THE VAN HELSING'S LOGS:

The Dread Legacies Presents

The Van Helsing's Logs:

The Discovery Of Fire

The year 2024.

Ferna and fona are soaking on this Pennsylvania afternoon. Light still finds its way through the overcast and the leaves among all the diverse plant life of the wilderness are vibrant despite a steady down pour. At first glance it is pleasant, simply nature in it's cycle. A land unbothered in spring showers. But near here is a lifeless town where the homes and city buildings are layered in graffiti. Streets cracked and risen with boiling steam seeping out. Carbon monoxide corrupts the air with levels so poisonous it could wring the life from a man in hours. It is not noiseless but the quiet is eerie and if you are there looking closely for an ounce of anything that stands out then every once in a while you would hear a noise. That's when you understand the quiet isn't what unsettles you, but instead the noise that breaks the silence. West of the abandoned Pennsylvanian ghost town, past its bearers that restrict the public entry into its toxic grounds and hidden within pine baron hills, is a building. A callous concrete building. Neatly tucked within the trees. A piece of the industrial world plucked from some concrete jungle and dropped where no one is meant to find it. No roads lead to it. There is no door at ground level where anyone can enter. The sight of the ominous stone slabs and wire cables reflecting faint glints are enough to clutch one by the spine in mystery. The presence of rain now appears nefarious as it covers such an ugly man made thing.

Inside it is a beehive of suits. Men and woman working at computers, answering phone calls and passing files after files like a steam engine that can't stop momentum. Glass walled offices, clean and sleek appliances and the only bright color that can be found is the color white that leaves a drull impression usually reserved for government establishments.

A man in a navy blue wool suit walks with a stressful high energy. Keeping up speed around corners and beaming through corridors. Without a file in hand he heads to deliver information that is so vital, it has only been passed on verbally.

Two men are seated at a black marble desk with one crystal white light shining down over them. They are dwarfed by the high ceilings of this office. Office? Can it be deemed worthy of being called an office when it's walls are empty and like a box, sits devoid of windows? An unwelcoming environment where no sense of life has painted the room – no laugh shared – nor idle chit chat of home life expressed, only calculated orders and business has ever existed in this space. This room is as callous as the outside of the building with all the greys that gloom the room except for Victoria Frankenstein's red leather bound journal that rests on the desk. At the moment it's what is in the room that feels the most alive in contrast with its otherwise cold surroundings.

Before the desk sits a man who is fit for their age nearing 60. He looks refined in his age. Short white hair that is still capable of being combed to one side and short trimmed white beard that doesn't hide his squared off jaw. His clothes are made for physical practicality in any tactical occasion. Though he is sitting he doesn't rest against the back of the chair keeping a straight back. Seasoned, experienced in nightmares and trained to know what lives in the dark. A feature of this man that stands out above all else; carved on his left profile is a four claw scar reaching from his eye to the base of his neck. The markings are spread wide at the front of his face and combine near his shoulder. The light in the room deepens the shadows of the raised skin of the scar making them prominent here. His voice is deceiving in that it is polite with poise and though abrasive in volume it is clearly respective and light, seeming to overcome what gravel that lives there.

"Since procuring the text it has been verified by our analysts and historians that it is one hundred percent authentic. The signatures and hand writing have been matched to hundreds of other text and after the carbon dating authentication protocol I have reviewed the item. I, myself, have classified it item 1805-1816 in which it refers to the last journal entries of Victoria Lotus Frankenstein. Adding it to the filing of The Frankenstein Journals. To brief you, Victoria begins by writing about the event of 1805 in which an accident occurs-

"Ezra," the loud and deep voice of the man behind the desk cuts in. Ezra stops talking and adjusts himself to listen like an obedient soldier. The ancient man is in a dark blue suit with a long black coat almost clergyman like. Dark grey gloves cover his hands that have a metal button on the wrist with the letters "V.H." on them. Thick short strands of his platinum white hair scarcely poke out from under the dark blue homberg hat he is wearing. Large blue eyes with a voided stare sit inside sunken sockets. Rumple old rubbery skin makes up his emotionless face. He continues while looking at Ezra unblinking, "That is how I understand it. Listen, I am certain I will hear about the contents of this journal with precise analysis. No piece of information in those journals is ever overlooked, examined to the point of dizzying exhaustion, all secrets squeezed out and fizzed out, without a question of missing any dark corner. I will read every report in its entirety, every single word of the foundation to no end and I will understand it with its lines of exactitude. What I won't find in those reports is a single opinion. If there is a person of opinion with an exquisite mind in this world wide organization I trust it is with you. Those eyes are never without the turning of gears and I would rather extract those thoughts than spend a moment with you shilling out more object classifications, security protocols and procedures. Longitudes & latitudes, Proximity's & perimeters, cold and sharp technical jargon. What are you afraid of Ezra? What did you find in that journal that is absolutely terrifying?"

