of things. About James getting bitten. About him being a "lycan." About how the bit- the "zombies" are being helped by something to kill us. E-even you getting bitten, too. I... I..."

You step back, not sure whether to be angry or simply not care. You obviously must've been distracted enough that you didn't hear her at the door, but... damn it, she shouldn't have been spying on you! But... it can't do having someone here be so utterly terrified of you. And though you consider most humans below you, you value honesty enough that threatening her with something you'd certainly never do would be distasteful. You clear your breath to silence her stammering.

"Rest assured that you have no reason to fear me seeking retribution, either for your listening in or your lying about it. You decided to confess to me, and I appreciate that. So if nothing else, rest easy knowing that your enemies are from without, not from within. Still, I must admit myself- I know I'm doing you all a disservice by hiding these things from you. But you've all already seen so much death- so much horror. Things look bleak and it isn't at all easy on your psyche. In other words, I don't want to make any of you panic. I certainly don't want you making decisions that are rash or foolish. And so while I admit that you and the rest of the surviving employees here deserve to know, I also have to ask that you not reveal what you know to Jackson or the others. Despite everything, I trust James. He will not attack you. He will not turn if he says he will not. There is naught to fear from him. And as for whatever is helping these zombies... there's little point in raising paranoia over something you couldn't possibly stop."

At this last point, you hear her heart skip a beat. You confess to yourself that perhaps you could have worded things better. She's remained silent through your entire monologue, and it takes her a moment to muster up the courage to actually speak to you in reply.

"Yeah. I won't tell them. I promise I won't. But please, keep us safe. Nobody else can. If you don't protect us, then... then you know what happens. Then we probably all get bitten, we definitely all die. I'm scared of you, Zelemir. I'm not going to try to hide that. I always have been scared. You can control people's minds with your eyes, you can control their bodies with your blood- you eat people to stay alive!" You take objection to that. You don't eat people. You merely drink their blood. "But right now... I'm not nearly as scared of you as I am of them... and you're the only thing we've got. So please... please, just don't leave us."

"You have my word. As long as you lot live, I, Count Zelemir, spawn of Count Vladimir Dracula Tepes, Undying Knight of Wallachia, revoked by God and Satan, will defend you from any that would destroy you. By the blood of my sire, by my immortal life, by my unbeating heart, this I swear. "

---

Some hours later, you've come to deeply regret making that promise. After an uneventful day, mostly spent patrolling the hospital's remains and making small talk with James while the others sleep, you've finally made your way back onto the moonlit streets, and are looking for some place to find food.

You swore your protection to her in a moment of weakness. You remembered Alice's declaration of your responsibility, and you took pity in such a helpless human putting herself under your protection. You felt for a moment almost like the hero of one of those embarrassing books or films those humans enjoyed. And so, to calm her heart, you offered a very dramatic promise- in the form of the most solemn swear you could conceivably make. Your mind wandered to the gods of Greek legend, swearing foolishly upon the river Styx. And you had done much the same. To break such an oath would be to shame yourself, to desecrate the bond of blood between yourself and your sire. You would never again be able to call yourself one of Dracula's- the last tie between yourself and Wallachia would be forever severed.

Just the thought made you shiver. And all of this, you scoffed to yourself, to appease a human. A weak, cowardly, stupid mortal.

A weak, cowardly, stupid mortal who you'd bound yourself to in blood. What a fucking time to be alive. To be entirely honest, you're embarrassed even that Alice was able to so thoroughly affect your decisions. You're not even sure why her statement had such an impact. Perhaps, you muse, you really have been trying to avoid responsibility since you came here- perhaps she put a slight bruise in your air of superiority. It bothers you that you're even giving it thought- you respect Alice, but she is nevertheless a mere mortal. You shouldn't be letting her get to you.

You continue through the darkened streets, occasionally darting toward one of the zombies to destroy its brain, but not going out of your way to do so. It takes you longer than you'd have liked to find somewhere food could be acquired. You don't eat any yourself, and are thus utterly unfamiliar with where stockpiles could be found. Thankfully, the smell of rotting meat (not human, for once,) leads you to a supermarket, where you hope to find some food still in good shape. You vaguely remember hearing at one point that canned food lasted for quite some time, and you determined you'd focus mostly on that.

