Mission
Jeremy didn't sleep.
Vampires didn't.
What overtook him was something else entirely — a stillness, a death-like trance where the body froze and the mind was left adrift in an endless abyss.
He sat slumped against the fridge, unmoving, eyes half-lidded but still open, staring blankly into the darkened kitchen.
And in that unnatural stillness, the visions came.
They bled into his mind like poison — thick, choking images of fire and blood, of endless screams and laughter that wasn't human.
He saw himself standing over piles of broken bodies, their faces twisted in terror, their hands reaching up to him for mercy he no longer possessed.
He saw Elly, smiling in the shadows, beckoning him deeper into the dark.
He saw a city bathed in eternal night, where creatures like him roamed free, feeding openly, unchallenged.
And somewhere within it all — a door.
A door of black stone, pulsing faintly as if it were alive.
It called to him.
Promised him more.
Promised him power beyond anything he could imagine.
Jeremy's fingers twitched, nails scraping faintly against the blood-slicked floor.
The hunger in him — though dulled by the blood he had consumed — still burned low and steady, like coals beneath ash.
Something was changing inside him and whatever it was, it was growing.
He did not know how long he remained like that, trapped between the dead world and the living one.
Minutes? Hours? It made no difference anymore.
Time had lost its meaning the moment his heart stopped beating.
At last, with a soft, wet sound, Jeremy's body stirred.
His head lifted slightly, eyes sharpening.
The trance broke.
He was back.
Stronger. Hungrier and colder.
The blood around him had begun to dry in dark patches on the floor, but Jeremy barely noticed.
Something inside him had shifted during that death-trance.
He could feel it — a thin, invisible thread tying him to something... far away.
Something old.
Something that wanted him.
Needed him.
He pushed himself to his feet, sluggish at first but growing steadier by the second.
Elly had said there were rules.
But Jeremy could already feel it — sooner or later, he would be the one breaking them.
Because the hunger never truly ended.
It only grew.
And now, it whispered for more. Much more than he could imagine.
It was morning by the time Jeremy came back to his senses.
He moved stiffly at first, like something still waking from a grave.
The air in the apartment was heavy, saturated with the metallic scent of blood from the nylons in the fridge — and the remnants dried on his clothes, on his skin.
He needed to clean himself.
Without thinking, as if following a memory too old to be his own, he crossed the dim kitchen and pushed open the bathroom door. The small space was cold, the mirror above the cracked sink fogged and broken in one corner.
The overhead light buzzed weakly but didn't turn on, leaving the room bathed in gray shadows.
He didn't care.
He stripped off his bloodstained clothes mechanically, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. His body — paler than it had been when he was alive, muscles sharper beneath the skin — looked almost like a corpse come back to life.
Jeremy stepped into the shower.
The water was ice-cold as it slammed against his skin, but he barely flinched.
Warmth didn't touch him anymore. Cold didn't either. He existed somewhere in between.
He scrubbed at himself, his hands harsh, almost violent, trying to wipe away the clinging scent of human blood, the lingering memories of teeth tearing flesh.
But no matter how hard he scrubbed, he knew some things would never wash off.
When he was finished, he stood still for a long moment under the frozen spray, water sluicing down his body and pooling around his feet, pink-tinged with old blood.
Finally, he turned the knob off.
The apartment was dead silent as he toweled off and pulled on clean black clothes he found folded neatly on the counter — as if someone had placed them there for him.
Someone had.
He didn't have to wonder for long.
A sharp knock echoed through the apartment door, cold and commanding.
Jeremy's head snapped toward it, instincts flaring.
Without waiting for an answer, the door creaked open, and Elly stepped inside.
He was dressed differently now — a black coat draped around his tall frame, shadows clinging to him like living things. His red eyes gleamed in the half-light.
"You're awake," Elly said simply.
It wasn't a question.
So Jeremy said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Elly smiled faintly, something cruel flickering at the corner of his mouth.
"You've rested enough," he said. "It's time for your first mission."
Jeremy stood still, the cold air brushing against his damp skin, waiting.
Elly stepped closer, reaching into his coat.
When he pulled his hand out, there was something small and gleaming in it — a black envelope sealed with an unfamiliar crimson insignia.
He tossed it onto the counter near Jeremy without ceremony.
"You'll find all the details inside," Elly said. "Your target. Your orders."
Jeremy's hand moved almost automatically, picking up the envelope.
The paper felt strange beneath his fingers — almost like skin rather than parchment.
"You are no longer a boy lost in the dark, Jeremy," Elly said, voice low, dangerous. "You are the darkness."
He turned toward the door again but paused just before stepping out.
"Oh," he added, glancing over his shoulder, his crimson eyes glinting.
"And Jeremy? Fail me... and the next time you wake up, it won't be as one of us."
The door closed softly behind him, the finality of it echoing through the hollow apartment.
Jeremy stood there a long moment, staring down at the envelope in his hand.
The first mission.
The first step deeper into the abyss.
And somewhere deep inside him, something ancient and broken smiled.
He slit open the envelope with one sharp nail and pulled out the folded black paper within.
There was a name written in blood-red ink. A name he would have to hunt. A name he would have to kill.
"Daniel Cross."
Beneath the name, a single line of instruction:
"Alive or dead. Bring him to the old cathedral."
No further explanation. No reason given.
He wasn't meant to ask questions. Only to obey.
Jeremy folded the paper and slid it into the pocket of his jacket.
He stood still for a moment, letting the weight of the mission settle on him, feeling the gnawing hunger from before curl and stir inside his chest again.
The hunger wasn't just for blood anymore.
It was for purpose.
For belonging... He wanted to belong now more than ever... To be acknowledged and also, remembered.