Ezra stares back apprehensively, knowing that his viewpoint is going to cause a dangerous reaction in the atmosphere.

"We are harnessing insight… to a kind of creation... that could reshape human kinds entire existence."

Without a motion the man behind the desk responds, "Now this is worth my energy. Please continue, I would like to hear more on the matter." there is something unsettling about how robotic this man is as he leans forward a few degrees without slouching yet his ancient withered body remains motionless and stiff remaining positioned at that angle. Ezra treats this behavior as a normalcy and continues, "I believe Victoria Frankenstein was two hundred years ahead of her time. She didn't know yet what she was experimenting with was early forms of genetic engineering. In this journal she explains to great extent what she created. But... what the journal contains more of... is that she unknowingly stumbled through what is the first recorded history of essentially the first ever artificial intelligence. Except for two things. One- there was no trial and error and two- She perfected it. An erasing of the brains memories and rebooted the human computer to be an immortal battery with one function. It is not bound by the same limitations we are. Imagine a humanoid that does everything better… faster. Faster than any human with a lifetime of experience, living or deceased. A function of complex physical ability for longer. Impervious to diversions and centered on a single objective with a general knowledge heightened far beyond what any person could ever process."

The man behind the desk sits back. His odd movement becomes still with only his eyes traveling in thought, scanning the room from side to side. In a way his movement feels mechanical.

"And are we sure Ezra? Can we validate that is exactly how it works?"

"We can't know Bartholemew," Ezra drops his head to hear Bartholemew say something that raises indecent tells. In raising his head he continues, "We can't know. We don't even know how it came to work. Neither did Victoria because when she made it she had no idea what she was even doing. We just know, that it works."

Bartholemew moves from one side of his chair to the other and groans in a way that is meant to be a pleased sound but Ezra can only discern it to be one out of discomfort. "Mmmm," Bartholemew groans again, "Mmmm… Imagine that. If we could copy such an A.I. one million times. It works 24/7, ten times faster. There would be boundless limitations to what could be achieved. Harnessing the discovery of fire."

Ezra's brows crash with a furrow, bowing in the middle as he struggles to keep his composure. Ezra says with a condescending tone, "And I'm sure it goes without mention that whoever controls it holds just as much power."

Bartholemew rotates to give put the attention of his eyes on Ezra, "I gather you draw issue from my remarks. Do you perhaps question my intentions are in opposition to the Van Helsing's foundation?"

Ezra retorts, "I take issue with the idea of replicating – this." He drops his finger onto Victoria's journal. "That in doing so could quite possibly mean replicating it in other human beings. An action that would be immoral. Even if we could, there is no way we can even comprehend it's way of thinking. Despite that it's not at the top of my list of concern, it is worth mentioning that there would be absolutely no way to control it. Let alone millions."

Bartholemew replies, "You talk as though we do not have over a hundred facilities globally with limitless resources. With a few of our great minds I'm sure we could come to understand it."

Vigorously Ezra shakes his head, "No. That you even amuse the thought is enough to prove how far we are from understanding it. All of humanity as of present, from where Victoria's juggernaut stands, are monumentally far less intelligent and if you haven't noticed, humans - who are on the top of the food chain, are pretty lacking in empathy to everything… and everyone… that we justify as less intelligent. Pretty violently I might add."

Bartholemew replies, "Then lets see to it that we remain on the top of the food chain."

One side to a pair of double doors in the office swings open and the man in the navy blue wool suit stands the open door way. Bartholemew asks, "Do you have something to report director?" The man clasps his hands together and gives Bartholemew and Ezra a nod when saying, "Excuse me chairman Bartholemew and Agent Ezra. I have a message for the chairman. It is from Abraham Van Helsing. We have received word that the house Romania field squadron are on the ground. Currently enabling - procedure code: Last rights" A silence settles in the room. Bartholemew stands so quickly his chair falls over. Eyes wide with frustration he yells at the director, "Abraham is Leading the squadron?!"

"No sir."

"Then who?!"

"Chairman, it is Rada "Strigoi" Cross."

"With whose approval?!"

Ezra gets up from his seat. "If Strigoi is there then he could be after Voivode." Ezra comments as he shares a look with Bartholemew.

"Director, what subject are they enabling - procedure code: Last rights - on?" Bartholemew questions. The director responds, "The son of the dragon." Bartholemew says, "Code: Last rights requires the approval of all the chairman. Strigoi is overstepping. Director I want you to deploy an advisor squadron to connect with house Romania's squad. Get the closest house- the nearest facility- the nearest agent- Anyone! Get them to Strigoi's location immediately and allow them to gain control of the operation with the order to rescind the last rights code. I want Voivode contained. I want Voivode Alive!"

The Dread Legacies, Book 2: Son of the Dragon. Starting Feb.17 2025