You take a few bags from the front of the store, which seems to be mostly or entirely empty of both zombies and humans, living or dead, and go to collect any food that doesn't smell offensive. Several loaves of bread, dried meats, baked goods and pastries. You even pick up a few boxed and bagged items that you frankly can't even identify. "Spaghetti Rigatoni." "Frosted Mini-Wheats." "Instant oatmeal." "Tampax Pearl." You aren't sure what they are, but they're all certainly food, and you're sure that the people back home will appreciate them. Finally, you move on to filling the rest of the bags with canned foods, from meats to vegetables to soups. It's while you're filling this that you suddenly realize there's someone else in the room with you. Only a split-second later, before you can even turn toward them, they speak.

"Interesting. I wouldn't have suspected that a vampire would need to be collecting food. Are you experimenting with new tastes?"

His voice gives you pause... no, not his voice, his accent... no, not even his accent, you realize, but his language. He isn't speaking English. The mysterious figure in the room with you is speaking Turkish.

You turn toward where you heard the voice. He's sitting on top of a shelf of foods, his legs crossed and what seems to be an antique musket under his arms. He's wearing a leather jacket over some sort of undershirt, as well as the eternal love of all modern human men- blue jeans. His features are rugged, his face flat, blonde hair hanging seemingly unkempt below his ears. His right eye is closed, probably due to some extremely heavy scarring all around it.

It takes you a moment to remember your Turkish well enough to reply in kind- or perhaps you'd rather converse on your terms.

[] Reply politely in Turkish. He's shown no signs that he wants trouble, though his silent approach and callous introduction seem to belie that.
[] Reply aggressively in Turkish. He snuck up on you, deigned to judge you, and furthermore both somehow knows that you're a vampire and is carrying a gun. He's also speaking Turkish, the language of your blood-enemies.
[] Reply neutrally in English. You see no reason to apply yourself to speak in the language he prefers. You'll change if he seems to completely lack understanding of English.
[] Reply aggressively in English and demand he leave. If he does not, attack.
[] Simply attack him. If you allowed a gun-wielding Turk to sneak up behind you and leave with his life, what sort of Wallachian would you be?
[] Reply neutrally in your own native Slavonic. When you want to speak on your terms- you speak on your terms.
[] Some combination of the above?
[] Write in...

"I could ask a similar question of you. One must confess, it does not exactly foster trust to sneak up behind someone with a weapon- and one must also question how you determined my identity as a vampire."


You just can't help yourself but be petty. You reply in an obsolescent dialect of Church Slavonic, the same language with which you conversed with Dracula centuries ago. To your surprise, he replies in the same language- albeit broken and strained.

"I not sneaking. I only move quietly. I know you are vampire because I know you. Count Zelemir. Immortal soldier from Wallachia."

"Undying Knight, actually. But I'll forgive the mistake. Since you're so clearly familiar with me, who precisely are you?"

A grin warps his face, and he slowly stands on top of the counter, still holding his gun under his arm. You can see from a mile away that he's preparing to say or do something extremely dramatic. You, of all people, should be able to predict a moment of drama. When he speaks again, it is once again in Turkish, as he clearly fears his inferior knowledge of Slavonic might damage his delivery.

"I shall bear that title in mind, Undying Knight. I am known as Ali bin Mihail, Chorbaji in the ranks of the Janissary Corps."

You can't help but take a step back in shock, gritting your teeth. A Janissary? Impossible. The Janissaries had been slaughtered by the thousands in Wallachia, and the horrific method for their creation had been lost for nearly as long. The Sultan's "super-soldiers" had been extinct for centuries!

Quickly, you review your memory of the Corps, trying to find some explanation for why a Janissary could be here, alive, in America, now. The Janissaries began as Christian boys, kidnapped, tortured, and forcibly converted to Islam by the Ottoman Turks. From that point on, they served as the Ottomans' elite soldiers, one of many reasons that the Turks were able to so effectively conquer much of Europe. This was well known by the public. What the public did not and could not know was that they were not merely tortured. The Janissaries were being experimented on, fitted with some unholy combination of (what was then impossibly advanced) science and supernatural magic. Some said that they were the work of Allah, while others still claimed it was the Devil that created them. Regardless, they were far from mere soldiers. They were faster than horses and stronger than bulls. Their eyesight and dexterity were such that, even with the day's unreliable weapons, they could consistently shoot moving targets, sometimes kilometers away.

They formed an irresistibly powerful army. When the Sultan wanted something or someone captured, destroyed, or killed, all he needed to do was point his Janissaries at the problem- they solved it for him without fail. Dracula did battle with the Turks for years without faltering- it was when the Janissaries invaded Wallachia that he resigned himself to despair. It was their attack that drove him to the lengths he went to. It was because of the seemingly unstoppable might of the Janissaries that Dracula abandoned God and cursed Satan, because of him that he partook in the darkest of magics.

It was because of the Janissaries that the Vampyr were born.

And it was by the Vampyr that the Janissaries were slain. For all the strength of the supernatural soldiers, they were no match for Dracula's impossible power, and even less so when he revived you and many others in his service. The entire corps was slaughtered, as were the precious few that knew of the abhorrent means of forging the Janissaries with their inhuman strength. After Dracula proved victorious in Wallachia, it was believed that not a single Janissary still lived.

Of course, it was not commonly known what had happened to the Janissaries. Dracula and his court did not seek to spread the knowledge of their ungodly transformation, and the Turks refused to show their weakness to the outside world. Thus, the "Jannissary corps" continued to exist as the Sultan's elite, but they then remained mere mortals. And in the 19th century, those very same Janissaries revolted and were cut down, their number utterly disbanded.

That answered it then. The original, supernatural Janissaries were all dead, and the later, much more average "Janissaries" were both dead and disbanded. This man standing before you could not possibly be among their number.

When you reply, you deign to do so in Turkish, as hearing him butcher your native language was making you a bit sick.

"You must mock my intelligence, Ali bin Mihail. The Ottoman Janissaries have been defunct for many years."

"Ah, you only lack faith, my Count. After all, I would not be the only once-dead Turk in this room."

You feel a stirring of rage within you at the implication that you were born a Turk, but you realize it's nothing to be upset about. He's simply trying to rile you. Besides, how one is born doesn't matter. What matters is what they make of themselves.

"So you suggest then that you died a Janissary, and have been resurrected."

"I do not suggest it, my Count, I state it. I was once dead, but now walk again. Not a claim either of us can covet anymore."

"Indeed not. But I can't help but notice that you are no mindless shambling corpse."

"No indeed. I am made of tougher stuff than those outside."

You pause for a moment, mulling over what he said. You're sure there was some sort of deeper implication, but for the life of you, you can't figure it out. You're... well, to say the least, you're distracted by these developments.

"Well, this has been an enlightening conversation, Ali. If I may be so bold as to refer to you by your given name."

"Of course."

"Thank you. Then this has certainly been pleasant, but I have places to be. The sun has a way of sneaking up on me."

He frowns. "With my sincerest apologies, my Count, I cannot allow you to leave this place."

You raise an eyebrow, still looking up at him. "And why is that?"

He slowly lowers his weapon, resting it under his arm in such a way that the barrel is pointed directly for your heart. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Do you really suspect you'll intimidate me with such a weapon? That thing couldn't harm the lowest-blooded of vampire."

"Ah, but can't you sense it, my Count? It's not the weapon that hurts you, it's the bullet. Forged of silver, and with the glorious blessing of Allah."

You cringe. A holy silver bullet. That might actually hurt. You still have your doubts, though. It's admittedly suspicious that he seems so well-prepared and knowledgeable, but you're still not convinced he's just bluffing. A Janissary? Armed with a holy silver bullet? It all seemed much too convenient and on-the-nose. And even if he were a Janissary, just one of them is no match for a vampire, certainly not a high-blood such as yourself. After all, you killed Janissaries by the dozens in Wallachia. Of course, you were young then, and drunk on blood.

[] Turn around and walk away. He's bluffing and isn't worth your time. You need to get the food back to the main group.
[] Attack him, but keep him alive. This is a wonderful opportunity to get some much-needed blood.
[] Attack him viciously with no regard to his survival. He's a threat, and there's no need to be callous with your own safety.
[] Attempt to put him in a trance. To be frank, you never had an opportunity to try to mind-control a Janissary, and so you're not even certain it would work on one.
[] Run. Even if he is a Janissary, you can easily outrun one, and that way you can hopefully get back home with the food you've collected without getting into a fight. However, this might very well lead him to your home base.
[] Attempt to reason with him. Perhaps you can find a peaceful solution.
[] Write in...